"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
Lagertha is going to lose her molars to constant jaw clenching and teeth grinding at this rate. Let’s make one thing very clear. She is not afraid of Straia, or the Chamber. Even if her ravens have infiltrated the Jungle and listen in on every conversation, there is a way to do things that she could not possibly know about. That, and the Jungle is vast. They may ‘know’ the paths and have guides should they ever attack, but birds are birds. They have birdbrains. Even if they have a horse’s brains, guiding is one thing and instinct and intuition are another. They may be able to lead an army down a path, but what of the roots that stick up and vines that suddenly drop? What of mud and bugs and stinging plants? What of the breath-sucking heat and humidity that would drain the energy of anyone unused to it? They would not be able to communicate those sorts of things. They cannot use the Jungle against itself.
Ask Killdare. He is miserable here, even for all his burr-in-tail and following Joscelin antics.
They really needed Prague to show herself again.
Rhy appears, and while she may be a voice of reason, she takes an approach that Lagertha does not like. Of course Straia wouldn’t send a spy that could be caught, Lagertha isn’t stupid. “Clearly,” she says dryly, keeping her tone flat. “And yet, if one of ours were to… appear in the middle of the Chamber, how would Straia deal with it? Regardless of whether or not you meant to land here, you are trespassing. Can you honestly tell me that she would let a Sister go? Or would she keep her captive… as I hear she is prone to doing? Just because she thinks she can? ” The last question is delivered to both Rhy and Erebor – one to play devil’s advocate to her Erinak’s advice, and two, to see how Erebor would answer. Lyris had returned from the Gates with information regarding the latest attack.
To raid was one thing. To burn down the manifestation of their Spirit is another. And while the warrior Queen wasn’t in the habit of standing up for the little person, it seemed to her like someone was getting too big for her britches. As to that big of new, she is curious what Rhy (good, kindhearted Rhy) would say.
Lagertha can make points too. The question is whether or not she will choose to make this her battle, or if she will bide her time.
10-13-2015, 02:01 PM (This post was last modified: 10-13-2015, 02:04 PM by Erebor.)
some are lost in the fire
some are built from it
Calm and polite to the last, the boy listens to all of them in turn, dipping his head to Rhy as she arrives. He does not interrupt, does not speak out of turn, and does not betray anything other than a stoic, solid military demeanor. He's been trained too well to give away any clues, to show anything of what he thinks (or doesn't think). He is diplomatic and disciplined, and he has faith in the powers of their reasoning. Much as he perhaps shouldn't, he does.
And when finally the queen falls silent, Erebor takes his moment to speak. He looks directly to her, his gaze even and level. "Rhy is correct, I am no spy." He is not grateful to his relation for her defense of him; he doesn't really consider it worthy of thanks to speak the truth. He glances briefly to Joscelin, and the slightest hint of a wrinkle crosses his face, but whether it's a laugh or a scowl isn't certain. "And I was not sleeping. It'd be far easier if I had been sleeping. I was deposited here in the jungle by unknown forces, through no power of my own, and not by my own will." He pauses, looking at all of them. "That is why there were no tracks, because I did not bring myself here. As far as who did, or why," he sucks in a breath, "I'm as in the dark as you are."
He looks directly to Lagertha then. "To answer your question, yes, I can tell you that Straia would let an innocent go." he stresses the word innocent ever so slightly, lingering over it for just a moment. "The Chamber has no need to keep those who are truly innocent and bear us no ill will." he speaks with intensity, but he does not lose his cool. "We may be fierce to our enemies, but to those who have not wronged us? Why keep them?"
If he'd been asked how Gryffen would have handled a trespasser, that would have been a different question. If he'd been asked how quickly that captive would be released, that too would be a different question. But as it is, she'd asked about Straia and she'd used release in its most general sense, and Erebor knows his mother's mind. He remembers the conversations they've had, the discussions about sparing innocents, about throwing their power only when they need a show of force. Nothing good comes of attacking the innocent. They strike at those who defy them – like the Gates, who had spurned an alliance.
"So really, I'd say it depends on the innocence of the sister. If we had no quarrel with her, there'd be no reason to keep her. But if this hypothetical sister had proven herself an enemy of the Chamber…" he pauses for a moment, his brown eyes fixed on the queen. "Would you let an enemy of your kingdom slip away?" He knows the answer is no, as surely as he knows that she's trying to decide whether he is in fact an enemy of the kingdom or not.
Surely, he thinks, she wouldn't dare. Trying to keep him would mean war, he knows it, and considering their show of strength in the Gates, it wouldn't be a war that the Amazons would find easy. They'd come to the jungle, the Chamber turning out in force (because of course Straia would know he was here, out of all the horses in her kingdom she'll know where her Lord is), and they'd burn it as surely as they'd burned the mother tree of the Gates. Surely she has to know that.
He smiles in that accidentally boy-scout handsome way of his. "How lucky for us, then, that I am no enemy of the Amazons." his voice is measured, but confident. "And that my kingdom has done nothing to antagonize the sisterhood." he looks for a moment toward Killdare. "You'll find no Amazonian prisoners within our borders."
And then he is silent. There are so many things he doesn't say. He lets Killdare's presence speak for itself, indicating the barb that has already been thrown from Amazons to Chamber. But most of all he makes no promises about the future disposition of the Chamber. Before he'd come here, perhaps it had been clear that the Amazons is not in the Chamber's crosshairs. But now that he's here, now that he's met them, now that he's seen Killdare again…well, now he starts to wonder.
Not that they'd know where his mind goes. The boy has many years of diplomacy now, many years spent schooling himself to ensure that his face remains pleasant and reveals nothing. And so it is now as he regards the sisters and his battle-brother. He does not fear them, although he does respect their station. He'd rather not see a war start here and now, over him – and if one does, it will not be by his hand. But if war comes, he has no doubt the outcome.
It's impossible to ignore the raucous in the Jungle. The voices carry heavily through the trees and cling onto Nayl as though she was one. Her head turns as she slowly blinks. There is a male's voice among the range of women, but it's a noise that is somewhat familiar although she hasn't heard it in years. Her eyes brighten in curiosity.
It's regretful to see how tardy she actually is to the congregation, but Nayl doesn't admit it as she weaves through the vines and knot of horses until she is facing the Chamberling. With eyes baring down at him she can't help but wonder what may have transpired during her absence. "Erebor," his name is honey on her tongue as she drinks in the sight of him. They had last met in the Chamber although it was entirely too brief. Shortly afterward Nayl went into a hiatus that enveloped her in darkness. Since reappearing, however, she hasn't been disappointed. The Jungle is still bursting with activity even as a new Queen ascends the throne. That had been a relief.
Now, there seems to be more than just activity; perhaps a little trouble?
A coy grin stretches across her lips as she only regards the Chamber prince. "I see you're causing quite a stir among the sisterhood. You're seeking the wrong type of attention." An airy chuckle punctuates her dry humor. Even with her sisters all around her Nayl cannot tear her gaze away from Erebor.
10-13-2015, 05:36 PM (This post was last modified: 10-13-2015, 05:42 PM by Lagertha.)
I am iron and I forge myself
If it were solely up to Lagertha, she’d keep Erebor just to stick it to Straia. Maybe challenge her to single combat in order to get him back. Come hell or high water, she is no Warrior Queen if she couldn’t survive whatever the Chamber lady could throw at her. They both had immortality, didn’t they? So no harm would truly come of it. Alas, she has more to think about than her pride and what she, personally can accomplish. A bevy of women put their trust in her. This is the moment when she must be more than a General; she must be a mother and a sister and a guardian and a Queen.
It fucking kills her.
They will say she wouldn’t stand up to Straia, that she bowed under the threat of fire. They will say that she had Straia’s achilles heel in her grasp, and that she let him go. But they do not know Anguisette and the things she would do to reclaim her own daughter. They do not know Nayl and Ephrelle and the potential they hold. They do not know Rhy and her beautiful, electric wisdom. They do not know Tantalize and Prague, and how much Lagertha would lose if harm were to come to them. They do not know odd little Vyx, colorful Elektra, or sad Sarkis and Vi. They do not know that she sees herself in Joscelin and Lyris, and they do not know the calm peacefulness of Sunday. She cannot throw them into the fire the way that she would leap without hesitation. The blood that sings at the possibility of war is not their blood. They do not know the women like she does, and they do not know the depths to which she will go for them. And so Lagertha will bite her tongue until it draws blood, and take the blow, and bide her time.
Even if they came with their fire and heat and plant control, Lagertha has faith that Rhys lightning and Prague’s magic and Lyris’s weather and Joscelin’s energy could hold them at bay. They have friends, too. More than the Chamber, at this point, probably. Lagertha is willing to sacrifices the edges of her Kingdom as collateral damage but her Sisters are another story. Trees regrow, animals return. However, not everyone can be so lucky. And then there are the wildcards - the magicians - when and where they will strike, either causing chaos or offering protection, one can never tell. The majority of them seem to lend a hand to the chaos-makers, while there are few who offer protection unless it’s to their own kingdom. And even then…
Her mind is made up. Straia’s subjects may be willing to die for her orders, but Lagertha will not ask it of her own. And so with more teeth grinding, she waits until Erebor finishes his very diplomatic speech, careful to speak in general terms, without saying how he’d ensure that an innocent sister would be released or how quickly. Nayl arrives in the middle of his speech, and after her quips, she fixes him with a hard, level gaze, keenly aware that they have quite the audience. Very well. Let them watch. Gathering her thoughts, Lagertha turns on her ‘Queen’ voice and continues at a clipped pace. “You are correct, the Chamber, though full of hot-heads and bullies, has done nothing to injure us. In fact, Killdare was very prompt in attending to a lost challenge, and I am sure he is enjoying his stay. There are no Chamberling prisoners here, only visitors learning how to battle better. I would insist the same if a Sister lost a challenge.”
She speaks from experience, listening to Lyris recount her visit to the Chamber. Gryffen is a hot-head and a bully, and someone needs to wipe that sneer off his face. For a moment, she thinks of Sette and is satisfied, knowing that it irritates him to no end that she is thriving with them… and that she calls no one Father. Plus one to the Amazons.
His attempted jab at ‘prisoners’ means nothing. If Joscelin had lost the battle, she would ask the woman why and schedule a mock for when she returns from her sentence. They are masters of their own destiny, and it is no one’s fault of Killdare’s that he is here. Lagertha has faith in his reasoning about that. It is the risk they take when they join the army. Apparently, so is being picked up and transported to a foreign kingdom. “Whatever you did before you were dropped here, no Sisters were harmed. Because of that, you are free to go, Erebor, but don’t let it happen again. Twice could be construed as… more than just unlucky. And kindly pass on the request to keep the ravens out of my kingdom, or I shall have to ask our own magician to do something about it.” Along with a standing order to zap or attack on sight. Her gaze travels to the other Chamberling man. “However, because no one challenged back for Killdare’s return, he still has a few weeks left.” Again, that prisoner part is on them. But he, too, shall be returned in the same way that he arrived - without a female inflicted scratch upon him. The flora part of their home, however, might have something else in mind. She turns her head to address two of the group. “Nayl, or Rhy - would you mind escorting him to the Jungle’s edge?” And then, in closing and clear dismissal, she takes one last glance and a slightly nod to the black stallion before turning around to head back in the direction she’d come from. “Erebor. Take care.”
Funny, if war comes, Lagertha also does not doubt the outcome - though they are probably thinking of very different endings.
