04-06-2016, 09:52 AM
I am iron and I forge myself
She is grateful to them, for what appears to be a willing forgiveness, or at least lack of blatant accusation, and for their offers to help. The early ones - or those able to make it to the meeting - come mostly with enthusiasm, and it lifts her spirits. “It is a hazard of living in such a beautiful place, Naga. Trees will always be susceptible to fire, and there is nothing we can do about that, except wait to see what grows from the ashes. I am sure it will begin to look like new in no time - with all this water and heat - the perfect conditions. I am fine. My armor is enough to deflect most damages, and I am glad to hear that you and yours are safe.” Enough of the formalities. Lagertha pauses, thinking about all the water, and an idea pops into her head. “I would appreciate if in your panther form… you could either either dispose of the larger water creature’s bodies away from our own drinking sources, or find some carnivores who are hungry?” A curt chuckle follows that statement, because it is actually a rather ridiculous image, and for the longest time, they’d kept all the big cats out. But with all this rotting flesh in the air, someone has to eat it. Or get rid of it, lest they invite sickness and disease into their home.
Vineine approaches with two in tow, and the Iron Queen notes her somber face and silence. The motherly mare is someone that Lagertha is never quite sure how to deal with, knowing that while they have the Jungle in common, they have little else. If there is anyone to blame for the situation, it is Lagertha, and only Lagertha. Someone must be held accountable, and as the crown and mantle fell upon her shoulders, so did the rise and fall of the Jungle. They are certainly not broken, or begging, and even though she had been the one to call for a truce, it was the right thing to do. The other kingdoms may not like to admit it, but the Dale, Jungle, and Desert had the Chamber and Valley outnumbered. Continuing would have been certain death for more of them. Caring is not a weakness. She saved both sides.
What comes next will be utter hypocrisy from rulers who seek to distance themselves from the only kingdom which deigned to step up and say ‘No, this isn’t ok.’ Because that’s what happens, isn’t it? Stick one’s neck out for another and the full brunt of the blame for whatever happens after falls on one’s shoulders. Because the Jungle agreed to aide the Gates, the Desert and the Dale joined in. And now, if the rumors are true, the Gates’ has been taken hostage by the Valley, and then hoisted a puppet queen onto the Valley throne, in the name of change. Well let them ‘change.’ Let them turn their noses up at Jungle, because in the end, the Tundra will falls silent (it always does), as its men seek solitude, and as the Valley and the Gates are also apt to do. The Jungle is never quiet.
Her son comes next, and she sees the quiet strength in him, a peculiar mix of Crito and herself. For a moment, she almost wishes he were female, so that he could stay with them, if he wanted. But Crito deserves to have a child out in the world, instead of sheltered behind the vines. His words make her proud to have one who is ready to embrace his responsibilities. “Son,” she answers warmly, “Let’s talk after this and decide, together.” There is much to say to him, too much for this meeting, and too intimate for the world to hear.
Her gaze falls next to Draconis, the young firebreather who’d been more brave than many of the older sisters. And… Rhy’s adopted daughter. Or something like that. They should talk after this too, because she can’t be only one alarmed that the gold-and-white mare didn’t return. “Rest first, Draconis, and then we shall see. You went above and beyond your duties, and I am proud - and grateful - to call you my Sister. A promotion is in order, but we can speak of that later…” Sentiment isn’t her strong point and they all know that. Hopefully her simple words of thanks will suffice.
And then comes the weary (even more so than herself) gray form of Prague, and Lagertha does not hesitate to come away from her singular position and walk towards her. When the magician heaves up the Jungle spirit and changes it from Spider to Jaguar, it makes her hesitate for a split second, but the spirit’s affection confirms her thoughts. They owed everything to Prague. The Iron Queen gently wraps her darker gray neck around the lighter gray’s shoulders and stays there for a second, embracing her as one might embrace a family member. “No apologies from you,” she says firmly, and then steps back. “We all would have died, or the Jungle been lost. You are nothing less than a hero, and will be given the title of Vichomeraki, for as long as you are a Sister. Sleep. Sleep for as long as you need to. We will protect you. So oracalize away.” She chuckles roughly to dispel the extra emotions. No mushiness here. “I may not be Khaleesi when you wake, old lady, but I shall be here.”
Lagertha reaches out to touch Prague’s shoulder fondly, speaking only to her this time. Do you want one of us to look for him? We need to send someone to the Falls anyway. Publicly, she stays in the midst of the women, and steels herself for what she must say next. While their support is evident, Lagertha feels like she must offer them the option of electing a new Khaleesi, especially given the state of affairs.
“Sisters, given the death of Lyris, the disappearance of Rhy and Anguisette, the state of our Kingdom and whatever backlash may come from our involvement in the war, which I wholeheartedly supported, I am compelled to offer you the chance to elect a new Khaleesi. I appreciate your supportive words and believe I can continue to lead us well, but if you want someone else at the helm, I understand.” Her gaze - solemn and dark and straightforward - finds as many individuals as she can, while waiting for their responses. She is not looking for platitudes or to be convinced to continue to wear the crown. She wants to know that they still stand behind her, that they trust her, and that they know she wants to make things right again.
This won’t happen again. Not on her watch. And whatever is brewing outside these leafy halls will not keep them down.
Vineine approaches with two in tow, and the Iron Queen notes her somber face and silence. The motherly mare is someone that Lagertha is never quite sure how to deal with, knowing that while they have the Jungle in common, they have little else. If there is anyone to blame for the situation, it is Lagertha, and only Lagertha. Someone must be held accountable, and as the crown and mantle fell upon her shoulders, so did the rise and fall of the Jungle. They are certainly not broken, or begging, and even though she had been the one to call for a truce, it was the right thing to do. The other kingdoms may not like to admit it, but the Dale, Jungle, and Desert had the Chamber and Valley outnumbered. Continuing would have been certain death for more of them. Caring is not a weakness. She saved both sides.
What comes next will be utter hypocrisy from rulers who seek to distance themselves from the only kingdom which deigned to step up and say ‘No, this isn’t ok.’ Because that’s what happens, isn’t it? Stick one’s neck out for another and the full brunt of the blame for whatever happens after falls on one’s shoulders. Because the Jungle agreed to aide the Gates, the Desert and the Dale joined in. And now, if the rumors are true, the Gates’ has been taken hostage by the Valley, and then hoisted a puppet queen onto the Valley throne, in the name of change. Well let them ‘change.’ Let them turn their noses up at Jungle, because in the end, the Tundra will falls silent (it always does), as its men seek solitude, and as the Valley and the Gates are also apt to do. The Jungle is never quiet.
Her son comes next, and she sees the quiet strength in him, a peculiar mix of Crito and herself. For a moment, she almost wishes he were female, so that he could stay with them, if he wanted. But Crito deserves to have a child out in the world, instead of sheltered behind the vines. His words make her proud to have one who is ready to embrace his responsibilities. “Son,” she answers warmly, “Let’s talk after this and decide, together.” There is much to say to him, too much for this meeting, and too intimate for the world to hear.
Her gaze falls next to Draconis, the young firebreather who’d been more brave than many of the older sisters. And… Rhy’s adopted daughter. Or something like that. They should talk after this too, because she can’t be only one alarmed that the gold-and-white mare didn’t return. “Rest first, Draconis, and then we shall see. You went above and beyond your duties, and I am proud - and grateful - to call you my Sister. A promotion is in order, but we can speak of that later…” Sentiment isn’t her strong point and they all know that. Hopefully her simple words of thanks will suffice.
And then comes the weary (even more so than herself) gray form of Prague, and Lagertha does not hesitate to come away from her singular position and walk towards her. When the magician heaves up the Jungle spirit and changes it from Spider to Jaguar, it makes her hesitate for a split second, but the spirit’s affection confirms her thoughts. They owed everything to Prague. The Iron Queen gently wraps her darker gray neck around the lighter gray’s shoulders and stays there for a second, embracing her as one might embrace a family member. “No apologies from you,” she says firmly, and then steps back. “We all would have died, or the Jungle been lost. You are nothing less than a hero, and will be given the title of Vichomeraki, for as long as you are a Sister. Sleep. Sleep for as long as you need to. We will protect you. So oracalize away.” She chuckles roughly to dispel the extra emotions. No mushiness here. “I may not be Khaleesi when you wake, old lady, but I shall be here.”
Lagertha reaches out to touch Prague’s shoulder fondly, speaking only to her this time. Do you want one of us to look for him? We need to send someone to the Falls anyway. Publicly, she stays in the midst of the women, and steels herself for what she must say next. While their support is evident, Lagertha feels like she must offer them the option of electing a new Khaleesi, especially given the state of affairs.
“Sisters, given the death of Lyris, the disappearance of Rhy and Anguisette, the state of our Kingdom and whatever backlash may come from our involvement in the war, which I wholeheartedly supported, I am compelled to offer you the chance to elect a new Khaleesi. I appreciate your supportive words and believe I can continue to lead us well, but if you want someone else at the helm, I understand.” Her gaze - solemn and dark and straightforward - finds as many individuals as she can, while waiting for their responses. She is not looking for platitudes or to be convinced to continue to wear the crown. She wants to know that they still stand behind her, that they trust her, and that they know she wants to make things right again.
This won’t happen again. Not on her watch. And whatever is brewing outside these leafy halls will not keep them down.
Lagertha
warrior queen of the amazons
[sorry i wrote a novel - thanks for reading! also andrea, just make sure you have permission to do the oracle thing
]