Come with me and you'll be in a world of pure imagination; Auntie Valkyrie

[Lagertha]

this will never end, ‘cause i want more, more, give me more

She feels older, and it sucks. Lagertha hates it. She hates the way her muscles protest in the winter mornings, the way the colder air seems to have settled into her in a way it never did before. She is notold in the way that some are old - in the way of the immortals, or in the way of some of the other sisters - Myrina and Scorch and Malka. She is old in the way she has pushed her body to stay in top shape, to fight and twist and turn like an agile filly. The cuts and bruises now bother her and old injuries come back to life. Time seemed to stop for awhile, halting decay. Now it springs forward again.

For this, she alternates cursing the fairy and waiting in the Meadow for some sign of it, like it had promised. She is ready to beg and plead and has a thousand points lined up to demonstrate why she should have her immortality back. It is tiresome, all this waiting. Some days she leaves to go back to the Jungle. Sometimes she’ll stay here for days on end. With the coming winter, she’ll probably spend more time in the Jungle - but missing the fairy isn’t an option. It simply isn’t.

The iron lady dozes now, sorting a pair of brand new waterbuck horns, but lacking the distinct marks that did or did not make her Auntie Valkyrie. Of all the individuals Lagertha’s met in the Meadow, Quark’s little girl took the cake. Not just because she gave the General the very source of her ambitions, but because she kept popping up in Lagertha’s mind. And I think a part of the warrior woman always wanted a child like Strangelet. Instead, she had Dalten. Who is an odd boy, and has yet to show any sort of potential. Maybe if they had bonded properly, she might feel differently - but now with Tiphon off the throne, all her plans have gone to hell and she resents her son. Just a little bit.

She is not inside the willow’s branches, for that would be a poor place to be on the lookout for a fairy. She is outside, under the boughs of another tree, but within sight of the graceful, vine-like limbs. Every now and then Lagertha opens her eyes, and on this most recent fuzzy glimpse of the world, she spots a black rear end with a yellow crescent moon. Oh, how - Oh. Oh. She knows that mark. Lagertha squeezes her eyes shut and then opens them again, shaking away the dozey cobwebs, before calling out to the figure that is now well hidden by the willow’s branches. “Strangelet? Quark’s little girl?”

She shouldn’t be so little anymore. She should be full grown. Lagertha wonders if she’ll remember her without her tattoos.

lagertha

carnage x grim reaper; amazonian general