07-05-2016, 12:38 PM
He rolls his weight back on his ankles as they settle into the conversation. If there is one ally he is most comfortable around and with, it is the Sisterhood. What began with a relationship of fair exchange turned into a unifying blood alliance. He’s always known of his father’s political tryst that resulted in his half-brother, Dalten. It is the bridge that upheld the transition from Scorch’s rule to Lagertha’s. But with his grey sibling cast to the wind for years (since his first year, really) Ramiel has no doubts that it is something more that keeps the two kingdoms bound. Loyalty, comradery – knowledge and acceptance of each other’s weaknesses and strengths – all traits that link the two securely. Traits that, in his opinion, are hard to come by these days.
So he is nearly as happy to hear of the Jungle’s regrowth as Lagertha is to share the information. His concern is never entirely unselfish when it comes to the leafy forest-women, though. Both the well-being and loss of his sister is always in the corner of his mind. He sees her every time he goes to the river, sees the ghosts of their younger selves splashing (or flying, in her case) across it to the wildlands beyond. He remembers their youthful bravado in disobeying their prescribed borders, the freedom of a simpler time. But time marches ever on. She chose her own path in life. Instead of the easy, guaranteed life of Dalean royalty, Joscelin decided to forge her own way in the thorny jungle. He will always admire her choice, but he will forever worry for her, too.
“I cannot tell you how glad I am to hear it,” he says emphatically. Of the Amazons’ health and the steel khaleesi’s continued instatement. She is rather easy to get along with, despite her reputation as a warrior; he’s heard that her predecessor was an altogether different breed. More of the fire that Lagertha speaks of, the flames that tried to devour the spirit of the Sisterhood and failed. He knows the Dale would have bounced back, had Weir’s wall of protection been extinguished. He is still glad they hadn’t been tested.
As if on cue, the red roan makes his appearance. And what an appearance it is! Ramiel’s eyes show his surprise at the rounding of the man’s belly. He’s seen it grow over the last few months, but he imagined it was nothing more than post-war gluttony. Having survived the trauma and sights and smells of battle, he couldn’t blame Weir for indulging in the finer aspects of life. But perhaps it is something more. The ghost-king shares Lagertha’s shock, waiting for Weir to fill them in on his…ailment.
When he does, Ramiel presses on. The khaleesi seems to pick up on his outright contentedness and the grin he wears at his lord’s expense only grows. “We are all well.” A simple answer but true. He decides to elaborate, so proud that he can’t keep the information to himself. “Queen Ea and I have the privilege of raising two children in these peaceful times. It hardly seems fair to ask for more in this life.” The pride is a real, breathing thing between them when he speaks of his family, but he realizes it isn’t all true. Always, a soul presses against the thin membrane between here and the Other Side. Always, there is a black spot on his heart that won’t go away, that he doesn’t want to leave.
But that is neither here nor there.
Back to business then. “We are hosting games for our allies in the next several months. There will be both peace and war caste competitions, in addition to a social gathering for those who do not wish to take part in either.” He glances at Weir, wondering how far past the planning stage they’ve gotten. Something tells him that it needs to happen soon, that something else is creeping on the horizon that will make their practicing worthwhile. He does not speak of this shadow to Lagertha; only time will tell if it is merely a war-brought fear or a substantial threat. “Would the Sisters be interested in joining us?”
So he is nearly as happy to hear of the Jungle’s regrowth as Lagertha is to share the information. His concern is never entirely unselfish when it comes to the leafy forest-women, though. Both the well-being and loss of his sister is always in the corner of his mind. He sees her every time he goes to the river, sees the ghosts of their younger selves splashing (or flying, in her case) across it to the wildlands beyond. He remembers their youthful bravado in disobeying their prescribed borders, the freedom of a simpler time. But time marches ever on. She chose her own path in life. Instead of the easy, guaranteed life of Dalean royalty, Joscelin decided to forge her own way in the thorny jungle. He will always admire her choice, but he will forever worry for her, too.
“I cannot tell you how glad I am to hear it,” he says emphatically. Of the Amazons’ health and the steel khaleesi’s continued instatement. She is rather easy to get along with, despite her reputation as a warrior; he’s heard that her predecessor was an altogether different breed. More of the fire that Lagertha speaks of, the flames that tried to devour the spirit of the Sisterhood and failed. He knows the Dale would have bounced back, had Weir’s wall of protection been extinguished. He is still glad they hadn’t been tested.
As if on cue, the red roan makes his appearance. And what an appearance it is! Ramiel’s eyes show his surprise at the rounding of the man’s belly. He’s seen it grow over the last few months, but he imagined it was nothing more than post-war gluttony. Having survived the trauma and sights and smells of battle, he couldn’t blame Weir for indulging in the finer aspects of life. But perhaps it is something more. The ghost-king shares Lagertha’s shock, waiting for Weir to fill them in on his…ailment.
When he does, Ramiel presses on. The khaleesi seems to pick up on his outright contentedness and the grin he wears at his lord’s expense only grows. “We are all well.” A simple answer but true. He decides to elaborate, so proud that he can’t keep the information to himself. “Queen Ea and I have the privilege of raising two children in these peaceful times. It hardly seems fair to ask for more in this life.” The pride is a real, breathing thing between them when he speaks of his family, but he realizes it isn’t all true. Always, a soul presses against the thin membrane between here and the Other Side. Always, there is a black spot on his heart that won’t go away, that he doesn’t want to leave.
But that is neither here nor there.
Back to business then. “We are hosting games for our allies in the next several months. There will be both peace and war caste competitions, in addition to a social gathering for those who do not wish to take part in either.” He glances at Weir, wondering how far past the planning stage they’ve gotten. Something tells him that it needs to happen soon, that something else is creeping on the horizon that will make their practicing worthwhile. He does not speak of this shadow to Lagertha; only time will tell if it is merely a war-brought fear or a substantial threat. “Would the Sisters be interested in joining us?”
R A M I E L
this is a man pulling at his iron chains
ooc: um, so this is super late. sorry guys <3