"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
He tries to only leave the Tundra in the winter, when everywhere else might as well be the Tundra. As he looks around the meadow, he feels like he hasn’t even left home. It’s a blustery, bitter-cold day. Most of the horses huddle for warmth, unaccustomed to the freeze that seems to become one’s marrow. Their manes and tails whip around them with a life of their own. They look fairly miserable, these temporary meadow-livers, and he smiles faintly at their misfortune.
Of all days to visit, why on earth would they choose today?
His own coat is remarkably shaggy; his roan freckling is nearly concealed by the layer of fur that covers him. Crito has no reservations about continuing further into the communal ground, and as he walks, his body warms even more. Ever since his brother had returned, the stallion has felt his own reawakening. He feels younger; his joints protest less and less as if the clock was turning backwards on his life, rather than the other way around. Whereas before, Crito had been resigned to his further retreat into the mountains – a deeper progression of his hermit life and his eventual lonely death (no one would miss the ancient recluse) – now, he looks forward to a brighter future.
There is still life to be had in his weather-worn body.
More than ever, he feels it. His steps are light and practiced as he moves through the meadow. The Brother is used to terrain much rockier than here. He casts his grey eyes out for a familiar face, and just when he’s about to intersect a stranger instead, he sees her. Lagertha. He’s not sure it’s her at first. He thinks his old eyes are surely done, because the mare he spots cannot be the grey warrior. She’d been so adamant, so repulsed by the idea of having children the last time they met. But yes, it’s her, rounder belly and all as he draws near.
“So what changed you mind?” He says, his broad head indicating her stomach. Secretly, the bay roan is glad she hasn’t brought it along. She hasn’t fully left her sanity behind, at least. “I doubt he had my rugged good looks.” Crito smiles at her carelessly, not realizing that she could take it as something more. Coming from him, it’s as harmless as winter on his skin. He is as clueless as ever, but happy to see the slightly-less tough-woman.
this will never end, ‘cause i want more, more, give me more
Ugh. Do you know how much Lagertha hates the fact that it has taken her half a year to get back into pre-baby fighting shape (then again, she had a very high standard of fighting shape, so… there was probably a noticeable difference). There’s no way in hell that mares who continuously pop out kids can every be true warriors.
Which is just fine. She doesn’t want to have any more children any time soon, unless it is for more political positioning. That’s a hard limit.
The only thing that could change her mind would be for someone to come and sweep her off her feet.
Please stop laughing. It’s a… possibility. Not a probability. A possibility.
She has all the time in the world. Someone might eventually come along.
The hardened, steel-gray warrior is taking half of a personal day, or something like that. She needs to cool down a bit, and decides to venture out of the warm, wet depths of the Jungle. Normally, she would relish the heat during the winter, but today is different. Today she is restless; there had been so much activity lately that a lull leaves her legs itching for something to do. Which is slightly ironic, given that she ended up in the Meadow. Nowhere is as exciting as her Jungle.
A slightly familiar voice makes Lagertha turn her head, her gaze coming to rest on the Tundra man she’d met the year before. “Crito,” she says in greeting. “Is the Tundra getting too cold for you in winter?” She chuckles, and then decides to answer his question. “I needed some potential political power. Seemed like an offer I couldn’t refuse.” She shrugs (nevermind that she had offered up her own womb), and then smiles a little deviously. “So… how’s the ousting of the King going? Did my little steal ruse work?”
She doesn’t know he’s Scorch’s sister. She also doesn’t know the brother’s don’t know it was all her doing.
Though he’s older, the thought of children has never crossed his mind.
He’s always been aloof, alone and unapologetic for it. Maybe it was his upbringing, clustered and choked in the Jungle as he was. Maybe it was his twin sister and her pushy, outspoken nature. He’d never been able to get a word in edgewise with her. But Crito also never protested his second tier status. His younger self was fine with being the runner-up to Scorch (and even Osric, to a lesser degree, though by no fault of his brother). Maybe it had simply carried over into adulthood, this inability to put himself out there and form normal attachments to the others.
But age is softening more than just the contrast of his coat. He finds that as the rich bay and vibrant white roaning fade over the years, so too does his desire to be alone. Errant has an extensive family he can never hope to replicate. Even Scorch, with her growing brood, has built her own family beyond their original dynasty. Crito sees children, and each time, it chips something away inside of him. More and more of the hard shell he has unknowingly worn disappears, and he feels lighter every day. Lagertha helps alleviate the burden of his shield in her simple way of acceptance. She gets where he is coming from.
Today, she looks distracted until she turns to him at his call. It’s obvious that her mind has been pulled in many directions (plotting and scheming? Or simply reflecting?) but she recognizes him after a few seconds. He grins at her question about the Tundra weather. “No such thing to a Brother.” Crito is sure the same can be said for the Amazons and their heat – in his opinion, they can keep it. The grey warrior admits the reason for her child and quite suddenly, Crito understands. It doesn’t surprise him that Lagertha would have a child, not when there are benefits beyond whatever perks regular mothers enjoy. Political positioning is as good a reason as any to sacrifice your body and time (just another kind of warrior, he thinks).
He waits until she is completely done speaking, mulling over all she has revealed before giving anything himself. What she says shocks him, but he is far too used to channeling stone to reveal any of it on his face. So this mare, this (admittedly tough and capable-looking) Amazon is responsible for the removal of a king and the creation of a potentially important heir? This steel woman he’d chanced upon a year earlier turns out to be a player of a game much larger than any of them? Crito is rarely impressed, but he finds that he is just then. “I didn’t know it was you I would have to thank.” The bay roan flicks his tongue across his dry lips once, buying himself time as he thinks. It will be common knowledge soon enough, he supposes. “But yes, it seems to have worked out very nicely for all parties involved. Though I’m not sure how the Amazons benefit.” Perhaps a stronger alliance than the one that was already practically assured? Perhaps they simply did it out of the goodness of their hearts; maybe the threat of a mad king was all too real. “Speaking of your Amazons, how do you like your Queen.” He is the image of innocence as he asks it, even reaching down to scratch at his leg (which serves to hide his immense interest). “I’ve heard she’s somewhat of a hellion.”
this will never end, ‘cause i want more, more, give me more
There aren’t many who get her; Rhy does, and she imagines that Kratos and Vyx might too, but it is something like a slap in the face to have a sister’s lover understand her more than than others. She has no family save for Dalten, and the boy has turned out to be a great wanderer. She is maternal enough. He is filial enough, but they do not pretend to be overly affectionate with each other. Perhaps one day, in the infinite possibilities that lay ahead of her, she will find a true partner and lover. Perhaps one day, she will take joy in building up her brood. Perhaps one day, she will have a dynasty like Scorch. But that day is not today, for Crito is not that type of stallion. And she is not that type of mare.
This is why they are good together. This is why they can be friends.
A genuinely pleased smile widens her mouth at his burgeoning admiration. He needn’t say anything, she can hear it in his voice. “I’m not sure we as a whole do, but I like to think that I might, at some time in the future. Wish that could happen every time I get bored. Lagertha Kingstealer has a nice, arrogant ring to it, don’t you think?” She chuckles at her own expense. She is arrogant, and anyone who truly knows her will agree. She has the hubris curse, and in that, she is not so different from Scorch.
She glances at Crito, surprised at his next question. “Scorch?” She lets the name hang in the air while she figures out how to answer somewhat diplomatically. “She… I preferred Brunhild. Miss her, even. We… butt heads often, to say the least.” They fight like fucking cats and dogs, but what good what it do to tell him that? “Why do you ask? How do you feel about Errant? He seems rather cold.” Which means no more than that he is at home in the Tundra, just like Scorch is at home in the Jungle, with her bubbling veins.
Lagertha is more steel than fire. She can adapt, and exist where fire cannot. She does not consume. She rebuffs, and stays the course.
Like her, Crito is an outsider in his own home. It’s ironic that in the most desolate kingdom one can be considered a recluse, but it’s certainly true in his case. He is a loyal Brother – bears the scars of one and remembers each and every word of his unspoken vows – but he is not a social one. Not like the fiery exchanges of the younger men; not like Kratos or Hurricane. He’s not a wizened warrior like Brennen or a leader like Errant. Crito likes to contribute in his own little way. Currently, he’s the only true diplomat of the bunch. It’s still a strange twist of fate, he thinks, to finally find your voice just as age is ready to steal it from you.
He is blossoming even as the years wither him.
Working has leant him a newfound vitality, though. As he regards Lagertha, he does so with a sharper eye. He looks for subtle cues, for vulnerabilities she might not realize she is showing. After all, she’s a warrior first and foremost – the art of deceit is likely not her strong suit. Although she doesn’t name herself a kingstealer for her absence of trickery…
The smile on her face gives her away when Crito thanks her. It’s the most open and honest smile he’s seen from her, and just as telling. He can see that she believes, not just hopes, that the deposing of Mountain will benefit her later on. He wonders how she knows that. He wonders what deal have been made and by whom – who benefits more than Errant? Confusion stirs uncomfortably in his gut but he tries to ignore it for now. There are other questions he is equally interested in, and pushing her too far on one matter might cause her to withhold on others. So far though, her arrogance makes her free with her information.
The bay roan scratches his nonexistent itch as his sister’s name sounds between them. He nods encouragingly in the space before her next words and lifts his head when she speaks. Aha, so Scorch does leave a fissure in her wake. It doesn’t surprise him that the fire-queen’s methods don’t sit well with everyone. He is rather an expert on (and a victim of) her infamous nature and changing moods. He wonders how deep the cracks are though, how split the Sisterhood is in her favor. Crito almost keeps their relation from Lagertha but decides he likes her too much to hold back. What can she do with the information, besides? He flicks his black tail once across his hocks before interjecting, “we are twins. Triplets, actually, though we’ve never met the other one.”
He waits to see if she will squirm with this new information and with her admission of queenly preference. After a few breaths, a smile begins to slowly curl his lips. “She is the most difficult woman I’ve ever come across and too hot-headed by half.” He laughs lightly before adding, “I grew up in the Jungle and now live in the Tundra, what does that tell you?” It’s not true, of course, that he left the ‘Zons because of Scorch. He simply had no future in the Sisterhood. Lagertha asks him of his own monarch and that also brings a quick smile to his face. This time though, it’s a smile of obvious fondness – a formalness that he lacks in regards to Scorch. “He is also my blood brother. I have nothing but appreciation for him.” She says that he is cold, but Crito knows it to be a façade. Behind his icy exterior is a man of deep loyalty and familial attachment. “Errant is a good man and a good king. He shows what he believes he should to the other kingdoms.” He finishes his assessment and looks across the meadow thoughtfully before focusing his gaze on the steel lady’s again. “You seem to be a woman with endless plans and ambitions, Lagertha. I only hope our paths don’t put us at odds someday.”
this will never end, ‘cause i want more, more, give me more
Be careful not to assume too much about Lagertha’s motives and revelations. She knows better than to count on anyone but herself - herself and possibly Rhy, and maybe Vyx. Even then, she’s always been of the opinion that if you want something done right, you must do it yourself.
Perhaps Mountain’s deposing was simply a show of power and cunning. Something to say here I am, see what I can do, and do not discount me. Lagertha is playing the long game and running the marathon and picking her chess pieces carefully. Some come to fruition and some fail miserably, and what she has learned is to never count on anyone but herself. If all goes according to plan, her successes will be based largely on her own accomplishments and the trust and competency she has cultivated with others. Lagertha does not seek handouts. Nor does she play the ‘woe is me, my mother hated me and that hate drives me’ card.
His last words strike something in the iron lady, and though it is always a risk these days to make friends in other kingdoms, his words sound oddly like a threat. No, not a threat… a warning, perhaps? Sure, his familial relation to Scorch surprised her, and she may or may not have chided herself on revealing the dissent between them… but his did not seem like the ties that bind in knots. Lagertha kept her mouth shut until then, confirming what she thought to be true - that the Tundra’s devotion to Errant was absolute, which for her, is neither good nor bad. She might have Kratos’ support in the icy kingdom, and potentially Critos, but those were still ties to work on.
“I imagine if my siblings were still alive, I would be loyal to them too… or maybe not. My brothers were quite the selfish playboys, if I was told correctly. They’ve all been dead for decades now, though. So I suppose the point is moot.” Angelus had had real power. She would have made herself indispensable to him, and vice versa. In a half playful, half-serious tone she continues, saying, “I hope you’re not fishing for information, Crito. I don’t want to have to stop liking you… who then would i met every so often in the Meadow?” She chuckles, for their meetings were indeed rather fortuitous. And it’s true. Lagertha didn’t want to have to stop counting him amongst her friendly faces. Bu she would if she had to.
Her eyes search his face for some sort of flicker, a tell that would indicate whether or not he was lying. She can read body language fairly well, but as words weren’t her forte, she could miss something. She isn't just some dumb warrior lady.
He understands the need to count on oneself above all.
He’s been a hermit living on the edge of the world. He’s been a loner shunning the advances of both conversation and friendship put forth by others. But while the concentric circle of his life had contained only himself for quite a lengthy stretch of time, it had never been for a lack of trust. Unlike Lagertha, it seems. Cultivating relationships is all fine and good, but if you can’t trust others wholly and completely at the end of the day, how much leverage do you really have? At some point, Crito believes you have to place more than a kernel of belief in another’s hands to really advance. You have to let go and trust the process completely, heart and soul.
Maybe the steel lady isn’t ready for that kind of commitment. Hell, Crito himself hadn’t been ready until long after the prime of his life, once the grey started creeping further and further along his body. Then and only then had he realized how stagnant he’d been. He’d had to change (well he didn’t have to, but he wanted to, and that was an important difference). He’d had to adapt and compromise his enduring grudges. It had seemed difficult, even impossible at the time, but he had done it. And now, he is an aged man with some promise in his future.
Before, there had been only a lonely mountain cave waiting for his old bones to turn to dust.
“Siblings teach us more about ourselves than anything else.” He says, referencing Lagertha’s comment on her family. “Mostly, they teach us what not to do.” A toothy grin stretches across his mouth. Her brothers sounded as difficult as Scorch had been as a youngster (and as a teenager, and as an adult…). The grey woman’s timeline was wonky, though. Unless her dam had borne her at a very advanced age – or on her deathbed, even - it seemed too much time between. Not that he knows anything about such womanly matters. He doesn’t want to pry, but his curiosity gets the better of him. “Decades?”
Her gaze turns critical then, reading into his commentary on her own ambitions. Perhaps he’s been digging a little too deeply on his quest for information; perhaps she is aware more than she’s letting on. “I am a diplomat. Sometimes my work life carries over into my personal life.” Crito smiles coyly, because it is a game as much as it is life. Why shouldn’t their meetings be enjoyable and fruitful at the same time? He concedes that it might have come on a little strong, however. “Feel free to intimidate me with your own warrior skills if the need arises.” He mock winces, just in case she decides to take him up on his offer. Although really, he might rather enjoy it.
