It smelled of poultry and fine whine, with wood ages by war and mead spilled into its cracks and the pints of ale drummed against the tarnished tables. Pillars to hold the room shook with the thunderous roar of warriors. Pipers and flutes and guitars attuned throughout the room that grew with the fury of victory. Thrudâs smile only grew, one would seem as devious as the devil, yet it was only coursing with haughty pride of her first battle to lead by her own had and upon her own steed.
It was true, sheâd lost those she had trained to wield a shield and an Ulfberht in hand. A few struck by the obedience of a different hand and were blessed with the change in their fight and a tear of rage shed by their Lady, but nevertheless did they succeed and in their celebration they had mourned those who were lost.
The Goddess watched with familiar blues; the men dripping with mead along down their tangled beards red as the sunset along twilight stars above the heaven. Women boasted about for the loot from a manâs sweet or rough touch. With herself resting lazily across on the prized throne of her Grandfatherâs where one leg slouched over an arm and her back rested against the other. Hand gripped with the savoring of bitter ale tasted with the sweetness of burnt amber and the tint of a barrelâs edge. It was aged in a cellar and birthed on her tongue. Relishing in her name being spread throughout Iceland and the Northernâs. Yggdrasil giving mortals a new tale to tell of a thunder Godâs daughter- she had made new of what couldnât be done.
A goddess with both impenetrable strength and a furious storm. Oh the stories they would tell their children about at night of Thrud...the daughter of the skies. A rumble beneath the golden stone beneath her bosom told her someone approached rapidly, but in content, she did not move, until the doors swung open with her Uncle on foot, dressed in the finest, his staff held high as protector of the Bifrost: Heimdall. Her legs swung over to stand with force of her sore muscles wretched from drunkenness and battle.
âIt is madness and unnecessary for what you have done, my niece!â Such a grown he gave beneath his strong voice, determined, and with experience over a millennia, but she was young and in her youth, she didnât dare listen to the wisdom of another.
âIs it madness, my dear Uncle? Tâ was it unnecessary to protect more than my kingdom, but my family- my B L O O D!â She gestured towards her heart. âMy, Uncle, youâve grown so little in your age, you have forgotten the threat that can make you turn a heart so cold. We are made to be wrathful, are we not? They speak tales of the millions we have slaughtered, aye? I have come home with victory in hands- should anyone not be proud of my attainment!?â The room had grown silent with uneasiness towards her easy temper echoing off the throne room out of fear if they opened their mouths, they would see the worse of it.
âA victory due to your own provoking! They would have left us be if not for your foolishness, I am well aware of my age and of your stupidity.â She heard the shock filter through her veins, taken aback by her Uncleâs words- she had fought the land of the dead and sent them into oblivious with no threat of a serpent to snap its jaws at her fair skin. With steps inching a menacing silence as she slid down the stairs, making her way towards Heimdall, her eyes burned and rage coiled into a sharp breath. Her boots slid on the solid gold before they had been simply inches away from hers. Blonde strands held high, a grimace playing on her delicate features, disgusted by the troth her Uncle spoke.
âYou. Are. Beneath me. Uncle. I will become no Queen, no princess of Afiâs, nor Ăkiâs to take a throne to show my heritage- my blood. I will become a Queen by my own clan, by my own raid, with the courage to show I can win. I have more power than you, Uncle, more power than my own. I will become Queen by worthiness.â Thrud had moved herself away, tossing her pint to the side and let it spill across the floor and once more slouched onto her Grandfatherâs throne, her eyes clear she would hear no more.
theartofmadeline
ellievsbear
baratheonpilled
discoholicmusic
prguitarman
