Her stallion, Gyllir, had been a gift from Rhaegar almost a century ago. When her lover had presented him to her, Thyri had been overawed. She had never been important enough for a horse before, she had no idea how to ride, and Gyllir's beauty was unrivalled. No Viking, she'd fancied, had ever owned such a horse before. The men of her village owned hardy mounts, but they were little more than ponies. They had none of Gyllir's grace. Rhaegar had snatched him from a less violent, more beautiful age, and in those early years Thyri had entertained herself through the long nights spent in her husband's bed with thoughts of that magical far-off place. The stallion knew his value. He walked with an upright gait, stepping out proudly towards the line of trees. He carried his head low, his neck elegantly curved, his mouth sensitive to every twitch of the bit. Rhaegar had broken him personally, and the horse seemed to know he had been touched by the divine. His long pale mane cascaded down his golden shoulders in waves, shining in the morning sunlight.

Thyri leaned forwards to pat his neck, a hint of genuine warmth creeping through into her smile. For the most part however, she ignored her escort. Surely Rhaegar must have known, must have approved, who they were sending? Why couldn't she had had Eskel? Jorg was off Odin knows where again, he wasn't exactly busy, and he would have been far better company. Wherever he was on earth, Gar was almost certainly laughing at her, chuckling away to himself in self-satisfaction. She would have to punish him later.

It was cool in the shade of the trees, and their horses picked their way easily along the game trail. It wasn't well used, nature had started to reclaim it over the winter months and the herds had yet to return to clear it again. No matter, they had not come to hunt. Ultimately, the silence grew more irritating than the company.
"You have a name, I suppose?" Thyri asked, her accent strong and sharp, "feel like sharing?" She ducked beneath a low branch overhanging the path, and took the opportunity to rest her cheek against Gyllir's mane. He snorted in response to her touch. He really was the most remarkable animal. "I suggest we pick up the pace a little," Thyri purred, "before the four of us die of boredom." It took only the gentlest squeeze to urge Gyllir into a trot and then a steady canter. They moved as one, covering the ground with ease. An old tree had fallen across the path. Thyri smiled, and urged Gyllir on with a word. They cleared it in a bound, landing neatly on the other side, and resumed their pace.

"You look young," Thyri commented when they finally slowed again. "Have you been with the alliance long?" She reserved judgement on the alliance as a whole. She knew Rhaegar had established it but also knew that he now had little to do with it. Standards, inevitably, would have slipped: yet another reason why Eskel, a proper Rhaegaran warrior, would have been preferable.

A man's shout echoed through the trees.

Thyri pulled Gyllir to a stop and frowned through the trees. Birds abandoned their roosts and took to the wing, cawing their protests. Thyri turned to Faeyra and quirked an eyebrow, gesturing into the dark.
"I believe this is where you come in?" she smiled.