VaLkA

mare / six / chestnut pangare / yakut / 13.0 hh

It felt strange to stand before the varied individuals of the Bay, to feel the weight of so many eyes on her. Stopping before Bacardi— in the hollow she’d carved at the herd’s center— the Yakut felt as if she’d been laid bare before them. As if she’d been shorn of her thick auburn coat and left with nothing to cover the jagged edges of herself, the scars and flaws that few ever came close enough to witness. And where the mantle of the skjaldmær’s authority had always suited her as the Bay’s distant guardian, as its ruler the crown that she wore felt ill-fitting. They were not truly hers, this family that had chosen Tinuvel’s cold plain for their home. Valka had always known that, but she'd never seen it with as much clarity as she did now. And watching more than one of them turn their perplexed gaze to her Hersir for guidance, she glimpsed something that had not been visible from afar.

Bacardi might not have sought to claim these creatures, but they were his.

Not all of them; there was still the free-willed Ylva and her Errant. There was still the pale stallion who chose to keep his distance, as Valka herself had often done. But the others...even Kesja, her own daughter— The grullo filly wriggled forcefully between the press of bodies, but it was Bacardi’s side she found first, Bacardi’s skin she pinched between her teeth in greeting. Whatever unnameable thing that had first drawn the bright skjaldmær to her Hersir’s side— that warmth and steadiness and ease that she felt even now— it had not only won her devotion. It had won theirs too, such that the stallion didn’t need to command their loyalty, or even ask for it. It was given freely, earned in the sort of way that Valka doubted she could ever inspire. But the pang of envy or sorrow that such truths might have provoked in another leader was absent.

Instead, Valka felt...relieved. Liberated. The decision she had reached was correct, and absolved her of the responsibilities that had long-tethered her fierce nature. Touching her muzzle to Bacardi’s, she felt at peace— a calm that contrasted with his expression of concern as much as her bright-red coat did against his dark bay. Is something wrong, Skjaldmær? Sucking a breath of frigid air into her lungs, the Yakutian mare hummed a denial low in her throat and held her ground against the urge to press against her Hersir. To curl against his side as Kesja had already done. Instead— tipping her head back gently, just enough to watch his strange golden eyes— she spoke formally, carefully...and remembered the more intimate moments they had shared.

“Hersir,” Valka began, her voice breaking on the syllables despite herself. Revealing just the barest hint of the warmth and regard she felt. “You have proven yourself a faithful protector, a wise counselor, and a capable ruler. I already consider you a partner, but I— I would raise you to be my equal in all things.” The weight of the Bay’s eyes felt heavier now, and the furry chestnut regretted not approaching Bacardi in private. But she needed everyone to know the true significance of her offer. That she wasn’t just asking him; she was choosing him... and choosing them too. Her dark eyes touched Ylva's, Soraya's, everyone's. And then returned to the dark tobiano, brimming with unspoken words.

“Bacardi, I offer you the position of Huskarl. Do you accept?”