[ originally when the plague had taken her the first time, athelstan had been there to whisper one of his christian prayers over the body of her daughter. it hadn't offended her in the least. she is aware that other lands have different forms of belief. robin is free to pray or say whatever he likes. after all they have just been through, she'd give him that allowance, which only athelstan has ever otherwise had.
for a while, she lets herself do what she hadn't been able to do not so long ago: just sit here, smoothing her fingers through her daughter's hair, drawing the pad of a thumb gently across her pale cheek. there is a void in her which no one else will ever occupy. slowly, she leans forward and presses a kiss to a brow now gone cold and still, while her companion exerts an incredible sense of gentleness in the way he smooths the child's hair back. ]
I shall send you back to the Gods, Gyda. Watch over your little brother for me, until I might see you both again.
[ there are no tears left to cry, though the yawning abyss which has become her heart has numbed her so much that she could not even if she wished it. all she can do is give another look a silent, pained gratitude to her companion and set about building another funeral pyre. so soon after the last. she works with aggrieved purpose, taking her axe to the very homestead she'd helped ragnar build, which was, she can now remember, lost to a fire so long ago.
as the house comes apart, she stacks the wood high, to ensure that the pillar of smoke and thus her daughter's soul will reach her gods on a more permanent basis this time. all the while, she entrusts robin to stay with her daughter's body, a silent show of a deep trust this experience has created in her. she is grateful for his presence. were she alone, this loss would drive her mad.
when the pyre is done and she has made a crown of wildflowers to place upon the child's head, she gently lifts the body, pausing long enough to nod to her companion. yes, he could join her in saying goodbye. the last thing she wished in this world was to be alone. gyda's body is placed upon the pyre, but this time she does not light it herself. instead, as she can finally feel tears rise in her eyes again, she hands the torch to the man at her side, so that he might. her throat is so knotted and dry that she can't even speak. but her intent is clear. ]
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for a while, she lets herself do what she hadn't been able to do not so long ago: just sit here, smoothing her fingers through her daughter's hair, drawing the pad of a thumb gently across her pale cheek. there is a void in her which no one else will ever occupy. slowly, she leans forward and presses a kiss to a brow now gone cold and still, while her companion exerts an incredible sense of gentleness in the way he smooths the child's hair back. ]
I shall send you back to the Gods, Gyda. Watch over your little brother for me, until I might see you both again.
[ there are no tears left to cry, though the yawning abyss which has become her heart has numbed her so much that she could not even if she wished it. all she can do is give another look a silent, pained gratitude to her companion and set about building another funeral pyre. so soon after the last. she works with aggrieved purpose, taking her axe to the very homestead she'd helped ragnar build, which was, she can now remember, lost to a fire so long ago.
as the house comes apart, she stacks the wood high, to ensure that the pillar of smoke and thus her daughter's soul will reach her gods on a more permanent basis this time. all the while, she entrusts robin to stay with her daughter's body, a silent show of a deep trust this experience has created in her. she is grateful for his presence. were she alone, this loss would drive her mad.
when the pyre is done and she has made a crown of wildflowers to place upon the child's head, she gently lifts the body, pausing long enough to nod to her companion. yes, he could join her in saying goodbye. the last thing she wished in this world was to be alone. gyda's body is placed upon the pyre, but this time she does not light it herself. instead, as she can finally feel tears rise in her eyes again, she hands the torch to the man at her side, so that he might. her throat is so knotted and dry that she can't even speak. but her intent is clear. ]