Ira's comment was one that surprised the matriarch, though such did not show. Here at least, they were certainly not equals; this was the northern womans domain, and Hydra would not presume to command those within it while here. Even though someday she sought to rule the whole of one region, she would respect the sanctity of an individuals own territory and those that led it. Hydra listened on, though did rise as asked. Her respect for Ira remained clear in that no challenge was provided, nor did she lift her head tall with pride here. A proud woman Hydra was, but to be arrogant and wear it here was something Hydra thought quite tactless, and she was too well bred for such behavior on lands not her own.
Her head dipped in thanks to the congratulations, but the Empyrean ruler remained quiet otherwise, content to listen. Her state had caused her to feel some lethargy after the journey, and though she appeared both together and composed Hydra still needed to gather her bearings. She was well trained enough where, when focused on her breathing, such was not a difficult task.
As Ira spoke on, Hydra's gaze did not stray to the man alongside her. She would not presume anything of their relationship, and would not be so uncouth as to ask before the man if this was who she hoped her future would be with. Only, “I am sure that you will, and that they will be come to be as mighty as their mother when you do,” she hummed, making no mention of the father only due to the fact that there was none to name or think of then. All imaginings. But Ira was a strong woman, and would be a fit mother given her nature as a protector. She was not soft and weak, no waifish sweet thing that would weep to kill another when necessary. That would keep those children to come alive. And for them to see and know it would make them mighty.
Dirge spoke to what Ira asked, and Hydra tacked on, “once, when there was a plague among our wilds seeking to harm those that were defenseless, you were prepared to fight with me. Should such a thing transpire again, I would hope to call upon you again,” in her low drawl. The same could be asked of Hydra, and Hydra certainly would so long as she were able. Extenuating circumstances aside, such as perhaps Ira being full with children or whelping (which the mother could understand), Hydra hoped she could count upon Ira as a sister at arms once again. And while more than that Hydra hoped there would never be the need, she knew that was the dream of a pretender.
The way of the world was cruel, and monsters were real. She wore their face, she had their eyes. Their very blood drummed a wardrum beat within her. That it still did so was all that she needed to remember as much was true. But Hydra knew who she was, and had long since accepted her brutal nature. Ira had known it, too, and would come to learn it again if she had forgotten that, too; for her family, Hydra would be whatever monster the world that thought to threaten needed to be beaten and bloodied by.
Hydra saw no such beast before her eyes, as her astute gaze surveyed Ira as she awaited her response. What she saw, though, was something that she liked. Cold, calculating logic; good sense. She had that, too; any decent warrior would. And so Ira would understand to some degree that the fangs of Empyrean's Queen were a necessary evil in this world.
It took a monster to kill a monster. The stories that said otherwise, Hydra knew, were filled with lies—and Hydra did not abide by such things. Hydra imagined that even if Ira did not recall all that Hydra was, she too would know the truth of that.
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