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Farther down the Stronghold's slope was Burzum's charge, the lioness he had been made to protect since he was caught sneaking through the pride and wreaking havoc several seasons ago. Njal had not wanted to be seen killing a cub, as Burz had been them, and so he had made Burz into a thrall and made him responsible for his daughter's safety. Burz had hated him for the humiliation it brought him, and hated the lioness he guarded. Nevertheless, he had never allowed any harm to befall her, because he had vowed that he would not.

She had, however, ordered him to give her some space, which meant that he kept his vigil from a distance while she had what she thought was a secret tryst with some lion Burz didn't care enough about to learn his name. As long as the stupid lion kept his paws off of her, Burz wouldn't interfere. Unless it looked like more fun to interfere than stay back, of course.

He wasn't anyone's thrall specifically. Calder was just a thrall that floated from one person who needed something from him to the next. He'd do it with a curse or a hiss, but ultimately, it was better being a thrall than it was being dead.

'You could have ran', his mind supplied for him, causing a growl to creep up into his throat. Yes. He could have, but he hadn't. This pride was everything the knew, basically, and he didn't want to give it up. Besides, there was still the chance that his family would once again rise to power and he'd be a free lion. Until that day came, he'd be a pissy thrall like most of his family who chose to came back and enslaved.

Calder was just stalking around now, because he had no orders, nothing to do other than report back to some white maned lion he didn't know existed until recently. Stupid b*****d didn't give him any orders, ever, making the orange lion feel even more stupid and useless than he'd felt. Sighing heavily, his head hung as he walked, kicking at some rocks in the process.

"From you? I would not expect anything." After all, Calder had simply given himself up at Njal's proclamation. Burz doubted the older lion had even given a moment's thought to sabotaging Njal's rule, and if he had, he certainly hadn't acted on it. "I was merely greeting my father's brother, as one might expect relatives to do when they have not met in a long while."

It occurred to him that there was probably a reason that he and his uncle so rarely crossed paths. He was tasked with following the warlord's daughter, and whither she went, he was bound to go, so it was probably Calder's movements which were being curtailed. That was an interesting thing to consider. Would Njal trouble himself with that? Perhaps it was merely coincidence. But Burzum had spent much time with his uncle Odd, and from him he had learned that there was no such thing as coincidence.

"How fortunate we have so little to say to one another, or else someone who saw us conversing might accuse us of plotting." These words came with another sneer, this time not directed at Calder, but at the pride in general.

Plotting against the current warlord and his family had crossed his mind, oh yes. But he was only one lion and couldn't do very much about it. He looked unamused at his nephew and just rolled his shoulders a little. “I don't care what they think, honestly. If I were talking of plotting with you, it would not be here, nor this time.” He didn't sound as bored now and a little smirk curled on Calder's muzzle. “Though I'll admit it's crossed my mind more than a few times, especially when I'm cleaning a kill for someone else to eat first, and then get the scraps after.”


The grin was gone and he just wrinkled his nose in distaste. Everything annoyed the orange and blond male now. It hadn't occurred to him that his nephews and nieces were big now and they could help him brew a plot to try to get the pride back in order. At least, the order he was pleased with. “Tell me, nephew, how is your father doing? I haven't spoken to anyone in a while.”

Burzum's opinions on mating as a thrall, were someone to ask him about them, were much like his uncle's but this was not the conversation to give voice to them, as nobody had brought the subject up. The fact that the warlord's daughter had grown up had not absolved him of his duty to guard her. He wondered if he would be stuck with this task even after she found herself a mate.

"For me, perhaps," Burz allowed before continuing with his characteristic arrogance, "But since I have given my oath to protect her, anyone else would have a hard time of it."

Not watching Calder but for the peripherals of his vision, Burz was only aware that his uncle had moved, not how, exactly. He doubted he would be forced to deal with an attack from that quarter. He ground his teeth at the statement calling his father and other family members weak, but limited his speech to five words: "It was only a thought."

“Then think before you speak,” was the very condescending words and tone he used. However, he gave another grin and a bit of a chuckle because he saw the gritting of the teeth and figured out he'd hit a sore spot with his nephew. “Vikings shouldn't run. Take whatever comes because it's always a good day to die, isn't it?” His tone may have been jovial, but the words were weighted. Meaning Calder would rather die than run and hide any longer. That's why he'd chosen to come back to the pride. That and you didn't abandon a pride, even if they'd turned on you.

At least they kept them around and hadn't killed them right off. “A death in the winter would be rather fitting for our bloodline, seeing how a lot of members have turned cold towards us.” Callous. He was very callous and he didn't honestly care. He'd changed from the cub who had been obsessed with his father's approval, wanting to get as far as he could because his father would look at him favorably. He was a bitter old lion despite not actually being that old.

As for attacking the princess, no. He wasn't going to do that. There was no pride in it for him, and that would further hurt his family. Besides, he had a feeling his beloved nephew would fight him to the death over it.