DISCLAIMER THE FIRST: It is by JKR's writing alone I set my mind in motion. It is by the grace of coffee that thoughts acquire speed, the back acquires strains, the strains become a warning. The warning is that I make no money from this. It is by JKR's writing alone I set my mind in motion.
PITHY STATEMENT RELATING TO THIS CHAPTER: "What the caterpillar calls the end of the world the master calls a butterfly." Richard Bach – American writer (1937-)
LAST UPDATED: 02-09-2015
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TRIGGER WARNINGS: This fic will explore the nature of gender and what does it mean to be male, female or both. If this makes you uncomfortable or your general squick level is low: LEAVE NOW! (This fic will sort of be a test-run for some ideas I have for my own original work) For those who do not heed this, I will have no trouble mocking you when you complain before I delete your reviews. Again, if you're one of those readers who identifies way to much with the POV character, this fic is probably not for you.
STORY NOTES THE FIRST: This fic replaces (for good) my previous fic of Harry Potter and the Order of the Stag. Consider that fic dead and available only for historical reference on my Yahoo group
STORY NOTES THE SECOND: I realize a lot of you may be confused if you aren't up on your Norse theology. I will try to have a lot of info in my author's notes. However, there is a thing called Wikipedia and the like if you get confused about terms like the Nine Worlds or terms like Yggsdrasil. Or that the Ǽsir are the people of Asgard just as the Vanir are the people of Vanaheim.
STORY NOTES THE THIRD: While it may seem confusing, Loptur and Loki are the same being: The Trickster is a very gender unspecific being. Norse deities had many names and in the Trickster's case, over time when seen as male, he was referred to as Loptur (see author's notes below) and Loki when female. Also in this stories, what humans think of being such as the Ǽsir or the Vanir and what happened in the other Nine Realms and what actually happened are very different. So just because it's in the Eddas one way doesn't mean I'm writing like that's how it actually happened. For example, Ragnarok is known as an event when in "reality" it is a location. Again see A/N's for more info.
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CHAPTER ONE – ON THE FIELDS OF RAGNOROK
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BEYOND SPACE – BEYOND TIME
Mímir looked down into the scrying pool and sighed. He was able to do this because for the time he had manifested in a form capable of doing so. As time was measured to a cosmic being, he had been doing so more often. So much so that he had began to associated his nature as being masculine even though that concept really had no meaning to an entity like him.
There was something about being embodied which pleased him. Perhaps it was all the ways one could communicate with a mere sound or gesture. The soft sigh of exasperation was enough to speak his mind for him.
The other entity chuckled in response. Like himself, Völva was embodied in a similar form. While he could easily be passed for an aged sage, Völva could easily be mistaken for a crone.
Mímir frowned, "You find this funny?" He gestured to the images in the pool. Two vast hosts drawn from all around the Nine Worlds were fighting on the Fields of Ragnarok in Asgard.
Völva shook her head, "No. I only find it amusing how predictable you are. I know what you're thinking. This battle represents waste, lost opportunities and is another example of how untidy the universe is.
Mímir's frown turned to a scowl, "I am well aware of the need for Chaos. Unlike our brother Surtur, I understand the need for balance. What irritates me is this battle will have long lasting repercussions and Surtur will use it to once again cast down the way of things so as to return all to the primal Chaos. Why is it so difficult for him to accept the duality of existence and realize he will always be countered by our sister Ymir?"
Völva shrugged, "It may just be his nature. He is the embodiment of Chaos after all."
Mímir waved his hand dismissively, "Yes, yes but you don't see Ymir trying to bring everything in existence into perfect Order. Besides, it vexes me that our brother seems to think the rest of us are either stupid or blind to his machinations. Even if Bestla and I somehow missed the signs, I cannot calculate how he could ever get by you."
Völva smiled. A smile tinted with dark amusement, "Just so. I already have plans in motion. The Tapestry of Life has gotten rather muddled of late due to Surtur's constant prodding. This battle will at least lead to events that will hopefully bring things back into balance…at least for a while."
Mímir harrumphed at this. "If you can get the Ephemerals to cooperate. Mortals rarely act in the way you expect. Something I'm sure you are well aware of."
Völva chuckled again, "Oh my brother, you just have to know what carrots to offer and which sticks to use."
Both beings turned back to the pool and watched as the two armies fought. While both sides thought they knew what cause they were fighting for, in reality it was just another battle between Order and Chaos.
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THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC, LONDON, UK – JUNE 4th 1996 – EVENING
Harry's breath was ragged as he pushed himself racing after Bellatrix LeStrange. He paid little heed to the fact the chase had lead them out of the Department of Mysteries and back into the Ministry proper. His mind seethed with only one thought: revenge!
Bellatrix herself seemed to be unconcerned that he was intent on killing her in the most painful way he could think of. She seemed to alternate between singing some ditty to occasionally firing spells back at him which he easily dodged. Harry did not even hear what she would call back over her shoulder in her faux-baby talk. He did not care what she said; all that mattered is what she had done.
"Crucio!"
Bellatrix let out shriek as the spell hit her dead in the back. Unfortunately for Harry, the shock of his spell caused her to fall out of his sight down some steps. He quickly brought himself up short as he didn't want to run right into a spell as he rounded the corner.
"Hastae Gelus!"
Harry ducked as an ice spear smashed into the wall behind him. He quickly banished the shards back from where the spell had come from. He was rewarded to hear a surprised cry of pain followed by retreating steps. "No," Harry thought, "there is no escape for you here."
He leapt around the corner and dodged back and forth before breaking into a run again. In moments his running feet had brought him to the Floo chamber Arthur had used to take him back to the Burrow after his hearing. Bellatrix surprisingly had not used one to escape. She was farther down in the main atrium in front of the Fountain of the Brethren.
She turned to face him with a demented smile, "Well Potty, this was some great play time but it's getting late. Time for Auntie Bell to put you down for a well deserved dirt nap! I do appreciate the love tap earlier but it's nothing compared to what my Dread Lord gives me when I've been a bad girl. You need to truly hate your target. Righteous anger isn't enough you silly, silly boy!"
While her voice was a mocking sing-song girly voice, her eyes held no innocence. The blue depths only held madness. Her wand was already up and twitching as if it was a dog eager to attack.
Harry felt a chill about him, a sense of detachment as his entire world shrank to encompass only Bellatrix. His own holly wand was out and he felt like the magic in it was practically begging to be unleashed. Yet for all his previous heat and thirst for revenge, now Harry felt as a cold and hard as the snow-topped peaks around Hogwarts. His entire being was focused on Bellatrix, his green eyes locked with hers. Blue eyes so similar to Sirius's eyes which Bellatrix had closed forever.
A quick look of surprise flitted across her face to rapidly be replaced by anger. Just like the other Death Eaters had at the graveyard, she seemed surprised he was holding his ground. Just like earlier in the Prophecy chamber, Harry noted how Death Eaters relied so much on their opponents being too terrified to defend themselves.
With a sneer, Bellatrix and her wand began to move. Harry didn't even hear what spell she was beginning to cast as he leapt into action. Harry knew he was lucky that Bellatrix was still weak from her time in Azkaban and thus had to verbalize her spells and still had a bit of a twitch to her hands. He intended to capitalize fully on his these flaws.
Diving to the right, he cast a cutting spell followed by some simple conjurations of glass pellets which he quickly banished towards her. Bellatrix's own sickly yellow spell had gone wide.
Harry's speed obviously had caught the older witch by surprise as she was unable to dodge quickly enough to avoid a gash on her left arm from Harry's cutter. The pellets missed but Harry had expected that. It didn't matter; he had plans for them.
Harry continued to dodge and weave as he continued to fire combinations of bludgeoners, cutters and the occasional stunner. As much as he would have like to ramp up the spells, he noticed Bellatrix preferred to stay stationary to cast the more complex spells. From Harry's D.A. experience, he knew this was ultimately foolish as a quick, easy spell could win a duel against a target who gave up the initiative.
Bellatrix quickly proved this by losing her temper and casting the Killing Curse. While the ultimate lethal spell, it took a bit to cast as it had to be verbalized. Seeing his opportunity, Harry summoned a flock of grey wagtails which chirped madly before the green death snuffed them out while he wandlessly summoned the glass pellets he had managed to maneuver Bellatrix in front of.
Summoning was one of the few things Harry could do wandlessly. After casting a lumos during the Dementor attack even though his wand was inches from his hand, Harry had tried his hand at wandless casting. Professor Flitwick had been happy to answer his questions and throughout the year Harry had learned to reliably summon objects. Harry credited Hermione's initial intensive burst of tutoring in 4th Year prior to the Fist Task for much of his summoning skill.
In this case since the pellets had been created from his own magic, it made summoning them that much easier. In addition, Harry purposely overpowered the spell. This caused the glass pellets to shatter as they smashed into Bellatrix's back. She fell to her knees with a keening shriek as the back of her robes with shredded with glass shrapnel.
An almost casual movement of his wand caused Bellatrix's wand to jump into his left hand. Harry quickly closed the distance between them as Bellatrix groaned and fell forward and began to bleed heavily onto the atrium floor.
"Well Trixie, it looks like you are the one in need of some nap time." Harry said mockingly. Bellatrix managed to look up and meet his gaze. His eyes hardened as his wand drew a bead between her eyes. "My only regret is Neville isn't here to watch you pay for your crimes. Before today I would have let him take revenge for his parents. Today? Today you are mine!"
Bellatrix's eyes went wide as she looked up at into his fiery green eyes, eyes the color of the death curse itself. It was clear that even through her madness she recognized her own death was at hand.
Before he can begin a spell, his scar was a sudden blaze of pain. Biting back a scream, Harry leapt away from Bellatrix as a spell smashed into the stone floor where he had been only seconds before. As he rolled towards the dubious safety of one of the support columns, Harry saw what he dreaded to see.
Voldemort.
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THE FIELDS OF RAGNOROK, ASGARD – A LONG TIME AGO IN A REALM FAR, FAR AWAY
Freya was almost tempted to smile as she saw Hildisvini jump at her twin brother like a dog. Seeing such a large boar act like a happy puppy should have made her happy but the day held little room for such innocent feelings. That her brother Frey had a mere quirk of the lips at the antics of her battle boar showed he too felt the weight of the fight they had won on his shoulders. Nothing worse than a battle lost than a battle bitterly won.
Frey's whole countenance showed this. His usual carefree air of nature running wild and free was muted. His demeanor matched that of the state of his gear. The resplendent armor, fashioned to mimic the sturdiness of the oak and the strength of the forest bear, was battered, broken in places and covered in the blood of many fallen foes. Of course while she herself had only joined in battle briefly during the fight, Freya's own armor was similarly damaged.
"It pleases me that this little piglet survived. And your cats as well," Frey said as he ran his hands along Hildisvini's back, scratching his dense, wiry fur. As a God of the wilds, it seemed natural that he would speak first of animals and not the loss of so many of what had started out as a vast host of warriors from all over the Nine Realms.
Freya did not reply immediately. She gave the reins to Göndul, her Valkyrie battle companion who was skilled more with a wand than with a spear before dismounting. She went to the head of her chariot and scratched both the giant lynxes behind their ears. She closed her eyes as both began to purr with a sound like that of a mighty flowing river filled with ice flows.
Freya wished for nothing more than to be back in her palace of Sessrumnir, curled up with them before a roaring fire, lulled to sleep by their contented rumblings. Her duties of Queen weighed heavily upon her and she knew it would be a long time before she could take off her crown and cast off her duties and truly rest.
Freya opened her eyes and looked around at the surrounding activities. Her brother seemed to have everything in hand. As lusty and often mischievously capricious as his moods were, on the battlefield Frey was as efficient as he was deadly. Thankfully this extended to the after battle duties as well.
"Everything seems in order here, my brother. You have my thanks," Freya said as she walked up to him and laid her hands upon his shoulders.
Frey bowed his head so that their foreheads touched, "For you my sister, my twin, my Queen, anything." He broke away from her and ran a bandaged hand through his wild hair, "Of course duty and all but the Fallen deserve no less. Rán's tears! So many dead, so many sent to Helheim before their time. Your Valkyries will be hard put to find all those who have earned Valhalla among such a slaughter as this."
"Yes, the All-Father's shade has much to answer for," Freya said as she watched one of Frey's generals direct where the bodies of the fallen were to be taken. She also noted her brother was correct as she could see that many of her Valkyrie had return to their normal task of shepherding the dead. The battlefield was thick with shades who had not registered yet that they were dead. Indeed some parts of the battlefield still rang out with the clash of arms as the dead continued to fight on, not realizing they had shed their bodies in death.
"What now, my Queen? It's not like we can all go back home and feast and drink like days gone by. The Nine Realms are in disarray; I can feel it. The woods whisper fearfully, the lark and the rabbit worry for the future and even the bear and wolverine are filled with fear. Only the ravens seem unaffected and why not? They have a glut of the dead to feast on," Frey said with rare disquiet.
"Finish up here my dear brother. Treat this as we would any other battle. Honor our fallen. Bind up our wounds and send the grievously hurt to the healer halls. Mete out justice to those who fought dishonorably. Watch our prisoners and clear the field. Then yes, my brother, take our host back and feast. Celebrate we are alive and toast all who did not return. It best we keep to our traditions while we can. The forest, plains and hills are right to feel worried. Odin challenged the very way of things and now there is chaos," Freya said with the soft commanding tone she used when giving orders to other Gods.
Frey nodded, "Aye, Surtur must be pleased this day even if his traditionally aligned allies were the ones to fall the hardest. Who knows how long it will be before Ymir can work her way and bring back Order back to the Nine Realms? One can almost feel grateful that the Bifrost is broken otherwise even far-seeing Heimdall would have trouble knowing what could be seeping from one realm into another!"
Freya scowled, "I shall leave Surtur and Ymir to keeping the balance between Chaos and Order. I have a kingdom to rule and now, I fear, that needs must that I rule over the Ǽsir as well. Dark days ahead, my brother. Dark days indeed."
Frey shrugged, "Perhaps. Yet always remember my Queen that the ugliness of the forest fire brings forth new life in new ways. I do not envy you your task but know this, my sister. The All-Father has brought us low but now you have the chance to put it right. You know my mind. I would have had you ruling the Ǽsir back when we broke them after they foolishly made war upon us. Now they are hobbled again; now they have been brought low by their arrogance. Now perhaps, those pride-filled children will grow up and finally accept their place as but one of the Nine Realm's people and not the center the rest of us supposedly revolved around."
Before Freya could reply, horns began to sound. Frey shook his head, "Ah prisoners coming." He bowed correctly (if with a bit of a mocking air) to Freya, "My sister, my twin, my Queen; my duty calls."
"Fare thee well, my brother, my twin, Lord of the Wilds. See this out as I go to sort out our future," Freya said before kissing her brother's cheek. The two stared into each other's eyes for a moment before turning away to their tasks.
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Freya did not know if the small rising had a name but it had been from this slight elevated spot that she had spent much of the battle directing her host. From here she had made forays to support her troops, to bolster their morale or help push a break in the enemy lines. Sometimes she had entered the fray with sword and spear and other times she aided her battle witches using the potent feminine seiᵭr magicks which even the magically powerful Odin had coveted.
Yet always she had returned to the rise for it was here her Völvan seers cast their Sight about. Named after Völva, the Goddess of Magic and Fate herself, their gaze brought forth hints of how the battle would go allowing her to direct her generals towards weak spots before they even formed in the enemy lines.
Even now as Freya's chariot made its way up the worn, winding path, she could see clumps of witches still in the throes of a Seeing. Freya had learned long ago that a battle did not stop when the last sword was sheathed. Too many wars had been lost in the subsequent peace.
As she passed, warriors from the remains of the once vast, assembled host raised their arms or weapons in tribute to her. None called out. None gave out the normal boasting and cheers one would expect. Her warriors and allied troops had taken to heart her words to them before the battle had begun. This had not been a battle for honor or glory. It was a task as necessary (and heart-breaking) as putting down a horse with a broken leg. It had been merely something which had to be done regardless of the cost.
So except for the barking of orders, the cries of the wounded and other such noises, the fields of Ragnarok were strangely quiet as if all of Asgard was holding its breath. Freya wondered if this was being felt in her own realm of Vanaheim as well? While the battle had been in Asgard, the combatants had come from all the Nine Realms. Now all of the realms except for Helheim were left with fewer to see the now setting sun. A sun which seemed like a giant blood-red eye glaring down through the smoke of the many fires which still burned throughout the fields of Ragnarok.
A soft word to Göndul directed them to where she had overseen the battle. She could see Heimdall remained in the spot he had spent most of the battle. Her Völvan might see the future but none could see as clearly in the now as far-seeing Heimdall the Sentinel could. She idly wondered what he would do while the Bifrost slowly reformed. He had held his post for so long it was like he had become as part of the firmament like the moon or sun.
As her chariot came to a stop, Freya wearily took off her battered helm. One of her Valkyrie took it before stepping back to join her elite sisters who had been tasked to guard the Vanir queen during the battle. Her two surviving generals looked at their queen for guidance but only saw fatigue and sorrow.
As Freya made her way to confer with her generals, a flutter of wings distracted her. She noted two large ravens, both whose beaks still were spattered with blood land on the cross beam of her battle standard. The glint in their eyes seem to be weighing what to do.
Freya chuckled and stretched out both arms. "Come down and greet your new queen. One such as you two should not be without a master. I shall be a good mistress to you if you give me your loyalty."
Odin's one-time ravens Hugin and Munin paused before finally flying down to land on her arms. Their talons causing sparks to come off her once gleaming armor. The ravens continued to look at the Vanir Queen. One might think they were glaring in anger but Freya knew they were hungry to fly and spy. It was in their natures.
"Yes, my little dark ones, I have a task for you. With so much chaos, even far-seeing Heimdall will find it difficult to see everything. Even with the Bifrost broken as my brother said, things still might drift to where they shouldn't. Fly now and watch the approaches to Midgard. It is there that travelers are most likely to go. The people of Midgard are ill-prepared for another incursion from the likes of the Jötun fleeing our spears."
With a piercing caw, both ravens took flight and where quickly lost from view. Freya watched the skies for a moment before looking over to where her generals stood. Both shook their heads at Freya cocking her head slightly to the side with a rising of an eyebrow. Freya nodded with a small smile. It seemed nothing needed her immediate attention.
So she turned and made her way to where Heimdall stood as still as a figure carved out of stone. As she came up to his side, he didn't look at her or acknowledge his Queen in anyway. Other monarchs might have been upset by this lack of respect but Freya knew Heimdall meant no disrespect. He knew when silence was the best response.
The silence was appreciated and for a long time the Freya just stared out over fields which yesterday had been filled with life. Now it was a carnage pit filled with all manner of dead or the dying. So very few had escaped their fate.
Fate. Freya laughed bitterly at this thought.
"My Queen, what makes you laugh?" Heimdall asked.
There was no reverence or deference in his tone. No sense of disquiet at her laughing at the ghastly scene before them. Just a simple direct question. That was Heimdall's way. It was one of the traits Freya liked most about him.
"I laugh Heimdall at the thought of how bards will surely sing how so many met their fate today. I laugh because of the absurdity of that because today was avoidable. It did not have to be this way. The Norns are content to see that the balance of life swings one way for a time and then back the other. It is the way of things. Trying to change this immutable fact of existence is what brought us here today."
Heimdall made a slight nod at this but said nothing. While direct, Heimdall rarely spoke his own mind. He was, Freya knew, the Sentinel. He was the silent watcher; the one oath-bound to watch and engage only when the boundary he guarded was crossed.
"You should be well aware of what I speak given how you were fated to be slain by Loptur on this battlefield," Freya said with a slight smile.
"Or perhaps by Loki. Changeling or not, the Trickster seemed like brother and sister joined as one. Similar yet different. Indeed I had always felt it would be Loki who would be my bane for I know well the power of a mother's grief. While as Loptur he fathered those such as Fenrir, it always seemed to me that Loki was more a mother to him," Heimdall said in a rare burst of words.
Freya nodded as she turned back to the battlefield. Giant Jötun bodies littered the field but even they were dwarfed by such corpses as Fenrir the Wolf or Jörmungand the World Serpent. While Thor had slain Jörmungand (and apparently been slain in turn although the Thunder God's body had yet to be found) Fenrir had been slain by Heimdall after the giant wolf-son of Loptur had killed Odin. She could understand how Heimdall could see a father/mother's rage at seeing one's children slain could empower the will to kill. Even the All-Father knew to fear such rage.
All-Father! Again Freya laughed. "Oh Odin, Fenrir might have been your ultimate end but your arrogance is what killed you. It is what has brought the Ǽsir down before their time. I warned you so long ago and you did not listen! You gave up your eye to Mímir to gain wisdom and yet you still did not heed me! You saw the signs but you ignore those which you did not agree with and lectured me, me the Queen of the Völvan, on divination! So you plotted, you schemed and you tried to out-fox the Norns. Now Asgard is in ruins, your people are scattered and for what? For your lack of acceptance!"
"Acceptance, my Queen?" Heimdall asked quietly.
Freya laughed again but it was more of the laugh one does else one would cry. "Odin could not accept many basic truths. He began to believe his title of All Father. An arrogant and untrue title to begin with but it made him forget there were other powers, beings much more powerful than he, and they had their own plans. Moreover he could not accept the simple fact that for everything he did, for all the glory of Asgard he built, it would someday fade. He could not accept that basic truth that all things must live and someday die."
Heimdall nodded at this. For millennia this birth to death to rebirth cycle had played out before his watchful eyes.
Freya made an encompassing swipe of her arm to take in the entirety of the battlefield. "This should not have happened today. This is the results of challenging the slow tapestry of life that the Norns weave. We all are part of something larger and to thinking one can challenge that is like the river rebelling that it must flow into the ocean. Odin could not accept one day all his works would be in ruins."
"Or more properly Odin could not accept that such ruin was necessary. Yes, the All-Father never saw how much the caterpillar's life had to end for the butterfly to exist," Heimdall said musingly.
Freya clapped a gauntleted hand onto Heimdall's armored shoulder, "Exactly! The Ǽsir were to full of themselves. Even after our war long ago when it is was they who sued for peace, they continued to be pride filled and headstrong. They challenged the Norns and now it falls to us, the Vanir, to shepherd the remains of the Ǽsir back to the path Odin should have been content with."
Freya turned to her generals and ordered a headcount of the surviving Ǽsir be completed as quickly as possible. She hoped Thor was still alive and only wounded and still to be found on the vast battlefield. As much as Odin had filled his son with the same headstrong pride of the Ǽsir, he still was the son of Jörd, the Avatar of Earth. It saddened her that Frigga had been slain early in the day. She would have been a good Queen to her shattered people. As it stood now, there was only one prince of Asgard known to be alive.
The Trickster Loptur. Or Loki depending on her mood. One never knew with the bastard child of the frost giant Queen Laufey and Hálogi the Avatar of Fire. Who would have thought such a union would produce such a dual being as Loptur or Loki? Was it any wonder the frost giant King Fárbauti had unloaded the child upon Odin as part of a peace treaty from one of their many wars?
Freya ground her teeth in frustration. If only the now dead Jötun king had given her the child all of this might have been avoided! She would not have judged the child unlike the pride filled Ǽsir! The Vanir would have celebrated the Trickster special gifts! She knew one such as Odin would not end up in Helheim but she wished just this once for an exception. Freya felt dark Hel, Loptur's daughter, would help demonstrate into Odin's very undead flesh the pain he inflected with his lack of parental care.
Three princes from three different mothers. Two knew their true parents; one lied to about his parentage which lead to a resentment which grew to rage. A rage which had finally led them all to this battlefield. All of it Odin had done for the supposed Greater Good! Each prince thought they might become the eventual ruler of Asgard. Yet in truth Odin had always favored Baldur with the idea that Thor would be the protector of Midgard. And Loptur? Who knew what lies Odin had fed the changeling or what plans the All-Father had for the mercurial one?
Freya looked out over the battlefield again and scowled. Yet even as he had promised the three princes the throne, Odin in the end had gambled and lost so as to never have to give it up. Now it fell to her to pick up the pieces so the cycle could begin again.
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THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC, LONDON, UK – JUNE 4th 1996 – EVENING
Even though he couldn't see him from behind the pillar, his curse scar gave Harry a very good idea exactly where Voldemort was. Knowing his own meager repertoire wouldn't do versus the Dark Lord, Harry figured his only chance was to distract and delay him. So he banished Bellatrix towards where he was sure Voldemort was and then quickly darted to another column.
The decorative bronze relief over each of the floo entrances gave Harry enough of a reflection to see the hazy image of the Dark Lord catching Bellatrix with a flick of his wand. Another flick and she was tossed her into one of the Floo entrances which flashed into green flames as she disappeared. So much for that being any sort of delay!
Voldemort didn't seem to see the need to come after him as he stood his ground and laughed. It was a hollow, mocking laugh. "Why Harry, how thoughtful of you to return my favorite witch to me! Perhaps you are not as ill-mannered as I thought you to be when we met back at the graveyard,"
Harry watched as Voldemort continued to be content to smile and wait for Harry to make a move. It was obvious the Dark Lord did not feel in any danger. Yet how long had the duel with Bellatrix lasted? Shouldn't others from the Order be arriving any second now? That and where in Merlin's name was the Ministry's security? He needed to draw this out until help could arrive.
"Well, Tom, I must say your idea of hospitality is a bit on the brusque side. Don't expect me to attend any of your tea parties any time soon." Harry tried to keep his voice level and unafraid. He wanted to feed Riddle's ego and hope he could keep him talking and not tossing spells.
"Give me the prophecy Potter and we can all be home for some tea before bed," the Dark Lord mocked in return. "I've wasted enough time on this." Voldemort said with sudden ice in his voice.
The prophecy! It suddenly came roaring back to him what the prophecy had said after it had been smashed. Harry had been close enough to make out what the ghostly Trelawney had said but Sirius' death had shocked him enough to make him forget. It didn't help that the prophecy hadn't predicted some future fight between him and Riddle but that Dumbledore himself wasn't the goodly wizard everyone thought he was. From the prophecy it was apparent he was working at cross-purposes with Harry!
Harry stood and tried to gather his wits. Voldemort seemed to sense Harry's mind was seething and raised his wand. Harry quickly called out, "I don't think you'd believe me if I told you the prophecy was smashed, would you? That and the fact the prophecy I heard before it was destroyed is different from the partial prophecy I know you heard from Snape."
Voldemort's snake-like eyes narrowed. "What lies are these?" he demanded.
Harry stepped out from behind the column, his previous plan to stall forgotten. Harry met Voldemort's angry gaze unafraid. "No lies, the prophecy said that a Champion would stand between two wizards. Seems pretty obvious that that means you and Dumbledore. Yet from this prophecy it seems the Headmaster has been using me for his own ends. It was nothing like the prophecy you heard and I found out about. There was nothing in it that pointed to us having to fight."
The Dark Lord's face was an immobile mask but Harry could tell his mind was whirling at the implications of what he had said. For a moment the two simply stared at each other until the sounds of running feet could finally be heard in the distance.
"I hope you don't mind if I say I'm glad we won't have time to have another duel, Tom," Harry said. "While I still owe you for killing my parents and generally being a murderous bastard, I need to figure out why the supposed Dark Lord I'm was sled to believe I was fated to kill seems secondary to the evil wizard which turns out to be my Headmaster."
"Harry Potter…you are so naïve to think that I need to duel you to get what I need. My faithful servant has already laid open the way. Lectiomens Extimus!" Voldemort cried out as his eyes flashed with magical power.
Harry gave a choked cry as he desperately tried to look away but failed. In front of him, Voldemort's form faded and went transparent even though his eyes continued to burn with power. Yet while Harry could still see him, Voldemort was also there in his mind!
Harry gave out a terrible cry and everything went black.
XxXxX
SURTSHELLIR, MÜSPELHEIM – A LONG TIME AGO IN A REALM FAR, FAR AWAY
Surtur was pleased.
He stood on the tallest tower of his palace and smiled. Of course tallest and standing were relative concepts in Müspelheim given how laws were obeyed more often in the breach. This was to be expected in the realm of chaos. Energy gleamed from the very rocks and clouds of fire floated on fiery winds.
Yet even as Surtshellir slowly shifted and changed under his feet, Surtur kept his gaze upon the ghostly form of Yggsdrasil. Few could see the World Tree, that which connected all things in the Nine Worlds. But Surtur was a primordial being and there was little he could not do.
Except even he was constrained by the way of things. He wasn't the only being of power with plans and schemes. Yet Surtur was content. Chaos was ascendant and thus he could set forces in motion while his sister-foe Ymir worked to bring balance back. Surtur expected this for he knew this was how things were.
Yet Surtur still schemed for the day when he would be victorious. Order came out of Chaos and Surtur knew, he felt it at the very core of his being, that one day Chaos would swallow all again. So while so many of his followers lay dead upon the fields of far off Ragnarok, Surtur was already looking towards the next battle.
Now was the time to send a minion to Midgard. So often seen as the least of the Nine Worlds, Surtur knew it was often that realm which so many plots of the lesser gods played out. Now it was his turn to stir the pot. A whisper of dark knowledge into the right ears and a way to confound death would be born.
Surtur's chuckle sounded like a volcano clearing its throat. Surtshellir was filled with its echo and many minions cringed at the sound. That which Surtur found amusing usually meant ill for others.
A snap of his fingers brought his chosen underling to him. The being bowed low before looking up into his Lord's fiery gaze. His mission blazed into his mind as Surtur made his will manifest. With a nod, the being bowed again before disappearing.
Surtur turned his gaze back to Asgard. He easily found Heimdall with the Vanir Queen. He was sure they were planning on how to deal with the fallout from Odin's folly. Surtur had already given orders for the expected moves Freya likely was planning for with the Sentinel. Ymir would find it difficult to restore the balance but truly all of this had been part of a larger ploy of his.
Heimdall and Freya's Völvan needed to be removed from the board. The Völvan would be difficult given how Völva herself protected them in her own distracted way. Before they could fall, Heimdall's far-seeing gaze needed to be silenced. Prophecy had said the Sentinel
would meet his end via the Trickster. A fate which seemed unlikely now.
Surtur was patience. Time to him was not the slow, linear progression that those of Order were wedded to. His minion would set in motion a challenger to death. This would get Loptur's daughter Hel involved. This would eventually bring the Hálogison into the fray. Setting the battle on Midgard would involve powers who had vowed to protect it. With so many champions dead on the Fields of Ragnarok, who else but Heimdall would the Vanir Queen send?
Surtur hoped he could keep the Trickster alive. Prophecies were difficult to avoid yet easy to misunderstand. Heimdall was supposed to put down Loptur in their battle, but what of Loki? It might be that her male side might fall but she could live on to spread her own unique brand of chaos.
And with the Sentinel dead, the Völvan would have one less protector. Without Heimdall's eyes to see, Surtur's plots would be that much harder to detect. Without the seers, the lesser gods would be easy to maneuver into pathways of Surtur's choosing.
Surtur was patient but even so, the fiery one felt a shiver of anticipation that soon Order would be thrown down and the primordial chaos would reign again throughout all time and space.
XxXxX
A/N: As mentioned above, this is the rewrite of Harry Potter and the Order of the Stag. While I had put it on hiatus, in my heart I knew it was a dead fic. Bad enough it was split off from Rejected Path but that it was always going to be a similar fic. Like a dolphin to Rejected Path's shark. However a very, very pernicious plot device came to me recently and I realized that instead of creating a new fic to use it, I could rejuvenate OotS. As much as I toyed with changing Hogwarts U to match this idea, I like what I've done with Samael in that fic so decided to keep it as it is. Moreover this fic returns me to the first story bunny of mine. (That being HP & The Ruins of Asgard) Plus there were a lot of elements in OotS I was never going to be able to use for Rejected Path so I'm happy I can still use them.
Names: For this fic I will try to be as consistent as I can with the Norse names. While I might be inclined to use more "correct" versions such as Baldr or Loptr, I think the more common version like Baldur are easier to understand. Even so I will use names like Fenrir instead of Fenris because of the consistency with other names.
Norse Canon vs. The Trickster's Gambit: Throughout this story there will be things which contradict certain 'known' elements of Norse theology. The idea is that here on Midgard (as it were) we only got a "telephone game" version of the events which happened elsewhere in the Nine Worlds. As to be expected, the reality is different than the jumbled myths of Earth. Plus it doesn't help that in real life you have things like Marvel Comics mixing up that Laufey was the frost giant queen and not the king. Also dying in battle in this fic is not an instant pass into Valhalla. You have to really go all out heroic to get in.
Magical Beings & Deities Introduced: This fic will reference if not showcase many high order beings. They come in four tiers. The first tier is are primordial beings. Their children, the Jötunn, are similar in a sense to the Greek Titans. These two tiers are rather elemental in that they control very basic components of the universe like chaos, magic, fire for example. Tier Three beings are the beings we see the most often in Norse theology. The various "tribes" such as the Ǽsir (Asgardians), the Vanir, and giants considered "lesser Jötun" with only one n. Tier Four is for magical races which are often similar to Tier Three (usually through intermarriage) but are not on the level Tier Three Beings. Magicals on Earth would be considered Tier Four as would the goblins, dwarves, house elves and other "low elves" (contrasted with the "high" elves of Alfheim) trolls and such. The list below is not all conclusive. I will get around to putting a more complete list onto my Yahoo group one of these days.
Tier One
Mímir: Elemental God of Thought, Knowledge and Wisdom
Völva: Elemental Goddess of Magic and Fate
Surtur: Elemental God of Energy and Chaos
Ymir: Elemental Goddess of Matter and Order. Unlike in 'canon' Ymir is not male being of ice but female.
Bestla: Elemental Goddess of Life and Soul
Tier Two (The Jötunn)
Rán: Avatar of Water
Hálogi/Logi: Avatar of Fire. Father of Loptur/Loki. A metamorph who can be both male (Hálogi) or female (Logi)
Jörᵭ: Avatar of Earth and Thor's mother
Skadi: Avatar of Winter
The Norns: Avatars of Fate. Urd (Maiden), Verdani (Mother) and Skald (Crone) together weave the Wyrd, the tapestry of life. While agents of Völva, they "work" for Surtur and Ymir in trying to keep a balance. Wyrd is not the same as Destiny. Choices which are made freely affect how events play out. One's Wyrd is seen as the factors one is born into and cannot change. While prophecy may takes some elements of free will away, they are points in time which affect the whole greatly.
Tier Three
Freya: Queen of the Vanir, leader of the Valkyries and twin to Frey. Often seen as the Goddess of Sex and Battle. (A Vanir)
Frey: The Norse Green Man, lord of the Wilds. Twin brother of Freya (A Vanir)
Heimdall: The Sentinel; Guardian of the Bifrost (the Rainbow Bridge) He can see throughout the Nine Worlds (A Vanir)
Odin: The All-Father and King of Asgard. Killed at the Battle of Ragnarok (An Ǽsir)
Frigga: Goddess of the Hearth and Home and Baldur's mother. Killed at the Battle of Ragnarok (An Ǽsir)
Fárbauti: King of the Frost Giants. Killed at the Battle of Ragnarok (A Jötun)
Laufey: Queen of the Frost Giants and mother of Loptur/Loki. Killed at the Battle of Ragnarok (A Jötun)
Thor: God of Thunder, Prince of Asgard. Missing after the Battle of Ragnarok (An Ǽsir "plus")
Baldur: God of Light. Prince of Asgard. Killed at the Battle of Ragnarok (An Ǽsir)
Loptur/Loki: The Trickster. A metamorph who fathered and mothered many beings. Born to Hálogi and the Frost Giant Queen Laufey, Loptur was given to Odin as part of a peace treaty and raised thinking he was an Ǽsir and Prince of Asgard. (A Jötun "plus)
Angrboᵭa: Lover of Loptur. Mother of Fenrir, Hel and Jörmungand. A renown sorceress and enchanter. Killed at the Battle of Ragnarok (A Jötun)
Fenrir: Giant Wolf destined to slay Odin. Killed at the Battle of Ragnarok (A Lokiborn)
Jörmungand: The Midgard Serpent and father of many types of serpent-like dragons (the Wyrms) as well as basilisks. Killed at the Battle of Ragnarok (A Lokiborn)
Sleipnir: Eight-legged steed of Odin. Born of Svaᵭilfari, the Lord of Horses and Loki. Killed at the Battle of Ragnarok (A Lokiborn)
Hel: Queen of Helheim, the land of the dead. (Not to be confused with the more primordial Nifleheim) Creator of the Deathly Hallows. (A Lokiborn)
Tier Four
Göndul: Battle-witch companion to Queen Freya (A Valkyrie)
Giants like Gawp: The "lesser Jötun" are seen as Tier Three but the giants that travelled (and subsequently stranded) on Midgard (i.e. Earth) are barely considered Jötun anymore. Jötun use magic and are mostly as intelligent as any of the other races. On Earth, however, so much of their innate magic goes into keep them alive. Cut off from Jötunheim, their culture (and intellect) has suffered. All of this will be explained a bit more in detail later. Often times they are referred to as the Jötnar.