Valkyrie Profile and all characters are the property of Square-Enix. All rights reserved.
This is…somewhat of a sequel to the end of Silmeria. So spoilers abound. Big honking spoilers. For the alternate ending, at that.
Lezard Valeth
And the Rod of Throbbing Power
The transition from archer to All-Father wasn't nearly as smooth as Rufus had hoped.
He hadn't entered Asgard proper for more than five minutes before a crowd of quite angry Gods were already on him. If they weren't brandishing weapons, they were brandishing questions.
"Where is Odin?"
"Why do you carry Gungnir?"
"Has the crisis been resolved?"
And so on and so forth. Years living by his wits had taught the green-haired half-elf how to react to situations, and bluffing was one of the skills he had managed to develop quite well.
The story, he told, was that Lord Odin had held back the power of the Mad Necromancer Lezard Valeth, and had stayed, sacrificing his life to destroy the second World Tree. His last act, Rufus lied, was to give him, Odin's own special repository, Gungnir and the throne of Asgard.
By and large, they bought it. The only one he could tell had doubts on it was Freya, but she had spent enough time with Odin to know what a dick he was, and he'd as soon see all of Creation burn before putting his position in jeopardy.
It has been…a long time since then. A few years, but time moves differently in Asgard. Despite now being All-Father, he hasn't changed his appearance, and is comfortable enough to not need to carry around Gungnir all the time, letting the double-lance rest in the dimensional pocket his predecessor (father?) would use.
Sitting on the throne, the beaded bang hanging over his eyes, All-Father Rufus listens to a petition from the God of War, Tyr. Who, he notices, has one hand, which makes him want to comment that he's not that good at being the God of War.
It's like whoever decided on what the Aesir would be decided that testosterone would be a good substitute for common sense.
Floating next to his throne, Freya smirks, faintly. In confidence, she would tell him that his tenure as All-Father has been more entertaining than Odin's. He still isn't sure whether or not that was a jab, though.
Tyr, the God of War, wants to resume hostilities with the Vanir, or in particular Lord Surt. Next to him, dwarfing the warrior-God yet wearing far less clothing, Thor, God of Thunder and son of Odin rubs the bridge of his nose.
It is the fact that Freya has great patience that Tyr does not get flash-fried for suggesting 'Wiping out those Vanir scum once and for all!'
"Okay, we're done here," Rufus says.
"Lord Rufus," Tyr asks, standing ramrod straight, "Shall we wage war, then?"
"Um…no," Rufus responds, "Here's a better idea. Are we currently at war against the Vanir?"
"No," Freya says, before Tyr or Thor can respond.
"Great. I don't want to be at War with the Vanir, either. Freya, compared to you, about how powerful is the average Vanir?"
"I am more powerful than the average," Freya responds, "But by and large, the Vanir out-power the Aesir."
"And that's my reasoning right there," Rufus says, "So no. Go skirmish against Niffleheim or focus on Jotun raids. Poking Vanaheim with a stick is not on my list of priorities. Okay?"
Tyr looks down, clenching his remaining hand.
"As you command, All-Father."
He marches out, as Thor bows.
"I accede to your wisdom," the Thunderer says, "Although, it may not be wise to allow Lord Surt to have the first blow."
"I'll remember that," Rufus sighs.
Thor walks out, chuckling to himself. It brings up the question in Rufus' mind on whether or not he's related to Odin's many children, bastards or no. Technically, then, he's being picked on by his older brother.
"Freya, why are we hostile with the Vanir," he asks.
She turns to him, still floating, crossing her legs as she 'sits' on absolutely nothing at all.
Best view in Asgard, he thinks to himself.
She frowns at him.
Right, telepathy. Sorry.
"Our hostilities with Vanaheim stem from incidents between our respective rulers," she says, adopted that cultured accent she wears when lecturing him, "In essence, it is bad blood and past incidents between Lord Odin and Lord Surt."
"You don't say. So Surt's ticked off at Odin-like just about everyone else outside of Asgard-and it's led to war?"
"More or less," she continues, "The last major war between Asgard and Vanaheim ended with a parlay between Odin and Surt. Citizens were exchanged. I and Frei became citizens of Asgard, and Lord Mimir, one of Odin's advisors, ended up in Vanaheim."
"I see…"
"Lord Surt believed himself tricked, and beheaded Mimir."
"…ah."
"Hence continuing hostilities."
"Right…well, that solves that."
Slapping his knees, Rufus stands, skipping down the stairs of his raised throne and summoning with a snap of his fingers his cloak.
"And where are you going," Freya asks.
"Vanaheim. I'm going to chat with Surt and figure this whole thing out. I figure, we're both mature god-like beings, so we can hammer out an agreement we can both work with."
"I see…are you sure that is wise?"
"C'mon," Rufus says, waving dismissively, "Midgard's at peace, the Jotuns are quiet, Hel's not bothering anyone. What crisis could possibly come up in the time it takes me to go to Vanaheim and back?"
A small village outside of Weeping Meadow valley.
The boy pushes his glasses up his nose, sitting on his favorite rock as he reads carefully through the book of stories, anecdotes, and formulae, as the other children run past him in their hurry to get to their games.
"Lezard!"
He sighs, pulling the stick out from behind his ear and placing it between the pages.
"Lezard Valeth! Come inside and do your chores!"
He closes the book, hopping off the rock and turning to his house, where his mother stands, cradling his silver-haired infant sister.
"Coming, mother," he announces, walking inside.
And at the edge of the village, the black haired young man in cloak and headband grins.
"This has promise," Loki says.
And disappears.