It was a moonless night, and the cold wind seeped between the seams of the thick armor you wore, torn and weathered from the battle. The air carried scents of fire and death across the now desolated land.
Corpses upon corpses littered the ground, both friend and foe, which made it hard to walk without stepping on them. You couldn't remember a time when something didn't hurt, or someone wasn't bleeding.
Your army had been decimated, but not extinguished, and the survivors cleaned their wounds or tended to others. Lives had been lost, but the battle was won. Spoils of war propagated whatever you went, and sometimes, like tonight, it was a burden almost to heavy to bear.
But it was all for one reason, all for one sole purpose, you couldn't let yourself forget. And it was so close now, so close you could taste it, feel it in your aching bones.
You had led armies to victory, but none could be so sweet, so very intoxicating as the one that was to be conquered in a few days: a golden crown, and freedom.
The eldest of three, all girls but the youngest, you had earned your right to the throne, rather than had it just handed to you. You trained and fought, you sacrificed everything until your very name brought fear in to the eyes of the most fearsome warriors.
You led your father's army to countless victories, conquering everything in your path. That's how the legend of the immortal princess warrior came to be. They called you goddess of death, the one who could summon the souls of the deceased to fight for her. Little did they know, they were only half right.
Your powers were more complex than that, passed on to you by your parents. Magic, they called it in the realm.
Your mother gave you the sight, which she possessed herself. She had died before she could teach you all its secrets. It wasn't always exact or omniscient, like the sight the mythical Heimdall possessed, but it was prophetic enough to be useful in battle, you needed only summon it in your mind and revelations of things to come would appear before your eyes.
What your father had inherited to you was a heavier burden though. Healing was a rare talent, and healing magic even rarer. For the commander of an army, it was an invaluable advantage. But it was expensive, for there's balance in all things that exist, and a wound cannot heal without taking its toll on the healer, and a life cannot be restored without another being taken in its place.
But not one of those things mattered, not right now. The king had promised. The throne was yours… it had to be, and then you would never have to make use of these powers that felt heavier than the axe in your hand. The kingdom had known no prosperity like this, and it was all your doing. There was no lord, warrior or witch in all of Vanaheim that dare not bow to the warrior princess.
It had been weeks since you last saw your home, but now that the battle was won and the last of the unexplored lands conquered, the final trial was complete, as now you had won your king the control of all the lands.
Hearts were heavy, but you and the last of your army rode into the night, and the scouts rode ahead to announce the kingdom of your return, and your victory. You were coming home.
The wind blew cold, and through the morning fog you could see the city and the castle in the horizon, rising in the valley like a mirage.
The battle had been relentless, but the victory had been sweeter for it, and your men rejoiced in the familiar sight, tired of the war and weary with the dust of the long road.
The city seemed busier than usual, even for the eve of a feast as the one that was to take place to celebrate your return. There were strange people wandering about, foreigners who met your gaze with no fear and bizarre smirks.
You searched the crevices of your mind for a revelation, summoning your mother's magic as you always had, but nothing came. Only fog, like the one descending from the mountain range that rose tall over the valley and the far castle. Strange…
-"Asger"- you turned to your second in command, the fiercest warrior in your army, young and brave. He rode behind you at all times- "What do you make of these foreigners?" You always sought his perspective in all matters. He had been your friend for long years before you became his commander, and you trusted him with your life.
He too had noticed the affluence of foreigners and without hesitation he answered -"If you ask me, commander, I would dare venture that they are Asgardians."
You nodded at him, exchanging concerned stares. Something was definitely brewing and you did not like it one bit. -"Ride ahead, announce our arrival and bring me news on what these foreigners are doing here, please"
He nodded -"As you wish, commander". You watched Asger ride ahead in his black steed, his golden brown hair waving in the wind. He was about your age, and in the old days, you had trained together. He was born in a noble family, but instead of choosing to live off of his wealth, he had chosen to be a warrior. You respected him for it.
Your pulse was rising and a bad feeling stirred in your stomach. There had not been foreigners in the land for a long time, and they usually meant bad news…it was so close now, so close, and yet, you could feel it slipping from your grasp…
Dark thoughts plagued you until you recognized the golden brown hair racing back to you, his brow furrowed over silver gray eyes.
"Your highness- He mustered, his cheeks red and his breath shortened -It is the princes of Asgard. They're here as guests of your father, and they've brought some of their own with them. The whole town is talking about it"
You had heard the tales of the brothers, the trickery of one, the impulsiveness of the other.
"Then- you laughed -we should give them something better to talk about." and without another word, you raced your horse to the gates of the town.