The vast meadow was clearing off now.
It was not flat, but was part of the typical knob-and-kettle landscape created by the great glaciers that had ground over this land ten thousand years ago. Those combatants who still drew breath and were worth saving were slung over the shoulders of their compatriots or hugged around the waist and dragged away; even mortal enemies avoided one another's eyes while they removed their respective wounded from the field of battle.
The survivors were exhausted; sated with blood and noise and screams and the daunting task of dealing with the aftermath. The dead, of course, were another matter. Both sides knew that the dead could wait.
The Valkyries went from dead warrior to dead warrior, walking about like a shiny group of crows. They threaded the life-forces out of those whose actions in combat merited the joys of Valhalla and gingerly stepped over the ones who did not. Hela's reapers did their jobs, careful not to miss anyone left behind by the Valkyrior. Indeed, they did so with added devotion because their mistress of the realm was present on the battlefield.
Disheartened by the prospect of six months in Helheim without Ullr, Hela Half-Rotted calmly walked along behind the Valkyries, wearing a simple long sleeveless dress and no cape or hood so that the dead would recognize her as she came to claim them.
Yet another god appeared on the great plain for no other reason than to speak to his daughter. Loki Laufeyarson strode along the perimeter (no tippytoeing amongst the dead for him!) and called out to his daughter. Hela looked up, her face weary and her thin shoulders drooping. Loki strode over to her, giving her a kiss on the cheek and wrapping his arm around her.
"What do you want, Father, that you seek me here on Midgard?"
Loki threw his handsome head back and laughed. "What a cynic you've become, my child!"
"No," his daughter rejoined. "It just seems to me that when you seek me out you come to beg a favor - or two - or three. Cynicism has nothing to do with it."
Loki chuckled. "I had that coming. In any event, I want nothing. Ullr came back to Asgard quite despondent, not for looking forward to winter but but instead for leaving you."
Hela looked her father right in his green eyes. "And?" she said.
"And I figured if he was in a mood, you would be too."
"How thoughtful of you, Father."
"Skadi was in a mood too. I'm sure the fact that she hates me with a passion beyond comprehension makes your involvement all the more bitter."
Hela shrugged, turning her back to Loki and picking her slow hobbling way across the field of battle.
"I wouldn't be surprised if Ullr gets the broad side of her sword across the back of his head - "
"Hush, Father! Please!" Hela made her way forward as rapidly as she could as the shallow gasps of a boy lying on the ground suddenly commanded her attention.
She knelt next to a very young man, obviously mortally wounded with a pike driven through his chest. Hela suspected that it pinned him to the ground. He was crying and gasping for breath.
"Calm yourself, dear," Hela said quietly. "Here I am, to take care of you now."
The boy's eyes widened, and Hela touched his cheek with the utmost gentleness.
"Please - please - " he whispered, then cried aloud with the pain.
"Hush, sweet one, I know that you are too hurt to live. Your comrades even left you behind to die. I will not leave you, though." She felt her father's arm on her shoulder and felt his breath on her hair.
The dying young man stared into her awful face. "No - Valhalla?" he gasped.
"No, dear heart, no Valhalla. I have searched your soul and know that you did not want to fight, and that you only left the farm because your Uncle Einar shamed you into it."
The boy moaned, blood running between his teeth. "I - ran."
"Of course you did," Hela replied quietly. "Anyone in their right mind would have. You have nothing to be ashamed of and I certainly will not punish you for it. I don't like - wars. So pointless. The same piece of land changes hands over and over and over again over the centuries and those who think they own it live and die, live and die. I know because I see them."
"Your - realm - " the boy gasped, "is it - harsh?"
"Not for you, young one. Most certainly not for you." She smoothed his fine wheat-blond hair. "You will dine in my hall this night. You may not have been much of a warrior, but you were a fine son and farmer and I welcome you."
His eyes began to flutter. "It hurts," he hissed.
Hela Half-Rotted touched his forehead with her left hand. "Not any more, dearest. Come with me now."
The boy sighed his last and Hela drew a shining orb of light from his ravaged chest.
Loki held out his hand and ran a finger through it gently. "It's warm," he breathed.
Hela nodded. Then, with both hands, she pressed it to herself - for she was a portal - and it disappeared.
"That was a lovely thing to see, daughter," Loki said softly after a few moments. "You are a mistress of your craft."
"I try to be," she sighed. "It pains me to see them suffer so. And I grieve for the family he left behind as they will surely learn his fate, being left for dead on the field of battle after he tried his best."
"Except for Uncle Einar?"
"Except for Uncle Einar. He will die next spring when his scythe slips in his hand. I will deal with him in due time."
Her father smoothed her tangled hair. "Now, why don't we make our way back to Niflheim and toast the young boy together?"
His daughter turned to look at him, a question in her solemn eyes.
Her father smiled and brushed her ruined left cheek. "Loneliness is in the air, child," he said quietly. "The boy was lonely for his mother, knowing as he did that he was about to take his last breath. I know that you are lonely without Ullr and I am rather lonely without you, as it happens."
Hela's eyes glistened as she looked into her father's face. Any demonstration of affection by her errant father was as scarce as an iceberg bobbing in the seas of Muspellheim.
The death goddess smiled as she took Loki's arm to steady herself and the two walked off the field of battle together.
THE END