Hullo again folks! Quick apology for the Freya-Frigga confusion. It doens't help that Marvel made their names more similar, in the original myths they're Freyja and Frigg . Still, don't let history get in the way of good story telling eh? BTW if anyone has any questions about all the extra bits of mythology I'm popping in here and there, feel free to ask, I'll answer to the best of my abilities.


Sif drove her horse on through the night, through the snow, eyelashes freezing, face wind burnt and raw. She reached Folkvangr as dawn was approaching, practically falling off her horse as women were running from the entrance to Freya's hall to help her, slumping in their grasp.

They led her to bathe in blistering water, hot mead passed to her in silver chalices, rubbing her burns with soothing oils, then redressed her in a heavy velvet and fur robe. As soon as she was able to stand they led her to Freya, clutching her message from Frigga to her chest defensively.

She sat at the steps of her seat as Freya unfurled the leather strapping and read, her sylph-like face growing hard. For a long while she questioned Sif, then rose to her feet, looking down at her.

"I will come to Frigga. Clearly some madness has occurred in Odin's hall," she said, fingers fleetingly touching the heavy gold necklace resting at the hollow of her throat. Sif looked up at her hopefully, crossing her arm over her chest in salute as she stood.

"Thank you, Lady, thank you. You may be the All Father's salvation."

The fair haired woman gave her a regal smile, though it was taut with concern, After bidding Sif to rest as her guest until the next morning, she went to find Maeve.

The girl was down by the lake, knelt on the hard, frozen ground of the shore. As Freya approached she saw her carefully laying some simple objects out before herself, including a black feather she suspected had been snatched from her cloak, a handful of small shining pebbles, a little pile of snow, all carefully arranged in a circle roughly etched in the ground, encompassing her too. She was using a stone point to mark it, and when it was closed she leant over, drawing what appeared to be a two sides of a triangle on its side, the last edge missing, amongst the little cluster of found objects. Freya watched quietly, recognising it as the rune kenaz. She had nothing to make fire with so the representation of it would have to do.

She watched carefully as Maeve folded her hands in her lap, closing her eyes, lips moving silently. With a smile she realised she was praying. Among the realm of Gods but praying still.

She let her sit in peace until she was done, throwing a stone in the ice to break it and dropping her little treasures into the water through the hole, scrubbing the marks out of the dirt with her hands and wiping them clean on the ice. When she stood up she stiffened at the sight of Freya, her cheeks and nose pink from the cold. The Asgardian silently beckoned her over with a wave of her hand and she approached tentatively, cloak hanging off one shoulder, hair frosted at the tips from the snow.

Freya took her hand as a mother might her child's, leading her away from the lake wordlessly, out across the meadow, further and further until sure they were utterly alone. Then she turned to look at the girl, brushing raven tendrils of hair away from her face and pulling her hood up.

"Something had happened to the All Father. Frigga has sent word out for me to come to her aid and I have decided to take you with me," she said softly, holding her small shoulders. "Do you understand what I am telling you?"

Maeve looked up at her with large eyes, then nodded slowly.

"I make no promises to you, Maeve," Freya continued, bowing her head to speak in little more than a whisper. "But I will take you there, on the condition you do exactly as I say at all times. Understood?"

Another nod. She could see the girl was fighting not to be hopeful, setting herself up for disappointment in order to protect herself, but deep in those eyes the small spark was undeniable.


Maeve was dressed as one of Freya's handmaidens, in robes and hooded cloak of deep black, concealed amongst the group. She was helped onto a horse, locking her thighs to the saddle in terror. She had never ridden one before in her life but here she was, thrown in at the deep end.

The group was small, eight of them in all, including Freya in her chariot and a woman she didn't recognize, dark hair slicked back away from her face, silver armour strapped to her torso. When she mounted her horse she tucked a spear under her arm, wrapping her reins around one wrist.

When they struck out Maeve kept bent low over the horse's neck, the wind stinging her eyes. The horse didn't seem to pay her any notice, keeping pace with the others as they galloped. After a while she began to realise it didn't matter she had never ridden before. Apparently Asgardian equine were expert at not throwing their passengers.

She didn't know how long they travelled for, the cold and the soreness in her legs and back making her lose track of time as she withdrew into herself. It was only when she heard Freya by her side, the horse slowing to a canter, saying gently,

"Look up, Maeve," that she came to again, straightening in her saddle with a gasp. It was night, the snow was a fine dusting now and they were passing under a mammoth golden bridge, flanked by statues a hundred feet high, bearing spears and shields, guarding the way. She twisted to look around herself, at the impossible architecture, spires and towers, intricate domes, all gleaming in the starlight, miles of splendour and decadence. She could feel the eyes of the dark haired woman on her as she gaped, quickly dropping her gaze, hood low over her face. Freya had told her not to draw attention to herself.

They were passing people, who swept into low bows before them, or called joyously after the Goddess. Maeve shrank lower in her saddle, beginning to feel dizzy. This was too much. This was the stuff of stories. It was one thing having faith in life, it was another thing having that faith vilified and become knowledge…

They crossed the bridge and on the other side they were coming under an enormous archway, an entrance into the centrepiece of the city, Odin's hall. In the courtyard guards came to meet them, helping them dismount from their horses, Maeve's knees threatening to buckle beneath her as her feet touched the ground. When they tried to lead the horses away, Freya turned on them, something dangerous in her eyes.

"Leave them. I would know exactly where they are."

Then she was marching towards the entrance to the hall, gaze commanding as guards opened doors ahead of her, ran to keep up with the group. She held some considerable sway here, it seemed.

Deeper into the palace they went, gradually being followed by more and more people. By the time they reached the throne room there was a considerable swarm and as they came to stand before the high seat it seemed there was to be an audience to whatever followed.

Maeve hung back, risking a peek around Freya to look up at the throne, her mouth opening slightly. It was as though the hilt of some giant golden sword was driving it's way through the room towards the heavens, a seat at it's crux. In the seat was a broad, fair man, a winged helm nestled on his head, fist closed around a spear, red cloak spilling in rich folds over the edge of the throne beneath him. When he saw Freya he broke into a warm smile, rising to greet her, but before he could speak she cut him off, calling sharply,

"Where is Frigga, Thor?"

The smile faded and he was coming down the steps then, closing a hand on her elbow. Maeve stared up at him from the shadow of her cloak, her stomach somewhere beneath her feet. Thor.

"You have heard?" he whispered, Freya nodding.

"Leave us!" he called and the crowd began to disperse, guards helping them on their way. He steered Freya a few feet away from her entourage, ducking his head to speak with her and Maeve risked a glance around, noticing a woman lingering near a pillar, overshadowed by a hulk of a man. She was staring at Thor, unblinking, as he spoke to Freya, her chest rising and falling slowly. The dark haired woman who had travelled with them was staring too, at the blonde Asgardian in the shadows, and if looks could kill blood would be smeared across the floor now.

As Maeve watched this stand-off of glances she became aware Thor was sounding more and more agitated, his voice growing louder. Freya was trying to calm him but occasional snatches of words could be caught;

"…what foundations have you… no ambition… father…"

Eventually Freya won out and a guard was sent from the room, returning a few minutes later with an older woman, still beautiful but in a classical, refined way that came with age, dark blonde hair coiled over her shoulder, her gown a deep grey. When she entered the room Freya turned her back on Thor, striding to her and embracing her, and Maeve saw the woman from the shadows slip out of them, gliding to the Thunder God's side. She was whispering to him, guiding him back to sit in the throne, slender hands commanding him deftly to move as she wished. By the time Freya and Frigga had returned their attention to the situation in hand Thor was seated once more, the yellow haired woman at his side, languishing over one of the hilt like segments of the throne.

The air was electric and Maeve began to feel stifled by her heavy hood, wishing she was outside. Some game of politics was going on before her but she couldn't focus. The ride, the impact of the city, the sight of Thor and Frigga, plain as daylight. She could feel her legs tremoring beneath her and a bitter taste in her mouth, her heart fluttering…

As she tumbled towards the floor hands were snatching out to catch her, the handmaidens seizing her arms to hold her up. The sudden commotion broke whatever conversation was going on up at the throne and Thor himself abandoned his seat, tearing off his helm and casting the spear aside, coming to her aid. It all felt too slow as he slid powerful arms under hers, lifting her to sit on the steps, ducking his head to speak to her, the beautiful woman with the golden hair sliding from her seat, mouth twisted unpleasantly for a fraction of a second. He was pulling down her hood, asking if she was well, and she looked up into warm blue eyes that widened slowly, the blurred shape of Freya somewhere behind trying to intervene, too late.

"Maeve..?" His voice was deep and gentle, he was supporting her head and his eyes were lighting up. Dazed mind trying to fathom how he knew her name, her gaze slipped over his shoulder and Amora was glaring back at her, before a smile began to creep over her features slowly...