"It is COLD out here, and you lot did not even allow me a cloak! Mother will be furious if I come home sick!"
"Oh come, Volstagg! A little cold must not deter you from"—a young blonde lifted his head and breathed in the frozen night—"adventure!"
"Well," said a dark-haired boy to his right, in meaningful tones, "some would not consider a truant run in the middle of winter wilderness an adventure...unless he was Thor."
"Right you are, Hogun!" grinned an impish boy with a head of tawny-flaxen hair. He flung away the stick that he'd been using to draw a starting line, then slung an arm around Thor's shoulder. "And none would be so foolish as to follow such a one...unless, of course..."
"The one was me!" Thor finished. He smiled sweetly at Volstagg's and Hogun's irritation, then removed Fandral's adoring arm.
The moon, not full but flying with shoulder half turned, lit up the barren landscape. Snow sparkled in a smooth, undisturbed sea of white...undisturbed but by the four young boys preparing to race on the threshold of Asgard's Wild Fells.
Having good friends often means that one's ideas and plans hold great weight. The maddest escapade becomes a thing to honor, the most foolish thought sage words on which to muse.
And being a prince, in this case Thor Odinson of the All-Father, brings a certain dread of resisting to said friends.
This Thor knew when he first decided that, in middlenight, the four of them—Volstagg, Fandral, Hogun and himself- should dare to slip out and race on the Wild Fell.
Fandral, about as wild and buoyant as Thor himself, was all for the plan. Now it remained to convince Hogun—the wise, more sober one of the four—and Volstagg —who though not lacking in spirit, also did not lack in a more dour view of illegal activity—to go to bed cloaked and dressed, and to be ready for the signal.
Hogun had agreed, and was ready when Fandral's sling-shot pebble hit his window.
But Volstagg was a different story.
"I have the horses!" Thor announced in a whisper as he rode up, then squinted down at the two boys. "Still here? Where's Volstagg?"
"In a gluttonous sleep, I guess." said Fandral irritably. "That's the tenth pebble I've let fly!"
"Well, then let us just leave him!"
"No...I'll climb up and bring him down. Just give me four minutes."
Hogun was an expert at climbing and scaling even the most impossible obstacles.. But to try and do so without a chance of waking his friend's father, the irascible Lord Dorvand, was another thing.
"He'll not make it in four minutes," said Fandral as he followed Hogun's ascent. "How will he get Volstagg out so quickly?"
The answer came when, after a muffled yelp, Volstagg fell out the window and landed ignominiously in a snow-heap.
A moment later saw the four flying as silently as they could across the paths, cloaks streaming from behind like banners- on three riders, anyway. Apparently the fourth had not had time to get his.
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"Go!" they shouted simultaneously, and at once began to race. The plot had been executed, the word given, and not even the moon could see them with her back turned. Drunk with the revelry of their freedom, they threw themselves with wild abandon through drifts, down icey-slick hills, across the half-frozen lakes—and into purest boyhood bliss.
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Years later.
A cloaked figure skulked in shadows, then quickly glanced up the vine-covered wall to a lattice window. Most insecure, of course. Any clever fellow could easily climb the ivy, then slip the window-latch.
And he was not just any clever fellow. A moment later, and the intruder was over the ledge and into the bedroom of Asgard's crown prince.
"Wake, my friend! I have something to tell you."
The figure completely ensconced in red blankets groaned and shifted as response.
Fandral was about to repeat his statement, adding to it the force of a pillow, when—
"This had better be important." Thor sat up, allowing the blankets to fall from his broad shoulders, then met Fandral's sparking eyes.
"What! Art not in the mood for fun!?"
"The fun of sleep and rest, yes. Princely duties are quite tiring." With that the disturbed lay back down.
"Pah! You have become an old woman...tis' young women I seek tonight!"
"Tis' young women," came a muffled voice, "that you seek every night."
"Well, I have exquisite tastes that must be satis'fied. And your tastes accompany me to any middlenight bonfire that boasts roast game, barrels of mead and wine, three tables of the sweetmeats of Merigd, match fights..."
His voice had taken on a luring tone and faded enticingly. He looked keenly at the red mound. A frustrated—or longing—groan came from it, and in a minute Thor emerged.
"So, where is it we go tonight?"
"Where the Valkyrie have chosen," said Fandral, snatching up appropriate attire and tossing it in his friend's direction. "Niflheim."
Thor pulled the tunic on roughly. "Your women always choose good places for their feasts...last time it was Gjallarbru!"
"All the more reason," said Fandral brightly, ignoring the sarcasm, "for you to come. I do need someone to protect me while I woo my ladies."
Thor smiled, then picked up Mjolnir.
"Let us be off."
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Being at the center of all worlds, Niflheim was easily reached without the Bifrost—provided Mjolnir, or the steeds of the Valkyrie themselves, served as transportation.
Over a thousand-thousand leagues they sped, at a blinding rate, through the light and dark of underground and Helheim.
And soon they stood in Niflheim.
It was beautiful, in spite of its precarious location near the domain of Hel. The land ever bore the paint of golden afternoon light, made even more soft and gentle by a constant billow-cloud floating over the purple mountains. Yggdrasil's roots lifted up from the earth at various intervals, filling the forest with awesome wooden arches and knolls.
The two had no sooner landed on the turf when a song greeted them….
Edda. She was the most gentle and delicate of her Valkyrie sisters, if such words could be applied to one of that band. Today though, armor, spears and shields had been traded for dresses woven of the very heaven.
"Fandral...and son of All-Father!" She bowed, and smiled at them.
"Welcome."
Fandral blushed scarlet for a second, but his nature soon overcame it and before long he had three very attentive women about him. Thor joined the crowd that had gathered around the bonfire, and then joined Volstagg at the sweetmeats tables—the mass of cakes disappeared shortly thereafter, though each claimed that he was the one chiefly responsible for laying it bare. The wine and mead flowed. Sigurdi's viol called forth the dances with music only drowned by the shouts and yell of fighters and watchers alike...
And that was when Thor saw Zhildur. Silently, the rogue Valkyrie approached him, smiling coquettis'hly.
Hers was skin of smoothest gray slate. She seemed to float, rather than walk, and her hair and garments swirled like smoke. And her presence, as far as the prince was concerned, was as welcome as a sigh of death.
"Odinson of the All-Father. I have not seen you since the year of your black thunder! How fares it with your family?"
Thor turned and ignored her, carelessly reaching forward a hand to rip off a haunch of roast meat.
"What, Odinson? Didst not swear to receive me better when last we met? And tis' not often you come to Niflheim!"
"I come" he said languidly, through a mouthful, "when there is a worthy cause to call me."
"Oh, yes," Zhildur spat scornfully. "Full stomachs seem to be a worthy cause indeed...for those of Aesir. Your poor sister sought more, and look what became of her!"
It was a slap on old wounds, a challenge. Thor put down the haunch and, a smile stretching his lips, slowly turned to face her.
Fandral ran forward and attempted to pull his friend back. "Thor, ignore her. You cannot afford this confrontation!"
Searing memories flew before his mind's eye—Brunnhilde, Fenrir, the order to hunt down Asgard's princess, the silent screams of Frigga...
And all due, he felt, to this demon of a woman...
"Yes Fandral! Of course he must not. And what sort avenger could he be?" She strutted before him, tossed her locks in taunt. "In weakness he'd fight women when the true downfall of Lady Brunnhilde yet lives upon Lyngvi! Come Odinson, does it not burn thy spirit that Fenrir yet lives...and she does not?"
Mingled murmurs of surprise and cries of outrage erupted from the gathering, and as one they turned to hear their prince's answer. But he was frozen, stricken as though made of stone.
"Thor! The All-Father forbids any going to Lyngvi!" Fandral pulled him around and unhappily took note of an all-too-familiar gleam in his friend's eye. "Think, Thor... things cannot go on like this! For mercy's name, forsake this madness!"
But Madness herself, in all her staggering beauty, held Thor's mind, burned his soul with her amber eyes and his skin with her frozen hands. One of these moved up and stroked his beard, reveling in the excitement roiling out of him.
"Thor Odinson...do you dare?"
He shifted his gaze just a moment to meet Fandral's, then looked back.
"My lady," he said, smiling coldly. "I have only awaited your invitation."
The crowd stilled in tense, fearful silence. Thor turned to his friends, a grim trio at the front of the gathering.
"Friends...we ride to Lyngvi!"
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Author's Note: I absolutely love mythology, and really enjoyed incorporating as many elements of Norse folklore into these Asgard-based chapters as possible. Did I do it right? I'd love to hear your thoughts! Please review and critique!