Bragmir: Thank you, everyone who reviewed. It seems I have been . . . er . . . promoted to the author's note. One note, Imperial Dragon: I've known since I was very small that I was a berserker. It's not really something you can miss. On the other hand, finding out that I was adopted and that I was Asgardian was a COMPLETE surprise.

-n-n-n-n-

Self-preservation is an instinct. No one wants to die. But some people take it the other way, deciding that they must live forever. And people do silly things to live forever.

And who would know this better than the goddess of death?

She faced down the hordes of wraiths and shades, all that was left of so many men and women. None of them had been good enough to be caught up by the Valkyries on their way down the road of death. Instead, they had died ignominious deaths in cowardice and shame. And they were consigned to Hel, in the endless icy mists of Niflheim.

They would have given anything to escape.

"I have a proposal," said Hel. "You will do one task for me, and then I will release you."

Their wispy hands were held out, pleading.

"Your bodies will be given back to you, healthy and in their prime, and you will never die again."

Yes, yes, whispered the shades. We'll do anything.

"One more thing. While you are completing my task, you must not make a sound."

One of the shades raised a hand hesitantly.

"Yes?"

What if we need to sneeze?

Hela sighed. "I meant that you must not speak to anybody. If you see one of your friends, then you're not to go rushing off to greet them and have mead together."

The same shade raised its hand.

"What?" Hela demanded.

What if it's your long-lost child whom you haven't seen in decades and they're all grown up now and they've borne you grandchildren and—

"No. Talking."

Sorry.

"Pretend we're playing the quiet game," Hela said.

Right.

"Now, is it a deal?"

They nodded.

"We'll begin before the week is out," Hela said.