Author's Note: Hello everyone! Boy, it's practically become a ghost town around here (my fault, really). But, never fear dear readers, I am dedicated to finishing this story, even if it means there is only one person still reading.
Just to let you know, I have finished writing the story, and I'm now just putting the finishing touches on the remaining chapters. Also, the school semester is over, so I'll be putting out the chapters far faster this month.
And now, onwards!
TEN
the setting sun
Through the thinning fog, we could see the helhounds far below. Dozens upon dozens of them were heading down the slopes, their howls echoing throughout the mountains. My chest tightened at the sight. That the mountains were so overwhelmed by demons made me think that Volstagg might already be dead. On the other hand, he could've been feigning death, or perhaps the demons disregarded him now that he no longer posed a threat. Nevertheless, the hounds were barrelling towards the Vanir embroiled in conflict at the foot of the mountain, and I began to wonder if we'd made a mistake coming back for Volstagg.
Once we reached the top of the ridge, our skiff came to a stop, hovering several feet from the ground. Fandral and Hogun were the first to leap off the side, landing amidst a gruesome scene. Though the number of helhounds had increased since our departure, they were all slain, black blood dribbling across the stone. I joined Fandral and Hogun, and together we hurried past our fallen enemies to find Volstagg right where we left him. He hadn't moved an inch, regardless of the greater number of dead demons surrounding him.
Fandral knelt beside his friend. "By the Norns..."
I stopped short just beside him and felt the blood drain from my face. If there had been any chance to save Volstagg's leg earlier, it no longer existed now. Hand clasped over my mouth, I dropped to my knees and touched two fingers to Volstagg's neck. By some fortune, he yet lived, though his pulse was weak.
Across from me, Fandral stood and scampered about, searching amongst the dead helhounds. "I can't seem to find his leg," he said, as if hoping the healers could've reattached it. I knew it would not have been possible, but I did not have the heart to state it aloud. "His axe—I found his axe." He hefted Volstagg's axe from a dead demon several yards away, dislodging the weapon from its skull.
With a trembling breath, I raised my head and glanced between Thor and Loki. "He's still alive, but just barely," I told them. "It's remarkable he's survived this long. We must return him to Asgard now—he doesn't have much time left."
Thor approached, letting Mjolnir fall to the ground. "It may require all of our combined strength to carry him to the skiff."
Under different circumstances, I imagined Fandral would've made some comment about Volstagg's considerable size and weight. But today was not a day for jests. Each of us put aside our weapons and moved to convey Volstagg. I gripped him by the arm and shoulder; beside me, Thor grasped under his arms. Volstagg did not make a sound as we lifted him—a worrisome sign that his life was slipping away. Aside from the wave of nausea sweeping over me, carrying Volstagg back to the skiff was not as physically trying as suspected.
Fandral was the last to board the skiff, having gone back for Volstagg's axe. As soon as we were settled, Loki took to the steering mechanism and propelled our skiff to the skies. I remained near Volstagg, staring down at him, motionless. My magic would not accomplish much now, not even with Loki's assistance. That it scarcely healed much earlier further roused the burgeoning sickness in me.
Little was said as we glided down the mountain and over the wildflower fields. A swarm of helhounds was storming across the terrain, scattered and too few in number to warrant the need to stop them. We sped along the lands, out of range of any attacks, drawing nearer to the Bifrost site that flickered every so often, transporting evacuees to Asgard.
When our skiff dove low, my stomach swooped just the same. Gripping onto the side of the skiff, I drew up on my knees and watched as we approached the Bifrost site. Scores of Vanir were gathered around, awaiting their turn to escape Vanaheim. Upon seeing their numbers, the gravity of the situation struck me, a chill sweeping through my body. Surtur's forces were not here for the sword shard alone. They sought to strike a blow to Vanaheim—to my people, an ally to the Asgardians in this war.
The skiff dipped at last to the ground. Before we even came to a halt, Thor surged forth from the vessel. "We need assistance! Volstagg has been wounded very badly."
Four healers dashed forward, bearing a stretcher between them. There was some struggle to move Volstagg at first, but the difficulty did not deter us. Alongside the healers, we gathered around the stretcher to transport Volstagg to the Bifrost site. The throng ahead parted at Thor's bellow: "Make way! Make way for the wounded!"
Upon reaching the rune, we laid him upon the ground and backed away. To us, the healers swore to see him live through the day. Then, in the next instant, they and Volstagg were summoned to Asgard in a beam of light. The crowd of Vanir shifted and swelled, forcing us to move off to the side.
Silent, our group of six stood together, all among us bloodied and ashen. It was not every day that we saw one of our own so irreversibly damaged.
"What must we do now?" Hogun asked. His voice was steady, though his frown was deeper than I'd ever seen.
Thor exchanged a look with Loki. After several long seconds, he nodded to Hogun and Fandral. "The both of you should stay here, protect the Bifrost site. We must ensure as many people are evacuated as possible."
"I, for one, intend to end Malekith," Loki said.
Sif inclined her head. "The Einherjar said the Dark Elves were approaching from the southwest."
"Then that is where we shall begin," Thor agreed.
As per Thor's suggestion, Fandral and Hogun remained behind while the rest of us returned to the skiff. Even as I sat at the ready, weapon in hand, the notion of entering battle again weighed heavily on my heart. What further trials would we face this day? Would I have to see more of my friends suffer from grievous harm? Or worse...
We flew across Caravel, high above the burning plains. The blood and broken bodies of demons and Vanir alike blanketed the scorched earth, all long since dead. Blinking back the tears that threatened to obscure my vision, I averted my gaze. So many counted among the dead, and so many more would die still.
"Look." At the bow of the skiff, Sif leaned over the edge to point towards a distinct trail of bodies. "They could not have been slain long ago."
Following her line of sight, I saw that the dead were not Vanir, but Einherjar. Of greater note, I came to realize that they were the Einherjar who'd supplied us our skiff before we went back for Volstagg. Their skiff was strewn about in pieces, the shattered remains smouldering.
With a painful swallow, I lowered my eyes. "Could Malekith have done this?"
"Given the ease with which they were killed, I'd say it's entirely possible," Loki replied.
He took the skiff lower to gain a better look of the landscape before us.
"Do you see that?" Thor sprang to his feet, pointing to the southwest. "There is a battle ahead."
I squinted in the direction he indicated. Amongst the trees, Lord Frey and Lady Freya darted through the shade. They were not difficult figures to spot, seeing as both siblings stood taller than most, their blond hair stark against the dark browns and greens of the forest around them. My regard shifted to the beings closing in on them. There were no demons here. Only Dark Elves.
Sif climbed to her feet and unfurled Drekisbane with a fluid whirl. "It's a wonder there are any Dark Elves remaining. Malekith could not have had such numbers in stasis on his ship."
"Perhaps he did." I rose to join her at the edge of the skiff. "Unless... unless his forces were bolstered by those he freed from Asgard's dungeons."
She turned to face me with a flinty stare. "It makes me wonder if we should not have executed them long ago."
In the past, I might have argued against such harsh measures. But now, given all that had happened, it was difficult to deny that executing them decades ago seemed the wiser choice.
"Then we best not leave the task unfinished," Loki remarked, bringing the skiff ever nearer to the ground.
The very moment our vessel came to a rest on the singed plains, we disembarked and headed straight into the forest, weapons leading. Only eight Vanir warriors accompanied Frey and Freya now. Together, they faced a dozen Dark Elves, each bearing spears and swords and strength enough to contend with all ten Vanir in combat.
As we wove between the trees, I had to assume these Dark Elves did not carry the implosive devices they'd employed on Asgard and Svartalfheim. If they did, they would not have been confronting the Vanir face to face. Nor would they have felt the need to send several more to outflank them—a half-dozen Dark Elves encroached upon the Vanir from behind, keeping to the shadows, their presence going undetected.
Our party was yards away by the time the Vanir felled most of the enemy before them, but they still had not taken notice of the enemy at their rear. Somehow, I was the first to reach the Vanir. "Lady Freya! Get down!" Although she wasted several precious seconds turning to seek the source of my words, she nevertheless heeded my warning and dropped to a crouch, hands covering the nape of her neck.
I rushed at the nearest Dark Elf, who spun about, spear swinging. My instincts proved true, for I raised my shield to block the attack just in time. In the seconds it required me to heft my sword to strike, the Dark Elf was already jabbing at my right side. I staggered backwards, and the Dark Elf followed. To my fortune, my adversary seemed to be entirely focussed on me.
From behind, Sif ran him through, driving Drekisbane deep into his chest, the sharp end protruding from his sternum. While she withdrew her bloodstained blade, I lifted my head to locate the rest of the Dark Elves. The only thing I perceived was their retreating backs. For but a moment, I entertained the idea that they were running at the very sight of us. But it was more likely that they were retreating to alert their remaining kin of our coming.
When they vanished into the trees, out of our sight, the Lady Freya turned to me, her smile more sly than the situation warranted. "My my, it's rather exciting to see the progression of your prowess, Lady Eirlys." Through her cheer, she still seemed shaken. For all her power and charm, even she struggled to weather this conflict. I could not blame her, for I could hardly endure myself. It made my blood run cold, the death and destruction—the desolation of our people and our homeland.
"You have our sincerest gratitude," Lord Frey said with the bow of his head. "We had a mind to lend Lord Bjoran assistance when we were beset by the Dark Elves. I suspect he is in need of it—mayhap even more so now."
My eyes widened a touch. "Where is my father now?"
"On the opposite side of these woods, last we were informed." Lord Frey gestured to the southwest, the direction in which my father and Faradei had travelled. "They should still be in the wildbloom fields. We called for a retreat, but no response was given."
Loki strode forward and kicked over the nearest dead Dark Elf, swiping the spear from the clutches of his lifeless hands. "Then we can presume they've encountered something far more treacherous."
Frey gave a nod. "That is our fear."
As if to confirm our suspicions, a tremble rippled through the ground. Within seconds, a deep reverberation filled the air. Every one of us looked upwards just as a ship, dark and towering, materialized on high, right above what I knew to be the wildbloom fields. Malekith. He was here. Malekith was here, and his ship was bearing down on the forces led by Faradei and my father.
If either Lord Frey or Lady Freya had anything to say after that, I was not present to hear it.
Without a word, I went tearing through the forest—the Elvenwood, as it was often called to honour the Light Elves who fought at our side in the Aesir-Vanir war. Many died in these woods, striving against the might of the Aesir. And yet, here we were, over a millennium later, banding together to fight a far greater evil.
Just then, what I thought to be an explosion, red and roaring, rose up, visible beyond the trees ahead. I stumbled to a halt, a pair of hands gripping my arms from behind to keep me steady—Loki, I thought absently. Gasping, I could not remove my eyes from the second burst of energy that could only have come from the Aether. "Oh Norns." I wanted to keep running, to dash through the remainder of the woods to... to do what? I could not be certain. Fear gripped my heart and quashed my wits. I thought of Faradei, my father, those who accompanied them, and little else.
But Loki was there to hold me back, his long fingers tightening around my upper arms. "Eirlys, stop. We cannot face Malekith head on."
"They need our help," I said, breathless. "We can't leave them. You're the one who wanted to kill Malekith."
He spun me about and laid his hands on my shoulders, levelling his gaze with mine. "I know, but you need to stop and consider what you're doing."
I stared at him, taking one deep breath. And then another. "What... what do you propose we do?"
"Allow Thor to go first," Loki said, glancing behind.
Thor was there, stern gaze focussed on the sky. At the mention of his name, he nodded to his brother.
"He can endure battle with Malekith for a time," Loki pressed on, "then we can decide how we will slay the Dark Elves at last."
Bereft of hesitation, Thor led the way through the remainder of the Elvenwood. Upon crossing a mere dozen yards, we broke free of the trees and stumbled into the immense clearing. As we stood at the edge of the wildbloom fields, my mind seemed slow to register the scene laid before us.
Malekith was nowhere to be seen, but it was obvious he had passed this way. The battlefield did not exhibit the normal signs of destruction. There was no fire. There was not much in the way of blood either. In spite of all of that, the dead lay scattered across the field of flattened wildblooms. Nearer to us, I discerned two dozen Light Elves.
A part of me wanted to cry Faradei's name in search of him, but, this time, my wits won out and I duly refrained. I scampered along the forest's edge, dry grass crunching underfoot. Groans sounded from the Light Elves I passed by—reassurance that they were alive and conscious. The blast had been enough to knock them backwards, but the force of it could not kill them. I paced between the archers, my regard passing over each one. Some of their faces seemed familiar, but there was one in particular that I was searching for.
My heart near stopped when I found him.
"Faradei!" Biting my lower lip, I silently berated myself for having spoken so loudly. I collapsed to my knees at his side. He was still, and for one fearful second I thought him dead. Too keenly did I remember Castien surrounded by death and ruination, his life seeping away with every heartbeat. The images faded once Faradei groaned, shifting as much as his prone position would allow.
He blinked up at me, brow cinched. "What happened?"
I frowned, my regard drawn to the hound bite on his shoulder, the wound bloody but cauterized. "You've been injured."
He struggled to reply, several seconds stretching by. Any attempts to speak were forestalled by the arrival of a skiff—our skiff. From the helm, Sif disembarked, jumping off the side. "Everyone, climb aboard," she said, moving to help our Light Elf allies to their feet. "We're retreating from Vanaheim, by order of Lord Njord. There won't be much time before the Bifrost is closed to us."
A chill cavorted down my spine. There were still so many Vanir left in the affected regions of Caravel. If we were to retreat now, back to Asgard, we would be leaving many of them vulnerable. But that meant we could live to fight another day. We just needed to withdraw as many of our forces as possible.
"Faradei, can you tell me where my father is?" I peered down at the king, hoping my words could break through his evident disarray. "Please, I need to know."
"I... he's—he was ahead of us," he replied, eyes turning up and to his right. "The Dark Elf caused some sort of blast. I do not know where Bjoran might have fallen."
I followed his gaze further across the wildbloom fields. In the distance, there stood another thicket that Malekith must have ventured into, judging by the sweeping damage done to the rows of trees. Nearer to us, amongst the tall grass, a Vanir banner peeked above the green. The bright, swirling orange-red sun was prominent against the gold. I simply knew that it belonged to one of my father's retainers. The setting sun. The thought slipped through my mind seconds before I spotted the group of unmoving figures, one of which had to have been my father.
In the next moment, I lost all sense of reason.
My legs were carrying me through the field, towards the fallen Vanir, heedless of the dangers that lingered at the edges. With my heartbeat thundering in my ears, I might have heard Loki calling my name, but I could not have been certain. I could not think. I could not feel. I just... had to know.
Even in my lack of awareness, I managed to find my father with little difficulty. He was lying amidst his warriors, blood pooling around him, skin ashen.
There was not a single breath on his lips.
I fell to my knees, hands outstretched. His eyes stared, unseeing, at the clouded sky. I grew still, a helplessness washing over me. There was nothing I could do. The full extent of my powers could not have saved my father, for he was already dead.
My hands hovered over him, trembling, but otherwise immobile. I felt sick. I was unable to move, barely able to breathe. Distantly, I heard footsteps approaching, familiar voices calling after me. So much death, I thought. And it has not yet ended.
Raising my head, I cast a look to the southwest, where the wildbloom fields stretched on. A dozen helhounds were advancing towards us, flying through the grass, trampling and burning the rainbow of wildblooms underfoot. They were near, so near now, and I realized my friends had been attempting to warn me of their coming.
My lack of sense was replaced by panic. I glanced down and all around for something to defend myself against the horde of hounds—what I was looking for, I could not say. I simply understood that my sword and shield would not prove adequate. I was left vulnerable.
This is my fault. A vast hollowness filled my chest, doubts and fears mingling with grief and guilt. If we'd come sooner...
Deep inside, my magic stirred—a well of energy left untapped for many months beyond that which I employed on Niffleheim. It burned and roiled, an uncontrollable storm yearning to break free. Despite the sudden surge of my magic, I could not seem to wield it of my own volition. The moment I saw a helhound bounding towards me, any semblance of control vanished.
A singular burst of magic flowed from me, the power behind it sending every helhound flying. They hit the ground with pitiful cries, the sound of which brought me an infinitesimal shred of satisfaction. But the very act of releasing such magic depleted my energy, and I fell sideways, my shoulder hitting the withered grass.
I could hear, as if from a distance, someone shouting my name. When I felt a hand on my arm, my magic flared again, bright blue around my form. "Eirlys, it's all right." I blinked, my eyes slow to focus on Sif's face. A current of confusion swirled through my mind, for I could've sworn it had been Loki approaching from behind me just moments ago. Nevertheless, the magic dancing along my skin dimmed and faded away.
Her shoulders dropped the moment her gaze fell upon my father. Once her face grew pale, the pain in my heart swelled. That she also knew him to be dead made it all the more real.
I started when Loki appeared beside her, all but skidding to a stop. There were a few new splatters of blood on his cheek—not his own, I realized. "We must go," he said, grasping my arm and hauling me to my feet with a slower, gentler touch than the circumstances warranted. The rise sent blood rushing to my head, and I stumbled into his side where he held me close. "We are fast running out of time. It seems we have drawn Malekith's attention."
Somewhat dazed, I looked towards the thicket at the far end of the wildbloom field and saw the occasional upsurge of the Aether. Malekith was pulling trees from the ground, tearing a path through the woodland. And he was heading straight for us.
Fingers wrapping around my arm, Loki started to pull me away. I kept looking back, watery eyes finding my father's body. In the face of the danger around us—the danger treading in our wake—a sorrowful thought persisted above all else: we needed to give my father a proper burial. But it was a burial he would not receive. We could not bring him back, or any other fallen warrior for that matter. Our sole concern now was surviving the day.
It felt like a blur, returning to the skiff. Sif climbed aboard ahead of us and proffered a hand to help me into the vessel. The surviving Light Elves, including Faradei, were already lining the edges of the skiff, eyes weary, spirits broken. When Faradei looked up at me, I saw the grief in his gaze. He didn't have to ask. He knew my father was dead.
"Allow me to face him again," Thor demanded. We all glanced about to see Thor and Loki attempting to tower over one another at the helm. "I fought him once before. It's time we finished this. You expressed your desire to do so earlier."
Loki gripped the steering mechanism and glowered at Thor. "That was when I thought we had the upper hand and the element of surprise. If you think you can contend with the full might of the Aether, then go on, fight him as you see fit. But we are not equipped to slay him as it is, and I am not willing to risk everything in a misguided attempt." His gaze shifted towards me as he uttered his last remark, "We cannot stay."
The frown tugging at Thor's features indicated that he had further objections, but, upon glancing at me, he did not voice them.
In silence, Loki conducted our skiff into the skies, the clouds above growing darker and greyer with every passing second. As we turned and glided through the air, I could not keep from peering behind. In the field, striding among the dead, Malekith seemed to have spotted us. And he must have recognized us, for he began sprinting across the grass, making chase. On foot, he would never gain on us. His massive black ship, on the other hand, had a much greater chance. The ship was already following, looming over us, casting long shadows upon the land.
Beside me, Thor also took notice. "Loki!"
"I know!" Loki scowled. Once we passed over the rest of the Elvenwood, he brought our skiff low in the hopes that flying lower would put us further from the Dark Elf ship's sight. At the least, I felt assured that we were out of range of their weapons, for the Dark Elves never fired upon us.
While we soared over the plains, I could not keep my eyes off of the massive black mass in our wake. I watched, eyes wide, as it grew nearer. It could've overtaken us, given time, but we reached the Bifrost site before they could ever be given the opportunity. As soon as we came to the rune, the skiff jerked to a halt. Dozens of people crowded around still, waiting their turn to be taken to Asgard.
"We need to leave now," Loki said, leaping to his feet. "This is our last chance." As before, he grabbed my arm and helped me over the edge of the skiff.
"Heimdall!" Thor shouted to the skies. "Leave the Bifrost open!"
If left open, the Bifrost could tear through the world itself. Should anything ever happen to us, I thought, I would have Heimdall allow the Bifrost to destroy these plains and Malekith along with it. Our deaths would come, in any case.
Loki drew away from my side to dispute Thor. "Is that the best idea? You would risk having Malekith enter through the Bifrost."
"We will not leave these people to be slaughtered," Thor retorted. "Heimdall will ensure Malekith does not reach Asgard."
Despite the narrowing of his eyes, Loki did not argue further. "You place much faith in the gatekeeper."
"Why would I not?" Moving to assist the injured Light Elves, Thor nodded towards the sky. "He has yet to fail us."
Precisely on cue, the Bifrost opened, the constant stream slamming into the ground. Along with dozens of Vanir, we went stumbling into the rush of light. The last thing I saw was the Dark Elf ship bearing down on us, a monstrous shadow come to slay us all. On this day, we were spared its wrath.
Travelling by the Bifrost felt different. I could not be certain if the change was caused by the greater number of people or the extended surge of energy. Regardless of the cause, the journey seemed unsteady. Never had hurtling across the Nine Realms been more unsettling—as though speeding through endless stars and space wasn't frightful enough. My very being shuddered and vibrated, a burning pain roiling in my chest. Before I began to truly fear that we were about to be engulfed in the hazardous energies of the Bifrost, we arrived in the observatory with an abrupt halt.
Most of us went tumbling forwards. Those who had never travelled by the Bifrost before lost their footing, falling upon one another in a jumbled pile of Vanir refugees and injured Elven warriors. Although I was not mired with the same disorientation, I still staggered off to one side and leaned against the observatory wall, hand clutched at my midsection.
It was no longer pain that struck me. It was a sickness churning and twisting my stomach into knots. The sensation was near enough to have me retching on the black marble floor.
I remained there for a time, striving to simply inhale and exhale. Most of the new arrivals began filing out of the observatory in search of safety and healing. But a number of them stayed behind to beseech Heimdall. "Gatekeeper, you must open the Bifrost once more," one Vanir pleaded. "There are a great many of our people coming after us. They must be brought to Asgard! We cannot allow them to perish."
Heimdall stood at the pinnacle of the pedestal, his broadsword clutched before him. If he was at all moved by the Vanir's plight, he did not show it. "In accordance with the All-Father's command, I fear the Bifrost cannot be opened to Vanaheim any longer. The risk would be too great, for allowing the Dark Elves into our midst would mean our undoing."
Anger and frustration and grief flared in the observatory as the Vanir continued to argue. They had family and friends—our kindred—left behind in Caravel and Indova. Both lands were on the verge of being consumed by demons and Dark Elves; everyone who remained was in grave danger. I understood their outrage, but there was nothing that could be done. We could not go back. To see Ragnarök averted, we could not save every life.
"Eirlys, are you harmed?"
Blinking, I lifted my head to see Sif, her brow wrinkled. I hadn't said or moved much since our return; she must've thought the worst. "I... I'm fine," I replied, glancing down at myself to ensure that was in fact the truth. Though I may have been uninjured, blood covered the front of my armour, stained my hands. Images of Volstagg and my father and the blood—so much blood—permeated my mind.
I felt all the warmth seep from my face. Sif must have perceived it, for she stepped closer to grip my shoulders. "We should return to the palace. The day has been... most difficult."
With her arm around my shoulders, she guided me from the observatory and onto the Rainbow Bridge. Vision blurring, I cast a searching look behind. There, in the heart of the observatory, Loki tarried alongside Thor. Between them sat the sword shard that had been loosed from the Rohella Mountains. It was jagged, like a bolt of lightning, and almost too large to fit in the observatory.
"They want to be certain the shard is destroyed," Sif told me. "To ensure our task is fulfilled in its entirety."
They want to know that all we paid was not needless. As we exited the observatory, I was able to meet Loki's gaze for the briefest of moments before he passed from sight.
On the Rainbow Bridge, I was struck by the ever-rising clamour. Injured refugees and warriors alike lined the edges of the bridge, bewildered, shouting, weeping for loved ones lost back home. I froze, disoriented by the sheer number and the noise. On the opposite side of the crowd, people were being shepherded into caravan after caravan to be taken to the palace, Faradei and his Light Elves among them. My gaze fell upon the caravan nearest to us, into which Volstagg was being carried by a group of healers. Fandral and Hogun stood behind, watching as one third of their trio departed for the palace without them.
Numerous healers lingered on the bridge, tending to what seemed like an endless stream of wounds and traumas. Those who could be moved easily were conveyed onto the caravans first, allowing more manoeuvrability for others.
Since we were mostly unscathed, my friends and I were ushered onto the back of a caravan, utilizing the space that was too precarious for anyone else. With the ill and injured tucked into the depths of the transport, I practically hung onto the very end, my legs dangling off the edge. Mere seconds after we started up the Rainbow Bridge, the Bifrost observatory began to spin and churn, a beam of light exuding from its crown. The sword shard had been sent away at last.
Still, the doubts stirred. Will all this be worth it, in the end? Or are we simply extending our suffering?
The constant sway of the caravan did little to settle my uneasy mind. Everyone on board remained silent; the squeaking wheels and occasional groan of pain were all that filled the air.
I stared out at the Bifrost, the observatory shrinking further and further in the distance with every passing second. It wasn't until our caravan came to an abrupt halt did I realize that we'd reached the palace. The first to disembark, we hurried down the remainder of the bridge and stood off to the side, watching, helpless, as the injured were carried away. Volstagg was among those conveyed through the grand entrance first, and we hastened to follow.
The four of us trailed after him and his healers for a time. But it was not long before we spotted Hildegund and her children waiting in the entrance hall along with numerous others—all families eagerly anticipating the return of Asgard's warriors. Many of those families were about to be subjected to a painful truth, and I did not want to be present to witness it. With Volstagg's family, however, I had no choice.
As we approached Hildegund, she seemed to have already spotted Volstagg in the bustling crowd. She took one step forward but no more than that, for I intervened. "Hildegund, wait, we must speak first," I said, desperately hoping that my voice did not waver. Fandral hurried to draw the children away so that Sif and I could converse with Hildegund out of their hearing. Even so, their wide, teary eyes did not go without notice.
Hildegund glanced between me and Sif, brow furrowed. "What has happened to Volstagg?"
I exchanged a brief look with Sif before answering. "Volstagg is alive, but he has been badly injured."
"How badly?"
Though I hesitated, Sif took a deep breath and said, "I... I'm afraid he has lost his left leg, just above the knee."
In the blink of an eye, Hildegund turned as white as snow before stumbling backwards. With a shaky breath, she looked upon their children, who were happy to hear whatever tale Fandral was currently spinning for them.
"I am uncertain if you want the children to see him until... until he's ready for them," I told her. "We cannot say when that will be, but the healers are sure to take excellent care of him."
Several long seconds stretched past, and the din of wounded and lost warriors and refugees washed over us. Eventually, Hildegund nodded, eyes wide and watery, her form tense. "I should tell the children he is unwell, at least. They shouldn't—" She broke off, staring in their direction, and inhaled several time as though she could not catch her breath.
Sif reached out to her, but she strode away from us, likely never noticing the outstretched hand. The once bright and vibrant Hildegund approached her children and knelt before them. She explained that Volstagg was ill and needed his rest, and that was all. We could not hear their replies. We did not need to; the fall of their faces was enough. Gudrun's eyes grew wide, brimming with tears. She glanced my way, gaze meeting mine, and I felt like I was struck in the chest. I could not keep my promise.
Once the children grew quiet, Hildegund wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand and rose to her feet. She expressed her thanks to us softly before ushering the children from the entrance hall in search of peace. As I watched them go, my vision began to darken, tunnelling, my legs no longer able to keep me upright.
Brow cinched, Sif grabbed my arm. "Are you unwell?"
I blinked harshly several times, black spots flitting through my vision. "I'm quite all right…"
Instead of refuting my response, she looked to Fandral and Hogun. "Go on without us."
Fandral appeared on the verge of protesting, but he refrained. "Find us in the sitting chamber. When you can."
Bestowing upon them a final nod, Sif grasped the crook of my arm and led me through the hall. It was not unlike navigating a maze, dodging people left and right. Their numbers seemed endless, their stations varied. There were displaced Vanir, Einherjar shaken by the loss of so many lives, families desperate in their search for those who would not return. The sight made me feel cold.
We entered the corridor of apartments where Sif wordlessly guided me up the stairs, never loosening her hold on my arm. The hall was empty. Was it supposed to feel so empty?
In seconds, she hurried me past half a dozen doors, steering me into my chambers. She sat me on the couch, and the spinning stopped, splotches in my vision fading at last. I tried to breathe, but it never felt like enough. Hands in my lap, I looked down at them, blood staining the metal, the blue cloth, my skin.
Sif reappeared, though it hadn't registered in my mind that she'd been gone. Sitting on the squat table in front of me, she balanced a basin of water between her knees and reached for my hands. Her fingers weren't covered in blood like mine were. Because all of it belongs to Volstagg. She remained silent, undoing my bracers, sliding off the gloves. When the purple crystal fell free, she caught it mid-fall and held it aloft. "Is this...?"
"It once belonged to Frigga." I bowed my head. "It did not help as I'd hoped."
She placed it aside, along with my bracers and gloves. When she proffered the basin, filled to the brim, I cleaned my hands. After all the rubbing and scrubbing and scratching, the water clouded red. Transfixed, I stopped, my hands now scarlet from the scouring rather than the blood. "What are we doing, Sif?" I asked.
"What do you mean?"
"We keep fighting, and I don't know why—" I lifted my head to find her tear-filled gaze. "What are we doing?"
Her shoulders dropped, and she closed her eyes. "We're doing our best."
"Is it enough?" I withdrew my hands from the murky water and let them rest on my lap. "I keep wondering if all we've done... has it all been in vain? What do our small victories amount to? People keep dying around us. How can we expect to stop Surtur when we can barely even face Malekith?"
Sif looked at me then, skin more ashen than I'd ever seen, her glistening eyes ringed with red. After a moment, I realized that she seemed at a loss for words. Loosing a heavy breath, I clasped her hand and squeezed tight. A small comfort in the face of such great sorrow.
No warning preceded the sitting chamber door swinging open. Loki strode inside, his face smeared with soot, his hair a touch dishevelled. He paused by the armrest of the couch, never saying a word.
Sif cast us both a look before standing and leaving the basin on the table, right where she'd been sitting. Turning back to me, she handed me a towel. "You can find me in the sitting chamber, should you need me," she said. Gracing Loki with a curt nod, she made her exit.
My ears burned in the boundless silence that followed.
Loki circled around the couch to stand above me. When I looked up at him, his eyes narrowed. "What were you thinking, running into the field by your lonesome?" he questioned. "Why do you never learn? You could have been killed in an instant."
Jaw clenched, I met his gaze straight on, the towel gripped painfully in my hands. I wanted to react with anger. To shout and rage and strike back. How dare Loki seek to chastise me at a time like this? But I simply stared at him and saw beneath his ire the tiredness etched into his brow, his wan complexion marred with scratches, blood, and bruises. In that moment, the events of the day swept over me, and I buckled under the weight of the memories.
I hadn't even noticed that I was crying until an abrupt sob escaped my lips. Lowering my eyes, I pressed a hand to my mouth in a wasted attempt to smother my sorrow. My whole body shuddered, and through my blurred sight, I could perceive Loki dropping to one knee before me, his expression softening.
With an unexpected tenderness, Loki cupped my face between his hands and wiped the tears away only for them to be replaced by new ones. "Forgive me. I shouldn't have..." He shook his head and sighed. "Your father is dead. In that field... for a moment, I feared you would meet the same fate."
Several long seconds passed us by as I took one shaky breath after another. My tears continued to make their presence known, soundless, sliding down my cheeks. "My father and I had such a distance between us. I thought him cold and reserved—always so hard of heart. I wanted to hate him for it." I closed my eyes and laid my hand atop his. "He might not have been everything I needed through the centuries… but he was still my father."
My voice broke on the last word, and the grief welling in my heart since the day Frigga died overwhelmed me at last. Tears streamed freely, any attempt to speak further catching in my throat. Before I could think about what I was doing, I slumped off the couch and buried my face in the crook of Loki's neck, clutching tightly to him.
In an instant, Loki circled his arms around me, cheek resting upon my head, and he held me close as I allowed myself to mourn at last.
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