Author's Notes: In the name of Minor Character Appreciation, I do salute thee!

Week XII: we took up your call to arms with battle cries of our own

LVI. Prime

When Volstagg was but a youth, Jötunnheimr waged war with the stars.

He had been hardly a man - a ripple amongst the ranks of Asgard's immortal guard. But the Allfather had called, and he had eagerly answered. The battlefields of the Great War had been unlike anything he could have imagined - fierce and bitter and cold. When Asgard triumphed, and her sons marched back home, there were gaps in their lines – missed where young men had bled out into the snow, lost to Valhalla's glory.

Now, war forged, there was a veteran staring from his reflection where once youth and dreams had stood.

LVII. Composite

"The Warriors Three!" Volstagg laughed lustily the first time he heard the name, Fandral and Hogun unfortunate victims of his mirth as he caught one under each arm. "It suits us."

Fandral stumbled out from under the larger man's hold. "Fandral the Bold," he mused delightedly. "I like it. And Hogun the Grim . . . fitting."

Hogun blinked – loquaciousness, from him. "And Volstagg the Vast," he murmured, rubbing a hand over his neck where Volstagg had held too tight.

"Worthy titles all," Thor thundered in agreement, grinning heartily.

"Truly wonderful," Loki drawled from his brother's side. "Together you all can now attempt at a whole mind."

LVIII. Deficient

The first time they gathered in the practice rings after the bifröst's destruction – the Three, their Lady, and their Prince – it became apparent that they were an uneven number. There was a new rhythm to be learned to their fighting now, with their sixth soul lost.

"We are five now," Fandral said, scratching at his head, "Not exactly the most ideal sparring number."

Sif glared at him when Thor hesitated to speak, emotion heavy in his gaze. "I will face two rather than one," she said, her eyes fierce even as the hand on her shield clenched. "Come now – Fandral, Hogun, see my challenge."

LVIX. Perfect

Throughout her centuries, Eir had seen much of loss, of life. In her hall, she had held new life as it was birthed, and had felt life slip away in rushes of steel and crimson. For each who passed her way, she did her utmost to return them whole when they had entered less.

"Why, my friend, I do believe that this will scar – come now, a smile at the thought!" Fandral clasped Hogun on the back, his grin forced and wane.

The somber man inclined his head, and under her hands, Eir felt destroyed skin weave itself together again.

LX. Abundant

Hela's first real steel was a set of throwing blades, quite like her father's. The girl tended to the weapons delicately, brow creased in determination.

The whetstone was still clumsy in Hela's small hands, and taking pity upon the proud child (who would not ask her parents for help), Volstagg took out one of his own knives, and set to instructing her. "I taught your mother how to sharpen a blade," Volstagg said easily to Hela's cross eyes. "She was as stubborn as you, as I recall."

But like Sif, Hela quickly realized that he had much to give, and carefully, she listened.