Worship of the Gods

"The more clearly we can focus our attention
on the wonders and realities of the universe about us,
the less taste we shall for destruction."

– Rachel Carson

Chapter Thirteen: A Dunga at Heart

According to Aristotle, even good-tempered people have the power to be angry and you can only tell someone is wholly good-tempered by their ability to choose the right moment to be angry.

Heavenly Father, am I to learn alongside such prideful, vain sinners?

Ellie knew she was not good-tempered despite her best prayers to be so and it was moments like this when she was fully aware of how futile prayer could be.

Are these sinners a reflection of myself? Am I, too, consumed by vengeance and hatred?

Gustav, that was his name; he was one of the bulky warriors who'd stormed past her room. He had seemingly forgotten the entire event and was relaying his entire life story to Ellie. For the last several hundred years, his wealthy father had taken him travelling across the universe and now he had returned it was time for him to become a warrior.

"I warn you, dunga, you'll find no sympathy from me when we begin combat training," he had said, casting a belittling glance around the hall.

No doubt Gustav enjoyed his pet names. Calling Ellie a dunga, or useless fellow, was just about the last straw. She was not impressed by his travels, his money or his family honour. "My name is Eurelia," she had pressed, her voice edging with annoyance. "And you will find none from me."

"No doubt I expected any less from any training warrior," he'd said and met Ellie's gaze, begging for a retort. She'd clenched her fingers around her goblet and that was when her first friendly face came to her rescue.

"Gustav, right?" a voice said nearby. The huge man looked down at the scrawny figure stood beside him.

"Yes? And you are?" They shook hands. The thin one winced slightly which earned a cackle from Gustav. "Lounn, son of Yarsyg."

"The weapon's master. Who knew such a monstrous figure had you as his son? Did he forge you from a strip of breeze?" Gustav's smirk, the rise of his thin lips and quirk of his thick, blond brow was imprinted in Ellie's memories. He'd expressed every part of his personality and now had no use for Ellie or this Lounn.

With her fingernails curled into the bone of her drinking goblet, Ellie fought the desire to throw it remnants over the back of his head.

"At least I wasn't forged from the hide of a pig," Lounn said.

Ellie glanced at him sharply. Then she laughed, anger dissipating into the raw snort of amusement.

"Couldn't let you deal with that bacraut alone. Half the people here are honourably pathetic."

"Thank you for saving me," she said. "I don't know how much more I could take."

They shared a well-humoured grin, clacking their goblets together in a slightly awkward manner.

"Some of them are alright. A lot of family names to remember, but I've got a good idea of who to avoid."

Lounn had picked up a strip of boar and cautiously tore a strip of it off. "I must apologise for using my family name, then."

"Oh, no. I mean the ones who have an egotistical reason to be here. You haven't used your father being a weapons master as an excuse to be an overbearing asshole. Or bacraut, as you put it."

Lounn set his mouth in a grin line. "Definitely not using my father to get where I want to be."

"What do you want to be?" Ellie asked. She didn't care what he did for living, she wanted to know what a scrawny thing like him ached for by becoming a warrior.

Lounn scratched the collar of his tunic. There had been a family crest there once. The lighter shading told Ellie that. "Definitely not a burden."

"More than that?" Ellie said. "Being a burden isn't an achievement."

"Is it for me. I'm unwed and unemployed. I'm the biggest burden an honourable family can have."

There were many similarities between Asgard and medieval Britain. Ellie could only conclude that the reason was the world was inspired the norms of old norse and not its own creativity.

"And…" Lounn said, "I'm scared of dying."

He chewed on the last bit of boar and swallowed. Grease glistened on his fingers as he licked it off.

Ellie motioned to her empty goblet and the pair took a stroll up to the barrel of alcohol beside the fireplace. It probably wasn't the best idea to have such a flammable liquid situated there, but it was warm on Ellie's tongue; curling up inside her belly like a heating pad. She shivered.

"In battle, we can drink as much as we please," a woman boasted to her accomplice as she refilled her cup. "Celebrating a victory drunk is one of the most noble ways to do so."

"Truly?" the man said. He was slender with rich hair oils pushing back his hair. His tunic was well-made with gold embroidery snaking up his arms. "My uncle fought alongside Sweyn Forkbeard and told me they were allowed to rip the head of their enemies off their shoulders and wear it in celebration."

"Oh, Gods, I wouldn't dare. Would you?"

"Being a member of the Allfather's guard; I doubt I would get the chance."

"A royal warrior?" she replied, impressed with his aspirations. Ellie sipped her drink, lulling into the soft tune of lyres and string-instruments.

For the few hours Ellie had to sleep, she wasn't at peace. In her dream, she was in a forest being chased by wargs. Upon bursting into a clearing, she found herself on London Bridge. The concrete under her feet was flat and solid; the smell of petrol consumed her and the clang of Big Ben echoed in her ears. She ran across the bridge as the Thames began to rise. It filled her mouth and ears, dribbling into her lungs until she was floating in a world of water and howling.

The howling transformed into clanging. She had awoke to Major-General Tyr of the kingsguard ordering warriors to the dining hall. A marvellous feast had been cooked, ale was flowing and a band was strumming a Norse tune.

Tyr was fearsomely stout with a red beard and plaits stringing his hair back from his face. Runes were tattooed over his bare arms, nearly hidden by a layer of thick body hair. The northern quip in his accent told Ellie he was a traveller and had lived for many centuries in the high mountains of Asgard. He also did not like large gatherings. He'd disappeared moments after the festivities had begun, throwing out that the rest of their trainers would arrive in the following week.

There must've been a few thousand warriors in the training barracks, but Ellie's group accumulated just over thirty. They were either training for their iron band, honour or war. Ellie wouldn't have minded getting two of those three. Not that she had any choice in the war aspect.

Lounn was in a deep conversation with a woman named Naeva. Ellie listened intently to their iron-clad tales. She had been medically training for years and found she preferred snapping bones instead of fixing them.

The other warriors were intoxicated and singing together. In a mixture of Old Norse and English, Ellie translated their ballad:

when some thane would harm me in runes
on a moist tree's root,
on his head alone shall light the ills
of the curse that he called upon mine.
A seventh I know: if I see a hall
high o'er the bench-mates blazing,
flame it ne'er so fiercely I still
can save it,
— I know how to sing that song.

Ellie was enthralled; fighters, as tough as the leather on their wrists and as bold as their words. All shapes and sizes, skinny and large, it reminded Ellie of dinner times when she was a child.

She used to sit in front of the fire, her face buried in the wooden bowl as she scoffed a meat pie. Sometimes they would have bread pudding or steamed chocolate duff. There was no chocolate on Asgard because there were no cocoa trees. She cursed it.

Gustav laughed, raising his voice to grab everyone's attention. "Rumours tell us there is a Midgardian amongst us," he edged. Ellie felt her cheeks beginning to swell with redness but clenched her teeth and looked around with disgust. Which is what the rest of the room were doing.

"Nay, they are half-born," another man said. Ellie was sure his name was Ajun.

"Who are they the offspring of then?"

"A warrior who served under the Allfather many centuries ago."

"A warrior with no name? Or a coward who chooses not to reveal himself?"

A female leapt to her feet, raising her full goblet. "Or herself."

Gustav met with the woman, his demeanour challenging and full of curious dislike. "You are the child of this warrior?"

"Perhaps I am. You may find that it is us women who grind your bones to sand."

"Threaten me again and we'll see if human innards are the same as Aesir." Gustav raised a carving knife from the table, levelling it with the woman's stomach. There wasn't a chance for the air to fill with tension as the woman kicked Gustav in the shin.

The knife clattered to the ground. "I'm not the child you seek, but I am willing to spill your insides to compare with theirs," she hissed. For a moment, nobody spoke. Ellie felt quite ill, quite quickly.

Beside her, Vidar raised his goblet. "Skål!" he cried.

"Skål!" the room returned in unison. Ellie inhaled the remaining drops of her ale and wiped her mouth on the back of her sleeve. She forgot about her rosary beads and winced as they pushed into her sensitive skin.

Loki held up a wax candle about the size of his fist.

"Do you know what will happen to this candle when I let go?"

Ellie searched for an answer which was philosophical and deep. After several moments of looking between Loki and the candle, she settled for the most philosophical answer she could give. "It'll hit the floor."

"I want you to believe it'll hit the floor," he said. With a passive expression, Ellie couldn't figure out how this was going to help her. Of course, she believed it would hit the floor.

"Is this a trick?"

He grinned. "My reputation proceeds me but, no. This isn't a trick."

Loki counted down and let go of the candle. It hit the floor with a resounding thud and rolled several feet. "You weren't watching it," he said and picked up the candle.

"I was!"

"No, you looked at it like it was going to fall regardless. You dismissed its movements."

Ellie nearly snorted. "What? Of course, it was going to fall; it's a candle."

A humourless laugh fell from his lips. He threw the candle in the air and caught it as he walked towards her. "For such a philosopher, you really are narrow-minded. Speaking to you like a servant wasn't on my agenda today but my patience wears thin. So, listen to me.

Watch the candle. Look at its shape, its colour and smoothness. It exists as an entity packed full of potential energy. You believe in God?"

"Always."

"Then believe in this."

"Why? What do I need this magic for?" she asked, peering up at Loki. "Why are you teaching me?"

"Magic isn't truly magic. It's connecting to the energy which exists around us. Once you harness that power, you can bend and manipulate it."

His omniscient words did little to comfort Ellie. Only two beings could use magic and that was himself and Frigga. "Why me?"

A hint of amusement grew in his slender face. He was like a raven waiting for prey to drop dead so he could swoop in a strip it of its flesh. "That's the question, isn't it?" he said. "All we know is you have this same ability to manipulate matter which is why the stone reacted to you. You gave it life. It's just locked away. Like a bird in a cage."

"So, I need to be like you to do this task?"

"Not like me. There is nothing in the universe like me," he slid back icily.

Ellie chewed the inside of her cheek as she left Loki's intense gaze. She saw the candle as an object. The beige exterior had been smoothed by a chandler, but the wick was charcoal-black and wilted. Someone had used it recently; perhaps to read by its light, or to set the mood of a romantic meeting. Its edge was curled over slightly.

Loki counted down.

The candle fell through the air quickly. Ellie frowned, watching it swivel through the air and hit the stone harshly. God, my heavenly Father, make this candle will fall. Make this candle fall. This time, a part cracked off.

The prince only nodded at her and picked up the candle. "Again. What will happen if I drop it?"

God, my heavenly Father, make this candle will fall. Make this candle fall

"It will fall," Ellie said for the thirtieth time, an hour later.

Loki held up the candle and asked the question again.

"What will happen if I drop this candle?" The thing was chipped and cracked to exhaustion; bits of candle littered the floor. At one point, it had split in half.

"It will fall down," Ellie said, trying to hide her boredom. She had prayed that God would will the candle to fall, knowing well that it amused Loki. However, God came for her and the candle did, indeed, fall. Although, that could've been gravity acting upon it as well.

The suns were setting as afternoon had rolled around. Light drifted through the window, hiding Loki's smirking face in a shadow. His hair was messier than usual, tousled slightly from the hours of bending down and standing back up. In normal light, Ellie wouldn't be able to tell. She sat in his shadow. "Not this time," he said diligently. "This time it will fall… up."

Ellie smiled widely. "Fall up?" she asked, "fly?"

"Like one of those red balloons in your world," he said. "It'll fly upwards and hit the ceiling, or perhaps it'll find its way to the window and join the stars."

"I can't make it fly, especially like a balloon, my Lord."

"You believed it would fall, didn't you?"

"Well, yes, because it's a heavy object and gravity is pulling it down…" As the words slipped out of her mouth, she watched Loki tilt his head slightly. "… and I forced it to go down with my spiritual powers or whatever."

Loki brandished the candle slightly. "Yes, you did."

He let go of the candle and it hit the floor loudly. The noise irked Ellie. She felt last night's anger creeping into her chest. Loki's apprehensive look shot daggers of disappointment through her.

Heavenly Father, I…

"If any of this magic stuff is real, why don't you just do it?" She burst, clambering to her feet. "If this falling and flying shit is real, you do it. You do it and prove I'm clearly the bloody dunga everyone says I am."

The prince's eyes narrowed. In the shadow, they almost glowed before her. She was consumed by the ripples of tension spreading out of him. As he raised a hand, Ellie spotted a gold signet ring glinting in the sunlight. His fingers were long and slender; flexing as if the very air around them was theirs to control.

Then she remembered their night on the bridge. How furious Loki had been with the wargs. She suddenly felt terrible for demanding he show her.

The candle silently rose into the air, appearing as soft and as gentle as a feather would. It turned thrice. Ellie leaned backwards, her mind flashing with images of London Bridge.

Loki splayed his hand, spreading his fingers apart. The candle flew towards the ground and smashed into a thousand pieces. Ellie tripped and fell back into the chair, squeezing her eyes together as the wax shards splattered the room.

"I train you in the magical arts for the sake of my Mother," Loki said. "Do not order me again. Or the next time you pray you will have no hands to use."

As Ellie watched Loki twist his hands, summoning the candle shards into a neat pile beside his feet, she chewed her nail. "Perhaps I really am a dunga," she said. "I should… uh, get back. Combat starts tomorrow and I don't think Lounn would appreciate being alone at dinner."

"Made a friend already?" said Loki. "How about that? Even though you're a Midgardian?"

"Well, I… He doesn't know that I'm human. Told him I was a burden to my parents because I'm unmarried."

Loki raised a sleek eyebrow, slightly expressionless. "Of course, you did. Must say, it's not an uncommon thing for burdens to become warriors."

Ellie's grimace was sour, she swallowed the words which threatened to slip out. "Many apologies for today. I now realise I am the burden of not just my dead parents, but the entire Kingdom and Elvish-kind."

Having left the room in a huff, Ellie stormed through Asgard and fell into bed with a headache; forgetting about Lounn and the sizzling meat-pie on the menu.

References:

Dunga – Old Norse for Useless Fellow

Bacraut – Old Norse for Asshole

Yarsyg – Marvel Comics: he's an Asgardian Weapon's Master and Warrior.

The War Song – a modern inspiration of an old norse song – Runagaldr by Danheim.

Reviews:

SenSen-Chan - Oh no about the notification! Thats such a shame but I'm so happy you came back to read more! Thank you for commenting, happy reading! x

deltareads - Yes! Thank you so much for reading and taking time to comment! x

vivenneflwr - Yes she is improving! Slowly but surely. The tv show doesn't air for a while so I'm not sure, I'm enjoying writing my own Asgardian material as well as Loki's but the fanfiction will lead into the movies eventually and perhaps the tv show! x