Song of Valhalla: Ice and Fire

Chapter 1: Wolf-Kissed

Eivor Wolf-Kissed, the 64-year-old Jarl of the Raven Clan and reincarnation of the hugr of Odin the Mad One, took in the situation around him one last time as his injured body finally failed him. His icy-grey eyes looked over the plethora of dead and dying figures splayed across the dirt road that led into Ravensthorpe; into his home. Their black-iron armor and pitch-black clothing betrayed their identities as Zealots of the Order of Ancients, likely of a foreign cell that had somehow eluded the notice of the Hidden Ones, and all twenty of them were spilling their life-blood at the precipice of his clan's haven. After gazing upon the carrion feast he had left behind for his oldest friend and companion; Synin the Raven, Jarl Eivor shifted his gaze downward to take stalk of the five arrows that were lodged deep into his body, three stuck in his gut and two in his chest.

As the rush of battle slowly left the elderly warrior's body an intense and burning pain rapidly spread through Eivor's form. It was a fatal wound, Eivor Wolf-Kissed was dying.

With a gasp, the second coming of the Raven-Feeder collapsed to his knees and then, with a conscious effort, onto his back. With a pained wheeze the Wolf-Kissed struggled to grab his heirloom axe, the one his father had once wielded, that had fallen from his grasp after he had slain the last Zealot but with all his strength spent the warrior-lord just couldn't reach the fine weapon.

Just as despair was about to latch its icy grip into Eivor's heart at the thought of being passed over by the Valkyries, a calloused hand grabbed the etched axe handle and gently moved it into the dying vikingr's weakening grip as well as shifting his arm so that his arm rested with axe in hand on his chest. Blinking the death-mist from his gaze, Eivor sought the sight of the soul that had gifted him Valhalla, and what he saw brought a teary smile to his lips.

His twin daughters, Asgerd and Alfeid Randvidottir, and his young son Siegfried Eivorsson, while too late to help their father in his last battle, had arrived in time to bid their sire a teary warrior's farewell.

Asgerd, Eivor's eldest child who was blessed with the radiant beauty of the dying vikingr's late wife gently laid her right hand on Eivor's wrinkled and calloused hand that clenched his father's axe. Her stormy-grey eyes glistened with barely contained tears and were hidden from the world by her luscious black locks of hair that had given rise to her other name; Asgerd Raven-Blessed.

Alfeid, on the other hand, couldn't keep as composed as her older twin. She had always been such a willful and passionate girl, and it showed as she wept openly, her head pressed against Eivor's blood shoulder. The sight of his second daughter who had inherited the looks of Eivor's long-departed mother but with the fiery red hair of his late wife brought a great sorrow to the hugr of the Jarl of the Raven Clan but there was little he could do for her now. The Wolf-Kissed only hoped that his dear Alfeid Fire-Heart would recover and continue to burn passionately after he was gone.

And Finally, standing tall at Eivor's feet, Siegfried clenched his fist tightly as he looked between the fallen forms of the Order of Ancients Zealots and his dying father. Eivor saw the icy furry of hatred that he had felt many times in his past take hold in the pale-green eyes that Siegfried had inherited from Randvi but otherwise the Wolf-Kissed's son was the spitting image of his father with the exception of the scares that marked Eivor's face and head. The dying Jarl could see that the Order of Ancients had gained a very dangerous enemy this day and he could only pray that Siegfried Thunder-Axe didn't let his desire for revenge consume him.

As his sight began to fail him, Eivor Varinsson mustered all his remaining strength to force his eyes to and take in the sight of all his children one last time with a smile on his lips. Then Eivor Wolf-Kissed closed his eyes and his hugr departed his body.

Jon Snow was on the verge of panicking as he rushed through the Wolfwood, running as fast as he could towards the looming stone ramparts of Winterfell that stood tall in the distance. Behind the Bastard of Winterfell the sound of rapid footfalls reached the ears of the seven-year-old, the volume of the noise caused the child's eyes; one icy-grey and the other dark purple, to widen before he threw himself to the left onto the snow-covered ground.

The child was able to transition his wild dive into a clumsy roll just in time to witness a large black wolf that had tried to maul him land on the snowy ground he had just been standing on and slide slightly through the white before yelping when it fell off of a sheer drop that Jon had once nearly tripped off of when he was five. The fall wasn't far enough to be fatal to the wolf by any means but it was far enough of a drop that the black-furred wolf would be badly bruised and would likely give up the chase so it could lick its wounds, but even with that comfort Jon did not rest and immediately resumed his flight to the castle in the distance. Not far behind the boy, the howls of two other wolves echoed through the Wolfwood forcing Jon to pick up his pace.

Five minutes later, Jon Snow, panting and gasping for air and covered in a cold sweat, collapsed onto the snow-covered ground of a forest clearing that was easily insight of one of Winterfell's guard towers. The boy's short legs were trembling from exhaustion to the point of uselessness and his chest heaved in and out desperate for oxygen. In Jon's left hand the boy tightly gripped a small child-sized bow of Ashwood while his right hand shook as he reached for an arrow from the quiver that hung from his waist.

Then the two remaining wolves that had been chasing him raced out of the tree-line and barred their fangs while charging the young bastard. Taking a deep breath and holding it, Jon whirled around to face his hunters, knocked his arrow, drew back the bowstring, aimed, and fired. His trembling arms and hasty aim had put off Jon's aim but even then, his arrow found its mark in the right fore-shoulder of one of the beasts. The pain of the attack was enough to stagger the wolf and give it pause with a yelp before it shifted to a limping strafe around the young archer.

Unfortunately for Jon however, he was not fast enough to draw out a second arrow and knock it before the second wolf leaped at him, its maw wide, teeth glinting in the fading twilight of the day, and its breath rancid. In response, Jon's quick thinking saw his bow taking the brunt of the canine's bite instead of the boy's jugular.

'Crack!'

Almost immediately Jon's bow cracked at the force of the wolf's jaw strength, and from how the Bastard of Winterfell was holding onto his weapon he could see the crack in the weapon's handle growing larger.

"Ah!" With a cry of effort, Jon twisted the Ashwood bow and the wolf chomping on its center to the right of his kneeling form before letting go of the length of wood with one hand and stabbing the arrow he had also been holding in his right hand into the grey and white canine's left eye. Then, with all the strength he could muster, Jon pushed the projectile as deep as he could into the wolf's brain. Instantly the following the surprise strike the beast collapsed into a boneless heap freeing the young lad's bow from its maw.

Driven by adrenaline and latent battle-lust, Jon didn't hesitate to draw his next arrow, spilling the rest of his ammunition in the process because of his shaky arm, and fired at the remaining injured wolf that was circling him, allowing his instincts to guide his aim. As a result of his hasty action, his bow completely split in half due to the combination of the damage done to it and the stress of Jon firing it in such a state but his aim was true and his arrow did find its mark, sinking deep into the inside of the beast's throat when it was mid snarl.

Then all was quiet. The sound of padding footfalls on snow was replaced with the sound of rustling leaves. The chilling call of howling wolves was exchanged for the calming dulcet of blowing wind.

Jon sighed as he looked up at the darkening clouds and first stars to brighten the sky. At that point, he was then blindsided.

"Ahhh!" Jon screamed in pain when a wolf's jaw bit down on his right collar from behind, sinking sharp yellowed teeth deep into his flesh.

Out of the corner of Jon's frantically wide indigo eye, the boy caught a glimpse of his new assailant. It was the Black Wolf that Jon had wrote off after tricking to fall from the small cliff. Its angry orange-red eyes glared through Jon and straight into the bastard's soul was it leveraged its bulk to force the boy to fall face-first into the snow-covered ground of the forest clearing.

So, this is it? Jon's thoughts flashed so quickly through his mind that his perception of the world around him slowed to a crawl and bled color until only black white, and grey remained. This is how I die? Is this where Fate dictates that I must meet my end?

Not with his hearing but with a sixth sense that Jon had never been able to explain to anyone, the Bastard of Winterfell recognized the soft padding of boot-covered footfalls just before a robbed figure revealed itself from behind a nearby autumn tree and walked slowly towards the boy being mauled by a woodland beast.

"Is this all you can do Jon Snow?" The figure's voice was gravely and possessed an accent that Jon had never heard before. As the robbed man approached the distressed boy time seemed to slow even more until it stopped altogether when the man halted his approach a few feet away from Jon, right in front of the boy's broken bow that had fallen into the snow. "Are you willing to let your Song end here so suddenly? Will your Saga be so tragically short?"

"No!" Jon cried out with new strength as red-hot anger warmed his blood and body, pure determination spurred action in the recesses of his very being. "I won't let this be my end! Anyone, please help me!"

In the depths of Jon's hugr a part of his being was awoken by the authority and desperation in Jon's plea. With a sudden realization, Jon's eyes widened when his sixth sense suddenly connected to the sixth sense of two other nearby beings who immediately responded to Jon's plight. A sudden shrill cry rang out from high above the forest floor before two feathered forms dived from above and attacked the Black Wolf with beak and claw, surprising the canine enough that it released its would-be meal and try to swat at the newcomers.

Jon could only spare his feathered savors a quick grateful glance before he began dragging his bloody and sorry form towards his fallen weaponry. The two beings that had saved him and were now risking their lives to buy Jon time were a pair of ravens; one so dark that its wings glinted a slight purple in the dying light while the other was pure alabaster white. Together the avians made quite the team, the white bird catching and holding the wolf's attention by staying just out of the beast's reach while the dark raven would dart in and out of the shade of the forest to claw and peck at the Red-Eyed wolf so fast that it couldn't respond fast enough.

Yet with the same sixth sense that now connected Jon with the birds, Jon could tell that the ravens were young and quickly tiring because of their actions. They would not be able to distract the canine much longer.

Shifting through the snow, Jon's hands gripped the two broken halves of his bow, and his icy-grey and vivid purple eyes zeroed in on the shattered ends of the halves. The sharp shattered ends of the halves. A savage and bloody smile formed on Jon's lips as an idea formed in his head.

You've done well. Jon unknowingly communicated to his avian saviors through their shared sense. I can handle the rest.

The two ravens released simultaneously worried caws before synchronizing their movements to confuse and dizzy the Black Wolf a final time with a dance of aerial gymnastics and loud, distracting, caws before then flying up to rest in a nearby tree.

"Forget about them!" Jon shouted at the dizzied wolf while gripping his makeshift weapons tighter. "It is me you want, so come and get me!"

With a loud snarl, the black wolf charged Jon and leaped the boy's throat teeth barred. In response Jon narrowed his gaze and focused totally on his advisory, blocking out all other distractions. With Jon's perception of time stilled to such an extreme degree, it felt like hours passed for the boy while he waited for the exact right moment to react to the beast's attack but in reality, mere seconds passed between the wolf leaping at Jon and what happened next.

When the Black Wolf was in mid-air and unable to adjust itself with how close it was, Jon finally struck back. Both his hands, sharpened bow half in each, darted forward from the snowdrift he had hidden them in and both splintered ends dug deep into the now alarmed wolf drawing blood. The makeshift weapon in Jon's right hand found purchase in the beast's wide maw, digging into the soft fleshy inner walls of the Black Wolf's mouth but also exposing Jon's right forearm to the ravages of the beast's sharp teeth when the canine closed its jaw on Jon's arm. The bastard's left hand on the other hand, as if guided by an instinct foreign to Jon's life, deposited its makeshift weapon deep into the Black Wolf's jugular.

Immediately the large canine collapsed onto its stomach and glared balefully at his slayer with red-orange eyes. Futilely, with the last of its strength the beast chewed and sunk its fangs deeper into Jon's right arm but the entity that now looked through the boy's eyes into the wolfs didn't even register the sensation of pain.

"Not this time Fenrir." A duel-toned deep layered voice spoke through the mouth of the seven-year-old child. One of the presences making up the amalgamation consciousness caused the wolf's eyes to seemingly glow a malevolent red as foreign anger filled the dying beasts collapsed form. "You may have been fated to slay me in our first lives, but this boy holds a fate far removed from either of us. Now begun, return to the world I have left behind and to your snake of a father. Let the Oath-Breaker choke on the knowledge that my family and I are free of him at last."

A small cruel smile, out of place on Jon Snow's delicate features, grew on young Jon's lips as the light of life fled the Black Wolf's body and the hugr of an ancient foe was forced to return to whence it came. Then, when the foreign hugr receded into his depths of Jon's being, the Bastard of Winterfell slipped into blissful unconsciousness even as his arm still bled into the kiss of the wolf he just slew.

Elsewhere, in a realm framed by flames and filled with shadow, a figure composed completely of light and fire frowned its abstract facial features. It had detected a strange change to the fabric of his plan for the world's future. A variable that he failed to recognize had thrown his calculations into disarray.

Elsewhere again, Seven-figures-that-are-One paused their never-ending deliberations when the fabric of fate itself trembled at the events surrounding a young bastard that lived far from the Seven's influence. Following the event that forced them/it to restart their/its calculations four of the seven immediately restarted their bickering only now with a new topic on their lips. Of the three that did not indulge in the petty actions, two shared worried looks and whispers in secret while the seventh ignored them all.

After all, Death cared not for the actions of the living, especially when its domain was being threatened by another.

In the far, far reaches of the North, Blue Eyes opened early at the vehement curses of its master sounding in its head.

In a realm hidden deep beneath the waves, a crazed being merely continued to laugh at the amusing change that had thrown the plans of his contemporaries off track.

And finally, deep within the recesses of Jon Snow's hugr, two figures floated in the genetic/soul memory that flowed through the Bastard of Winterfell's veins. The younger figure, dressed in rich furs and armor, and grasping a resplendent spear in one hand, floated in a deep sleep and dreamt of the life he had left behind. The other figure, this one old, wizened, and missing his right eye was clad in worn grey robes and also wielded a spear that was identical to the one the young figure wielded was awake unlike his fellow and he was busy cackling at his good fortune.

He could not believe that the contingency plan he had prepared for his original contingency plan had worked out so well. Reincarnated in a world that he knew his back-stabbing Oath-Brother didn't have a foothold in and now attached to the hugr of a child that was a center-point for this world's calculations. Yes; the High One made a wise decision when he used his favor with the Bright One to have the head of Project Star Path add the human DNA infused with Aesir and Vanir genetic material to his project.

What filled the High/Mad One with even more mirth than his own circumstance, however, was the World he had the good fortune to now reside in. It boggled the ancient entity's mind that his old college actually managed to keep his promise to the others that signed onto his project and ensure that the end result of Project Stat Path was a world filled with actual magic. More than that, the High One was elevated to find that the mystical power source was keyed to give priority to individuals that possessed high quantities of Isu blood. All ready the Raven-Feeder could feel the different magics in his new host's blood responding to his awakened Isu blood and begin changing the young Jon Snow.

Truly, the High One thought to himself with a grin. I have finally accomplished the goal I set out with so long ago. I defied Fate and won!