Fathers and Daughters
I remember the day my father died.
Both of them.
One, bringer of death, who gave his life so I might live mine. Recalled from the dark abyss named finality, so I might live once more. Given life on the waters of Eternity.
One wish. One life. Two died around me.
I remember the smile upon his face. I remember not understanding at the time. I wondered why there was water in place of sand, why there was joy in place of sorrow, why there was contentment in place of fear.
I learned later that my father had become a butcherer. A slayer. I recall my grief upon learning that I was the daughter of a murderer.
I recall my second father telling me that I was, yet not, my first father's daughter. That blood didn't define destiny, that deeds mattered more than one's house, that my name was not his. I recall him saying this, and more, and that I didn't stop crying until he took me to Infinity Cones.
You should try the strawberry. It's the best.
I don't know anything about my mother. She died on the sands of a far-away world when more of my people were still alive. And my second father never took wife, so I never had a second mother.
I know why he did not, no matter how many might seek to court the God of Thunder. And Lightning. And Avenging. Which isn't actually something you worship, except people on Earth do, and, well, it's funny that I mention Earth, because it's where my second father died.
It came as no surprise to me. All those charges into battle. All those adventures. Love and Thunder, saving the universe, fighting the good fight, even having the occasional crossover. No, I didn't end up in the Young Avengers, thanks for asking.
It took me long…too long…that my father didn't seek battle for life. Rather, he sought his death.
Of the aesir, only those who perish in battle enter Valhalla. Only through dying in the right way, at the right time, could he see her again.
The son of Heimdall sees all. Even beyond the Veil. My father could see Her, see his goddess, and as my father sought salvation upon the sands, he sought salvation of his own.
It's not a nice experience, knowing that your father loves death more than life. That he loves a dead woman more than you. It's not nice when you confront him over it, shouting. When unpleasant facts come to the surface.
He is a god. You are not.
He is functionally immortal. Your lifespan is measured in mere decades.
He is a hero worshipped by more worlds than you have fingers. You, at best, are his sidekick.
His people have a place of their own on Midgard, you are the last member of your species.
He shouts, you shout, thunder rumbles, and you yell that he's not your father.
He yells back that you're not his daughter.
Both are true. Yet not. But in that moment, both are true, and all that is left is the long, terrible truth, that gods and mortals are not meant to be together.
You leave that very night. You leave Mjolnir behind. You take one identity after another. You stay hidden, despite hoping that one day, the Bifrost will activate. That the thunder shall sound. That the dead shall be raised and…oh, wait, wrong mythology. When you're drinking yourself to oblivion, you forget these things.
Asgardian mead is the best and worst thing in the Nine Realms. The best, because it drowns your sorrows. The worst, because when you're puking your insides out over a toilet with King (Queen?) Brunnhilde patting you on the back, the memories come back to you. And not even a free ride on the flying Viking ship can distract you from how miserable you are.
It's not nice either, looking at the statue of your second father's final love, and knowing that he loves her more than he can ever love you.
It's a good ten years before you see him again.
Turns out that there's guy called Galactus, who's not a god, but might as well be. He has a nasty habit of eating planets. Why someone would eat a planet, I've no idea, and I'm the type of person who's even eaten rockatui (see Korg if you want the recipe). But, whatever, this git wants to gobble up Earth, and multiple people clad in armour or spandex (sometimes both) wants to save the world. Because if it's eaten, we can't avenge it.
Bad pun? I know. Bite me. Which may be a pun also. I don't know anymore.
So, dad and I meet. He calls me Love. I tell him that isn't my name. I try to tell him what my name is, but the words die in my throat. On my world, we weren't named until our tenth nameday, as death was our constant companion.
Love is the name he gave me. Even if I tell him that he never showed Love love.
A lie, I know. But I see the pain in his eyes. Gods do not bleed, but they can cry.
No time for that, as I take my hammer. Formerly his hammer. Formerly her hammer. It seems that a decade of trying to fall in battle hasn't paid off, though not for lack of trying.
We don't lack for trying either. And mortals too can weep, as at last, my father falls.
I weep, yet am happy. I am afraid, yet glad. I am, in that moment, able to understand how my father felt in his final moments.
He shall see her. But I cannot go with him. To me, he is dead. For him, he shall be granted life everlasting.
And yet I weep. But as my tears are wiped, as my eyes become as dry as the desert of my homeworld, my second father, my final father, speaks his last.
"Weep not," he says, "for no parent should outlive their child."
In that moment, my eyes become as wet, as deep, as wide as the sea.
"So shall I go to Valhalla, and join the halls of my fathers. In whose company I shall feel no shame."
"That's Lord of the Rings," I whisper.
He smiles, and speaks no more.
He shall see her. He shall see me. But I, not him.
But I listen. And I hear.
As I bring love and war, I hear the thunder.