Fenris stood frozen on the threshold of Breidablik, unable to breathe. Baldur's warm hand was still clamped on his shoulder—and Baldur had just called him Fenrir. Even though no one had known that Fenris could shift into human form, somehow Baldur could tell that the scrappy, black-haired teenager, 'Fenjamin,' was really the Great Wolf Fenrir, son of Loki, and destroyer of worlds.
"What is going on?" Baldur asked from behind him, his voice gentle. "Why are you sneaking into Asgard disguised as a human?" He squeezed Fenris's shoulder once more, then let his hand drop.
Fenris swallowed and slowly turned to face the god of purity and innocence. He didn't know what to do. Baldur peered at him intently, his dark blue eyes shining with good humor. Fenris sighed. If anyone would understand his conundrum, it might well be Baldur. Back before the gods betrayed him, when Fenrir had spent time in Asgard, Baldur had occasionally spoken of his prophesied death. He seemed like he had come to terms with his fate—his role to play as one of the portents which preceded Ragnarok. Maybe he could help Fenris come to terms with his role to play.
"My father sent me," he answered, looking down at his feet in shame.
"I see," Baldur said, his distaste for Loki clear in his tone of voice. "To kill me?"
This startled Fenris into looking up. "What? No! Well," he paused, his brow furrowed, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. "Maybe? Not explicitly. He wanted me to cause some mayhem...then eventually help him beat the Ragnarok prophecy so that he and I live, and everyone else dies. My friend and I were going to try and steal the head of Mimir—to hopefully throw Odin off his game."
Baldur's lips trembled slightly, like he was trying not to smile. "So Loki thinks he's going to use the irregularity of this Ragnarok cycle to his benefit?"
Fenris nodded. Then he frowned. "Wait. You know that it's a cycle? I was told most of the gods have been kept in the dark about that."
"Been talking with your sister, I see." Baldur grinned and reached out to ruffle Fenris's hair. "Yes, I know. Because I die...usually… at the beginning of the Ragnarok cycle, then hang around with Hel and Nanna (who insists upon accompanying me to Helheim) while we wait for the battle to happen. After the final battle, Hel resurrects me, and Nanna and I live on for awhile as everything resets itself. Those of us left behind after Ragnarok, including your sister, eventually fade, and the cycle begins again—but we are reborn with all our memories."
"Oh," said Fenris said quietly. "So that's why you seemed so chill with the fact that you die in the prophesy. But didn't you ever try to change things? See if you could somehow circumvent the prophesy? It must suck to keep dying over and over."
Baldur shrugged. "I've tried a few times, but the cycle works around whatever it is I've changed, and everything falls right back into place. I believe that the only reason this Ragnarok isn't self-correcting is that the act that changed things was perpetrated by an outsider. Puck." He paused at the look of confusion on Fenris's face. "I've been talking to Hel too. She told me what was happening. (Although she did fail to mention this interesting new shapeshifting ability of yours). Anyway, Puck freed you from your chains instead of you breaking out on your own (and long before it was supposed to happen, to boot), and in doing so, fundamentally altered the series of events leading up to the final battle."
"That makes sense, I guess," Fenris said, his voice hollow. He wanted to be mad at Puck for putting him in this situation, but he couldn't be. Puck's meddling was the only reason he had met Dipper, and subsequently, Mabel.
"So are we going to stand here all day, 'Fenjamin,'" Baldur said with a chuckle. "Or are we going to go inside my hall and feast?"
"I am hungry," Fenris admitted. He began to walk forward, then stopped, and turned to face Baldur again. "Just one question first. How did you know that I'm...me? Will all the other gods be able to tell I'm Fenrir, too? And what did you mean when I said I wasn't evil, and you said 'you never were'?"
Baldur grinned. "That was actually three questions. I knew it was you because, in addition to hearing Dingus call you Fen, your eyes are the same as they always have been. And no, I doubt any of the others will recognize you, except maybe Heimdall with his 'all-seeing' nonsense, and Tyr, because he was your keeper. The rest of the gods were too scared of you to get close enough to really look into your eyes when you were in wolf form."
Fenris felt his cheeks grow warm. He'd never understood why everyone was always so afraid of him, when he hadn't even done anything yet. It turned out now, though, that their fear of him might have actually been beneficial, because it made them less likely to recognize him in his human form.
"What about the third question?" he asked quietly, looking down at his feet.
Baldur reached out and crooked a finger under Fenris's chin, tipping his face up so he'd meet Baldur's eyes. "I meant it exactly how it sounded, friend. When I knew you as Fenrir, you could be a bit of a smart-ass, and cocky, and immature… And there was that thing with biting off Tyr's hand. But none of that made you evil. Besides, Tyr got what he deserved for deceiving you."
"I trusted him," Fenris whispered, backing up a step. "You and he were the only Aesir to treat me as anything other than a wild, untamable monster. Even my father thinks of me more as a monster than as his son." He was looking down at his feet again, so he didn't see the incoming bear hug. Baldur wrapped his arms around Fenris and squeezed tightly, picking the destroyer of worlds a few feet up off the ground.
"You deserve better," Baldur said, his voice thick with emotion. "You always have. The betrayal and binding that you've endured countless times—" His voice cracked as he set Fenris back on his feet. "I hope, for your sake, that this Ragnarok is different. Fight your destiny, Fenrir. You deserve a happy ending this time."
Fenris swallowed hard as he nodded, and wiped absently at his watering eyes.
Baldur strode past him and pushed through the door to Breidablik, turning to wave Fenris after him. "Come, let's eat, and we can discuss how best to go about stealing the head of Mimir from my father."
Fenris chuckled as he stepped over the threshold. "Sounds like a plan."
/
The pizza smelled delicious, but Mabel's roiling stomach told her that to eat right now would be a grave mistake. Wendy sat cross-legged on Dipper's old bed, stuffing her face, completely oblivious to Mabel pacing nervously around the room.
Mabel's mind was racing. She wanted to tell Wendy about Morrigan, but the goddess had specifically told Mabel not to tell anyone that she was training with her. Mabel had already failed to Lie to Wendy, (although she was glad now for that fact), but to reveal Morrigan as her new teacher, when she'd so pointedly and repeatedly told Mabel not to—it felt like that would be going too far. And Mabel didn't want to incur the wrath of the Phantom Queen. The idea of the Morrigan's wrath chilled Mabel to the bone. She shivered and rubbed her arms.
"What's wrong, Mabes?" asked Wendy, through a mouthful of pepperoni, finally noticing Mabel's unease. She paused to swallow, and then continued. "You said you were starving, but you haven't touched the pizza."
Mabel sighed, and sank down onto her mattress, directly across from Wendy. She bit her lower lip and tapped her fingers against her thighs. How could she tell Wendy about training with Morrigan without actually telling her? Then, she had an idea.
"Does your mom know The Morrigan?" she asked, ignoring Wendy's question to her.
Wendy's brow furrowed, and she sat the slice of pizza she'd been working on back in the box. "Um, I don't know… Why?"
"I just, kind of, wanted to meet her, I guess?" Mabel said, wincing at how flimsy her lie sounded. "I wanted to ask her about something."
"…Something that you can't ask any of the other gods or goddesses that you personally know?"
"Something specific to her," Mabel provided, unhelpfully. "Can you ask your mom?"
"Yeah, okay," said Wendy, still wearing a confused frown. She suddenly ceased to exist in the attic, and Mabel blinked in surprise. Beithe was just downstairs. She hadn't expected Wendy to blip to her.
It was less than a minute (although it felt much longer) when Wendy reappeared in the room, accompanied by Beithe. Mabel only jumped a little, as she had been expecting Wendy to blip back instead of taking the stairs. She hadn't expected Beithe, as well, however. She figured Wendy would just relay her mom's answer.
Beithe sat down on the mattress next to Mabel, while Wendy reclaimed her seat on Dipper's bed, as well as the slice of pizza she'd been working on.
Beithe faced Mabel, one eyebrow arched. "Wendy tells me you're asking about The Morrigan?"
"I just—I wanted to know if you knew her personally," Mabel stammered. She could feel her cheeks flushing as she stared down at her hands in her lap.
"I do," Beithe said. "She and I don't particularly get along all the time, though. Why did you want to know?"
Mabel swallowed and looked up to meet Beithe's eyes. "Would it be possible for you to introduce me to her? Maybe tonight?"
Mabel figured that if she was 'introduced' to Morrigan in front of people, the goddess might decide to let up on all the secrecy. She planned to act as familiar as possible with Morrigan, so that hopefully Beithe, at the very least, would pick up on Mabel and Morrigan's pre-existing relationship.
"Tonight?" Beithe repeated, leaning back slightly. "I doubt she would come tonight. Morrigan is all about doing things her own way. She doesn't like to play to the whims of others."
"Please? It's important," said Mabel.
"Why, though?" Wendy interjected from across the room. "Why her? Why now?"
Mabel tried to fight it, but she began to tremble. "Because I," she said, her voice quavering slightly. Gods, she had practiced the art of the Lie all afternoon, and now she could barely tell a lowercase lie-by-omission. She almost wanted to say 'nevermind, forget it,' but it was too late for that. She had piqued Beithe's and Wendy's curiosities.
"I can't really go into detail," Mabel said finally. "But please, Beithe. Can you blip to her, and ask her if Mabel Pines could meet her?"
Beithe frowned, but nodded slowly. "Okay, my dear. I'll try and locate her. It might take a bit, depending on where she is, and what kind of mood she's in, but I'll try and convince her to come meet you."
With that, Beithe blipped away.
Mabel didn't expect Beithe to be gone long—after all, Morrigan was in a forest clearing not far from the Gravnemeta. She was surprised, then, when she realized an hour had passed. After several more hours of waiting and attempting to keep themselves occupied, Wendy suggested that they call it a night.
"If my mom comes back, she'll wake us up," she reassured Mabel, with a yawn. "Anyway, we're supposed to have guard duty at the Gravnemeta in the morning. We need to rest."
"Okay," Mabel agreed quietly, knowing that she would be unable to sleep.
They changed into pajamas, and soon Wendy was tucked into Dipper's old bed, snoring gently. Mabel closed her eyes, but her brain wouldn't shut off. She was beginning to regret asking Beithe to find Morrigan. She'd expected the two goddesses to blip back shortly, and hopefully resolve her problem like ripping off a band-aid. It would be uncomfortable, possibly even painful—but quick. Mabel didn't want to have to lie to her friends anymore, but she also didn't want to invoke Morrigan's wrath.
Mabel lay in the dark, listening to Wendy snore, and flipping through social media on her phone, her eyes burning, when suddenly she smelled cotton candy. She sat up in bed and set her phone on the nightstand, squinting into the darkness. A loud, goose-like honk split the air, and Mabel nearly peed herself.
"What the hell?!" cried Wendy, evidently awoken by the loud noise.
"Don't freak out, sweetie, it's just us," Beithe said from somewhere near the door. The overhead light switched on, and Mabel threw an arm over her eyes at the sudden brightness.
"I'm assumin' the lass wantin' to meet me is the one what doesn't look exactly like a prettier version of you, Beithe?" said a woman with an Irish accent. A woman that sounded nothing like Morrigan.
Mabel lowered her arm and blinked to clear her eyes, but her eyes weren't the problem. It was the cotton-candy-scented cloud coming from a vape pen that obscured her vision. She stood up from her bed and walked toward the center of the room, waving a hand in front of her face to help the cloud dissipate faster. She narrowed her eyes and peered at the source of the cotton candy-scented cloud—the figure standing next to Beithe. Mabel took another step forward and opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off by another loud goose-like honk. She yelped and jumped back, and the woman next to Beithe threw her head back and laughed loudly.
"Fuck sake, Caer," she said, chuckling. "I think ye got her attention."
Caer was apparently the haughty-looking swan with a gold and silver chain draped around its neck, which Mabel had nearly just stepped on. Mabel didn't know who or what Caer was, and she didn't give it much thought either. Her eyes were glued to the woman standing next to Beithe.
The woman was shorter than Beithe, with pixie-like features, and a stocky, almost chubby, build. She had bright purple hair tied up into two knobbly buns on the top of her head, with thick, blunt cut bangs hanging across her forehead. She wore lowkey goth makeup, with dark lips, and winged eyeliner, and she sported several facial piercings, including a Monroe and a spider bite. There was a tattoo of a raven on the side of her neck, and she wore a black leather motorcycle jacket over a white tank top, and artfully torn jeans. To complete the ensemble, her footwear was a pair of heavy, black combat boots.
Mabel blinked, confused. "That's not Morrigan," she directed at Beithe. Then she met the woman's eyes. "You're not Morrigan."
Mabel had expected the imposter to have dark eyes, but the level pair that met her own were a shade of icy blue, similar to Fen's eye color.
"How's that now?" the woman asked, cocking her head to the side. "Ye've never met me, but ye know for sure I'm not…me?"
Wendy sidled up next to Mabel. "What's going on? I thought you'd never met Morrigan," she said, low.
"Well I lied, I have, and that's not her," Mabel said testily, crossing her arms over her chest.
Beithe frowned. "You lied about meeting Morrigan?"
"Yes, I did. But that's not her."
Caer honked loudly.
"I agree, Caer. This is bullshit. Sad little human, making up lies about meetin' me," the woman muttered. "Let's blip back to our girls' night. What's left of it anyway."
"Wait!" Beithe said, her hand shooting out to grab the woman's upper arm. "You can't go. We've got a problem."
The woman glanced down at Beithe's hand, then cast a withering glare at its owner. "Oh we have, have we?"
Beithe let go of the woman's arm and turned back to Mabel. "You say you've met Morrigan, but this is not who you met, correct?"
Mabel nodded.
"Where did you meet Morrigan?" asked Beithe. "And why?"
Mabel hesitated. She had wanted Morrigan—the real Morrigan—to be the one to admit to training her, and telling her to keep it a secret. However, this impostor had complicated things. Now it looked like Mabel would be facing the wrath of both Beithe and Morrigan. She trembled slightly, and took a deep breath.
"I met her out in the woods," Mabel said, indicating the direction with her thumb. "She told me she was here to pick up training me where Arden left off. She was going to teach me to use magic. But she told me that most of your pantheon disagrees with the methods she uses, so she wanted me to keep her presence here, and our training, a secret."
"Shit," Wendy muttered.
"Indeed," Beithe said, nodding at her daughter. Then she raised an eyebrow at the impostor. "Do you see the problem now?"
The impostor face-palmed. "Ah, fuck," she said through her fingers. Caer hissed and flapped her wings.
Mabel felt the heat rise in her cheeks. "What problem? She's the problem!" she said, pointing an accusing finger at the purple-haired goth chick.
The woman balled her hands into fists at her side, and strode slowly toward Mabel, seeming to grow taller with each step. She smacked aside Mabel's finger, and leaned down into her face.
"No, lass," she said low, her formerly blue eyes glowing red. "The problem is that someone is galavantin' around claimin' to be the Phantom Queen, which is who I happen to actually be. Attemptin' to teach ye magic. Lyin' to ye—and gettin' ye to lie to your friends. What kind of magic did she say ye'd be learnin'?"
Mabel swallowed hard and took a step backward. Her stomach was churning anxiously. Beithe seemed sure that this purple-haired manic pixie dream goddess was the Morrigan. What if Mabel was wrong, and her Morrigan was the impostor? Who was she really?
"The art of the Lie," she whispered, unable to meet the angry goddess's eyes.
Beithe inhaled sharply, and Morrigan nodded, a grim smile on her dark, crimson lips. "The Lie," she said. "Manipulatin' reality for one's own gain. That ain't the kind of magic the Morrigan deals in. That's trickster magic."
"Trickster magic?" Wendy repeated softly. "But Dipper's in the Norse realm, and Puck wouldn't try and turn Mabel against us… the only other trickster we know…" She trailed off.
Mabel felt the blood drain from her face, and was suddenly lightheaded. She sank down onto the edge of her bed.
"Loki," she whispered. "I've been training with Loki."
/
Baldur's recommendation for the head heist from his father's palace was a two-pronged approach. Prong one would distract Odin and his court, while Baldur would sneak prong two into Odin's chambers to abscond with the noggin undetected.
"Do I really have to be prong one?" Dipper complained, as he stood in the marble entrance hall of Breidablik, waiting for Fenris to finish putting on the blond wig he had conjured. "Why does there need to be two prongs at all? Why can't we be a single prong? Which would essentially be a stick. Why not be a stick?"
Fenris stared at his long mop of blond hair in the entryway mirror and scowled, brushing loose strands out of his face. He glanced at Dipper standing behind him, and cocked an eyebrow. "Because we want as few of the Aesir to see me as possible, which means they need to actively be watching you, and not letting their eyes wander. Baldur was able to recognize me easily enough, even human-shaped. I want to avoid anyone looking at me too closely. Hence this stupid thing," he said pointing to his shoulder-length blond wig.
"I don't know, I think you look rather fetching as a blond," said Nanna, Baldur's wife, as she emerged from a room off to the side of the entry hall, carrying an ornate iron and gold helmet under her arm. Fenris's cheeks took on a pink tinge at the compliment. "Still, those broody, black eyebrows of yours give away that you're not a natural blond," she continued, with a conspiratorial wink. "That's what this is for." She stood behind Fenris and plunked the helmet down on his head.
Dipper eyed his friend in the mirror. The helmet sat low, covering his eyebrows, and a thick, gold-plated iron mask was welded to it, covering his upper cheeks and nose. The long blond hair sticking out from underneath the top piece of the helm no longer appeared to be a wig.
Fenris turned toward Dipper, his face inscrutable underneath the helmet. "What do you think?"
Dipper shrugged. "You look pretty badass, but it's not exactly subtle. Unless the Aesir routinely wander around Asgard in full battle attire?"
"Eh, some do, some don't," Baldur said, emerging from the same room Nanna had come from, decked out in shining golden armor, wearing a helmet similar to Fenris's, although Baldur's was completely gold, with intricate, decorative carvings all around the top and down the sides. "I don't always," he continued with a grin, "but when I do, I make it look damn good." He flexed for Nanna, who fawned over him like a schoolgirl with a crush.
Dipper found himself staring at the god's bulging biceps as well, and shook his head. Over dinner, Fenris had said that Baldur's goodness combined with his good looks tended to render people and gods alike a bit stupid, which had explained Dipper's reaction to him in the tunnel earlier. Now that he knew about the 'Baldur effect,' Dipper was able to keep himself from going intellectually impaired over how 'pretty' the god of innocence and light was. Mostly.
"Well, what are we waiting for?" Baldur asked, glancing from Fenris to Dipper. "Come Fenrir, come Dingus. Let us away!" He dramatically swept his red, wool cloak around himself, and pushed through the heavy marble door with ease, leading them out of Breidablik, and into Asgard.
Dipper lagged behind, and gawked at the opulence of the city with its terraced levels, waterfalls cascading down them like diamonds. The massive halls of the various gods of Asgard each looked different. Breidablik was like a beacon, carved out of pure white marble.
"Dipper, you're a god, not a tourist," Fenris muttered when he had to backtrack and yank Dipper forward for the third time. "You act like you've never seen the home of a god before."
Dipper sighed as he trotted along with Fenris to catch back up to Baldur. "Well, yeah, but the Green Man's palace felt more like a fancy forest than a mansion, and your sister lives in a charming bungalow amongst fields of rotting corpses. These homes are a bit more impressive."
"Just stop staring at everything with your mouth open, and keep up with us, okay?" Fenris murmured low, as he turned his head away from a pair of dwarves driving a cart laden with precious metals, heading in the opposite direction as them. "Satyrs aren't really a thing in the Norse realms. I don't want you to stand out even more than you already do. At least, not until you're in the main hall of Valaskialf, begging an audience of Odin."
Dipper glanced around, then asked, "Where is Valaskialf, anyway? Can we see it from here?"
Fenris nodded. "See that palace on the very top terrace, with the silver dome? That's it."
Dipper craned his neck to take in the enormous building at the top of the city. Suddenly the multiple terraces seemed impractical. "We have to walk all the way up there?" he whined. "Can't we just blip?"
"A brisk walk does a body good," Baldur said loudly from in front of them. Dipper hadn't realized he'd been listening to their conversation. "Plus, blipping onto my father's palace grounds is considered rude, and, depending on how he is feeling on any given day, is sometimes punishable by death."
"Oh, that's…that seems… reasonable," Dipper said faintly as he peered over at Fenris. He couldn't see much of his friend's face due to the helmet, but he could tell that Fenris was clenching his jaw. He stayed quiet for the duration of the climb to Odin's home.
Baldur slowed his pace once the three of them reached the outer gates of Valaskialf. "This is where we part ways, Dingus," he said, nodding to Dipper. "Just follow the path toward the main entrance of the hall, introduce yourself to the guard at the door, and beg an audience of Odin. I am going to take Fenrir to a hidden entrance around the back of the palace."
"You gonna be okay, Dip?" Fenris asked, concern showing in what little of his eyes Dipper could see behind the helmet.
Dipper took a deep breath, and nodded. "I'll be fine. You be careful. Oh, and," he fumbled under his cloak, and when he pulled his hand out, he was clasping a red ball gag. "In case Mimir is a screamer." He thrust the ball gag into Fenris's hand, then leaned forward and hugged him.
Baldur patted Dipper's shoulder. "Good luck with my father, Dingus. I hope, for your sake, that this is one of his good days. And good luck with the Berserkir that guards his hall!"
"Wait, did you just say 'Berserkir'?" Dipper asked, alarmed. Baldur apparently didn't hear him as he quickly led Fenris away.
Dipper blew out a breath and turned to face the path up to the main entrance of Valaskialf. It suddenly dawned on him that they hadn't discussed what exactly his audience with Odin was going to be about.
"Ah, crap," he muttered to himself as he started forward. "I guess there's always the Lamby Lamby dance."