As soon as Loki's name passed Mabel's lips, Morrigan disappeared from the bedroom accompanied by the low rumble of distant thunder, a cotton candy-scented vape cloud billowing and swirling in her wake.
HONK.
Mabel jumped. She'd assumed Morrigan would have taken her swan friend with her.
"You're right, Caer. He's long gone, if he knows what's good for him," Beithe said, looking down at the bird. "She really doesn't like to be impersonated."
Caer hissed and flapped her wings.
"Wait, all tricksters, or just Loki?" Wendy asked.
Caer let out a soft honk.
Mabel sighed. "Can someone translate the swan-speak for this lowly mortal?" she asked, glancing from Beithe to Wendy. This was just one more painful reminder of Fen's absence. He'd mainly taken on human form so he'd be able to communicate with her. Apparently the inability for animal-shaped gods to mind-speak with mortals was not only a Fenris problem, as Beithe and Wendy seemed to understand Caer just fine, while Mabel heard nothing.
"Sorry, Mabel," said Beithe. "Since you haven't been properly introduced, this is Caer Ibormeith. She was just saying that Morrigan can't stand tricksters. She hates Loki with a burning passion, isn't a fan of Puck, and probably wouldn't like Dipper if she met him."
"Ah," said Mabel. She wasn't sure how to respond to that bit of information. She was saved from having to think of more to say by the reappearance of Morrigan, who was holding something black in her arms. And she looked pissed.
"That shit-eatin' son of a she demon," Morrigan spat. "It was definitely Loki. His stench was all over those woods. And on top of impersonatin' me to a naïve mortal, he slaughtered an entire murder of crows and left them laying in the center of a clearing, their bodies arranged in the shape of a goddam winky-face emoji." She held out the limp corvid she'd been cradling, and Mabel recoiled upon seeing that it's throat had been slashed so deeply that it was nearly decapitated. She felt a pang in her stomach as she recognized the large bird as Vale, the crow that Loki-Morrigan had left behind to watch over her at the Gravnemeta. The crow who had managed to communicate with her. Mabel heard a muffled gag, but didn't know whether it had come from Beithe or Wendy.
Caer hissed and honked, leaning her graceful, long neck toward the dead bird, as if to examine it.
"I already did for the others, Caer. I just wanted to show this one," Morrigan glanced at Mabel and nodded, "Loki's handiwork. Crows are sacred to me. I would never do this." She let her gaze linger on Mabel, as if to ascertain that the mortal had comprehended her words. Then she bowed her head over Vale, covered the bloody gash on his throat with her hand, whispered a word in a language Mabel wasn't familiar with, and tossed Vale's body into the air.
Mabel gasped and instinctively leapt up from her seat on the edge of her bed in an attempt to catch Vale's body, but she needn't have. At the apex of its arc into the air, the crow's form suddenly spread its wings and flapped them to stay aloft, cawing loudly. The gash on its neck was gone. There wasn't even a scar. Mabel was so shocked that she didn't even flinch when Vale swooped toward her and landed on her shoulder. He let out a soft croak and pecked the side of her head gently.
"Did I know you could do that?" Beithe asked Morrigan quietly. Her daughter's response was more on brand for a Corduroy.
"Holy shit, dude," breathed Wendy. "Wait—it's not, like, a zombie crow now, right?"
Morrigan rolled her eyes. "No, he isn't a zombie. And, no, you probably didn't know I could do that, Beithe. I have to have some secrets, after all. I'm supposed to be 'mysterious.'"
Mabel wasn't really paying attention to them, however. She sank back down onto the edge of her mattress, Vale still balancing on her shoulder. She was trying to figure out how to ask Morrigan the question on her mind without offending the goddess.
"Um, sorry to," Mabel had to stop and clear her throat before she could continue. "Sorry to maybe seem like I don't think you know what you're doing, Morrigan, but…" She trailed off at the look the goddess shot her.
Morrigan raised a single eyebrow and crossed her arms, a small smirk forming on her lips. "Go on, little mortal" she said. "Don't leave me hangin'."
Mabel took a deep breath. "The crows—they were willingly working with Morri—" she cut herself off, the heat rising in her cheeks. "Loki. Vale here even seemed to be keeping tabs on me for him. Watching me. What's to say he's not still working with Loki?" She bit her lower lip and looked down at her hands, very aware of the crow shifting from foot to foot on her shoulder.
"Really?" a strangely robotic voice croaked directly into her ear. Before Mabel was able to register that Vale was who had spoken, he pecked her on the side of the head again, but hard enough to hurt this time. She flinched and brought a hand up to the sore spot, only for Vale to nip at the back of her hand.
"Yo, did that bird just talk?" Wendy asked.
The latter half of her question was drowned out, however, by Caer hissing loudly. The swan waddled forward, flapped her wings until she was able to achieve enough lift to hop onto the bed next to Mabel, and stuck her face directly in Vale's, honking loudly. The crow was no fan of being scolded by a swan, it would seem, as he alighted from Mabel's shoulder and found a perch directly on top of Morrigan's head. Morrigan appeared not to mind. She chuckled and gave Mabel the barest shake of her head, so as not to dislodge her newly acquired, living feathered hairpiece.
"Seems it isn't me ye should be apologizin' to, as Vale here is the one what took offense to your suggestion," she said, reaching up to stroke the bird's plumage. "In any case, I'll spell it out for ye. Tricksters can work powerful glamours—powerful enough, sometimes, to fool even other gods, let alone humans or my crow friends. Loki had ye thinkin' he was me, right? Same goes for Vale and his murder. They was bamboozled, same as you."
Vale flapped his wings and let out an indignant caw.
"And," Morrigan added, "he would like me to reiterate to ye that he and his murder was…heh, sorry Vale… murdered. That kinda destroyed the illusion of Loki bein' me, on account of I would never do sommat so foul." She paused and then grinned. "Heh. Foul. Fowl. Like with a W. Like…birds." She glanced at the slack-jawed faces staring at her and her grin faded. "Fuck you all, that was funny."
Wendy snorted. "Dislike of tricksters aside, you'd probably get along with Dipper. He's the king of bad puns."
Morrigan scoffed and flapped a hand at Wendy, as if to wave away the idea of friendship with a trickster. Then she stopped moving, and glanced up, like she was trying to see her own forehead. She quirked her mouth to the side and raised an eyebrow. Then, the other eyebrow lifted to the same height as its twin.
"Really?" Morrigan asked. "Well, if you think so—"
Vale cut her off with a loud caw.
"Care to share with the rest of the class, Morrigan?" Beithe asked. Apparently only Morrigan could mindspeak with Vale, in the same way that only Sirona could mindspeak with Cecil.
Morrigan nodded and met Mabel's eyes. "Vale here says ye're a proper warrior, and pretty formidable with that pointy stick of yours. He thinks I should take over your trainin' to help protect the Gravnemeta. Against my better judgment, I have agreed to take ye on as my student. Grab your gear, and we'll blip over right away to get started."
Mabel blinked, processing the goddess's words. She knew she ought to be pleased with the crow's shining recommendation, but all she felt at the moment was tired. Unlike Wendy, she hadn't fallen asleep while awaiting Beithe's return earlier.
"In the middle of the night?" Mabel asked, turning to look out the window. "Oh," she said softly.
While they'd been talking, the sky had gone from diamond-crusted black velvet, to the clear, pale gray of pre-dawn. She glanced over at Beithe, who gave her a small nod. Wendy grinned at her and shot her a thumbs up. Mabel sighed. Surely only one night of missed sleep wouldn't be too detrimental to her.
"Okay," she said, pushing herself up off the bed. Suddenly, her vision faded to black around the edges, and a wave of vertigo caused the world to take a sharp left turn.
"Woah, there!" Wendy cried, grabbing Mabel's shoulders to keep her from falling. She held on until Mabel had situated herself firmly back on the edge of the mattress.
HONK.
"Caer's right, Morrigan," said Beithe. "You have to take Mabel's mortality into consideration. She's bone-weary. Look at her!"
Morrigan sighed, and rubbed the back of her neck. "Fine. Beithe, and…Beithe's daughter, you two come with me and give me the run-down on your defenses. Caer, see that she sleeps well."
Caer honked softly. Mabel frowned.
"How can she—" she began, when she felt the swan drape its neck over her shoulder. Suddenly colors ran together, and everything became soft around the edges. Just before Mabel drifted off to sleep, she heard the faint caw of a crow.
/
Baldur led Fenris along a hidden trail that ran parallel with Valaskialf's inner walls, stopping when they reached a small alcove set into the stone.
"This entrance looks as unused as it did when I discovered it as a boy," Baldur remarked quietly, running his hand over the weathered masonry. He pressed a small rune that had been carved into the stone, and with a click and a gravelly scraping noise, a door slowly swung open. "That is fortunate for you. My father's private quarters are on this wing of the palace, and had this entrance looked recently used, you would have had to enter the palace from a different wing entirely, giving you a higher risk of being caught on your way back to this wing."
Fenris nodded, opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again and frowned before saying, "You just said you and not we. I thought the plan was that you would lead me to Odin's chambers. Has that plan changed?"
Baldur shook his head. "No, it has not. I have led you to my father's chambers. Once you pass through this doorway, you will need to turn to your right, then walk a few paces until the corridor intersects with another, where you will continue straight on. The second door on your left after you have passed the intersection is the entrance to my father's quarters."
"So you're not coming inside with me?" Fenris asked. He crossed his arms and tried to look like he wasn't scared.
Baldur smiled warmly at Fenris, and laid a hand on his shoulder. "I cannot, my friend. I am the god of purity and innocence, remember? This is as far as my conscience allows me to participate in your scheme. You will have to commit the actual head-theft."
Fenris bowed his head, took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. That made sense. He didn't like it, but it was either go in alone, or scrap the plan, and disappoint Loki. He personally didn't care what Loki thought of him, but Fenris was acutely aware that Loki would not hesitate to go after Mabel if he thought his son was not fully on board with his plans.
Fenris reached up and squeezed the hand resting on his shoulder. "I understand. And I thank you for helping me as much as you have."
"It has been my pleasure," Baldur said. "Now, instead of waiting here, if you think you'll be fine to sneak away from the palace grounds without my help, I feel I should probably go keep an eye on Dingus, in case my father is in a mood and tries to kill him."
A chill ran up Fenris's spine. "That's probably a good idea."
Baldur inclined his head, and with a quick "Good luck," he was off, trotting back in the direction they had come from.
Fenris swallowed hard, and stepped through the doorway. The corridor was dim and narrow, but thankfully, empty. Baldur's directions appeared to be accurate. Fenris stopped in front of an intricately carved oak door and squared his shoulders. He was doing this for Mabel. Nothing else mattered, as long as Loki left her alone. He inhaled deeply, put his hand on the latch, and let himself into the room.
It was a bedroom—and it was anti-climactic. Fenris wasn't sure what he'd expected, but an unmade, four-poster bed, as well as robes and various pieces of armor strewn haphazardly across the floor and furniture was definitely not it. He swept the room with his eyes, hoping to find the head of Mimir somewhere in all the mess. When the head wasn't immediately obvious, Fenris walked the room, stooping every now and then to look under a particularly lumpy or wadded up garment. He even looked under the bed, but to no avail. He had no clue where one traditionally keeps one's severed heads.
"If I was the head of Mimir, where would I be?" he said softly to himself. He certainly didn't expect a response, and nearly screamed when he got one.
"You'd be closed up in the cupboard at the back of the room, little wolf," a muffled male voice called out.
The unexpected answer sent a jolt of adrenaline through Fenris's body. The voice had indeed come from the direction of a wooden cabinet on the far side of the room. He approached it and, hand trembling, reached out to open the cupboard door.
The same voice that had answered Fenris spoke again.
"Hello, Fenrir."
Although the severed head of Mimir talked, it appeared quite dead and corpselike. The skin had a waxy pallor to it, and was pulled taut against its skull, as if either it had shrunk, or the skull had had a growth spurt. The eyes were sunken into their sockets, and closed.
"Mimir," Fenris said, his voice low. "How do you know who I am?"
The head smiled, pulling the lips even tighter over the teeth. The skin looked like it might split. Fenris wasn't normally easily disgusted, but something about the severed head made the bile rise in his throat. He swallowed it back and looked away from the gruesome sight, aiming his gaze at the back of the cabinet instead.
"I am very wise, of course. Also, you smell a bit like wet dog."
Fenris grunted. "Very funny."
"I wasn't joking," Mimir stated in a voice that made it feel that, if the head had been attached to shoulders, it would have shrugged them. "You actually do smell."
Fenris stuck his hand into a pocket, and made a fist around the ball gag that Dipper had conjured for him. He didn't want to have to use it, but Mimir was already a bit too chatty for his liking.
"Well, sorry if my smell offends your delicate sensibilities, but you're coming with me," Fenris said, reaching a hand out toward the head. He faltered, because he wasn't sure how to grab it.
"By the hair is the easiest way to cart me around," Mimir said. "However, I'd like to talk to you first, if you don't mind."
Fenris yanked his hand back. "Don't do that," he hissed. "Stay out of my head."
The head's eyebrows rose slightly. "My apologies, but it isn't something I can help. Everyone is an open book to me."
Fenris scoffed. "If everyone is an open book to you, why do you need to talk to me before I take you? Can't you just fish the information you seek out of my head?"
"I could, but I'm not so much seeking information, as attempting to change your mind on the course of action you're taking to help your father beat the Ragnarok prophecy."
Fenris frowned. "If you know what I'm doing, you know why I'm doing it. You can't convince me to do otherwise."
The head of Mimir smiled, its taut features softening ever so slightly—enough to make it look almost human again. "Yes, I see her. Your Mabel. She is extraordinary, as far as mortals go. And the other friends you've made, both in the Green Realm and the Mundane—you don't want to give any of that up. I don't blame you. Your existence has always been a lonely and painful one."
Fenris looked down at his hands. "So you see why I must do as my father bids. Ragnarok in our realm will be cataclysmic enough to reset the worlds to their proper positions, ensuring Mabel's safety. And the rest of the Mundane, as well," he added as an afterthought. "And traditionally, I am supposed to die during the final battle—but my father thinks that since things are happening in the wrong order, he and I should be able to survive. If I die, I'll forget Mabel. I can't do that. I won't."
"My boy," Mimir said softly. "You cannot trust your father. He has no intentions of letting your Mabel live. In fact, he thinks he will be able to corrupt you enough that you will kill her yourself, willingly."
A low moan escaped Fenris's throat involuntarily. "How—how can he think" he stammered.
"Do you know where your father has been since you saw him last?" Mimir asked, his voice gentle.
"He said he was going to rally the giants. Why? What has he really been doing?"
"I cannot see as clearly into other realms as I can see within ours," said Mimir, "but I know your father has been to the Mundane and back multiple times in the last few days. And he has been in close quarters with your Mabel."
Fenris felt like an iron fist had clamped around his heart, and was trying to squeeze the life out of him. "He didn't—she's not—" he stammered, unable to draw enough breath to finish the thought. His legs were shaking so violently that he had to grab onto the cupboard to keep himself from collapsing.
"No, dear boy, she lives. Loki has returned to our realm, as his fun was ruined when the goddess he was impersonating got involved."
Fenris let out a sob of relief and pulled his helmet off so he could wipe his eyes. "What am I supposed to do? I know it was stupid of me to trust my father, but Ragnarok is still the only way of resetting the realms, to ensure both the safety of Mabel, and the Mundane realm as a whole."
Mimir didn't answer right away. After a minute or so of silence, Fenris gingerly reached out and poked the severed head's nose.
"Please do not do that," Mimir said, sounding annoyed. "I am thinking—weighing pros and cons of various scenarios. Give me a moment."
"Sorry," Fenris muttered under his breath. He brushed strands of blond hair out of his face before replacing the helmet on his head.
Finally, Mimir spoke again. "I believe there may be a way to reset the positions of the realms without actually going through with Ragnarok," it said. "Well, the Ragnarok as prophecied, where nearly everyone, including you, dies, that is. I believe a great battle can still be fought against Loki and his giants—but you will have to win over the Aesir as allies in order to defeat them. Things are different during this cycle. Baldur is still alive, and he has much sway over his father. I do too, as he turns to me for counsel. If we can convince Odin and the rest of the Aesir to work with you to rout Loki and his giant army, I believe there is a very good chance that you will survive, and be able to return to the Mundane realm."
As Fenris listened to Mimir's idea, a small bubble of hope began to rise in his chest. For the first time since Loki's appearance at the Gravnemeta with the kidnapped Arden, Fenris felt that it was actually within his power to defeat his father. With his father out of the way, and the realms reset, he would be able to be with Mabel. Properly. That thought sent a jolt of warmth through his body.
Mimir interrupted Fenris's wandering thoughts. "Woah, kid, turn the heat down, would you?"
Fenris's cheeks flushed. "Sorry," he mumbled. "So how should I set this plan in motion?"
"Talk to Baldur about suggesting an alliance with you to Odin. Once he brings up the idea, with his father, Odin will likely come to me for counsel. I will, of course, encourage him to agree to an alliance. In the meantime, your task will be to speak with any Aesir you think may be sympathetic to your cause, and to gain the loyalty of one of the All-Father's most ferocious bands of fighters—the Ulfhednar."
"Why should I attempt to gain the loyalty of the Ulfhednar before Odin has even agreed to an alliance?" Fenris asked, confused.
"Because the wolf warriors will likely be more easily swayed to your side than the Berserkir, and having one of Odin's most trusted regiments on your side can only benefit you. Odin knows the Ulfhednar are an honorable band, and their endorsement of you as an ally would probably carry more weight than even my or Baldur's counsel. Now, you should go. You don't want any of Odin's guards catching the Great Wolf lurking in the All-Father's quarters."
"Right," Fenris said with a small nod. His stomach was a mess of knots. He didn't want to think of what Loki might do to him or Mabel if he found out about Fenris's betrayal before the alliance was set in stone. "I suppose I should leave the way I came, and wait for Baldur and Dipper at Breidablik. Thank you, Mimir. You truly are as wise as they say."
Fenris closed Mimir's cupboard, and quickly and quietly exited Valaskialf via the hidden side door. He made his way back to Breidablik as fast as he could without attracting anyone's attention. Nanna opened the door when he knocked. As Baldur and Dipper had not arrived back yet, Fenris decided to take up Nanna's offer of a bedroom. He needed a nap. It felt like ages since he had last slept.
/
"Hello, Mabel."
Mabel blinked, confused. She had no idea how she'd gotten there, but she was sitting at a lakeside picnic table. The voice that had greeted her belonged to a beautiful blonde woman, who sat across from Mabel, wearing a cape of white feathers, and a silver and gold chain around her neck.
"Hello…strange lady?" Mabel said, and slowly began pushing herself up from her seat. The woman reached over the table, and gently placed her hand over Mabel's, giving it a squeeze.
"You are safe, my dear," she said with a smile. "You are dreaming. I am Caer Ibormeith."
It took Mabel a moment to place the name. "Wait, weren't you a swan?"
Caer nodded. "Yes, that was me. Every other Samhain I transform into a swan. This Samhain I will once again take on my human shape. However, in dreams I can take whatever form I please."
Mabel lowered herself back down onto her seat and sighed. "Gods. Y'all are just so extra."
Caer chuckled, a pleasant bell-like sound. "Despite the strange circumstances of your meeting, I do believe that you and Morrigan shall get on quite famously. You are very alike."
Mabel arched a brow. "If you say so. I mean, she brought Vale back to life, so she can't be all bad."
Caer opened her mouth to reply, then shut it again quickly. She appeared to be listening to something only she could hear. Then she broke into a wide smile.
"Mabel, in a moment you will be back in your bedroom, and I will not be with you. However, you will still be dreaming. But know this—just because something happens in a dream, that doesn't mean it isn't real."
"What—" Mabel began, but before she could get anything else out, she was once again in her attic bedroom, standing with her back toward the door. She heard soft footsteps in the hallway, then a small creak as the door was pushed open. She heaved a sigh as she turned around to see who would be making an appearance in her dream this time.
"Can't a girl just sleep in peace?" she asked, only half joking. The silhouette of a person was outlined in the doorway. They stepped forward until they were illuminated by Mabel's bedside lamp.
Mabel inhaled sharply. "Fen?"