A/N: Thanks to all of you who read and reviewed. I'm glad the reveal last chapter worked for most of you. It was one of those things that I had to pace out, which made for a difficult start for some readers. Thanks for sticking it through. And now, a day in the life of Telos of Asgard.


Chapter Seventeen: Asgardian

Taylor expected the spirits of the dawn to wake her.

No, she didn't expect it. She craved it, with all of her being. She desperately wanted to feel the slight, ethereal brushes of dawn's warriors dancing against her eyelids and feeding off her power to continue their never-ending fight against the night.

She opened her eyes to spiritless light reflecting off the burnished ceiling above. The ruthless power of her mind did not let her forget or even imagine that she was back on her mountain, within her domain, to greet the sun. Sarah and Marie and Shaquelle and the rest were not at the holy spring with her followers, waiting for her to greet the day.

She was no longer Telos, Goddess of Hope. Nor was she really even Taylor Hebert.

This was her third morning in Asgard. Gna invited her to attend Einharjar training, while the Queen had invited her to dine and discuss the Asgardian version of polyphysics. It surprised the Queen that Taylor knew the science, since it pertained to the very make-up of reality.

Not surprisingly, the near ageless, near immortal Asgardians had a far better grasp on it even than Ebony Maw.

She had things to do; reasons to get up.

She lay in her bed and stared at the unspeaking light as it shone on the burnished ceiling.

Sleep never came, but that wasn't unusual. Even before she regained her memories, she had to physically force herself to fall asleep. She never felt tired, but even Thanos rested a few hours a night. Ebony explained to her that almost all higher beings had some form of diurnal pattern of waking and sleep.

She'd laid in her bed, staring at the bronzed ceiling as the stars passed overhead. She closed her eyes until the light arrived.

Eventually, she rose.

In her old life, in her beautiful domain, she never appreciated how hard it was to shower with wings when she wasn't saturated with the magic to make them work without effort. Black Swan had Chitauri servitors who cleaned her during her baths.

Fortunately, the Asgardians liked things large. Water fell in a heavy rain from the ceiling, as if conjured from the air. She played with the various bottles Gna gifted her until she found something approximating shampoo, conditioner and body wash. But her wings were just large enough to make it difficult to move around, or to reach the middle of her back.

She thought back to the waterfall in her domain, or later when the sun alone was enough to cleanse her, and felt oddly filthy. She thought of all the innocent blood she spilled as a daughter of Thanos. No amount of scrubbing helped the feeling, though.

Though, if she were honest, Asgardian conditioner was the best thing ever.

Dressing was a familiar hardship. The Asgardians were believers in breastplates, both as armor and as...well, breast plates. The plate she found waiting with a change of clothing was comfortably padded and mysteriously formed to fit her perfectly. She could not secure the back, though, no matter how she tried.

When the door chimed, she opened it hoping to see Gna. "Oh, good! Help?"

Gna did indeed stand on the other side of the door. With a friendly smile, she stepped into the luxurious apartment until she saw the problem. "I think, perhaps, future plate will latch on the sides," she said.

"Yes, please."

Gna did more to draw Taylor out of her dark thoughts than anything else could. The woman's smile had its own spiritual power.

The two left with no other guard. Gna herself was dressed in an artistic half-breast plate that left the other half of her chest covered in a rich purple satin blouse. She wore a long, flowing skirt of lilac that revealed the high boots beneath. She had the day to herself, she explained, and chose to spend it showing Taylor around her new home.

The first thing she saw once she left the palace was how sculpted the city was. People in robes, dresses or trousers that looked home-spun went about their business with a sense of serenity she'd never seen before. Everyone moved with the practiced skill of long experience.

She received a few looks because of her wings, but nothing more. People nodded silent greetings to her, and called Gna by her name, but none accosted them as they walked through the varied streets.

Every street had a story; every building a name. Gna told her everything, speaking in a low, joyful chatter that reminded her so much of Emma when she was younger that she just let the joy of it carry her through the city. She was shocked to learn that the youngest building in the city was older than the United States. Most were older than London. A few were older than all of Western Civilization. None showed their age, though. The stone they were built with did not weather or age. The wood was polished and cared for lovingly.

Gna knew within a few minutes when to take shelter inside a pie seller to avoid the midday shower. The smell in the bakery was enough to make Taylor's mouth water. Gna, too, looked over the various meat pies with interest. "Snorri, what do we have today?"

The old man behind the counter probably predated Gilgamesh. "Oh, I have a pair of meat and mushroom pies cooked in old Thrud's ale. This one has a nice cut of bacon minced in with the steak. That there is a minced lamb, leek and potato."

Every one he mentioned sounded better and better. Gna handed over a pair of small silver coins for a steak, mushroom and ale pie for herself, and a chicken au gratin pie for Taylor. The crusts burst with buttery flavor, and they just got better from there.

The rain finished before they did, and they spent the next hour eating, talking or walking through the beautifully manicured park parks that broke up the amazing architecture. Ancient oaks, ash, willow and birch whispered in a gentle breeze that blew down from the carefully crafted mountains, causing the thick grass in turn to shimmer like waves on water.

"There's no manufacturing," Taylor finally noted.

"No," Gna agreed. "At our height, I'm told we had some manufacturing, but that was many thousands of years ago. What we have, we craft by hand. In truth, anyone motivated by greed would not do well in Asgard. We can make gold and precious stones, so what value do such things have for us? Our coins are more symbols of trade than items of intrinsic value."

"What if someone just doesn't want to work?"

Gna laughed. "They get bored eventually. The typical Asgardian today can expect to live five thousand years. That is a long time to do nothing. Of course, the trick is to raise the children simply not to be lazy."

In the park, Taylor saw a trio of ladies who looked like they could have been supermodels sitting in a pergola. One played a harp that produced impossible, myriad sounds, while all three sang with such perfect clarity that Taylor couldn't detect anything other than absolute perfect pitch.

They were singing about the aftermath of the Aesir-Vanir War, and Odin's wooing of Frigga. They had no audience, though. People nearby listened, but only as if it were background music. The three just sang for the joy of singing.

Gna looked at them with a sigh. "I wish I could sing so well," She said. "My voice is willing, but my ears do me no favors. I hear the wrong notes."

Taylor couldn't help but laugh. "I doubt I'd do any better. They sound beautiful. Have they been singing together long?"

"No, not long. Perhaps a century or so."

Not long at all.

Eventually their steps led them to a great stone structure that appeared as ancient as Asgard itself. In many ways, it reminded her of a Roman coliseum, and even had a few people in the rows of stone benches looking down on a great, sand-covered oval.

In the oval of sand, warriors honed their combat skills. Glowing swords, flaming chain blades, bows and arrows that could pierce tanks-all amazed in the hands of their wielders. Most of the warriors wore ornate training leathers, others wore armor of a less extravagant make than what she wore, but stronger than the plating of any human tank. The golden citadel rose up behind it, reflecting a golden sun.

"I'd be there any other day myself," Gna said. "Those are my fellow Einherjar."

Hearing footsteps behind, Taylor turned and saw a large-chested, heavily bearded man walking toward them from around a nearby column. He also wore intricate, beautifully crafted bronze-gold armor and a helm that bore a pair of stylized horns, like many of the other warriors. Broad-shouldered with the weight of maturity, but solid with strength, he reminded her in many ways of her father. His beard was even pepper-gray, though much more groomed than what her father wore.

He paused when he saw them, clearly surprised, but continued on anyway.

Gna bowed at her neck. "Master Freyr!"

"Gna," Freyr said pleasantly in a deep, rumbling voice. "I thought you were off today."

"I am, Master Freyr. I thought to spend the day with my new friend, showing her Asgard."

Taylor realized that, in another Universe, this man would be her uncle. He even looked similar to the brief visions she had of him in his youth on her world. He regarded her just as frankly. He had green eyes, a shade lighter than her own fathers, or hers.

"So I see. The niece who might have been. I am Freyr, brother to Frigga."

Taylor bowed. "It is an honor, Master Freyr," she said, and meant it.

His eyes were ancient, and held a similar wisdom to her own father's. His was the look of harsh experience gained through millennia. "Well met, Telos," he said as he came to stand beside her. "With the Bifrost repaired, Einherjar have been joining Thor and his companions in retaking the realms. Those you see are recently returned from Vanaheim."

It was all very impressive, but… "Don't you have any projectile weapons?"

The ancient warrior laughed, and suddenly his entire bearing changed. It was such a free expression that he instantly reminded her of how her mother would laugh, before. "Ah, but what courage is there shooting your enemies from a distance?"

"Well, it might keep them from killing you at a distance?"

This time, even Gna chuckled.

Rather than be offended, Freyr laughed harder. "Indeed." He looked down into the pit and bellowed. "Tyr! Our guest Telos wishes to know if we can only fight in close quarters!"

Tyr proved to be just as ancient and powerful as Freyr. He stood in the middle of the sand, training the soldiers. He turned and looked at them, noticing Taylor's wings, and then barked a command. A group of spearman spun in perfect synchronicity, lowered their spears, and used them as guns, shooting thin streams of golden energy that vaporized a nearby stone target.

"Nice," Taylor said.

"The Allfather mentioned you defended your old world," Gna said. "What weapons did you have in your old world?"

"I had my mother's bow. It was enchanted with a never-ending quarrel and dragon's fire. Plus my wings. But toward the end, I was given heavily enchanted armor and Haevetien reforged."

Both her companions froze. Freyr cleared his throat. "Haevetien. The blade of Surtr?"

"Ragnarok was long past on my world," Taylor said. "I traveled to Muspelheim and defeated Sinmara, Surtr's wife, and took his shattered sword to Brigid, Goddess of the Dawn of the Tuatha De Danaan. She reforged the blade for me, and that's what I used to kill Scion."

"That sounds like a tall tale to tell over mead," Freyr declared. "I know it pains you, but like many I saw the footage that the King of Ahl-Agulla sent across the cosmos with his cry for help. How do you use your wings as weapons?"

"I can harden and sharpen them and use them as blades."

The old warrior regarded her intently before grinning. "That, child, I must see. Gna, what say you?"

"I have been curious, but I did not want to press the issue," Gna said.

"Then it's decided. Come. Tyr will not begrudge us a space."

He led Taylor and Gna to marble stairs framed on one side by an intricately carved balustrade of blue-gray granite. "I require a shield and tourney swords!" Freyr announced in a booming voice.

The training around the field stopped and Asgardian warriors began to gather. The youngest of which had at least a century on Taylor, and for all her trials and tribulations, she'd only had a handful of fights, and never as part of an army, while those that gathered were dedicated soldiers.

The warrior Tyr could have been Freyr's brother, save for being even bigger and heavier set. She noticed one of the man's hands was made of Asgardian gold, but it moved freely as if alive. He walked right up to her and stared appraisingly.

"You are brave and strong, child, of this I have no doubt," the old warrior said. "But you are young for this field. I would judge you not yet fifty!"

Taylor gaped. "Fifty?

Her response confused the older warrior, while Freyr laughed in a great bellow.

"Master Tyr," Gna said. "My lady Telos is not even twenty."

"Indeed," Freyr said. "But we all saw her fight. She may be young, but by Odin's word she has proven herself worthy. If nothing else, perhaps we can prepare her for her future battles, eh, old friend?"

"It is not right to force a child to take up the sword," Tyr said. Rather than disapproving, he sounded heart-broken at the idea. "To do so means that those who stand protecting them have failed."

Taylor had no answer, and said nothing. Freyr, sensing his friend's somber mood, broke it easily. "Consider this, Tyr. This child said she can use her wings like swords."

Depressed or not, Tyr was too much the warrior not to perk up a little. "Truly? Whereby did you come to have such wings?"

"I'm not sure how it was in your realms," Taylor said. "But in the realms of my mother, the chosen Valkyrie were gifted winged armor that helped them sweep the field to gather the souls of the worthy dead. When mother was wed to...my world's Odin, she was gifted the same wings and named Queen of the Valkyries. One half the souls of the worthy were given to her, the other to Odin."

Taylor considered the rest. "The gods of my world were very different from yours, honored Tyr. Mother was betrayed and cast out of Asgard, and spent her days on Midgard. Thus she survived Ragnorak when all other of her kin did not. Thousands of years later, she and my father saw the Destroyer of All Things enter the world. She was cursed not to raise a blade or weapon, and while my father was the Olympian god of war, his power was bound to the Earth, where the destroyer was so vast it split itself among all realms of my world simultaneously. Mother knew of an ancient prophecy that foretold the fates of her two children. The first fell to that fate ages before, I was the second. And with me she gave me every magic of every godly realm she could."

"Which is a godly-long way of saying she got them from her mum," Freyr said.

Taylor stared at the smiling man for a little before laughing helplessly. "Yeah. Yeah, I got them from my mother."

Tyr studied her intently. "Very well, a friendly spar shall be fine. Adelward! Sparring blades with that shield!"

The unfortunately named warrior came with a pair of glowing blades, each under a meter long, and a round, golden shield that shimmered with energy. Tyr handed the first blade and shield to Freyr, and the second blade to Taylor.

"Show me your grip," he said in a drill-sergeant's voice. "I'll not have anyone spar who cannot hold a blade proper."

Remembering the play lessons she had with her father growing up and unfortunately her more recent training as well, she gripped the sword firmly and set her feet. She splayed her wings halfway, spread and ready to strike or move as balance required.

Tyr studied her a long moment. "I can see your Da's training. Lift the blade higher, point up. These are not broadswords to have at-these are the enchanted blades of Asgard. A mere touch of a live weapon could take a mortal's head off."

Taylor complied. Tyr walked around her slowly. "You use your wings to balance?"

"To balance, move, attack and retreat," Taylor said.

"Weaponize your wings."

She did, and felt the magic pass over the feathers until they were as hard as diamond and as sharp as death. "Can you blunt edges?"

She did so with a thought.

"Very well. Warriors, take your positions. Winner in three strikes. Freyr, if you hurt this child your sister will skin you alive. Begin!"

The watching warriors cheered them both on. Nearby, Gna clapped her hands and stomped a foot into the sand, calling for Taylor.

The larger man clapped his practice blade against the shield, set his feet, and then charged forward with a mighty roar. For a being as old as he was, he moved with astonishing speed. It reminded her of Cull during their own training sessions.

Taylor answered his charge with a spinning double-strike of her wings...and then stumbled to a stop when she realized the fight was over. All the warriors in the sparring pit had gone silent. Gna stood with her jaw agape, staring.

Freyr lay on his back twenty yards away, and the shield he'd used was cracked in half, each half of which was embedded in the marble balustrade another fifty feet beyond. Rather than moan or complain, the man was laughing insanely. The other Einherjar slowly turned back to stare at her.

"Was...was I not supposed to do that?"

Gna burst out with a laugh, only to cover her mouth with both hands. Tyr just snorted. "Child, you weren't supposed to even be able to do that," he said. "Freyr, you old fool, can you stand?"

"After a fashion," Freyr called back. He continued to gasp as he climbed slowly to his feet. When he stood straight, he looked around at the other warriors. "Many of you saw the battle this child fought. What you did not realize is that the creature she fought, Augullux the Brave, was the size of a rock troll and twice as strong. Even I would have been hard pressed to defeat the champion of the Ahl-Agulla."

He walked over to collect his broken shield, but kept speaking as he did so. "We all know Telos would have eventually asked to join us," he said. "Or one of you would have asked her to join. But what you young fools do not know is that of all here, only Tyr and I remember Odin's own father, Bor! Though lost thousands of years ago, Bor and your ancestors were mighty beyond compare. But his father, Buri, was mightier still. Those first, most ancient Aesir and Vanir who forged the land we walk on were mighty beyond your imagination. Their blood was black from the primordium from whence they were born. Not even Odin himself at his prime could have stood against mighty Buri."

He came to a halt before Taylor. "I tell you all that this child's blood is as black as pitch, an ichor pure with the primordium. Better you know this from me, so none shall be foolish enough to think her young age makes her anything less than a champion."

Taylor let her wings drop in disappointment. "So...does that mean I can't spar with you guys?"

Tyr blinked. Freyr threw back his head and guffawed again. Gna just said, "Well, damn. That's my afternoon gone."

~~Titanomachy~~

~~Titanomachy~~

Days blended together. Taylor had no official duties because, by Asgardian standards, she was still a child. She made inquiries about what fifteen-year-olds did, and was told they learned, or enjoyed their childhood.

She would enjoy her childhood more if the Einherjar were willing to spar with her, but everyone was concerned about needless injuries, as if she couldn't control her strength. So she spent her days wandering aimlessly through the vast city, or exploring some of the mountains that surrounded it.

Three weeks after her arrival, Thor Odinson returned to Asgard with a mortal woman.

And boy, was Lady Sif pissed off about it.

The good thing about being in a kingdom of semi-divine beings whose lifespans were measured in millenia was that they didn't have a drinking age limit. Asgardian mead would have made even her father smile. It burned like 120 proof, 30-year barrel-aged whiskey, but was also sweet like honey and rested gently on her tongue.

While others in the tavern threw down their cheap clay mugs to declare they wanted another, Talyor's first cup slipped from half-numbed fingers. They gave her another anyway, and with a wonderful, burning warmth in her chest she got to listen to the thousand-year-old Lady Sif complain to Lady Gna and Taylor herself about Thor's infatuation with a mortal woman.

"Bringing her here? Truly?" After six cups of mead, Sif had a high glow to her long cheeks. Like Taylor, she was a striking woman-tall and strong, while losing none of her elegance or beauty. "That fool moons over the mortal cow as if she were Frigga reborn!"

"Could she have ensorcelled him?" Gna asked. "Used a spell, such as Lorelei might have used? Or...oh, Sif! Could Loki have done something to him?"

Sif considered it a moment, only to shake her head. "No, I fear it was our king's actions that drove his heart downward. He was cast out a few seasons ago as a mortal for breaking the peace with Jotunheim. King Lauffey showed more patience than I would have thought, but Thor pushed too far. It was in Midgard, stripped of his power, that he became infatuated with this mortal woman."

Taylor was much more cautious about her second cup of mead-she worried it was a bad thing that it didn't burn any more. "Um...can I ask a question?"

Sif turned and gave her a very haughty look. "I might even allow you to ask another."

"Right. Um...Lauffey was a king? I mean, wasn't Lauffey a woman?"

Sif and Gna both turned and stared. "Frost giants are hermaphroditic," Gna finally said.

Taylor blinked. "How does that work?"

"Coldly, I presume," Sif said.

Taylor stared; Gna stared; and a heartbeat later all three burst into laughter. They were still laughing when a strikingly handsome man with blond hair and a perfectly manicured mustache and goatee sat at the table with them.

"Ladies!" the man said. "What joy it is to hear you laugh so! Might a humble man such as myself know the jest?"

Sif snorted. "You're about as humble as Ayesha of the Sovereign," the warrior said.

"It is a good thing I'm so handsome then, to live up to my towering opinion of myself," the man said suavely. He turned to Taylor and nodded. "My Lady Telos, I am Fandral, of the Warriors Three. I am a companion to Prince Thor, recently returned with him and Lady Sif from Vanaheim. It is an honor to meet you."

He took her hand, and then kissed it!

"Careful, Fandral," Gna said. "She beat Freyr with a single blow in the sparring pit."

The man's eyes widened. "Truly? Freyr?" He hadn't let go of her hand; in fact he was gently rubbing the back of it with his thumb in a very distracting way. Just like Loki.

Strangely, neither Sif nor Gna took any issue with Fandral's intense flirting. As far as they were concerned, if Taylor accepted the attention, she was old enough to have decided it and take responsibility for the consequence. Their attitude was at once refreshing and a little intimidating, because Taylor didn't feel quite ready to dive into that particular pool of complications.

She was saved by none other than Freyr himself. The ancient warrior stepped right up beside Fandral and slapped his back so hard the man's face bounced off the table. "Fandral, my boy!" Freyr bellowed. "How wonderful to see you again!"

Fandral's head popped back up relatively undamaged, save for the man's expression. "Uncle," he said in a tight, controlled voice.

"Come!" Freyr said. "Your fellows were just speaking of your mighty battles on Vanaheim! Join us!" The older Asgardian winked outrageously not just to Taylor, but to the others, before grabbing the back of Fandral's ornate chest plate and bodily lifting him out of his seat with one arm.

"Uncle, really?" Fandral cried.

"If you want a merriment so badly, at least have the grace to tup with one who's at least of marriageable age!"

The rest of the exchange was lost in laughter as the tavern enjoyed the spectacle of the elder Freyr manhandling the valiant young warrior so easily.

"What's marriageable age in Asgard?" Taylor asked.

"A century mark," Gna said. "Though I cannot fathom why anyone would wish to marry so young. Besides, Fandral's handsome enough, and he uses his spear better than most, but he's like a leaf. Any strong wind will carry him away."

"And it is always especially windy the morning after, with that one," Sif said.

It took Taylor longer than it should have to figure out what Gna and Sif were telling her. She blamed the mead. Fandral's place was taken by another, as well as the half spaces to either side, as the newcomer was significantly larger than the man who left. Unlike Fandral's carefully coiffed hair and facial hair, the newcomer's hair blasted out of his head in a red-brown forest fire, and his beard hung down like a fiery river of fur.

"So, this is the brave warrior who put Master Freyr on his back?" The man's voice boomed. Before Taylor could respond, she was flanked by three ridiculously cute children.

"Why do you have wings?" a little girl who looked six asked.

"So I can fly," Taylor said.

"Thor can fly, and he doesn't have wings!" the oldest boy, from class, declared.

"I don't have a hammer, so I have to use wings," Taylor said.

The huge man, who evidently was their father, bellowed laughter similar to Freyr. "Well met! Lady Telos, I am Volstagg the Svelt!"

"Voluminous," Sif said under the cover of a patently fake cough.

Volstagg chose not to notice. "And though my prince spoke very highly over you indeed, Freyr spoke more so. Freyr trained me as a young Einherjar. He taught me how to wield my axe, and it was his beautiful daughter who gave me these fine children you see around you. If Freyr says a thing, it must be true. And he says you, Lady Telos, are a mighty and brave warrior. Well met indeed!"

And with that loud declaration, he slammed another clay stein in front of her. "To Lady Telos of Asgard!"

The entire tavern took up the cheer. Her cheeks flushed bright red, Taylor took up her third stein and drank with the rest.

Before the night ended, she had little Solveig on her lap, and the middle child, Harald, on Volstagg's, as the man told the wildly improbable and yet evidently true story of their most recent sojourn to Earth to save their friend Thor.

Taylor couldn't remember the last time she laughed so hard. The idea of the mighty Thor of Asgard getting hit and knocked out by a Jeep not once, but twice, made her laugh so hard her eyes watered. For all their power and dignity, the Asgard were not above laughing at themselves.

She could just imagine the four Asgardians walking down the middle of a street in New Mexico. If the Midgard of this Universe was anything like the Earth of hers, the locals probably thought they were being invaded by Renaissance Faire lunatics.

Eventually Volstagg's wife, who in human years would look forty, but in Asgardian years was easily approaching two thousand, came to gather the children. She included Volstagg in that declaration, raising another round of laughter.

"To children!" Volstagg raised a toast and drank it greedily even as his wife dragged him out by his beard.

Gna yawned. "Ohh, I have a turn in the guard rotation tomorrow," she said. "I should head back."

"Us too," Sif said. She reached out and took Taylor's hand. "I'm glad you came tonight, Telos. I am grateful that our king gave you welcome. It took only a moment to know you belong here with us"

"I'm glad, too," Taylor said simply. She was too overcome with exhaustion and drink to be anything but honest.

"To bed, then," Sif said. "Tomorrow will be an interesting day."