1
Screaming. That's all she dreamt the night before and Valhalla help her, she cannot bear the burden of being the sole person to only hear their petrified, sorrowful wails scribed by sizzling flesh and ashen bone.
Flesh.
As if she were there, the frazzled scent of once-lush ringlets of the young and old, both nearest to her and foreign plagued her senses endlessly until she spurt out a four-post bed and retched the remains of yesterday's last meal in the water closet, her face tear stained and body drenched in fear. Currently, she sits in the heart of colorful portraits scattered in no such order, discarded and consuming the quartz floors of her studio chambers, wreathing her alike an idol shrine. Fingers stained from channeling her premonitions to memory onto parchment for both physicality and documentation from the dead of night to the first break of dawn, she flexes a cramped index digit, long and nimble with the appropriate callouses from a five hundred-fifty century old love affair with archery, the sun-kissed hue of creamy skin dusted by charcoal highly paralleling the bubbling black flesh of the flame's victim –
Calm yourself, Inia. Twas merely a dream, it cannot harm you unless you give it power. A watery sigh gathered at the base of her throat, threatening to reprise her compassion in the form of inconsolable weeping. Norns, please, lend me the strength to bear this burden.
Unfortunately, her automatic instinct to calm a situation roared back with a vengeance, for her heart sinks further knowing damn well nightmares are dreams too and her dreams of foresight are never wrong.
Dusting her hands of crusted paint and frowning at the red, orange, and yellow flakes speckling her dark bedgown, she forgoes cleanliness and stains the silky material without care or niceness. Thick stacks of parchment dried and rolled into a scroll after labeling each portrait or landscape of chaos and death with season date and day of the week, she unconsciously fishes a thoughtful lip between straight, pearly teeth and compiles them in a separate, unceremonious chest from her usual drawings, sure to secure the enchantment on the lock. Disguised chest of troves shoved deep behind a storage alcove pocketed in the far wall, she slides and clasps the decorative curtain to hide her treasure in plain sight. The telltale click of the double door entrance opening behind her, she swivels upon a girl as tall and curvaceous as herself sporting the same face and blushing quartz orbs, but with shoulder-length caramel blonde hair shimmering thousands of gold tones in the sunlight unlike her rather bland platinum blonde tresses hanging in a similar fashion which are curled at her ample bosom.
"My, well good morning to you too, sister. Tell me, is it common for you to flash your bosom to all that enter your chambers or am I special?" Wearing a sly smile, long fingers glide over her own bare shoulders where a strap would lie if she donned anything else but strapless bodices and flags of translucent skirts or body contouring corsets in her wardrobe.
Norns' sake. Of course Idunn must walk in on me decompressing my discomforts and bring them to attention. Why can she not bridal her tongue? I understand her care, no matter the tone of flippancy she presents it, but if I want her comfort and opinion, I shall reach for it. She knows better, that I care not for coddling. Besides, what point is there to explore the delicate nature of my premonitions when no one but I have this ability alone? No one can understand what tis like to witness carnage and sit idly by knowing damn well there is nothing to do to change fate? Damn the Norns for their bestowment. Damn them all to Hel!
Fighting the angry heat accenting the pink undertone of her native flesh torching her neck, she turns away for a fleeting second to right herself, then stands to bypasses the blonde and motion her nosy sister out of her place of solace with a gentle motion of her head.
"Well, that is plain rude. Pray tell, what has you in such a foul mood?"
Technically not lying but not emotionally quelled to relive every shred of dire distant information just to receive a mediocre pat on the back or an overbearing offer to have herself primped to her sister's preferences, she brushes off question and automatically dons a cool smile of casualness stirring in indifference. "Oh, the usual. Dreams. None the more." Closing both doors in the hall of her foyer, she mildly scans the lustrous figure of perfection, beckoning her to speak by inching a neatly groomed eyebrow.
Shooting an eyebrow up in an identical manner showcasing skepticism, Idunn knits her arms across her chest which incidentally swells her cleavage even more than the bustier of her bodice.
Vaguely, she wonders if her sister knows such scandalous acts happens on a regular basis by her own hand or if ignorance truly has a hold of her, as result from being ravished senseless one too many times by the nobles and their sons of the Imperial Mother's court. Although, Idunn may be a self-proclaimed harlot and basks in the light of her harem day and night so yes, she indeed knows for tis the purpose she dons these fashions to begin with. Inia does not think these things to judge her, she hardly cares what her kin does as long as she is safe and is not plotting Ragnorok, but she would never dare dress the way the blonde does, parading herself around alike a suckling pig in banquet. Hardly not. In these moments, she cannot fathom how others confuse herself for Idunn or Idunn for herself and yes, they are very close in appearance and equal in attractiveness but that is as far as their similarities travel. Idunn, her dearest Idunn, is much more favorable among the opposing gender given her arts in seduction paired with a wildly personable and type of ruthlessness only inherited from their scarlet haired Aunt Freyja who too favors Idunn as if she were her own. As for herself? She believes others see her as a bit of a recluse, which is understandable given her brutally blunt nature and desire to help others by any means, though as a harbinger, it only makes her draw further into herself because the burden of being the closest link to the Norn Fates crowning Yggdrasil is her burden alone. She does not wish harm or suffering upon others no matter what crime they have committed because in her heart of hearts, Inia Freyrdottir knows that no creature, not even the Surt of Muspelheim, are born evil. Love is the most important and powerful force in the universe and unfortunately and ironically for the goddess of fortune, she would never be granted the chance to experience such a bliss of the likes of Midgard's Shakespeare and Lord Byron so beautifully described. By her sacrifice, all would be well; twas what her father told her as gal whilst her mother lullabied sweetly of Jotunheimr and tis what she is still told by him in bouts of uncertainty.
A sudden but gentle skim of a manicured nail removes her from the ballroom of her mind, swatting away the worming finger from her ear belonging to her counterpart with a true smirk birthed from the mock snarl Idunn dons. "What is it you need, Sister?"
"Not I, Father. He wishes you to visit him in the solarium once you have finished making yourself presentable." Her thick cupids bow hitches up, curling blatantly with discontent at Inia's unruly state. Landing a blossom pink sight on the hem of colorfully stained skirt, Idunn glides abreast her sister treading for her bed chambers directly across the hall. Locks twirled in a glorious cascade of gold curls with the occasional braid here or there, Idunn settles homily on the cushioned bench placed at the foot of a rose gold four-post bed not unlike her own, all under the skeptical eye of Inia. One leg folded elegantly over the other to reveal delectable flesh due to the floaty slit of her aqua blue skirt, she explains, "I shan't accompany you, for he has given me permission to join Saga and her orchestra's summer tour of song among the realm. I know not how long I shall be in her company nor if I shall see you in between performances because she wishes to play for so many villages in a single season. That being said, she plans us to leave for Uncle Aegir's kingdom by high noon, so I have come to say farewell to my favorite sister."
"I am your only sister." Earning a much too farce grin in return for her liking, the artiste sister questions, "Do you know of the matter of which he wants to discuss with me?"
"Something about the festival of Jera." Idunn notes facetiously, the exasperated eye roll she's known for flutters voluminous lashes to kiss her cheekbones. "That festival was fun when we were gals but politics has managed to taint the merriment. Tis so drab now. Nerthus is excited to partake in tradition as we once were, but given her ignorance for diplomacy and glee for life, I doubt she may be aware of this misfortune and come to loath it within a second century as we have. Tis her first time transporting outside of Vanaheimr so I bid you luck returning her home with ease, although I feel you shan't need it, seeing as you are fortune itself." Refocusing on the predicament of their separation laid before them, she casts back to Inia standing expectantly with crossed arms. Idunn smirks at her owlish introvert of a kin. "Know that while I am gone, you may borrow my wardrobe if need be." At this, the implement of her double meaning becomes apparent with a suggestive wiggle of her pale eyebrows, a twinkle of promiscuity curving her pleasantly symmetrical features. "Or if you feel spontaneous when we were young. Ah, yes. Think I have forgotten you sneaking into my wardrobe to try on my circlets and jewels believing I would not notice? Trust me, I noticed."
Inia purses her lips morosely, a flippant habit of her mannerisms and chooses to simply ignore the embarrassing memory she is sure Idunn recalls fondly, "How thoughtful of you, Idunn. Thank you."
"I aim to please."
Story of her existence, her mind retorts in response, agreeing.
"Do you not have anything else to do but distract me? Or is the reason you invaded my chambers because your heart of gold did not wish to burden a page boy with such riveting information?"
Growing a grin at the jesting tension in the air, Idunn shrugs bare shoulders, attempting innocence, "Truthfully, I am offering you a hand in primping preparation since Jera's held either between the mother realm or Asgard and seeing that we hosted last century it means you are to travel to the realm of eternal."
"And?" A smoky voice probes, unimpressed.
"And, you shall be in the company of the royal family. Thor's company, Inia. Thor! I must admit, I am a bit bemused of Father allowing me to accompany Saga, but I find comfort in the reassurance that you would not be able to reciprocate affections of a suitor even if you desired so. It leaves the fair, worthy prince for myself. Because of your vow, of course."
Inia by nature is not a violent person and thinks with her senses foremost but upon quipping Heill and donning her armors, instinct akin to a Valkyrie takes control on the battlefield and at this moment, she aches to break her sister's nose for rubbing something so precious and damning in her face to blatantly insult her without care.
Instead of bittering the blonde's offer and farewell by carrying out her fantasy, she subconsciously comforts herself in preparation to indulge her haughtily extrovert of a kin, theoretically embracing the lone soul who could ever show her affection: herself. "Right. I accept your offer and as such, you may help by feeding me first meal as I bathe and may choose the style of my hair for the day by Ursa's hand."
Together the twin goddess' tread to the adjoined water closet trimmed artisanally in several mystic gemstones including aventurine for balancing erratic emotions, crystal quartz to bring clarity of mind and thought, blue kainite for stimulating cohesive psychic awareness throughout the entire body, sodalite so inner sight is and knowledge is awakened and lastly, selenite to stimulate, develop, and sharpen one's telepathic eye for the clearest state of mind attainable.
The knotted perimeter of her empire waist becomes undone, allowing blemished fabric to pool at her feet. Once in the in-ground bath of scaling waters and inhaling a blend of argan cleansing oil hinting scents of vanilla and clove, she submerges below the heated surface, white hair fanning every which way around her, then rises with smooth and hydrated strands. To her lack of surprise and shock, she finds her sibling pedestalled on an iron wrought stool which her handmaid typically occupies when massaging her scalp, relaxing and opening herself vulnerably for the stone's mystic properties to take hold. Trying her hardest to not make a face of annoyed unwelcome and simply go the route of serenity and collection she's maintained since birth, she goes about further cleansing herself knowing whatever is gnawing at her stony-faced sister may indeed make itself known with patience.
Long before any words are exchanged, Inia's handmaiden, Ursa, announces her presence with a knock on door, gathering both women's attention then bows her head respectfully in greeting. "Good day, my ladies," Voice gentle as the Vanir sea kissing the morning glow of pink sandy shores yet strong alike the rocks said turquoise waters crash and consume, Ursa gifts them each a polite smile that makes Lady Idunn quirk a grin and Lady Inia smirk warmly, effectively casting aside the tension searing their gazes. "First meal is in the salon for whenever you are ready, my lady. Lady Idunn, is there anything I may fetch you?"
"No. I had first meal with Father while this one slept in."
The smallest of smiles tugging Ursa's mouth, her mouse-like nose tickles in the delicate scents of the sweet Vanir cleansing oils permeating her charge currently swimming in a giant basin. She clasps deftly hands behind her back, gently bowing her neck. "Very well. My lady, would you care for you hair to be cleansed?"
Creating a bubble equally as large as her sister's airhead mannerisms, she levitates it to pop in the face of her greatest ally and foe and giggling at the sour expression scorning the promiscuous sorceress trying to wipe away the sedir-made stickiness from her prestigious ringlets. "No thank you, I have my dearest sister for that this morn."
Weaves of tacky hair tangled between her chartreuse glowing fingers as she tries to rid the enchantment, Idunn squares a scowl at her, not caring for the underlying sardonic nature in Inia's voice adding insult to injury.
"Ursa,"
Said handmaid reappears in the tall doorway, as patient and calm as Avindr in Mjolnir's storm, curiosity defines the smile lines around her wise eyes.
"I care to eat while I bathe, instead."
"Of course. Just a moment." She surges from the room graceful as a waterfall, the regulatory gray frock of a servant keeping her modest and efficient as she services through her days.
Playing mindlessly with her surroundings by forming soapy shapes and freezing sections of water after cleansing her hair and Idunn massaging her temples, Inia reveals a cerulean blue hand scored with the raised designs of her heritage, observes it for a moment, then shakes away the physical attribute until the honeycomb of her ivory flesh returns hued in pink undertones. Cerise red also recede to their regular pinkish eyes. Feeling indignation on her and knowing its scrutinizing source, she skips the option to glance upward for confirmation. Unashamed and cherishing the memory of their feminine parent, Inia queries, "Why do you gaze upon me as so?"
"Because you are ridiculous." With a scoff and a mystical sparkle of chartreuse dotting her fingertips, the mischief is stripped from caramel locks, allowing her to shake and cascade silk curls behind her bare shoulders. "Always have been and always you shall be ridiculous, Inia."
Tis no easy feat to enjoy someone who gives the impression of tolerating you for the sake of others nor does anything they offer to do feel genuine and true. Inia loves Idunn, they shared a womb and read one another easier than anyone across the realms, but a voice of instinctual truth burning in her core warns her to guard her heart around her spiteful, vindictive, and promiscuous counterpart. Able to see the truths of another no matter how skilled in the art of deception one may be, Inia recognizes the grief that tarnished Idunn's soul planted by the seed of their late mother. Resentment is potted there too and pining for self-destruction, rather Idunn is aware of its blossoming ire and cynicism or not. Of course, Inia shall do all she can to help and heal her but there is only so much she is willing to do because Idunn must want and accept her sorrow to overcome it; knowing Idunn, she cares not for anything less than perfection and sees herself as so. She plans to bring more of the revelation into the light upon Idunn's return from Saga's tour so she and their Father can be her foundation and hopefully, they could all soothe the scar on their souls as a family and move onward in their Mother's memory. Hopefully. The last thing she wants is let Gaea and Freyja of Idunn be aware of these things, revealing her as a possible threat of the realm, and banish her or confine her to mandatory labor intense duties for punishment that may worsen the condition instead of alieving the emotional and mental wreckage. No, Inia does not wish that dark sorrow upon her fiercest, most formidable of enemies. Not even Karnilla deserves as much and Norns help her, all are wary of the wickedness that is the Enchantress Supreme of Nornheimr. In the meantime, all she can do is commune and pray to the Norns for a fateful sign and construct her next step from there depending on the paths revealed to her.
"Whatever you say, Idunn. In my eyes, we are even on account of your careless words."
With a soft clearing of her throat, the petite lady-in-waiting reenters their graces and places a polished platter adorned with sweet bread abreast marmalade for spread, an arrangement of savory berries for protein, and a garnet crystal chalice of tea already tempered to her Lady's liking. "If you have no need of me, I shall go about my duties in your chambers unless you summon me."
"Much appreciated, Ursa."
After a long moment as Inia examines her legs that are propped up and flattened on the edge of the tub that also happens to be marble flooring and nibbling a berry here or there, her back facing the bowl and fingers rolling methodically up and down in slow motions on her calves to release tension in her hamstrings accumulated from years of riding Avindr, she lifts her gaze to the musical accent of her best friend, accepting the steaming chalice when offered.
"Inia, nightmares are dreams too. I wish not to leave bitterness between us, we are twins after all so if you need me for whatever need be, search for me within you and I shall be there. Always. All right?"
She may be the more self-righteous one between the pair of us but part of her still cares for those amongst her. This is good, there is hope for her yet. She does not realize that she has become dependent on me but one day she shall see that I never abandoned her, that I never cast her aside and so, I shall allow her to be helpful to me so she herself can feel valued.
Swallowing a hearty sip of honeyed milk, she nods once in her agreeance, smiling. "All right."
Before her dear sister has the pleasure of finishing her comforting beverage, Idunn deftly whisks it away, barely stifling a sharp ring of laughter with a wide grin due to the stunned and annoyed expression gracing her second self. She dismisses the suggestion of meal altogether with a simple nudge of her manicured toes pushing aside the platter, her heeled sandals lay unhindered near the stool.
"I am famished, you know."
"Then take something small once you take leave. Now out of the bath, you stench of sweets."
A frowning Inia glares, not enjoying the prospect of her meal pulled from her fitful appetite. Following the command by falling into the plush linen that wraps and tangles snugly around her, Inia raises an eyebrow, stepping up a miniscule stairway to be at eyelevel as scented water mystically combusts into a mass of bubbles. "And this displeases you, how?"
"I claimed 'wonderful', did I not?" Nearly bursting with amusement, the promiscuous goddess of eternal youth practically skips into an open archway leading to an expansive wardrobe stocked with the full spectrum of purple organized by purpose and practicality, style and fabric, shades and complimentary pieces, and the armory mantled upon the back wall. "Norns, Inia. No matter how many times I venture into your closet, I am always amazed by how many types of purples there are."
Electing to not respond due to simply having not anything to comment, she pays a glance behind a nude shoulder at her unofficial style advisor and glares at the most provocative gown Idunn lays her eyes on as a mouth parts to defend the risqué choice but hushes the instant Inia shoos the satiny fabric out of her hand. "Absolutely not. Now, please hand me my slip and exit my wardrobe. I shall be out shortly."
"You are no fun. Absolutely drab." Arms folding and highlighting her chest once again, Freyja's niece pouts a plump, rosy lower lip but does as required in the form of tossing a scrap of beige silk upon a damp head.
Linen circling her feet and smooth material sliding overhead to cover her assets and end an inch above her thighs, Inia retorts factually, "You are a nuisance."
"Fair enough." Idunn reflects the jesting smirk and literally skips away, straying her arms out at her sides to touch each article of clothing as she gallops, humming a hymn of their Vanir songstress, Saga.
"Strange woman." Nodding fondly and grinning, she finds herself staring longing at the gown staged on a silhouette Idunn fawns over every time she attempts to dress or hound her. Quickly, Inia dismisses it with a headshake to prevent dwelling over her habitual "what could have been" or "what shall never be" thoughts and prepares for the day in a usual flowy violet frock, keeping her promise and tolerating Idunn to structure her hair in any fashion.
-O-
Entering the solarium of Vana Palace quieter than the gentlest gusts of summer winds, Inia glides an eye over the crystal clear ceiling domed in the shape of a triangle with countless sheer fabrics masquerading as walls fluttering and flagging in tune to the breath of air skating through the open barriers of a massive floral house. All around the house in every direction she turns, six orchards sheath various breed of fruit and medicinal herb, encompassing the hundreds of acers in its entirety. While these fertile soils are fortunate in their ability to spawn such practicalities unlike the dirt of Midgard, Inia basks the rays of the green realm's strong sunshine feeling prisms of light dance upon her skin's surface, and nonchalantly drags fingertips across the feather light caress of waving white fabric whose catalyst is at the pinnacle of the solarium's inner steeple. Her sight transfers from the plump health of abundant youth her people, the Vanir, were so prized for and stops at the tall, muscular physic of a scarlet haired immortal sporting the colors of blue as his back faces her, his eyes no doubt channeling to and fro Idunn's horticulturists migrating amongst the isles of flora here and there. Gently as can be, she strides to flank her giver-of-life, not mimicking his resting stance of his much larger but nonetheless ginger hands folded neatly behind his back in favor of Inia knitting her arms across her chest. She supposes he sensed her aura long ago because he does not flinch nor pay her a polite glance not unlike Freyja's callous, his twin sister.
Then again, he was never one to fright easily for there is a reason he is the god of peace after all, she reasons. Those who chance oppose him often find they are slow to anger and all malevolent intentions premediated or not are a thing of the past. I have seen my father render a Surt powerless simply with a placid gaze to smother the rage and violence of its nature thus creating a harmonic peace and loyalty. Tis truly incredible.
"Father."
"Inia." His baritone is a deeply rich satin, a sound they both know comforts the ears it touches, soothing the stresses of the most troubled, restless souls.
A voice truly alike honeycomb and eyes verily conveying so. Norns, how can Idunn not see beyond her grief when our father is the personification of peace? Perhaps she did not inherit the calm that I had? If so, how unfortunate.
Though she foresaw nothing happening to Her Highness Nerthus of Vanaheimr nor the Imperial Queen Gaea and Imperial King Vanlandi, she believes her sire's affinity of collective calmness has served him well for the past three millennia in the name of politics due to his place in the royal council but a bigger part of her feels he could make a wise, fine king of the green sedir realm. But this is a call of dreams, seeing as her youngest Aunt Nerthus is the crowned princess and shall rule as Imperial Queen next due to Freyja's rejection of the throne in favor of her Valkyrior and Freyr's disinterest to rule lone. If only Inia's mother were here to head the throne beside her husband and king, Nerthus could further grow in experience opposed to being rushed to her birthright and duty to the realm. While Inia converses and accompanies the princess often, Idunn does not so much bat a lash at the prospect and goes about her rituals of duty cooing over immortal apples and ravishing any noble lord of the council and their sons. She is sure Nerthus shall make a fine queen, she has seen her upon the throne in a premonition after all, though what distresses Inia is the scorn in her fuchsia sapphire stare within a lethal ambiance of fear and ruthlessness she embodied.
Inia grimaces at the implication, knowing the movement goes noticed by the solitary man in her life. Neck craning up and left, she finds a pair of pink garnet gems softly examining each fleeting emotion gracing her matching upturned gems observing him trace the natural arc of her manicured eyebrows as a small frown tugs the plumpness of her rose pink lips until they form a stern line of stress and uncertainty, following the angles of her heart shape face centered by an ideally slim button nose framed by high cheekbones and the most delicate of barely-there clef chins that mimic Idunn's much too closely for her taste any given day thus ending their similarities.
"What did you see?"
Apprehensive to share her words before he has the chance to present his reasoning for summoning her, Inia sighs but does not remove her gaze. "I would prefer if you begin first, seeing as you summoned me."
"Very well." He nods, easily returning to the orchards. "Jera's Festival is to be held in Asgard this century. Nerthus is obligated to be a prime guest of the AllFather and AllMother just as they were in our kingdom last century, being so that she needs a guardian to shadow her during her stay. I request your duty as guardian to protect Her Highness of Vana as she partakes in the merriment of spring's rebirth and health, strengthening our united realms." He cants slightly, observing her reaction in his peripheral sight. "I understand if you have reservations doing this since your last journey to Asgard was less than savory, but I also urge you to take in account that the princes are not those you remember them to be. Twas not long ago I journeyed to Odin's court in place of Freyja and I am pleased to say they have grown into noble men just as you have grown into a priestess of our home. You are a fine woman of valor, Inia, and I know somewhere in Valhalla your Mother is proudly smiling at all you have accomplished in your duty as harbinger and of all you have done for the commonwealth of each realm."
Taking a moment to process his bidding, she unconsciously crinkles the lavender sheer bell sleeves of her violet frock, and lightly pinches her nails into the flesh of her biceps through the flowy fabric to plant her sturdily in reality.
It has been several hundred centuries since her mother departed them for Valhalla. Her Father, bless him, can hardly speak her name without heartache etching his chiseled features and moist eyes but somehow lost upon her, he manages to share a memory of his beloved on occasion whenever in a particularly nostalgic mood. Inia has a feeling this is one of those moments given his slightly teary eyes and shaky smile as his face angles to the sky, searching for hints of his bride's compassionate aura or the telltale scent of the snowy wasteland she emanated. In reality, Inia misses her Mother's smoky voice lullabying in the tongue of the Frost Giants and the weight of her pale arms reassuring her in the face of fear born of night terrors as a child. She misses the cool, motherly touch of nails combing through her scalp and feeling the anticipation burn in her belly, so much that she practically bounced in her lap for the reveal of a new complicated braid of beauty originally curated by the icy world her Mother emerged from.
Inia whispers, "I know she smiles upon us all. I miss her dearly." Sensing a minor pull on her hair, she investigates with a cant of her head at her father. She smiles forlornly at the sentiment of him rubbing the tail of a thick mermaid braid between his massive thumb and index finger, his eyes memorizing every strand of her inherited hair color and curly texture as if she shall slip through his fingers again and become forever lost to him.
By the Norns, there was no way in Hel she was going to allow her sweet, dear father Freyr ever lose another precious to him if she could help it. And Inia can do more than help it, she can prevent deaths with her prophecies.
"As do I." Dejectedly, he drops her braid and returns his hands to their regulatory place clasped at his lower back.
The crisp, slightly sweet air of the orchards kiss the god and goddess for several moments, caressing and soothing their stresses not unlike a phantom woman whispering reassuring nothings of encouragement to their souls, efficiently clearing the air of its thick brush of emotion brought on by the mention of Gerd, the woman lost to both husband and daughter.
Inia blinks fro the gatherers bathing in the mid-morning light nursing a fresh harvest in the northern orchard the pair face that has yet to be plucked for their enchanted purposes to the first only man she is ever permitted to love and care for. To her contentment, Freyr turns his head and looks directly at her, she perceiving his bright gems had vanquished flooding grief with preservation and an underlying curiosity in its place. "If this is guard duty then why has Freyja not taken it upon herself as a Valkyrie? She commands the reminder their reign."
"You have experience in the realm of eternal and you are one of the few Nerthus abides. Freyja would be here if not for a mishap in Muspelheim. Cease gazing upon myself as you are. Tis no concern of yours so worry not, Norns knows you worry enough for the realm as a whole, daughter." He exhales heavily enough that it puffs the rose gold chainmail decorating his muscular chest and rises the mountainous shoulders shadowed by a pastel blue cloak as the rest of him is touched by onyx black. "… I am sorry you must worry yourself ill to begin with and know that if I could, I would remove Norn sedir from you. You and your sister are my heart, I adore you both more than you can ever fathom, and I only wish the best for you both."
Sometime as he spoke, he grabbed her hand and pulled her into him and although she delights the private affection, she is unsure if he is aware of his own desperate declaration.
Cheek to his metallic breast, she drinks the calming beats of his warm, compassionate heart and gazes beyond the orchards to the pink sanded beaches and turquoise blue waters rolling and crashing distant roars that notoriously lulled her to blissful sleep as a child and continues to do so today. Flickering her thickly lashed gaze to the moisture of her words smudging the shine of his armor in a coat of breath, she purposely wraps her arms as far as they can physically circle the trunk of his torso. "I know you would. Though, I believe if I had the chance to remove it that I would not." Snorting a laugh at the sudden slack state of his arms rounding her waist and the disbelieving drop of a jaw on her crown, she feels his clef chin realign itself on atop her head after a considering few seconds. "Honestly. It has been with me so long, I know not what it is to live without fear and restlessness and I believe l that I would not know how to comfort myself without it. Yes, tis an atrocious burden to bear and this may sound strange, but it is mine. It and my horrors are mine alone and dare I say, familiar. The Harbinger is me and I am it and I could not live without a part of myself no matter how atrocious." Inia snuggles deeper in his warm, safe, sturdy chest, unsure of the next time she shall be able to embrace him in such a way so openly, feeling her lashes tap the tops of her cheeks, inhaling his fruity sweet, slightly salty masculine musk of pink beaches. Her eyes only pop open when his distinct voice rumbles through his chest, vibrating against her face, breaking her content enough for her to retract so they are no longer flush but still remains at arm's length.
"After a half a millennia of life, you accept it?"
She recognizes the mix of wonderment, pride, and awe lacing his voice but Inia being Inia, her attention grapnels to the overall disgruntlement swirling in his stare above all. Immediately, she means to soothe the worry alike one would a serpent bite by sucking out the venom and taking the pain away to bear it herself so he cannot. Voice stern with acceptance but her grip on his forearms delicate, she lowers her eyes to focus much too hard on the satin material of her usual off-the-shoulder neckline adorned in gold thread. "I must. Believe me or not, my status has saved mine and the lives of my comrades on more than one occasion. What my sedir has manifested into, being able to witness events and time before it comes to pass, is a very desired and favored ability, one of which has permitted me diplomatic immunity in every court of the realms. Well, accept for Midgard, they think me a bad omen and tried to burn me on a stake before and nearly succeeded. Either way, insults or compliments, I shan't let anyone in any realm stop me from speaking the truth of my ability because it does not just affect me, but life in its entirety."
Rubbing absent circles in the thinner skin between her index finger and thumb with his own massive hand adorned by many jeweled rings, he exhales a shaky breath, alerting his dearest Inia of the devastation still raw in his heart. "You are wise beyond your years." He chokes back a sob, swallowing thickly to dreadfully ward away the sadness reddening his tear-brimmed eyes. Broad arms circle her for a second time, only this time he bows his forehead on her crown and silently apologizes for weeping in the exceptional Jotunn braid Idunn wove for his precious daughter. He breathes barely above a whisper, "Gods, I wish she could have seen you and your sister."
"One day." Her own smoky voice reassures.
"You have seen our perish?" Eyes no longer teary but touches still ginger and maternal, he creates space between them, connecting his attention solely on the unique and exceptional Vanir treasure and moves the dense braid of white hair aside her shoulder while reading the stoic but longsuffering emotion cresting her profile.
"I have seen many deaths of those around me and of those realms away of who I have not met, but what kind of harbinger would I be if I did not do all in my power to prevent it?" Eyebrows pinching thoughtfully, her head tilts slightly, resembling an inquisitive bird. Her line of sight slides upward and closes the distance between their petty height differences. "Suppose what I am saying is that in every circumstance of danger, there is the potential for someone to perish and yes, I see them, but I refuse to allow death to happen because of my neglect of duty. So to answer you: yes, I have numerous times. Do you understand?"
"Yes." He nods, releasing his sentimental hold on her altogether and faithfully resumes his resting stance. Calm as can be, he mimics her pondering habits via tilt of a head and confirms, "Shall you be Nerthus' guardian?"
A gentle smirk touches her mouth, their similar mannerisms not lost upon the Freyrdottir. "Of course. Someone must protect our future queen."
"Good. I shall speak with Skirnir and have him send word to the AllFather of our acceptance of his invitation." As before, he fully faces the orchards to oversee their harvest development and see the physicality of Idunn's purpose flourish before his eyes. "You shall hear word from the messenger no later than dusk with a response, I am sure."
"As I recall, the House of Odin is quite prompt and rightfully so. Is there anything more I can do?"
"Yes, you may tell me one thing." He watches her from the corner of his sight, all signs of tender casualness between father and daughter evidently expired.
Formalities in place, expectant and interested by his tone, Inia arcs an eyebrow, silently encouraging him to speak his mind.
"I sensed you were awake before dawn. What have you to warn me of, Harbinger?"
"Secure and protect the treasure vault. That is all I am obligated to share. My apologizes." She retorts truthfully, her voice unflinching and uncompromising of her demands but regretful she snapped shrewdly into duty without tact in the face of her only living parent, her neck bows for forgiveness with conviction. His easy laugh surprises her incredibly so that she would not be stunned later if her neck suffers from whiplash. Also, she is sure her eyes are wide and round very much alike an alabaster-tipped doe of Niflheimr.
"No need for apologies, Inia. I understand the Norns' complexity more than you may believe."
"Well, you are a Vanlandison so I suppose that makes sense. Somehow."
Traces of amusement dimpling his cheeks, he ushers her off warmly. "Indeed. You may go on about your day. I shall see you at last meal and hopefully Nerthus has a preference of when she wishes to join the festivities in our sister realm."
"Hopefully. Good day, Father."
"Good day, Inia."
-O-
In the eve of last meal, twas discussed among the gods and goddesses of the royal Vanir family and sealed by the command of Inia's eldest Aunt Gaea that Nerthus' wish to depart for the Bifrost site would be carried out at high noon the following day when the sun is brightest and the winds are calmest and the lowest threat of adversary presides. Skirnir was present, seeing as he is Vanir bred and has lived in Vana Palace before he could walk and owns the important title as messenger of the realms. Despite no blood relation, Inia considers him a brother in arms and trains with him religiously seeing as his swiftness presents her a challenge unlike anyone she has crossed in her lengthy life. Freyr, ever the politician, offered his gal of a sister his services when she is called upon Asgardian policies but was quickly refused by the family's youngest member. Inia could tell her father did not care much for the crowned princess' surely rejection but he bowed his head, obliging her wishes and went about consuming his savory crustacean dish and proceeded to drink an entire flagon of wine, a wretched skill she noticed he was accomplishing quicker with time. For that moment, she wished Freyja were there so someone brave enough could have swatted the goblet clear across the room and shamed her brother for his ever-growing drunken habits. Uncle Vanlandi, the Imperial King, sat on the opposing end of the dining hall from his queen and as the jolly man he is, he ordered his introvert of a niece to truly attempt to enjoy the festivities for once. Everyone tittered a laugh, much to Inia's exasperation; she further stuffed herself with fruits and seafood, expertly ignoring the lingering, spirited leers of her relatives until, alas, the subject shifted to Saga's success of song and Idunn's support of the orchestra tour by Skirnir's considerate suggestion. They even belted a hymn of praise for the songstress goddess, gaining the scowl of Inia who rather shove daggers in her ears than hear the distorted voices of her non-harmonic kin. Truly, being the fairest race of the Nine, one would think all its residents have the talent of song but they would be incredibly wrong. The handful of voices she enjoys from the green realm happen to be that of her Mother, Saga, and Freyja alone. Asgard's response came in the form of Skirnir skittering into the throne room at nightfall, sharing the news with Gaea who sent him directly to Nerthus. The giddy princess then decided twas a grand idea to appear in Inia's chambers in attempt to frighten her but of course failed due to her older niece's prophetic sedir, then embraced the realm's priestess in thanks for her guardian duty before retiring.
Currently in a field of bladed glass primped with natural wildflowers at the Bifrost site the following day with Nerthus caressing the temple of Vanaheimr's famed owl griffon, Avindr, Inia tilts at the pastel purple sky hinting none of the sparkling stars Asgard is known to live beneath due to the Sea of Space encompassing their flat mother realm.
Skirnir is squatting on a tree stump appeasing his everlasting pallet with a floral honeysuckle from a bushel within the woodlands westward of their position, which on horseback would be a three hour ride yet quicker than a blink of an eye for the mystic messenger. "Either you are beside yourself with joy or you are dreading this so much you may as well perish. I suppose the latter is mostly likely the case, seeing as your lovely mouth has thinned and your eyes are cold, which is a difficult task in of itself considering how bright our eyes are. Inia, has my voice fallen on deaf ears?"
She makes a universal humming sound of acknowledgement, signaling her despondence and distracted mind tending to the scene of the night before. Of the peridot eyes she dreamt the previous night.
She had never dreamt of these soul windows before nor had she ever seen such a beautifully vivid color of green in all her life. In a very Inia-like fashion, she woke from her sign of fate just after the aura of the mysterious individual offered a pale hand sheathing artisan-like dexterous fingers she distinctively remembers she thought were fascinating and in her dream, she saw herself regarded the physicality of the gesture with a small frown of suspicious and dread. Then her hand slid into his and the nightmare began. At their smallest touch of her fingertips gliding into his palm caused an extreme drop in temperature as skin glided skin, pulling a cool shudder from her as confusion, shock and terror swam in peridot gems; simultaneously, her speechless mixed with the astonishment and mortification of the mysterious figure froze at the sight of their azure complexion lined by intricate ridges of separate birth crests on smooth, icy flesh. Their cerise, alike blood. Twas then she sprang awake in a mess of linen, her arm unconsciously extended to the opposite end of the mattress as if her body recalled her dance partner beyond the strangeness of the premonition. She planted a hand on her drumming heart thundering against her ribcage, sucking in greedy breaths, wiping the sweat from her brow on the back of her arm, and rose to rinse the negative energy off her profile. Then she relinquished control of her emotions and gave into instincts, once again waking before dawn wearing a bedgown stained by monochromatic paints and the several variances of greens she perceived clear as day forming those striking eyes. In the aftermath, she decided dancing is bad. Dancing is romantic. Romance is not an option and cannot be a dream of hers in any shape or form, including premonitions, so she told herself she would not think of them again. Yet here she is awaiting Prince Thor and company to arrive at the Bifrost so Heimdall can transport she and Nerthus to Asgard. As usual, the premonitions beckon questions but the only one she cares to have answered is why the person was mortified and appalled at the sight of a Jotunn? She realizes that they may not be the most favored races of the realms due to their savage appearance, ruthlessness, and cunning ways, though they have beauty, love and passion in their culture just akin to any other culture. Birthed a product of Jotunn-Vanir ancestry and being welcoming into King Laufey's kingdom with a kindness she never expected from the alpha Jotunn, she knows this firsthand. In the past, Idunn has made herself available to the sexual culture of the Jotnar and still adamantly insists to accompany Inia to the icy realm whenever the Harbinger is needed in the name of diplomacy for the royal courts.
"Hm?"
"Fine, be that way. Though I believe you are making a fuss over nothing. All shall be well, Inia. How can you not see this?"
Flouncing narrowed eyes of incredulity on her bold and impulsive friend, she ignores the mighty puff of air smacking a braid equal to her arm's thickness behind her shoulder due to Avindr's feathered wings stretching and flapping across the circle of rune symbols burnt into the grassy knoll eons ago. "You forget who you speak to, Skirnir. I see all, far beyond Heimdall's vigilant craft, Gaea and the AllMother's sedir combined." Her neck tips to the sky mildly blushingly. "My apologizes if I have offended you, Heimdall, I meant no harm and speak factually, of course." Her sight follows the remnants of a final honeysuckle flying through the air in Skirnir's dismissal then glints back to the chestnut brunette roaming his eyes from the cropped violet tunic layered below a semi-sweetheart rose gold armored accents with a low-rise belt linked to a thigh holster highlighting her strong yet nimble figure in onyx leather trousers that modestly hug every curve to over-the-knee boots dusted in rosy gold completing her lightest warrior garb. She glares. "Cease gazing upon me as you are or turn your head elsewhere." Her fingers glide along the blush metallic of her arm bracers meant for combat, artisanally forged in fire and generally steered for fashion purposes.
Blushing recklessly, he blinks downward, clearly shamed by her authoritative tone, and exhales frustration, regarding Inia free of lust's bondage. "I am simply pointing out that you may be worrying too much, Inia. I understand that you cannot tell everything the Norn Fates reveal to you, but why must you not let another shoulder the weight of a powerful burden with you? To lessen the stress?" He rambles, "Midgardians believe stress ages you and AllFather knows if we appeared and told them our lifespan they would perish from shock. It's almost pathetic how fragile they are, it nearly makes them endearing."
Midgardians may be the weakest and most primitive of the realms, yes, but having been there for a century and dwelling by their extensive varieties of cultures and lands within their kingdoms, she cannot dismiss their resilience nor their courage. Never in all her years has she seen a brand of bravery the mortal man wields in battle, knowing they are destined for death yet they press onward despite fear. She admires them and is inspired each time at the thought of them upon reflection of her own titles. Princess. Harbinger. Priestess. Truth. Fortune. If mortal man can do it, then so can she.
"Please, do hush." Scoping the skies for the telltale tear of abrupt iridescent light swirling a thousand colors in the atmosphere, Inia removes her elbows off armored bent knees and cants her neck to the harmonious laughter of Nerthus pouncing and dashing at the griffon reciprocating her agile movements, both squawking and rumbling joy. The simplicity of caramel blonde hair spilling behind her celebratory armor colored by passionate reds not unlike Idunn is a harsh reminder, an emotional slap to the face, of how peculiar she appears in a family headed by the fairest of blondes or richest of reds.
If she knew not of her heritage, Inia surely would believe she favors her Jotunn-self than Vanir since she is the sole member to inherit her mother's stern but feminine button nose, strongly arched eyebrows, the heavy breasts and wide hips of a Jotunn female, a smoky voice to match, and the snowy white hair of her great-grandmother Skadi. Assuring her oddities, Inia is much taller and more solid than Freyja, Nerthus, and Idunn's supple softness of absolute femininity that often gains them so much attention while she is regarded with no more than a usual smile of politeness or a Vanir bow of salutation. Not to be confused, Inia is relieved for the lack of temptation around her but she supposes it would not be so horrible to be acknowledged for her individual beauty every now and again. Tis not as if she is a horror to gaze upon, oh Gaea no, but she realized at an early age that while she does closely resemble her twin, she also carries a very specific exotic appearance unlike the Vanir about her. Inia accepted this long ago, but it has yet to grapnel the attention of any suitors. Tis not as if she could accept their courtship proposals anyway due to her vow, but again, it would be an indulgence to be proposed. Perhaps once.
"Worry not, it shan't be that –"
Internal self-doubts, wonder, and stresses of her previous night sloshing her nerves similar to a rain shower brought on by Mjolnir, Inia knits her arms, commanding, "Hush, Skirnir. Please."
"Inia –"
"While I respect your optimism and hopefulness of the situation, I appreciate you, I do, but it does not change the truth of what is to come. Now, lay it to rest so I may focus." Inclining over her shoulder at Avindr pawing greenery near a swaying princess weaving flowers in the mythic creature's fur by her ability of geo-psionic enchantments, he cocks his round owl head curiously at Skirnir and herself, flicking a furry beige tail around with interest. Inia glances to the man god on the stump cupping his hands to his mouth waggling his fingers, serenading variations of bird calls to the giant beast. Quickly, she shoves Skirnir off the trimmed trunk and snorts a laugh at the dissatisfaction gleaning his fair, very eastern features. Sensing Avindr nearing through their soul-tie, she rests her face in its neutral placidity, her sneer pinning Skirnir in a patch of pink flowers. "I cannot lose sight of Nerthus, she is the future of Vanaheimr."
"I understand duties. I meant no harm. Forgive me, my lady?" He holds a particularly wrinkled flower up to her and whacks it lazily across her lips a couple times until her resolve breaks into a smile of sunshine.
She sighs, lifting the corners of her mouth and rubs the velvet valley above the beak gently nuzzling a home beneath her arm, yearning attention. "Yes, all is forgiven. Just keep an eye on Freyr for me and try to keep Idunn out of trouble, shall you?"
Avindr unhinges beak from jaw and squawks his objection at the conversing pair for being disregarded. Wide, analytical eyes having the shape of poultry suddenly thins to dagger-like precision, silting more alike their feline counterpart. He extends a feathered neck levelly with Inia to unflinchingly capture her gaze. He glares.
"Oh, do not set such a gaze upon me."
"Good gods! I highly believe none is better than a griffon giving you a foul look! Only you, Inia!" Skirnir slaps a hand on his thigh, laughter squinting his almond shaped eyes as the griffon rattles a rhythmic tickle deep in its windpipe as the glorified runner wheezes breathlessly.
"Yes, yes. Have your laugh at my expense, Runner."
"Courier." Playful defiance shadowing his eyes, he parts his mouth to speak but stills when the griffon points his golden beak to the sky and hoots a mighty caw. "How in Vana can he sense when the Bifrost is to be activated?" Rising, his hand automatically seeks the black satin feathers consisting the owl's chest and massages the pads of his fingers soothingly in the beige fur of the lion's shoulder blades and flanks exactly how the magnificent beast favors it. Skirnir also tries to dust off the flowers woven through his fur but receives a small growl of opposition. Quickly, he returns to absently massaging the creature.
A content purr ensues, though the feline eyes never forsake the celestial light encroaching closer birthed worlds away.
Inia stands, assuming a calm stature in the center of the rune site etched in the marked mound, joining a nervous Nerthus beaming anticipation. "I believe Heimdall discovered a kindred spirit in the griffon. I shall ask him for you to be certain. Be well, Skirnir. Avindr, behave."
"You have my word to vigil over those dearest to you." Skirnir chuckles kindly, nods a farewell, and smiles fondly at the griffon sitting prettily on his hind legs devotedly scoping the sky.
Inia downturns to her princess, an encouraging smile of sympathy swimming in her bright eyes.
Nerthus must sense a gaze upon her because she angles her neck, finding and visibly relaxing at the sight of her priestess' collective aura. "I have never traveled beyond Vanaheimr."
Well aware of the young princess' virgin predicament of inter-space passage, she advises, "Regard from clenching and whatever you do, do not move. Hold onto me if you wish."
Wordlessly, Nerthus does as told and winds both arms around her elder niece's waist, squeezing her eyes shut.
"Carry on, Heimdall."
AUTHORS NOTE: Italics are Norse Viking dialect/cultural phrases + character's thoughts + dramatic dialog in context. I'm on the market 4 Beta so if you're interested, please PM me. CC during R&R is VERY APPRECIATED! For each Chapter, I will add more pre-determined Face Claims as they thicken the plot in this fashion. I favor the use of Face Claims not 4 the model/singer/actor's possibility and/or ability 2 do these character's justice IRL, but as a physical reference not only 2 accurately describe my OCs but visually 4 the readers as well. I don't own Marvel or Norse Mythos, just my OCs :)
~ Norn Vision/Foresight as Harbinger~
LADIES:
Catherine Zeta-Jones - Karnilla of Asgard, Queen of Nornheimr, the Mother of Darkness and Supreme Enchantress
Charlize Theron - Princess Freyja Vanlandidottir of Vanaheimr, Fertility Goddess of Sex, Beauty and Love; First Valkyrie Freyja of AllFather's Valkyrior
Halston Sage - Princess Nerthus Vanlandidottir of Vanaheimr, Fertility Nature Goddess
Ivy Levan - Princess Inia Freyrdottir of Vanaheimr, Goddess of Truth and Fortune; Priestess Inia | Princess Idunn Freyrdottir of Vanaheimr, Fertility Goddess of Eternal Youth
Julie Andrews - Imperial Queen Gaea of Vanaheimr, Fertility Goddess
Milla Jovovich - Gerd of Jotunheimr, Goddess of Winter; Dutchess Gerd Freyrkvan of Vanaheimr
Toc Tien - Saga Omdottir of Vanaheimr, Goddess of Song; Songstress of the Realms
GENTLEMEN:
Jason Lewis - Prince Freyr Vanlandison of Vanaheimr, God of Peace; Duke Freyr Vanlandison of Vanaheimr
Mel Gibson - Imperial King Vanlandi of Vanaheimr | Vadir of Vanaheimr, God of Vengeance
Steven Yeun - Skirnir of Vanaheimr, Courier of the Gods