Disclaimer: I do not own Thor, the characters, or the MCU. I do own my own character version and the plot twists.
AWOWADD 2
Chapter 2: A Victor's Path Dialogue
~ Vanaheim ~
In Norse mythology, the Vikings breathed their despairing prayers to what others consider the heathen gods. Ones powerful enough to send Vikings trembling to their feet; making proud soldiers into do-right cowards. The cosmos open their clouded windows and strike a mighty roar, piercing the hearts of women, children and men. The ashes of flesh greet these gods and sprinkle their remains in pyres across their own homelands, embracing the smell of joy, defeat, and victory at once. The thrill for a deity was never quenched and never will be. The thirst for a battle is formulaic: a blood lust hunger and driven by gut-wrenching adrenals.
As their hunger anticipates, as does the land of their worlds. Woods shift, mountains skirt to the side, oceans part, and lakes evaporate. The thunder belts surround whole cities followed by the electric rain. Fire and wind form and yet another battle is reborn from the ashes of men and immortals alike. The sign of the phoenix and the eagle signal the flags to lower and cannon fire to down.
This was the continuous unbroken cycle in Yggdrasil, the world tree.
At the top of this tree sits the heavens named right so- Asgard, home of the divine. On top of the edge of a world lake, its shining temples and golden establishments embellish the crown jewel of Yggdrasil. It was said, 'Asgard is a land more fertile than any other, blessed also with a great abundance of gold and jewels,'. Naturally from the mines of dwarves, but it held much mre than that.
The supreme, one-eyed ruler named Odin haled alongside with his wife Queen Frigga. Upon his majestic, Sleipnir, and his infamous spear of many killers called Gungnir, he was the notorious champion of other worldly politics and the elected god of war and its chaos. His fury chaliced an iron fist as well as the wisdom that surpassed all others.
His knowledge carved a whole branch of Yggdrasil and maintained a peace between the nine realms. The Vikings and other Scandinavians paid their homage every nine years at the Temple at Uppsala as a sign of recognition and tribute to the almighty guardians of the World Tree.
Aside from the heavens of Asgard laid one of equal value. In a different dimension, Vanaheim contains the Asynjors: gods of fertility, water spirits, shamans, healing, peace, wealth and prosperity, and death. Its King, rightly named after his realm, kept his peace with others while his people developed the methods of serenity and curative properties to all who deserved so. His wife, Freyja, a high priestess and goddess of beauty, ruled as Queen Mother to all inhabitants as she cared for each spirit and soul in her kingdom. But alas, the kingdom they ruled has weakened without an heir. King Vanaheimr tried all in his power to consult with the Shamans of Old for a remedy but none availed. All hope left was the steady breathing of prayers in the innermost temples next to their branch's core. When all seemed lost, a miracle was shown in the form of a tiny baby girl. Vanaheimr's heart softened and grew in rejoice at the sight of his daughter.
"My King she is small and precious as the pearls of the sea. And has your eyes," Freyja soothed as she held her baby in the drawing room. The open air sighed as if the world calmed down in the presence of an heir. The tufts of silver blonde hair beaded back and drawn to the side so she could see her child more clearly.
Vanaheimr stood off to the side gazing out at the balcony cove. His fists curled underneath the stone ledge. His brow scrunched in deep thought. Freyja looked back her husband expectedly. She frowned looking away not knowing if her King was angry. The silent, sleeping babe lay calmly in her arms. Her smile crackled like the fire at her feet.
"Is it not good you have a child Iwaldi?" she asked using the King's nickname.
He turned sharply, stepping once more into the drawing room. The halls were magnificent and spacious. Open light, air, and the soft breeze of water curled at the highest peaks. The whole realm welcomed water as most of was filled with salty waters. The lakes and oceans breathed life underwater and sheltered more than atypical animals one could find in Midgard.
He cleared his throat. "I am, Freyja. I am most pleased with our child," he said stiffly. He clutched the tri-spear headed staff at the rim of the scepter's jewel.
She corralled a brave notion and glared at him. "But you are not satisfied?"
He sighed. "I am only worrying for what's best for our world," he breathed deeply and sat at the throne-sized chair opposite of Freyja's ornate one.
She didn't give up her glare. "Child or not, she is yours Iwaldi. You should be grateful a daughter has blossomed within the branches of Yggdrasil,"
A hand covered his forehead. "I am most grateful. You will never understand my gratitude and the love I share for our daughter,"
"You're right," she said, "I don't," Her nose turned up.
His fists curled but his face never showed anger. It passed as soon as it came. "Freyja, I would never be disappointed in her,"
"Then what is troubling you?" Her tone grew as cold as the Balkans.
A solemn face shadowed the King's face. His face had weathered much over the years. He could be mistaken for the All-Father for his white, sea-beard inherited by his forefathers. His skin had tanned from the many adventures his crew took to sea. The scars he had formed haunted his dreams and ruptured his mind many a time. The visions from yesteryears and years to come never quite drifted as easily as the glaciers from the north. The Vanirs were known for their visions and passing wisdom. They live through pain and golden hoard of memories. Asgardians treasured the insightful dreams they held for generations. All the core messages of these dreams resulted from the veins of Yggdrasil running through when sleep doses them off.
"I've had it again, Freyja," he said rubbing his lined temple.
Freyja's mad expression paled. The ghosts of anger streamed past as new emotions rambled through her mind. "What? What is it, my Lord?" she cradled the child in her arms.
His eyes never left the child in his wife's arms. The sparks and lightning created drove him to madness. His watery cerulean eyes became sad and all the worlds seemed to have vanish from his priorities. If only his daughter were a son, the outcome would have been much different. But now he would have to be extremely cautious of their futures.
He still remembered wearily the nights of agony before his wife begun labor. The otherworldly destruction with massive sonic booms to erupt eardrums. His ears rung in pain as he winced. The King needed not to know of the fire and the metal crushing innocent lives or the swallowing gulf of darkness penetrating the Light. In the middle of it all he dreamt of a girl with pale golden hair as soft as the threads his mother once made- fighting and struggling to win. Shadows surrounded her being, sucking the rigid pieces of her darkened aura.
The King opened his eyes to a worrisome wife, clutching to her King's chest. He didn't seem to notice his fall off the chair or the bleak cold floor contrasting his warmed skin. Freyja gazed down at her newborn. She was asleep. Her blue eyes laid underneath her lids, save from her father's pain. The wisps of hair were swept back and her limbs twitched every now and again.
The Queen Mother's eyes scaled and lengthened like a frightened fish spotting the teeth of a predator. The whites of her eyes clutched on the image of her angelic child. Her hands wrapped her closer as if the water spirits from the east would snatch her at any moment.
"My child? By Vanir... No. NO!" Her voice nearly trilled. "I will not allow her to be left alone!" Her voice escalated pas the comfort zone of her child's ears.
The child squirmed and the Queen Mother immediately regretted her anger. She shushed her child lovingly. all the while the King sat in silence drifting off to the memories he would have to live through. His heavy breaths reverberated off the arched walls.
Freyja whispered, "She can never be alone. Whatever will happen won't happen," She felt determined but even she knew the consequences of temperament of the future.
The Vanir's regal aura stiffened. His wife would not meddle the future. Even it he did have the power to remove the dream, there was nothing to intervene it. "Freyja, you know the judgement," He pointed dangerously at her. "If the All-Father knew we were changing the courses of thread and time, we would not be here," he said, his voice like the comings of hurricane. "I will not allow our daughter to live in fear!" A hand slammed at the armrest of the throne.
"She will be a warrior and a great heir to Vanaheim,"
Freyja visibly backed away from the harsh words. They created a swift tension as thick as the fog barriers. "Then what will we do? I don't want her taken away when we just gotten her," Her tears were watering and ready to form an ocean of her own.
The King squared his shoulders, head high and eyes rigid. "Do nothing," he ordered.
That startled the Queen Mother. "Nothing" The word slapped her like the tail of a rowdy swordfish.
He had a plan in mind. one that could abate the terror in proper time. He would be risking life and limb. The ramifications would cost the worlds dearly should they fail. It had to be done. But would it work?
"She will have a great providence one day," he decided. The soft crinkle in his eyes returned. "She will learn to fight every battle with just as vigilance and determination. She will grow strong..." he said as he walked over to smooth a hand on her pink cheek. "She will be a strong one. Never will be weak,"
His wife leaned down to hold out her hand. The coo of her voice softened her parent's eyes.
Freyja asked tenderly, "But will it be enough?"
He stroked his wife's cheek in return. "She's already a legend in the making... Sigyn of Vanaheimr, you will prevail as victorious. Or die trying,"
And then Sigyn's eyes marked his words while looking back at the sea blue eyes he had given her.
Some time had come to pass. Though the watchers of time were precarious to not mention the hour to their King. The days turned to weeks, weeks turned to months. And all the time left in Vanaheim was simply left unaccounted for.
For something irked the King. It haunted him in his own halls- his own! The ones that were fortified to keep out the mightiest of all giants and earthlings of the deep. Walls that were constructed to bend light and create an infrastructure beyond magnitude, it was envied by Asgard. As their people believe them twins, one should never surpass the abilities of another. But that was separate in our tale.
Subjects bid their ways looking for their own solutions to crises. None bothered the King. All the while, he remained in the Hall of Deep, never too far away from his throne of his wife and child. He paced, ran circles in his mind, and dismissed the notion of celebrating the birth of his child. This was a private gathering and took up too much of Vanaheimr's precious... time.
It had gotten to the point where impressions were barely detected by passing servants. The Hall of Deep remained in a state of disbelief. Instead of oceanic trumpets hallooing of the acoustic ceilings, white noise deafened an aggravated ruler. Many a time his trident sounded off from the mosaic tiles with tiny sparks for effect as the lack of noise bothered him as well.
His mood continued to worsen far outside of the Hall. The storms offshore began to brew violently. Some dared to creep near the outskirts of the valleys.
It just happened to be on a stormy midmorning, the King sat on his stone throne, rubbing a paling hand over his beard. His punishment inside softened the weathered tan he accumulated over the years of reign. When was it last since he smelt the sea salt? Most likely when the season rolled around. Only weeks before his wife began labor.
Wife. Labor. Child. His mind sighed as the images returned. They seem to continue as snapshots on continuous loop. Curses under his breath were muttered.
The smooth handle of the trident brought him no relief as his hand increased its grip. No amount of pressure could destroy his scepter. But oh how lovely it would be to have it crushed for the moment. Pummeled like the porcelain skin of sand dollars in his mighty fist. His macabre sense of humor returned him on good will. Half of a laugh escaped his crusty lips. His other hand drummed on habit as his thoughts were temporarily disarrayed.
Then all laughter stopped on a dime. The arch of his back straightened with a sickening strain in his muscles. The fury of his eyebrow steeled his gaze as he stood up. He moved away from the steps of the throne, edging closer to one of the marvelous portholes big enough for a whale to enter at ease.
The sea stirred haphazardly. It curled along the shores, almost as if it were grabbing the sand to drag the waters out. A flash grew large over the water, making it a frightening violet. The wavelength of the flash seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. Then it spiraled from the clouds to the electric charge of the sea life. Its power should not have allowed the naked eye more than a moment's appearance. Yet the lingering feeling of dread and adrenaline pumped through the King- though it never showed on his face.
When the flash disappeared, darting behind equally dark, ominous clouds- the roaring sound of lightning echoed across the radius. Vanaheimr slapped a hand to the cold surface of the wall, feeling the small vibrations. The rough texture against his palm was cold on his warmth.
Bright flashes were not normal.
A cold, weary voice called from far behind him. "Vanaheimr," The voice exuded power and superiority. There was a moment where for a moment, the deep sense of primordial predator resurfaced in the lesser king. Old memories returned to the king. It was eons ago since he had felt like a boy caught by his elder. Perspiration began to form under the heavy golden crown he wore.
He cocked his head to the right, not formally addressing the intruder. "All-Father Odin. When was it last you stepped into the Hall of the Deep?" he said amusedly. His fingers twitched once more over the handle of the trident.
Odin clutched Gungnir in a way that resembled Vanaheimr to an eagle's talons around prey. His feet rested upon the steps closest his throne. Without a small smile to grace him in his Halls, he replied most casually, "Not since I had my one good eye, my friend,"
The absolute silence allowed the two to eye each other. As his pupil, Vanaheimr rather not remind either of them of his youthful days when rebellion was easy to summon. There wasn't risk back then. All the more reason now, to not start something here. Not with so much to bear on his mind.
Trying to remain the courteous one, Vanaheimr lessened the grip on his trident. He circled around from his post to the All-Father. He treaded carefully.
"How is Yggdrasil serving you this fine year?"
Odin's eyes wandered outside the window the king stood by moments ago. The weather had dramatically calmed down and travelled back to the west. "Just as well," He faced the aging man. He offered a free hand in the air, gesturing to nothing in particular. "The Fates have foretold another prosperous Age," It was then a small smile appeared.
Vanaheimr knitted his brows before grunted an approval. Figures, as much. Idle chit chat was not one for the King. Meaning it was not a social call. The King of the Asas had better role than to visit old friends.
He cut straight to the point, like a butcher selecting his cut of meat. "What bade you to come, All-Father,"
Odin, feeling the hostility, eased his hand back to his side. He paced to and fro. "Set ease to a weary man's mind, friend," he soothed. His eyes darted to the enormous doors he didn't bother setting foot through. By the looks of the intricate hinges, they could do with a bit of dusting and airing out. It wasn't what the doors or the hinges that caught the intense gaze of Odin All-Father. "There are sightings of jötunns breaking past their barriers," he said.
Like a ruffled, out of place owl, Vanaheimr's stature primed and preened his feathers feeling insults underneath false concerns. He said sternly, "Vanaheim has never seen a battle we have yet to lose. You know this well," He pointed at him.
Odin was taken back at the ferocity of his old pupil. Firm, but unyielding, the Asgardian brushed the end of his spear, Gungnir, against the floor. "Forgive me, friend. Defenses can only go so far," he observed the infrastructure once more. The sound echoed like the rumble of thunder against glass panes.
The veins in Vanaheimr's neck strained. Calmly, like the eye of a hurricane, he stated, "Perhaps your gaze should readjust to the giants of Surtr," He noticed Odin stiffen at the advice. He prodded once more, "They wreak havoc every moment in his prison,"
Odin's jaw clenched. His eye cast over a dark shadow in remembrance. He wrinkled his nose in disdain. "Better to have a strong, leaderless fight then one under poor leadership," he said ominously.
Vanaheimr strode towards his throne, falling footsteps receded in noise. As his robes rubbed against the back of his seat, he allowed his free hand to curl over the arm-stand. Jumpy fingers drummed across the cool edges.
He made a humorous sound. "History doesn't remember ones who have both lost in precarious circumstances,"
Odin-Father leaned against Gungnir as a third leg. "Let us hope none of us know this to be true," he said stiffly.
Vanaheimr's eyebrows knitted. A crusty gurgle escaped his cleared throat. "That remains to be seen," The low rumbles rolled down to the High King.
Feeling the thickness, Odin remained diligent and poised. He paced once or twice, eyes gazing anywhere and everywhere but his once pupil. They darted towards the opening. Skies fell in shades of purple and blue. His hesitance died as he craned his neck.
"What of Vanaheim?" The ambassador to Asgard rang. "Is she not uneasy," No movement from the Fisher King. A bronzed hand wafted to the sea breeze. It had deadened in all too short time. Eyebrows darted curiously to the silent king. "I see waters still; the wind has changed it's biannual course a season too early,"
All-Father dared to take a step forward. A step nearer.
The drumming from his hand ran rapidly, like one of the hai fish in the midst of capturing its prey only to slip away across the current. But Vanaheimr never showed weakness. The moment for truths is at a time one most be vulnerable. And vulnerabilities were like a delicacy to others. Biding their time to pinpoint an exact fail point. Whether it to weaken an enemy or a friend.
"It is most difficult, All-Father," He muttered into his beard. The grip on his trident lessened. For a small measure of time, the king had none to trust. Not the Vanirs, the Fates, his people, or even his own wife. His hardships troubled him to no end. Though the persistence of the Council and Freyja trickled annoyance and remorse on his point, it would only be his own doing to find clarity behind his problems.
He rested a hand over his weathered forehead. How long had it been truly since he sailed the seas? How long had he endured the sole company of his self in the blasted Hall of the Deep? When it was his sanctuary? No, he was just being stubborn. He can't abide for much longer. Even a King needed to bear and grin for help- no matter how degraded he felt.
He opened up, "Not even the shamans are at peace in the palace,"
The King of Asgard maneuvered closer to his comrade. The remnants of a long day and longer week was worn thinly like a cloak on Vanaheimr.
Not wanting to weaken a friend, he observed, "A sudden illness has wrapped around here,"
A hand cuffed around the arm-stand tightly as if it anchored him to his seat. His fingers twitched around the golden and blackened gems on his rings nervously, though never showing it as an emotion.
Playing it off, he said, "The healers are superstitious to the end. They never speak the unspeakable," He chuckled lowly. " You've heard them before. Muttering, 'what we fear is inconceivable',"
Then his face dropped. Half a frown appeared. He breathed heavily, letting go the bated breath he held since the nightmares. "I'm afraid for the sake of my people speaking of it under my Halls might allow such superstition to awaken that fear,"
Fear of the unknown. He never spoke of it. But it was known. Forever etched in the back of his memory he lived it nightly. His cognitive brain told him it was nothing but folly, but the heart... and the soul... Both cannot be as dismissive.
Odin caught these unspoken thoughts. He read them across the troubled man's face. The diminishing look in his eye was that of a commoner- a man. Not of a king with the brow of regality or the strength of thousands. The King in front of him was nothing more than a man of Midgard- struggling for power and might to that equal to a lowly lord.
This man, was not the Vanir he had trained nor should he ever be. Clapping a surprising hand to the King's shoulder, Odin offered the faintest of smiles.
"Then let us speak away from these Halls,"
The seas have shifted remarkably. On the elongated balcony the length of a legion of soldiers shoulder to shoulder, Vanaheimr slapped a hand to the rough edges of the balcony wall. His eyes crusted over to the spraying sea form rising from beneath them. The crash of a thousand waves echoed into his tuned ears as fresh air bit goosebumps onto his skin. The cords of muscles he accumulated tensed at the shiver, refusing to subjugate.
Oh, how he loved the sea. She was as untamable and unyielding as her master. Why, if it weren't for the devotion left to his Freyja, he would empower his own wife in the shape of waters, from different pockets of the sea. The amorous feeling of a good, sharp wind relieved him. Though the aching feeling in his soul did not lighten.
To his right, and with every intention to provide space, Odin marveled with him at the sight. His eye crossed the path of seagulls riding into the horizon. A sure sign night has begun to fall.
Vanaheimr licked the sea salt off his lips. Without so much as a turn of the head, he said, "Have I ever told you this is my favored place to be,"
Odin recollected his thoughts. "Not in the Hall or even at the Temple. Maybe it's the way I remember the shores of Asgard," Odin searched in his archaic mind the times when the Vanirs were housed. Such times they were. Vanaheimr sniffed in the air as if he could almost feel the bit of memory into him.
He sighed, hiding the small part of a smile from a ruler like Odin. A slight roll of embarrassment aroused in his emotions. "I used to always escape the barracks to sit on the beach... watch the rolling waves crash and recede,"
The humble mutterings of laughter filled part of the white noise in the absence of ocean life. All-Father leaned against the railing, amused.
"And you think I didn't know your wanderings?" Odin jabbed at the younger King. He kept himself upright. "Heimdall would keep an eye on you especially," He pointed at the taken back Vanaheimr.
It wasn't long before Vanaheimr could crack the smile. His eyes misted over as the rumble of laughter died in his throat. Reminiscent memories all too burnt over surfaced again. "Those were the days. Unfortunately one too many eyes have wandered too close to my family," He bit back the long sigh in his lungs.
It was only a matter of time before the Asgardian could diminish the wall his pupil delved into. Deeming himself an expert, he taught him how to do such a thing. Amongst others like nobility and strategies. If he had thought for a moment the student could undo the master, he was sorrowfully wrong.
Speaking plainly, he asked, "What ails you?"
An eye squinted into the depths. His lip quivered as utter pain washed into his eyes. His structure all but collapsed as more sea water enveloped the shallow rocks.
"My daughter," he whispered. A crackle in his voice. "My blessing," Worry lines etched his forehead.
The Asgardian King nodded fervently. "Your heir. And a proud one for a magnificent realm," he hailed.
Darkly, the shadows underneath his eyes grew. The emotions, running like a river, overwhelmed his character. Darkness like the winds of a hurricane swirled around him.
He muttered dangerously, "If she lives to see the end of my reign," He turned on his heel away from the King. Then it left as quickly as it came. His shoulder slumped. His head turned a quarter back to his companion. "My little one," he whispered as if she was the most precious thing Life had offered. "What is to come, what happens to her- will happen to all of us, All-Father Odin," His voice regained strength as his eyes darted to a curious Odin.
Like a boy on the edge of his seat, he wanted more than riddles. Odin remained stoic but inside his questions rattled.
He pointed. "You seek what lies ahead. Tell me, brother,"
Vanaheimr lifted a heavy breath. "I cannot," he said ruggedly. "The repercussions have already started to slow on me," Pruned fingers wavered near his temple. A hand reached at the balcony in a vice-like grip. His head dipped down as he squared his frame- trying to hold onto reality. The more he blinked, the more clearly he saw those nightmares. They flashed by, tormenting him.
"Odin, if she is to fall, Niflheim will not hesitate to open our gates," he said gravely. He turned back. He looked squarely in his eyes. A look of wilderness and fear came to him and seeped into Odin. "All gates," he muttered underneath his breath.
All-Father looked off into the distance, processing wild, rapid thoughts. The wheels in his head spun precariously. This was not personal, it was universal. The answers he sought after for, for the disappearance of a friend, for the changings of his surroundings, for diplomacy- all collided into one. The answer he got, was anything but rewarding. The punishment that burdened Vanaheimr dripped into him, slowly and without reason.
He knew what was to happen would come. But nothing like this. His gaze shifted to the horizon, wishing to see his people, his family, his home. What once gleamed bright like a beacon turned askew. He can never look upon the glorious sight of Asgard without the worries that his friend had aforementioned. He needed peace.
He stood tall like a lion on his pride. "What you speak of is treasonous," he warned.
Vanaheimr shook his head, frustration deep in his pores. "The Norns foretold it. If only they foretold a stopper," He resumed the damned pacing. Nothing eased his pace.
Like an eagle screeching at his younglings, he said, "It is against Law to intervene-"
Vanaheimr interrupted him, with the maddening eye of a corrupt king. "Do you think I don't know that?!" His blood-pumped face paled as the All-Father stepped forth with an unnerving hold of Gungnir. The Vanir stepped down and subjugated fealty. His anger surpassed him. The storm brewed elsewhere.
"Forgive me, All-Father," he prayed to his feet. "My actions are caused by a father's temperance and love for his young," His eyes darkened as he pleaded with Odin.
Odin unclenched a fist and held it out in front of him. Not like a beggar for bread, no- as if all the life in him depended on this choice. "Let me see," he stoned.
Vanaheimr did not hesitate. He linked forearms together and flooded all emotions and stress pent up over to the forged link. Everything replicated inside him and using his gifts only intensified the emotions he did not wish to fill. The exchange remained quiet on the outside. But on the inside Odin gained clarity. He did so every time he was graced with a Vanir Sight.
This was much different. The mightiness left him. The superiority he built from the bottom escaped. The vision shredded all bits of his self away and left him weak and vulnerable to anything he wished to see. Oh, the Sight. Only few could have marveled at any Sight. The darkness, the light, the aura of colors and perceptive depictions between particles of light and color intermixed much like the Bifröst- if the Bifröst's purpose had ever darkened.
Then he was granted entrance. It felt like eons; slipping away into the abyss. The horrors that only Niflheim should hold unleashed upon him and the passengers around him. He stopped as in his travelings.
The connection disengaged.
It was only a taste of what the Vanir King faced.
"Hmm," Odin recomposed. The hold on Gungnir was replicated like his companion- gripping onto reality. "Dark days are upon us, indeed," he said ominously. He felt the slightest feeling of disorientation. He overcame it as the power of his wisdom triumphed it.
Vanaheimr slunk back to his place on the balcony. He growled lightly, "You would let me endure this? To suggest I allow the daughter of mine to weaken-"
"But I'm not," he interrupted. Odin thought and thought again. In the shortest time between words, it was just enough for him to go over all his careful plans only to scratch them out looking for new ones. He happened upon a lone idea- an idea, mind you. It was thoughtless, unreasonable, and chaotic.
And yet Odin King could not help as he thought again, to return back to the idea.
He held a hand in silence. "You say you fear for her weaknesses. She needs to be trained, most wisely," he said adding to his idea.
Vanaheimr slapped his knuckles against the strain in his skin. "I've already counseled the Nine Vanirs. They've all agreed to progress her training when the time comes,"
Now frustration pent up in the Asgardian. There was more than one solution to any problem and he could feel the stubbornness climax between the two kings. He slammed the staff in his hand against the cool floor, leaving a permanant etching and burn.
He said threateningly, "By Valhalla, every moment we waste is a moment too soon to the desolation," Then Odin leaned back as he realized Vanaheimr smirked and laughed at the older one. He rolled his hands together, clapping them. His trident against the balcony moved back to his hand. He pinned the trident down in a similar fashion.
"I've wasted none, Odin," he said stoically.
Odin thought aloud, "Asgard,"
Bemused, Vanaheimr lent an ear. "What of Asgard?" he demanded. Tensions of lately were not welcoming to Vanaheimr nor his land. It would do no good to result in this treaty of sorts to Asgard. The mere mentioning of it worried the father in him. He knew what was intended but refused to acknowledge the inevitable.
Odin chose his words carefully. "Her sanctum,"
The words resided on his tongue like snake venom. "On Asgard?" the Vanir King asked in disbelief.
He undermined his pupil, "You said you wished her safe passage. I offer you a way out,"
Vanaheimr growled. "Yes but I never would have envisioned a home going," he seethed. "Not when Freyja and I just had her," he said pointedly.
"It is the only way,"
It shocked Vanaheimr. Him, a Vanir, a child of the gods, the gift of Yggdrasil's blessing was thought to be weakened? He stifled. His nose turned upright. "Asgard's protection is the same here. What makes you think she'll be any safer there?"
"Do you wish my help?" Vanaheimr clenched his jaw; veins threatened to protrude. With a sigh, he continued, "Then she'll train along with my sons. To fight and learn from the Asgardians the secrets of battle," The plan flowed. It molded together coercively. "We cannot interfere, but we can prevent the undeniable," He nodded his head.
Vanaheimr's trident fiddled in his fingertips. His eyes widened. "Freyja will not stand for it,"
Odin muttered lowly, "She will if she wishes to see her daughter to survive! Convince her,"
There was no escape out of this. The Vanir knew it. Once something stuck in his mind, Odin would do everything in his power, the King of the Asas, to maintain the promise straight and true. No matter how corrupted.
Vanaheimr snorted. "She won't disobey the word of Odin," he resounded. He remembered the beauty of his wife once caught both eyes of Odin in his courtship with Frigga. She would have done anything for the Asas eyes to more than linger. He let go of the past temporarily.
He had a few tricks up his sleeve as well. "But you must swear. Swear on Gungnir. Swear that her well being will come first," he demanded.
The Asa did not visibly stiffen but the smirking Vanir knew it troubled Odin to no end. But what he didn't expect was the staff of Odin to be horizontally held out front, facing the Vanir. Waiting.
He thundered, "I swear. For the sake of all. And herself," The hint of fresh rain could be smelt. The beginning of a thunderstorm was underway.
He darted his eyes to the one eyed King. "Ease my mind further. When," A snarl of his voice appeared.
"I would not take her away when time is too precious for you and your wife," He nodded in acknowledgement. He looked to the sky. The curvature of Heimdall called for him. In his mind eye, the honored guard slung his sword into the Bifröst's switch, engaging the observatory. "I shall return for her when Frosty-Mane of the Night chariot and Shining-Mane of the Day chariot cross paths once more,"
Vanaheimr saw the sunset across the waters. Its head dipped into the sea, extinguishing the flame. Odin resumed, "Only then will I come for her. With haste,"
A hand mangled through his beard. Much has happened between Vanirs and Asgardians. They fought, they bled, they learnt everything. Together and apart. Harmoniously and haphazardly. Was it a time of peace-making Asgard had arranged for? Or one of perpetual doom?
Could it be done? Could Vanaheimr entrust the single most important treasure in his existence over to the demands of a wise King? Could he? But if he didn't it would question all the years of alliances they fought to keep with the bay of their peoples ever so forcefully knock down.
He took a leap of faith, blindly. He pricked his finger on the iron of the trident. Blood began to form into a drop. He stepped forth and placed the single droplet on the spear of Gungnir, sealing his decision. Binding into the spear, the blood trailed until piece by piece the liquid bubbled and evaporated.
Upon its disappearance, Vanaheimr looked beyond. "We have an accord," Silence was met upon the lesser king. The inner turmoil inside, battling for release was through wit diplomacy and tattered hold of friendship. He wanted out. Away from the Hall, and with the two people he needed his strength from.
Before Vanaheimr could walk away without so much as a care whether manners mattered, Odin scrapped Gungnir across the floor.
"One more thing," Vanaheimr's head cocked but never looked back. "When I return, she cannot come back... until she's ready,"
Silence thickened. The tension cooled rather oddly. Instead of the usual temperament that came from the Vanir King, he relinquished.
"Do you swear on your part?" Odin demanded more than asked for an answer.
The stiffness in Vanaheimr's voice roared to life. He prodded the trident. "If you excuse me. I believe my daughter needs me," he growled before storming off, leaving anger and sea storm a league away forming.
In an instance Odin vanished. He returned to the safety of Asgard. As he returned and was greeted by the Asa, Heimdall, only then did All-Father truly accept the gravity of the situation. This was never about pride or boastful natures. Vanaheimr's vague message cleared from the abnormalities.
Odin-King realized that he was never the victor in their accord, the controller.
He was the target.