He just lies there, motionless... I watch as his brother walks away, oblivious to my presence, and I am torn. Freyja has given me an explicit order to have him sent to Niflheim without Odin's knowledge; she feels that he is undeserving of the privileges a warrior's death would grant him and also fears what Odin would do with his soul... But I look at the grief and anguish on his face and cannot help but feel sorry him and his entire situation. I have seen him fight in previous battles, forever watching him and hoping for the best outcome... I have been purposefully searching out his battles above all others to observe him and I have no idea why – I've become fond of him? I do not even know him yet I cannot help but seek him out, admire his cunning in battle, his swift and deadly movements with such a meagre blade, his lithe form flowing around his foes with such effortless grace, the destruction he wreaks upon the unsuspecting as he cons them into traps and lures them into a false sense of security before stripping their lives from them with precise strikes and misdirection. Sometimes I notice a hint of sadness in his eyes, a crease of anguish on his brow, as he lays into those who would do him harm... Sometimes, while Freyja is absent or busy, I even sneak away to watch him outside of combat, to try and learn more of him – but all I've ever learned is that he is mysterious and fickle in his feelings. His illusions are almost constant and I don't think I've ever seen the real him because of this... Why does he hide so often from those who hold him closest? He might not have ended up here if he had not forsaken those who sought to care for him, but he seems to have come to terms with what he's done... It is such a pity that he cannot be rewarded for his penitence...
With that I decide to go with Freyja's instruction rather than invoke her wrath; perhaps Hel will be kind to him and I'm sorely hoping she will... I float down from where I'm hovering to kneel next to him in the dust of Svartalfheim, which billows up around me and coats my crisp, white tunic. Finally I can see him up close and it has to be when he is entrusted to me, a venerable angel of death... He seems so at peace with himself as he lies in front of me. I reach down and gently place a glowing hand on his face; it bathes him in light, warming his features and oh how beautiful he is. I rub a thumb softly across his cheek and it feels chilled to touch, my stormy eyes falling closed as a single tear trails down my face. I catch this single tear on the edge of my finger, staring at it and wondering why I could weep for one man when I've seen millions slaughtered throughout my years...
I kiss the tear from my hand and take the lance from my back in my other hand... Before I carry his soul away I do something impulsively, not even thinking; I take the spear in my hand near the tip and use it to shear a small lock from my platinum tresses that cascade around my face and I place it inside his inner jacket pocket that he so fondly uses to conceal daggers. In turn, I carefully pick up some of his luscious, raven hair and cut off a small piece for myself before putting it inside my breastplate, near my heart... I chant "blóta minn at hirða heill" over and over again for about a minute before I feel the warmth of his hair against my chest as it glows, a dim glow visible from his inner pocket as well. All is well now and I'm ready to carry out my task, so I stand up and put my spear away. I straighten my arms out so that they're hovering over him, close my eyes in concentration and boom "sál flytja"; a wispy blue version of him comes forth from his body and hovers ever upwards before I use one hand to stop it while the other moves to grab it from underneath. With the physical contact, the soul collapses in upon itself into a single, glowing wisp that I take care to hold tightly. It feels like I'm trying to hold a slightly dense cloud that tingles with static electricity. I put it inside the special pouch upon my belt and drift away from the planes of Svartalfheim and flit across to Niflheim in no time at all.
Standing on the hard, slate ground I take a moment to catch my breath. I hate leaving him here, but it's an order... So I pull his soul out from my pouch – it's a beacon of light in the dull ambience that is Niflheim. I hold it up to my lips and blow it from my hand as you would pixie dust; wisps flow out from my hand and drift down upon the ground, materialising into his shape before solidifying into a physical body once again. I have to leave now before he awakes or he might start asking questions, so I quickly launch myself back into the cosmos and pray that he may stay safe in such a treacherous place...