(AN: Here's a new chapter for our other x-over story.)
(Just to be safe, let me point out that this story involves "good pagans" and "bad pagans", as well as "good christians" and "bad christians". Grimhild is obviously a bad pagan, since she plots and schemes her own plans while using the beliefs of her fathers as an excuse for her trickery [as you may/or may not see later on. -evil laughter-])
(Now enjoy the next chapter!)
Slaying the Dragon
Somewhere in Germania, east of the Rhine...
Fiyero held onto Elphaba from behind as the two of them rode atop Nessa at top speed upon the grassy plains. In an age long before man had civilized their world, the land of Germania was still rugged and wild. One could easily lose themselves, this far away from Worms, in the wild, open plains, or in the forever-dark woods of the Black Forest.
Elphaba missed the rush of flying atop her broom. If only that wretched Dorothy hadn't taken it back to the Wizard, she could be sailing across this land faster than any horse could ever carry her.
But as much as she found riding a horse uncomfortable, there was something different about Nessarose.
She seemed to know how to find the least bumpy, safest paths.
It was as if they were made for each other, Elphaba and Nessarose...
Even more so than she and the broom.
Fiyero, on the meanwhile, didn't like having Elphaba's unbound hair blowing in his face.
It took all the fun out of watching the beautiful country pass swiftly on all sides as they rode onward.
Mid-afternoon, one gray, cloudy day found the two Ozians come upon a wide, open grass-land dotted with few, tall pine trees and filled with huge, rolling hills. It was, however, barren of all forms of human life.
Or so it appeared at first.
"Look at that," Fiyero said, pointing towards the plain.
Winkies were known for being sharp-eyed, especially the Arjiki clan.
"What is it?" Elphaba asked.
Fiyero chuckled. "You can see the future and houses flying through the sky, but you can be so near-sighted at times."
This earned Fiyero a jab in the stomach from the formerly-green witch's elbow.
"All I see," she admitted at last. "Are a few pits dug in the valley just beneath that small mountain."
"Ah, but just wait a little." Fiyero returned.
The two Ozians waited anxiously, looking down into the valley where Fiyero had instructed.
A man's head poked its way out of one of the pits.
"Someone's down there," Fiyero said.
"They could be an enemy, Fiyero." Elphaba replied.
"No one saw us escape from the castle," the Winkie ex-prince returned. "Besides, we're probably miles away. Who knows, it might be the one the old man spoke of."
Elphaba rolled her eyes.
"Fortunately," she said. "They didn't ta..." She paused, her hand reaching into an empty pouch at her side.
"What's wrong?" Fiyero asked, realizing suddenly that she was concerned.
"The Grimmerie!" she exclaimed. "It must be back at Worms. They must have taken it from me."
"Well, it's a little too late to go back, isn't it?" Fiyero returned. "Besides, I want to see who's down there. We haven't met anyone besides the Burgundians and that old man since we got here."
Elphaba sighed in resignation.
"If we die, it'll be your fault."
"I'll gladly accept responsibility." he responded, matching her sarcasm with his. "Now let's go."
Elphaba urged Nessarose down the hill on which they stood and into the grassy valleys before them.
It took all of five minutes for Nessarose to carry them down the hill and close to the lowest part of the valley, where the pits were dug. Upon seeing the new-comers, the figure rose out of one of the pits.
"Hail, travelers!" a voice called out to the Ozians. It was the voice of a young man, come into the prime of his strength.
Elphaba said nothing, but urged Nessa closer.
She felt so exposed without some kind of weapon...
Without the Grimmerie...
"Who are you?" the young man asked again.
"Travelers from a distant land," Fiyero stated.
The young man walked over to their horse, and the two Ozians got their first good look at him.
He was tall, an inch or more than Fiyero. He wore no shirt, but pants of simple cloth were upon his legs. The body, they saw, was chizeled and muscular, like one of the Emerald Miners from Glikkus. The young man had shoulder-length hair the color of straw.
But Elphaba was looking at his chest.
Aside from the perfectly fit physique, she noticed a small amulet hanging from his neck upon a chain. The amulet had a face with two eyes set into the top, and a sweeping bottom like a spade.
Or a hammer.
"Are you friend or foe of the Geats?" the man asked them.
"Who?" Elphaba asked. Anything to take her eyes away from that chest.
"My people, the Geats." the man said. "We live far in the north, beyond the Northern Sea. I am a prince of the Geats."
"Why are you telling us this?" Elphaba asked. "You don't know us. We could be enemies."
"Geats do not lie," the man said. "So we are not deceived easily. Besides, if you were..." He lifted the spade and placed it upon his shoulders with his arms behind the handle, flexing his huge muscles. "This is one prince who can fight for himself."
"W-We mean you no harm, Prince...uh..." Elphaba trailed off. There was no name for him.
"Sigurd." the man replied. "In my father's tongue. People of Germania call me 'Siegfried'."
"Fiyero," the Winkie said, then added. "Prince Fiyero."
"Oh?" asked Sigurd. "Where do you hail from?"
"Far in the west." was the reply. They probably never heard of Oz before.
"Are you a Norman" Sigurd queried. "Or a Frank? I can't place your accent."
"W-What are you doing?" Elphaba asked.
"Oh, I'm off to battle a dragon." the prince said, picking up his spade and returning to the pit he was finishing out.
"Looks like you're digging a pit." Elphaba commented.
"Oh, I am." Sigurd said, as he walked to the brink of the pit. "These pits are part of the way I'm going to slay the beast." He tossed the spade into the pit and then lept in himself after it. A moment later, his golden head popped back out, as he continued his work.
"And you, dark-haired lady," Sigurd said, as he continued digging. "You have not spoken your name."
"Elphaba Thropp," she said, her eyes now staring at Sigurd's huge shoulders.
"She's my...uh...princess, you could call it." Fiyero added. As strong as he was, he seemed like an ant before Sigurd.
Elphaba alighted off Nessa and walked over to the edge of the pit.
"Why are you going to battle a dragon?" she asked.
"To prove myself to Regin." Sigurd replied.
"Who?"
"Regin, my mentor. And aside from Grani, my closest friend."
"Grani?"
Sigurd lifted himself up out of the pit with one swift motion and sat himself down upon the soft, cool turf.
"See that tree over there?" he said, pointing to one at the far end of the plain. Elphaba nodded her head.
"That's my camp. Grani was off grazing, last time I checked."
Behind them, Fiyero alighted off Nessa and walked over to the edge of the pit with them.
"Well," he said. "I can see you have your hands full with battling a dragon, so I guess we should be on our..."
"Fiyero, shut up!" hissed Elphaba. The formerly green woman turned to Sigurd.
"Is there anything we can do to help you?"
"I just met you," Sigurd replied. "You are still strangers to me."
"An old man told us to look for a man of the Hammer." she answered. "He was dressed in gray, with a gray hat obscuring his face, and he bore a staff."
There was a moment of silence as Sigurd looked up, examining Elphaba carefully in his sea-gray eyes.
"You've met the old man?" he asked, with a sort of solemnity in his voice.
"You know him?" Elphaba asked.
"Oh, he's showed up here and there before." Sigurd replied. "He gave me Grani, and told me to dig several ditches for when I battle the dragon." He then turned back to Elphaba. "If he's sent you to me, then I must trust you."
"Just because of the old man?" Fiyero queried.
"He's never led me wrong," Sigurd answered. "He gave me that sword over there..." He pointed to the other side of the pit. "...which can cut through iron like butter."
Fiyero's eyes exploded as he saw the huge sword, stabbed into the soft earth. Standing upright, it was as tall as Elphaba.
"So yes," Sigurd finished, returning to his digging. "If the old man says it's so, it must be so."
"So, um..." Elphaba mused. "How can we help?"
"You don't happen to have another spade with you?" Sigurd asked.
Both Fiyero and Elphaba shook their heads.
"Well, I guess we'll have to fix that."
Sigurd rose to his feet and walked over to the huge sword.
"Can you even lift that?" Fiyero asked.
To the amazement of both the Ozians, Sigurd seized the handle of the sword, drew it easily out of the ground and rested the flat of the blade on his shoulders. Just then they noticed that the blade was covered in blue runes that shimmered in the gray, sunless light.
"Easily." he returned.
Sigurd walked towards a young tree that was a few yards off from where they stood. He stopped, and realized that he was being followed by the two strangers.
"You might want to step back." he warned them.
Elphaba and Fiyero halted.
Sigurd drew his sword and started swinging it about, closing the distance between the tree and himself.
They were far away, but they could still see, to their amazement, the sword slice through the trunk of the tree.
"Timber!" Sigurd shouted.
Sure enough, the top of a pine tree crashed just a few feet away from where the Ozians waited.
Slowly and a little fearfully, they walked down the felled tree to its base, where Sigurd was tearing off thin branches with his bare hands.
"How did you do that?" Fiyero asked in amazement.
"I told you," he said, pointing back to the sword, now impaled in the earth again. "That sword can cut through iron. It's the strongest thing in Midgard, most likely."
"Midgard?" queried Elphaba.
"Aye," Sigurd answered. "The middle-world."
"What is Midgard?" she asked again.
"Well, this is!" he answered, speaking as if it should be obvious. He stretched his arms out, indicating to the land about them. "The world of man. The old fathers say there are other worlds, held aloft by a tree that no one can see." He tore off a large branch. "But if no one can see the tree that holds these worlds, how are we to see the worlds themselves?"
"Good point," Elphaba returned.
"So yeah," Fiyero interrupted after a lengthy silence. "Why'd you just cut down a whole tree?"
"We need wood, for spades."
"The whole freaking tree?" Fiyero exclaimed.
"We'll need fire-wood for later." he added.
"What later?"
"For the heart." Sigurd answered, as he began tearing the smallest branches off the one he tore off first.
"Whose heart?" Elphaba asked.
"The dragon's." came the answer. "Regin told me to roast the heart and then give it to him."
"To eat it?" Elphaba asked, a hand going over her mouth.
"Aye." Sigurd replied, as if it were no thing.
"Why?" asked Fiyero.
"I'm not sure." Sigurd answered.
He then set himself busy with the wood. He laid down a long branch, another, much smaller branch and three with sharpened ends. Once done, he whistled aloud.
A large gray horse rode up from the plain and came to a halt just before Sigurd.
"This is Grani." he said, indicating to the horse. "No finer horse is there in all the land."
"I would beg to differ," Elphaba said. "My own horse is fast, and very smart."
"Perhaps," Sigurd said. "But your horse did not have Sleipnir for a father."
"Who?" she asked again.
"You haven't heard of Sleipnir, the horse of Odin?"
She gave him a blank stare.
Sigurd, seeing that she knew nothing of what he spoke, turned to Fiyero.
And received the same response.
"I have much to tell you," he said. Then he turned to Grani, removed a length of rope from off the horse's back. With the rope, he tied the pieces of wood into a make-shift spade.
This done, he tossed it to Fiyero.
"Let's get to work."
That night, the three of them sat at Fiyero's camp. It was a great distance from the entrance of the small hill, where the pits were being dug. Grani was off by himself and Nessa was close to the camp, close to the warmth of the fire.
To Fiyero's great relief, Sigurd threw a shirt over his upper body as the night grew cold.
"Why is your camp so far away from the pits?" Elphaba asked.
"We don't want our fire to attract Fafnir." he answered.
"Who is Fafnir?"
"The dragon." he continued. "He used to be a Dwarf, the son of Hreidmar. He had two brothers: Ottr and Regin." Looking up at them from across the fire, Sigurd nodded. "Yes, the very Regin who is my mentor."
"I see." Elphaba nodded.
"Ottr and Fafnir were shape-shifters," Sigurd continued. "Ottr would turn into a river otter, and Fafnir into a dragon. But one day, the gods were out fishing and Loki caught Ottr in his other form and killed him. Hreidmar was furious and demanded vengeance. But Loki was under the protection of a blood-oath that Odin swore, and so he could not be killed.
"Instead, Loki invoked the rite of were-guild."
"'Were-guild?'" Fiyero asked.
"Blood money," Sigurd replied. "Loki would give Hreidmar gold in exchange for his life."
"But if Loki was a god," Elphaba stated. "Why would he have to fear for his life?"
"Ah," Sigurd said. "But the gods do fear for their lives. For it is their doom to fall at the last battle, the Twilight of the Gods: Ragnarok."
Elphaba snorted.
"A god that can die is not worth worshiping." she commented contemptuously.
"You would be wise," Sigurd returned. "to show more respect to the gods. They may be powerless to prevent the Ragnarok, but it was Odin who breathed life into Ask and Embla, the first man and woman. It is Thor, also, whose mighty hammer protects Midgard from the giants." They saw a fire in his eyes as he spoke, and a hand went up to the amulet that hung from his neck.
"And it is Freyr who gives life to the crops and strength to our men when they need it...if you know what I mean."
Fiyero nodded, getting Sigurd's drift.
Elphaba, on the other hand, turned her gaze into the fire.
"I don't believe in anything," she said. "So it doesn't matter to me."
"My father believed as such, so I was told by my mother." Sigurd said. "He thought he was strong enough to face Odin in single-combat on the battlefield. The Alfadir proved him wrong, and broke him, shattering Gram in the process"
Another moment of silence followed, as Sigurd mused on the past.
"Then you should hate the gods for what they did to him." Elphaba answered.
"Oh, it doesn't matter to me." Sigurd continued. "It all happened before I was born. The King who married my widowed mother is a good man, and treats me like a son...no matter what Regin may say.
"Besides," he said, a tiny bit of pride rising in his voice. "Legends say that Sigmund was taken by Odin to Valhalla: a greater ending a warrior could never ask for."
He turned to Elphaba.
"So," he concluded. "as much as you say I should hate the gods because they took my father from me, I know that when I die in battle, I shall meet him in the hall of the glorious dead, where the roof is made of golden shields, where the mead never runs out...and where the brave may live forever."
Elphaba said nothing, her eyes still fixated on the flames, making their dance and dispelling the shadows about them.
Sleep came to Sigurd first, who was the most weary. Fiyero fell asleep first, but something inside Elphaba couldn't make her go to sleep.
She felt empty and exposed without the Grimmerie.
She felt lost and alone, so far away from a real home.
But more importantly...
She missed Glinda.
Sleep closed her eyes at last.
The morning saw the completion of the pits that Sigurd had begun. With Fiyero's help, the task was soon done. The two men were both shirt-less, sweating after a hard morning's work. Elphaba was sitting on the edge of a hill, watching the two climb up out of the pit.
"So, tell me again," she asked. "Why are we digging pits if we're going to kill a dragon?"
"Fafnir lies over there," Sigurd said, pointing to the largest hill. They saw the mouth of a cave yawning expectantly at the valley before them. "The Glittering Heath. That's where he buried Loki's gold."
"How did he get his hands on it if it was given to his father?" Elphaba asked, helping Fiyero climb the rest of the way out of the pit.
"To fulfill the task," Sigurd answered. "Loki had to fill and cover Ottr's body with gold. There was one spot of Ottr's whiskers, just big enough for a single ring to fit, which Hreidmar forced Loki to cover. So the lord of lies captured the dwarf Andvari and forced him to give up his golden ring, which was the source of his wealth: the Andvarinaut. But Andvari cursed the ring, that whoever possessed it would die. Regardless, Loki put the ring on Ottr's whisker, thus passing the curse on to Hreidmar and his family.
"Driven by greed, Fafnir killed his father and took the gold. To make sure that no one would ever take the gold from him, he hid the gold in the Glittering Heath over there..." He pointed to the cave. "And transformed into a great dragon, forever guarding his gold."
"Why do dragons always guard treasure in the stories?" Fiyero asked.
"The Time Dragon doesn't guard gold." Elphaba answered.
"It guards the Clock," Fiyero added. "That's about as valuable as anything in Oz."
Sigurd was not paying them attention. He was too busy making sure that the pits all had their exits. Elphaba, walking on the soft turf, her boots discarded - she was still amazed to see cute little white toes at the end of her feet, which had before been green - followed Sigurd above-ground until he popped his head out of one hole.
"You still haven't told us why you're digging these pits." she answered.
"Indeed." he said. His head disappeared and suddenly re-appeared a few feet away from her.
"Regin told me," he said, sitting down besides Elphaba. "The best way to kill a dragon is to get at them from beneath. There's no use attacking straight on, the fire will burn you up instantly. And that tail is like a great tree, so an attack from the rear is no use either. And the scales, said to be the hardest stuff in all the land."
"Except on the belly?" she asked.
"Aye," he said, wiping sweat off his forehead. "So I dig a pit, call Fafnir out, then stab him once he walks over the pit."
"But why dig many pits?" Fiyero, walking over to where they were at, asked.
"The old man told me to do so," Sigurd answered. "So the blood wouldn't drown me if I were in one pit."
Elphaba made a face that showed her disgust at the thought.
"Don't worry," Sigurd said. "The old man told me the blood of a dragon makes one invincible." He turned to Fiyero. "Are there outlets at every pit?"
"Yes." he answered.
"Good," Sigurd then rose to his feet. "You should probably return to the camp. The battle is about to begin."
"Shouldn't you, perhaps, put your shirt back on?" Fiyero returned, as he placed his back onto his body.
"No," Sigurd replied. "I need to bathe in the dragon's blood."
Elphaba placed her hand over her mouth as if she were about to be sick.
Fiyero took her by the shoulders and led her back to the camp.
At the camp, the two Ozians waited, with bated breath, as the battle was about to begin.
"Fafnir!" cried the voice of Sigurd.
To their complete shock, they saw the young prince rise up out of the pits, shirtless once again with his sword upon his back.
"Come out, that I may send you to Hel!" Sigurd shouted out his challenge.
"What in Oz's name is he thinking?" Elphaba hissed.
"Stay down, Fae!" Fiyero whispered.
But it was barely audible.
A loud roar came from the mouth of the Glittering Heath.
"By my beard! It has been some time since a mortal has dared challenge me," a deep, booming voice came from the depths of the cave entrance.
A wave of fire exploded from the mouth of the cave.
But Sigurd had disappeared.
Fear was in Elphaba's eyes.
"Fae, no!" Fiyero whispered.
But she was not listening. She jumped onto Nessarose's back and kicked her off into a gallop down the side of the hill, into the valley.
"Stop!" Fiyero hissed, not daring to raise his voice for fear of the dragon.
A sudden crying neigh from Nessa brought her and the rider to a halt.
Something was stirring at the mouth of the cave.
A long, wing-less wyrm crawled its way out on four feet from the mouth of the cave. Its belly was thick, bloated from years of hunting the animals that lived in this region, and a long gray beard trailed down from its scaly chin.
It must have been at least as long as two of the fabled Quox-wood trees standing on end.
The head was ridiculously huge, with smoke billowing from the nostrils and out of the mouth.
"Hey!" Elphaba shouted out, at the top of her lungs. "Dragon! Over here!"
There was a moment of awkward silence, as something inside Elphaba snapped back against her outburst.
What the hell are you doing? Do you want to get yourself and your unborn child killed?
"What's this?" the booming, growling voice of Fafnir roared from the bottom of the valley.
Sigurd was still nowhere in sight.
"A woman dares challenge me?" growled the dragon. "You are no Valkyrie. What change do you think you have of killing a dragon?"
The beast roared in laughter, and started walking up the hill towards her.
Elphaba suddenly saw just what she had done.
But Nessa wouldn't move. She was frozen in terror.
"Move!" Elphaba cried out. "I didn't fix your broken leg so you could freeze up on me! Move!"
The horse reared up on her hind legs, then darted down the hill.
Fafnir roared, breathing a wall of fire directly at the oncoming horse and her rider.
But just as it seemed they would be consumed, the horse made a turn to the left, leaving Elphaba nothing more than the intense sensation of heat that comes from being close to a fire.
Though not close enough to be burned, just irritated by the heat.
"Are you mad?" a voice cried out.
Elphaba turned, and saw a straw-colored head popping out of one of the pits.
"Lead him this way!" shouted Sigurd. "Towards me!"
With a quick nod, Elphaba gripped Nessa's mane, urging her towards the right, back down the valley towards the pits.
And towards the dragon.
The pounding of Nessa's hooves upon the turf was drowned out by the booming of Fafnir's clawed feet behind her.
Any second she expected to be burned alive by the dragon's breath.
But there was an even bigger problem directly ahead.
How could they get over the pits? There wasn't just one, but several, and they all had tunnels wide enough for Sigurd to squeeze through in case Fafnir walk over another one rather than just the one.
Surely Nessa could not run over the pits without falling through.
But the Grimmerie was not on hand, Elphaba could not cast a spell.
That day in the attic, she had the Grimmerie with her when she enchanted the broom...
When she was defying gravity.
Now she needed another miracle, but the Grimmerie was not with her, back with those Burgundians.
Colors swam before her eyes, she began to feel light-headed, like how she had not felt in a long while.
Not since she had last had a vision.
But no visions came, just the blackness of unconsciousness.
Or maybe, the dragon had caught up to them, and she was now dead.
She closed her eyes and embraced the void.
"Elphaba!"
"Fae, wake up!"
A hand slapped her face, and she felt something hot and wet, almost burning, upon her face.
Her eyes blinked open, and she saw Fiyero standing before her, a look of panic and relief upon his face.
Behind him stood a blood-soaked figure that made her give out a cry of alarm.
"Elphaba, it's me! It's Sigurd!" the blood-stained figure said. "It's okay."
"W-Where am I?" she asked. "Am I dead? Why is my face burning?" She gasped. "Where's Nessa?"
"Fae, it's alright." Fiyero said, placing his hands on her thin, bony shoulders. "Nessa's just fine. She got a little spooked, but she's okay now."
"But..." She propped herself up on her elbows, rubbing the side of her head. Was she really bleeding?
"You fell off the horse when she got scared." Fiyero returned.
"Why?" she asked. "Why did N..."
Suddenly it all came back to her.
"Where's the dragon?" she asked, fear rising up into her chest.
"Fafnir is dead," blood-soaked Sigurd said.
(Horay for a boring action scene! lol, just kidding.)
(Yes, Sigurd is extremely good-looking. But don't worry, he's not going to steal Elphaba from Fiyero. He's got his own lady lined up for him)
(Any thoughts? Ideas? Comments? If anything was left out in this chapter or went over your head, you can say so and I'll make sure to make mention of it in the next chapter)
(Yes, there is a Helheim in Nordic lore. I so wanted to quote the exchange between Sigurd and Fafnir from Wagner's Siegfried rather than rip off that line from the made-for-TV film Joan of Arc [the one with Leelee Sobieski as La Pucelle], but as I did not have it available, I made due. Hope you enjoyed it, or at least recognized where the quote came from :D )
(And yes, Sigurd quotes Eomer from LotR. After all, Tolkien fashioned the Rohirrim after the Anglo-Saxon people, so it made sense. lol)