Fragments of Sorrow

God of War and all associated characters and interpretations are property of Sony Santa Monica. Kingdom Hearts and all associated characters are property of Disney and Square Enix.

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"Was it really okay to just leave the corpse there?" Sora asked after a few minutes of walking. "It's got all that Seiðr stuff, after all."

"For all the damage Seiðr magic can do, it dissipates fairly quickly once it's controller bites the dust," Mimir replied. "Well, unless it's tied to an object. But that corpse? Within the hour it'll just be normal scales, blood, and bones. With a healthy heaping of frostbitten flesh."

"Besides, it's not like we could take anything with us," Atreus added. "It's scales alone were as big as our heads. Freya will send out people to strip the corpse of anything valuable once Hildr and Olrun get back to Vanaland." The two Shield-Maidens had found them a few minutes after they'd slain the dragon. After taking a moment to congratulate Atreus and Sora for taking it down on their own—even if they did stare askance at Sora when Atreus insisted that his friend had done most of the work—they flew off to Vanaland to inform Freya of all that'd occurred.

Sora clasped his hands behind his head. "Fair enough. I just hope it doesn't rot before anyone can make use of it." Sora blinked. "Hm…I wonder what dragon tastes like?"

"Chicken," Father off-handedly replied.

"You've eaten dragon flesh before?" Atreus asked, ignoring the fact that he had no idea what the hell a 'chicken' was. "Seriously?" When his father nodded, he continued, "Well, I want to hear that story."

Before his father could reply, Mimir said, with surprising amount of bitterness, "Good luck getting him to tell you anything about it."

They all looked down at the talking head in shock. Sora asked, "Does it really bother you that much that we're not telling you everything about other Worlds, Mimir?"

Mimir glared up at Sora, before sighing and looking away with a frown. "I can't lie, it does hurt a little. It's just so…patronizing, you know? You both making the decision about how I can handle knowledge for me." Sora looked away in thought.

Father grunted. "That is not our intention."

"Well, you're certainly having a laugh dancing around the topic with me!"

Father paused to bring Mimir up to eye-level. "Perhaps Sora and I did go too far. I will apologize for that."

"Me too," Sora added, hands falling to his side.

"But the truth is, Mimir, the knowledge that Sora and I hold…it is vast." Father took a deep breath. "Vast and dangerous. We cannot afford to be careless and spread things that this World is not ready for."

"Sora's spoken loads about this Darkness the creatures within it," Mimir countered. "How it can corrupt people that use it and turn them into monsters. That sounds like something anyone could weaponize."

Sora nodded. "Yeah, but that's only because Kratos told me from the word go that'd he'd been to other Worlds. If not for him, I wouldn't have told you guys anything beyond 'warping magic gone wrong', or something. Honestly, I don't even tell people about the Heartless—how they lurk in the Darkness within people's Hearts—until I come across them on a World. By that point it'd be stupid to not say something." He looked around. "Though I gotta say, I'm kind of shocked that none have popped up by now."

"That's a good thing, isn't it?" Atreus asked. Personally, Atreus didn't want to have to fight living manifestations of the dark. Sora just shrugged; face twisted into a contemplative frown.

Mimir sighed. "I understand the caution, but that particular cat's out of the bag, isn't it?"

Father hummed in thought. "True," he said after a moment. "…So long as Sora has no objections, I see no reason why no reason why we cannot provide more in-depth explanations to you." He looked over his shoulder. "And you, Atreus."

"Honestly, I'm fine," Atreus said with a bashful grin. "All this 'other World' stuff makes my head spin." Father let out a huff of amusement, then turned to Sora.

The otherworldly youth nodded. "It's fine with me."

Mimir smiled. "I appreciate it, Brother, Sora." Father nodded back, replacing Mimir on his belt. "Well, to start, what were those weapons you were using against the dragon—did they have something to do with that particular Keyblade you've been using since we got to Vanaheim?" Father let loose a disgruntled groan. "Hey, you're the one that gave me permission."

Sora chuckled, and held out his hand, summoning his blue, swirly Keyblade. "It's a technique called 'Formchange'. To keep it short and sweet, I harness my Keyblade's innate properties, working in tandem with it unlock greater power than before."

Mimir hummed. "I assume each Keyblade has a different one of these 'Formchanges'?"

"Most do," Sora replied. "There are some duplicates, but the magic behind them is still unique. There are a handful that don't change shape, and just grant me access to different magic than I normally have." He held his weapon out. "Shooting Star here can Formchange into Arrowguns, and then further into the Magic Launcher." The Keyblade vanished, his silver one with the crown-shaped blade taking its place. "This is the Kingdom Key—my original Keyblade. It doesn't transform into anything, just grants me access to older magic I've lost."

"And how many different Keyblades do you have?" Mimir asked.

"Well, technically these aren't different Keyblades." Sora spun his Keyblade around to show off the hilt and held up the three-circle token connected to it. "The Kingdom Key is my Keyblade in its basic form. However, it can change shape and properties if I swap out the keychain attached to its hilt." Sora dropped the token and summoned one of these 'keychains' in a burst of white light. It was a silver star, the inside of it shining like the night sky. He took off the Kingdom Key's keychain and attached the star. In an instant, the Keyblade changed into the Shooting Star Keyblade. After a moment, Sora took off the silver star, and the Keyblade instantly changed back to the Kingdom Key, the three-circle token back in place. "Used have to always do it physically, but I've learned how to use magic to swap them out."

Atreus arched a brow. "Can you put on multiple at once? Make some sort of combination of Keyblades?"

"Nah," Sora said with a shake of his head. "Keyblades don't work like that. Believe me, I tried that back when I first got it." He chuckled. "Donald gave me such a scolding when he caught me doing it. Was afraid I'd break it or something."

"How long have you had the Keyblade anyway?" Atreus asked. He could only imagine how much training he had to do to get as good as he was.

"About two years," Sora replied, bringing them all up short. He clasped his hands behind his head. "Although, I was asleep for one of those years, don't know if that counts. And I'm honestly not sure how long I've been wandering in the Final World." He chuckled nervously. "Hope it's not too long, though. Don't want to get back home only to find out I've been gone for years or something like that, you know? Saw how badly that messed up Aqua, and I don't want to deal with it, thank you very much."

Atreus barely registered Sora's words, instead exchanging incredulous stares with his father and Mimir. Two years? And he was already strong enough to kill a dragon?

"Guys?" Sora had stopped walking, brow arched as he looked at them. "Something wrong?"

"You have only wielded the Keyblade for two years?" Father asked in disbelief.

Sora frowned. "Yeah. Didn't I tell you that last night, Kratos?"

"You did not."

"Oh." Sora frowned, only to shrug seconds later. "Anyway, yeah. Two years. Or one, if you don't count the year-long nap I took."

Mimir groaned. "I have so many questions."

"Ask one," Father replied wearily.

"I'll ask as many as I please thank you very much!" Mimir hummed. "What made you fall asl—no, wait, you already told us about that. That Castle Oblivion place, right?" Sora nodded. "Hm…Are there are other Keyblade wielders out there?"

Sora smiled widely. "Yup. There's me, Riku, and Kairi," he said, counting off on his fingers. "King Mickey. Terra, Master Aqua, and Ventus. Roxas, Xion, and Lee—which is honestly still kind of a shock. Oh, and Master Yen Sid too, I guess. But he retired."

"That's it?" Father asked, incredulous. "There are only eleven people in all the worlds that wield Keyblade?"

Sora shrugged. "Now? Yeah. I'm sure that there's other people out there that could use one, but unless they get the chance to gain a Keyblade—either by some special ceremony like Riku, or sheer luck like I did—they won't get one."

"Is the Keyblade, and the ability to wield one a zealously guarded secret?" Atreus asked.

Sora frowned. "Kind of. There used to be hundreds of thousands of Keyblade wielders, ages ago. Then they all killed each other in a war to gain access to Kingdom Hearts." He nodded at Father. "I'm pretty sure that war—the Keyblade War—and its immediate aftermath are what led to the stories about Keyblades being terrible weapons of destruction, and something to avoid at all costs."

"Among other things," Father remarked.

Mimir huffed. "Honestly Sora, I think I hate you on some level."

"Excuse me?" Sora asked, offended.

"I'm talking about the fact that nearly every word that comes out of your mouth needs to be picked apart." He sniffed. "Apparently there was a massive war among world-travelling warriors that nearly wiped them out. This Kingdom Hearts thing, which I've deliberately not asked about before because I feel like we're going to need at least a solid two days to really discuss it. An apparent distinction between regular Keyblade Wielders and these 'Masters' you spoke of. That you gained your own Keyblade by, as you put it, sheer luck."

Sora rolled his eyes. "What, you want to lock me in a room and just pick my brain until you're happy?"

"Yes," Mimir bluntly stated.

"Well, it wouldn't work," Sora childishly stated. "I'd just use my Keyblade to bust outta there."

"I'd tie you up with rope!"

"You could just…not ask questions," Atreus said to Mimir. "Be content with what you know."

Mimir stared blankly at him. "Little brother, it is only out of the sheer love I have for you in my non-existent heart that I don't wriggle over to you and gnaw your toes off. Sora's a well of information, and I shall partake as I please."

Father grunted. "An unquenchable thirst for knowledge is what led Odin to his downfall."

Mimir scowled. "Comparing me to that bastard is a low blow!" He then sighed. "But not an altogether inaccurate one in this instance, I suppose."

"Ah, it's fine, Mimir," Sora said with a wave of his hand. "I don't mind answering your questions whenever we have downtime."

"I appreciate that, lad, but I do need to temper myself. For all that you fascinate me, I can't forget that our main focus should be getting you home." Sora just smiled and nodded in response. "…But so long as you're offering…"

Father let loose a low, annoyed grunt and unhooked Mimir from his belt. Wordlessly, he handed him to Sora, and marched forward at a quicker pace.

/+/+/+/+/

After entering Vanaland, Atreus and the others were rushed to the palace by a handful of guards. Atreus felt like he'd blinked and suddenly he was in front of Freya, Sif, and Hildisvíni, Father and Mimir relaying their battle with the Seiðr practitioners within the mountain.

When they were done—with the occasional input from Atreus and Sora—Freya cursed. "I never should have left them alone for so long!"

"We've grown lax," Sif said with a nod. "With integration of the Aesir has finally smoothing out, we assumed our troubles were over."

"A foolish notion," Father added. They all side-eyed him, but, true to form, he was unapologetic. Freya, at least, smirked—and maybe Atreus was seeing things, but there was this weird gleam in her eyes. A sort of loving exasperation. But surely not love-love, right? That'd just be insane!

"I must speak with the Shield Maidens," Freya declared, cutting Atreus off from his own weird thoughts. "There are other pockets of these fools that we've left alone for too long."

"We still have to finalize the details for the anniversary of Ragnarök," Hildisvíni gently said.

"You and Sif can handle that," Freya said with a dismissive wave.

"Actually, we can't," Sif countered. "Not alone. Hildr can lead the charge now, and when Sigrun returns from Alfheim she'll be more than able to wrap things up."

"We can probably take care of it," Sora cut in.

Mimir grunted, "Have you forgotten about that seed in Alfheim? And getting you home?"

"After we get the seed," Sora said, hands clasped behind his head. "I mean, it'll probably take Ratatoskr a few days to get that paste or whatever ready, right? Might as well do something with my time."

Freya shook her head. "I appreciate the offer, Sora, but you're under no obligation to fix Vanaheim's problem."

"Obligation?" Sora repeated. "Who's talking about that? I just want to help out my friends."

Freya paused—as did Sif and Hildisvíni. "You count us as friends?"

Sora frowned. "Why wouldn't I? Your Kratos, Mimir, and Atreus's friends. I'm their friend. That makes us all friends!"

"Rather simple logic, isn't it?" Sif asked with an arched brow.

Sora smiled. "I'm a simple guy. Hey, can you use your hair as a weapon?" Sif drew back at the sudden question. "Because I know this one girl, Rapunzel, and she used to have hair that was as long as yours, and she could use it to whip things and swing from trees and throw me around like a flail after she wrapped me up in it."

Before Sif could even being to think of a response—though Atreus had to admit he was curious about it too—Freya cut in. "Regardless, I will have to decline," the Queen of Vanaheim stated, fighting the urge to laugh. "You just focus on finding the remaining World Tree seed in Alfheim. Sigrún and Eir are already in Alfheim. With any luck, they've found the seed."

"Actually, I do have something to add," Atreus spoke up. "It's not about the current situation or anything, but the mortals in Midgard" Honestly, he'd almost forgotten to ask, in light of the fight with the dragon. If they hadn't been shoved in front of Freya, he might have left without bringing it up.

When Freya gestured to him to continue, he said, "Skjöldr told me that the mortals are still holding a grudge over how they were treated during Ragnarök. I know, I know, it was mainly Odin," he added, cutting off Sif before she could speak in the Aesir's defense. "But they were still hurt. Not just by Odin—and the Aesir, let's be honest—but the other races that attacked them, regardless of intent." He took a deep breath. "Right now, the only Father, Mimir, and I visit the mortals of Midgard on a regular basis. And Thrud, but she only talks to Skjöldr." He saw Sif twitch, but she kept quiet. "They feel…cast aside."

Freya frowned, deep in thought. "I'll admit, beyond getting them healed and settled, I didn't truly consider the mortals of Midgard's plights."

Hildisvíni hummed. "We could hardly afford to help them in the immediate aftermath of Ragnarok, Now, though—"

"They aren't looking for handouts," Atreus quickly added. Skjöldr had made that clear during their talks the other day. When all eyes were on him again, he continued. "They just want to be heard and treated fairly."

Freya nodded. "I see. Thank you, Atreus. You've given us much to think about." With the implied dismissal, Atreus nodded and turned around.

Only to pause as Sora said, "I've also got something I want to say. Well, ask." Freya arched a brow, which arched further when Sora walked over and leaned up to whisper in her ear.

But then her face fell, and she drew back in alarm. "You mean they didn't…" she trailed off, looking at Atreus, Father, and Mimir.

Sora shook his head. "Kratos wanted me to hear it from you. But if you don't want to talk about it, you don't have to."

"It's not a secret," Freya replied. She turned to Father. "Kratos—"

Father held up a hand. "Take all the time you need." He looked down at the shield on his arm. "We can get our weapons and armor repaired while you…speak with Sora. We shall wait there until you are done."

Freya sent them a grateful nod and dismissed everyone but Sora from the throne room.

/+/+/+/+/

"You really ought to take better care of your stuff," Lúnda remarked as she looked over Kratos's armor. "Fun as watching you strip is, repairing everything can get tedious."

"Lúnda, gross!" Atreus said with a shudder, also divested of his armor. Though unlike Kratos, he had on a tunic underneath.

"Your dad's a prime specimen, Atreus!" Lúnda countered. "He deserves to be appreciated at every available second." Kratos preened slightly at the praise—while a bit vulgar, he knew that Lúnda's praises were guileless. No desire to butter him up for a task. Simply a statement of fact and pure admiration. "Still, try dodging once in a while," she added.

"If your armor cannot be counted to adequately block and deflect attacks, why use it at all?" Kratos countered.

Lúnda levelled him a flat stare. "There's taking a hit, and then there's being careless." Kratos merely grunted in response.

She worked quickly and efficiently. Kratos didn't even bother inspecting the armor as he put it back on. While Lúnda could not work the miracles that Brok and Sindri were fond of, she was still one of the best smiths he'd ever met. If he couldn't trust in her ability to repair his armor to pristine conditions, he could trust no one.

"There we go!" she said with a bright smile, giving them one final look over before nodding in satisfaction. Once she did so, she took out a bright-red bracelet and set it on her workstation. It was one of the enchanted pieces of jewelry Sora had given her.

"Any luck figuring those out?" Atreus asked, adjusting the last bits of his armor.

"Not a wit," Lúnda admitted bitterly. "It was easy to figure out what's in these things, but trying to replicate it is whole 'nother ball of wax." She clicked her tongue. "If only I could get a hold of Sindri."

The mood dropped at the mention of their once-friend. "And how is Sindri doing?" Mimir asked.

"No clue," Lúnda replied. "Haven't seen him in weeks."

"Weeks?" Atreus repeated, stricken.

Lúnda sighed, turning up to him with a sad smile. "It's nothing to worry about, considering the time of year, y'know?"

Atreus frowned, shifting guiltily in his place. "I guess…"

"Besides, he's due to drop by Niðavellir in a few days to restock on food," Lúnda tried, and failed, to feign indifference. "I'll hear from Ræb or Durlin soon enough, don't you worry."

Kratos nodded in gratitude. He would respect Sindri's desire to be alone, but it was good to know he still had people looking out for him. Atreus was not comforted by her words, but he knew better than to try and do anything about it.

"It's good to hear that he's visiting his homeland, at least," Mimir, who Kratos as set upon a hook overlooking them all, stated.

"No kidding," Lúnda said, dropping the bracelet Sora had gifted her in favor of a silver, engraved ring. She chuckled. "According to Durlin, the first time Sindri popped into the marketplace, he damn near scared the piss out of the poor shopkeeper, on account of literally popping in right before she closed her stall."

Atreus chuckled, mood lifting. "Yeah, he can be surprisingly sneaky when he wants. I always wanted to learn how to do it myself."

"Afraid that ain't possible, hun," Lúnda said, clicking her tongue. "It's something only us Dwarves can do, and even then, only a handful of us can do well."

"Yeah…Brok told me when I asked him about it, years ago." Atreus frowned. "He was a lot more vulgar and insulting about it, though."

"Wouldn't be Brok otherwise, lad," Mimir replied with a grin. His gaze shifted to the left, in tandem with a pair of familiar footsteps filtering into Kratos's ears. "Ah, Sora!" Mimir called. "You…alright?"

Kratos turned to see Sora walk over to them, eyes wide and expression blank. He shrugged.

Atreus winced. "Freya told you everything?" He received a slow nod in response. "Yeah it's…nor a pleasant tale."

"No kidding," Sora said, blinking slowly. "It was…wow." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I think I need to sit down for a minute."

Lúnda reached under her workbench and pulled out a stool. "Got a seat for ya right here." Sora nodded gratefully, sinking into the seat.

Kratos grunted. "Do not brood long. We must make way for Alfheim."

Sora waved a hand in Kratos's direction. "Give me a minute. Oh, that reminds me." He looked up at Kratos. "Freya said she wanted to talk to you before we left. Said she'd be up in her room."

"Did she inform you as to why?"

"No." Sora shook his head. "But she was pretty down after telling me about…everything about Baldur." He looked down at her hands. "Her own son? I can't even…" he trailed off into murmurs.

Kratos nodded at him, and the others, before making his way to Freya's personal chambers. He hadn't been there often, but he knew the way. They were not her previous chambers as princess of Vanaheim, she'd told him once, nor the ones previously held by her father. It was a brand-new room she had crafted for herself, after finally getting settled back in Vanaheim. With none of the ghosts of her past lingering within the shadows.

He did not see the point in expending all that energy on a new room when dozens of adequate ones were, quite literally, right down the hall. But Freya was happy with it, so he held his tongue.

When he reached her room, the door was ajar. He opened it further, and saw Freya leaning against her balcony, nursing a drink in the sun. She spied him from the corner of her eyes and smiled tiredly at him. "Kratos," she said, "come in, and close the door behind you." He did so.

She poured out a drink as he approached, which he accepted. He downed it in one gulp. It burned well, but like always, he found himself missing the wine from his homeland. Strongly missing it, in fact. He reasoned it was because of the olives and cherries he'd eaten last night, making him nostalgic for the past life he'd burned to ash.

Freya chuckled and copied his gesture. Much less smoothly, he had to say. "Ugh, I'll never understand how people can do that."

"Practice."

His friend arched a brow. "Since when do you practice drinking?"

Kratos grunted. "I indulged in my youth after…" he trailed off, and Freya sent him a sad, knowing nod. "It is no matter. What do you need of me?"

"Just an answer." Freya turned back to the balcony, staring out at Vanaheim's Wilds. "Why didn't you tell Sora about Baldur?"

"He was your son. He should hear his tale from you. Without my own biases coloring his first impression."

"What biases?" Freya asked with genuine interest. Kratos was silent a moment. He stepped up beside Freya, and after a moment, he spoke.

"His desire to kill you…Even considering what you did to him, I cannot even begin to understand it."

His friend snorted. "You can't understand the desire to kill one's parent?"

"I cannot understand the desire to kill one's mother," he corrected.

"Truly? After…After all I did to him?"

Kratos grunted. "Bias." Perhaps, if his own mother had been more complicit in her disappearance from Sparta, and not cursed, but was still unwilling to speak the truth of his parentage, he'd think better of Baldur. He did empathize with him over Freya's unwillingness to release him from his curse, as Zeus and the Olympians had once declined to free him from his nightmares. But to want to kill her? No, he could not understand it.

She laughed—a true laugh, that chimed like bells in the wind. "You still find ways to confound me, Kratos."

"Good," he replied. "Complacency breeds carelessness." She laughed once more. He liked the sound, he could admit. In that instant, there was a shift in the air. A softness in Freya's gaze that sent a pleased shiver down his spine.

Then, the moment was gone, quashed by the both of them as they shifted their gazes towards the Wilds.

Forget the fact that it had not even been a decade since Faye's passing. Forget Atreus's own discomfort over the idea. Kratos had killed her son. That they could move past that and become steadfast friends was a miracle. He would not try and reach further beyond that. He was no Icarus.

"It's strange to think about," Freya said after a long, comfortable pause. "That beyond our skies lie other worlds, filled with their own people and gods."

"I do not think on it," Kratos stated.

"No, I imagine you wouldn't," she said with a frown. "Do you think there are other versions of…of ourselves out there?"

"…Do not think on it, Freya," he gently replied. "It would not be the same, you know this." He heard her unasked question, but to think of alternate versions of her lost son would only bring her anguish. Kratos himself, after killing Zeus and releasing Hope back into the world, nearly fell further into madness upon realizing that he'd had the means to find a version of Lysandre and Calliope—either through travelling through time via the Threads of Fate or using the Titans' Primordial energies to tear open a hole to another world—and did not even think to use them in his lust for vengeance.

To that end, he was grateful that the Fury Alecto had once tried to trap him in an illusion of life with his lost wife and child. Just as they were fake, so too, he eventually reasoned, would whatever copies of them he might find. To say nothing of their own Kratos, who would certainly object to his taking them.

No, they were dead, forever lost except for in his memories. And there they would remain.

"…I shouldn't keep you," Freya said with a sigh. "The sooner you get to Alfheim and retrieve the seed, the sooner we can repair the World Tree." Kratos nodded. "Still, if you need something, don't hesitate to ask. Sigrún and Eir are already there, as I've said, but if there's anything else…"

"Actually, there is something I would ask of you."

"Really?" Freya turned to him, eyes wide. "I was just being polite. You don't normally accept my offers…."

"I know my ways," he said with a chuckle. "But this is more of a…personal matter."

"Well, this day just gets stranger and stranger." He ignored her, reaching into his satchel and pulling out the jars of unpreserved olives and cherries Sora had gifted him. Freya accepted the jars with an arched brow. "And what are these?"

"Fruits from my homeland, olives and cherries." Freya's eyes lit up in recognition at the former. "Sora gifted them to me last night." Freya placed the cherries down and opened the olive jar. Her face pinched as the scent wafted up her nostrils. "Woah! That's…something." She looked down at the fruit dubiously.

"They are not for you to eat," he said. "I wish for a plot of land here, in Vanaheim, to plant and cultivate them." He grunted. "I would do it in Midgard, but the climate is too cold for them to survive."

Freya blinked down at the olives before closing the jar. "An easy task to fulfill. Once you've found the seed, return to Vanaheim and I'll help you get started."

"You do not need to assist me," he said.

"Oh, so you've got skills in farming tucked beneath those blades of yours?"

"All men of Sparta—if not all of Greece—learned to grow and maintain olive trees." Cherries were admittedly not something he'd ever personally cultivated, but the principle was no doubt the same.

Freya let loose another bell-like laugh. "Well, I'll just be there to observe, then." He grunted but did not deny her again.

/+/+/+/+/

A/N: I'm not saying that I ship Kratos and Freya, but the man clearly has a type.