Hello! Thanks for checking out my story. It's set five years after the end of GOW Ragnarok so does include spoilers for that game.
She felt the thundering footsteps before she saw it. Heard the panicked screams of fleeing townsfolk before she saw it. She saw the homes ahead of her explode into a frenzy of splinters and boards cast across the sky before she saw it. The girl wanted to run, she knew she should flee, but her feet suddenly felt as if they were made of stone. Despite her mind screaming run, RUN, she did not move. All she could do was stare in horror as she saw two bodies fly from the house in front of her and collide with the ground with such noises that she wished to never hear them again in her lifetime. Then, at last, she saw the source of the chaos.
Slowly lumbering out from between the broken framework of the home that had just been gutted, she saw the behemoth creature brush its way past the fractured beams and broken walls. It stood taller than three men atop each other's shoulders. It resembled a man in a way. A thick nose with flared nostrils, an unkempt beard hanging from its chin across its broad chest. It stood upon strong legs as thick as tree trunks, a muscular build indeed. A bald head that shone with the setting sun to the village's right topped off the creature's terrifying profile. Hanging from its waist was a leather belt and cloth, with various satchels and trinkets scattered amongst its length. Resting on its shoulder was an impossibly large chunk of stone with glowing symbols on it. The hulkish beast appeared to carry and shift its weight with ease.
The monster was most certainly not human though as it strode closer and she saw the large, curved horns jutting from each side of its face like the tusks of a boar. Its eyes were a vivid amber red she noticed as it loomed ever nearer. They slowly traced around, taking in its surroundings, almost as if the town's destruction was not its goal, it just happened to be in its path. That was however, until they came to focus on her. A grunt came from its pursed lips revealing the jagged teeth behind, and its large foot lifted and took its first stride towards her. The giant's step sounded like a boulder that had just crashed to the earth. The footsteps grew louder as the colossi drew closer. Each contact its swollen feet made with the ground beneath rumbling like thunder that she felt in her bones to the core of her being. The monster was but 20 or so paces from her now, and yet still she could not will herself to move.
She thought of her brother, who was off fishing in the lake to the east, and her mother, who she hoped had fled the town already at the sounds of the screaming and destruction. Surely an adult would know to flee, be smart enough to move their feet and run.
Twelve paces now. The beast didn't quicken its stride, or look at her with any aggression or hatred. Its eyes looked tired and stagnant, as if it had just accepted it was the largest creature left in these lands and she was but a small mortal girl that could do nothing in its wake.
She tried to cry for help but her words caught in her throat. This was her end, her mind had come to accept. Seven years of this life and she was to die beneath the foot of a giant monster.
Then, from behind her she heard a woman's voice cry out something in a foreign tongue. The next instant, a glowing arrow pierced into the monster's chest and it was taken aback from the unsuspected assault. The woman came around quickly in front of her now, kneeling to meet her gaze on the girl's level. Her hair was wild, like the underbrush of the forest. A variety of different sized braids and tied off tails amongst her nest of hair, and a few feathers tied together on the left side towards the back. Steeled eyes looked back at the girl, not a flash of fear in them. Her chest covered in slender but durable looking reddish armor, scuffs and scratches overlaid nearly its entire surface. The hands and arms that now gently gripped the girl's shoulders decorated with various tattoos and markings.
"We need to go, do you understand?" She heard the woman say. Her voice was warm, yet commanding. The girl still said nothing, nor made even an attempt to move from the spot. The woman quickly turned as the monster let out a terrible roar and began to charge the pair.
Then an even more unexpected sight appeared than the giant monster ravaging the town. Her assumed savior before her stood, and wings sprouted from her back, as if they had always been there and only just now became visible. The stranger scooped her up in arms and within a heartbeat the wings beat once and they were airborne flying low across the street away from the monster with surprising speed. Once they were roughly forty steps from the monster the woman loudly shouted, "NOW KRATOS!"
For the first time since the monster emerged from the broken home, the little girl moved, she shifted to look above the shoulder of the woman whisking her to safety. The name she shouted was one she had heard, one that had been murmured throughout the entire town, even worshiped on occasion.
Through the torrent of the flying woman's hair blown about by the wind, she saw the figure leaping from a rooftop, and heard the distant roar of the one they called godslayer.
He was not as tall as the creature but even from this distance she could tell he was massive for a man. His skin was nearly white, with red symbols adorning the side of his head and back she could see confirming it to be the one she had heard tales of. Kratos had lunged from the roof, brandishing a large axe above his head and brought it down upon the troll's skull in a bright whitish-blue flash. At least, she thought it was a troll now that her mind had begun to return to proper function once more. Its appearance matched the stories her brother would tell her that he passed on from his fellow fishermen out on their boats.
Her winged savior turned up suddenly, flying up over a house and returning back low. Kratos and the monster's duel long out of sight now. If that was Kratos, then the woman carrying her must surely be the queen of the fallen Asgard, Freya. She suddenly realized she had been gripping Freya's arm so tightly that her small knuckles had turned white, loosening her grip now that they were farther from danger.
"Thank you, Your Majesty," the girl quietly muttered, grateful to the goddess for saving her. Freya maintained her eyes ahead, calmly replying "You're welcome child, but I'm Queen of nothing now"
The troll lay dead, the townsfolk that remained cutting up its carcass to sell its parts and beginning to assess the damage the monster had wrought. More than three dozen townsfolk lay dead from the rampage, to be buried the following day. Had Kratos and Freya not arrived sooner surely that number would have risen much higher.
"Thank you, thank you so much, Your Majesty," the girl's mother managed to get out between panicked tears and constant cracks in her voice. The young girl clutched onto her mother's leg nearly as hard as she had clung to Freya's arms as they escaped the creature, face buried into her apron sobbing.
Freya mustered the small smile she had mastered from centuries of dealing with small, formal pleasantries either with the mortals that worshiped her or other gods she wished to have as little time in their presence as possible. "It is nothing, but thank you."
With the girl turned over to her family, the goddess briskly turned and began to walk out the main road leaving the town. Having met with the town's leader, and promising lumber and aid from Vanaheim to help rebuild, there was nothing left for her to do there for the moment. She was stopped many times along the way from villagers in varying states of injury, tears, or exhaustion thanking her over and over again for the miraculous help. Freya thanked each and every one with the same smile as she struggled to continue her descent from the broken town. She was truly grateful for the mortals' gratitude, worship, and praise, but it was not necessary.
She had long since ceased being Queen of Asgard, or wife to the Allfather. Freya was just another god now. Wandering the world, unsure exactly of her place in it but knowing she could do some small amount of good for all of the harm the aesir had brought Midgard and all of the other realms. Speaking of lost gods…
Kratos, in typical fashion, had slain the troll and left, leaving her to deal with the mortals' thanks as he escaped off to some nearby vantage point to wait for her. It had been five years since Ragnarok's end, and Kratos decided to try to help the mortals in ways they couldn't help themselves. If he felt his best skill was killing, might as well put it to good use to serve and save mortals rather than continuing to hide in the woods at some far corner of the realm he presumably thought. Kratos was a god of war, not diplomacy. His temperament and outlook of the future had changed drastically in the nine years that she had known him, but he certainly was not the most adept at dealing with people or their praise. Freya had grown very accustomed to Kratos' ease at jumping into danger to slay the monster, but disappearing the moment it was dead and the mortals came out from their hiding.
"Ah milady, welcome back" she heard in an all too familiar accented greeting from the head dangling below Kratos' waist. Kratos turned around and his steeled, focused eyes met hers. "Is it done?," he let out with a small grunt.
"Yes," the vanir goddess sighed, "the troll is dead, they are tending to their departed and taking stock of what they will need to rebuild. I promised them lumber and aid from Vanaheim, we should meet with Hildisvini and Sif tomorrow."
Another grunt came from Kratos as he turned back around, once again facing Mimir towards her.
"Well kudos all around team, now might I suggest we leave this damn frosted valley for somewhere a tad warmer?," the head proposed from lips hidden behind a snowflake dabbled beard covering his lips and jaw.
It had not only been five years since the abrupt termination of Odin's reign but also five since Fimbulwinter's end. Sadly however, that did not prevent the seasons' turn in Midgard, and winter still continued to rear its head every year. They were in the thick of it now, with at least a foot of snow covering the ground.
Another grunt from Kratos signified agreement with Mimir as he turned and began his ascent up the mountain. "A snow storm is coming, we best head for the portal."
They traveled mostly silently, as they often did. The Greek god had come to be a bit looser-lipped than he was whence they first met, but was an impossible lifetime away from the title of conversationalist. Through their years working together though, she had grown quite skilled at discerning the various grunts, scoffs, and sighs the foreign god primarily used to communicate. A sharp, low grunt typically signaled disgust and disagreement. A long, breathy sigh indicated his waning patience. Pursed lips and a quick flutter or two of his eyelids showed disbelief and even surprise (for which he hated), and so on.
Mimir on the other hand…
"Very quick acting on your feet saving the girl, Your Majesty, and giving the all clear the moment you were out of range," the head earnestly applauded. The three of them had lived, fought, and worked together for a couple of years now and still the man, er head, as Kratos affectionately dubbed him, still felt the need to continuously stack praise upon praise. She knew he still bore a substantial amount of guilt for all that had happened in their past, and truth be told she had felt nothing but anger towards him for many decades…
But surprisingly, something about these last few years had helped her learn to let it go, to let many things go. With Odin dead, Asgard in ruin, and her finally free to travel the realms, she felt an immeasurable amount of freedom. A sensation she had not thought she'd ever grasp again. For three years she had hunted her now ally for killing her son, but even that feels like more than a decade ago. A very different Freya than the one that hid in her cottage beneath Chaurli for years walked beside Kratos now. She herself would be the first to admit her shock at how quickly it felt like the waters of time had rushed away past pains and grievances. Baldur was a constant pang of guilt and loss she felt each and everyday. As time marched on though, she blamed Kratos less and less until she stopped blaming him all together. He had been the one to end his life, yes, but it was the actions of only Odin and herself that had put her son there on that path.
Odin was a talker, liar, manipulator, piece of shit to be put bluntly. Every word that sprang from his mouth had hidden motives and secrets, with motives behind those and even further secrets lying in wait past those. Kratos on the other hand, chose words carefully, thoughtfully, never without purpose. She imagined behind each grunt were quite a few sentences he chose not to say because they simply need not be said, especially with her. His presence was a night and day difference from her former husband's, and she was very grateful to have him in her life. Also that he had asked for her aid in righting Odin's wrongs and trying to not just use, but improve the lives of the various realms' inhabitants.
"Ahhhh home sweet home" Mimir chimed as they opened the door from the Realm Inbetween Realms and their cabin came into view.
How long have we been traveling?
Freya blinked not realizing she had been so entranced in thought to not notice passing through the doorway from the mountain to enter the quiet and barren realm that remained at the center of the various other lands. The cold once again bit at her face as they pressed back out into the cold winds of winter to trudge the last few steps home.
Despite Freya's complete hatred for winter after experiencing Fimbulwinter, she had still chosen to join Kratos in remaining in Midgard as a base for their operation.
After Brok died and Sindri had disappeared, it didn't feel right to try and call the brothers' house home. They still go and check in on it from time to time to keep it from falling into desolate disarray, but after a few nights there the guilt proved too much even for Kratos, as it was his idea they find other lodgings.
Then they had returned to his home, where he had raised Atreus and settled down with his previous wife, Laufey. Their first night there remains locked in her memory, and how out of place she felt. While her hut beneath Chaurli had never felt fully like home, it at least had felt warm enough for her to stay there for many years and call it her own. Kratos' cabin however…it felt strange to sleep in the same bed Atreus had called his if even just for a night, and have Kratos lay across from her in the bed he once shared with his deceased wife. Afterall, she had tried to kill Kratos many times on his return to this safe place throughout Fimbulwinter. Hel, she had come quite close to succeeding in the deed right in their front yard soon before Ragnarok began, once she had regained her wings.
The following morning she explained her feelings to Kratos, realizing it would be hard for him to leave the home he had built for his family so she was more than willing to return to her previous home just down river. A single glance from Kratos had told her she need not go that far, but she did not expect the words that followed.
"No, this is a place for memories now. Faye and Atreus are both gone, either in death or in life. It is time I let go of some of the past as well."
With that, they decided on a new location northeast of Stone Falls, and built a new cabin for them to work out of.
The door creaked open as they entered, and Kratos sat Mimir's stump down upon his usual cushioned seat beside the stone fireplace.
She muttered the spell for flames and the hearth sprung to glowing, crackling life illuminating the room.
The lumbering god sighed as rested his axe against the wall beside the fire, and sat back in his chair facing the growing warmth. Tired eyelids slowly drooped and closed as he took a moment of respite for the first time in a week. Within a few moments however, his eyes sprang back open wide as he remembered, "I'll grab some meat for the wolves." Standing briskly and pacing to the door, Freya waited for it to slam closed before she herself sat in her chair opposite the god's and mimir's spot to take a moment herself.
With eyes remaining closed she inquired "what do you care for dinner, Mimir? Stew?"
After a brief pause the head reluctantly replied, "As much as I enjoy your stew, milady, perhaps something a bit different to add a touch of variety to our meals. Stew has been the mainstay for the last month or so"
Ugh, this was a tad easier when Brok and Tyr were here to prepare the food while we went out, even if it was just Odin tricking us
"What did Kratos have to say while you two waited up on that cliff edge for me to return after the troll?" she inquired of the head.
"Uhh nothing in particular, milady. He mentioned that the wolves would be hungry upon our arrival home, but nothing special. He didn't mention you I'm afraid," the head of the Celtic god replied with a pinch of poignancy.
Freya's eyes shot open even faster than Kratos' just had as they glared across the fireplace to the glowing eyes of her bodiless companion.
"I'd use a quieter voice and much different tone if I were you," she lightly threatened.
"A-apologies, Your Majesty, I meant no disrespect or other intention. I wish he had mentioned you, you surely have proven yourself over these last few years as his ally and companion," he quickly assuaged, as to not incur the wrath (yet again) of the Vanir goddess.
Freya sighed a deep relief, assuming Kratos was indeed out back tending the wolves in their dens and nowhere within earshot of the loud mouthed head. Kratos had proven to be a wonderful confidant for her, the likes of which she had never had in her life outside of her brother in their youth. He had shared more and more about his past and life with her these few years they've been working together, and she with him in turn. But the one thing she could not talk to Kratos about, was unfortunately, Kratos.
When they first forged this partnership on the precipice of Ragnarok it was a tense, shaky at best, matter born of desperation as she could not free herself from Odin's grasp without his help. She needed his power and knack for killing. After that, it became a matter of good vs evil. They had to stop Odin no matter the cost, and if she had to work with Kratos to ensure the one responsible for not only her suffering but nearly all of their suffering was delivered justice then, again, a price she was willing to pay. There was no killing Odin, Thor, any of them without the Greek god's strength.
But then he asked her to accompany him in his journey of atonement, of rebuilding the realms in the wake of Ragnarok. She didn't need to help him with that. Clearly he was capable of killing any remaining monsters and saving lives without her, albeit even if with a skilless hand for dealing with mortals. Freya chose to stay by Kratos' side after everything, not only because she shared his goal of helping the people, but also because despite her initial anger, hatred, and walls she had put up..Kratos and Atreus had become the closest thing she had to family. Her son was dead, her brother dead, her remorseless bastard of an ex husband dead as well. The people of Vanaheim hardly recognized or knew her anymore. There was really nowhere else to go or turn to. Distrust became respect, which turned to trust, strengthening into confidence and partnership without equal. Freya knew Kratos would never take a step in a direction that led to unnecessary loss or hurting her and others, not something she could say for her previous partnerships.
Then, somewhere along the line without her fully realizing, her eyes fell on him and it was as if she had awoken from a self imposed daydream. Suddenly learning the truth of her own (apparently hidden) emotions, that that trust and admiration had morphed into something, more. With Kratos not being the strongest at talking, let alone opening up, about feelings, emotions, or passions, it was very apparent she could not go to him. Lest she risk adding waves of complication to their partnership unnecessarily.
So that left her only option for expressing her internal emotional struggles as…the head. She could have sought out Hildisvini for counsel, as she had in the past of her trusted advisor for a multitude of other problems. That however, didn't strike her as an ideal move. While many were grateful for Kratos' help, practically no one truly understood him, and some still begrudged him for his past deeds. While Hildisvini was one of her sole remaining and closest friends, he had countless problems of his own stacked on his shoulders. There also was the apparent growing bond between him and Sif, who still held on to some contempt for the Greek god for murdering her sons despite what had transpired.
So with virtually no other options, Mimir remained the sole choice. Lest she keep everything locked tight inside without breathing a word of it to any living soul. Which was promptly deemed unhealthy in her recent growth, and a less than favorable path. So a few months back, she first shared her conflicted feelings with Mimir simply as a means to let the racing thoughts escape her mind but for a moment, and to hear the opinion of the self dubbed "smartest man alive."
And much to her surprise…the sentient head was speechless.
Mimir's glowing eyes were simply wide as if he had just witnessed the resurrection of Odin himself. His mouth agape as his lips tried to form words.
"Your Majesty I… I'm sorry I'm just so damn surprised," the head finally managed to get out after a few minutes of silence. Freya had chosen to let loose the truth soon after Kratos had gone out hunting, knowing she had an hour at most.
"As much as I would typically enjoy your silence Mimir, I need, I don't know, counsel, opinions, someone other than my own inner self to hear ideas from," the former queen uttered, frustrated as she collapsed into her chair beside the fire.
"He killed my son I know, and his wife has only been gone, what, barely a decade? The first woman he's loved in two centuries, three? Not even his first love," she reminded herself aloud, recounting the few sparing tales he had generously shared of his first family as her heart sunk even lower.
Mimir chose his next words carefully, while Kratos was undoubtedly the strong, silent type.. it was plain to see that emotions weren't Freya's the easiest topic for open discussion either.
"Your majesty, er, Freya, you are absolutely deserving of love. Without a doubt, you are a strong, intelligent, beautiful wom-" The head was silenced as Freya's head sank lower in annoyance and she raised a hand. "I don't need raising of my esteem, Mimir, I need your actual opinion, gods know why."
Brushing off the slight, Mimir pressed on, "Yes milady, as I was saying…You have been through much, and Odin never appreciated you. Didn't appreciate anything really, and yes you surely deserve better than that as low of a stake as that sets… but, he's the bloody Ghost of Sparta! Gods know how Atreus' mother was able to woo and break down that reticent castle the man built up around his heart and soul but… I'm not sure if after all the loss he's suffered he could even love again. Even after all these years knowing the man he is still a perplexing, silent annoyance much of the time."
Mimir spoke honestly, which she appreciated, but felt the need to clarify. "I never said love. I don't know if I've ever even felt love. I just, working with him, being by his side, it gives off, this warmth, that makes you feel like you're a bigger part of something. That you have value, that your existence means something to someone. Even if whatever these feelings are aren't shared then… I'm more than happy to just remain by his side as we continue our work," she affirmed, equal parts attempting to convince the head as well as herself. The irony of calling Kratos' presence warming was not lost on her either.
The sound of the door bursting open snapped her back to the present from her recollection of talks past as Kratos returned with the biting wind and snow ushering him in.
"The wolves are fed," he once again sighed, returning to his chair and letting it embrace him.
They sat in silence for a while, staring at the fire, watching the flames dance on the darkening logs as it consumed them bit by bit.
Not more than five minutes had passed when a knock came to the door.
Kratos immediately twitched his fingers, summoning his axe as it twirled from its resting place beside the fireplace to his hand. It had been more than four years they had lived on this land, and not once in that time had they ever had an unexpected visitor, besides Atreus, but he had never knocked.
Kratos rose to his feet, eyes unwavering from the door as he signaled Freya to her bow and to take up position to his left. The home's layout was quite simple: one large common room with only the fireplace, chairs, and supper table giving them plenty of room to work. There was but the single door in and out of the home that stood before them, the kitchen tucked off to its right, with Freya's and Kratos' rooms side by side behind where they stood.
Whoever it was had come to them and knocked, rather than sending a summons like Sif or Durlin would. They were either very confident no harm would befall them, or very arrogant and stupid. Freya's bow was drawn, eyes glancing from the door to Kratos as he inched closer to the entrance.
Another knock sounded, Kratos was nearly in arms reach now of the handle. Freya's head lowered, eye even with the arrow aimed dead center of the door and prepared to let any of the spells needed to enchant her bow slip from her lips in her first breath.
Kratos' large fingers wrapped around the metal handle and with a sudden rush pulled the door open and brandished his axe ready if force was deemed necessary.
Their guest however, was not a monster, or seemingly a god, or even a man. It was… a bird.
A tall bird with long, slender legs and a skinny bent neck. A slim beak stretched from its face nearly two feet from base to tip that curved downward like a waning moon. Spotless, white plumage coated its body and wings, with a solid black neck and head adorned with two small beaded eyes looking up at the roughly 8 foot tall perplexed god. The bird must have been no taller than Freya's hip, and tilted its head around in quick, jerking movements as it took in the interior of their home.
Even more surprising than the nature of their guest, was when it spoke.
"Hello old friend, it has been quite a while. I'm glad to see you found a place to call home."
Kratos' eyes grew wide and white as he remembered a time decades past in his life. When he was lost and confused of his path, and found himself in an unforgiving, arid landscape far from his Grecian home. "You" he exhaled in both contempt and a slight air of relief.
"Lower your bow, Freya, he cannot bring harm," he assured Freya with an outstretched arm but never once letting his gaze leave the bird in their doorway.
"Why are you here, Thoth?"