Working Together
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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"Kratos, I swear, sometimes I want to wring your damn neck!" Freya shouted as she paced in her private office.
"Told you," Tyr whispered to Kratos's right.
"She was even worse yesterday," Atreus added from his left. "Didn't help when a couple Jotun started eating potted plants right before she went to bed. Some of her favorites, too."
"Are they so beholden to their animal instincts?" Tyr asked, bewildered.
"Nah." Atreus scoffed. "They're just jerks."
"Don't think I can't hear you!" Freya spat at them.
Kratos huffed, and walked forward until he was in front of Freya. She glared at him; nostrils flared. "I apologize," he said.
Her right eye twitched. "Oh, is that so?"
"Yes."
She stepped back and took a deep breath. And then another. And another.
After ten breaths, she opened her eyes. Though still, understandably, frustrated at his actions, did look at him with some sympathy. She knew, or at least suspected, why he took Atreus so suddenly yesterday. They left a mess, of course, but she at least gave him that little grace.
Freya drew closer to him, scant inches away from his face. "You are lucky Skjöldr took it all in stride and led the other Midgardians into bemused acceptance."
"He is a good leader."
"That he is." Freya drew back, her fury giving way to contemplation. "For someone so young—especially for a mortal—he has a certain charisma to him."
"He's really come into his own," Atreus piped up.
"I've gathered," Freya said, sending him a quick smile, her ire vanishing. Atreus could always calm her down, Kratos had learned. She leaned against her desk. "Now, what are you really here for, Kratos? If it was just to apologize for the near disaster you left me, you wouldn't have brought in Tyr."
Tyr stepped up beside Kratos. "Kratos and I have developed a proposal, Freya" He then launched into a brief overview of the plans they had solidified last night and during their travel to Vanaland. Atreus gained a steady undercurrent of anticipation with every word, while Freya's brow furrowed deeper and deeper.
"It's not a bad idea, per se," Freya remarked once Tyr finished speaking. "I can even understand your reasoning behind this insane tournament—though what that says about me, I dare not think," she added with a derisive snort. "But will the Midgardians go for it?"
"They would be more open to the idea were I to suggest it," Kratos said.
"They worship the ground you walk on," Freya deadpanned. "You could declare that the moon is made of cheese, and they'd wholeheartedly go along with it." Kratos shrugged.
She sighed. "Well, I give it my approval, should they agree, and will of course provide whatever assistance will be needed. I've been looking for an excuse to force the races together, and a party celebrating the miracle of life is as good as any." She looked out a window before nodding. "The Midgardians should be finishing breakfast around now."
"I shall return," Kratos replied. He turned, giving Tyr and his son short nods before exiting the room. Atreus, however, followed after him.
"I've gotta check on the Giants," he said as an excuse, and walked beside Kratos. He had a nervous energy about him, but Kratos did not push him to speak.
Indeed, his patience was rewarded, for Atreus gestured to a balcony and asked, "Mind if we step outside for a bit?" Kratos nodded, and followed his son, shutting the doors behind them.
Atreus smiled sadly at him. "How're you holding up?"
"I am well." Kratos huffed in amusement. "I am more concerned about you."
"I'm…good, I guess," Atreus said, and leaned against the balcony's railing. They could see the city of Vanaland in full from their position. Listen as it slowly groaned awake along with its inhabitants. "I've just been…reexamining a lot of things, with what I know now." He swallowed a lump in his throat, and whispered, "I realized there was another reason why you looked so terrified after I first changed into a bear and we…fought."
Kratos stepped up beside him and sighed. "Yes. It was…one of the most harrowing moments of my life." He could never hope to articulate the sheer despair that shot through his very soul. The sight of him standing over his son, his blood in his hands. In that moment, he was back in that cursed temple in Greece, all those centuries ago.
He didn't dare think what he would have done if he had killed Atreus that night.
"It's just…I hate comparing you two, even like this, but it makes Odin so much worse, you know?" Atreus shook his head in disgust. "I mean, when he killed Thor, the look on his face. He didn't even look sad just…annoyed. How could anyone…become that?"
"He was obsessed with himself," Kratos said. "And in the face of that, nothing else mattered."
Atreus let out a breath. "And he dragged everyone else down with him." He drummed his hands against the railing. "So, a tournament, huh?"
"Sora suggested it. Along with the prize being a duel with me."
"He…He knows if he just asks you'll spar with him, right?"
"Yes. But he believes that it will be more fulfilling to face me in front of an audience." Kratos chuckled. "Rather, to beat me."
"Seriously?" Atreus chuckled. "I mean, Sora's strong, don't me wrong. But—"
"He just may." Kratos cut his son off, before adding, "Within a tournament setting." Atreus stared at him in bewilderment. "He and Tyr sparred last night, and they matched each other blow for blow. I cut it short however, for Tyr's forehead tattoo began to glow, and Sora's magic began to spread into the surroundings." He let out a disgruntled snort. "They would have destroyed the yard had I not intervened."
Atreus's breath hitched, and his eyes widened. "…Don't tell Thrúd," he finally squeaked out. "She's been trying to Tyr to glow beyond his hands for years."
"I am aware." She had once come to him to ask for advice on how to face Tyr. He told her how he prepared following a loss; try harder next time.
She had not appreciated it.
"Where is Sora anyway?" Atreus asked.
"Still in Midgard. Cooking with the mortals."
"He really likes cooking huh?" Atreus said with a smirk. Kratos simply nodded; more than he could suspect.
Atreus let out a breath. "I've never taken part in a tournament. Are they fun?"
"They can be." The odd tournament he had participated in as Greece's God of War had been welcome distractions during those dark times. He eyed his son. "Do you wish to join?"
"Maybe." He scratched his cheek. "Don't know how far I'd get."
"It is unwise to dwell on such things," Kratos replied. "Simply give it your all, and your efforts shall be rewarded."
"Until I go up against Sora. Or Thrúd. Or any of the Shield Maidens—at least Gunnr, Hildr, maybe Sigrún too."
"…You are strong, Atreus," Kratos softly declared.
His son blushed. "I mean, I know that. It's just…Never mind. Thanks." He took a sharp breath. "Ah, what the hell? I'll do it! I'll join up."
"Good. Once we get all the details sorted, Tyr and I plan to send out announcements and instructions for participating tomorrow.."
"Assuming the Midgardians agree," Atreus remarked. Kratos merely arched a brow in response, after which Atreus shrugged. "Right, yeah, what am I saying?" He sat up on the balcony railing. "If you need me, I'll be with the Giants." He waved, then fell back off the railing, his body alight with Flowmotion.
Kratos snorted at the juvenile display and reentered the palace to seek out Skjöldr and his fellow Midgardians. Hopefully, they would be easy to convince.
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Kratos found the Midgardian leaders—Anders, Astrid, and Erik—finishing up their meals, but Skjöldr was not among them. Though they all gave their tentative support—as Kratos knew they would—and were certain Skjöldr would agree as well, they still didn't feel comfortable giving Kratos definitive answer without the younger man being present.
As such, Kratos went to Skjöldr's guest room in the palace, where he had gone to after the meal.
As Kratos neared the room, however, he felt a change in the air. A certain sensation that he was, unfortunately, intimately familiar with. And it was centered on Skjöldr's room.
When he reached the door, he debated if he should even knock. But, if he left, then he would have come all this way for nothing. Thus, he knocked. Hard. "Skjöldr," he bellowed, "I must speak with you."
He could hear scrambling and panicked whispers from behind the door. Five seconds later Skjöldr, a cloak hastily down over his shoulders, creaked open the door and peeked out. "Kratos, hey! What'cha need?"
Kratos ignored the heavy blush on the young mortal's face, and the bruises on his neck and collarbone peeking out from under the cloak. "I would speak with you regarding opening up the festivities in Midgard to the other Realms."
"Oh!" Skjöldr blinked, his panic vanishing as his face pinched in concentration. "That's—What, you want to bring everyone together for some sort of celebration of togetherness, or whatever you want to call it?" Kratos nodded. "Okay. But…Why us?"
"Because the mortals of Midgard do not celebrate the destruction of Asgard. Merely the fact that they survived Ragnarök."
"Well, you're not wrong." Skjöldr rubbed his chin. "But is it a good idea to bring everyone together in one location for Ragnarök? I mean, haven't the Vanir and Aesir just started to actually get along, as opposed to merely living together? And I don't even want to think about the Elves."
"It will not be without struggle," Kratos replied. "But I believe that it shall be worth it, in the end. With it, the Realms can begin to truly come together as one people."
"…I'll have to talk it over with the others. Don't get me wrong, I like the idea. But…it's a lot to spring on us on such short notice."
"Freya and the people of Vanaheim would assist in augmenting the festival grounds to accommodate for the extra people."
Skjöldr hummed. "I suppose that's one worry taken care of...You're staying in Vanaheim for the day?" Kratos nodded. "Alright. Let me talk it over with the others, reach out in about an hour."
"Of course." Kratos grunted and turned around. He did pause, however, and looked over his shoulder. "…If you wish to maintain your secret trysts, tell Thrúd to not be so cavalier with Mjolnir. I could sense its presence two halls down." Of course, Kratos was unique in that he had spent centuries living and working beside Zeus, before eventually fighting him in pitched, if relatively short, battles. As such, he was intimately familiar with the atmospheric changes concentrated lighting could bring. He doubted many others were in such a position.
Well…except maybe for Sif.
Skjöldr's blush returned with a vengeance, and he simply closed the door with wide eyes.
Kratos snorted. Young love.
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Not even an hour later, Skjöldr had come to Kratos and informed him that he and the others would be willing to host the other races in Midgard. Thus, he and Tyr met with Freya and her court to explain their plan once more. Skjöldr himself entered the room—pointedly avoiding looking at Sif, who fixed him with a carefully blank stare—and vocalized his support of the idea.
The Aesir and Vanir all eyed each other warily through their speech. Neither race acknowledged Ragnarök in any public capacity. None of the Vanir were callous enough to host celebrations, and none of the Aesir were about to openly mourn the civilization that subjugated their current home.
"…I like it," Sif eventually declared. All eyes turned to her. She met them all with defiance. "The Aesir and Vanir have been dancing around each other long enough. We have our peace, and we're on our way to becoming true friends. Coming together in Midgard to celebrate our joint survival will only cement those bonds."
"Are you sure?" Vidar—the Aesir God of, among other things, Vengeance—said with an arched brow. "You don't think it's a bit…tone-deaf?"
"I would, if the Midgardians weren't the ones hosting it." She gestured to Skjöldr. "Despite all else, they hold little-to-no negative feelings towards us Asgardians. For all that they should."
"Eh, Odin was the main reason we were caught in the crossfire to begin with," Skjöldr added with a shrug. "And he's dead. No sense carrying around any hate for a dead man."
Vidar slowly nodded his head. "Well said," he replied, and gave his support. After him, the other Aesir holdouts fell in line.
Then began all the minutiae and details that Kratos abhorred but would dutifully endure. Thankfully, no one asked him for any opinions aside from structuring the tournament and introducing Shotput and Javelin throwing competitions. He considered other sports form Greece he could introduce, but they didn't have the time to find and develop a track for races, and they already had Pankration and Boxing equivalents.
They session ended with Sif and Hildisvíni promising to reach out to the Elves and Dwarves to bring them into the fold—Kratos and Skjöldr going with whoever they sent. Sif, once again, stared for a long moment at Skjöldr. But just before the young man broke out into sweats, she turned on her heel and followed her peers out the room.
Skjöldr let out a relieved breath. "Man! This is becoming a bit of a hassle. Aren't you gods supposed to know all or something? You know, to avoid all this talking and just do things?"
"I'm afraid not," Tyr said with a chuckle. "In some regards, we are as blind as you are." Skjöldr grumbled about gods supposed 'divinity' and left after a short farewell. Tyr stared after him fondly. "It's been a long time since I've met a mortal so irreverent to the divine."
"That is a good thing," Kratos replied. "Blind devotion leads many to ruin."
"So it can," Tyr sagely stated.
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Kratos sought out Mimir after the meeting. He'd predicted that his friend would be insulted—however lightly—that he had not been consulted on the ideas Kratos and Tyr presented.
He was right.
"Not even twenty-four hours and you've already replaced me with Tyr!" The talking head complained amidst a pile of books and scrolls. Olrun had been pulled away for some other duty, and the young scribes and researchers all spread out as far from them as possible. Thus, Mimir was given free rein to be as loud as he desired. "What does Tyr know of diplomacy? For all his 'grand tours of other cultures', he never brought anything back with him to share, did he? No, he just hoarded everything for himself in his temple!"
"Odin would have imprisoned him sooner—if not killed him outright—had he not done so," Kratos replied blandly.
"Excuses!" Mimir scoffed. "A real diplomat would have tried every trick in the book before just giving up and leaving all his goods and knowledge to get waterlogged!"
"Are you finished?"
"…Just one more." He drew a deep breath. "There's a reason why I'm known as the 'Smartest Man Alive'!" He blinked. "Alright, I'm done."
Kratos snorted in amusement and pulled over a stool to sit beside his friend. "Good. I would have brought you into the conversation," he said. "But I wished to present the idea without delay."
"Ah, don't mind my bellyaching," Mimir replied. "I'm quite happy for you. It's been a long time since I've seen you this excited for something."
"Yes." Kratos looked down at his hands. "It is…good, to look forward to something relatively trivial."
Mimir snorted. "For one, I wouldn't call the anniversary of Ragnarök itself 'trivial'. Second, if you're enjoying yourself, doesn't that make whatever you're doing worth it?"
"Perhaps." Kratos hummed. "Have you made any progress with your research?"
"A great deal, actually!" Mimir said with a bright smile. "We've narrowed it down to three possible kinds of spells, and a specific potion that you add to wood as you're cutting it down to shape. And the Giants Atreus brought have been extraordinarily helpful in developing a better diet for the Lyngbakr, and eventually moving it to a larger bay." His friend spoke animatedly about the further strides he had made with his goal.
After a few moments, Kratos quietly asked, "And what of your other mission?"
Mimir stalled at that. "…Well enough, I suppose. I brought up a few things to Freya. She was…not quite disappointed with what I revealed. But certainly not happy. Rather subdued, afterwards"
"I have not noticed a change in her demeanor."
"Yes, well, she's got a rather tight control on her emotions. You know, when she's not screaming bloody vengeance from the mountaintops." Fair enough. "We haven't had much chance to discuss more, though. I think she wants to wait until after the festivities—which I will wholeheartedly get behind."
"It would be…unwise to dig at old wounds now," Kratos carefully agreed. In truth, there was never an ideal time for such things. But they had to be done.
"Enough about me," Mimir began. "You said it was Sora's idea to host this tournament?"
Kratos nodded. "He professed to winning several."
"Not that surprising, I've seen him fight."
"Indeed." Kratos shifted in his seat, a sense of anticipation washing over his being.
"…You think he's going to win, don't you?" Mimir said conspiratorially.
"I believe that Sora wields weapons and magics the likes of which the Realms have never seen," Kratos replied evenly. "As such, he shall catch his opponents by surprise."
"Well, I hope you'll forgive me when I say I'm throwing my lot in with Sigrún."
"I would not dare presume otherwise."
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After speaking to Mimir, Kratos was dragged into more meetings regarding the changing festivities. This time, at least, they were centered around the specifics of the Shotput and Javelin competitions. While he could recall the techniques and scoring methods for both sports, the specifications of the equipment—the shotput especially—were beyond him. Thus, he spent many an hour working with craftsman to determine the correct weight and size for the iron balls.
He found more enjoyment with those meetings than he initially thought he would. It felt good, he realized, to truly contribute something new to the Realms. Even something as inconsequential as the proper technique to hurl a shotput.
As his day drew to a close, he decided to check on the olive and cherry trees in Freya's garden. There would be little for him to do, of course, but he felt it good to at least look them over. An idea he shared with Freya; it turned out.
"Ah, Kratos," she smiled over her shoulder. "Come to check on your trees?" He simply nodded and stepped up beside her. They were growing at a remarkable pace. Both already towered over them. The olive tree looked about two, perhaps three years old, to Kratos's best recollection. It would bear fruit soon. The cherry tree, however, would need another few years—relative to Freya's magically induced growth, of course—before it bore fruit.
"They took to the soil better than I expected," Freya said. She walked forward and pressed a hand against the olive tree's trunk. "It's been a long while since I've grown wholly something new. I'm eager to see the results."
"Under your care, they shall be great," Kratos replied. Freya smiled at him, before it shrank into something more vulnerable.
"And how are you, Kratos?"
He easily discerned the hidden meaning in her words and tone. He took a deep breath. "I am well." She arched a brow, and when he said nothing more, laughed her bell-like laugh.
"What did I expect?" She shook her head with a snort. "And Atreus?"
"He is…He is good," Kratos softly stated. Freya moved closer to him and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder.
"I am glad to hear that. Truly." She smiled fondly at him. "You've carried that weight upon your shoulder for far too long, Kratos."
"And what of you?" Kratos stared into Freya's eyes, a slight frown creasing his features. "What weighs upon your shoulders?"
She scoffed, and removed her hand from his shoulder as she crossed her arms. "Too many things to count."
"Speak," he declared. "I would listen."
She looked down her nose at him. "Tread carefully. If you let me start, I'm not going to stop." Kratos simply crossed his arms, mimicking her posture. "Alright. You asked for it."
She started slowly, quietly. Listing off the minor grievances of her daily life. With each word, however, she grew bolder, and louder. Soon, she was naming previous events and people that had inconvenienced her efforts for peace—she made certain to glare directly at him when she detailed how many things her various Jotun guests had eaten or otherwise destroyed during their stay in the palace. After that, she was practically shouting, gesticulating wildly as she went on about this and that.
"And now Mimir starts talking about these utterly horrible acts he committed in Odin's name, and he wants to atone for them?" She stared helplessly at him. "What am I supposed to do about that?!"
Through it all, Kratos simply grunted and nodded as appropriate.
She finally stopped after the sun had set. Her face was flush with rage and self-satisfaction, her chest heaving as she slowly steadied herself.
"Are you done?" Kratos asked.
Freya levelled him with an amused glare. "For today." She took a long, deep breath. "That was actually quite cathartic."
"If you wish to do this again, I shall be available."
"I'll let you know," she said with a smirk. "But I think I'll be good for a while. Or at least until after the celebrations in Midgard. And let me say this now; thank you, Kratos."
"What for?"
"For helping Tyr solidify this idea." She clasped her arms behind her back. "Though I asked for your assistance in helping the Realms years ago, well, it's no secret that outside of the Midgardians, you never really interact much with the other Realms unless something—a rouge monster or some other crisis—needs to be put down. Not unless I forced you to."
"That is no mark against you." Kratos replied. "My previous isolationism is no one's fault but my own."
"Still." She smiled at him, the night breeze flowing through her hair. "I'm proud of you."
A pleasant warmth pooled in Kratos's stomach in that moment, a certain energy spreading into the air. Idly, he recalled that the previous times he felt such a thing—this all-encompassing warmth and feeling of correctness, as though something had slotted into his heart like a missing puzzle piece—with Lysandra and Faye, it had also been on nights such as this.
It was with that thought—that stark realization—that Kratos broke himself from his stupor. Freya did the same seconds later, and turned away, face set into stone.
After a moment, she huffed, and turned back to him with a wry frown. "We can't keep dancing around like this."
"I know," Kratos said softly.
"I do care for you, you know?" She stepped closer and laid a hand on his chest. The contact sent pleasant shivers down his spine. "I care for you in a way I thought I never could, after what Odin did to me."
Kratos nodded and pressed his hand over hers. "As do I. After Faye…Part of me feels I should not hold these emotions. I am long-lived, and Faye's passing was a short time ago. And yet, to deny myself would be a grave insult to her memory." He could imagine her now; yelling at him that she hadn't spent years slowly smoothing out his rough edges just for him to regress into his past self. "And yet…" He swallowed a lump in his throat. "Baldur."
"Baldur," Freya sadly echoed, before slowly pulling away. When she spoke again, her voice trembled with a tumult of emotion. "I am still so, unbearably…angry! A piece of my soul is forever blackened against you over what you've done to me." She sighed, her tone evening out into melancholy. "And yet, you've done so much for me as well." She flexed her shoulders, her wings unfurling from her back in a burst of light. The sparks of magic glittered in the moonlight, granting Freya an ethereal glow. "You helped free me from Odin, in every way that matters. You helped me reconnect with Freyr; however short our time was. You've helped me to rebuild the Realms into something stable and nurturing." She relaxed, her wings vanishing as she stared at him, eyes devoid of all emotion. "But it can never overshadow the fact that you killed my son."
"I know," Kratos whispered.
A derisive scoff burst past her lips. "Odin ruined my life but gave me my life's greatest joy. You saved my life but tore away that joy."
Kratos shook his head. "You deserve better."
"We all do, I think," Freya gently replied, warmth returning to her gaze. "But maybe it's not a matter of deserving, but of taking."
The warmth in Kratos's stomach tentatively returned before he quashed it. "No, Freya." Her face almost crumpled, before he added—quickly, "There is too much happening right now. This…matter…deserves nothing less than our full attention. We cannot afford to be distracted before coming to a proper conclusion."
She stared at him, before closing her eyes and exhaling. "You're right." She gestured between them. "Whatever this is—whatever it will become—can wait." She chuckled. "We're gods, after all. We have nothing but time."
Kratos nodded, and the energy in the air dissipated. Whatever they might or might not become, they were friends. Unlikely a pair as they made. For now, that was enough.
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A/N: That last part with Kratos and Freya just snuck up on me. I mean, it's popped up here-and-there throughout the story, but…ah, whatever.