A big thank you to all of my readers, I decided I would start answering/responding to reviews here from past chapters at the start of each chapter going forward. This way I can also reply to guests. :)

FireFox614: You are absolutely right, that was based off Swords and Shields which is the modern name of Tafl, a strategy game predating chess

Darkuz & A Plexx: I am so happy you like my portrayal of Thrud, though Dorian is no Issei...and will need to determine how to approach the feelings of the other women around him.

EmeraldGuardian7: It is such an honor to hear that, thank you so much! I hope to never disappoint as I continue writing this story. :D

Dorian continues his path up the mountain, facing threats both physical and mental. He presses on, unwilling to let anything stop him from obtaining the weapon with which he will stand a chance at securing Rossweisse's freedom…

Another of Dorian's black pieces crumbled to dust, having been surrounded by a pair of white attackers. With a gesture of his hand, another piece moved forward, crushing one of the assaulting giants and breaking the containment on his troops.

The game had been going for hours as the guardian controlled the attackers while Dorian, representing the High King, commanded the defenders. The rules of Swords and Shields, or Tafl as it was known in ancient times, were quite simple. The point of the game was for the High King to reach the edges of the board and escape. Every piece moved like a rook in chess, able to go as far as they wanted in four directions. Pieces were captured, or in this case, destroyed when they were surrounded on two sides by opposing forces, Dorian did not want to find out what would happen if he found himself trapped.

The dilemma Dorian found himself in was, unlike regular Tafl where any side of the board can be used to escape; here the entire arena was enclosed by mountains or against the cliff's edge. As far as he could see, the only route to win was the guardian's passage, and that force of six attackers was not budging. Instead, the other three were throwing themselves at him, and the defenders were ever outnumbered in Tafl. He was down to eight pieces left while the guardian had fifteen, no matter what he tried he could never close the ratio of nearly two to one against him.

"Kid…" Ratatoskr muttered. "I like you, I really do…but if you don't get your head out of your ass and think of something we are both going to be extra thin strawberry pancakes!"

Dorian looked over the situation, he could make a path for the exit, but that would require leaving pieces behind to be sacrificed. They appeared to just be statues, yet he sensed something else about them. Each piece was chiseled in the likeness of a different giant, as if they were alive. He knew full well how foolish it was at first, but as the match went on he found himself suddenly filled with memories he didn't recognize yet became so vivid.

Each piece he stared at became a name, a face…a history. The one with the long beard was Rogull; he had a wife and three children. He never wanted to fight but needed to provide for his family before the conflict started. The one that had just been crushed was Verind; she always held a fondness for the flowers that bloomed at the base of the falls despite the dangers around them. Before him stood the lovely Ashweisse…

Dorian's head snapped to the side as Ratatoskr slapped him as he had back in the Road Between Realms. Gripping him by his cheeks he stared into his eyes.

"They…aren't…REAL! This place is messing with your head boyo; they are statues of the long dead, nothing more!"

"They…they are my troops!" He shouted with a voice that was not his own. "My life is not worth theirs!"

"Oh this is just great!" The spectral rodent grumbled. He fully recognized what was going on. The riddle wasn't the true challenge, it was this. Dorian's mind was being beset with the memories and emotions of the actual High King that had fought in this location who knows how long ago. Fortunately for Ratatoskr, it did not work on extraplanar beings like himself.

The young man was still Dorian, but his thought processes were being overridden by forgotten magic to think as the long-dead king did with a few memories sprinkled in to hit home harder. Clearly, the past king had been an overly sentimental sap who considered the lives of all his soldiers equal to his own.

"Short-sighted, self-righteous," Ratatoskr restrained himself for once. If he was going to pull Dorian out of this, he had to play along and hope Freyja's young retainer was brighter than he feared. "If we do not get you out of here, they march on right up the mountain after we are dead with no leadership to stand in their way."

"Then we hold them here, if they keep one quarter of their troops at bay we may still…"

"We are ALL going to die here…and then who will be left to fight them?"

"My…my son," Dorian started. The echoes of memories passing through his mind, he would only be eleven come that winter.

"Will need a father to show him the way!" Ratatoskr was screaming at him by this point. "YOU are the High King; YOU are the backbone of your people, try growing one! If you die here, you are failing them utterly!" He took a gamble with his next line. "What about your Queen waiting at home!?"

That last shout and accompanying slap drove Dorian to his knees. As their argument raged, the pieces on the board had watched them, it was still his turn.

A vision entered Dorian's mind, not a false memory yet was stirred all the same at mention of his Queen. A woman with long silver locks and pink ribbons in her hair smiling back at him, with renewed strength he staggered to his feet.

"You are…right, of course," he acquiesced, looking up at the nearest statue. "Rogull, are you with me?"

The stone golem nodded, a wide smile cracking across its features.

"Then, hold the east flank, Drogun will take the west and Ashweisse shall cover our flank." As he listed each command the turns progressed from his will, moving the pieces in such a way that each side of attackers could not move in to capture him without setting themselves up to be taken…for a turn or two at least. "The rest of you…forward!"

The match advanced, sure enough the remaining five pieces moved towards the escape passage, ever keeping the High King safe. As they moved closer, Dorian directed the remaining pieces to draw out the attackers, forcing them to engage lest they be taken without a fight. Behind them, one by one the three left back were crushed, however drew out the turns required to capture them as long as possible. One by one the remaining six pieces blocking the path moved forward, never able to surround Dorian thanks to the formation of his troops. The guardian must not have seen the maneuver, as once the last of Dorian's troops were assuredly surrounded he made the mistake of leaving the passage unguarded save for himself. With a sorrowful gaze, the Einherjar looked back to Rogull currently being pincered between two of the attacking force.

"Go," the golem commanded as he crumbled into dust, trapped between a piece wielding a mighty hammer…and another with one eye.

Dorian turned, tears burning in his eyes he raced for the exit with all the strength in his legs. At last he reached the guardian, taking his final steps out of the playing field and onto soft earth once again.

"I…yield," the guardian growled, bowing low it presented a vial of a clear liquid. Dorian barely noticed as it drifted over to him, passing through the wooden chest he had been given by the Jotun father and joining his first gift within. "May the tear of a statue enshrine the victory of this day within your heart and know the burden that it is…to be a king. As the bested opponent concluded, he too fell apart at the seams. After a moment there was naught blocking the path. Even the board and remaining golems behind him sunk back into the ground, returned to the dust from whence they came. Utterly exhausted, Dorian collapsed to the ground, his head lowered glumly.

"You did it kid!" Ratatoskr panted, having been quite nervous towards the end. "This looks to go the rest of the way to the peak; if we hurry we can…"

Dorian raised a single finger to his friend's mouth, begging for silence. It was only then he saw the tears welling up in his companion's eyes. The echoes of the past had been engraved in his mind which would take time to fade. He could not help but wonder if it might have been kinder to request the challenge of the sword instead.

"Just…give me…one moment, please," he whispered. Ratatoskr saw no reason to deny his friend's humble request. The two barely noticed a single raven fly by, not piecing together or realizing it was the size of a normal bird of which they were familiar with…

Asgard…

Freyja pushed open the doors leading to the great hall; she had no time to wait for the guards to do it for her. They had heard nothing from Dorian since he set out on his mission and due to the secluded nature of Jotunheim she had no eyes or ears, but knew who likely did.

"The Allfather is in a meetin…" a new Valkyrie standing in during Rossweisse's incarceration attempted to stop her, but she didn't even slow down.

As she stormed into the throne room, she spotted her husband sitting atop his seat, speaking with a tall man. She could sense immediately that the stranger was not from Asgard or indeed any of the nine realms. He was wearing a deep purple long coat with a rather impressive upturned collar. Black belts and armbands were secured snugly across it with oddly out of place brown slacks that did not match the rest of the ensemble. He had black hair with a matching goatee yet his bangs were gold. He and Odin seemed to be getting along as they were grinning at each other like idiots as she walked in. It was only upon closer inspection she recognized the newcomer.

"I understand," Odin concluded. "I appreciate you coming all this way."

"Sorry to hear you got hit too," the Governor General of the Fallen Angels replied amicably. "Seems like my people and the devils are the only ones not under fire though are certainly the target of suspicion for the thefts. If we hear any word of your Hrotti, you have my word I will send a message. We need to get this squared away if we are to proceed in following your people's example…"

He paused as the two noticed Freyja's presence. He smiled at her which she returned, however was tense inside at his presence. She was more than willing to deal with him in a professional light, however she had heard tales of his reputation for womanizing and harems. In her eyes, he was little better if not worse than her husband in that regard as they both visited the same 'clubs.' She didn't need to be a mind-reader to realize how the two had become such close friends during the negotiations.

"Lady Freyja," he bowed low. "So good to see you again, as always you are the pinnacle of beauty."

"And you are as…eloquent as ever Lord Azazel."

"I wish we could chat, however I must be going, so much happening I spent too much time getting her as it is. I have heard such fascinating tales of your latest retainer."

"He is…a singular young man," she answered vaguely, uncertain what Odin had already discussed with his drinking buddy.

"We both seem to have found extraordinary boys in our lives. Mine will be taking on a Phenex pretty soon, can you believe it?" He let out a quick chuckle. "I truly hope yours continues to be singular as well, considering the situation he's found himself in. If I somehow come up in conversation, let the kid know I'm rooting for him." With that final word and a quick salute, he opened a shimmering black and red portal, stepping through as it closed silently behind him.

"We can discuss HIM later," Freyja warned as she approached her throne, taking a seat beside her husband. "I want to know how Dorian is doing."

"What makes you think I know dear wife?" He was as smug as ever, a devilish smile creeping onto his lips as he looked away as if suddenly becoming interested in the wall that had not been changed in centuries.

What did I ever see in that smile? She asked herself, fully knowing the answer at the memories of their early days together.

"That eye isn't just for show, we cannot interfere, but there's nothing against watching now is there?"

"Indeed not," Odin admitted, more than a little proud that the woman he loved above all the breasts in Asgard was catching on. "He has made progress, that much I can say."

"And he is unharmed?"

Odin closed his remaining real eye, focusing on the one he had given to Mimir in exchange for knowledge so long ago. With a view from the sky flying circles around the mountain he spotted Dorian kneeling on the ground slumped forward, a familiar red squirrel patting him reassuringly on the back.

"In body he is my love, though I would suggest that you or Ms. Thrud visit him should he return, perhaps even allowing him a special visit to Rossweisse in her cell. She's never had a boyfriend and I can think of few things to mend the heart and soul better than a great pair of…"

The familiar slap echoed throughout the halls of Asgard though with noticeably less force than what the guards had come to expect.

Jotunheim…Day 2

The infamous mountains of Jotunheim had battered the pair once they made their way up the king's path. Unlike below, a lush, humid untamed primordial jungle, high above was known as a land of perpetual winter. Once past the protective cliffs, they were beset by freezing winds that cut right through them even through the thick cloaks and gear they had prepared. Dorian's teeth chattered together as he had lit another torch, it was his fourth one.

His dire-wolf cloak fluttered in the wind, he surmised the only reason he hadn't frozen to death yet was through a combination of it and a magical cold-resistant seal he had etched a half dozen times onto his armor prior to continuing the trek upwards. Ratatoskr appeared to be completely unaffected by the weather, perhaps his time living in a realm without it had made him resistant or outright immune to climate change. Whichever was the case, his small companion was mum on how he accomplished it.

"You will love it kid!" Ratatoskr shouted in his ear over the wind as the hours moved on if only to take his mind off their journey. "Unlike their fair skinned brethren focused on survival below, frost giants learned to appreciate the finer things in life. Mead so hot to put a literal fire in your belly, rousing songs to stir your hearts and loins, and speaking of their women…!"

Dorian leapt backwards, dodging an arrow half as long as his body, he was almost thankful for the interruption. Whoever had fired it was skilled; he had not heard a thing until the unmistakable whistling of the deadly projectile mid-flight had reached his ears. His blade was drawn in a flash, the shield on his back gripped in his right hand.

"Who goes there?" He called out at the storm. "I'm not looking for a fight! I seek the Palace of the Jotnar on an errand from Asgard!"

"You seek your death in our lands," came a deep crackling voice from nowhere. "The pathetic Allfather has no sway here, nor will you make it to mince words with our King."

Like a mirage, the shapes of a dozen Jotuns shimmered into life before him; they must have been using some form of camouflage to blend into the snow around them. They were smaller than the one they had met below yet still loomed ten feet high each on average; their skin hues ranged from light blue to a deep purple, red eyes every one of them. The Jotuns who had adapted to the frozen peaks were each armored for war with spears, axes and blade.

"Asgard and Jotunheim are at peace!" Dorian called out for one final hope at placating his attackers, but it was no use. The group closed in around him, the first rushing forward with spear outstretched. Dorian quickly summoned his gear, a flash of gold casting a brilliant glow upon the pure white snow.

He parried the spearhead with his shield, delivering a solid kick to the Jotun's shoulder. Despite what would normally be a clear strength advantage in the giant's favor, with the power of his Sacred Gear, he could hear bone break. The spearman dropped his lance and crumpled into the snow gripping his useless arm.

The next ones did not make the same mistake, instead charging him four at a time. A fifth joined them but fell back as a small object cracked him in the eye with such force it drew blood. Ratatoskr stood atop Dorian's shoulder, a stack of acorns in his arms that Dorian was sure hadn't been there a moment ago.

"You can fight?" He asked overjoyed.

"Not here, but I got a wicked throwing arm!"

Dorian leapt back, wishing he could use some flight to gain distance, but he did not know if it would invalidate their work getting to the peak. Until there was no other option, he wouldn't risk it. With a wave of his hand, he summoned two offensive seals, releasing a barrage of fireballs towards his assailants.

The first two were unprepared, blasting backwards as the flames caught them in the chest. The remaining ones had time to dodge, making it closer than Dorian could counter with magic. He blocked the first two-handed downward slash on his blade, but the second stepped around him with a side cut.

Dorian felt his chainmail pinch painfully into his gut, barely preventing the blow from breaking skin though an ugly bruise started to form. Reflexively, he released a hand from his sword and backhanded the closest Jotun sending him flying over the nearby ledge. It was crude, but he needed breathing space. The second and another two rushed in, managing to cut his shield free from his arm to roll out of reach. Only a well-placed acorn throw drove the brute back.

I can't die here, not when I'm so close!

The gold gem on his bracer shimmered, alternating to the deep green that had he had missed upon entering Jotunheim.

A torrent of roots and branches exploded from his hand, entrapping the nearby attackers in their vines. These were no ordinary works of nature, but were clearly ones native to Jotunheim itself, being large enough to securely hold even the colossal giants threatening his life.

Another power of my gear? That makes three counting my ability to open portals.

Despite the remaining warriors being held in place, he couldn't maintain it. Every second the roots remained, their strength seemed to be sapping the power needed from himself. Dorian was already so tired from the climb up. After only a few seconds they were already losing their density…the assassins would be free any moment.

The nearest Jotun ripped himself loose, however his twisted grin was short-lived as a spear flew through the back of his head, killing him instantly. Dorian and Ratatoskr turned towards the source. Across the field, a force of at least two dozen more frost-Jotuns were charging their way like a stampede. Unlike the ambush, these ones were adorned in fur pelts with blue paint across the chests and back. They reminded him of badges worn by police officers or an organized military.

"Slay the traitors to King Ymiron!" The lead Jotun roared, the snow vibrating as her force followed suit. She was even taller than the rest with silver hair and matching eyes. Dorian was reminded of Thrud in her ferocity, wielding a mace almost as tall as he was in one hand and an axe in the other. Despite the biting cold, she seemed to only be wearing a dire-wolf pelt on her back and what appeared to be a thick tube top to protect her chest. He almost forgot that they had lived on the mountain for millennia and cold was unlikely to bother them. Below the waist she wore a form of battle skirt with interwoven links of chainmail and hide.

"Looks like the cavalry's here," Ratatoskr whistled at the sight of the lead warrior. Another hail of spears rained down around them, impaling all but a pair of aggressors who now held a look of fear in their eyes.

The first of the remaining two, in a fit of panic, rushed the giantess, bringing his jagged sword down upon her. With the ease and grace of a dancer, she caught the sword on her axe and twisted with a spin, lodging her mace deep into his forehead. He crumpled into the snow and did not move again.

The final remaining foe turned to Dorian, no doubt hoping to finish the job, but he was too late. The young Einherjar had ample time to erect a new pair of offensive seals trained squarely in his face. Allowing a smug grin to grace his lips, Dorian released a torrent of lightning as Rossweisse had taught him into the giant's face. He flew backwards even causing the reinforcements to step aside, allowing his limp body to shoot past them and into the cliff face, leaving a sizable imprint. As with the others, he did not stir.

"Many thanks my la…" Dorian started before realizing that the larger contingent of giants that had saved him now had the pair surrounded in a circle, weapons trained on him.

"Um…I thought you were saving us," Ratatoskr pointed out, poking an extended halberd before retreating to the perceived safety of Dorian's pack.

"We were sent," The silver-eyed giantess explained as she cleaned her mace off in the snow. "To deal with traitors who had been far too bold and gathered in secret against the commands of their king. "It seems they did so with the intent of your death. If only to spite them, I am glad we prevented that, however we cannot have an outsider walk so well armed in our lands when near to the palace. Relinquish your weapons….now."

"That doesn't seem so bright kid," Ratatoskr warned, but Dorian was already sheathing and unbelting his sword.

"How many of them are there Rat?" He whispered. "If they wanted us dead, could we really stop them right now?"

The squirrel only grimaced in response though winked slyly at the lead female warrior. "What'd I tell ya about their women? You could smother to death in them."

For the first time, Dorian landed a solid blow on the squirrel's head, knocking him backwards into his pack.

"Do follow us Dorian Held," she motioned once the last of his weapons had been confiscated and his Sacred Gear dismissed. "Your Allfather sent word ahead of your passing. We shall take you to our king. I am Ygritte, Blood-Maiden of the Jotnar!"

Asgard's Prison Cell…

"I wish I could," Göndul sighed, setting her cup of tea aside. "The Rite of Challenge is one of our oldest traditions dating back to the First Allfather. Either the accuser or challenger would need to rescind their claim to call it off. That bastard has made his stance clear and based on what you've told me of this Dorian he is most certainly not about to take back his words and sentence you to death. Thrud would no doubt volunteer to be Dorian's second…but as Modi has not claimed one, the young lad must fight alone to match. I would not be surprised if that fear is what is preventing the brute from choosing another."

Rossweisse stood from her seat, pacing as far into the corner as her cell would allow. She tried to hold her composure, but it was obvious she was running scenarios in her head, and none looked good.

"You've been training this boy with Thrud; surely he must stand SOME chance against Modi."

"I just can't see it," Rossweisse admitted. "His progress has been impressive, true, but Modi is so…savage. He will use every opening he can find to tear him apart. He may not even accept a surrender just for the fun of it! Perhaps with the strength Thrud witnessed him use in the cave…"

"Such little faith in yourself Rose," the elder Valkyrie tutted, standing to be on the same level as her Granddaughter. "There is more to battle than strength and magic, the will and drive to push the boundaries of one's limitations. Do you believe him capable of such a feat?"

Rossweisse only hesitated for a moment before answering.

"Yes."

She missed Göndul's smile at her reply and it was gone by the time she turned around.

"I may not have approved of your becoming a Valkyrie, but you stuck to your guns." She cradled her granddaughter's chin in her hands. "They called you the Valkyrie who never had her own hero didn't they?" Rossweisse looked down at the memory of the names given to her before graduating that had followed her through her career. "Perhaps…you just needed to make one of your own. Let's wait and see just how well you did."

Mountain Slopes of Jotunheim…

"Oh yes, Ragnar always was quite sweet on me," Ygritte gushed as she walked alongside Dorian, looming high above him. "He once brought a quilt the size of a house to me he made himself from a hundred dire-wolf pelts. Though he has a dreadful habit of flirting with and overly boasting around Valkyries when I'm not around…he hasn't been up to that…has he?"

Her hands gripped noticeably tighter around her weapons. Apparently the warrior giantess had been courting an Einherjar currently residing in Valhalla by the name of Ragnar. When she was talking about him, her fierce unapproachable aura seemed to fall away in favor of a love-struck schoolgirl. Even the small army of giants kept their distance as she walked with him. Dorian had never heard of Ragnar, which may be the only thing saving his life in that moment.

"No ma'am," he answered truthfully. "Not to my knowledge. I have been studying in a class of twenty Valkyries and I can assure you no Einherjar besides myself have stopped by."

"Figures she'd be taken," Ratatoskr grumbled from his pack, staying out of sight of the intimidating woman.

"Do…you know if I might be able to see the king right away?" Dorian asked. "My need to see the dwarven brothers is quite urgent."

"We have been commanded to bring you to him," she replied, her stern nature having returned. "The smiths have been toiling for days on one grand creation after another. However, Ymiron is wise…I am certain he will hear you out once he understands a life is at stake."

"Thank you," he sighed as their destination loomed before them.

It was the largest of the mountain peaks chiseled in the likeness of a grand serpent dragon coiling up to the heavens. Dorian had assumed the palace was built at the base, but he was wrong once again…the palace WAS the peak. His question as to how the Jotuns living amid the mountains could survive under such harsh conditions had been answered.

Ygritte and her entourage led the travelers inside, what greeted them was a city sprawling within as far as Dorian could see. Hundreds, thousands of Jotuns were going about their daily lives uncaring about the small pink-skinned stranger who had been brought inside. With no time to waste, they were placed in a cart pulled by oxen the size of houses to the central chamber…the King's Palace. It appeared that the illumination of the caverns was mostly due in part to massive stalactites made from minerals he did not recognize, every single one was bio-luminescent,

Does everyone have to do EVERYTHING big?

Dorian was helped down from the taxi upon arrival by Ygritte, Ratatoskr unable to contain his laughter at the role reversal due to the size difference. The young man gasped as he beheld the throne, not for its size as he had come to expect it at this point, but rather for who ruled from atop it.

The king of the Jotuns sat upon his magnificent seat of power chiseled into the mountainside from glittering exotic minerals, no two were the same and Dorian could not have hoped to count them all. The king's features were hidden beneath thick armor of war…the same armor chiseled into the likeness of the guardian he had bested far below. Taking slow, cautious steps forward, Dorian kneeled before him, already thinking ahead of what to say to the Ruler of Giants.

Dorian has reached his destination with days to spare, yet can he convince the colossal lord of his intentions in time to return to Asgard with a weapon worthy of a God? As always, Read and Review…but most of all Enjoy! :D