Of all the things she expected in a war camp, dancing wasn't one of them.
It had been…a strange week. Leadership had been vanishing like smoke, one by one, until the camp energy shifted all at once. They still woke with the fleeting glances of sun that made it to this forsaken area, trained and taught and pulled more than their fair share of weight - falling back upon their sleeping bags with impossibly heavy bones and shaking hands…but there was a lightness to the air.
Obedience…but also comfortable ease.
There were fewer spats and less tension between different groups - not when half had vanished alongside those leaders. More food to go around, alongside those additional duties.
And at night, when they downed weapons and sat around the campfire, things felt almost friendly. Like she was away at a training retreat, rather than condemned to death amongst the worst criminals the Nine Realms had to offer.
Bodil reached for her across the fire, flames lighting up her golden, freckled face.
"Do you know any Asgardian dances?" she laughed, the mead sending her words lilting and musical.
Aela felt herself dim slightly, shaking her head. She knew one, of course she did, and could still remember how it had felt to twist and turn with him across the stunning golden-flecked floor of the reception chamber. His hands had been cool in hers, but his breath had been hot as it had exhaled right against her sensitive neck. Outwardly they'd been carefully stoic, but within the privacy of their own minds he'd caressed his adoration against her own mind.
"Shit" the other woman muttered, obviously realising as soon as the words came out that they were a faux-par. "Sorry, Aela…Can we get some Niflheim songs out here, lets get the locals up and dancing!"
Groans surrounded them and she caught familiar eyes on hers - the chef who'd given her the notebook, Geva, who she'd taken to training with most days now. The man had turned out to have a wicked sense of humour and was obviously more than familiar with grief - giving her a fantastically healthy way to work through that anger, that sadness. A way to channel it into something productive , rather than wallowing.
She gave him a nod, a slight grimace, and he kept her gaze, narrowing those eyes when she let Bodil pull her up, as she extended an arm to him. "Come on, Geva - long servicer like you has to know a few traditional dances"
"You keep your Nifl jigs away from me, axes!"
The laughter that left her was so sudden and real that it surprised even her, and she saw the dusting of pink over the very tips of his cheeks at the sound of it, the widening of his eyes.
She winked.
"You wish you had a chance at these Nifl Jigs. Come on, up you get!"
Some of the others had already risen, and as she accepted a large hand from a wiry, small-horned Nifl on her left she was transported back to her summer evenings, legs high and spins getting faster and faster, Eirik chasing after Astrid with gifts and dances, Jorik's more settling presence as they took in the slower numbers together. Her father, guiding her mother across the floor as he laid flowers against her horns.
Hands found her waist as the music picked up, spinning her and holding her close before pushing her away, fingertips clasping and releasing, moving in perfect circles across the freshly brushed earth. Voices joined in and she happily joined them, not caring how awful her singing was, happy to truly, just for a moment, be completely unknown.
She wasn't a Queen, as she chased down Sam, grabbing him before he hit the ground. She wasn't a Jarl's daughter. She was just…unwanted. Cast aside and entirely equal to the other unwanted remnants of their societies. She knew some of them had murdered, and would murder again. They weren't good people, but they were equal. There was a certain level of acceptance she'd gained whilst amongst them. They were criminals, but so was she. And they didn't hurt one another.
There were… disappearances, of course, individuals confessing their crimes and vanishing, and the unknown number that were hunting her down…but here, amongst these known thieves and murderers, away from the distasteful eyes of the corrupt leaders, she felt…at ease.
Felt herself laugh, and smile, and saw the quiet happiness in Sam's eyes as she picked him up, swapping their gendered positions to lift the smaller elf over her head - though training and some good food had certainly gone a long way in filling him out, as he'd promised.
By the time people began to yawn, the fires had long since settled, and the mead had run dry. They'd danced and sung and laughed far too much, only sharing stories of mirth and childhood memories, rather than their usual sombre fair. She'd told them carefully picked stories of adventure - of her and her friends starting orgies in priestess training halls (with the priestesses, of course); chasing down halflings only to discover they were half-giant, of them getting shipwrecked and stranded surrounded by Sirens off the coast. Geva had laughed loudest at that one, especially as she detailed the way they'd stuffed menstrual packing in their ears; glad for the cotton as it blocked out the worst of the song; focusing instead on those hideous rows of teeth. He'd grown up near the ocean, as it turned out, and had seen many a confident fool fall victim to those beautiful predators.
She knew the impression she gave and relished in the look of shock and adoration on Bodil's face. She was her Queen after all… or had been briefly… and yet here she was talking about being caught with 3 naked women who'd pledged themselves to chastity mere weeks before. Thoroughly anointed in their…sacred oils.
They'd fallen into their tents tired and happy, feeling the kind of soft satisfaction Aela hadn't expected to find again.
It couldn't last though, not really…She woke confused, with vague memories of a gritty, grating voice and rocks under her feet. It wasn't one of her memories, not like her usual dreams…but something new . Something that felt familiar though, like deja vu…it vanished quickly though, entirely droned out by the sound of a siren; blaring through the camp.
"What's going on?"
She shook her head at Bodil, unsure, and crawled from the tent, strapping her weapons onto her back before bothering to clean herself down.
"Geva!" she shouted, storming past running individuals to make her way to the hulking brute of a man. The whole camp was a frantic bustle, and she had to dodge endless pale, scared faces to make it to the training ring. He was shoving weapons into boxes with gusto and sighed as he saw her determined, curious expression. "What's going on?"
"Get your tent packed up and take point on the other newbies, make sure everyone's armoured up. We're moving out. We'll be leaving the bare bones here, those who can't fight with a contingency of warriors - just to accept the other new prisoners.
Looking around, she couldn't help but notice that the older faces, the ones who had served for months, for years, all standing and gathering their things with a kind of numb detachment. If there was one thing she'd learned, it was to emulate those who knew what was happening. She turned back towards her tent, sliding her armoured jacket on and fastening her things - glad they'd finally started to feel like…part of her again as she'd gotten her mind back in order.
She parroted the words back to Sam and Bodil, the three splitting between the other tents to organise the newer recruits they'd been training with, they'd been teaching. The slim Nifl from the night before stuck close, and Aela wracked her brain for the poor kid's name. They were too small, too young; their horns impossibly tiny. A halfbreed? Or…was the magic just getting weaker, the blood of their ancestors getting weaker and weaker?
She corralled them together, shouting for order and telling them to pick up their belongings, to get their weapons secure and form a line towards the entrance to the camp. She didn't have the time to baby them and instead checked the slim Nifl's pack as they walked past; taking the heavy shield they'd been ordered to carry and strapping it to her own pack instead.
Things moved quickly here, apparently…and she needed to do better than just keep up.
The recruits looked to her though and she felt strong and capable as she led them to the rendezvous point Geva had pointed to her before.
Aela had expected the transition into the undead realm to be slow and obvious. When they'd travelled between Niflheim and Asgard that's how it had always been - movement through a barrier - unavoidable pressure and cold, slippery magic against her skin. This though, was just a blurry, weak excuse for a boundaryline. Mere mist in the tunnels that they snuck through. A thicker taste to the darkness that surrounded them. If she hadn't been told, if they hadn't started to see more and more signs of the undead, then she wouldn't have known where they were.
Wouldn't have known they'd left the realm she'd called home most of her life.
They'd seen signs of the undead as soon as they'd left the camp; the remains of previous skirmishes - the ancient nature of their enemy making the timing, the age of the battles hard to gauge. A quiet voice, one she hadn't recognised, had asked why none of their own dead were visible. Why the only sign was dropped armour, dented helmets or discarded weapons, and they'd gone sombre for quite some time when the answer was revealed.
Every one of their people who dropped became an addition to the army they fought to contain.
It was hard to handle, to know that the enemy was endless…that each and every forsaken warrior sent here as lambs to the slaughter. She'd known; of course, what her punishment truly meant. They all had, deep down…but it was easy to ignore. Easy to push to the backs of their minds when they were in a separate camp, focusing on training and improvement. Here, they were unable to ignore the truth of the matter.
To be a forsaken warrior, to wear the black mark on their faces…it was a death sentence.
Aela had said as much to Frigga when she'd asked. Had known it, even in the depths of her grief.
She'd quickly learned to watch for glowing blue in the dark, for the eyes that all undead held. Unlike the glowing red of the Frost Giants, or the Nifl, these were an eerie shade of blue that reminded her of the horrifying wraiths that resided in the snow-capped mountains of home. She thanked her stars every day that the blue was the only similarity though, as the painful howl of an ice wraith was exactly what their morale did not need as they came face to face with their own inevitable end. They'd begun fighting the enemy quickly, and she ensured those green newbies stayed safety behind her as she swung her axes at the pockets of undead they met as they travelled, who escaped the notice of those further ahead - or who thought they could take out the back squadron as an easier target.
Their pace was…slow. And it felt wrong, in her heart. It had come out shortly after leaving that they were heading out in aid of another camp, further in, yet they moved slowly…They should have had haste, a punishing drive to get to their destination before the worst happened; and yet they paused regularly, they stopped for a full meal as evening hit and slept under the stars before heading underground, before stepping through that mist into Hel itself.
They heard a shout from ahead, and Aela held back the urge to rush into battle, instead ensuring she had her group at the rear. She could see the blue eyes ahead, blinking into existence along one of those thin, impossibly dark cracks in the tunnel wall.
"Get behind us, shields up. I want everyone in turtle formation, you understand?"
She heard nothing and span, glare firmly in place - one she knew was only heightened and intensified by the great black smudge that covered her tattoos; by the way her red eyes shone in the gloom. There were other nifl's, of course, but not many who'd required quite as much branding as she.
"Where are the others?" she asked, shouting the question to some of the more seasoned warriors that had lingered alongside them; reaching into that shield wall to lift some spears, to ensure her creche was protected.
"Ahead, looks like we've split into two"
Aela shook her head, the growl coming from her chest unbidden. "Fantastic. So the bulk of our army is ahead, and we're getting further and further behind with every fucking attack from these undead"
She unbuckled her axe, spinning it and thanking one of the older warriors as he shooed her forward, standing alongside her recruits. He'd stopped fighting as much, he'd explained, as they walked together. Managed a lot of the camp running, nowadays.
Had been sentenced 80 years ago. Had another 30 or so in him before he truly needed putting back out to pasture.
Or left for dead…given where they were.
She could hear the fighting ahead, could see the swinging of weapons and crashed in beside them, her axe finding an immediate home in the bony skull of an undead.
"The kids safe?"
She huffed with amusement at the warmth in the other warriors' voice. She'd often wondered when she'd have children and had accidentally ended up with roughly 12 in the space of a fortnight. Hardly the bouncing black-haired child she'd begun picturing before leaving Asgard. "Yeah, Slo'le is with them, they're armed. How many enemies?"
Sam shrugged, pulling his bow back and barely hesitating before letting an arrow fly, before sliding another into its place. He was trying to aim at the ones in the far distance but in the gloom, with only eyes to try and aim at…
"Bodil, come on. We'll push forward. Archers! With Samin!"
They moved straight into position, and she wanted to grin. It was nice, feto feelike a regular person, but there would always be the part of her that purred like a cat in the sun when her orders were followed without question. And here, she knew it was simply something in her own presence. Earned loyalty, rather than forced.
She dashed ahead, Bodil at her side, sword at the ready, shield raised. Geva was there already; longsword slicing through the enemy.
"Thank you for hanging back" she called as she beheaded an undead without care.
"Couldn't leave you back here to die. I asked you to watch the recruits, not die for them. Get some fire over there"
Fire…she could do that. He was pointing into the gloom, where poor Sam was desperately trying to aim and fire, and palmed the lantern at her waist. She wished she had magic more than ever, and tried to find that well, that centre, but any inkling of it ignored her touch. Instead, she charged forwards, glad for her armour and the strapped shield on her back as she made her way to the other side of the room, unlatching the lantern and holding the ring in her teeth - throwing herself as high as she could and inhaling through her nose as she felt her hands catch the ledge. Her toes ground into the rock and she pushed herself up, hand over hand, until she found something big enough to hold the lantern and turned the flame up, casting the corridor in grim shadow. She could see the undead now, pushing through a gap in the rock, and shouted for the archers to focus on that left flank, on that gap.
She palmed an axe and turned on the wall, toes clinging for purchase before she tensed and threw herself down, landing atop two enemies and crushing them under both her weight and the heavy edge of the axe she wielded.
With light, the fight was far easier. It was dimming, quickly, burning through oil without a care in the world as they fought below, but she could at least see who she was hitting, could see arrows finally catching their mark. She quickly disarmed one of the undead, shoving the polearm into the gap again and again, showing whichever enemies remained that this was not the route for them to take.
"Get the light back down and turn it off, now! Any more enemies and we'll be overrun"
Slo'le's voice was one of experience, and she wouldn't argue. Not with someone who'd fought in these tunnels for decades, who'd lived long enough for his hands to start to bend with age. She nodded, scrambling back up the rock and reaching with the tips of her fingers for the lantern.
Things quietened for a moment as they caught their breath, and Aela realised she couldn't hear…anything.
Where were the other troops?
"Geva, where are the others?"
He looked back where they'd come from and roared in anger, pushing forward into the darkness and vanishing into the gloom. She absently rubbed the handle of her axe, a foreboding feeling settling deep into her chest.
She knew the importance of rest, of not rushing headfirst into danger…but there was something about this that felt insidious. What army platoon heard their rear guard get attacked and left them . Her mind ran as she watched Sam gasp, spinning and releasing another arrow with a quickness that she envied. All day she'd heard whispers and wondering. Why hadn't they set off sooner? Where had the leaders vanished to those days prior? Why were they going so slowly?
Why had they brought the newer recruits; when battles sprung around them unbidden? Not the newest, thank the Ancestors, but the ones not quite fully trained? Not quite ready for battle?
She couldn't help but think of Themsal's words before leaving, his belief that she'd joined to help bring the army back to order.
As soon as she got to him she'd discuss it more, find out exactly what was going on. For one section of a war effort to seem entirely unbothered by the possible ruin of another was unacceptable; and she knew something was wrong by the sheer discomfort on Sten's face, who'd been here so much longer than others. He said nothing though, and she took her cues from the Geva and the other more seasoned warriors, who exchanged nods with him and nothing more.
She heard footsteps and lifted her axes, sighing as she realised it was just Geva.
"They've gone, and they've taken the maps with them. I've been down here before, a few of us have, but this is unheard of"
Rage tinged his words, his tone clipped, tight, barely controlled. "I don't know why, but this doesn't"
"This wasn't accidental" She interrupted, hearing the grumble of enemies back the way they'd come. It didn't matter that it was safe mere moments before, not down in the tunnels. Enemies seeped from the walls like dripping water; and they didn't exactly have the bear manpower…
"No. It wasn't. And more enemies are behind us. They left lanterns, food…"
Aela shook her head. She should have lied. Surely it wasn't a coincidence. She arrives and Themsal is shipped out? Her only true ally? They get brought into the tunnels and simply left?
"I'll explain why later" she promised, teeth grit in anger. "But now…that crack is our only hope of getting out of here alive, unless we re-trace our steps"
They looked towards the narrow passage, the one the enemy had been scrambling out of previously. They had no idea where it went, but if behind was the surface, and ahead was danger…then this was their only hope.
"Who is it you pray to? Your elders?" Sam asked behind, and Aela shook her head. "Our Ancestors"
"Then by those Ancestors, Aela, your friendship better be fucking worth it"
"Now might be a good time to…reconnect with my Gods, Aela. Maybe"
She grimaced, taking a deep breath and nodding, taking off her pack and holding the torch up, peering into the crack.
