Chains to Bond
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The Elves and Dwarves agreed to join the festivities in Midgard faster than Kratos had believed they would. He had expected more resistance from the Elves, given their reverence towards Freyr, and bipolar dislike of Freya, but their leadership had been in an agreeable mood, and vowed to at least extend the invitation to their people.
Durlin and the rest of the dwarven leadership had simply asked if there would be appropriately sized furniture before agreeing. When Skjöldr said they would have to be made, the dwarves replied that was even better, and promised to make their own furniture.
All in all, it was a successful venture.
And then came the part that Kratos was actually looking forward to—announcing the games and tournament. Tyr spent far too much time drafting the announcement letters and enchanted sign-up sheets they would send to the Realms, but it was all worth it, in the end. Within hours, they had received dozens of applicants eager to test their mettle. He noted that Sora's was the first name on the list, Thrúd's a close second.
Now, all Kratos had to do was finish preparing for the festivities and wait.
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They day of the celebrations, Kratos awoke at dawn to an empty house. Atreus stayed in Jotunheim to lead the Jotun to Midgard in something reminiscent of an official capacity. Mimir, it was quickly turning out, would be staying in Vanaheim for the foreseeable future for a host of reasons. Even Sora had spent the last few nights away from the house; first in Vanaheim, having finally been dragged by Mimir to exposit on the nature of Dreams to Olrun and whoever else wished to bash their heads against a wall, and then in the Skjöldr's village, to assist the chefs.
And yet, the silence was not distressing. If anything, Kratos was…content. Yes, content that his son and friends had meaningful ways to occupy themselves.
Still, just because he woke up alone did not mean that he was arriving alone.
He had just finished breakfast—a rich pike stew Sora had made the previous day—when the wolves began to bark excitedly. Kratos stood, and opened the door to find Tyr waiting outside, his golden Bifrost eyes alight with anticipation.
"All set, my friend?" Tyr asked with a smile.
Kratos simply nodded.
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"Hey, Kratos. If I pray to you that everything goes well, it'll come true, right?" Skjöldr asked as he paced back-and-forth in front of the kitchens.
"Prayers do not work like that," Kratos bluntly replied, idly reaching down to pet Speki and Svanna. He had originally planned to leave them home but decided to bring them as a little surprise for Atreus. Tyr sent him an insufferable smirk at the explanation, but fled to his temple before he could bear the brunt of Kratos's glare.
"Then why do we even have gods?" Skjöldr asked with a scoff.
"Just relax," Sora—who was taking a short break from his cooking duties—said with a genial smile. "It'll all work out!"
"Easy for you to say! You're not the one in charge of this whole thing!"
"Skjöldr," Kratos gruffly, if kindly, cut in. "While prayers account for little, I vow to do all in power to ensure no incidents occur that would spoil this day. As will Atreus, Tyr, Freya, and others. It will be fine."
The young mortal nodded, some of his tension seeping away. "Right, thanks." He shook his head. "Sorry. Don't mean to take anything out on you guys."
"It's fine," Sora assured him. "But you can rest on your laurels a bit, you know? I mean look at all this!" He spread his arms out towards the rest of the grounds, and the people performing last-minute inspections before the first of the Midgardians from the surrounding villages arrived—perhaps a bit more thoroughly than usual, after the Vanir had used their magic to expand the grounds and buildings to accommodate the extra guests, and the dwarves delivered their own, height appropriate furniture. "So many people came together thanks to you to create this. They had enough faith in you to put all this together, so have some faith in them to see it through."
"It was a joint effort," Skjöldr said with a slight blush. Sora just chuckled and clapped him on the back before reentering the kitchens.
Kratos let the silence settle for a moment before adding, "Sora speaks true. You are a good leader, and a good man. This would not be happening otherwise." The wolves barked in what Kratos presumed was agreement.
Skjöldr bent down to pet the wolves. "If you guys are chiming in, I guess I'd better stop complaining." He stood up, and a horn bellowed from the north, followed by another from the east. The Midgardians had started their approach.
"Guess it's time," Skjöldr said as he rose to his feet.
"The true test shall come later," Kratos replied, walking with him to the center of the grounds. Skjöldr's face twisted in worry, before he exhaled, calm confidence taking its place.
The mortals had started to diverge from their groups for the various stalls, but all quickly assembled up again upon seeing Skjöldr and Kratos. Without prompting, the mortal leader stepped ahead of Kratos and addressed the crowd.
"My friends, thank you all for coming! It took a lot of work to get here but let me be the first to say; be proud of yourselves!" He spread his arms wide. "I mean, look at us! A few short years ago we were practically beggars, praying for Odin's mercy. Now, our people are back, home, and thriving!" He side-eyed Kratos. "Not to mention, we're cozying up to a much better god."
Kratos rolled his eyes at the shameless attempt at flattery. Nevertheless, he did step forward to address the crowd. "I shall keep this brief," he said, for he knew he would also have to address all the other races once they arrived. "As Skjöldr said, you have accomplished much since Ragnarök, and all that preceded it. I am glad to have played a part in it. And thankful that you have all graciously accepted my hasty additions to your festivities."
Kratos was by no means an empath like his son or Sora, but even he was able to feel the plethora of positive emotions—joy, relief, and others he couldn't even begin to parse out—emanating from the assembled mortals before him. The ones that weren't bowing their heads in reverence were smiling brightly at him—even the children.
Once, Odin has questioned if Kratos had ever known the love and worship of mortal followers. He had no desire to converse with the mad god beyond anything concerning Atreus, so he did not respond that once, ages ago, the people of Sparta had worshipped him. But standing before these people…Kratos did not think that the fervor of Sparta's mortals—earned through his ability to lead them to conquer their neighboring city-states—was the same kind of love as what he was currently experiencing. Briefly, Kratos wondered what kind of love Odin had been referring to; he highly doubted it was this kind.
Taking a moment to bask in this new, warm feeling, Kratos eventually nodded at the assembled mortals, who understood the implicit dismissal and split off to wander the grounds. A few children tried to approach—their eyes drawn to the wolves—but they were pulled away by their parents.
Kratos suppressed an amused huff; good. Just because they might 'love' him didn't mean they were careless.
"That went well," Skjöldr remarked.
Kratos nodded. "All that is left is welcoming the visitors from the rest of the Realms." Skjöldr just nodded, and as one, they patrolled the grounds to ensure everything was running smoothly.
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The horn signaling the visitors from the other Realms sounded an hour after the Midgardians had arrived. Everyone seemed to still, and they looked to the respective leader of their villages, who looked to Kratos. He simply grunted and moved towards the eastern entrance.
Freya, as befitting her status of Queen of Vanaheim, led the large assembly of races forward, her Shield Maidens—including its prospective members, such as Thrúd—acting as her honor guard as the Aesir and Vanir trailed behind. The Maven, a high-ranking Dark Elf Kratos did not recognize, and Byggvir and Beyla led the contingent of tense Elves. Durlin and Lúnda guided the somewhat withdrawn dwarves. And finally, there came Atreus and Angrboda atop Fenrir, a herd of Jotun in animal bodies—and Gryla, to Kratos's mild shock—in their wake. He did not, however, see Mimir with either Freya or Atreus. He could only assume that his friend asked to travel with Tyr, at the back of the column.
Skjoldr let out strangled whimper. "That is a lot of people—and I thought there weren't any more actual Giants?"
"Calm yourself," Kratos sternly, if kindly, stated. Svanna took it upon herself to reach over and nose Skjöldr's left hand. The young man smiled as he pet the wolf, before stepping forward to greet the arrivals.
Freya stopped just before the entrance and nodded at Skjöldr. "Lord Skjöldr."
"Queen Freya," Skjöldr nodded back, before going down the list of leaders. He had a wide smile on his face at the end, that was only slightly strained. "I'm so glad everyone could make it!"
"And we're all glad you were willing to accommodate us," Freya pleasantly replied, before turning to Kratos. They had both agreed that Kratos would need to hold a speech. She, however, believed that it would be better saved at the end of the day—after everyone had the chance to consume copious amounts of alcohol. Kratos, however, wanted to get it over and done with. As the person giving the speech, he had the final say, and would do it now. Despite her belief that drunk revelers would be more susceptible to his, as she put it 'aloof vernacular'.
Kratos took a deep breath and cast an eye the crowd, lingering on each race before looking over them all.
"I was not born in these lands," he began. "But it is the home of my loved ones, and as such, is my home as well. The Realms are beautiful, and its people strong, one and all." He took a deep breath. "But it, and we, have been damaged. We are healing, still. And with time, I have no doubt that each of the Realms shall return to the heights of their former glory. But that is not enough."
Kratos shook his head. "We cannot become content with how things used to be. We can be more. Be better. But it must be together. The wounds within and between the Realms are many, some deeper than others." He noticed a handful of Dwarves glare at the Aesir, who dutifully ignored them. "But we have a chance, a true chance, to grow from it. In ways previously unattainable. I aim to do so, and it is my hope that you all join me on the path forward."
Freya and Atreus were beaming at him at the end of his speech. Subtly, he nodded at them. "That is all," he concluded. "Enjoy the festivities," he said before turning on his heel, and heading towards the Shotput and Javelin fields.
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One of the initial hurdles in planning the Shotput and Javelin events was, as with the tournament at the end of the day, a suitable reward. As with the tournament, one of the people he had appointed to run the events suggested a direct competition with Kratos himself.
However, even though Kratos had not performed either event in ages, he knew that he would blow anyone else out of the water, and he didn't want to discourage anyone. Instead, the solution came to them at the end of the day, when Skjöldr had dragged Kratos into taste-testing dishes.
"So, how good are these cakes?" a dwarven woman asked as she, and others, read the posts describing the events and their rewards—entry into a lottery for cakes. One voucher simply for participating, with the chance to earn more depending on your performance.
"They are delicious," Kratos replied: the same as all the food Sora made. At his feet, Speki and Svanna barked in agreement.
The small crowd exchanged glances, and the dwarf woman shrugged. "Good enough for me. Lemme at that ball thing!"
"It is called Shotput," he called out, only to be ignored. With the ice broken, the various contenders lined up for the events. The Javelin was straightforward, and people were walking away with several vouchers, some lining up again just for fun.
Shotput, as Kratos privately suspected, went much slower. There was no true equivalent to it within the Realms. The proctors Kratos had selected—who took to it shockingly quickly, he could admit—did their best, but it was a slow process. Still, he only had to step in once to demonstrate the proper form, and after the dwarf woman earned herself three vouchers, the rest went on ahead. Few performed 'well', if he was being honest, but they had fun.
Satisfied that the proctors had a handle on things, Kratos left the fields to explore the rest of the grounds—staying on the edge, to not distract anyone. Speki and Svanna kept close to his side, panting happily at all the sights and sounds.
Indeed, Kratos had not seen such liveliness anywhere in the Realms as long as he'd lived there. There was tension, of course. The dwarves did their best to avoid the Aesir, and the Light and Dark Elves would eye each other warily whenever groups passed each other. But for all the looks, there were no fights. For now, that was enough.
Then, the wolves barked, and bound forward to ram into Fenrir, who had either been set on the outskirts by Atreus to prevent any unwitting destruction or had chosen to do so himself. The giant wolf let loose a rumbling yip and bent down to nose his old friends. His eyes brightened when he caught sight of Kratos, and none too subtly tilted his head and present his left cheek to Kratos.
Kratos huffed in amusement, but indulged and scratched Fenrir just under his ear. "Spoiled mutt," he grumbled with no heat.
"Father!" his son's voice called from behind him. He turned, just in time to see Speki and Svanna bound over and tackle him to the ground. Angrboda laughed at him, until he reached up and pulled her down with him, the wolves more than happy to slobber over her as well.
Kratos smiled the scene before him. Before, his son's freedom with emotion had, he could admit, annoyed him. A holdover from the stoic discipline his Spartan training had instilled in him. But now, to see him so open with his loved ones…He wished Faye could have lived to see him.
Eventually, the wolves let them go, and Kratos moved forward to help them up. "You are both enjoying yourselves?" he asked.
"Yeah!" Atreus beamed after wiping the slobber from his face. "This is going off better than I thought."
"Implying that your father can't plan a party?" Angrboda teased.
"Yeah," Atreus replied with blunt honesty. "Was that ever in doubt?" He gestured to Kratos. "I mean, c'mon, you've met him." Kratos rolled his eyes, but was willing to admit his son had a point.
Atreus smirked at Angrboda's frown. "You should know by now that you're never gonna get me." His smirk widened as he pulled her close, fingers dancing along her hips. She immediately blushed. "Not like I can get you."
"She 'got' you when she praised Sora's features when they first met," Kratos cut in. He had to fight hard to smother the chuckle bubbling up his throat at the sharp glare his son sent his way.
Angrboda's smile was all teeth. "Nice point, Kratos. Maybe I can do something with that."
"Whose side are you?" Atreus grumbled.
"I have been 'on your side', your entire life," Kratos replied. "You no longer need my constant support." Atreus tried but was unable to fight the begrudging smile that wormed its way onto his face.
Kratos smiled, back, before frowning as he turned to Angrboda. "I was not expecting Gryla to come."
Her smile shrank a bit. "Me neither. But I think it's good, you know? Getting out of Jotunheim."
"Perhaps." Kratos would be lying if he said he didn't understand the grief and rage that had driven Gryla for the last decade or so of her life. He saw much of his old self in her. But she never sought him out, and he would not push her.
"But there's so much going on here!" Angrboda gushed. "Especially with Skjöldr and everyone had to adjust everything at the last minute. Like that stone carrying thing the Midgardians are going crazy over." Her face pinched in confusion. "Why do they do that?"
"It is a measure of strength," Kratos replied. "Did the Giants not have any?"
"I mean…when your race doesn't really have a 'set size', you don't really compare physical feats." She hummed. "We did have a lot of art competitions, though." Atreus grunted in interest. "Oh, yeah. People would draw lots to decide a theme, and a week or so later people would come together and show off how they chose to represent it. My mom and dad met through one, actually."
"Did they?" Kratos asked as he led them into the grounds proper.
"Oh yeah. Real cute story. I loved hearing it." She linked arms with Atreus. "How'd you and Laufey meet, anyway?"
"We tried to kill one another," Kratos replied fondly.
"…You know what? That tracks."
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Kratos wandered with Atreus and Angrboda for a good while. The Midgardians, he noted, were far more open to him than the other races. But no one shied away from him in fear, so all was good.
Atreus and Angrboda tried their hand at a few card games. Angrboda failed miserably—she had no sense of guile. Her opponents actually seemed guilty at how easily they could read her. Atreus, on the other hand, bluffed better than seasoned gamblers. Kratos had initially refused to play, but his son's juvenile taunts wore him down.
He took pleasure in how swiftly Atreus's smug assurance turned into bewildered irritation. Skilled he may be, Kratos could always tell when his son was trying to lie.
Eventually, however, Angrboda and Atreus sought to be alone. As all young lovers desired. Speki and Svanna also wandered away from him, following a trio of Jotun-wolves. Thus, Kratos was alone, as he spent most parties in his life. He was not, however, lonely, as he had once been in Greece. Not only was he in a much better place, mentally, than he had been back then, but the general air of the party was much lighter.
All the parties and festivals he attended were superficial. Either fearful attempts to appease the gods, or raucous celebrations of conquering an enemy. This…this was simply the joy of life.
He found a small table, and watched over the grounds with a content hum, a mug of ale in his hands. As it was, his attention was caught by the culinary performance Sora hosted. He wielded his knife as skillfully as his Keyblade, chopping fruits, vegetables, and meat at lightning speed. His Flambe technique was easily the highlight, never failing to draw excited gasps from the crowd.
"Is this seat taken?"
Kratos looked to the left, surprised to see Sif standing before him. Still, he gestured to the table, and she sat. She made a face at his mug—a mix of longing and loathing—and Kratos quickly set it away from her.
She quickly shook her head. "Oh no! Please, don't do anything on my account."
"I know how difficult it is to change a deep-rooted aspect of yourself. I would not make it harder on you."
"Pretending that alcohol does not exist—and that people do not enjoy it—does not help me."
Kratos considered her statement. After a moment, he nodded, grabbed his mug, and finished it in one long gulp. He let loose a content sigh and set it down with a dull thud.
Sif snorted, and then laughed. "Ha! Thor would have loved you." She then froze, as did Kratos.
Kratos closed his eyes, and after he opened them, turned to fully face Sif. "I…I have never properly apologized for those I took from you."
She looked down and shook her head. "Thor's death was not your fault."
"But Magni's and Modi's was."
Sif stiffened, nostrils flaring as her eyes lit up with fury. But that fury vanished, and in the end, she simply slumped in on herself. "My son's…They were arrogant, in the assumption of their survival due to Groa's fake prophecy—something none of us did anything to assuage. And you did kill Magni, yes." She clenched her fists atop the table. "But Modi…his death falls on mine and Thor's shoulders. We should have listened to him. Comforted him. Not…" she trailed off with a stricken expression.
Kratos stayed silent, knowing all too well how one's shortcomings could affect their children. To horrifying ends.
"But I still have Thrúd," Sif said, lips curling into a small smile. "And if not for you, who knows what Odin would have done to her in the future. In that, I'm forever grateful."
"Very well," Kratos said with a nod. As he did, he caught sight of Freya, Mimir held in her arms, as she walked over to them.
"Well, this is quite the unlikely duo," Mimir remarked as Freya say down and set him on the table.
"I could say the same of you two," Sif replied, earning a snort from Freya.
"I have not seen you all day," Kratos directed at Mimir.
"Oh, I've bouncing around from friend to friend," Mimir replied jovially. "Spent most of the day with Tyr, and a few blissful hours with Sigrún." He winced. "Well, perhaps not entirely blissful, because the next thing I knew she handed me off to Lúnda and her devil dog." He darted his gaze over to Freya. "M'lady here had kindly saved me!"
"After which I immediately decided to dump him onto you," Freya said with a smirk.
"Tired of me already?"
"I've spent the last week with you, yes." Freya rolled her eyes. "I don't know how Kratos put up with you all these years."
"I have found it is good to have a constant source of noise droning in the background," Kratos answered.
"Why are we friends?" Mimir bemoaned as Sif and Freya laughed.
When she finished, Sif looked to the side, her smile shrinking into something more devious. "Oh, look at them!" Kratos turned to see Skjöldr and Thrúd beside Atreus and Angrboda, all of them watching Sora perform some sort of cooking spectacle. Well, Atreus and Angrboda were. Skjöldr and Thrúd slowly crept towards the edge of the crowd, careful not to draw attention.
"They really think I don't know, don't they?" Sif said with an amused snort.
"Ah, they're young and in love," Mimir said. "Let them think they're getting one over on you. It'll make it all the more satisfying when you pull the rug out from under them!"
"Do you disapprove?" Kratos asked. "I am aware you have spoken with her on the subject of marriage."
Sif sighed. "Oh, that was more to give her a push forward. Certainly, as a goddess she could afford to take her time and think things through. But that's not really fair to Skjöldr, is it?"
"Is such a relationship even fair to begin with?" Freya said with a frown. "He is a mortal, after all. Barring a fall in battle, she will certainly outlive him; stay young where he would grow old and feeble."
Kratos felt a need to interject. "I entered my relationship with Faye under the assumption that she was a normal, mortal woman." He looked down at his belt, where he still kept the pouch that once contained her ashes. "I believed that she would not live near as long as I wished—indeed, her sudden death cut that time even shorter. But I would not trade the time we shared for anything." He looked up at Sif, resolute. "It hurts, yes. But the pain is more than worth it."
Sif wore a contemplative frown. "I see…Thank you, Kratos." She turned back to her daughter and her 'secret' lover. "That's…something of a comfort, I suppose."
Kratos nodded and settled back in his seat. But only for a moment, because he quickly noted the position of the sun in the sky. With a grin, he rose to his feet, and hooked Mimir on his belt.
"What's got you all worked up?" Freya asked with a knowing smile. Kratos let out an amused huff in response and made way for the tournament grounds. It was finally time for the main event.
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A/N: Fun fact: Kratos, Sif, and Freya could form a very specific club.