Frozen Heart
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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Atreus heard the cry of a rooster somewhere in the distance, the shrill noise cutting through his sleep-addled brain. He blearily opened his eyes, momentarily shocked to find that he was neither home, nor in Angrboda's treehouse—though she was curled to his side, grumbling in her sleep.
And then he recalled the events of the previous night—well, some of them.
As he'd expected, the mood of the party hit a crescendo following Father and Sora's match—which ended in a draw, but Atreus wasn't near awake enough to contemplate how terrifying the thought was.
He and Angrboda had wandered hand-in-hand through the grounds before stopping right where the raffles for Sora's specially made desserts would be held. Everyone who had participated in any of the events had earned one ticket, and those that performed well earned more.
Atreus and Angrboda had both earned a fair few tickets between the two of them, but the amount of total tickets in the pool was so large they organizers of the raffle had to divide them into five buckets to at least try and be fair about it.
They hadn't won a crème brulé like Angrboda wanted—by the time one of Atreus's tickets was pulled, they'd all been taken. But they did get another treat, a soufflé, to share. Atreus had actually eaten one during the time leading up to the festival, and he delighted in how Angrboda's face lit up on her first spoonful. But even after the raffle, Sora cooked nonstop, churning out treat after delicious treat. He'd baked so many sweets that Atreus was certain that everyone had put on a collective ten tons after devouring them all.
And then the Midgardians brought out the alcohol. Giant kegs of Aesir voda, Midgardian ale, Vanir mead—all manner of drinks from all manner of people. Suffice to say, the vast majority of partygoers got utterly wasted, Atreus included.
His mind was utterly blank after his fifth drink, but he was fully dressed, under the covers of one of the roadhouse-esque beds the Midgardians had created for this exact situation, and cuddling with Angrboda—who was also fully dressed—so whatever he ended up doing, it couldn't have been anything too terrible.
He sat up, rubbing his eyes with a yawn. As he did so, Angrboda blindly reached a hand out and pulled on his arm. "Come back to bed, Loki."
Atreus chuckled, reaching down and brushing her hair out of her face. "It's not your bed, though." She grunted in confusion, before snapping her eyes open.
She slowly pushed herself up and stared around their little room. "Oh…"
"Yeah, I don't remember anything about my fifth drink."
Angrboda moved past her initial alarm as she snorted. "Lightweight. I lasted 'till my tenth." She said proudly, only to wince, and rub her temples with a groan.
"Sure…But which one of us has a hangover?"
"Fuck off," she groused without any heat. Atreus laughed and helped her out of bed and slowly led her out the roadhouse. As they slowly trudged out, there was a veritable harmony of hangover-induced moans from the other rooms as the other revelers finally woke up.
"Listen," Atreus teased. "It's the language of your people."
"Don't push it, Loki. I will throw up on you." Angrboda tried to glare at him, but they exited the building at that moment, and she averted her gaze from the sun with a hiss.
Atreus chuckled, and led them to the kitchens, where, based on the smells, they were distributing hangover cures. Sora, up early for once, was one of the chefs distributing stews for the poor, unfortunate souls. He perked up and waved when he saw them. "Hey guys!"
"Hey Sora," Atreus said as he helped Angrboda to a seat. "Some party last night, huh?"
"Yeah, everyone got…wild." Sora chuckled awkwardly, pouring out two bowls for them. "Lost track of how many people Dwarves begged me for the chance to study my Keyblade. I felt bad when they all started dogpiling each other to be first—never mind that I never agreed to it in the first place."
At Sora's words, a flash of last night burned through Atreus's mind. He recalled Lúnda standing atop a pile of Dwarves, a roaring in triumph before she tripped on someone's leg and landed within the heap, dead to the world. And then Tyr…did something? Yeah, he hauled the unconscious dwarves—which was all but a dozen—onto a couple of carts and wheeled them back to Svartalfheim once the party unofficially drew to a close.
Angrboda groaned as she partook in her cure. "Don't remind me. I didn't even know that animals could get drunk, much less animal with Jotnar souls in them."
More memories bubbled to the surface. Atreus stifled a laugh as he recalled how several Jotnar with antlers ended up getting themselves stuck together while improvising some sort of dance routine. Gryla and Father, of all the pairs, ended up spending the better part of an hour carefully untangling them before forcing them back to Jotunheim via one of Fenrir's portals—not trusting any of them to not get lost in the forests of Midgard. When Sora and Angrboda looked at him, he just waved them off and dug into his stew.
"Oh, Sora," he said after a few spoonsful. "Congrats again on the draw against Father. Couldn't have been easy."
"It wasn't!" the young man admitted with a wide grin. "Your dad made me struggle for every inch of that fight."
"It really was impressive," Angrboda said, her mood rising as the stew slowly worked its magic. "I thought Tyr was the only other person around that could match Kratos."
"What about Sigrún or Freya?" Atreus asked.
Angrboda shrugged. "He already killed Sigrún once—or however that curse worked—and Freya was never able to win back when she was trying to kill him. Compared to that, Sora's got a much better showing." Sora preened at the praise. "And man, it's so cool how your Keyblades can transform! Can they all do that?"
"Most," Sora replied as he served more hungover folk that staggered to their seats. "But I only recently learned how to transform my Keyblades, I've still got a lot to learn." Atreus couldn't help the shiver that ran down his spine at the reminder that Sora had only had the Keyblade for about two years. Two years, and he could fight Father to a draw.
"There are other Keyblade Wielders where you're from, right?" Angrboda asked. "Can they transform their Keyblades too?"
Sora tilted his head up and hummed. "I guess so, but I've only ever seen Lea, Terra, and Xehanort—his present and youngest self—do it. Aqua and Ventus can too, but I think they only do it for travel. And now that I'm thinking about it, I don't know if Terra or Lea really count. I mean, Lea's just changing them back to his old Chakrams, which is a transformation sure, but kinda not at the same time. And Terra, back when he was just a suit of armor, could transform his Keyblade into a hover bike, a whip, a canon, a bow, a knuckle duster, attack drones, and a couple other things I didn't get a good look at when he was trying to kill me. But he didn't use any of that when he and the rest of our friends were fighting Xehanort's Replicas." He frowned. "Actually, he was using a different Keyblade after he regained his body. Why was that?" He hummed in thought, before shrugging. "I guess when he lost his body and Heart whatever was left behind pushed his abilities to the max, and when he got them back, he lost access to them." He snorted. "Hope he has better luck then me in regaining his lost strength."
Angrboda—and a few of the other people around them that hadn't tuned Sora out—gaped at him. Atreus, used to the insanity, simply nodded and smiled at the end of Sora's tale and ate his stew with gusto.
"…I will give you half my winnings if you never talk to me about your life again," Angrboda eventually declared.
"Didn't you win all that money betting on me?" Sora asked with a grin. "If anything, you owe me regardless." Angrboda whimpered before turning back to her stew, defeated. Sora chuckled and ambled back into the kitchen.
Atreus finished his stew first, so he turned in his seat to watch the festival grounds. They were practically deserted compared to how packed it was yesterday. However, the scant few people there weren't just Midgardians. There were elves, dwarves, Vanir, Aesir, and even a handful of Jotun. It wasn't much, and same as yesterday, the groups were largely separate. But they were polite, friendly, even.
Angrboda finished her stew and rested her head beside the empty bowl. Atreus poked her cheek. "Feeling better?"
"Getting there. Sora's…everything's making my head pound again, though. And my legs are sore, think I slept on them funny."
Atreus hummed in sympathy. "Poor thing. Well, I'm sure they won't kick you out until you recover." Angrboda made a rude gesture as he stood up. He rubbed her shoulder in solidarity before walking away. He wanted to find Skjöldr before heading back to Jotunheim with Angrboda. Although now that he was thinking about his friend, he gained another hazy recollection of the last night. How he'd…hoisted Thrúd over his shoulder and marched to a bedroom? No, the opposite. Or both? Either way, they'd left together in some fashion. And were probably still together, in some fashion.
He quickly did an about-face and scanned through the scattered crowd for anyone he recognized. There was no one, but he did spy his father coming in from the southern entrance. He jogged over to him.
"Atreus," Father greeted with a nod. "You have recovered from your revelry." He took a moment to look Atreus up-and-down.
Atreus chuckled nervously. "W-What do you mean 'recovered'?"
Father eyed him, before grunting in amusement. "If you do not recall, then I shall not remind you." That did nothing to ease Atreus's worries, and his father knew it. "How is Angrboda faring?"
"She's still a little touch-and-go. So go easy on her when you see her." Father grunted in that 'I don't care' way of his, but he'd always had a soft spot for Angrboda, so he'd definitely tone down his usual Kratosness.
Atreus and his father ambled side-by-side through the festival grounds. "Where's Mimir?" he asked.
"He left with Sigrún for Vanaheim. She has the next few days off to recover, and they intend to make the most of it." Father smiled softly at the thought of their friends. "She and the other Shield-Maidens have expressed a greater interest in Flowmotion. I suspect their time together will be spent teasing out how to teach it to them as much as spending time alone."
"Spending time with his love or lecturing others?" Atreus hummed. "That's actually a tough choice for Mimir." He and Father shared a brief chuckle, before Father turned his gaze to the festival grounds. There was a faraway, calculating look in his eyes. "…You thinking about doing this again next year?"
"Yes." Father tilted his head up to the sky. "Yesterday was a good day. I am…looking forward to next year." The hesitance in Father's voice made Atreus smile.
"You have more events from your homeland you wanted to introduce, but didn't because they were too involved, right?" Father nodded. "Well, you've got year to introduce them. And if people take to them like they did the javelin and shotput, well, Sora might have to spend the month prior doing nothing but baking sweets."
"…Sora will not be here, Atreus." Father replied. "He will have hopefully returned to his home, but at the very least will have left this World."
Atreus stopped. "Oh…right." He looked to his feet and scratched his chin. "Silly of me to forget." For all that Sora regularly reminded him that he was not of this World, he'd slotted into their lives remarkably well. With his skills, and the friends he'd made, he could easily carve out his own life within the Realms. But despite all that, Sora wouldn't stay. Even without his desire to return to his home his lot in life was to pass through Worlds like a comet, burning brightly for all to see before vanishing for who knew how long.
Briefly, Atreus wondered just how many times Sora had done this. Travelled to a new World, made good friends, begin building up to something resembling a permanent life, only to leave it all behind for the next adventure. He wondered if it ever got lonely.
Atreus and his father didn't have any sort of destination in mind, merely content to walk beside each other. A few people greeted them—Father, really—as they walked, but for the most part, they were ignored. For once, Atreus felt as if the Realms weren't looking to either of them.
Of course, it couldn't last.
"Kratos! Kratos! Where the hell are ya?!" Lúnda's panicked cry from the center of the grounds. Atreus and his father exchanged alarmed looks, before rushing towards her.
Lúnda—still wearing the clothes she passed out in last night—was running around shouting her head off. When she saw them, instead of relaxing, she grew more serious. She even used Dwarven magic to pop in front of them as opposed to just walking, or even sprinting, over.
"There you are!" she exclaimed at Father. "It's Sindri." That brought them both up short. "He just showed in Niðavellir last night, his entire body just shy of being completely frostbitten. I only found out after Ræb shoved some hangover cure down my throat an hour ago."
"Well how is he now?" Atreus asked, stricken. Sindri, rightly, wanted nothing to do with him. But he still thought of the Dwarf as a friend, and hearing that he was hurt tore at his heart.
"Knocked out. But he started stirring a bit ago." Lúnda looked up at Father. "Mumbled your name, and something about Keyblades."
Father drew back in shock. But a calculating gleam entered his eyes seconds after. "Where has he been?"
"I've got no damn clue," Lúnda said, tapping her foot on the ground. "He was still ice-cold when I left, and he's thin and looks sickly. I just can't figure out where he could've been that would make him get like that, but only come back now."
That was a real good question. Sindri was wily, despite his neurotic behavior. And ever since he was almost killed by that dragon on Midgard's highest peak, he'd gotten even better at slipping away from danger. Even if someone tried to trap him, it wouldn't stop him. Not unless they somehow found a way to cut off Dwarves from the magic that let them—
"Niflheim!" Atreus gasped as the idea shot through his mind like lightning. "He must've been trapped in Niflheim after Sora cut if off from the World Tree!"
Lúnda gasped as the pieces slotted into place. "Oh! Oh, poor Sindri. That must've been terrible!"
"But how did he leave?" Father asked, face set into a heavy frown. "And how did he hear of the Keyblade?"
Atreus gulped. "Well…Sinmara's the only other person that lives there. And you're pretty sure she knows about them, right?" Father nodded gravely. "…We need to talk to Sindri."
"I'll meet you back at Svartalfheim," she said with a nod. She turned around and vanished from sight. Only to come stumbling back with a yelp. Atreus darted forward to help her up, only to stop at the sight of Sindri popping in and collapsing on top of her.
"Sindri!" Atreus goggled. Atreus helped both dwarves up, keeping a hand on Sindri's arm to hold him steady. Lúnda undersold how bad Sindri was—he looked like a corpse and was cold as one.
"You idiot!" Lúnda pushed Atreus aside as she grabbed onto Sindri's shoulders. "What the hell are you doing out of bed?"
Sindri ignored them both, panting heavily as he stared up at Father. "Kratos, Sinmara's looking for something called a Keyblade. She wants it by any means necessary."
Father sucked in a breath. Quick as a flash, he picked Sindri up. The dwarf shuddered and huddled against Father for warmth. "Lúnda, go to Vanaheim. Inform Freya, Tyr, and Mimir that they must come to Midgard now." Lúnda hesitated a moment, prompting Father to bark out, "Now!" That lit a fire under her, and with a determined glare, she vanished from sight.
"Atreus, find Skjöldr. We must get the remaining people here to safety."
"Wait, you think Sinmara's gonna show up? Now?"
"I built her a device," Sindri mumbled into Father's chest. "Same thing that let me leave Niflheim." He wheezed. "She'll be at full strength, or near enough." That terrifying statement was all Atreus needed, and he dashed away, changing forms into a wolf to better sniff out his friend.
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Kratos bellowed orders for people to find his son for safety—to follow the wolf he had changed into. Alarm readily spread amongst the scattered crowd, but people slowly headed that direction.
"Not you, Sora." Kratos said as he saw Sora leap over the kitchen counter. He twisted in the air, landing on his toes as he bounded over to Kratos. Kratos nodded and set Sindri lying down on the counter. The dwarf weakly protested leaving Kratos's grip, but when Kratos took hold of one of the Blades of Chaos and held it over Sindri's body, willing it to light up to about the strength of a hearth, he readily relaxed.
"What's going on?" Sora asked, before gasping down at Sindir. "Oh man, what happened?"
"This is Sindri," Kratos replied. "He has been trapped in Niflheim with Sinmara."
Sora grew stricken. "What?! Oh man, I'm so sorry! I had no idea."
"None of us knew, do not blame yourself."
Sindir groaned, and slowly blinked his eyes open. "It really was that Keyblade thing that kept me trapped in Niflheim? Man, Sinmara was right. Thing's powerful." He tilted his head to the side, to get a better look at Sora. He then froze, his eyes widening as he slowly propped himself up on his elbows.
Sora grinned. "Let me guess, you like my clothes?"
"What the hell kind of magic is on those things?" Sindri said in wonder, his voice near-instantly regaining its strength. "It's some kind of multi-layered array of enchantments—how do they not interfere with each other?"
"Sindri," Kratos gruffly cut in. "This is not the time."
The dwarf shook his head with a wince. "Er, right. Sorry." He swallowed and turned to Kratos. "Listen, the device I made Sinmara—it's a harness that covers her chest—it's got two functions. The first is getting her out of Niflheim, the second is granting her access to the full breadth of her abilities."
Kratos furrowed his brow at the second part. "What you mean?"
"Sinmara loses access to a lot of her raw power and abiities outside of Niflheim—and Muspelheim, thanks to her link with Surtr." Kratos recalled Mimir speculating such when they first faced her weeks ago. "She told me that she wasn't about to risk anything less than her entire being to get the Keyblade." He eyed Sora. "But, no offense kid, I don't see the need."
"Sora's abilities are unlike any the Realms have seen before," Kratos replied as Sora pouted at the dismissal. "Believe me, he is powerful."
Sindri hissed through his teeth. "If you're saying that, then Sinmara might still be screwed." There was something in Sindri's tone that caught Kratos's attention. A kind of…worry?
Sora cut in, interrupting Kratos's thoughts. "Sindri, how much time do we have before Sinmara gets here?"
"I have no idea." Sindri sighed. "I left her in Niflheim to charge the device. It utilizes Primordial Energy to basically bypass the World Tree's inherent mechanisms that keep the Realms separate." He licked his lips. "How long was I out?"
"You arrived sometime last night," Kratos answered.
"That's what, twelve hours, give or take?" Sindir frowned. "I don't think it'll take much longer."
Kratos let out a low breath. That could mean anywhere from the next second to the next day. He looked at Sora, who wore a determined frown, before turning back to Sindri. "Why does Sinmara seek the Keyblade?"
Sindri grew withdrawn at the question. He clasped his hands over his chest and sighed. "She…She thinks she can use it to bring back Surtr." And all at once, Kratos's sympathy for Sinmara soared to new heights. Sindri stared questioningly at Sora. "It…can't do that, right?"
Alarmingly, Sora did not deny the question. He grimaced and wrung his hands together. "Technically…yes. Bringing people back to life is part of why I was banished from my home in the first place." He squirmed at the incredulous stares Kratos and Sindri sent his way. "But that was only possible under a series of very specific circumstances! It's not something that I can just replicate." His unease slowly vanished, a thoughtful frown taking its place. "Do you think Sinmara will back off if I explain it to her?"
"Doubt it," Sindri replied. "She's already convinced it'll work."
At that moment, Lúnda popped in beside them. "Everyone's heading over!" she declared. And right after that, a blizzard burst to life above the Lake of the Nine.
Kratos immediately lifted Sindri off the counter and stood him up. "Can you return to Svartalfheim?" Sindri grimaced, his form flickering for a brief second, before he shook his head. "Then go with Lúnda," Kratos stated declared. "Atreus is gathering the other stragglers and getting them to safety." Kratos saw a flash of emotion in Sindri's eyes—rage and grief and sorrow—at Atreus's name.
"What kind of safety?" Lúnda asked, awestruck and fearful at the blizzard before them.
Kratos took a steadying breath. "Atreus shall know what to do."
"Hey, what's that, in the lake?" Sora asked, pointing to a spot in the lake that was overrun with bubbles. The bubbling rose in intensity, before Jörmungandr arose from the depths of the lake with a roar. "Ooh! You think Jörmungandr will help out?!" Sora asked excitedly.
Indeed, it appeared as if the World Serpent was about to strike the blizzard—to what end, Kratos could not say. But then, the low, crooning tones of the Jotun tongue echoed from within the blizzard. Whatever Sinmara said from within made Jörmungandr pause. He responded, sharply, and after one final word form Sinmara—Kratos believed it to be the word for 'No'—Jörmungandr growled and sank beneath the lake. Seconds later, the entire lake froze over as if Fimbulwinter had returned.
"…Guess not," Sora said with a nervous chuckle.
"Go, now." Kratos declared to the dwarves. They nodded, an Sindri winced as he stumbled, even with Lúnda's help.
"Oh, wait a second!" Sora darted in front of the dwarves, reaching into his pockets. "Here, take these!" He dumped dozens of pieces of jewelry and other such accessories into their arms. "The ones that are blue or with snowflakes are specifically geared to protect against ice magic. Hand them out to as many people as possible."
Sindri stared down in awe at the items in his arms. "What are these things? I've never seen such magi—"
"Later, Sindri!" Lúnda shouted as she hurried them forward.
"Tell Thrúd to find me!" Kratos called out after them.
Sora held out a pin to Kratos—some sort of snowman. "Here." He handed it over as he pinned another one on his furs. "It'll keep you from getting frozen." Kratos nodded and pinned it on his shoulder strap. Sora hesitated for a moment. "…I still want to talk with Sinmara. Try and talk her out of this."
"I do as well," Kratos solemnly replied. "But we cannot pin our hopes on a rational conversation."
Sora let out a breath as he stared out at growing storm. "Yeah…" With nothing else to say, the pair dashed off in a burst of Flowmotion towards the shoreline.
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A/N: I just discovered that this fic has a TV Tropes page. Whoever made it, I love you.