"Hey there, Goddess," greeted Lúnda from her shop, "Kratos, ya beefcake, can't stay away from me, can you?" Freya removed her sword and placed it on the table before the dwarf to allow her to tinker with it. Kratos stepped off to the side and waited for her. "And–Mimir! I see you over there tryin' to hide from me. Where's my money?"
Freya unattached him from her belt and placed him on the table. Lúnda half-heartedly threatened him with Freya's unsharpened sword. "Oh, dear," said Mimir with a gulp.
"Best leave him here so I can collect my debts," said Lúnda. Freya opened her mouth to protest; she refused being alone with Kratos. But the dwarf was persistent: "Don't worry," she added, walking over to her sharpener with the sword in hand. Sparks flew when the blade met the stone. "I'll take real good care of him."
"We're going to see Sindri," said Freya after a moment. "Is there anything we need to look out for as we make our journey up?"
"Nah, he took down them puzzle traps after General Hot Stuff here kept making him redo them," she said, and Kratos felt everyone's eyes on him.
"I enjoy solving puzzles," Kratos simply stated.
"That you do, brother," said Mimir.
Lúnda handed the now sharpened sword off to Freya. She reached in her pockets to pay, but the dwarf refused her money. "Take this bottle up to Sindri"–she tossed a bottle of some kind of liquor to Freya, who caught it with ease–"and we'll call the whole thing square. How's that sound, Fine Lady?"
"Very well," said Freya, putting the bottle carefully away. "I shall."
"Hey! Why couldn't you've done that with me," said Mimir as Freya was walking away.
"Because you ain't got any limbs!" said Lúnda.
Kratos summoned his spear and stabbed it into the mountain across from them. He offered Freya to go first, but she refused. Using his spear, he was easily able to climb up the mountain and onto a higher level. Freya followed after him. And they moved up the mountain in silence, an awkwardness that only kissing a dear friend could create looming around them. They found a nest of nightmares; they dealt with the creatures with little effort and without communication. She looted a chest nearby and tossed him the hacksilver. He hummed his thanks and they continued on.
"That girl," said Freya halfway to the top, after mechanically fighting predictable beast after predictable beast allowed the awkwardness between them to fade some, "at the temple. You know her?"
Storm clouds gathered the further they climbed. Thunder rumbled in the distance.
"I do not."
"She seemed to know you."
"She is the girl who lived in the village near my home. That is all I know."
They were interrupted by a gang of Grims. Freya discapitated one with her sword while Kratos stabbed three with his spear. They took the fourth and final one out together with her stunning the creature with two of her arrows and him slicing it in half with his axe.
"She's pregnant," Freya said after some hesitation.
He stopped, stunned. He had no idea—she did not seem like the girl who… She told him he was in love, once, how many months ago? Perhaps… It was no business of his. "She spoke little of the father. Only that he was not from her village." She paused, briefly. "Did you know…"
It began to rain. "I did not."
He followed her lead–jumping from ledge to higher ledge, then into a cave.
"He vowed to marry her when he returned," she continued, her echo awakening the sleeping creature inside: a singular Grim, who barely rose from its slumber before Kratos sliced it with his axe. "And when he didn't…" He grunted, at her words and at the dying creature before him. Like any person in "Love," the girl made foolish choices.
The deeper they moved within the cave, the narrower the walls became until they reached a small rotting door. Skin against skin, legs bent and backs hunched to fit… She smelled of flowers and sweat. A glance was all it took for them to part, attempt to separate by leaning against their respected walls. Kratos, in a juvenile panic, searched for his words but was interrupted by Freya knocking. The door opened and their attention focused again. They moved to enter together, but two could not fit in such a tiny door. They tried again, thinking the other would remain still, with the same result. Finally, Kratos offered for her to enter first with a disgruntled grunt, eager to move on. She did so quickly; and hesitating, he followed her inside.
Sindri's home was inside a cavern, a deep hole created when Kratos and Freya fought and slayed a tremendous spider-creature not too long after Ragnarök. Sindri had been cruel toward the beast, seeking it purposefully and enraging it using his Dwarven magic. They saved him moments before he would have perished. But Sindri, still deep in grief, was not grateful for the rescue. Now, both dwarf and spider rot deep within the mountain.
No light, except for the few candles above his workspace inside the creature's mouth. Sindri spent most of his time up there working, obsessing. No longer a blacksmith, his fingers still ached to tinker, to work. His inventions were… creative at his best and maddening at his worst.
He remained unfazed when they entered, sitting high above them in the mouth of the creature he once was desperate to kill him. His back turned, his attention focused.
"He… does know we're in here?" questioned Freya quietly when she realized Sindri would not turn to greet them.
"He does," came Sindri's voice echoing from above.
Together they ascended the steps toward him. Their feet tapping on the bone of the creature echoed inside the cave. It was the only sound. They stopped when they reached the top.
"Hello Sindri," Freya greeted after a moment. The dwarf did not acknowledge her. She turned to Kratos, urging him to continue. It was he who was tasked to speak with the dwarf. But when he refused, she spoke again: "We have come here, once again, to ask—"
Kratos touched her arm, rough hand meeting soft skin, to stop her from continuing. He lingered for a moment—and she let him—before motioning to her bag. She pulled out the bottle given to her by Lúnda.
Kratos took it, opening it with the flick of his thumb. "We will drink," he said. And Sindri without turning took the bottle and drank. He handed it back to Kratos, who, after a moment, allowed the liquid to meet his lips but did not drink. Freya noticed. He offered her the bottle, but she declined.
"A gift from Lúnda," said Freya, again focusing on Sindri.
The dwarf said nothing.
"Do you require anything from us?" said Kratos.
A pause–and then, "No."
He set the bottle down gently near Sindri. "Very well," he said, turning to leave. "We will go."
Freya remained unmoving. "Váli has been terrorizing Midgard, lying to his people," she said. "They destroy villages, families! Innocent people are dying because of him. Don't either of you want justice?"
Váli, one of the many sons of Odin and a survivor of Ragnarök. Wanting justice–no, wanting revenge–he told his people that his father would one day return to right the wrong done to him, done to them. Anyone loyal to The Nine deserved death, he declared. And so they sentenced them. Indeed there needed to be justice, but Kratos shed enough blood, killed enough Gods in these foreign lands. He would have no part.
"Justice does not… create peace." It was Sindri who spoke such wise words, his voice soft and filled with remorse. "So, what's the point in fighting for it when, in the end… it doesn't matter? Nothing matters."
Kratos and Freya's eyes met and, after a moment, he grunted, asking if they could go now. She nodded, then placed her hand on Sindri's shoulder. "I hope one day you find your peace, Sindri," she said. "You know where we'll be when you do."