Council Bluffs, Asgard
By Rob Morris
(Author's note: Expletive euphemisms in use for site compliance)
ONE MONTH AFTER THE START OF FIMBULWINTER, THE AESIR COUNCIL ROOMS
The Aesir Council was their only name. No bureaucratic or imperial sounding titles. Odin knew that there were a great many who might wish to listen in on or somehow be privy to these meetings, but it would not be obvious, and it would not be easy. Yes, the place had wards and guards of all sorts, but the bulk of the time, the meetings were just that deadly boring. Dwarven rig productions notes, how many elves from one side had killed how many elves from the other, and soon, he imagined, cannibalism ratios from the regions of Midgard. His favorite reports were the ones on the rot that had taken over Vanaheim, including whether the poor stupid Drake he and Heimdall had sealed behind a door had finally broken out. A few Dreki puplings seeded in the near past were still paying dividends.
But today, the meeting would be neither boring nor dull, so he cast an Ear Of Hearing spell over the entire lodge, that any spy would only hear a montage of their most mind-numbing and tedious get-togethers. He wondered if an astute listener would catch on to his little in-joke: Thor - in this imaginary meeting the spy would overhear - would be sober and eloquent, even insightful.
Yet this clever precaution, like most such efforts, was utterly pointless, for all of those who might wish to overhear were either suborned, dead or incapable of getting anywhere near Asgard, let alone his inner sanctum.
Yet this fact meant nothing to the master schemer, because nothing could keep him from his paranoid stance, and because no less than two wild cards had emerged, ones that both reduced another potential threat and magnified more than a few others.
"Cold enough for you?"
He actually wouldn't have objected if anyone called out the horrible joke. But none did, from a mixture of resignation, fear, respect and other considerations. Since Heimdall had no sense of humor, he might have even found it funny, which made his father sad.
"Well, we can look at the bright side of things—"
Sif slammed her hands down on the meeting table, almost predictably. The only time she ever shut up, Odin noted, was when young men admired her shapely ass. She never seemed to know what to say then. Otherwise?
"Bright side? Your son and mine are dead! Their murderers walk about Midgard unchecked, likely gloating over having bearded the King Of The Aesir!"
Odin stroked his own beard.
"Nope, it's still here. And I – would change 'murderers' to 'killers' – my eyes in the sky and elsewhere tell me the big one gave all three of them multiple chances to just let it go and leave his little family be. Now, I would have let Baldur have all Helheim if they had done that, but at least then I could have known I had to deal with this personally before we lost one of our best if softest-brained – not to mention your two boys."
Thor threw down some mead-that-wasn't – Odin's spells in the chamber kept him from getting any drunker than he was already – his sobering spells had proven problematic for clean-up.
"Never got why the hell Baldur's death brings the three-year winter. Why was his kicking off so damned special?"
Odin was on the verge of complimenting Thor for a decent question – not great, but decent enough. He decided against it, since it would encourage the great moving brick to think.
"Mimir, during one of his more useful moments, commented on that when he heard the prophecy. Seems a bunch of folks here and in Vanaheim were dog-tired of the old wars, and Baldur's birth – the union of the two feuding chieftains and their powers – was seen as a new birth of hope. Yeah, sure, why not? But when you invest that much blind hope, the idea of losing the little darling turns spring into winter pretty damned fast."
Heimdall had to chime in. His snark was almost as good as he thought it was – most days.
"Mimir had useful moments? When was this? I must have been farming in Niffelheim when this happened."
Odin on occasion had to remind everyone – even to the most loyal – not to even so much as gently contradict him.
"Yes – he had useful moments – hence the reason I had him around and about and by my side for damn centuries! Hence the reason I didn't kill him – though covering his neck might have been a good idea. And to answer Sif's question, there are bright sides to this: One is, I never got Frigg to enact her spell on me, like she did our baby boy – I mean, is it really invulnerability when walking through the wrong brambles can undo the whole shebang?"
Forseti added in his two cents.
"Magic can be like that. It makes sense in an odd way. Mistletoe is heavily associated with tenderness – on some occasions, uncommitted couples steal a kiss beneath a swig of it-and that tenderness kept it from being seen as a threat father needed to be protected from. Grandmother – sorry, Frigg – likely made avoiding it an unspoken part of her spell."
Sif glared at Forseti.
"Your father was killed mere moments after this outsider brute's brat stripped him of his protections – his neck snapped like a twig! How can you be so dispassionate?"
Forseti kept his calm.
"By not drinking as much as you and Uncle? Auntie, I am Justice and Recompense. My investigations and All-Father's Ravens show that we can barely claim wergild for Father, Magni or Modi. They were the attackers, and they ignored many chances to relent. I would like this outsider killed or controlled because he may in fact be a threat. But vengeance? For who? A father who left me long ago, along with his mind? A granddam banished for longer than that, and who now grieves him to distraction? We all have better things to do – especially with Ragnarok nigh."
Odin raised his arms in the air.
"Let's slow the wheels on talk of Ragnarok. It may not be the threat I and we all assumed. That's another thing our killer outsider may have given us."
Thor spoke again, his voice louder.
"Just who in Ginunagap is this outsider? Does he have a name? He breezes into our lands, kills three of our own, carries that damned axe and a runt but plows through everything like he was my hammer with two arms and legs?"
Odin began to realize – he couldn't smell mead on Thor's breath at all. The argument he and Sif had after Modi's - chastisement – had shaken something loose. Not a development he liked, if it got his bruiser all contemplative.
"During one of our daily therapy sessions, I asked Mimir what he knew about the gods of Greece. The short answer: There almost aren't any left. Our outsider is the reason for that. They played him – repeatedly, openly and with little to no art. All to avert a prophecy of doom."
Heimdall snorted.
"Let me just guess. They did all these things and yet it kept feeding the beast. Didn't the Greeks have seers? Or brains to see that they were pissing this character off?"
Thor seemed to rouse. Sober or otherwise, it took quite a bit to get his attention.
"This that—wadaya call him, Heracles or whatever? I was hoping for a throwdown, or maybe a friendly drinking contest."
Sif glared at this mention, but Thor gave a 'all in fun' shrug, which did not go over well. Odin pushed past any potential interruptions.
"No, but you can fight the one who killed him, his half-brother – Zeus liked to catdog it – I mean we all drop kids off with mortals and such – but no, he really got around. The ladies on Olympus were no better. Anyhow, this one is called Kratos, also known as The Ghost Of Sparta. Forseti – please explain the Greek set-up for their gods."
Forseti did just that.
"They had their primordials, same as anyone else, but inbetween them and their gods were the Titans – yeah, made all but the biggest Jotnar look like a toddler. The Titans get paranoid about the next generation – trend starting here, or already started, since the – Kronos? – had already done a Ymir on his father – nasty fate – and basically ate his kids, except for the one the others hid, who, big surprise, came forth, became their sky-father and spent his whole reign worried about which of his kids would do the same to him. Did I mention that their method of being the gods of something involved basically becoming that something?"
Heimdall shook his head, more disdain than usual showing on his face.
"They'd all be as soft-brained as Baldur. I mean, that's real power, but nature has mechanisms – let them do the work."
Odin took back the floor.
"Not only that, but as each one died, those mechanisms took forever to reset. Word is, Greece used to be mostly one large landmass – now half the place is islands. Obviously, I admire ambition and power – but not if it makes you incapable of seeing the big picture."
Sif seemed to have calmed down and spoke next.
"All-Father, if this god and his son are a threat – and I'm sorry, I must remind you they took three of our own in the space of a few months – how is that threat to be addressed?"
Odin raised a finger in the air.
"Sif, dear, hold that thought. I plan to avenge Balder – and those two meathead sons of yours – but we need to look at what else we found out. Our Greek immigrant didn't just make the boy out of clay – apparently that's a thing in Greece – he hooked up with an old enemy of ours – Laufey of the Jotnar – and yes, I can say her name, you can't, and you all know the reasons why."
Sif for her part did not.
"Because she's our sworn enemy."
Thor pulled her over near him, fear in his eyes – while he was looking at his father.
"That's only part of it. We don't say her name here, and we don't say the whole reason. This is from before we even started courting – we all should shush while Father talks about her – okay?"
Sif saw not demanding, but pleading in his eyes. It was that serious, and she got the impression he would have said the same things if he'd been drunk.
"Al-alright."
Odin had the silence he had all but demanded, and for once, both Sif and Heimdall, the most apt to make a comment, listened intently as he spoke.
"Seems our dear Laufey laid low after misguiding poor Durlin with those wild thoughts and helped Thor to make that memorable crater in Vanaheim. You two never could play nicely together, could you big boy?"
Under his breath, Thor whispered "She never played fair."
Sif kept silent as she had promised, but now wondered if this Laufey might have been a past fling for Thor, but she would learn nothing on that day.
"Anyhow, she keeps to the wildwoods, stays behind protection staves and nabs herself a Greek serial killer – I mean that, there's like five gods left in that place – and pops out the boy that eventually helped Modi with his cough – too soon, Sif? Then, just recently, she dies and they burn her to a crisp –Forseti?"
"Yes, All-Father – the wood came from one of her protection staves."
Heimdall could no longer stay silent.
"She wanted her squeeze and brat to be found?"
Thor shook his head.
"Jotnar prophecy. Crazy Laufey was always setting something in motion – all business – I offered her some mead that day, for Hel's sake."
Odin actually seemed surprised that Thor was almost as coherent and insightful as his deception spell was meant to show him as, should a spy actually be about.
"Welll-yeah. She wanted her ashes scattered on the highest peak in all the realms. That's where they picked up Mimir – who told them they had to go to Jotunheim – really should have covered his neck and mouth when not interrogating him – ahh, spilled milk. Baldur at this point has not only lost the script about finding out who they are and what they're about – he's burned it and is smoking it in his pipe. So he interferes – until he and his nephews can't anymore, and they hotfoot it to Giant Homeland. My ravens had to play it smart, but they caught enough from their return trip to get the gist – The Giants are all dead, or at least the ones in Jotunheim are. The army we have spent so much time fretting over isn't coming – at all – ever. Ever."
That stunned everyone into silence more deep than Odin's request could ever do.
"Now, I know what some of you are thinking – those of you that think, anyway – try not to do that, too much – why not just let my wacky ex put the man who put her boy down in the dirt? Well, I'm just not sure Frigg could pull that off – the guy cleared a pantheon – admittedly one full of crap – but he did, plus – she might actually realize Mister Tattoo saved her life when our baby boy was in full giggles mode. So, no, I want him handled correctly – and I want to meet this boy – has a thing for languages. Might have a job for him."
Heimdall was second to none in loyalty to Odin, but was exactly the prick many there thought he was (that in fact most did) and sometimes, that still won out over brains, fear and respect.
"This isn't about that stupid broken mask again, is it? All-Father, would you bring a viper into our home just to solve a worthless puzzle?"
Odin calmly tapped his arm, looked at the ravens that appeared, and said two words while pointing to Heimdall.
"Ivaldi's Workshop."
Heimdall screamed, and tried to dart away, of course to no avail. He vanished amidst a flurry of feathers. Thor kept these words locked inside his head.
*Might as well have dropped him on the other side of the Damned Bridge.*
When Heimdall reappeared, he was cold, coughing and looked ill.
"Yesss-Heimdall – it is about that mask – EVERYTHING IS ABOUT THAT MASK, AND THAT MASK IS ABOUT EVERYTHING! IT IS THE KEY TO UNDERSTANDING CREATION – and I will have it. If the littlest giant can crack that code – even find the rest of the mask – I'll give him your job if he wants it- though by now, he'd probably work for a hot meal and a warm bed. Midgard is getting nasty."
Odin looked around.
"So there you have it – we'll offer the big god peace and being let alone – that seems to have been all he wanted from Baldur and the Bang Boys – and I'll offer the small god gainful employment. Peace and prosperity for your posterity – an offer no one can refuse."
Sif was not done.
"What of my boys?"
Odin got up to leave.
"They're dead, Sif – they're dead and they're not coming back. Maybe you and Thor can make some more – Thrud should be a good babysitter. Smart sharp girl – who knows? Maybe she and the Jotnar boy can be friends."
Thor gave her a look of 'He just sent his favorite to the bad section of Niffelheim – let it go.' And so she did.
So she always did. So did they all.
Always.
THREE YEARS LATER
"If I ask you, will you tell me of how my sons died?"
Kratos face showed some concern.
"Will this satisfy blood payment?"
Sif was surprised to hear this.
"If you like, yes."
Kratos still looked trepidatious.
"Lady Sif, I am known to be unsparing in my words. I also speak plainly. My talk will be harsh and unfiltered, both towards your boys and my own son – even to myself. Are you prepared for that wound to be fully reopened?"
Sif looked down.
"Are you going to tell me they didn't matter?"
"Of course not!"
Sif looked up, nodding.
"Then speak, Lord Kratos Od-Killer. Tell me of my boys' last moments, and leave nothing out. Let silence die at this time."
END
(Follow-up to come)