❛ onward, toward valhalla! ❜

              the valkyrie was stiff-limbed and tongue-tied, the               instrument she’d used to call battle cries and quell               the anger of gods sitting cold and limp, locked               between teeth and lips pressed into a thin line. the               regent of helheim was before her and she could               not form a single word to defend odin or herself.               she felt shame drip down her throat, a creeping               vine threatening to choke her if she did not speak.               she had no reason to be afraid. hel was more powerful               than her, this she knew, but she ruled over the dead               and there was still breath within brynhildr’s body.               the warrior squared her shoulders and faced the                giantess head on.                                         “the worthy are few.                                         i alone was needed”                 even as she speaks the words she knows she doesn’t                 believe them, not really, not enough to justify the carnage                 they stood in, the earth soaked with blood and dozens                 of eyes staring sightlessly up into a clear blue nothing.                  she was growing weary of attending to the death rites                 of odin’s lucky few, but there was no abandoning the                  valkyrior, no other life for her beyond the polished metal                 of her armor and the symbol of the all-father emblazoned                 on her back. he had raised her from nothing; she owed                 him a life debt. every second of every eon was his and                 she could not pull it from his grasp. she did not want to                 return to asgard and face him again, not yet, but despite                 hel’s calm veneer, ever movement the goddess made                 sent a bolt of fear flying through her stomach.                                              “the ravens are watching.                                                   if i do not return...”                  she did not presume to finish the sentence. to do so                  would’ve undoubtedly displeased the giantess, but it                  had been as close to a threat as brynhildr could manage                  safely. all the same, her fingers itched to grip the sword                  at her hip, draw, stop whatever game the goddess was                  playing, but she was no fool. and so, there they stood                  among the wreckage of a nameless village, two paths                   to the afterlife, opposed. 

               the village was a litter of bodies. brynhildr picked her                way through the slain, examining each and every one                of them as was her purpose, disquiet blooming her                heart. the place the bifrost had opened had been a                small hunting village, little more than a ramshackle                collection of grey wooden buildings all surrounding a                hastily built hall. they’d not been warriors, but men                with families who longed for food in their bellies and                the warmth of their wives’ arms. they’d not deserved                what the raiders had done to them. she stooped and                closed the eyes of an old man who gazed sightlessly                at the sky, hand still clutched around a pendant with                the symbol of odin emblazoned on it. had the all-father                heard him? had he cared to? she pressed two fingers                to his forehead, marking him for valhalla. he’d sent her,                hadn’t he? a prayer answered too late, but answered                none the less. she rose, brushing dirt from her knees.                let it not be said that odin did not love his children. the                silence called back that this was not what love looked                like. the quiet was broken by the high panicked whinny                of her mount and turned to calm him only to find herself                met with a giantess. the valkyrie swallowed and nodded                at the woman, spine stiff with apprehension. she had                done nothing to warrant fear of the giantess, but caution                had kept her alive as much as the sword that hung by                her side.                                      “-HEL. have you come to                                           collect your dead? ”

             the prince tensed and force of habit made her             shift backward, the movement nearly imperceptible.             she knew he’d catch it; loki was far too observant             not to. when he spoke, his voice settled over her,              the question tightening her throat. she swallowed.              when they’d come back to the realm eternal and              she stepped onto the bifrost for the first time in              centuries, she’d had a job to do, people to save              and she’d worn that about her like armor, let it              stifle the memory of the last time she’d crossed              the bridge with the host of her sisters at her back.              now, in the dark hull of the shift, floating adrift in              space, she had no such luxury. she let out a              breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding in a              sharp chuff and joined him at the railing, still two              arm lengths away from the pale god. she wanted               to lie to him, to tell him that the asgard she’d              known had died along with her sisters, but she              can’t muster up the strength. she is tired and old              and the last of her kind. what a sorry sight she               must be. the valkyrie stares out at the stars.                                  “-i do not deserve to mourn                                    the home i abandoned.”

                                       “-do you miss it?”                      brynhildr’s voice was, if not hesitant, than cautious. her                     dealings in the past with the god of mischief had never been                     quite as friendly as they had been with his brother, and though                     loki had proven himself a valuable ally, she erred on the                     side of caution in all things. she didn’t know why she’d                     sought him out during what passed for night among the                     remnants of the asgardians aboard the ship. they were allies,                     not friends, and though she could trust him to guard her back                     in a battle, she knew better to expect comfort from him. still,                     she wanted more than the platitudes thor could offer, affirming                     as they were, the valkyrie was in the mood to wallow.                                       “do you miss asgard?”

                                      “-if it’s a fight you’re after, LOKI,                                        i’m not in the mood. ”                 the valkyrie had stationed herself near one of the massive bay                 windows of the transport, arms crossed, an unmarked bottle of                 some dark liquid sloshing nearly empty in an unsteady hand. the                warrior took another swig, grimacing against the burn as it slid                 down the back of her throat. there was no alcohol aboard the                transport; there was barely any food and what she held now were                the last sad remnants of the flask she’d had on her when they’d                escaped from asgard. she didn’t feel at home here, among these                people who’d only just gotten a taste of the asgard of her memory,                the empire that had lain her sisters low. she cut her eyes at the               god of mischief; bleary and slow as they were, she still managed               a proper scowl.