#andthesebones;

and these bones. ll accepting.

The sentiment creeps through her, vines twining into familiar spaces in her heart. She has known the sorrow of which the other speaks, the long nights alone. Sleep was the greater loss than whatever you suffered in waking hours. How long, she wonders, did it take her to learn better?

A wretched hand caressed pale hair, eyes softening as she lowered her walls. After all that had become of her, of her child, she was owed that much at the least. Let her have some mirror, even if she never see it. The girl need not know how her words struck true, and it didn’t matter, not really. Freydis’ agony, still a raw and open wound, needed healing. 

Her tongue was rust, not silver, but a Queen must try her best for her people. 

“You can rest now,” she murmured, and mused she would give anything to know the same tricks as her mothers. It was a trick, Hel knew, to honey your words and make others surrender. “There are no struggles here, Freydis, no loss. You have come so far. One day, you will look back, as everyone does, but for now… Put it all down. Let yourself–”

What, breathe? Be content? There was no such thing in Helheim, and she begged some power beyond her for the mastery Sigyn and Angrboda had over comfort. Her hand dropped to the other queen’s shoulder. With a soft squeeze, she steadied herself.

and these bones. ll accepting.

“I would love to see that.”

Honesty paints each word with light, honey weighing down the sentiment. With an easy grin, she turned her attention to Ishtar’s beautiful form, mind drifting to ancient temples and broken streets. Did any of them know how lucky they were, to see the Queen in all her beauty, lithe-footed, controlled?

She would not have needed divinity to be worshiped. Of that, Hel is absolutely certain.

Leaning ever nearer, conspiratorial, she spoke with the same sunlight on her tongue. “Do you know any of the new dances? I could teach the few I’ve picked up, if you’d like. Though, I am sure whatever you have in your repertoire outpaces anything I know.”

More than sure, in fact. Could this world withstand Ishtar’s maneuvers, she wondered, without being brought to their knees? Her friend was beauty incarnate, and terror, and mortals would fall for her easy as breathing, as dying. And somewhere deep inside of herself, Hel could hardly wait to see what the older goddess would make of them.

and these bones. ll accepting.

What sings in your blood, she longs to ask, what strengthens your marrow? Your strength is not your own, but bound to seduction, to a seed sown and forgotten. It’s a rare breed that can see the Ravens and stand independent. It’s not your fault, boy.

No. Her tongue is carefully curbed, intimacy barred from the space between them. Pity is too tender for such a man. Raising her chin, studying the failed heretic from beneath her hood, she kept her silence. Let him call it judgment, or disdain, or any number of things. She had no answer for him in the moment either way.

“I doubt anyone could.” The words drip slow from her mouth, ice water rushing in the fracture between words. “The nonbeliever has a thousand reasons for refusal, but the faithful guard themselves. They know the rise and the fall of faith, the ruin of fortune and the glory of victory. The Gods are fickle in Asgard,” Oh, how skillfully she othered herself from the rest, “But some still listen.”

I do, she wanted to whisper, I hear you now. I will hear you long after the others have surrendered you, lest the Valkyries come for you. Regarding him anew, she reasoned this one was made for Valhalla, lest misfortune take him too soon or too late.