My title should say it all, but in case you didn't know, I am Fandral of Asgard. I am part of the Warriors Three along with Volstagg the Valiant and Hogun the Grim. We fight alongside Thor and Lady Sif, and together we protect the Nine Realms. Avengers...
Fandral was numb. He shut his eyes as the blast of the Bifrost overtook him, and he rocketed through space. The feeling was so familiar - the creature used these channels all the time as it slipped through the Nine Realms. Within seconds, he was pulled into the golden observatory. He wanted to smile when he saw Heimdall, but the watcher wouldn't look at him. When Fandral looked away, he saw the streaks of red still covering the ground. He turned his head to Thor.
The Prince stood tall and strong, half-carrying Fandral. He stepped in front, hiding him from Heimdall. He leaned further into Thor, as they walked towards the rainbow bridge.
Halfway down, he could see a carriage charging towards them. The two men stopped and waited. The cart of guards slowed to a halt in front of them, and Thor continued forward. He helped Fandral in, and again no one would look at him. Thor gave directions to take them to the castle.
All eyes were on them as they went through the city. Unlike the soldiers and his friends, the townsfolk watched in awe. Perhaps it was because they were in the presence of royalty, or maybe they were gawking at the return of their long-lost swordsman. Either way, Fandral wanted to be invisible from them. He recognized the guards, and they looked terribly sad. He trained them - all of them - as the former Captain.
Fandral had let everyone down. As the golden gate of the palace drew nearer, he felt guilt rising higher into his throat until it touched his teeth. The words hung in his mouth - he had to wait to give the greatest apology to the Allfather.
Thor opted to take him up through a secret route, to avoid all those wandering about the castle. He remembered roaming the corridors as kids, hiding from the guards who were supposed to be watching them. He clung to the memory, as it was the first good one he had in months. Anything was better than thinking about the horrors he had committed.
They walked on spiralled steps, and a soft glow from the exit trailed into the stairway. They were right next to the throne room, where Odin would undoubtedly be waiting. Thor pressed his hand against Fandral’s chest and he stopped.
“No matter what happens,” He started, “I am on your side.”
Fandral glanced towards the exit. He wished that was more comforting.
He continued walking forward, past Thor and into the throne room. It was empty of guards, and completely silent. He saw a hand move to the armrest of the golden seat and he stopped. Thor placed a hand on his back and he was forced to walk, against his better judgement. They circled around to the steps. He took one step down and without looking at the Allfather, he knelt down and bowed before his King.
“I am relieved to see you alive,” Odin said quietly, still with authority.
“Thank you, Allfather.”
Fandral kept his head down. His head was pounding with feelings and half-formed sentences, and he feared they would all pour out at once. He saw Thor standing on the top step.
“Father, I wish to advocate for Fandral. If you will let me, I can recount the events that occurred on Midgard.”
“No,” Odin said. “I wish to speak with Fandral alone. Leave us.”
Somehow, sending Thor away was relieving. There was a short protest, but Thor was smart and exited the room. Once he heard the giant doors shut, he lifted his head.
Worry and concern was plastered on the Allfathers face.
“It was wrong of me to give you that sword. I knew it was cursed, and I saw what it was doing to you long before your trial on Midgard. Tell me, what has happened to it?”
-- --
I think I know someone who can break this curse. She’s from a place called the Dark Dimension, I believe she is married to one of your allies. If she cannot break it, surely her husband can. I should not return to Asgard, so I will make myself useful elsewhere.
-- --
“Loki has brought it to the Dark Dimension. I believe he is keeping it there until the Princess's husband is released from Midgardian prison. If he tries to use the sword for himself, he will suffer the same fate I did. Even with all his antics, he likes to be in control of his own actions…”
Odin nodded, the worry turning to irritation. He was pensive for an uncomfortable amount of time.
“Tell me all that happened. What do you remember?”
Fandral was quiet and looked to the ground. “I remember darkness.”
The moment I saw the sword, it called to me. I was standing before the Black Knight, with him lying beneath my boot. He said something to me...their blood is on your hands too. He meant the people Wanda killed, but he knew not who he was speaking with. I killed him the first moment I held the sword in my hand, and that was when the transfer begun.
For two months, the sword hung on my wall, and I was weaker. I had nightmares of the wars we fought, and screams echoed throughout my sleep. I started drinking more to keep the thoughts away. I was not aware that all the souls of the people I had killed were transferring slowly into the sword. The second time I used the sword was on Midgard, the day of my trial. I remember feeling something boiling up inside me - and then my consciousness erupted. I couldn’t think, I couldn’t breathe, and I couldn’t feel myself anymore.
The transfer wasn’t yet complete, but it was enough for that...creature to take control. It was called the Bloodwraith. It fed on souls and craved death. It tried to suffocate me in my own body, but my spirit wouldn’t quit. I was trapped in a cognitive world with no escape. It was black; a void with no walls or floor. Tight shackles bound my wrists and ankles, and I dragged them around aimlessly.
Sometimes the monster would let me hear what my body was doing to the outside world. I could hear the destruction and was helpless to do anything. Then...I was visited by the two previous owners of the ebony blade. Their spirits could pass through the sword, but not for long. They would give me updates on the monster and what he was doing, and give me information on how to stop it. It was all useless to me, because I had no way of getting out to tell anyone.
That is, until Loki pressed his staff to my chest. Something about it blocked the creature from my body...it was powerful, and gave me control for only a moment. I told Thor about Camelot, and that it was on Midgard. After that, we traveled through Yggdrasil until we found a rift that lead us to the old Midgardian kingdom.
-- --
“Allfather...I...I need to tell you something that you cannot tell Thor or anyone else.”
Odin had been quietly listening, silently reacting to Fandral’s account. He nodded once more.
“The sword...I had a violent reaction to the curse. It caused my soul to shatter into pieces. The piece that remained was trapped in that cognitive world. The creature visited me and we fought and...that fragment of myself died. And I fear that I may have lost something important, but I cannot say for sure. Even after all of the torment and solitude I faced, I will not be the same.”
The Allfather bowed his head. Fandral waited for some kind of response as Odin thought.
“The Nine Realms want your head for the crimes your...facade committed. Three realms have laws protecting you, as you were very clearly under the control of another force. It is against my better judgement to imprison you, as you are one of my greatest warriors, but…”
Fandral interrupted, “Allfather, I will accept any punishment for my crimes. Even if it was not truly me...I cannot live with absolvement. Just…”
He took in a heavy breath.
“I will do anything you ask...but I can’t bear to be in chains again.”
-- --
Present [August 2017]
Fandral was in a private cell. It took a while for the other inmates to stop mocking him and leave him be. Frigga sent him books, Thor would often visit. Hogun and Volstagg would come down occasionally...Volstagg had taken over his duties the moment he left. Hogun was usually on Vanaheim, trying to clean up the mess the Bloodwraith made.
Nearly a year had passed since Thor’s wedding. Three days past that was the day he lost control of himself...the anniversary was coming quickly. His life was long enough to where he could eventually forget everything that happened. Though his life went by so fast, the memories were still fresh. Months felt like days, though days felt like an eternity.
He was resting on his bedroll on the ground when he saw two guards walk up to the plasma wall. They lowered the force field. One of the guards pulled a scroll and unrolled it, then began reading:
“Sir Fandral the Dashing, you are hereby pardoned for your crimes on seven of eight worlds, and your prison sentence has been lifted. By the Allfather’s orders, you are to remain on Asgard until you have proven the right to travel off world. You are allowed to help rebuild Vanaheim, so long as you are accompanied by Hogun the Grim plus one other of Odin’s Court. You are allowed to return to your post as Captain of the Royal Guard, under the watch of Volstagg the Valiant. You are required to be accompanied by any of Odin’s Court or guards to the marketplace. Your weaponry privileges are still revoked until you are declared stable by the healers. Under no circumstances is Prince Thor able to override any of these rules declared. Changes and alterations to this decree may only be done by the Allfather himself,” The guard stated. He lowered the scroll. “Welcome back, Sir.”
Odin promised to talk with the leaders of the other seven worlds, and he imagined the only one he didn’t go to was Midgard.
Fandral got up to his feet and walked over to the guards. They looked happy - a much better demeanor than when he first arrived months ago. He shook each of their hands, and shortly after he was escorted across the castle to his chambers. It would be slow going to earn the trust of everyone once more. With the help of his friends, he was sure he could work through his guilt.
He stepped into his room and the guards left him alone. He didn’t need to be watched like a hawk in the palace, which was nice. He touched his bed, which had been made for him while he was away. His clothes were hung nicely in his closet and…frankly, everything seemed too perfect and unfamiliar.
Fandral took off his prison clothes and tossed them on a chair. Just one thing being out of place made him feel better instantly. He quietly walked into the bathroom, turning the hot water on in the tub. The place steamed and he bathed away the grime the prison showers couldn’t quite take care of.
After soaking for over an hour, he stepped out of the tub. He wrapped a towel around his waist and went back into his bedroom. He ran a hand through his hair and walked over to the mirror. He stared at his reflection and sighed.
Just off center of his heart was a stab wound that went fully through his chest - he could turn far enough to see the exit wound. Near his hip, a second wound was visible. They were red and swollen, like they hadn’t quite healed right. He touched his chest, and there was a deep pain. He wondered when he would need to tell somebody, but what was happening was difficult to explain, even to the magical healers. Even Fandral didn’t fully understand…
He threw on a shirt and pants and laid down on his bed. He shut his eyes, and almost instantly, he fell into a dreamless sleep.
And Into the Light | Fandral & Thor, ft. Loki & the Bloodwraith
[Counterpart - Thor’s Perspective]
Earlier that evening...
Fandral’s throat was dry. He was tired of screaming. The skin around his wrists and ankles was red and sore from the chains he dragged around the void. He was sitting with his head on his knees, arms wrapped around his thinned legs. His body was deteriorating, pale and aching. This creature was slowly killing him and some days he wondered why he didn’t just give up.
Perhaps it was the infrequent visits from Sir Percy and Dane. They gave him new information about the destruction; he often didn’t want to hear it. He himself wasn’t committing these thoughtless murders, but his body was. Even if he didn’t enjoy hearing about the slaughters, having company even briefly was better than the silence.
Then, he heard something. Something familiar. Someone he recognized.
Heimdall.
“Leave this place now.”
Fandral lifted his head. He was on Asgard now. His weak heart felt leapt, beating faster and stronger. The wraith didn’t say anything, but he heard Heimdall shouting and there were swords clashing.
Then came the thunder.
Fandral stood. Thor had arrived.
“Fandral is dead,” He heard the wraith say.
He clenched his fists. “No, I’m not.”
A jolt of electricity shot through his body, knocking him down onto the ground - this was the first time he had felt an external attack. He lifted his arms, and the shackles on his wrists were crackling with blue and white lightning. Even an entity of death wasn’t impervious to Thor’s power.
He could hear the battle ensuing as he lifted himself back to his feet.
“You will die now, prince.”
“No!” Fandral shouted. “Don’t hurt him! Please!”
He heard the wraith laughing - but the laugh was caught short.
“Not so fast, snake.” That voice...Loki? Before he could wonder why the long lost Asgardian Prince was with Thor, he felt something else.
The blackened void was met with a yellow white at the peak. Fandral felt the floor give out beneath him and he was floating between nothing and something. A hand reached through the darkness, grabbing hold of his body and ripping him free of the shackles. The light in front of him was so bright and he blinked a few times.
“I don’t think this will hold long, Fandral, so speak quickly.”
Fandral inhaled sharply. As his eyes adjusted, he saw the detailing of Heimdall’s conservatory surrounding him. He was in control, but only just. The figures before him focused and his eyes immediately locked with Thor. He relaxed, though the pressure of the wraith was pulsing in his brain. He felt a gentle kick and remembered he needed to speak.
“The sword is his power,” He said. Hearing his own voice reverberating in his throat was a strange sensation. “It must be cleansed. Thor, you must go to Camelot. He’s gaining power so he can return there to rule. Thor, you have to go - you need to save everyone.”
Thor was quick to interrupt: “I need to save you.”
Fandral shook his head saying, “No! He won’t stop.” The wraith was clawing its way out. He felt himself sinking back inside himself. “Thor - “
He was too late.
“No, no, no, no, no!” But the words weren’t coming from his mouth anymore.
He was falling. The light around him faded, and he landed flat on his back in the same familiar emptiness. He watched as the last flicker of white blipped out of existence. A silvery smoke rose from the darkness and wrapped around his extremities and a metal shink! solidified around his wrists and ankles. The shackles returned, and the chains secured him down.
For the first time in months, he finally had hope. Even though his imprisonment was more strict now than ever before, that meant the wraith was afraid. It didn’t want to risk Fandral getting out again and telling Thor about the Brazier of Truth.
-- --
[Counterpart - Thor’s Perspective]
Later that evening...
The Bloodwraith was weakened. He could feel they were passing through the Bifrost, which made him woozy, and he shut his eyes. He lay completely helpless and pinned. They were undoubtedly on their way to Camelot. He learned it was an old Midgardian kingdom that was sealed away. He didn’t have time to relay that to Thor, but he had the resources available to find it regardless.
As he settled back into the abyss, the creaks and aches of his bones returned. Then an intense pressure planted itself on his chest. He winced at the pain and he cracked one eye open. A ghostly image was hovering over his body. The wisps of smoke corporealized on top of him, and a knee was pressing down hard on his ribs.
The figure looked like him, which wasn’t entirely surprising.
“You’ve aged, swordsman. Soon your bones will turn to ash and your body will rot and I will prevail. Then I will kill your friends. The last thing they will see is their dear friend Fandral disemboweling them. Maybe I’ll keep you alive long enough to hear their screams...I haven’t yet decided.”
Fandral tensed and tried to lunge forward. The chains gave ever so slightly, but they were tightened quickly by the wraith. The imposter stood up and the dimension shifted, so Fandral was upright as if he were against a wall.
“Thor will defeat you,” It said, pulling forward on the chains again.
The wraith laughed. “Your tenacity continues to astound me. We will be in Camelot soon enough. Then I shall deal with you.”
Without another word, the figure vanished into smoke. He hung his head and sighed.
-- --
Fandral didn’t know how long he had waited. The wraith had never visited him before, but something told him that wouldn’t be the last time he saw it that day. As long as Thor was on the case, he wouldn’t rest until the evil was destroyed.
Soon enough, smoke manifested before him, and the shadow returned. He looked angry.
“That Asgardian is truly insufferable...though I suppose that is in your nature. You’re the strongest will I’ve come across in my entire existence.”
It sounded like a compliment, but Fandral knew it wasn’t intended to be.
“Why are you here? Are you afraid you’re going to lose?”
His fake laughed, then frowned. It pulled its arm back and punched directly into Fandral’s stomach. The chains holding him taught collapsed as his torso jolted backwards. No longer being held up, his knees dropped and his wrists strained under his weight.
“You would do well to keep silent.” The wraith snarled.
Fandral’s eyebrow furrowed. “And if I don’t?”
A swift kick came next. The creature had to’ve been afraid because it kept throwing kicks and punches at Fandral. He wasn’t dying fast enough, and the wraith was running out of time.
It reached backwards into the darkness and smoke manifested a dagger.
“Do you know what this is?” It asked. Fandral eyed the weapon, but the metal was so dark he could only see the hilt. “This is the obsidian dagger. Or...not really. That dagger was destroyed long ago, but - that doesn’t mean this won’t do the trick.”
Before Fandral could react, the wraith punched the dagger into his side. He yelled out in pain as the blade stuck his organs.
Unfortunately for the Bloodwraith, he did get his chance outside again. The same white light pulled him out of his body shone above the two. The wraith dissipated in the light, blasting away into smoke. His arms and feet dropped as the shackles unhinged and he drifted up towards the real world.
This time he saw Loki first. He coughed into his arm and saw red spatter along his sleeve.
“Loki, this thing is killing me. I - I don’t know how much longer I can fight it. You need to cleanse the sword in the Brazier of Truth - in the church.” He looked to Thor as he appeared up the steps. “Only someone worthy can light it.”
Fandral started to black out before the mind effect wore off. He slipped back into the abyss, landing hard on the imagined floor. He weakly lifted his head, seeing the bloody dagger next to him. He reached over and grabbed the hilt. As he pulled the dagger towards him, a boot stepped from out of the darkness and onto the blade.
“Leave me alone,” Fandral said, pulling his hand away from the dagger.
“And I thought you enjoyed company. After all, you spend so much time with those pretty women...and men.”
“I would rather spend eternity with Malekith the Accursed than you.”
It chuckled. “Do you still not know what this is? Do you not know where we are?”
Fandral grabbed onto his side and slid up to his knees. He stared up at the creature before him - but it was more than that. He nodded slowly.
“I’ve known for a while.”
On one of the visits with Sir Percy and Dane, they divulged information to him about what the ebony blade does to people like him. When the blade accumulates souls, it begins to break the user's soul, depending on how many lives they have taken.
Fandral had a violent reaction - worse than anyone could have imagined. His physical being shattered. The man bleeding on the ground was a mere fragment remaining of the true Fandral. The abyss was somewhere deep in his mind, but the evil being was in control. The Bloodwraith was just another side effect of the curse.
The true Fandral couldn’t hear the fight going on around him. He didn’t know that the physical wraith was trapped in fear, or that Thor and Loki were being fighting his ‘evil self’ outside. Time didn’t pass, and everything was still. His imposter bent down to pick up the obsidian dagger and extended it towards Fandral. With a small shimmer it elongated until it resembled the ebony blade.
“Once you’re dead, there will be nothing left. You will be free of this prison, off in Valhalla with our kin...or maybe you’ll go to Hel, where you belong. Assuming a fragment of a person could even find their way to the afterlife.”
Fandral looked to the ground. He clenched his side, where blood spilled from his wound. He closed his eyes. It can’t end like this.
The ground shook vigorously for a few seconds, and his alternate staggered backwards.
“Fandral!” Thor’s voice echoed throughout the void.
His eyes shot open and he pushed himself up to his feet. He charged forward and yelled, running directly into the creature. He knocked it onto the ground, and he began punching its face over and over again.
“Give me my body back!” He shouted.
“No!” The evil form growled. With a large heave, it knocked Fandral off and rolled him onto his back. It raised the sword and held it over Fandral’s heart. “If I die, you die with me.”
Fandral’s eyes scanned the blade from hilt to tip slowly. Smoke billowed around him, wrapping around his limbs again. As the smoke tightened around his limbs, he clenched his fists. He refused to die a prisoner.
He firmly planted his feet on the ground. With the last of his strength, he pushed up off the ground with his arms, knocking the wraith back. When their bodies met at a V shape, Fandral felt the sword pierce his skin. As he continued forward, it pushed through his chest and completely out the other side. His palms caught the floor, and he hovered over the wraith, breathing heavily as his body processed being stabbed.
The wraith chuckled. “You don’t give up, do you? This is why you lost.”
Fandral shook his head. He sat upright, pulling the ebony blade from his chest. He felt his wound open like a watergate. “I haven’t lost. It’s like you said...if I die…” He gripped the blade hard. “You die with me.”
Raising the sword over his head, he mustered as much strength as he could and brought the blade down on the wraith’s neck. It’s head held to its neck by threads, but it stopped moving instantly. Fandral continued breathing heavily, resting his forehead on the sword. He pushed himself up to his feet to step over the corpse before him before falling flat onto the ground again.
As he blinked in and out of consciousness, a white blip could be seen in the distance. He lifted his head an inch off the ground.The spot flickered and swelled slowly. He reached one hand out and tried to drag himself forward. He cried out in pain and placed the hand over his wound instead.
“I’m so sorry, Thor,” Fandral whispered, his eyes losing focus. He finally gave in and let his eyes close.
His skin felt warm...then hot...and then boiling. His eyelids clamped tightly and he felt like something was escaping his body. What he couldn’t see was the room around him ruptured with thousands of particles, erasing the blackness from the void around him. The body and sword next to him disintegrated into dust.
The warmth around him died out as his body burst into particles.
-- --
Something rolled him onto his back. He was pulled up and his head rested in what felt like a palm. A hand gripped his side gently, near where he was stabbed. There was no pain there, but his bones ached severely.
“Fandral...please wake up…”
The voice sounded close - Fandral realised he was back in his own body. His face contorted strangely, but he couldn’t quite figure out how to make any of his muscles move.
“Th…hh...oo...r…” He breathed.
Thor pulled him closer, and Fandral’s eyelids slid open. He blinked and looked around, everything focusing on the man hovering above him. The worry on Thor’s face shifted to a sad smile. Fandral smiled until his gaze met with a giant red bruise on the other man’s neck. He reached up and gently touched the mark.
“Did I…?”
Thor shook his head, grabbing Fandral’s hand and holding it tightly. “No...I don’t think…” He glanced away for a moment before continuing, “Do you remember what I gave you the first day we met?”
Fandral glanced away and thought for a moment.
“An apple,” He said finally. “It was gold and you said, ‘this is an apple of everlasting life. If you eat this, you will never be alone because we can be friends forever.’”
Thor sighed in relief and pulled Fandral into a tight embrace.
Lost in the darkness
Silence surrounds you
Once there was morning
Now, endless night
Fandral tried to scream but all of the air was sucked out of his lungs as his consciousness was being ripped from his body. It took him only a moment to realise he was being pulled into the shell of himself, and whatever was pulling him down was dominating his will. He couldn’t control any of his motions, though he could still hear everything going on outside of him. The trial was still going on, and he tried to fight the smoke tendrils but they were stronger than Uru. He was helpless, and as the world around him went black, his ears went deaf.
He wasn’t sure if what he was imagining was real or if it was all just a figment of his imagination. From what he could see, he was sitting in an empty, black abyss. There were no lights, but this place felt magical. Like a prison for the host of the body to suffer alone until their will died completely. He was optimistic that he was stronger than the average person, but as the weeks dragged on, he was fading quickly.
Fandral also wasn’t sure if he was laying down or standing at any given time. Sometimes the void would shift and he would be standing when he wanted to pace and laying down when he grew weary. The only thing he thought might be real were the smoke shackles around his wrists and ankles. Though the abyss was vast and he never knew how long he walked for, the shackles were never-ending. Just a reminder that he was a prisoner and helpless.
He wondered to himself often how things got this bad. He replayed his entire life from as far back as he remembered to the current day, trying to recall bits that he may have missed. Of course, nothing in his past could have prepared him for the moment he picked up the Ebony Blade. It called out to him, and he was so drawn to it. He should have told Thor. Volstagg and Hogun knew, but were too afraid to say anything.
Part of him knew that if he ever lifted the sword again, he would be damned. It was a cursed blade, though he knew not how or why. He wondered how far gone Dane Whitman was before he started looting shops. He wondered if his consciousness was locked in a cage and his body was used as a vessel for destruction, or if he still had any whims left of his own.
If I could reach you
I’d guide you and teach you
To walk from the darkness
Back into the light
Sometimes he could hear what was going on outside of his body. He wasn’t actively fighting to get out, because he had no idea where he was, so he assumed it was the entity trying to make him realise how much destruction he was causing. Most of the time he was left in silence, and that was so much worse. If he ever found a way to get rid of the shadow being, he would need to atone greatly. Not only to the Allfather, but Midgard as well. Or anywhere else he may have ended up. He couldn’t assume that Heimdall would let him back on Asgard, but he also knew that the Avengers would never let him stay on Midgard. Their organization was crumbling, but those who could still fight would work together with no problems.
By this point in time, Thor should have been back from his honeymoon. He hated that he may be ruining his homecoming. Thor deserved all the happiness in the world, and so did Jane. Fandral remembered when he was the one who made Thor happiest - when seeing him would brighten even the gloomiest days. He longed for those days again. They were simpler, before they had any dealings with Midgard and the people who would come to turn the Nine Realms upside down. He had no resentment towards Jane or the twins...but if he never came to Midgard, he wouldn’t be in this mess himself.
As he lay thinking about ‘the good old days’, he saw something moving in the black. It was a grey wisp moving towards him, and it was illuminated. When he tried to take a step forward, the shackles were caught - either he finally reached their end, or something else was happening. As the ball of light got closer, he took a couple steps back. The abyss lit up with a flash as two figures emerged from the wisp a ghostly, yet ethereal forms.
“I am Sir Percy of Scandia, the first person to wield the Ebony Blade. It is good to finally meet you, Sir Fandral.”
Deep in your silence
Please try to hear me
I’ll keep you near me
Till light passes by
Fandral recognized the second form to be Dane Whitman. “What do you want?”
“We are here to warn you,” Sir Percy continued. “We were both killed by the Ebony Blade, and we have fought our way through thousands of souls to find our way to you. What is happening with you is not normal.”
He stepped forward again saying, “So this can be fixed? You know how to help me?”
Dane shook his head. “It isn’t that simple. You remember what I said to you before you stabbed me?” His tone was somber now, much different than he remembered.
The whole day was a blur, but there were two phrases that stood out to him. One directed towards Wanda, the other at himself. Their blood is on your hands, too.
“You said...their blood was on my hands. They meaning the people that were killed when you smashed into the building.”
He nodded. “I hadn’t realised at the time who I was speaking with. You are a true warrior, Sir Fandral, and I believe that may be your downfall.”
He had a look of confusion on his face, and that prompted Sir Percy to step in again. “The Ebony Blade is made of a metal called Starstone, which fell from the heavens not but six centuries ago. It was found by the great wizard Merlin, who forged the metal into four objects: a sword, a shield, a chalice, and a staff. He cast a spell on them, a different enchantment for each one. The staff, however, was stolen by my greatest foe, Mordred. He wanted to use the staff to destroy a place called Camelot, where I lived and swore to protect. In the end, I died by the Ebony Blade, but not before stopping him.”
The history lesson didn’t make much sense to him, because he was not a native to Midgard. He knew none of the names being shared, although the metal could have easily been from another planet by the description. He wondered where it was from, and if that had anything to do with the enchantment - but it wouldn’t help to ask. Sir Percy had a very primitive look about him, though Dane seemed like a modern man.
“The sword had only two other wielders before myself,” Dane said. “One of them was Sir Percy’s squire. After he died, he tried to avenge him and in turn he couldn’t control the blade. It was then we learned it has a mind of its own.”
“When Merlin enchanted the sword, it was meant to be used by someone truly neutral. Killing would have to be made up by the user doing good acts. It is easy for a knight to kill in battle without a second thought, and slowly the sword begins to eat away at you. The problem was that we had no idea that the totals were cumulative, and all the good acts to tame the sword had to depend on the person. My squire hadn’t had a chance to do anything truly Good yet, and so taking in all the souls of the dead from my time with the sword, he turned bloodthirsty. He turned into what history calls the Bloodwraith. He is a monster born from the enchantment on the sword,” Sir Percy explained.
Dane continued, “I was too far gone to be of any help to you. The moment you lifted the sword from my hand, it bound to you. It won’t let anyone take it who it deems unfit. I believe it began absorbing all the souls of everyone you have downed in battle. You didn’t have to be holding the sword, just be near it for long enough. Your body has been taken over by Death himself, and he will not stop for anything.”
Fandral froze in terror. “What am I to do then?”
“We fear there is nothing you can do. But the fact that you are still here and haven’t been destroyed completely means that there is still hope,” Dane said.
The two shared a look for a moment and Sir Percy spoke again, “We can only speak with you because your soul is connected to the blade, so I do not know how helpful this information can be. When Mordred took the Ebony Staff, Merlin created an object called the Brazier of Truth. It will return the sword to its original state - it will break the enchantment, and you can return to normal. Only someone truly worthy can light the flame.”
Worthy...Thor was worthy of Mjolnir. Perhaps he would be worthy of lighting the fire as well.
“Tell me what I can do. I can’t do anything here - everyday I feel weaker.”
“We can’t tell much from the outside world, we can only gain information from the new souls that get absorbed into the blade. If we find anything concrete, we will return.”
Don’t leave me here, he thought. He had never been alone this long. Without another word, they disappeared into a flash of light. The smoke disappeared in an instant and he looked down at the chains. He started walking again, and the chains let him walk forward without hesitation. Their presence definitely did something, and he just had to figure out what and why.
The questions he had about the sword were answered, but only created dozens more. At least he found some more courage.
I will find the answer
I’ll never desert you
I promise you this -
Till the day that I die
Fandral had just gotten scolded by one of Janet’s friends for making out with her. He had no idea she was married. Most of him just didn’t care. It was a wedding, there was alcohol, and people were bound to make poor decisions. Though Fandral hadn’t had a lick of alcohol all night, thanks to Thor’s friend. He was trying to get a taste of something by kissing as many drunks as he could, but that was a fruitless endeavor.
The party had hit a rough patch when Jan got hit. Some of the Midgardians were on edge, but the Asgardians didn’t really take too much notice. It wasn’t an Asgardian wedding without at least four fights at the reception - he would know, he caused quite a number of them in the past. However, Thor wasn’t anywhere to be seen, and chances are he had no idea what just happened. So Fandral decided he had to go make some peace with everyone, but his attention was caught by something else.
Sitting at a table alone was a young man, human, and he seemed very out of place. There was an aura radiating from him that he couldn’t pinpoint, but he was drawn to him, in a curious way. He didn’t seem unhappy or sad, just...pensive.
Instead of heading to the group of Midgardians, he pushed through the crowd and made his way over to the young man.
“Are you alright?” He asked. “You don’t seem like you’re enjoying the festivities. I am Fandral, by the way. Thor’s best man.”
Fandral sat inside a tiny box with his hands cuffed together. He figured that him being in chains would make the Midgardians feel safe. It was a flimsy, cheap metal that he could tear through easily, if he so desired [which he kind of did]. The Jurors were staring at him, their eyes piercing him with hate and anger. There were reporters scattered along the room, filming him and displaying this on television for the entire world to see. Apparently everyone wanted to see justice get served for Dane Whitman.
He only learned that name earlier. He assumed that the Black Knight had a name, and maybe a few months ago he would have cared. His fists were clenched and though there were eyes on him from every direction, his own were fixed on the Ebony Blade sitting on the evidence table halfway across the room. When he arrived earlier, a representative from Asgard and a lawyer from Midgard discussed his case and decided on what he should say. He didn’t hear a word of it. His head was pounding, he could hear his heart beating and the blood rushing through his veins. The Ebony Blade was calling out to him. He needed to hold it again.
The judge slammed her gavel down and said, “Mr. Fandral, answer the question.”
He didn’t flinch, but he did glance over at the judge for a moment. Then he looked over at the prosecutor, who was standing awfully close to the sword.
“Mr. Fandral, could you please recount your actions on the afternoon of June 6th, 2016?”
At this point, Fandral had told the story to many people, including the Asgardian representative. It was so repetitive, and he knew there were some things he was told to omit in court, but his brain was so foggy.
“I was asked by Prince Thor to assist the Avengers in apprehending the man who called himself the Black Knight. I came down on my horse, which was a suggestion by Prince Thor himself. I met with Wanda and we rode into the city looking for any sign of the Black Knight. We did find him flying about on his horse, which is when Wanda used her magic to knock him out of the sky. When he crashed into the building, he fell and under the order of the Allfather of Asgard, I placed him under arrest,” Fandral explained. His words were monotonous and he had no emotion as he spoke.
“How did he end up dead if you placed him under arrest?” The prosecutor asked.
Fandral didn’t notice, but his lawyer was trying to get his attention. He continued telling what he remembered, “I told him he was under arrest for his crimes. I remember he laughed at me, and said something crude about Wanda. He had his sword, and I took it from him. As soon as I had the sword in my hands, I felt like it wanted me to kill him. I didn’t have the willpower to act against it. It was a mistake.”
“Are you saying the sword was telling you to stab Mr. Whitman through his chest?”
“Yes.”
“And how exactly did this sword talk to you?”
Fandral rolled his eyes. “It’s an enchanted weapon. Midgardians are so daft.”
There was a bit of a rise from the people in the room. The Judge slammed her gavel again and called for order.
The prosectutor looked a bit pissed, but he asked another question anyway, “If the weapon is enchanted, like you said, and you killed someone with it, why is it still in your possession? Are you worried it might ask you to kill someone again?”
Fandral could feel himself trying to process the question, but his thoughts were so clouded. If he were of sound mind, that would have been an indicator that there was something wrong. Instead, his mouth decided to fuel whatever feeling was building up inside his body.
“I am the greatest swordsman in the Nine Realms; the Allfather entrusted me with the sword because he knew that if I can’t be trusted with it, then no one can. Not only that, but I am a warrior. I have been one longer than there has been civilized life on this realm. I am not afraid of killing others because that is my job. War is death. War is murder. That is my life. My only hope is that if it does ask me to kill again, it will be someone who truly deserves it. I don’t know Dane Whitman, I cannot say he deserved anything - but there are others in the cosmos who do deserve to be killed. I could be out dealing with them, but instead you all waste my time here.”
Fandral saw fear on everyone’s face as he spoke. The angry prosecutor standing before him stepped back into the evidence table, which rattled all the items, including the Ebony Blade. For the first time that day, he managed to look around the room, and also at himself. There was black smoke pooling at his feet, and he could feel a haunting presence at his back. He turned his head and looked up to see a dark, shadowy figure behind him with eyes dripping red.
The last emotion he had was fear. The shadow oozed slowly into his body, overtaking him and his consciousness. Dark speech patterns flew around his mind, and even with the Allspeak, he couldn’t understand all the words but they were evil. They were so evil, and he felt so alive.
As everyone in the courtroom cowered before him, he rose from his seat. He yanked his hands apart, and the chains between the cuffs snapped instantly. He stepped up and over the railing of his interrogation box and onto the tile floor. He saw the Asgardian representative stand.
“Fandral, don’t do this.”
He looked at the Asgardian, and squinted. He continued walking towards the table, where he grabbed hold of the Ebony Blade’s hilt. He huffed loud and then looked to the prosecutor standing next to him. He was sweating and afraid. Fandral smiled and chuckled under his breath. The room was silent, save for the low hum of the cameras, which were all still pointed at him.
He stepped dangerously close to the prosecutor, but went around him to the other table with the lawyer and the Asgardian representative. He had never actually known this man, though they looked to be about the same age. He was a scholar, not a warrior. Fandral reached forward and the Asgardian tried to jerk himself away, but he still caught his wrist and gripped it tightly.
There was terror in his expression. “Please. What will Thor think?”
“Thor isn’t here.”
“He’ll see this,” He gestured to the cameras.
Fandral stared into the one that was about two feet from his head. He grimaced and turned back to the Asgardian. “Let him see, then.”
He lifted up the sword and slashed down hard at the Asgardian’s elbow. He cried out in pain as Fandral gently placed the severed forearm on the table next to the lawyer, who turned beet red.
“There is no justice here,” He said, turning back to the crowd. “This trial is pointless. You cannot incriminate me for doing my job, as I’m sure you wouldn’t persecute your own soldiers as they kill aimlessly for your country. I am Fandral of Asgard. I am beyond your rule. And I will be taking my leave now,” He began walking towards the exit. “Should anyone try and stop me...well, let’s just say the blade may not be as kind to the next person who gets in my way.”
“...are you really asking why you can’t be drunk during my wedding ceremony?” Thor asked with mild frustration.
Fandral took a few steps back. The two had been arguing about small things a lot recently - he wasn’t really sure why. Thor was looking much more tired than usual, like he hadn’t been sleeping at all. With the wedding only a few days away, it made sense. But most of the preparations had already been done, and anything that wasn’t would be done the day of.
He folded his arms across his chest saying, “I didn’t say drunk. Just...starting early. You also said I can’t drink during the reception, either. Isn’t the point to celebrate?”
“Of course. But you can celebrate without drinking.”
“This coming from the man who had gone drink for drink against everyone at a tavern, and THEN proceeded to win a drinking contest against Mephisto?”
Thor fell silent and turned back to his work. He was organizing something, Fandral couldn’t see what, but it looked like little cards. “This isn’t about what I want. It’s for Tony. I don’t want him to feel out of place.”
Fandral huffed audibly. He also didn’t want Thor’s Midgardian friends to feel out of place. However, he did mentally note this wasn’t the first time recently he’d been told to cut back on the drinking. In fact, in the past few months, Hogun and Volstagg had been cutting him off after only a few drinks...he didn’t like being told what to do. He also hated being forced to do [or in this case not to do] something. He didn’t understand why everyone was being pushy about it, but this also wasn’t the right time to ask.
“Fine, I won’t. I’ll stay sober the whole night, if it makes you happy,” Fandral replied angrily. He felt a wave of rage wash over him. The sudden shift in emotions caused his whole body to tense, and he gripped tightly to his bicep.
“It would,” Thor said, as he glanced back over to him. Fandral saw him stop and keep staring. “Are you alright?”
“Why?”
“Your hand,” He pointed, “You’ve been acting strangely for some time. Not just today. Is there something you’ve been keeping from me?”
In an instant, he felt the anger subside and he quickly let his hands fall to his sides. Fandral’s first thought was to the sword sitting in his bedroom. Things hadn’t been right since he killed the Black Knight. Sometimes he felt like he was actively fighting himself from picking up the sword again.
“It’s nothing. Probably just guilt.”
Thor kept staring in concern. “Your trial is next week. You are still going to that, correct?”
His nostrils flared. He really didn’t want to. He enjoyed hiding out on Asgard, but the ultimatum had already been set. If he didn’t go, he would have to resign as Senator and he would no longer be allowed to leave Asgard until amends were made. Going through Midgard’s legal processes were beneath him, and even the Allfather knew it. But from what he [barely] understood, there was a war going on thanks to him. He had to at least acknowledge his part in the crime.
“If you want me to. Yes.”
He nodded. “I do. Just...please, don’t make things worse.”
Fandral bowed his head, and without a word turned and walked away. He really needed a drink.
“You killed him…” Wanda whispered. She still sat astride Firehooves as Fandral did his dirty work. Wanda had taken an oath never to take a life if it could be prevented. She took such an oath very seriously. Even in light of her misstep, she would never go and kill one more person either because one more or less didn’t matter or because of anything they’d done to deserve it. That wasn’t what Avengers did. It’s not what any sort of hero did. She shook all over, her fingers stroking the saddle in which Fandral had been sitting, rooted to the spot, unable to stay, not wanting to go.
The knight chose for her. Wanda didn’t argue.
What would happen to them now? Even if they left at this very moment and she made it back to the New Avengers Facility, even if she managed to escape this for the time being there would be consequences. They’d come for her. They’d come for her with guns and combat gear. They’d come for her with pepper spray and arisol. They’d come for her with the law and stipulations. There was no way out of this. Again, Wanda tried to deny that such a thing could have happened. After all, she hadn’t meant to do it. How easy would it have been for her to just not have cast that curse. How easy would it have been to take an extra second to aim properly?
The fire burned hotter all the time.
The jumpers started. Wanda thought once about trying to soften their fall so they might walk away free, then twice about what more damage she might cause if she did. It took long seconds for them to hit the ground. Their legs kicked and their arms tried to grab onto something that could break their fall. Wanda reckoned it was just long enough to regret their decision before they landed. When they hit the pavement, their legs snapped first, then the rest of them quickly followed. Not one got up.
Fandral heard Wanda whisper as he ran back to his horse. “I didn’t mean to, I swear,” He had desperation in his tone. His mouth was dry, and he felt his heart racing. He wasn’t a murderer, he was a warrior - one of the Warriors Three. They weren’t mercenaries trained to kill. They were trusted members of Odin’s council.
Sirens were blaring, coming from every direction. Heat from the fires were burning more, and the deafening cries of those trapped underneath the rubble were slowly silenced into nothing. This did not go as planned. What Wanda did was an accident...but Fandral killed the knight on purpose. He didn’t want to wait around to get questioned by Midgard’s police, asking him why he had an uncontrollable urge to take his life.
Wanda appeared to be in a daze, and he was still panicking internally. Along the tops of the cityscape, he saw a giant letter A peeking out above the buildings. The Avengers Tower - where Thor lived. It would be a safe place for Wanda, so he could return to Asgard.
“Run, quickly,” He said, kicking the sides of Firehooves after climbing on his back. They sped away from the wreckage - he felt bad for leaving the scene, but he didn’t know what else to do. He hoped Thor would help...this was a mess.
Betty nodded her head. “Will do, though I thought Thor did not really talk to people on Asgard anymore?” She thought she had heard that in Jane’s rant. She could have misheard though. The other had not necessarily been awake when they had talked. Though she might ask Jane just to put the message through to Thor. She still was not entirely comfortable around the other. He had not done anything wrong but still. She nodded. “I’m not much for combat outside self-defense. Most of what I prefer is meditation or yoga. But the other girl likes fighting. I think we have an Asgardian weapon?” Loki had never really said where he had gotten the staff, just that it was hers.
“It might be fun though to let the other girl spar with someone she cannot hurt.”
After all, the Asgardians were a ridiculously tough bunch. Something in their DNA just made them particularly sturdy. She went to question about hiking places when a soft cry reached her ear. Sounded like someone was awake. “I’ll just stay here while you check. Too much noise might make it worse.” She watched as he went, spreading the blanket out. Best make the play area now. She lined it with pillows, trying to remember how her mom used to do it. She finished the arrangement just to look up and see Fandral with Luke. Okay, so it wasn’t both. Good.
“Hmm, maybe. Is he dirty?” Betty walked over, gently stroking her finger tips against Luke’s back. “If it isn’t that he might be.” She frowned, rubbing his back a bit more before heading towards the kitchen. “Let’s offer him a snack and see if it takes? A noise might have woke him. It is New York City.” She reached for the note that had the snacks listened, carefully selecting the banana. It was easy and if nothing else it could go in the fridge if he did not want it right now.
“So does he need a change first or can we try the banana?”
“Maybe,” Fandral said, holding the child slightly further from his body. He didn’t know how diapers worked; on Asgard they used cloths and those were known to leak. He didn’t want to get his [borrowed] shirt dirty...
He pushed on Luke’s bottom and it didn’t feel like anything was wrong. “I don’t think he needs to be changed, Fandral said as he walked towards the kitchen. He set Luke down in his high chair and watched Betty grab the fruit from the counter. He seemed to be upset about sitting and was reaching forward into the air. Fandral had no idea what that meant...
“I don’t think it was a noise, he seems to want something.”
We’re such baby experts, Fandral thought. Thor picked real winners to watch over the kids. Though, whenever he babysat on his own, he seemed to know what they wanted. Being with another person may be dumbing down his senses.
He looked back to Luke as Betty got the banana ready. He said, “To answer your question from earlier, Thor does travel back to Asgard, on occasion. If he has business, he will stop in, or if his presence is required.” He paused. “Is ‘the-other-girl’ the woman you spoke of earlier?”
Fandral’s hand was trembling. He had woke with a cold sweat, thinking over and over about the Black Knight. He heaved, trying to catch his breath. Sitting across his bedroom was the ebony blade. It hung in its case above the fireplace. Odin had entrusted him to keep it, and being a swordsman it was only natural he would take good care of the sword. Neither of them knew the curse it bore, but it was only thing the warrior could think about.
The moon shone bright through his window, the silvery beam directly hitting the sheath. He wanted to look away, but he was so mesmerised. His breathing relaxed the longer he stared, and eventually he pushed the sheets off of him.
He reached up and touched the shiny metal. It was so different from the blade within. He let his fingertips graze over the ornate detailings before gently pulling the sword off the wall. Fandral was so drawn to this weapon, he wasn’t aware of the hold that it had over him. He thought it was just genuine curiosity. Then he found himself walking towards the training grounds. He barely dressed; just tossed on a tunic and a pair of boots. His ears were ringing so loudly that it blocked out all other sounds as he walked through the castle.
His feet hit the grass and he finally raised his head, staring out into the void of space that surrounded Asgard. The light of the moon was directly above him, shining down on the training dummies that lined the area. He pulled the sword from its scabbard. Not even the light of the full moon could penetrate the blackness of the blade, though its hilt glittered gold.
Fandral breathed in and shut his eyes. He stepped over to the nearest dummy and with a swift horizontal swing, he sliced through the dense figure. It sat perfectly still for a moment, as if still together, until the top half slipped to the ground.
As it dropped, his hearing returned. There were whispers in his head, too soft for him to understand what they were saying. The only phrase that stood out was ‘keep going’. He turned to the next dummy and made another cut diagonally across its ‘chest’. This continued as he worked his way through the other ten dummies lining the field. The whispers in his head turning into shouts. Images of people he’d never seen before passed in front of his eyes, and with every swing the visions became more gruesome and violent. Civilians lying decimated in the streets, blood pouring into the sewers of the godforsaken town. Heads bashed in and brains oozing from their skulls. His muscles tensed as shrieks of horror, screams in pain were filling his ears as if this was all happening before him.
“Fandral!”
His arms were raised above his head and strong hands gripped his wrists. Volstagg and Hogun. Suddenly the voices quieted until the looming whispers were all that remained. He lowered his arms slowly, with the guidance of his friends. He still gripped tightly to the sword, as if he feared they would try and take it from him.
“Fandral what in Odin’s name are you doing?”
“I - I don’t know.“ His voice was shaking, and it was at that point he realised he had been crying. He managed to pry his hand from the sword, and his knuckles were almost pure white as he wiped the tears from his eyes. “Why are you here?”
“Heimdall sent us. He said something was wrong.” Hogun was still gripping him tightly and a panic rose in his chest.
“Let go of me.” He hissed and he stepped back a few feet. As he jerked backwards, the sword sliced into the last training dummy, cutting off a small chunk. Hogun hopped to the side before the blade cut him as well.
“Odin didn’t give you this sword so you could destroy all of his equipment,” Volstagg said, taking a step closer, prompting Fandral to step back again.
“Stay away from me,” He said slowly and deliberately.
“Fandral, calm down -“ Hogun said, rushing forward.
“I said stay back!” He said, holding the sword up to the Vanir’s neck. He was breathing heavily again, his heart was pounding.
Very slowly did Hogun move backwards, and Fandral moved back over to the sheath.
“This isn’t you,” Volstagg called. “We want to help you. Whatever’s going on, you can tell us.”
The tip of the blade rested against the slit. Another vision came into his head. It looked like he was standing on a battlefield, the scent of death filling the air around him with red stained snow beneath his feet. He shut his eyes and pushed the sword back in its scabbard. The image faded to the black behind his eyelids.
“There’s nothing going on. Leave me be.”
He heard his friends shuffling through the grass as he took off back to his bedroom. Guards were watching him as he ran by, trying to question him. Once he made it back to his quarters, he closed and locked the door behind him. He heard armored footsteps in front of his room, and a muffled conversation before the steps went back down the hallway. He leaned his back against the door and he slid down to the floor. Fandral hugged the sword close to his chest.
Sif called Fandral’s name another time, and heard her own voice echo back at her. But a few seconds later, she heard another voice down the tunnel, calling… something. Was it Fandral? Sif didn’t know (more like, didn’t want to think about) what else it could be. But where was he? The round, large pipes distorted any sound, causing it to echo all around her. She took a few steps to the left and called out Fandral’s name again. Nothing but her own voice echoing back at her. She took a few steps into the pipe on the right side and did the same thing–nothing, again.
Sif felt a shiver run down her spine. It was her intuition, which her mentors had always told her to trust. Something wasn’t right here. She just had to figure out what.
She looked around once more, moving back to the fork and, giving in to the creeping feeling on the back of her neck, turned to look the way she had come. All the paths were empty. The creeping feeling intensified. Sif ran.
Arbitrarily, she chose to go left, the sloshing, splashing sound of her steps echoing off the curved walls. She told herself that she was running because eventually, as a warrior, one had to think and not act. She told herself it wasn’t because she was afraid. But she knew better than to believe that, really.
Eventually, she slowed in her random running, realizing that she had no idea where she was going. She cast her gaze around, looking down the side passages, and then nearly tripped over herself and fell. Highlighted against the light through a sewer grating was a tall, dark figure, standing and watching her.
Sif was more spooked than she thought she’d been. At the sight of the figure, she sped up again, her heart pounding from more than just simple exertion. She didn’t even stop to think about whether that figure had been Fandral.
The tunnel felt neverending as he ran towards the fork where he saw the figure. He slashed another X onto the wall just before he turned the corner. Another long way down, but then the figure was just standing there in the middle, hidden carefully past the sewer grate from above. The figure was so much bigger now that it was in focus. Definitely not Sif.
DEFINITELY not Sif.
There were some splashes echoing in the tunnel before him. He couldn’t see anything, but he could see the figure turning [he couldn’t tell which direction]. The sound had stopped for a couple seconds, but then continued again through the middle fork he passed. As this figure passed under the light from above, he saw the familiar shimmer of Sif’s black hair.
“Sif! Wait up!” Fandral shouted.
He didn’t really think to look back and wonder if him calling out would prompt the figure to act. It did. He didn’t see it, but it did. As he charged forward towards Sif, he didn’t notice the footsteps pounding behind him. He did, however, let out a terrified scream the second he felt a hand on his shoulder, pulling him to a stop.
Even before the dust and magic had cleared, it was entirely obvious what had happened. Then things happened in a slow motion chronology that would forever remain chronicled in Wanda’s memory. The building instantly burst into flame. There was no catching fire, just a magical inferno that hadn’t been caused, only born. It burned hot. Even from half a block away, Wanda could feel the heat on her own skin. It felt like it had been ablaze for hours. Then there were the screams. Unlike the rest of the scene, the people who were still trapped inside hadn’t been prepared. As they found themselves in an inescapable inferno, their screams raised to a fever pitch and one by one were snuffed out as the fire roared on.
Wanda found herself incredibly out of place where she was. There she sat, literally astride her high horse, and unable to do anything to help them. Anything. As the fire crackled out of control, Fandral seemed, somehow, not to notice the dire need to help, to change what had happened as Wanda sat on the wrong side of just barely too late. She clutched to his armor as he walked Firehooves to the Black Knight who had, until a moment ago, been Wanda’s first and only priority. Now he looked pathetic as he lay, small and broken, on the ground. Wanda wanted to help him up, not put him under arrest.
And then he begged the question, “My crimes? What about hers?”
Wanda looked about herself, hand over her mouth, fighting back tears or screams or apologies or whatever might come out if she let herself speak. She wanted to turn back the clock, just by a few minutes. Instead of screaming, Wanda tried to reach inside of herself for something, anything that would change what had happened. Her training incomplete, she found nothing there on which she could draw. Or perhaps even the most accomplished sorcerers and witches wouldn’t be able to turn back the clock. Perhaps that was one thing that could never be changed. While Wanda gasped at straws, the fire burned on.
Wanda seemed to be paralysed from her actions, and Fandral honestly couldn’t blame her. He had to keep pressing forward. If the Black Knight got away, then the same thing could only happen again later on, but with someone different.
“You don’t get to speak,” Fandral hissed, kicking the man over onto his back He reached down and jerked the Ebony Blade from the downed swordsman’s hand.
Fandral stared at the black sword for a moment in complete awe. The ore used was so absent of color, it didn’t even sparkle or reflect light. More importantly, he felt so enchanted. More coughs and sputters of attempting at words came out of the Black Knight. He seemed to settle on a wheezing laugh instead of words. Fandral looked down.
“Their blood is on your hands, too.”
Without thinking, Fandral gripped tightly to the Ebony Blade in his left hand. He lifted the sword up and stabbed down, piercing straight through the other man’s armor, straight through to the pavement below. When he realised what he’d done, he stepped backwards, his hand shaking. What the in the Nine Realms did I just do?
Sirens could be heard. Their safety officers would take care of this. The fire, the bodies...he quickly pulled the sheath off the now dead knight. He stared at the sword sticking out of his chest, and with a swift motion, pulled it out and stuck it in the sheath.
“Just be careful. TV, while being amazingly mind-numbing, can become an addiction. Not that I can really see you becoming a couch potato.” Fandral was just filled with some much life. He always seemed to be moving. Loki had been the same way oddly enough. Granted, he could be stilled when there was an article of text that had caught his attention, or if the magic demanded it. Perhaps it was just a part of the Asgardian charm? She had not really met much of Thor before he had children, but he seemed to be lacking that pep in his step that the others had. Hmm, maybe ask Jane later, she had met many other Asgardians before. Betty chuckled and shrugged.
“Maybe, but I don’t think she would have much interest in me. Not everyone finds science fascinating and I don’t go on many dangerous quest.” She paused. “Unless we are talking about my science trips but only recently have they turned deadly.” Except the space journey with Fandral. That had been more fun and cheerful than anything else. “Well, the bounce anyway. I will try to make an effort to get to know her though. I like seeing all sides of people.” That was how she had befriended the Hulk. Sure he was loud and strong but when push came to shove, he was like a giant puppy. Trying so hard but stumbling a bit because the world was just too small.
Adorable.
“Depends really. If both parties can cook it is like dancing.” Betty sighed softly, thinking about how Jarvis and his wife used to move around in the kitchen. “Other times it can be cold.” Like whenever she tried to learn from the chef at Stark’s mansion. “And other times it is nice company.” Like her mom and the General used to have. “But generally home is more intimate if only for the lack of eyes.” Hard to truly get into a mood when fifteen people kept glancing your way for whatever reason. She chuckled. “If you ever want me to teach you how to cook I can do so. Might be able to bring Dakota dinner one night. She seems like the type to work late.”
“Really?” She bounced a little in her seat. “That would be lovely. I was too afraid to really enjoy the culture there the last time I went. Plus being able to see you more often would be lovely. We could have sleepovers or whatever. I can bring my portable DVD player, it’ll be a blast.”
“Absolutely,” Fandral said. He didn’t exactly know what a DVD player was...nor could he guess. Her work on Yggdrasil was not unnoticed by the Allfather. Though he may not go out of his way to greet Betty, when the subject of Midgardian visitors was brought up, Odin mentioned that those who helped out would be allowed on occasion. He doesn’t want the entire Earth showing up on his doorstep, but he knows he can trust those who assisted in restoring the World Tree to its former glory. “Just alert me when you would like to stop by, and I can arrange everything. Or, if I’m not around, you can relay a message through Thor.”
“And perhaps if you come visit, we can get you and Sif talking. If you’re interested in any type of combat, she would be a good help.” Truth be told, he didn’t really know too much of her other interests? Adventuring, fighting, and serving Asgard were the things they bonded with...also keeping Thor in line, but since meeting Jane, he had been keeping himself in check more often.
Fandral’s ears perked up when he heard a small cry coming from the twins room. They had gotten so caught up in conversation, he almost forgot about them. “I think the twins are awake now,” He said, standing up and walking to their door. It was open a crack, and he peered inside the dark room.
Luke was sitting up, trying to grab over at the rails of the crib. Leia was still knocked out. He quietly walked inside the room, careful to avoid the toys sitting in the middle of the floor. Luke made some whimpering noises as he was lifted from the crib. Fandral quietly shushed him as he walked back out into the living room.
“Leia is still asleep, but this one was making noises,” Fandral said as Luke tiredly placed his head on his shoulder. “Do you think he’s hungry?”
In her years as a Shieldmaiden of Asgard, Sif had dealt with all manner of disgusting things: blood, gore, entrails. Cleaning up after the palace guards feasted. Cleaning up the stables after guests left with their horses and entourage. Hunting and dressing all manner of wild beasts. But none of those experiences had prepared her for the sewers, and she wasn’t sure why she thought they would’ve. Then again, as she–and Fandral–were rapidly realizing, maybe they hadn’t thought this through at all.
The stifling miasma only got stronger around them the closer they got to the city, and even though Fandral started leading them with more confidence, the situation certainly wasn’t pleasant. Sif had to constantly fight against the bile rising up in her throat as dirty water (she called it “water”) started sloshing around their feet, and then their ankles, until it leveled out at around the middle of her calves, and she, like Fandral, had her sleeve covering her mouth and nose in an attempt to make the air more breathable. There was a splash fron behind them–someone was pouring something down a city drain, and the smell was awful. Sif didn’t blame Fandral when he looked back with a stricken expression and started to run, but she did blame him for running much too fast. His movement sent the disgusting “water” sloshing even more around them, and when Sif followed, the whole situation got even worse. Added to that, the noise they made was incredibly loud as liquid sloshed up against the sides of the walls and through the offshoot tunnels, disturbed by their passage.
As she tried to follow Fandral as best she could, Sif felt her right foot go down into a slightly softer, wetter patch of “mud” and she nearly stumbled face first into the muck, saving herself only with a lot of arm-flailing and a heroic effort to pull herself free. Once out, she stumbled a few more times, feeling a shudder of revulsion as the “water” splashed against her thighs and arms and even her face. But she finally got her balance–only to find Fandral nowhere in sight, and a split in the pipes before her. She could choose to take the fork to the left or to the right, and both tunnels looked equally big. And empty. She stilled, listening for the sound of Fandral’s splashing ahead, but the echoes of liquid against the rounded walls in all directions threw off her senses.
“Fandral?” she called tentatively. Then, hating how hesitant her voice sounded as she spoke, she got a little louder. “Fandral!”
On one hand, Fandral didn’t want to leave the clearer air. On the other, he didn’t want to leave Sif to suffer alone in the dirty sewers alone, especially when he was the one that left her to begin with. He heard his name being called, back the direction he came. He hoped that he could remember which way he went...the sewage beneath him was too watery [ew], so its not like his footprints would still be there [quadruple ew].
“Sif!” He called out again. He started walking back, and for the first few turns, everything was still settling back to normal after he had run through. That wouldn’t help Sif if she was so far back, but he took out his sword and scraped the walls as he passed by, so he’d know where to turn again if he went the wrong way.
The sound of his sword echoing against the metal walls may also direct Sif to him. So far everything was looking exactly the same. After every fork he would call out her name, and he waited to hear his before making a mark. How long did he run for? Where in the city was he? He looked up underneath the next grate and he didn’t recognize anything.
When he was standing still underneath the ambient light from up above, he heard movement coming from straight ahead. He saw a figure move past another fork. His heart stopped for a moment. Please be Sif.
Fandral put another X on the wall before running down the tunnel after the figure.
Wanda let go of her death grip on Fandral’s torso, and looked up at the knight overhead. He was a few stories up; within earshot but far enough he didn’t think he had to be concerned about a ground-bound knight and his lady. “I don’t think he’s listening either.” Wanda scowled in frustration. She would have preferred to parlay first, if at all possible. “Alright, let me try…” She trailed off and began to focus on her magic. She knew some Asgardians had magic. She’d have to ask later what kind he possessed.
It took only a second for the bolt of red magic to reach the Black Knight, as Wanda pointed out his wings and sent bolts of pure energy their way. It was more than a hex; this magic was controlled with the express purpose of dislocating the wings from the horse. There was at least a fair to middling chance the horse would survive the fall. And without the horse, the Black Knight was just a guy.
But the magic missed the horse, as the knight urged on the Pegasus, and evaded her. “Ah~” she enunciated in frustration, and aimed again, this time with a more forceful bolt, trying to strike the horse down in any way she could. Fandral couldn’t reach from here; it was on Wanda to bring it down into sword’s reach without either of them getting toasted by his laser lance. “Hold still,” she muttered, and threw a third, most forceful bolt the knight’s way.
The scarlet light shone brightly, and Wanda could only make out the dark blur at the center of the collision. She’d hit the knight, surely, as was confirmed by the shrill, ear-piercing horse’s screams, then the scraping of concrete, the shattering of glass, the heat of a roaring fire, and screams Wanda wouldn’t place at first. As the flash of her magic disappeared, she could see the horseman on the ground, and the building beyond as it started to fall. It bowed and buckled under its own weight, and flames licked the sides and interiors. Wanda’s hand went to her mouth, and she watched in horror as the scene unfolded in slow motion.
Fandral had his head down-ish and forward while she did her magic. He didn’t want his head to get singed by any of the spells. There were some frustrated noises coming from Wanda, and since he didn’t hear anything else, he figured that meant she wasn’t hitting him.
Then he heard the horse scream. He looked up, hoping to see the horseman falling to the ground, where he could be apprehended, but...there was an immense boom, and sprays of glass filled the air. The Black Knight fell to the ground, but the bolt kept going.
He wanted to look behind him, but instead he pulled the horse to a halt. People in the roads were either still screaming or standing with small devices watching. While the building slowly tumbled to the ground. There was a lump in his throat, he didn’t know what to say. His eyes went to their foe, who laying still on the ground about a hundred feet away. Fandral leapt off the horse and he staggered for a moment. The sound shook him a bit. He should be used to this by now.
He approached the knight, who was then trying to stand up. He must’ve been a hardy fellow to fall from that height. The Ebony Blade was still in his hand, the fabled weapon of old. Fandral put his boot over the sword, firmly clamping it to the ground as he drew his own. With his rapier sitting at the man’s throat, he decreed, “By the order of Odin, Allfather, I place you under arrest for your crimes.”
Very hoarsely, he heard coughing and sputtering vaguely resembling a laugh. “My crimes?” He heard, softly. “What about hers?”
