notes: for day five of GoW Week: Atreus. Just a soft boy being hopeful and good.
Atreus has spent too much of his life confined to his bed. With the sickness that returns every winter, and the weakness that finds him even in the warmer months, it sometimes feels like he has never known anything past the four walls of his home. He knows every nook and cranny of this cabin, every sound it makes when the wind blows, every tiny place where the cold air sneaks through and leaves him chilled. So much time wasted away locked inside as his mother frets over him and his father keeps a watchful eye. So much time breathing the same air and wondering how long he’ll be allowed to continue.
But in the forest, things are different. Things are better.
Today, it is warm. Atreus wears his lighter clothes, heavy furs tucked away for the season, and he carries his bow and quiver as he picks his way along a familiar path. The cracked bed of rock underfoot, the trees that stretch up and stroke the clouds with their branches, the scattered sounds of wildlife; all of it is his. He knows every inch of this forest, and he closes his eyes for a moment as he walks, relishing in the fact that he can. He feels safe here. He feels absolutely fearless, like nothing can touch him. Like no one can hurt him. Like the sickness is just a far away nightmare, clinging to the edges of his consciousness.
He veers off the path when he reaches the stream, following the flow of the water right by its bank. He sticks his arms out by his sides for balance, and his tongue pokes out in concentration; he’s slipped here more than once, and it’s not always fun to end up cold and wet, so he does his best to avoid it. With his head held high and his eyes on the path ahead, he lets his mind wander, taking in the world around him.
Past the burble of the stream, he can hear the wind rustling the branches overhead, leaves still holding on tight for the warm season. He can hear his own footsteps, pebbles shifting beneath him as he makes his way forward. Distantly, the sound of birds whose cries are as familiar as his mother’s voice.
There’s the whispering, too. Always present in the back of his head. Atreus allows it to filter in, and he closes his eyes once more; the voices are mostly indistinct, and they speak a language that’s simpler than his own. Something primal, but easy to decipher. Something based heavily in emotion and instinct.
They’re nice to listen to, mostly. They ground him. On the bad days, he tries to listen from his place in bed, and when they’re loud enough, they sometimes lull him to sleep. They’re his constant companions and his friends, and he smiles, tilting his head back to feel the sun on his face.
Distracted as he is, he nearly loses his balance, one of his feet slipping on a wet bit of rock and causing him to yelp as he stumbles to catch himself. He manages to stay on his feet, and he’s left laughing, trying to straighten up once more before he continues on, keeping his eyes on the ground this time. Mother will be happiest if he comes home dry.
Atreus likes being here. In the forest, he can pretend a lot of things. That he’s as strong as Thor, or invulnerable the way Baldur is supposed to be. That he’s got magic at his fingertips like the Vanir gods, or that he can walk the nine realms at his leisure, exploring the world and creating beautiful things, like the giants of Jötunheim. That maybe, one day, his life will be more than this small place and the sickness that binds him to it.
Until that day, though, he allows himself to dream about his freedom; about the day when he’ll be able to live out the stories his mother tells him before bed. He’ll be able to follow his father out into the deep woods and help him hunt to feed their family; to talk and grow closer. He’ll be able to go wherever he wants and to do whatever he wants to do.
In a place like this- with its fresh air and its beautiful trees and the endless blue sky overhead- it’s very, very easy to dream.
titsay
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