earth mother @motherofmidgard - Tumblr Blog

Freyr knelt in the middle of the glade. It lay in a tiny unnamed wood somewhere on Midgard, long forgotten by anyone alive and kept safe from mortal intrusion by magic. A small, rough statue lay within a low grotto. Despite its age, the shrine appeared well-kept, and a sprinkling of spring flowers grew around it.

Opening the bag at his side, he drew out an elegant bottle of Alfar wine and a shining orb. He laid both in the grass before him and smiled. He spoke into the still, waiting air.

"I have little else to offer you that you do not already have, Mother. It seemed good to honor the Mother of Midgard on this holiday, so I brought a bit of Alfheim -" he touched the flask "- and a bit of me." He touched the orb and it swelled with light, showing an image of his daughter Grania, safe within the circle of Sif’s arms.

"I thank you for your wisdom and your grace, and for all the help you have given me, all unknown, all these years. You have given me my beloved twice over, and that is a debt I can never hope to repay." His smile wavered a little and he cleared his throat awkwardly. "I love you, Mother."

#freyrofalfheim #she loves you too

motherofmidgard

we are all made of stars;

romulus-quirinus

"My Lady." It was a similar soft tone, and he looked at her and then around, remembering fondly these same hills centuries before. Different lambs then, and men in armor tramping the dirt as they marched the the now buried and forgotten Roman fort.

Perhaps one of the more industrious of humans would find it again, and marvel at the industriousness of other humans long since dead. IT was a cycle he observed with amusement.

"I remember this place. I had good memories here, and solid comrades in arms." He had forgotten their names, from so long ago and humans besides, but they had all fought well. They had died well, too, and that was worth remembering of any human.

motherofmidgard

She leaned against him, a turn of affection and warmth since her hands were occupied at the moment. She turned out to look where his eyes had fallen, and she smiled, remembering those men, and the clank of their armor as they walked. Perhaps she didn't not care for the message they brought, or the blood on their swords, but they were men, with stories and lives. She remembered their jokes.

She rocked the lamb sweetly in her arms, curling her fingers through the fur, and they slept soundly. "They're still here, you know. Slumbering in the ground." She passed her hand over the grass they sat on, as if affectionately stroking a shoulder, or an arm. She knew the dead well.

we are all made of stars;

romulus-quirinus

It a stupid and likely fleeting infatuation, this attachment of his to the woman who had made the Earth itself. He had buried more wives than he could remember, and many more lovers besides; it was the hazard of out-living them all. He had loved, truly, none of them.

Strategic alliances with neighboring kingdoms, some lesser Ferals over the years, beautiful women whose fathers insisted strongly enough, all sorts of reasons. He’d kept his vows, when he made them, and buried them with honor when they died.

But Gaea…. he’d probably be buried by her if they remained together long enough, and it was a daunting idea. He did not intend of it being the rest of his life, but he did appreciate her for now. He never intended to marry or be tied to someone for the rest of his life, and he saw nothing wrong with that.

He hoped she understood him enough to see that; he had enjoyed Tuscany as he had few things since embarking on his quest to bring Feral mutants to dominance. Having a mission, having a goal to outlast oneself meant making sacrifices. Weekends with beautiful goddesses had been one of his.

He’d tracked her down through his networks, and arrived in the early afternoon, striding easily across the indicated pleasant pastures of England until he found her with her creatures. The wolf come to sit with the sheep, he thought as he settled next to her wordlessly; he did not want to wake the lambs.

motherofmidgard

Gaea was a woman who had never known what it was like to be called wife, or, even to some extreme and lesser extent, some other variation on the term. She was far too old to entertain the world girlfriend, and significant other seemed too cliche, too trite -- too fleeting and too easily stood away from.

But he didn't need to worry; Gaea wasn't going to ask him to put a ring on it. She was too distrustful, too wounded and too broken in that arena to ever try again. Njord had loved her, but loved her as most men do, kept himself at a distance -- and besides, he was married, and for all intents and purposes, Gaea had kept herself at arm's length. He would not dissolve the marriage, neither for her nor the heavens, and it had hurt Gaea in some now hollow part of her.

And Odin had used her, and maybe she went into it knowingly, perhaps one cannot say she was easily deceived, but was it too much to ask to be loved? To be someone's one and only -- not just some brood mare, to give birth to a son of Asgard who would love and protect Midgard simply because he was part of it.

No, Romulus was safe. She was used to people leaving, and she kept her expectations low so that when the eventuality came, it wouldn't be so painful -- it would simply be expected. She glanced over at him with a soft smile, keeping her voice soft and low, so as not to wake the lambs.

"Hello, my dear."

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It’s the time of the season When love runs high And this time, give it to me easy And let me try with pleasured hands To take you in the sun to promised lands To show you every one It’s the time of the season for loving

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