Big part of what I love about GoW's Freya is how she's a mother character who balances out being a mother and a character properly, as it is an important part of her narrative but doesn't follow the fate of most fictional mothers; where they may get depth but are ultimately killed off or discarded.
Maybe you could say she's "written like a father". Instead of writing a mom, they wrote a "female Kratos"
Read from the start here. Thank you to @boxwithouthingesart and @morrowfel for beta reading!
Thrúd placed her palm on the stone’s surface. It was hot and glowing a faint blue. The last shock from Mjölnir had been enough to rouse the pile of stones into its familiar arch shape, but once the shimmering plane of the portal began to open it snapped shut. She glared through the empty space, her head pounding, her jaw tight with frustration.
“I don’t understand…” she murmured as she grasped Mjölnir’s handle with her free hand. “I…gave it everything I had…”
“Never seen a Gateway do that before. That’s right strange…” Mimir chimed from his place on a stump where Kratos had left him. A crowd had gathered to witness Thrúd’s plan unfold in a triumphant blaze of glory. She thought one fatal swing from the hammer would send enough magic rippling through the fabric of the realms to rejuvenate the Gateways. It seemed to work…but only for a moment. As if the electric shock from the hammer was redirected elsewhere.
The crowd was silent, some stirring uncomfortably. Thrúd bit her lower lip.
“Let me take a look.” Freya approached. Thrúd had never felt more grateful for her presence than she did at that moment. She watched the Queen of the Realms scan the Gateway stones with her dark, intelligent eyes, then run a tattooed hand along their rigid surface. She paused, glanced over her shoulder at the young goddess and opened her mouth to speak but did not have time to utter a word.
A clap of thunder cut through the humid air. They spun, awestruck by the sight of something ripping through the clouds. A bright tail of orange fire followed a cylinder-shaped object as it blasted through Vanaheim’s skies, trailed eastward towards a small village, and crashed into it. Smoke, fire, and debris sprayed up and over the tree line like a vicious tidal wave.
There was stunned silence. Then panic. The crowd, a mixture of both Vanir and Asgardians, scrambled while warriors drew their weapons. It was chaos, brought only to a trembling order through the arrival of Sigrún, her winged helmet bearing the promise of protection. The Shield Maiden’s boots touched the soil with a heavy thud as she landed from her flight.
She spread her feathered wings and shouted, “Hold! Warriors, to me! You two!” She pointed to Beyla and Byggvir, who were watching the chaos with ethereal concern. “Get the mortals to safety. Now!”
They didn’t need further encouragement. The elves acted swiftly as they had during Ragnarök, shepherding a line from the crowd away from the site of destruction. Hildisvíni volunteered to join them, and Sigrún did not give him grief though she wished he stayed behind for her war party. The other Shield Maidens gathered. Eir landed from the sky; her feathery wings spread with despair.
“It is the dwarfs,” she panted, her wings shuddering. Freya and the others gathered to hear her words.
“They are arriving from a massive realm tear. Many…too many to count.”
“The dwarfs?” Freya pressed. She couldn’t believe it. Sigrún nodded.
“Yes. They have moving machines on wheels. Some with cannons.” She gestured towards the black smoke curling over the trees with the tip of her wing.
“But…” Freya couldn’t begin to conceive why the dwarfs of all people were attacking Vanaheim. She frowned, her lips tugging at the corners of her mouth.
“…Why?”
There was no answer.
Thrúd grasped Mjölnir’s handle.
The dwarfs.
“They are moving towards another village,” Eir warned, her voice bearing the weight of death. They no longer had time to stand around and discuss theories.
Now was the time to act.
Kratos stepped forward and drew the axe. Its frost bit into his fingertips. He thought of Faye, could hear her weeping in the wind at the thought of her sacred weapon welded against former allies.
~~
“Here, my love.” Beyla extended her arm as she gestured towards the mouth of a cave, hidden by a thicket of braided vines. Byggvir nodded and led their band of Asgardians and Vanir inside. It was sufficiently deep and well hidden. It would suit their needs. For now.
Hildisvíni approached as Byggvir returned to his wife outside of the cave’s maw, his face stern.
“Feels like Ragnarök again.” Byggvir offered a gentle chuckle, but it wasn’t returned in kind.
“I need you two to stay put,” Hildisvíni knew the elves would not like the command but were smart enough to heed it. “I took a moment to look over that cliffside and…I saw something. Something big. Moving in the opposite direction of the attack. It was a construct with the legs of a wolf but walked upright like a man. And it was fast.”
The elves exchanged worried glances.
“It must be intercepted, and quickly. I think the attack on the village was merely a distraction…” Hildisvíni’s jaw was tight. Fear sparkled in his dark eyes.
“Protect these people at all costs.”
He said nothing more and rushed off into the thick Vanaheim jungle.
~~
Freya and Kratos lead the war party towards the explosion, smoke still curling into the sky like monstrous fingers. They reached the village and the smell of fire and tossed soil was thick in the air. Thankfully, the villagers had avoided any deaths, but their central temple was completely demolished. A ring of fire crackled loudly around the fallen debris. Villagers gathered in small pockets, dusting themselves off and nursing each other’s wounds.
“Mother goddess,” A Vanir woman approached Freya, her eyes wild with fear and panic. “It came from the skies, raining fire down on us like a dragon.”
Freya nodded. “I saw it with my own eyes. Is everyone here accounted for?” She grasped the villager’s shoulder, her tattooed fingers tight with worry.
“Yes.” The woman nodded. She was covered in ash from the explosion, but she looked relieved.
“We should have been here to protect you.” Sigrún leaned close to the mortal, who merely shook her head.
The sound of wings slicing through the thick air captured their attention. Gunnr’s boots kissed the soil. She always landed so gracefully, as if her very figure was lighter than the air itself.
“You already know it is the dwarfs,” The Mistress of War confirmed with a curt nod. The Vanir village leader’s face twisted, disturbed by her words.
“They are moving quickly north, hundreds of them on roving machines. The realm tear from which they emerged -” she paused, as if to take a breath. “-seems unstable.”
Freya’s brow knitted. She didn’t want to think about the implications of that.
“And,” Gunnr glanced up into the sky, recollecting the memory of a strange, walking machine that seemed to be following the stream of dwarfs, only to separate into the forest as she was passing over.
“They have some kind of beast-like machine, with legs and arms. I only caught a brief glimpse of it, but it ran off into the jungle. I do not know its intentions, or its purpose.”
There was an uneasy silence. No one had expected dwarfs to go on the offensive. It simply wasn’t in their nature. And for what purpose? The Realms were still reeling from the horrors of Ragnarök, from the horrors of Odin’s oppression. Freya’s heart hammered in her chest.
The dwarfs…
They had suffered so much at Odin’s hands. She didn’t want to think about the slavery, the brutality, the forced culling of their population when it became too unruly all those years ago, justified with her husband’s silver tongue and quick, poisonous wit.
She knew very well the thirst for revenge. Perhaps the dwarfs had finally got a taste.
“Where is the girl?”
Freya was dragged away from her thoughts. She eyed Kratos, the Spartan’s voice gruff with inquiry.
“Where is Thrúd?” He repeated, his voice dropping lower with concern. The party glanced around, noticing finally that Thrúd was indeed missing. Freya could not shake off a deep sense of dread.
“Find her.” She tilted her head towards Sigrún, who nodded and lifted off into the sky, her wings leaving behind a rush of sweet-smelling air.
“We will follow.”
~~
Thrúd knew she would be more useful ahead of the war party. If the dwarfs were attacking, they certainly weren’t done yet. She leapt from tree to tree, breaking through the lush foliage tops occasionally. Flying was her father’s talent, and she was merely catching up. Mjölnir didn’t hesitate to assist her, long ribbons of electricity crackling around her, vibrating the thick jungle air.
It didn’t take her long to find a suitable cliff overlooking a swallow valley. Pink, red and orange flowers exploded forth from the lush greenness, once again boasting Vanaheim’s penchant for life. Thrúd wondered if, under different circumstances, she would have paused to admire its beauty. Her eyes scanned the valley, noting a small village tucked just within.
Her ears caught the sound of something dragging along the soil. She glanced to her left and twisted her lips with horror.
A strange, armored machine with lines of many thick wheels rolled over the horizon. Upon its crown sprouted a mechanized cannon shaped into the likeliness of a dragon’s maw, fire blossoming within. Another loud BANG and the machine fired a ball of orange-hot flame.
It exploded into the Vanir village, scattering foliage and people into a frenzy.
Thrúd s jaw tightened and she grasped Mjölnir, but not before noticing runes on the side of the machine’s long dragon neck.
GOD EATER
That was enough.
She leapt from the cliff’s edge, lighting crackling ice-blue stripes around her, rippling the very fabric of the Realm itself.
“There you are!”
A voice laced with malice and the cold echo of metal rattled her bones. Something wrapped around the handle of her weapon and yanked it viciously, pulling her from her mid-air jump and smashing her to the earth. She didn’t let go. Her fingers clutched Mjölnir’s handle like a vice.
She gazed up, and for a moment could not understand what she was seeing.
It was a golem of metal, whirling pulleys and pumping iron tendons. There was no mistake that it was made by the hands of a dwarf – an insane dwarf. It stepped forward on huge legs shaped into the likeness of wolf, bent at the knees into a bestial crouch and capped with sharp metal talons. It blazed silver in the hot Vanaheim daylight like a freshly forged blade. A blue gemstone glowed from within its chest, and it pulsed with strange energy.
A thick wire curled around Mjölnir’s handle and trailed back to the mechanized arm of the automaton. It gave another tug, but Thrúd’s powerful muscles stiffened. She tugged back, jerking the machine forward. It buried its sharp toes into the fertile earth, grounding itself.
“Give it up, goddess!” A voice from whoever was inside of the machine somehow projected itself into the air, rumbling and furious.
“Hand it over peacefully, and we may spare this Realm.”
Thrúd groaned. She had woefully underestimated the machine’s strength. It pulled back, threatening to yank her from her position. She squatted, trying desperately to ground herself, to make herself heavier. She willed lighting to explode forth from its core and fry the metal golem to bits, but nothing came. The dwarf’s laughter echoed coldly through her bones.
“Electric dampening fields are useful, aren’t they?” It laughed, taunting her. What magic is this? Thrúd’s mind spun.
Another tug and she was ripped from her feet. She slammed to the earth, her grip still firm. She pulled back, and the machine did not budge this time.
“Give it up! The hammer belongs to the dwarfs!”
Thrúd groaned – she tasted blood, her blood. It ran down from her split lower lip, trickling down her strong chin. She tried to stand but felt her legs trembling. One more good tug from that machine and the hammer would be yanked free…
An arrow zipped into her view, severing the machine’s wire and releasing her from its grip. She gasped. That thing’s strength was incredible. It felt as if, for a moment, she was wrestling with another god.
Hildisvíni burst forth, bow drawn with magical arrows flying towards the machine’s carapace. A few found purchase on its exposed gears but did little damage otherwise. Its shoulder pads rippled with pulses of vibrant blue and purple as it parried away the Vanir god’s arrows.
It spun a full turn to face Hildisvíni, the sight absolutely unnerving as its torso faced a different direction than its legs. A blade emerged from its armored wrist, and it leapt into the air, hips realigning with its chest as it attacked.
It landed just feet away from Hildisvíni, blade slicing the earth to ribbons. The Vanir god was quicker, leaping from the machine’s attack and landing to pose another strike. His bow string taught, Hildisvíni focused until…
SHING!
A blazing, icy object flew from the jungle and exploded into the machine warrior’s shoulder armor. It stuck there, cascading growing ice crystals that flash-froze its arm solid. Thrúd blinked, stunned. She finally stood.
The axe!
The dwarf pilot roared from within his capsule. The terrible machine stumbled backward, its left arm completely useless and frozen still. Kratos and Freya leapt from the jungle thicket while three Shield Maidens hovered in the skies above like birds of prey.
Kratos drew his flaming blades, deciding to leave the axe embedded into the machine’s arm for now. He wasn’t sure how long its frost magic would last, especially against an automaton built by mad dwarven hands. It seemed, from his vantage point, that the thick ice spikes around the machine warrior’s shoulder armor were already starting to chip and fracture.
Arrows zinged through the air from both Freya and Hildisvíni’s bows, plowing magical attacks into the machine. It stumbled back, kneeling on one knee. The Shield Maidens swooped down from above, taking strikes at its control capsule. Kratos thought for a moment that Gunnr would succeed in shattering it open and ripping the dwarf inside to bloody pieces. He braced himself, ready to enact a fatal blow until…
The machine slammed its steel fist into the earth, unleashing a blast that rippled through the soil like angry waves, tussling the ground, and splitting apart the thick tree roots that weaved along the lush surface like a maiden’s braids.
Everyone was sent backwards from the assault. Kratos rolled on his stomach, glaring up, his vision filled with Freya and Hildisvíni struggling to stand mere feet ahead.
His eyes widened with horror – the blast had completely freed its arm, and now it was swinging the axe – her axe – towards Thrúd. It flew through the air, spinning madly.
Kratos didn’t have time to think. What he saw next froze his very spirit, just as Leviathan whispered its deathly chill into his heart.
The axe slashed open Thrúd’s side, spraying a mixture of frost magic and deep crimson blood. She fell back, Mjölnir somehow still tight in her grasp. The hammer barked a rage-filled shout of lighting, as if Thor himself had witnessed the assault on his daughter. It shot towards the machine but was reflected away by an unseen force.
“Stop! Stop!”
It was Freya. She was rushing towards Thrúd, her bow returned to its mount, her hands raised. She knelt over the Aesir goddess.
“This is a child!” She pleaded. Thrúd groaned. She was awake, but Kratos wasn’t sure how long. Blood ran in gushes from her exposed side.
The dwarf inside of the machine did stop. He seemed to be gazing pensively down at them, as if thinking over Freya’s point. She could finally see the dwarf within the murderous automaton through the glass dome at its head – a black-haired man with blazing green eyes and a triple braid for a beard. His machine exterior hummed like a great beast, its iron and steel gears whirling as it idled.
“Give me the hammer.”
His voice, deep and rich like the earth of Niðavellir, echoed.
Hildisvíni kept his bow drawn tight, his aim steadfast. He would release his arrow cleanly into the machine’s capsule at Freya’s command. The Shield Maidens hovered above, watching tensely.
Kratos slid his cursed blades back into their mount on his back. He threw his hand into the air, and Leviathan returned. His hand, once burning, was now freezing with its magic. He knew it had a taste of Thrúd’s blood – the blade’s edge was soaked with dark red.
“Wait…just wait. Please.” Freya kept one hand extended towards the dwarf, while the other grasped Thrúd’s shoulder. Perhaps the dwarf could be reasoned with. Her pleas were heard…for now.
Kratos traced his gaze over the armored golem, noting how a painted image of a nude dwarven man with blazing red hair and a beard of fire decorated its left forearm.
“Beautiful, isn’t he?” the dwarf’s voice rumbled from within. He turned its torso, so he appeared to address Kratos directly.
“This is Vengeance. My war machine.” The construct lifted its arms, showing off its frame. Its hands were massive, two-fingered steel grippers equipped with sheathed blades in the wrist components.
“We are not at war.” Kratos growled.
“Perhaps not with Niðavellir, but the Metallic Division’s act today is clear. We will flush out the remaining gods here until she gives up the hammer.”
Kratos’s brow furrowed. He could hear Thrúd’s groans of pain but dared not take his eyes off the machine.
“Is this what is left of the all-powerful Aesir?” The dwarf’s voice boomed. The machine lifted its leg then stomped its clawed foot into the ground, long steel toes grasping into the fertile earth. “Hiding amongst the savage Vanir? You know this ‘alliance’ between the Aesir and the Vanir won’t last?”
Kratos crouched low, clutching Leviathan’s handle. He could practically hear Faye’s weeping, her cries for mercy for the dwarfs. His heart ached, but his jaw tightened. He would do what he must to protect this Realm, even if that meant...
“It has lasted for two years.” The Spartan replied gruffly. The dwarf man laughed.
“Two years? That is a pitiful amount of time for immortals.” He spat “immortals”, baring his teeth like a wolf.
The walking war machine Vengeance stepped closer. Kratos readied himself.
“I do not wish to fight again. Enough.”
“Oh?” The dwarf sneered. “Too bad.”
Kratos did not have time to reply. Vengeance extended a clawed hand and swiped at Kratos’s head. The Spartan was quicker, and rolled to its side, slashing at its hip gears with the axe.
Freya grasped Thrúd’s shoulder and hauled her to her feet.
“Come on,” she whispered, urging the goddess to move. Vengeance was distracted by Kratos for now, and she knew her window of time was coming to a swift end.
“Thrúd, listen to me.” Freya hissed. “You must leave. Take the hammer and go!”
Thrúd was unyielding. Freya bit her lower lip. She should have expected this. It was in her nature to stand her ground and fight. If the Aesir appreciated anything, it was bravery and glory above all else. Including, unfortunately, common sense. The young goddess stumbled but wrenched herself from Freya’s grasp.
“I am Thrúd!” She shouted, her wild orange hair spiking around her head like a crown of flame. Her eyes blazed icy blue, cracks of energy zapping from them. She raised Mjölnir high above her head, revealing that the electricity from her weapon had cauterized her wound shut.
“Daughter of Thor, and Goddess of Thunder! I run from NO battle!”
She blasted off the earth and towards Vengeance. Just as she leapt to deliver a blow, the metal monstrosity’s arm shot forth, steel fingers grasping her abdomen with hellish strength. It threw her like she was nothing, and she slammed into the cliff face with a deafening thud.
“No, Thrúd, you must go!” Freya begged. Thrúd grimaced, stumbling once again to her feet. She knew Freya was right. “Take the hammer and get the Hel out of here!”
“Protect the girl!” Kratos shouted to the Shield Maidens. The machine was closing in on Thrúd, its arms swinging to the earth, so it rushed forward with an animal gait. The dwarf inside roared with insane laughter.
He watched as Thrúd hesitated, raising her hammer, ready for the fight of her life – but reason overcame her, and she shot into the air, fleeing the scene with magnificent speed. The Shield Maidens followed, beating their wings heavily in an effort to keep up.
Kratos returned Leviathan to his back. He thought of Thrúd, of Faye, the axe’s blade drenched in a young woman’s blood. He would have no more of it and drew his cursed blades.
He leapt forth, intent on slashing open the steel core of Vengeance and dismembering the dwarf inside. But before he could reach the terrible machine, he was taken into the open mouth of a massive, tusked beast.
It seemingly appeared from nowhere, from thin air, as if it had shifted realms within the blink of an eye. He roared as its teeth crunched into his ribs, ripping open godflesh with animalistic glee. The boar was bright and radiating a blinding yellow light like Midgard’s sun during the peak of summertime. His senses were flooded with screams. The creature shook its massive head back and forth like a vicious hound, jerking him with such great force that his blades flew from his grasp. A woman’s voice was shouting at the boar, but Kratos could not make light of her pleas.
He reached up to tear apart the animal’s jaw, but it released him. He fell to the hot earth, drenched in his own blood. A dwarf woman in a dark green tunic clung to the boar’s gold mane, her face twisted into a scowl of pure terror. The boar’s blazing white eyes appeared to soften, as if it realized what it had done. It dashed off into the wilderness, taking the dwarf woman with it.
“What the Hel was that?!” Mimir shouted from Kratos’s hip. Then, upon seeing the blood and gore rushing from his companion’s ribs murmured, “Brother…you must heal. Focus!”
“Quiet head!” Kratos snapped, the hot blood and burning pain rushing through him piercing his stoic resolve. He did focus. The flesh of his ribs knitted together slowly, bone and muscle and tendon sewing itself back together. But the anger remained. It always remained. No matter howfar in time and deed he separated himself from it, it found its way back into his flesh like the ashes that soaked it.
He stared out before him, noting how the machine warrior disappeared back into the lush wilderness. He could hear its thunderous footfall as it pursued the girl. He did not know if the boar followed, but it was gone.
Kratos reached for his blades. They did not come.
Return to me! His mind raged, tempered only by the chill of Leviathan at his back. How cruel, he thought, that he must beg for their return when he had cast them to the side years ago. A desperate, failed attempt to cover his sins. They returned to him then and mocked him even. His fingers spread, reaching. The blades wobbled then flew back into his grasp with a hot SHING.
He roared and leapt into the jungle after the dwarf machine. Freya called after him, knowing she must not pursue. She looked desperately at Hildisvíni, who only now had lowered his bow. His lips were twisted into a scowl of both horror and disbelief.
They had to find the elves.
End author's notes:
Finally got around to finishing this chapter and the art for Ra'Geer's mech. I still need to finish the pinup "tattoo" it has of his late husband, but I haven't found the time yet lol. I promise future chapters will be more Sindri-centered, but I've just been having so much fun with the Metallic Division.
top: Damned half breeds here. doesn't he have anywhere else to snoop around?
left:well hello there little giant. i've heard so much about you from Dally♡ I thought you'd be a lot bigger....
right top to bottom:
-WTH are you? are you from somewhere near here?
-Rude. Be happy I'm somewhat decent right now Jotun. But to answer your question, yes. Something like that. Now off you go. I'm not here to babysit.
BEEEEG yawn
top left to right:
-Your hair appears heavily damaged. May I suggest a different style for today?
-I'm painfully aware. I do what's best on the job.
-If you insist...
top to bottom:
-Why are you on the ground? Get up or i'll kick your ribs.
-Lower mean no lightning hit me. Thunder bringer near. No like thunder bringer man.
They drew each other when they were little. Yes, Dally had pigtail braids and Logner couldn't shorten his neck < / 3
