#queenodinsdottir

[benevolentgodloki]

@queenodinsdottir continued from here

“In a universe of wonder there are a great many things to understand and explore. In none of the furthest reaches have I ever found a moment where I needed to consult you for dating advice.”

“I’m quite sure you could have raised your standards enough to exclude ‘shiny-fisted giants who enjoy choking potential father-in-laws to death’.”

[araedi]

@queenodinsdottir​

“Welcome back, darling.”

It had been so much easier than she hoped. His bullheaded sense of what he knew as right, the stark battle between all right and all wrong, had brought him back to her door with weapon in hand. No amount of cajoling would bend him this time. The clash of swords rang through the night, certain to disturb the sleep of any who heard it. It was the sound of worlds changing again.

She was faster and better than he by far. A son raised in times of peace could never match a daughter shaped by war. He was a true Asgardian and stronger than most. But she was the Goddess of Death. In the end it was his blood that ran the length of her blade. The light in his eyes that faded from sight.

He was a fool. Refusing the rest and bounty of the next life left him only one place to go: the realm of Niflheim and lands of Hel. Oh how his rage would have fed her glory as one of her subjects. How she would have loved to hear him cry out his bittersweet cries for justice and second chances. It was through his will to live, even as his soul stretched from his body that gave her the idea.

The flash of green flame from her fingers to his body made the deal true. He would get the life he wanted. She would get the servant she needed. It was almost too easy. Now he was truly hers.

A soft hum in her throat, she stepped back and opened her arms. All her weapons were gone but the smell of blood still hung in the air. His wounds slowly closed, healing to leave deep scars. They would stand as reminder for how he earned this second chance at life.

“I think you’ll find this a far better arrangement. A strong survival instinct is key to taking on this role and that you have to spare, don’t you? You are far more suited to this task than the last one who took it up. Which reminds me. You’ll be needing this.”

A gentle roll of her wrist and in her hand appeared the double-headed axe. The metal so dark it refused to reflect light, its blades nearly dared anyone to test their sharpness. Like the blades of her own swords, this was a weapon with one job.

“Not quite a hammer, but you’re not that man anymore. Are you, Executioner?”

No. No. No!

What little strength – what scraps of morality and independence and individuality he held – railed against the newly kindled flame in his chest. This was one power he could not fight, especially not alone. He was opposing a rising tide and the inevitability would have made him panic, had he the presence of mind. He snarled and thrashed, trying to find some stability between the agony of new life and the realisation of what he might become.

No. Please. Father! Help me!

No help came. He gasped, jolted and fell still as the influence of Hela’s magic continued to consume him. The wounds he had sustained began to close. It was a curious feeling, initially, though his mind was rather occupied to give it much thought. He had been in pain, yes, and though he was perfectly aware of every puncture, laceration, the burning which left him blinded..it was as though a barrier had been placed between knowledge and sensation. He knew he had taken enough damage to have been felled thrice over and he had lost enough blood that he should be shaking, but he could no longer feel those ghosts of injuries. He no longer felt anything.

I’m sorry.

His emotions similarly began to develop that disconnect. Thor had known, in those brief moments of clarity, that he should be terrified. Hela had power, astonishing power, and if he was to be pressed into her service there was no knowing the damage they could do. The damage she would make him do.

Right now it mattered not. Truly, what was there to fear from his sister now he was her subject? Death had its claws in him and she was the mistress of the very realm which he was now part of. There was no denying her will, no matter what he may have desired in the past. Her will was greater than his; her power was beyond his ability to control; Odin had done her a grave disservice to simply lock her away.

He found, with no surprise, that he no longer wished to fight her. It was not so much dull acceptance as it was calm obedience. She spoke and his response was unquestionable.  

Still breathing heavily in the wake of his revival, Thor returned to his feet with an uncomfortable grunt. He eyed the weapon Hela had fabricated and took it in wordless silence. It was appraised with an almost clinical air, Thor’s green eye narrowed in contemplation as he tested the weight and balance of this new, savage weapon. Apparently satisfied, his gaze only snapped to his sister when she addressed him by his new title: not in shock, but the swift response of a soldier answering their name. He nodded.

“What would you have me do?”

[benevolentgodloki]

Like Father, Like...

@queenodinsdottir

For some people, death was a release, a release from pain, the burden of the body and the demands a person gathered in life. For others, death brought another kind of release, the unpicking of lies sewn into the memories of the host. 

Loki stood in a crumbling courtyard, staring into the green flames of a nearby sconce, an expression of horror on his face that had nothing whatsoever to do with the place he was in. Although it perhaps had something to do with the fact he was not writhing in agony or suffering torment.

He remembered. So many years ago in his fits of rebellion, rage and joy, had gone running off into Jotunheim, its far reaches where tribes less hateful of Odin dwelled. He had met that woman and they had captivated one another. Their passions had been wild and vulgar, taking so many shapes. Those passions had borne fruit and Odin had discovered it, could not allow his son the attention that would have sprung from it. So the dark magic had been cast, sponging the memory from the Nine. But Odin was gone now, and the spell easily dislodged beyond the body.

Loki drew a sharp breath and turned to look at the woman who strode from the shadows, glorious and terrifying in her armour, insect-like; stag-like; demonic. The green and black themes should always have been a hint. He thought he had been inspired by a glimpsed remnant of her existence. How could he have known it was to be the other way around? Especially after she had tried to murder him.

“I suppose asking you to go to your room is out of the question?”

[benevolentgodloki]

@queenodinsdottir

This was probably his second worst plan of all time. Or if his worst plan had been his worst plan in life, this was his worst plan in death. Loki stood just outside the gleaming halls of Valhalla, all manner of peace and promise beckoning to him. Honestly he was a little surprised he had earned himself a ticket in, what with his questionable past, his frost giant birth and the circumstances of his demise. Noble intent, true enough, but not through noble means.

And here he was, backing off from entering. What he needed was not to be found in this place. 

“My son, all is forgiven. Let us dine together as family.”

“I wish that I could.”

“Loki, it is too dangerous. We cannot lose you, too.”

“You know why I must. I have to try.”

“There is no way back.”

He smiled. Not conventional ways, no, but he kept that to himself. There was no talking him out of this. Well, there probably was, which was why he was going to make the decision fast before the temptation to be with them was too great.

“Goodbye, Mother. Farewell, Father.”

It was like letting go of Thor all over again, except this time it was not to run from him. He fell through imagined mists, the theoretical cosmos zipping past as what remained of Loki Odinson followed a spectral root of Yggdrasil. He knew well enough he would not land back in his body. It was too broken to house him.

What felt like his body slammed into black sand. The weight of his bones was heavy and aching. His face was as marked and clothes as tattered as they had been before the instant of his death. An arctic breeze sliced through him from nowhere, turning half of his skin blue, one eye a fearsome red. The sand beneath his palms suddenly burned like embers, causing his frost giant pieces to steam.

Loki yelled and scrambled to his feet, using the energy of his pain to call out to the one he sought.

“Hela Odinson! I beg your audience!”

[benevolentgodloki]

@queenodinsdottir

Oh, Hel.

This place was worse than he could have imagined, and a god of mischief could imagine quite a lot. Whatever path he chose, there was something new to bring him fear or pain, something that would hit close to home and still manage to surprise him. He had tried finding refuge beneath a shelf of grey rock on the off-chance that staying put would bring no more horrors. The shelf had burst into flames, he had turned the colour of his frost giant persona, and he had melted.

Back to the beginning again, clutching himself, rocking back and forth to get over the nightmare of having been a puddle. He refused to surrender to this. Loki of Asgard would not go mad, he would not cry, he would not beg. He would show this place who he was and why he deserved its amnesty.

A few hours - or was it days? - later and he was running, petrified, his cloak shredded by spectres of those he had disappointed; betrayed; killed; loved. His throat was raw from yelling, his eyes stinging with tears. He ranted at the unreal sky, cursing Odin’s name. His knees met the coarse ground, hands punching at it. Enough! If there was a soul here it would give itself up for respite, give anything not to face these cruelties anymore. Do you hear me? I give up.

His fists slammed down upon the black sand again, and Loki fell through it. He landed on his back. This was odd because he had fallen forwards. What was odder still was that his fingers brushed a soft surface, quickly found to be sheets of black silk. 

Loki sat up, disturbed. He was still clothed, or at least what his incorporeal body classed as clothed. Nothing painful or dangerous seemed to be in this bed with him. Not yet.

Then she appeared. Slender, terrifying, and unnervingly beautiful. There was a look upon her face he could not, or did not want to, comprehend.

“Hela... is that really you? Or is this another of my endless torments?”

[benevolentgodloki]

@queenodinsdottir continued from here

The smile pasted on her face was an automatic response. She barely recognized faces or names of her patrons, either. Their drinks, on the other hand, she knew almost before they opened their lips and mumbled the words. It was no magically trick, just a good memory. In fact, she had been very good to not use magic for a single day since her arrival. Playing the part of a member of the retail machine had grown easier as the weeks rolled by. If nothing else, she understood why these people were so easily conquered. It was taught to them from such an early age.

When the new patron entered, she noted him as new and nothing more. With offices filling and new businesses moving into the area nearly every day, it wasn’t an odd notion to see an occasional new face. The challenge would be in remembering how to recognize him in the future and get his order on her long list. Fortunately, she was up to the task.

The addled man with the gun, however, was far harder to dismiss. As soon as his eyes locked on her, she tensed. What looked to anyone else as fear was a complete act. Should he choose to shoot her she would have to allow it or lose her cover and start somewhere new. That was more effort than she wanted to spend on this plane. Money had no true value so she was willing to give what he wanted.

But it wasn’t as easy as a simple robbery. It unfolded before her eyes like a great play in a single act. The woman shot and cried out, crumpling to the floor. The man turning the gun towards her. The patron she had ignored melted into a face she knew far too well. His performance was dramatic and perfectly suited him. All said and done, she smiled. Her shoulders rolled, straightening her back out of the diminutive stance she affected at work and into the more regal sense of her true nature. It was nice to ignore pretension.

With a near absent tone, she waved at the nearest patron. “Yes, do call for an ambulance. Get that woman assistance. She’s staining the floor.” He nodded quickly and went to work. Though they gave Loki a fair bit of distance, the people did no more to interfere.

Little sheep. All they need is guidance.

That settled, she turned to address the other new development. Whether or not he would be a problem was yet to be decided. “Brother. To what do I owe the honor of your arrival? Timely as it was, and thank you so much for intervening, I would wonder at your heroic gesture if I were a lesser person. Do I have the chance to repay you now or will this hang over me for a lifetime or two?”

Loki scoffed lightly. “I rather think that depends on whether I saved your life or just a blouse. This is the last place I would have expected to find you: a serving job among humans, often viewed as one of the lowest rungs of employment. Is the ‘rightful queen’ so desperate to hide?”

She still scared him, but that wouldn’t stop him from poking and trying to work out the game she was playing. He was also aware that he wouldn’t be able to stay long. Word would have got out quickly that he was here. That in conjunction with an injured woman was going to reach conclusions. It at least gave him a reason to leave that wasn’t for fear of his sister.

[araedi]

(queenodinsdottir) ϟ

[Send  ϟ for my muse to wake up from a terrible nightmare, and for yours to witness this]

There was no peace to be found in death.

There was no rest, no destination for the soul of Odin’s son who, as yet, could not even accept that his fate was so. He had failed. Whether his people, his brother, could turn the tide of war had ceased to be a fate he could influence the moment Hela’s nightblade pierced his chest. A noble end for a warrior, perhaps, but not one he was willing to allow. Thor’s death had ultimately been no swift thing, nor painless; his final breath brought the thundering storm above to a crescendo, and then nothing. Empty skies, and an empty look on his now slack features. 

It would not end like this. Could not end like this, not with hers being the last face he would see and the end of his people his ultimate failure. Valhalla had no place for him yet and Fólkvangr's Valkyries could wait; Hel, likewise, was no fit place for him to rest. He wanted life again.

What then, could he do? His soul was lost, embittered and desperate to finish the task he had set out to do. He needed to protect his people. He needed to protect Loki. He needed-   

Ultimately his stubborn nature afforded his sibling the opening she required. There was a tug at his soul, were sensations perceivable, and something that felt like the pull of the inevitable. He could not resist, but honestly, if it was life once more how could he? Was it not what he wanted?   

The god of thunder wheezed for breath as it was restored to his lungs and his entire body arched with the agony of new life. He gasped, body locked in a paroxysm of agony. His chest burned; his mouth was still full of blood. 

Something was wrong. Horribly wrong. He could feel something slipping; a part of him being drowned - no, burned out - so rapidly he could barely think to have held on to it. 

He fixed his one eye - now a virulent green - on the figure standing over him and could only manage to gasp quietly.

“Hela-”

@queenodinsdottir​

[benevolentgodloki]

@queenodinsdottir​ continued from here

Hela sneered at the way he held her oldest friend, crossing her arms over her chest. Taking a steadying breath, she forced a smile that probably showed more teeth than necessary.

“Christmas? That’s the holiday where a fat, old man teleports around the world with gifts, isn’t it? How is making my friend smaller a gift? What nonsense.”

“Oh, the gift isn’t him being small. The gift is returning him to you. He did fall off Asgard into a wormhole, after all. As for ‘Christmas’, was the fat old man not our father? I am uncertain if he was still doing it in mine and Thor’s era but perhaps he did in yours?” He put Fenris down as the pup had started to wriggle and he didn’t fancy losing any fingers.