Finished Wrath of the Druids and can't get over the idea of Lena being the daughter of the Irish High King, whose mother was pagan, and Kara being the viking assigned to protect her. Imagine it. Lena having the songs of her mother's people. Advocating for the pagans against her father's increasingly harsh Christian rule. The Children of Danu targeting Lena not only as a weakness for her father but also as a powerful tool to return the old ways. As the last of a powerful line of High Priestesses, her sacrifice will awaken the old gods who will cleanse Ireland of the Christians... unless Kara can get to her in time....
The intrigue. The romance. The human sacrifice. It's really got it all.
i started playing valhalla recently and for some unknown reason my mind went to elf-royalty-lena-au so here’s some wips i’ll probably never finish of that + eivor!kara and randvi!lena
“So,” the warrior mused, “yer Mum might yet be livin’. Fer all I know, mine could be as well. She left me t’ be raised by the Chantry, so young I don’t remember her at all. ‘Taint t’ say she done wrong by me. I wasn’t the first brat...or the last...to be dropped off at the Chantry because there was too many mouths t’ feed, er whatever.”
“And ‘twasn’t bad, not in the beginnin’. I never had a problem with the lay folk, sisters or brothers. B’sides teachin’ me t’ read and write and do sums, and nursin’ me through coughs and fevers, ‘twas them who did all the cookin’ and cleanin’ and mendin’, and a lot of it there was, in a Chantry the size o’ Kirkwall’s. Those folk were as close to a mother as I ever knew, just as Knight Commander Guylian was the closest to a father.”
“I know,” he said, waving a hand. “Heard it all. Guylian was dull as a rock. He was too old, too lyrium-addled, almost as senile as Divine Beatrix. And yeah, he did give in to Beatrix when he shouldn’t have. But ain’t that what a good Templar’s supposed t’ do? All through our training it gets hammered into us that Andraste speaks through the Divine. So if there’s a conflict, and the Divine asks somethin’ of ya, how can ya refuse? Because of course the Divine don’t play favorites...”
He smiled a bit sheepishly. “But...I ain’t here t’ give y’ another lecture about the Chantry. They’re all set t’ topple on their own, with no help from me. I’ve...been sent back. T’help ya deal with a certain...Wolf.”
Warnings: death (although they’re technically resurrected after they die), descriptions of violence (but it’s nothing too graphic), drowning mention, suicide mention
AO3
Summary: After failing to fall asleep, Logan decides to venture up to the terrace, where an unexpected character awaits him.
A/N: Something for a small Valhalla AU I made up a while back :)
~
Logan carefully opened the door out to Floor 209 of Hotel Valhalla, wary of any possible witnesses. He stepped out and closed the door behind him. The moon shone outside the single window at the end of the hall, acting as the only source of light. Logan slowly crept towards the elevators and entered one. He pressed the button engraved with a single black "T". The doors closed and the elevator began to climb.
It was not unusual for Logan to be unable to sleep, but it wasn't common either. However, on nights like this he would normally do something else to pass the time, seeing as he took his insomnia as a sign of excess energy he needed to dispel. He would read, write, or think out battle plans and strategies just in case. Or "for fun", as Roman would tease. Logan always insisted otherwise, though.
"Nah, it's thy giant brain of yours, is it not?" Roman would jest anyway. "Too much intellect for your brawn-less person to handle?"
Logan still had no idea why and how he befriended a British fool from the 16th century who cried about Shakespeare's death every night and refused to adapt to the modern day tongue, though it was most likely Logan forgot. He wasn't exactly new either.
Logan also wasn't sure why he decided to do something different for a change. Was he feeling especially restless tonight? Was it to be more adventurous? Has his idiot friend's actions finally gotten to his head? Or was it purely to try something new and hoped it eased his mind a bit more than just putting it to work as always? He hoped it was the latter. Never in a million years was he going to morph into a clone of Roman. Though honestly, that was left up to debate. No one knows how long they're going to be staying there anyway.
The elevator dinged as it arrived at its destination. The doors opened and Logan stepped out onto the terrace. It was much brighter here as the moon had direct contact. It shone onto the swimming pool and the shrubbery lining the perimeter. A bench sat a couple feet away from the edge, looking out onto the Grove of Glasir. And to Logan's surprise, a hunched figure already sat atop it.
Logan debated on whether or not he should leave and let the figure remain unbothered, or if he should join them. However, as he was deciding this, the figure suddenly turned and spotted Logan standing in front of the elevator.
Logan, noticing a pair of hazel eyes trained directly on him, panicked, and decided to speak: "Um, sorry if I bothered you, uh, I can go if you want-"
"Nah, dude, it's fine," the other interrupted. "You can sit with me if you like, I don't bite."
Logan relaxed at that.
"Well," Logan began, walking towards the bench, "I would be very surprised if you did, people normally do not exhibit the mannerisms of feral animals."
The stranger stared at Logan as he sat down, processing his dialogue and taking in his pinstriped pajamas before looking back up at the sky. "Huh. You must be an older one, right?"
Logan scrunched up his nose. "Yes, I suppose I am. Though I'm not exactly enthusiastic at the choice of words."
The other male chuckled, offending Logan a bit. "Yeah, I guess nobody would really like to be called 'old', huh?" He looked over at Logan with a small smile on his face. "Especially when you're not really old."
Logan nodded. "The immortality and the... Norse Gods... are a lot to get used to."
The other nodded in agreement and continued stargazing. Logan recognized this person. He had been admitted at the hotel several weeks ago for defending a girl from some kelpie. Why Logan remembered him so clearly when other einherji would fade from his mind in at least a few days, he didn't know.
Seems Logan had a lot of questions.
"If you don't mind me asking, you are one of the newer ones, yes? Virgil Santos?"
"Yep," Virgil confirmed. "You're...?"
"Logan. That was incredibly chivalrous of you."
Virgil only shrugged. "Strong choice of words, but yeah, that's the point, I guess. You're brave, you get into Valhalla."
"Well, that wasn't all, was it? You stopped her too."
Virgil didn't respond for a while. When he finally spoke, he only uttered a quiet, "Not really."
Logan was confused. "What do you mean? You did stop her from jumping off the bridge, did you not?"
Virgil bowed his head and was silent for a long amount of time.
"When the kelpie dragged me down, she went down to the dock to rescue me," Virgil finally answered. "I tried finding out what happened to her after I died. Turns out she..." He paused again, as if trying to hide his sadness behind silence. "She was dragged down soon after I was."
"Oh," Logan could only mutter. "I am sorry."
"Don't be," Virgil reassured. "There was nothing either of us could do."
Out of the blue, Virgil took a deep breath and began to sing quietly, "What will happen will happen, whether I'm happy or sad. What will happen will happen, whether I'm happy or sad. There are days to look out for, there are dreams to be had, what will happen will happen, whether I'm happy or sad..."
Logan was not expecting that. He was mesmerized, to say the least. Virgil's voice reminded him of the women who sang in the bars, whose voices were velvety and as smooth as silk.
Virgil saw Logan staring, and his eyes widened, as if he had just realized what he had done. He flushed. "Sorry, I just wanted to sing something... normally it helps me take my mind off things..."
"Huh? Oh, no," Logan rushed to say. "It-it was good. Nerts."
There was a beat of silence before Virgil broke out into giggles. Logan hated the fact that his face felt like it was on fire. His old slang had slipped. It probably sounded ridiculous to Virgil. He was laughing at him right now.
"Sorry," Virgil managed to force through his giggles, "It's just... nerts?" He had another fit (His giggles do not have to be that cute, Logan thought during this interval) before continuing, "What is nerts?"
"It's just a word... from my time," Logan muttered, too embarassed to say it any louder. "It just means I was... impressed."
Not the exact translation, but close enough.
The giggle fits stopped.
Oh no, Logan thought. I have done something wrong, haven't I?
He slowly looked at Virgil, who was staring back at him with wide eyes.
"Really?" Virgil asked sheepishly. "That was impressive?"
Well then, Logan resigned, I suppose I have to admit it now.
"Yes." Good, short and simple.
"Actually-"
Wait no-
"-it reminded me of the singers back at the bars downtown."
Goddammit Logan, can you not keep your trap shut?
Virgil stared at Logan for a bit before smiling and bowing his head shyly. "Thanks, nobody ever compliments me."
"That seems to be an oversight over their part," Logan said. Virgil's smile grew, as did Logan's sense of accomplishment.
"You know," Virgil said, going back to observing the stars, "I did consider doing the same thing that... girl was going to do. Nobody really cared about me, I didn't have anywhere to go, so... I decided I was going to do it sooner or later."
"You were going to jump off the bridge too?" Logan asked, mildly incredulous.
"Yeah," Virgil said. "Then I saw her, and for some reason... I wanted to stop her. I thought, 'No, she shouldn't do that,' and at that split second I also realized... if I didn't want this girl to jump, then someone out there... wouldn't want me to either."
"I'm sure of it," Logan assured him. "That was a good decision you made."
There was silence. A croak was heard from the bushes, followed by another.
"Tell me about your time."
"Hm?" Logan realized he was staring again and snapped out of it. He should stop doing that.
"Your time. Where you came from."
"Oh. Well." Logan looked up, trying to organize his thoughts neatly.
"I was born in 1902 in the South as Lucille Hampton. My momma- er, mother, and I moved up to the North in the early 20s. She managed to get a job at a bar as an entertainer. She sang for the customers. I managed to get ahold of books too. A friend of mine volunteered to teach me how to read.
"I never really went to any bar or speakeasy though. My body could never handle alcohol. No, I only went to one major event and one event only—the drag ball."
"Drag balls?" Virgil asked, intrigued. "You went to drag balls?"
"Yes, I did." Logan leaned back, a smile on his face. "That's where I got my friends. It was the only time I could be myself. I could even mingle among white people freely. Some spectators would watch us from above, but we wouldn't care. We would just dance, and… kiss, and have a good time."
"That sounds nice," Virgil mused. "Did you have… anyone?"
Logan thought for a bit before responding, "Well, there was one man, but we never really took it far. It was just for fun, I guess."
Virgil nodded slowly, pondering something, and asked, "How did you die, if you don't mind?"
Logan's smile disappeared as he remembered. Virgil saw this and immediately backtracked.
"Oh, well, if you don't want to say it's alright with me you don't have t-"
"No, no, it's quite alright," Logan said. "You told me your story, it's only fair I tell you mine."
Logan sat up straight again. Virgil watched intently, a soft and almost concerned look on his face.
"It was after a drag party," Logan began, "and my pals were quite zozzled-" He caught himself. "Drunk. They were drunk."
"It's fine if you use your old slang," Virgil said.
Logan looked at him. He got a small nod in return, as well as a comforting smile.
"Well, we passed an alley and we saw something." Logan fidgeted with his thumbs. The scene came back to him, a little blurry but still distinguishable. "We decided to move forward, see what was going on. It was a couple of white men, beating up another black guy. I tried to interfere, but..."
Logan heard the voices now, random sentences from that night replaying like a dirty record.
"Hey, stop!"
That was his voice.
"Who's this egg? A bulldigger?"
"They turned on me. Called me all the usual things, since I wore a suit..."
Loud, boisterous laughter. Taunts and slurs, all directed at him. Logan saw their previous victim slowly get up and try to crawl away. At least he's safe.
"My friends tried to pull me away, but I..."
Logan felt hands clawing at his shoulders, trying to pull him back. But he was stubborn. He shrugged them off and threw a punch towards the leader, determined to at least break something.
"...I wanted to fight."
Logan's fist collided with the bully's face. His hand may have hurt more than the guy's face, but Logan didn't care. He punched him. That was an achievement.
"So I did. I pulled punches, I tried kicking them. Soon my pals were joining in. I thought I could keep it up forever."
His adrenaline coursed through his entire body. It was chaos, and Logan loved it, maybe more than he was supposed to.
"I couldn't."
But then he felt something. A force more powerful than he had ever felt before. It was blinding. Logan wasn't even sure where it hit him. The pain traveled through his body and suddenly, Logan was aware of how frail it was.
Logan chuckled dryly. "Honestly, I don't think my melee spree lasted even a minute."
There was a tug on the collar of Logan's suit. He felt himself being lifted up.
"Someone picked me up, I believe it was the leader-"
Logan felt a trickle down his chin. He felt groggy and light-headed. He still heard grunts and shouts, signifying that the fight was still going on, churning around him like an angry sea. Or a hurricane. And he was in the eye.
"-and laughed in my face. He told me only men can fight."
"You think you can fight, little girl?" he taunted.
"I... ain't a girl," Logan protested weakly.
The bimbo snickered. "Tell that to Sweeney, bulldiker. You know only men can fight." He laughed loudly, resonating in Logan's ears.
"He punched me in the face... and threw me on the ground."
Sharp pain penetrated Logan's body, seeming to come from everywhere. He heard several loud crackles before passing out.
"...that's it?"
"That's it."
"Wait," Virgil said carefully, trying not to overstep any boundaries, "you died by being thrown on the ground? How?"
"Well, I had a fragile body," Logan explained. "He probably broke all my bones, and I wasn't healed in time."
"Ah," Virgil intoned. "Okay then... so after that, you woke up at Valhalla."
"That I did."
"So... you died because you wanted to prove yourself." Virgil nodded understandably. "You were so pressured to prove you were male that you were willing to fight someone, though they clearly outmatched you. You also wanted to protect that guy who they were beating up."
Logan nodded.
"...so what did you do once you got here?"
"I was confused and frightened, for one," Logan explained. "They weren't even sure if bringing me in was a good idea. But they kept me in the end. So I trained. Not just in combat, but in strategy as well. I learned, and I learned quickly. Befriended someone new too. Roman, some idiot from Britain."
Logan heard a snicker from Virgil at that, and a warm feeling surfaced.
“Thanks for sharing your story, Logan,” Virgil said. “I’m… very sorry you died like that.”
“It’s quite alright,” Logan said. “It was decades ago, I have become much better now.”
Virgil sighed inwardly. He glanced at the moon. "I hope I can... I dunno, survive? Here? I just..." A pause. "I dunno if I can live up to their standards. A building-" he gestured wildly, "-full of warriors, and intelligent people, like you-" he gestured to Logan, who blushed involuntarily, "-and me, some guy who managed to run into murder horses."
“You defended a girl against those, quote, ‘murder horses,’ unquote,” Logan argued. “You have as much of a right to be here as any of us.”
“How do you know?” Virgil muttered.
“Our stories are similar,” Logan noted. “We both rushed to protect someone’s life, even if they were a stranger, and were killed trying to do so.”
Virgil was silent.
“If you do not belong in Hotel Valhalla, then going by that logic, I do not either.”
“You do deserve to be here,” Virgil said quickly.
Logan gave Virgil a knowing look. The latter saw this, and after a while, cracked a smile.
“Alright, I guess you got me there,” Virgil chuckled. He allowed himself to relax again and focus on the sky. “I guess we all have tragic backstories here, huh?”
Logan smiled, relieved that his companion was glad once more. “Yes, I believe we do.”
“Maybe that’s the real requirement for getting into Valhalla,” Virgil jested. He mimicked writing in the air. “‘Must have sad cause of death. No murder, no entry.’”
Logan laughed softly at the joke.
It would be a while before sleep would come back and bring him back to his room, but as of now? Logan wouldn’t mind if he spent all night on the terrace with Virgil Santos.
~
A/N: I'm thinking of making more for this AU because I love Norse Mythology and the concept in general, so please feel free to give a few suggestions!
