#sindri’s face. has not left my memory | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

screechthemighty · 1 year

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OKAY new chapter of will you greet the daylight looming? is live! Tow-part warning for this one. One: Chunks of this are just a perspective flip of events from the balance of life is in the ripe and ruin, so yes, this is the same dialogue as last time. Two: Related to that, Sindri's current and Kratos's past suicidal ideation are both hinted at, though less explicitly than other fics. At least you guys can go in knowing for sure that one has a happy ending.

AO3 link will be in a reblog, full chapter below, full fic tagged on my blog also!

will you greet the daylight looming? part 3/6: summer

cws: suicidal ideation (hinted), fantasy racism (mentioned). ragnarok spoilers throughout.

“Interesting choice of training weapon.”

The voice still sent a jolt down Kratos’s spine, despite knowing it no longer belonged to an enemy. He fought the urge to summon his own spear as he turned around. Týr stood at the fence, watching his students run through their drills. “But it makes sense,” Týr continued conversationally. “That’s how you would’ve started, right?”

“Hmm.” Kratos still did not know how to react to the true Týr. On the one hand, he was nothing like Odin’s impersonation. There was a thoughtfulness to him that the tyrant had not been able to capture. Kratos could almost picture Týr debating with the philosophers of Greece in his free time. He seemed to have no interest in war or power, but was not so aggressive about it as Odin had depicted. He was simply a man who had fought enough for now, and wished to go home to his family and crops.

But Odin had captured his face and voice perfectly. The memory of that voice going cruel as Odin drove the knife into Brok still haunted Kratos. And then there was the memory of Týr’s treasure room. The bottle of Lemnian wine. The pot with Kratos’s likeness on it,

How much did the war god know?

“You visited Sparta?” Kratos asked carefully.

Týr shook his head. “I only ever knew of it by reputation,” he said. “And I was never sure how much of it was true.”

“If you heard it from an Athenian, it was a lie,” Kratos said immediately.

Týr chuckled. “RIght, and I’m sure you can be trusted to tell the truth about Athens,” he replied.

“They made a great many contributions to Greece. And they were annoying.” And the less said about Athena herself, the better. “I’m surprised I never heard of your visits.”

“Oh, I made a point of keeping to myself. Greece was a beautiful place, but…”

Týr hesitated. Kratos turned his attention to his students. Hopefully, it looked as though he were supervising them, not as though he were avoiding eye contact. “Say what is on your mind,” he said.

“...I never met him directly, but Zeus reminded me of Odin in some ways,” he said. “Not exactly the same, but I left Asgard to avoid thinking about my family.”

“Hmm.” Kratos could see some resemblance. The same obsession with prophecy and habit of stabbing their children, for starters. Same habit of damaging lives with their meddling. It seemed to be a requirement for being king of the gods.

“I’m glad you got out,” Týr added, “for what it’s worth.”

Kratos felt a surge of adrenaline, though he knew no physical attack was coming. It was accompanied by a deep feeling of dread, nausea, revulsion. “That is not how I would put it,” he said.

Týr hesitated again. “I don’t know how else to put it,” he said finally. “I heard of how things ended there, but you could have…stayed, mentally. Remained trapped in it all, spread that distrust and hatred. Instead, you’re doing this.” He nodded towards Kratos’s students. “Helping people. I’ve heard about what you and Freya have been up to. So…you got out, in the end.”

The clarification made sense, and soothed his heightened emotions somewhat. Not entirely, though; his scars still tingled. “I suppose. I only wish…”

Wish I could have done it sooner.

Týr smiled sadly, a look of understanding in his eyes. “Me, too.”

Kratos thought about Týr, held hostage in Niflheim for imagined crimes. He thought of Deimos, bound for sins he hadn’t committed yet, and would never get the chance to commit. He imagined how difficult it must have been to push against an unmoving object like Odin.

He was lucky to be alive at all.

“We are not our fathers’ pasts,” Kratos said quietly.

“Yeah,” Týr said. For the first time, Kratos did not see the threat of Odin in him. For the first time, he saw a possible ally. “I sure hope not.”

There was more to Skjöldr than Kratos had realized.

Kratos had seen glimpses of the boy’s work ethic before. Skjöldr had been one of the primary organizers as his people settled back in Midgard, and seemed to be treated as a leader among his peers. These traits became more pronounced as they progressed in their training. He was first to volunteer, obeyed orders while still asking the right questions, and had a talent for encouraging the others. He was, of course, still a mortal boy–growing into his body, voice cracking at odd times, still learning the ways of the world. Kratos did not want to ask too much of him too soon. But he was well on his way to doing something great with his life.

He also had a very encyclopedic knowledge of fish.

“They’re the same fish,” Skjöldr explained, “but the coloration is completely different in Asgard. I still kind of think it’s due to some magical influence.” He started gutting the fish with careful precision. “I’d love to go to Vanaheim and see if there’s a pattern. I’d ask Lady Freya, but…y’know.”

“She’s intimidating?” Kratos guessed.

“No…well, yeah, but it’s more that it’s…dumb? I don’t want to bug the Queen of the Valkyries by asking her about fish.”

Freya would probably welcome the question, Kratos thought. It would be a break from the monotony of questions about Draugr or the pockets or trouble-makers they still had to deal with. But he kept that thought to himself and continued skinning his own fish. “You learned all of this yourself?” he asked.

“No, my dad…” Skjöldr hesitated. “...is a fisherman. He taught me. I’ve had to pick up a lot of it since he just started walking again. His leg got pretty busted up during…y’know.”

Ragnarök. Some were still hesitant to invoke it by name. Kratos understood. “But it is healing?”

“He’ll probably have a limp, but yeah, it could have been worse.” Skjöldr straightened up suddenly at the sound of wings nearby. “Is that…?”

Kratos didn’t have to look up to confirm that it was. He knew that sound by now. The Valkyries were back, and Thrúd with them if the crackle of lightning in the otherwise clear air was any indication. Kratos could hear them talking among themselves. It seemed like they’d missed a few holes out of Helheim. That was irritating. He heard footsteps approaching; Skjöldr attempted to sit up straighter as they grew close. “Hey, Thrúd,” he said.

Ah. Kratos made a point of looking down at the fish he was cleaning. The boy was already nervous. There was no point in making it worse. “Hey, Skjöldr,” Thrúd said. She gave him a friendly punch to the shoulder. Her being a goddess, the “friendly” punch nearly knocked Skjöldr over. He didn’t seem to mind. “Keeping everyone fed?”

“Trying to. Uh, everything going okay with the, uh…Helheim stuff?”

“Oh, y’know. Helheim is Helheim.” Kratos felt knuckles nudge into his own shoulder in an attempt at a similar punch. It didn’t move him at all. “Kratos.”

Kratos grunted. He glanced up long enough to see if Freya was there. She stood nearby, examining her swords carefully. Frost marked the edges. Good hunting, if he had to guess. “Where were they entering Midgard?” he asked.

“Oh, right next to Jörmungandr’s head,” Thrúd said with a laugh. “He did half the work for us. Not sure they tasted any good.”

Skjöldr laughed, perhaps a little too quickly. Oh, poor boy. If it had been any other goddess, Kratos might have considered intervening as soon as possible. He still considered it, but not for any fault of Thrúd’s. The heartache of a mortal and an immortal was potent. He knew that from experience.

But he was not the boy’s father, and that was probably a mistake he’d have to make on his own. So Kratos kept his eyes on the fish.

Freya sat down next to him with a sigh. “They’ve got you doing manual labor?” she asked.

“I volunteered.” He liked the normalcy of it. If he feared one thing, it was becoming too used to being a proper god again. He may not be running from his true nature anymore, but he did not want to be some distant thing sitting on a throne. He wanted to keep the life he had created for himself–fish guts and all. “The river’s thawed entirely. Travel should be easier now.”

“Finally. I thought some of those chunks would never clear away.” Freya glanced at Skjöldr and Thrúd. She was talking about her Valkyrie duties while he listened attentively. “Oh, dear,” Freya said quietly.

Of course she’d noticed. Love was one of her domains; if it was obvious to Kratos, it was probably a full signal fire to her. “Best of luck to him,” Kratos said quietly.

She didn’t audibly laugh, to her credit, but he could see the amusement in her eyes. “Best of luck indeed.”

Kratos waited until there was a lull in the conversation before asking his next question: “Do you have fish like this in Vanaheim?”

Skjöldr’s eyes darted over to them, looking surprised, but he kept his mouth shut. Freya examined the fish. “Similar, but they’re more of a…sunset color, I guess you could say. Why?”

Kratos shrugged. He knew the lack of answer wouldn’t give much away; Freya was used to him not answering questions by now. It wasn’t as if she could find him any more odd than she already did.

The grateful look on Skjöldr’s face made it worthwhile, anyway.

He had only seen Angrboda in the Ironwood or the Wild Woods. She’d alluded to returning to Jötunheim proper a handful of times (“Just looking around”), but beyond when she helped them during Ragnarök, she seemed content to stay in her part of the world.

It caught Kratos just as off-guard as everyone else when she arrived in Midgard.

“Hey, is that Loki’s friend?”

It was. And Kratos immediately noticed the change in the air around them. He’d set up the training grounds close to the mortal’s growing town, close enough that there were always people walking by. Those people were staring. Visibly.

She hadn’t come with Fenrir. It was just Angrboda, her arms wrapped around herself tightly, her gaze more frightened and rabbit-like than he’d ever seen it. Kratos stepped closer to her, carefully scanning the staring faces, searching for any signs of threat-

“Angrboda, right?” Skjöldr said. He had put down his spear and was approaching her with a friendly smile. “Loki’s friend? I’m Skjöldr.” He held out his hand. “Are you here to train, too?”

“Oh, uhm…” Angrboda unfolded enough to shake Skjöldr’s hand. “No, I was just here to say ‘hi.’”

Some of the students were still staring. Skjöldr’s friendliness seemed to put them at ease, but they were still curious. They had never seen a giant before, Kratos realized. They had only heard stories of them, and likely stories filtered through the lies of Asgard. None of them seemed hostile, at least, but…

“Drills,” Kratos called sternly. “Your enemy is over there.” The students quickly went back to their straw dummies. “Skjöldr, you as well.”

“Yes, sir,” he said immediately. To Angrboda, he added, “We should talk sometime! I never got to thank you for helping.”

“It’s no problem,” she replied with a hesitant smile. “Glad you’re okay.”

Kratos waited until Skjöldr was out of earshot before moving closer to Angrboda. “Are you all right?”

Angrboda let out a shaky breath. “I’m okay. I just…I guess I wanted to see if it was really okay out here. You mentioned coming here a lot, so I thought it’d be safe.”

Of course. She wanted to see how one of the last giants in the realms would be treated for showing her face. If Atreus did return with more giants, that would be important to know. “I would have escorted you,” he said quietly.

“I didn’t really plan to come here today, but thank you.” She seemed more relaxed now that he was close. “I haven’t been to a town in a while. It looks nice.”

“They’ve done well for themselves. There’s been help from Vanaheim and the Aesir left…” He noted one of the students was struggling with her form. “I’ll be right back.”

Kratos was worried that some trouble would find Angrboda in the time it took him to help the student and return. But she was still standing at the fence when he was done, and no one accosted her during her visit.

It may have been naive of him, but Kratos hoped that was a good sign.

Skjöldr made a point of including Angrboda after that whenever he saw her. Kratos suspected it was out of loyalty to Atreus more than anything, but he was still grateful. Angrboda herself opened up quickly to the attention, losing the wariness she’d had that day very quickly. He might be the second person her age she’s ever spoken to, Kratos realized. Perhaps that was the other reason she’d risked showing herself.

She was lonely.

“So, these are…” Skjöldr looked up from the hinge he was fixing. “...what, past, present, future?”

“Sometimes. And it really depends on when you see it.” Angrboda kept her eyes on the shrine. They needed some attention after three years of snow. She’d insisted on repairing the art herself while Kratos and Skjöldr tended to the doors. “This used to be past, present, future. Now it’s more like…beginning, middle, end, I guess.”

“Yeah, that makes sense. Much as any of this makes sense.”

Kratos understood that sentiment. He tried not to think about the complexities of prophecies now that they were no longer a matter of life and death. He had struggled with the decision before, but Kratos was grateful now that Faye had never told him about it until she absolutely had to.

He wondered how she had stood living with it herself.

“Does Jörmungandr know this is in here?” Skjöldr wondered. “It must be weird for him if he does. Knowing your whole life story is out there somewhere…I don’t think I’d be able to live like that.” He hesitated. “I’m not on any of these, right?”

“Not that I know of,” Angrboda said. “Guess that means you can do whatever you want.”

Skjöldr looked relieved–then, almost immediately, nervous again. “Okay , that sounds really scary when you put it like that.”

Mimir barked with laughter. Even Kratos couldn’t hold back a chuckle. “Really no winning is there?” Mimir said. “The burden of choice.”

“Better than being a story with the end written,” Angrboda noted quietly.

Kratos hummed in agreement. He waited until Skjöldr moved away from the open door and nodded before releasing it. It settled back on its hinges, now fully repaired. The shrine may not have been good as new, but it looked much better than it had. “Do you think we can move them one day?” he asked.

“I think they’ll be okay where they are for now, but I’ve thought about it,” Angrboda admitted. “Maybe once things settle down a bit more.”

Maybe once more of the giants return and can make that decision, if he had to guess. But Angrboda was still careful not to discuss that in mixed company. She had been treated fairly so far, but Kratos understood her caution.

Eventually, Skjöldr had to go back into town, leaving Kratos and Mimir along with Angrboda. He was content to watch her paint at first, her hands carefully tracing the pre-existing lines. She was the first one to break the silence: “Thanks for the help with this.”

“You’re welcome.” Kratos examined the canvas before them. “I was hoping…to learn.”

“About the prophecies?”

“About the giants. I know Faye left long before she met me, but they are her people. I want to know.” It was the least he could do to respect her memory. The memory of the family she had only talked about once, but with so much pain in her eyes. “I want to understand her.”

Angrboda set her paintbrush down and looked at him, understanding in her eyes. “I’d love to tell you,” she said quietly. “Do you think you could tell me about her? I know she meant a lot to a lot of people, but I don’t think they knew…her. You know?”

Kratos nodded. “Of course. She would have liked you, I can say that.” His gaze swept over the shrine, the carefully restored paintings. “She was an artist herself.”

“Really?” Angrboda looked pleased. “So Atreus got it from her?”

“Yes.” His Spartan training had covered more than most people assumed. Neither drawing nor painting was on that list. “They were alike in many ways. I know it will serve him well.”

“So will what he got from you.”

The compliment hit him harder than he thought it would. “...thank you.”

He hoped she was right.

The invitation was unexpected. Kratos hadn’t had much chance to return to Niðavellir since Brok’s funeral. The dwarves had largely kept to themselves in the wake of Ragnarök, trying to rebuild their realm without outside interference.

But they remembered him, apparently, because Durlin arrived one mid-summer day with an invitation. “We’re tearing down the statues the Aesir left up. Want to help?”

Kratos found he did. And with the dwarf’s permission, he invited Freya and Angrboda as well. The former declined; the latter agreed wholeheartedly, though Kratos had a feeling the possibility of seeing a new realm influenced her decision. She was practically bursting with excitement when she arrived with Fenrir in tow.

“This place is amazing!” she said.

“It certainly smells nicer than it did,” Mimir noted.

Kratos grunted and kept an eye out for grims. They were going to a statue near a mining operation, not the one in town. It was probably for the best, considering Fenrir was there. The wolf was as excited as Angrboda, eagerly taking in all the new smells. Word of his size must have reached Niðavellir, because the few dwarves Durlin had assembled weren’t too alarmed at the sight of him. Still alarmed, but it could have been much worse. “What the fuck were you feeding that thing?” Durlin asked.

“I’ve seen bigger beasts,” Kratos said. The actual answer would take too long. “We thought he could help.”

“Yeah, no shit.” Durlin glanced Angrboda’s way. Like the citizens in Midgard, he seemed to figure out quickly that she was a giant. Unlike the citizens of Midgard, his reaction was much softer. “You want the first hit, little lady?”

Angrboda examined the statue critically. It was about as much an eyesore as the one in Niðavellir city proper. Then again, Kratos had a feeling it would be difficult to make Odin look good at all. “Actually,” she said, reaching into her bag, “there’s something I was thinking about doing first…”

She had small sacs filled with paint. The first slap of bright green struck the statue right in the eye patch, splattering across the face. It was strangely satisfying to watch; the cheers that accompanied it were even more so. Angrboda quickly started distributing the paint balls among the dwarves. Kratos was content to position Mimir so he could hurl insults and watch from a safe distance. Durlin joined him. “She seems like a sweet kid,” he noted. “Reminds me of someone we know.”

“Hmm.” Kratos glanced Durlin’s way. The dwarf’s eyes were fairly clear today. It was difficult to tell if he had stopped drinking entirely, or had decided he wanted all his faculties for the occasion. “You knew her well?”

“Not as well as I’d thought, apparently. Never would’ve picked her as the wife and mother type.” Durlin huffed a quiet laugh. “I’m happy for her, though. She deserved that peace.”

The dwarf’s voice softened as he spoke about her. Kratos was still getting used to hearing that tone when others spoke of her. She had been cared for by so many before him. It was comforting, to know that she had people around her even in her worse days. “You cared about her,” he noted.

Durlin’s next laugh was louder. “Not jealous of you, if that’s what you mean. But someone might be. Half of Niðavellir was in love with her by the end. You’re lucky you managed to get her before one of us did.” More encouraging shouts broke out in front of them. Fenrir had started digging at the statue’s base while the others egged him on. “Think they could use the extra muscle.”

In truth, Kratos could have brought the statue down single-handedly, but he knew the others needed the catharsis. He only expanded as much energy as needed to get the statue lowered down, allowing the others to bring it down entirely. The energy of the crowd was somewhere between a celebration and a battle. Fortunately, most of the insults being hurled were in Dwarvish. Kratos had a feeling they would be too strong for Angrboda.

Then again, he had no idea what her hurled insults were, either. She may have had a broader vocabulary than he realized.

Kratos was helping pry the statue’s head off when he heard it. The shout was distant at first, but quickly solidified into a familiar voice: “Kratos? Kratos?!”

It was Lúnda. When Kratos turned around, the dwarf was running towards them. Her face was as frantic as her tone. Kratos immediately ran to meet her. “It’s Sindri,” she gasped before Kratos could ask. “It’s…”

Kratos suddenly felt very cold. “Where?” he demanded.

“Back at the house…I don’t know, but something’s wrong. Please, I don’t know what to do.”

She was frightened. This woman had fought alongside Freyr against the Aesir, and this had her rattled. Kratos looked over his shoulder. Angrboda must have sensed something wrong; she’d followed him closer, but kept a safe distance away to avoid eavesdropping too much. “I have to…” Kratos started.

She nodded immediately. “Yeah, go. Fenrir can get me back home. I think I’ll be okay on my own.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’ll look after her,” Durlin said immediately. His face remained calm, but Kratos saw one hand anxiously fiddling with one of his vest buttons. “Make sure he’s all right.”

“Thank you.”

His last sight of the group was Fenrir chasing after Odin’s severed head. He wished the sight could bring him any joy. All he could think about was Sindri.

I should have gone to the house more. I should have spoken to him before this. The thought that he had been giving the dwarf too much distance had crossed his mind, but never for long. He had other things on his mind: helping Freya, training his students, looking after Angrboda. But now all he could think was that he’d been using those tasks to avoid making things right. That he could have cut into the time spent on his own, used that to repair this wrong.

Repair it now. There is no sense dwelling in what-ifs.

He was bracing himself for something terrible. What they found when they reached the house was not what he’d expected. Somehow, that only made things worse.

The house was completely abandoned. The only sign of life was the upturned bucket on the floor, and the brush beside it. The main room smelled strongly of soap and damp, molding wood. The worst damage was centered around a spot near the table.

The place where Brok had breathed his last.

“He’s not upstairs either.” Lúnda ran down the stairs, dislodging her goggles as she ran a hand through her hair. “He was here when I left, I swear.”

“What the blazes was he doing?” Mimir asked.

“I don’t know. He was…talking crazy, saying Brok was in the floor or something. I don’t know what was wrong.”

Kratos knew. He may not have experienced it in the same way Sindri was, but he knew its root cause far too well.

“He is grieving,” he said quietly. Of course Sindri wasn’t behaving rationally. Nothing about grief was rational. For a moment, Kratos was back in Greece, sharpening his knife to the point of damaging it. He knew it was too much, but he couldn’t make himself stop. It was the only thing that made sense in light of the unthinkable. His friend, the man he would name his son after one day, gone.

And that was the most rational thing grief had driven him to do.

“We’ve gotta find him,” Lúnda said. “He shouldn’t be alone when he’s like this. I just don’t know where he’d go.”

Kratos did, or at least he had an idea. It’s where he’d go, if he’d known what he knew now. “I will look,” he said. “You two should wait here, in case he comes back.” He could see the protest forming on Lúnda’s face, so he cut it off quickly: “He may not be receptive if all of us go. One is better than a crowd. And…I need to do this.”

I have to set this right.

Lúnda relented with a heavy sigh, taking Mimir without complaint. “Just bring him back, okay?” she said.

“Good luck, brother,” Mimir said, his eyes soft with understanding.

Kratos nodded to them both and left.

He managed to avoid breaking into a run until he was following the World Tree to Alfheim.

Atreus had spoken sometimes of speaking to his mother, asking her for guidance. Faye’s only prayers had been ancestral; according to Angrboda, this was a giant practice. The gods haven’t really done much for us. All we’ve got is each other. Kratos had never tried, being out of practice with prayer in general and unsure of what to ask her.

He spoke to her now.

Please. I know he’s your friend. I need to find him. Show me where he is, elskan. Help me find him.

Show me.

His time in Alfheim had been limited over the past months, but Kratos still remembered the way. Through the closest gate, to the Lake of Souls. With Lúnda’s help, they had been able to reopen a gate on the far shores, near the forge Sindri had used. That day had been difficult (trying to dodge the latest fight that had broken out had been tedious), but Kratos was grateful for the effort now. He half-expected to find Sindri there, hammering away at a weapon as he had that day in Midgard, but the forges were quiet and still. No sign of him.

Kratos stopped and forced himself to breathe.

He is likely here. He knows this is where Brok’s soul would have gone. But where is the best spot? Closer to the temple? It made the most sense. His hands shook as he shoved the boat into the water. Calm, he reminded himself. Panic will not serve you now.

Then, Faye, please.

He felt nothing but his aching dread until he reached the lake. He steered the boat towards the western shores–the beach near where Odin had kept one of the Valkyries. Good view of the light. Easy access to the water. And something else–a growing certainty that he wanted to trust. It may have been foolish, it may have been nothing…

There.

A pile of armor on the shore.

Pure instinct screamed at him to get out, get out now, get into the water, but he controlled it long enough to beach the boat. He’d risk losing it if he didn’t, and it would be faster to get Sindri home that way. A glance confirmed that the armor was his, which meant…

Kratos barely stopped to leave some of his own gear before plunging into the water.

The water was cool, and only grew colder the deeper he swam. Weeds and underwater plants swayed in the currents; a few times, he could have sworn they were not plants, but arms, hands, eyes watching him from the darkness.

Both eyes forward. Focus.

It was difficult to see, but the same impulse that had pulled him to the shore called him onwards. The deeper he swam, the more it took on a concrete form. A familiar voice–an even more familiar song. There was something different about it now, more urgent. Here, it whispered. He’s here. This way, my love, he’s here.

Kratos followed that feeling, even as his lungs started to burn. He followed it until a patch of darkness turned into something solid, into a small form drifting listlessly, dragged downwards by the plants.

There!

Kratos surged forward to grab the body. As he did, he could have sworn he felt something brush his cheek. Whatever it was, it gave him the energy to swim back to the surface, to the sunlight above, and from there to the shore. Sindri’s body was unmoving at first; when Kratos put him down, the dwarf’s lungs remembered to breathe. The first attempt brought convulsions, movement, Sindri turning over as he coughed up lake water onto the shore.

Kratos breathed a sigh of relief. Thank you. Thank you. The hardest part may have been yet to come, but at least he had the chance now. “Breathe,” Kratos said. “Slowly.”

Sindri’s coughing subsided. He wouldn’t look directly at Kratos. “Can you hear me?” Kratos tried. Sindri may have only been semi-conscious. Perhaps he needed more rest before-

“Why did you pull me out?” Sindri asked.

It was a question Kratos had not wanted to hear. It was also one that he understood.

Kratos sighed and sat in the sands, not too far away, but far enough to give Sindri space. He thought of Sindri’s face in the workshop that day, of his own deep pain in the deepest pits of Hades. Deimos and Brok, each twice-lost. “I had a brother,” he said. “The gods took him from me, too. It took a long time for me to…stop blaming myself for what happened. You should have that chance.”

Deimos. What would his brother think of him now? They’d barely had the chance to know each other. In truth, Kratos had envied Brok and Sindri sometimes. They had been separated for a time, but they still had many years shared between them. Kratos barely had six years when they were children, a handful of moments as adults. All the rest had been robbed from him because of some prophecy.

Some cycles couldn’t help repeating themselves, it seemed.

“You do not have to speak to me,” Kratos added. “I understand, you are angry. You have every right to be. But I am not leaving you here alone.” Not again, not this time. Not when the wounds were still so raw and open. Being alone is worse. He should have remembered that. Should have tried to convince Sindri of it sooner.

There was another stretch of silence. He glimpsed Sindri moving, not quite getting up, but hunching over less. When the dwarf spoke, his voice was barely a whisper.

“I killed him.”

Again, three words Kratos did not want to hear. And three words he understood.

“It’s my fault,” Sindri repeated, louder this time. His voice broke under the strain of his grief. “Oh, gods, I killed him.”

Sindri fell apart.

For a moment, Kratos felt he should not be there. This pain was too raw, too intimate; what right did he have to witness it? But he had sworn he would not leave. Now, more than ever, Sindri should not be alone.

He moved close enough to grip the dwarf’s shoulder. Sindri did not protest. Kratos still could not look directly at him, so instead he looked out over the water. Partially for threats. Mostly for answers.

How do I help him bear this?

How can anyone?

Sindri’s sobs quieted eventually. Once they had, Kratos stood and walked to the boat, and the pile of discarded items next to it. The Blades, Leviathan, a few of his own things. He made sure his weapons were out of the water’s reach and picked up a water skin before returning to Sindri. He grunted quietly and held it out in offering. “Do you have anything stronger?” Sindri asked, his voice ravaged by tears.

Maybe I should’ve brought something stronger. “Water first,” Kratos said. “You need it more.”

He sat back down in the sand, half-watching Sindri drink. The knuckles of the dwarf’s exposed hand looked red and raw, probably from the cleaning he’d been doing. He’d lost weight, too, his already thin face looking more haggard than before. He needs rest, Kratos though. Food. If he could be convinced to take it. “How did you know I was here?” Sindri asked as he handed back the water skin.

“Lúnda said you were distressed. Talking about Brok. I thought…”

If it had been me, I would have tried to bring her back, too.

“I heard her here,” Kratos said instead. “Both times. Your shop is not far. It seemed a logical place to start.”

“...Lúnda’s not here, is she?”

Kratos shook his head. “No, she stayed at your home. The head, too. I made sure they wouldn’t follow. You have time.”

He likely needed it. Kratos had asked them to stay for a reason. Just because Sindri shouldn’t be alone did not mean he needed a full audience for his grief. Kratos was sure his presence was bad enough. And yet despite that assumption…

“How do you do it?” Sindri asked quietly. “How do you…handle it all?”

Of all the people Sindri could have asked. Kratos almost wanted to laugh. “Not as well as you’d think,” he admitted. He cast aside his self-mockery and carefully considered his next words. “I simply lived with it, for a long time. If you can call it living. Faye, she…” He had to pause at the memory of that day in the woods. Of the first time she ever held his hand, soft and careful. “...she said once that we would always walk together. That she would always carry a part of me, and I of her. The culmination of love is grief, and yet…we still open our hearts to it. I did not understand what she meant until recently.” He only wished he could have understood sooner. “The pain…no longer feels like pain. Or it feels less so. Instead I feel her. What she taught me, what she gave me. It takes time to accept, but it is possible.”

Now more than ever, he was sure she was with them. That she had called them down to those waters. And even if he couldn’t feel it as clearly elsewhere, she was still with him.

She always had been.

“I mean,” Sindri, “Faye hasn’t been wrong yet.” Despite himself, Kratos chuckled. “She was right about something else. He who walks his own path walks alone.” Sindri met his eyes. They were still red from tears, tired and pained, but clear. “It wasn’t your fault, and…I’m sorry for what I said.”

Kratos had not realized how heavy the weight truly had been until it was lifted. This was not about him, he knew, but he was still…grateful. “You were grieving. I understand. It is behind us.” In the past where it belonged. Now, he could look to a future, one perhaps with Sindri in it. Except… “I do not know if you heard…”

“About Atreus or about Tyr?”

“Both.”

From the look on Sindri’s face, he had. Kratos was not entirely surprised. Atreus’s departure had been quieter, but not unnoticed; Týr’s reappearance, meanwhile, had certainly created a stir. Both would be hard for Sindri, Kratos knew, each in their own way. The only question was how hard, and how he would bear those weights as well.

“He’s going to be okay, right?” Sindri asked.

There was no anger in his voice, no blame. Instead, Kratos heard regret. He missed his son desperately then, and wished he could be there to mend things. But it could wait. Perhaps it was better if it did. “He will,” Kratos said. “I know he will.”

He accepted it as a certainty. His son would return. This could be mended. Both thoughts gave him some comfort.

He hoped they gave Sindri some comfort as well.

They sat in silence for a time. Kratos was grateful for the quiet, and equally unnerved that it was so quiet. Alfheim was never this quiet for him. Elskan, if this is you somehow, I am grateful…but why only this once? He could picture her laughing at the question, clearly as if she were there. I mean it.

“I don’t know if…if I can go back to the house,” Sindri said suddenly.

Kratos did not blame him. He wasn’t sure he wanted Sindri back in that place anyway. There was still too much pain there. Too many memories. “There is room in my home, if you wish,” Kratos said. There was never a doubt in his mind about that. “I cannot promise the wolves will leave you alone, but there is always a place for you.”

It was only right. Sindri was family, some of the first they’d found there. Kratos would have made the same offer to any of the others, but it felt especially important here. It’s what Faye would have wanted. That was reason enough.

Sindri considered it before nodding. “Okay. Okay. If you’re sure.”

“Hmm.” Kratos stood and offered Sindri a hand. “I’m sure.” Sindri hesitated, but took the help getting up. “Home, then.”

“Yeah. Home.”

They gathered their things and rowed back to the gate. Kratos only lingered a moment once the boat secure, pausing to close his eyes and let the sun warm his face.

He thought he felt that touch on his cheek again.

Thank you.

Kratos opened his eyes again, turned to the gate, and brought Sindri back home.

“You look tired.”

Sunset had turned Freya’s quarters golden. It was a space Kratos had only seen once, and briefly. It seemed more lived-in now, which was good. Freya hadn’t mentioned any resistance against her return to Vanaheim, but Kratos still worried. “I was going to say the same to you,” he retorted.

Freya rolled her eyes as she poured him a cup of mead. “It’s almost like being queen is exhausting,” she said. “Who would have thought?”

“Hmm.” Kratos took the cup with a grateful nod. “Anything I can help with?”

“Not really. We’ve just spent so much time under Asgard’s thumb. It’s…difficult, starting over.” She stared into her own cup, as if the answers were floating inside somewhere. “I think some people aren’t convinced Odin is gone.”

Kratos understood. There were times when he felt the same way about Olympus.

“What about you?” Freya added. “Those kids giving you trouble?”

“No. They listen well. They’re eager to learn.” They might have been the easiest thing he was handling lately, had it not been for one detail. “One of the parents…tried to give me an offering yesterday.”

“...oh?”

Kratos nodded. “I told her to keep it. Use it for her family. But they want to know what they should call me.” The admission made him feel ill. For a moment, he remembered the smell of burnt offerings, a statue in chains, the taste of blood and unsweetened wine. Nothing like the small bundle of food held in shaking hands, and yet everything like it at the same time.

“Are you really surprised?” Freya asked. “Most of their gods were just using them. You gut their fish and train their children to protect themselves with no expectation of repayment. If you didn’t want attention, you should have stayed in those woods.”

“I know, I know.” She was right, of course. Kratos took a long drag from his cup and sighed heavily. “It is not only that.”

“Your past?”

That as well, but not entirely. “My present. Sindri is still struggling. It is difficult to feel godlike when I can’t even help him.”

Sindri had more or less settled since that day in Alfheim, but grief still hounded him like a predator. Some days he would sweep the same patch of floor over and over, or move around the house carefully adjusting items so they were exactly in their place. He’d even insisted on tending to Kratos’s armor, as much as Kratos had tried to talk him out of it. I have to do something, he’d said. It’s like I’ve got this swarm of nightmares in my head, and doing stuff like this is the only thing that keeps them at bay. Do you know what I mean?

Kratos did, in a way. He was not sure he experienced it the same way Sindri did, but he understood the basic sentiment.

“You’re doing everything you can for him,” Freya said. “He’s not alone now. That’s what matters.”

Kratos wasn’t sure he felt that way, but he tried to believe it.

“I came here to see how you were doing,” Kratos noted suddenly. How had they gotten to talking about him?

“Well, in that case, please, let’s keep talking about your life,” Freya said dryly. Kratos laughed. “Have you been sleeping enough? Remembering to eat?”

“You can’t hide from your problems by fixing mine.”

“Oh, really?” Freya made a show of looking around her room. “Hold on, I think I have a mirror you can look at…”

“All right, all right. I yield.” Kratos sighed, for once in amusement and not in exasperation, and leaned back in his chair. “I propose an armistice. Neither of us discusses our problems. We are simply two friends having dinner.”

“That’s fine with me.” Freya took the opportunity to start drizzling honey over a thick slice of bread. “That said, there is…one thing you might be able to help with.”

He would, of course, without question, but… “Is it urgent?” he said.

“It will keep.”

He topped off his cup with more mead. “Then ask me when I’m done with this.” They could rest that long, he thought. Perhaps it would do them some good.

Freya smiled gently. “Okay.”

He drank slowly. They talked about the summer heat and returning plant life. Their problems kept for a little while longer.

They didn’t seem so insurmountable by the time he reached the bottom of his cup.

He returned to Midgard three days later thinking that he had spoken too soon. He did have some dragon scales for Lúnda to use and no one had died. That was about his only consolation.

And at least it’s not Aesir interference, he reminded himself. He had faced worse. And more annoying. But he was glad to be home.

Sindri hadn’t gone mad during Kratos’s absence. He supposed that was another victory. He was tense, but the dwarf was often tense, so Kratos assumed he would live through it. Neither spoke about how their days had gone. They only settled down around the fire pit to eat.

“I am this close to just replacing the fucking floors,” Sindri suddenly. “I don’t want to look at them anymore.”

Kratos nodded, more out of support than because he had truly registered the words. He had to run them over a few more times in his mind. He thought about the damp wood smell, that dark stain in the center of the floor. He hadn’t seen them since, but he doubted the time away had made things any better.

“We could do it,” Kratos replied.

“Do what?”

“Replace the floors.”

Sindri looked taken aback that Kratos had agreed with him.But after some consideration, he straightened up. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. We could. Uhm, I mean, if you’re okay with helping.”

“I am.” He didn’t like to think of the house in that state, and it might do Sindri some good.

It might do both of them some good.

#god of war #god of war kratos #fic: will you greet the daylight looming

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cullenakingirog · 1 year

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"I haven't fallen yet But I feel it comin' Tell me would it be too much to ask If you break it to me gently That I'm waking the next day Without you beside me And who I hold on to today Tomorrow will just be a memory" -Before It Sinks In by Moira dela Torre

The day before Sindri, mother to the Ri brothers left Apharchlalaithon after the Feast of Starlight. Basically, in my little Tolkienverse, the elves of the Woodland Realm allowed in Ereborean refugees and some families hosted dwarven families as well. Apharchlalaithon was one of them.

Apharchlalaithon had four brothers and his parents with him but they all died at the Last Alliance which left him alone in a home that felt too big. Enter Sindri and Dori and Nori who brought noise and life back into his house and he began feeling like his family was there again. Apharchlalaithon has a quiet demeanour; he just tends to while away the time by reading and sketching whatever he sees whenever he isn't assigned to patrol the Woodland Realm. So having two toddlers, one who is a mischievous adventurer (Nori) and one who is extremely curious and babbles a lot of questions (Dori), he found himself being pulled out of his comfort zone where he would answer all their questions and even accompany them on walks to get them used to the Woodland Realm's layout.

Sindri had had two past relationships that ended with Dori and Nori being born respectively. She worked as a seamstress for noble families (Dori's father was a distant Line of Durin member) When Erebor fell, she was surprised that this stern-faced elf was the one assigned to her and her boys since she was worried about him being cruel to her children. Turns out he wasn't and he was extremely patient and indulgent with them. At some point, Nori messes up some of Apharchlalaithon's charcoal sketches and he just fixed it. ("Time to improve and repair is eternal for me. Why must I be angry if I can just fix this?" said Apharchlalaithon)

Anyway, both sides developed feelings for each other but they won't speak up about it. Sindri because she didn't want the scrutiny of the world on Apharchlalaithon and also so he won't be hurt once she and her boys died (also because she doesn't know if he wanted her to stay) and Apharchlalaithon because he refuses to tie her down since she told him about how she didn't want to be chained as a wife. (Someone who gives up her craft, her life just to please her husband, something Apharchlalaithon never really would have done to her) Sindri meant to leave in spring after eight years of staying in the Woodland Realm. It's just that one thing led to another during the Feast of Starlight and they ended up sleeping with each other. Sindri knew Apharchlalaithon would marry her once "his senses returned to him" so she chose to leave, leaving a hair bead for him to remember her by.

Apharchlalaithon wakes up, finds his house empty and in his panic, he didn't realise he had thrown off the bead in his panic at trying to find Sindri, Dori and Nori again.

He will eventually meet them again but he stops remembering/recognising people if he doesn't see them a lot of the time. It's when the Company got captured by the guards for going off trail it's just that he didn't recognise Dori and Nori and was keeping to the farthest part of the rear group. (He'll also lose a leg during BotFA and he never gets used to his prosthetic or the use of his crutches, a point of deep frustration for him)

and yes, he's Ori's dad cause Peredhil Ori Rights is a weird thing I fixated on.

#tolkien oc #tolkien #elf oc #dwarf oc #tolkienocweek #my art #marh art #sindri #apharchlalaithon

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anonwriterthethird · 4 years

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The Ring of Mages

Chapter One - Siv of Olcar

Words - 3,129

Warnings - Death, slight mention of blood, bad writing

_____

The village was still, all that was moving was the swaying grass and trees from the light breeze. Everything was illuminated by the moonlight, completely captivating Siv. The girl sat on top of a hill in the grass, leaning back on her palms while staring out at the land before her. There were rolling hills littered with buildings and surrounded by walls that looked beautiful in the night, but she was more focused on what was above.

The sky was filled with colorful swirls shaded of blues and purples, all of them spotted with bright shiny dots that reflected brightly off of her golden eyes. This was the only time of day that Judith could find peace, late at night when staring at the painted sky. Of course she had to leave to bed at some point though, training was set for very early in the morning.

Siv reluctantly stood from her spot, not wanting to leave such a pretty sight. But she had to leave eventually so she made her way down the hill and towards her little cottage. She slowly creaked open the main door and tried to be quiet as to not wake her parents. Siv had gotten to her room making sure not to make a single noise and lit up a lantern placed on her desk. She opened up the top drawer and took out a worn leather journal along with a quill and inkwell. Judith wrote of what she saw that night, of every swirl and color in the night sky. Then right next to it she attempted a drawing, making it as detailed as her memory allowed.

Before Siv was able to finish her drawing there was an enormous explosion, startling the girl into spilling the inkwell all over the pages. After a few moments there was yet another explosion followed by the panicked shouts of guards and screams of citizens. Siv stumbled her way towards her window and all that was seen was chaos. The Northern wall was broken down, laying scattered in pieces. Soldiers with spears and axes ran through the broken down wall on foot, a few rode on horses wielding bows armed with flamed tip arrows. The people on foot burst into every home and slaughtered all those inside while taking anything of value. People ran outside screaming trying to get away only to be ruthlessly killed. The cavalry shot their arrows through the air, catching both people and building on fire to suffer a slow and painful death. When watching all of this horror unfold, the bedroom door had slammed open, jumping Siv out of her shocked daze.

“Siv! There you are, we must hurry. Grab your cloak,” It was her father who spoke low and rushed, “C’mon, we must go before they reach us!” He quickly went to the main door, dragging along the stumbling young girl. Siv’s mother met them there from the kitchen holding a small black cloak and a pack filled with food. She kneeled down towards the trembling girl, wrapping her with the cloak and handed her the food. Then she leaned in a bit closer, placing her forehead onto her daughters with her hands holding the other’s head.

She whispered,“If anything is to happen, anything, just keep running. Do not look back,” She peeled away, tears brimming her eyes, and placed a soft kiss on top of her daughter’s forehead.

“Promise me.”

All the girl could do was nod her head. Siv let out a few stray tears, not knowing what to expect to happen in the next few moments.

Her mother gave a shaky sigh and a weak smile, “Thank you…”

The girl’s father cracked open the door just enough to pop his head out. He looked left and right, looking for an opening to run to safety. Once he deemed it safe he opened the door further and led them all down the path. He looked back at his wife and daughter and talked to them in a hushed but urgent voice, “We go to the stables, there we can grab two horses. Siv, you ride with me,”

They both nodded in response, ready to follow. He continues to make his way to the stables, using the back paths and hiding in the shadows while making sure his family was close behind. They get closer and closer with each step they took, being careful to stay hidden and quiet. The mother kept her arm around Siv’s shoulder as they walked not wanting to let go of her daughter, not wanting to lose her. Although she would not lose Siv, Siv would lose her. A roar was made from a soldier behind them as a spear was thrown through the air. It had gone straight through the mother’s chest. Her dress gradually stained red as she had fallen to the ground.

Siv fell to her knees at her mother’s side as she balled out raging waterfalls of tears, “No, no, not like this, mother…”

The only response she could get was a cough of blood and one muttered word said so quietly that she could barely hear, “Run…”

“No… no!” Siv began screaming, giving away their location to even more soldiers. The one who killed her mother had begun to make his way towards them so her father had to roughly grab Siv and drag her away from her now lifeless mother. She screamed and clawed at her father as he picked her up and started sprinting towards the stables which were now right in front of them.

“I know, I know. But we can no longer stay, we must run,” He tried to talk Siv down as he placed her on top of the horse’s saddle, which was thankfully already set up beforehand. He untied the horse and got on back behind Siv. He reached around to grab the reins and swiftly turned the horse while making it go into a sprint. Some of the cavalry took notice of their attempt to escape and chased after. They started to aim their arrows, although these ones were not set aflamed. They launched the arrows making them soar through the air but most of them miss. Until one makes its way through the father’s throat, then his back, then another in his back, and another. They just kept coming, but they fortunately only his him and not the daughter he had sworn to protect since birth.

Just a few seconds after Siv’s father was hit with arrows, an arrow had landed on the horses leg making them crash into the ground. The girl was about to get up and try to run away but realized how foolish that would be after taking a saddening look back at her dead father who still had arrows sticking out his back. Instead she opted to stay laying down, unmoving to make them think that she was killed as well. Some cavalry had trotted up to the fallen horse to inspect if the job was done. A hooded figure had jumped off the horse to look more closely. Siv made the mistake of moving her gaze up to him. If they noticed, which they surely did, then they either didn't care or for some reason took pity because they didn’t kill her or order her to be killed.

The person stood up straight and hopped back onto their horse, “It seems we have cleared this area, let’s start moving to the Eastern side of the village,” with that they were off, making their horses sprint in the opposite direction.

Once everyone was completely gone Siv had begun to slowly stand. Her face was red and blotchy while still being covered in stray tears that couldn’t be held back. When all the way up she had looked around herself once more and then started to run as fast as her feet could take her away from the village, away from her home. She ran and ran, not knowing where to go or what to do. Her lungs burn, her legs and feet begin to ache, but she refuses to stop. She does not stop until she is deep into the forest that surrounded the walls of her home. After Siv has stopped she lays against the tree, breathing heavily to catch her breath. After the short break she begins to walk. Where to, Gods only know.

After walking for what felt like hours Siv had stumbled upon something amazing. A secluded hut. She found it right as the sun had begun to show, meaning she has been up all night and was in much need of rest along with food and water. She makes her way up to the door, wrapping herself further into her cloak as she knocks.

After hearing some shuffling and footsteps the door swings open. Standing before her was a tall woman in a light blue dress. “Oh my, you poor thing you look exhausted! Come in, come in,” The woman ushers Siv into her home, “You look just dreadful, is that blood on you?”

Siv shakily nods her head, letting some more tears slip by when remembering whose blood it was. Although, she did not know whether it was her mother’s, father’s, or both. Probably both.

“Come sit, tell what has happened,” She leads Siv over to the kitchen table where a young boy sat. “Sindri, go fetch a pot of tea,”

“Yes mother,”

While the tea brew Siv had begun her story from when the village was first attacked to when she ran through the forest and stumbled upon their doorstep. Sindri set down the tea just as Siv was choking up on tears when getting to each of her parents death. She then had left out the part where she was spared by the cloaked figure, she didn’t know what to think of that part and thought it best to be excluded.

“My dear you have been through so much, you may stay here as long as you wish,”

“Thank you… “Siv trailed off waiting to learn the woman’s name.

“Nadia,”

“Thank you, Nadia,”

Before they could carry on their conversation the door was kicked open by a large man with a dead deer in his arms. “I’ve brought dinner,” The burly man dropped the deer down onto the table where they sat, causing it to rattle.

“Alvis! Don’t be so rude, we have a guest,” Nadia had given the man, Alvis, a look of judgment and anger.

“My apologies, love,” He turned his attention away from presumably his wife towards the stranger sitting at his table.

“Siv, from the village of Olcar,”

Nadia had piped in after Siv’s introduction, “Her village was attacked just last night,”

Alvis scoffed at the news, “Why am I not surprised? It was likely a group of Vikings, our foolish King Frey has been refusing to pay the Danegeld.” He picked up the deer from the table while talking and started making his way towards the back door to get it out of the way.

Siv looked up to Alvis in confusion, “Danegeld?”

“It’s a tribute the kings pay to keep Vikings from attacking, although paying just one group does not protect the kingdom from all Vikings,” Alvis tried to explain it the best he could for her to understand, for there are multiple groups of vikings where none of which are united. “King Frey really ought to know better by now…” he muttered while walking out the door to get dinner prepared for cooking.

Nadia looked back over to Siv, “Well since Olcar has been ravaged, as I said before, you are welcome to stay here,” she stood up, taking her cup over to the other dirtied dishes, “You’re too young to be on your own, you may stay in the spare bedroom,”

Siv smiled up at her and responded with a quiet, “Thank you,”

“It is no trouble at all. Now, you must be so exhausted after fleeing all night. Sindri my dear, would you be kind enough to show her to her room?”

Sindri who has just been quietly listening perked up at his name being called, “Of course, this way,” Sindri motioned for her to follow him. It was a small room filled with just a bed, desk, and a single small window. “Once you awake I will give you a tour of the rest of the house,” He closed the curtains to block out the sun then moved out the door, leaving her to rest.

Siv had fallen asleep as soon as her head had touched the pillow. Instead of a dreamless sleep, memories of the night before kept playing through her head. She saw her mother telling her to run and then getting killed by a spear. Riding the horse with her father, getting so close to escaping with at least one of her parents, only for him to be shot over and over again by arrows. Then the dream had moved on to a cloaked figure staring at her, it felt as if their eyes were boring straight into her soul.

Siv woke with a start, panting heavily and covered in sweat. Reliving those moments was the very last thing she wanted. She tore off the covers and shakily stood up, making her way over to the window. She drew open the curtains to see that it was still day. Siv walked to the door and stepped out, going towards the kitchen.

“Oh, you’re awake. Whenever you’re ready I can give that tour,” Sindri had offered the girl. She stayed silent but nodded her head. Sindri looked at her a bit weirdly, “Are you alright? You seem a little shaken up…”

“Yes, I am quite alright. No worries,”

Sindri didn’t believe her at all but still said, “Ok if you say so…”

“Well I do say so, but how about we get on with that tour now,” These words came out sounding ruder than she meant it to be, but she did not want to talk about her dream.

Sindri raised his hands in mock surrender, “Ok, ok, let’s go then,” He lead her around almost every room when they had made their way outside. Sindri led Siv down a short dirt path that weaved around the trees.

Siv has no idea where Sindri could be taking her, she got more and more confused the deeper they went. She hardly knows him and is starting to question if it was safe to stay here, safe to follow him into the forest. “Where might you be taking me, Sindri?”

“I’ll be showing you the sparring ring, it’s just a little further,”

Siv was still very confused, only now about why they have a sparring ring, “Why do you have one of those?”

Sindri sighed and looked down at his feet while they walked, “Well you may not know but King Frey is planning on building an arena, one similar to the old colosseum down in Rome,”

Siv gave Sindri a perplexed look while cutting him off, “Wait are you going to fight in a new colosseum…?”

“Yes I am, the king has been recruiting men at random to take part and become something like gladiators,” he started to give a saddened look, “Unfortunately I am one of the recruitments…”

“Oh…,” Siv turned her head away, an awkward silence starting to settle. At least until they had come upon a clearing in the forest. The sparring ring was just a simple dirt circle surrounded by huge oak trees.

Sindri had stopped right at the edge of the ring, “Well this is it, the sparring arena. I figured you might have wanted to see it just in case you’d like to try training at some point,”

Siv gave a small smile, “Maybe I could train along with you! That could be fun, right?”

Sindri gave a slight scoff in response, “I don’t recommend training with me. My training is to prepare me to fight in a ring to the death while people chant and yell, excited to see my blood spill,”

“Exactly, I should prepare to face the worst,”

Sindri had sighed yet again, “Yes, I guess you should, just in case…” He then looked over to her and sternly told her, “Just know that training with me does not mean you can just run into battles or join me in the arena. Only a fool would want such things,”

Siv scoffed at this, “I am no fool,”

In response she had gotten a small smirk, “If you say so…” Sindri got a good smack on the back of his head for that remark. “Ok, ok, you are not a fool!”

Six smiled triumphantly, crossing her arms and tilting her head up. “That's what I thought. Now let's head back, I'm starving,”

Chuckling, Sindri looked down and shook his head, “Very well, let's go,” He turned his back to the ring and marched down the path once again with Siv trailing behind. “Siv, I must ask you something. The people who attacked your village, did they by any chance attack from the waters?”

Siv furrowed her eyebrows together in thought, “I am not entirely sure, Olcar is a huge village and I lived far from the waters so I did not see. Why do you ask?”

“I am trying to figure out who exactly attacked, if it were the vikings then they most likely would have attacked from the waters. Did they have much cavaly?”

“Yes they did, quite a bit actually…”

This puzzled Sindri, cavalry was not exactly the Vikings strong suit. They were more fitted for off-land battles with their longships. “That is very odd, but I suppose if it were a group of Vikings then they might have wanted to perfect yet another craft,”

Siv hummed in agreement, it was strange for vikings to use mainly cavalry. Especially when they were masters when it came to off-land warfare with their longships. But like Sindri had stated, it is not impossible for this group of Vikings to learn yet another fighting skill. “When do you think I could start training?” Siv had asked, just not wanting to think of her old home anymore.

Sindri glanced over to her once again, “Well if you rest up tonight then I suppose, if you want, we can start tomorrow,”

Siv smiled over to him, “Sounds great! But for now, our mission is food so…” She started to sprint ahead of him and looked over her shoulder to yell, “Hurry your ass up!”

Sindri shook his head again and laughed while beginning to run forward, “Alright, alright, I can already tell you’re gonna be a lot of fun to have around,��

“Of course I will be, I'm a delight to have around!”

#The Ring of Mages #Chapter One #tw: death #tw: blood #its fictional but like hopefully i was at least somewhat historically accurate #helpful criticism is welcome #Vikings #The story is going to be loosely based on Norse mythology #VERY loosely based #Norse #Norse Mythology #Midevil times #writing #um i dunno what to tag this

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a-merman-not-a-guppy · 4 years

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CHINESE HOROSCOPES 2020! Fruits Basket Style

The Rat - “You're done. Put that down and get out.” - Yuki Sohma

Other Rats: Lymantria Khan, Mateo De Alva

Congrats. It is the year of the rat. The Rat horoscope 2020 predicts that you may be filled with a vague feeling of dissatisfaction even though things will go quite well.He is loyal and devoted to his friends and rather protective of them. He is not really romantic and often is really good friends with his lover. At times he can be mean, stubborn, and narrow-minded in his view but it is merely his way of being a perfectionist and his need to live by his own rules.

Don’t listen, then, to the insidious little voice that will incite you to see things in black. Look at your life with serenity: You’ll realize that, in fact, you’ve absolutely no serious reason to complain or even to worry. Celebrate the many good things you’ve been given.

The Ox - “A mystery...” - Hatsuharu Sohma

Other Oxen: Perry Flynn, Merida Dunbroch, Berlioz Bonfamille, Mabel Pines, Dipper Pines, Charlie Little, Alana Triton, Keaton “Buster” Palmerteri

2020 will certainly be a lucky year for those born in the Year of the Ox. You’ll be relaxed and feel good about yourself, The Ox chinese horoscope 2020 predicts that in order to amplify the good celestial influences of the year and lessen the negative impacts, it will be in your best interests to take stock of your life and to hatch out new projects. and this beautiful balance will have happy repercussions on your love life.

Some of you might accidentally encounter some supernatural events that are beyond one’s imagination. Whether such meeting is a good omen or not is to be established in the near future. But certainly it brings a new chapter into one’s life. As long as one has an open mind and does not keep thinking of negative consequences, then the situation should be under control. If still in doubt, then one can choose to totally ignore it.

The Tiger - “When I’m...with Onee-chan...I feel warm inside...” - Kisa Sohma

Other Tigers: Kanga DeRosa, Thomas O’Malley, Calliope Harper, Olafur Önnuson, Gregory Eeyore, Marian May, Sindri Dyrsson

Tigers are set to reap the benefits of the Year of the Rat; career and education, in particular, will be the areas to focus on for the next few months. Be confident in your abilities. Use your talents for good; loyalty and intelligence will get you far. On the other hand, health and relationships will not have such a positive outlook. You will need to be sensitive to your well-being and others’ if you want to have a good year.

The Rabbit - “But...I think...I want to live with all my memories. Even if they're sad memories.” - Momiji Sohma

Other Rabbits: Kiara Lyons, Shannon “Shock” Adamson, Bambi Basurto, Sora Hamasaki/Roxas, Reed Fisch, Elyon Brown

The Rabbit horoscope 2020 predicts that in general, the outlook is positive. However, the year will be marked with some tense configurations. In order to preserve your serenity, it would be in your best interest to adopt a well-balanced lifestyle at the very start of the year.Be careful about your diet, and think of getting more fresh air; indeed, you’ll tend to live too much indoors, forgetting to walk or to maintain contact with nature. There’s a whole world out there for you to explore.

The Dragon - “No I was simply too amazed by your stupidity to say anything.” - Hatori Sohma

Other Dragons: Imelda Rivera, Sun Park, Roscoe Sykes, Jake Long, Marie Bonfamille, Deb DamselBu, Oliver Twistes, Fflewddur Fflam

The Dragon horoscope 2020 predicts that this year, you will become more sure of yourself and assert your originality, especially in your career, where your qualities will be acknowledged by your superiors and colleagues. But you’ll also have the tendency to adopt overly radical positions at times; try to be more moderate.Beware: By refusing to make concessions, you’ll antagonize even those who only want to help you! Expect luck to smile upon you.

The Snake - “So send me your desire. In the service of my fellow students, I am prepared to receive!” - Ayame Sohma

Other Snakes: Kristoff Bjorgman, Violet Parr, Isabel Flores

The Snake horoscope 2020 predicts that your personal evolution will be highlighted by the Stars this year. You’ll discover new things that interest you and you’ll better understand the direction of your destiny. Many of you will be attracted by all that is related to spirituality. Your natural generosity will express itself usefully in the service of others. Think about this if ever you have an important career choice to make.

The Horse - “And if when everything ends, nothing is left in my hands...that's alright.” - Rin Sohma

Other Horses: Willis Tibbs, Marzel of Coronado, Marisa of Coronado, Gaston Lacarriere, Ralph O’Reilly, Lucius “Lock” Adamson, Ashley Spinelli, Mei Qin, Dash Parr, Haley Long, Urchin Owens, Ashle Boulet, Ashleigh Quinlan, Ariel Triton

The horse horoscope 2020 predicts that the year may be marked with important surprises. Now, as a native of this Sign, you abhor the unforeseen. Nevertheless, it will be in your best interest to act quickly if changes come to disrupt your career schedule. Given the favorable astral configurations of the year, such modifications will play in your favor, on the condition that you take up the challenge. Don’t be doubtful of your abilities; you’ll find the necessary resources within yourself to make the most of changing conditions.

The Goat - "STUPID WOMAN! Always stealing our alone time." - Hiro Sohma

Other Goats: Terra, Nala, Terence, Attina, Ella, Simba, Meg, Finn, Roo, Huey, Dewey, Louie, Ashlee T, Nemo, Wilbur

The year of the Rat will be full of highs and lows for Goats. Having enjoyed a relatively stable previous year, they should expect 2020 to be more dramatic.Goats will have to work harder than usual to capitalize on great financial opportunities during the first half of the year. These resources should then be saved to prepare for the difficult years of the Ox, Tiger, and Rabbit.

In the second half, Goats may face some serious problems that can last a while. These obstacles will require strong persistence and commitment from them. However, they should see this as an opportunity to grow and bring out the best in them. As long as Goats remain optimistic throughout the year, everything should turn out fine.

The Monkey - "I'm a complete failure. At everything I do, I'm absolutely worthless. I know this, and yet I continue to burden the human race with my presence. “ - Ritsu Sohma

Other Monkeys: Celia, Henry, Jake Rogers

The Monkey horoscope 2020 predicts that this year, you’ll have to make concerted efforts in order to get what you want. Important changes can take place at home or at work, so you need to be prepared. It would be ideal if you could remain confident when you actually feel like sweating. If you act rather than panic, you’ll find brilliant solutions and you’ll triumph over difficulties. Be convinced that life is made of renewals and that upheavals are useful because they allow you to make progress.

The Rooster - “I alone am free. I could go anywhere I please. I could love whomever I wish.” - Kureno Sohma

Other Roosters: Marlin, Iseul, Adella, Belle, Artemis, Apollo, Jim, Sally, Georgette, Chase

The Rooster chinese horoscope 2020 predicts that this year, your focus will be on the sectors related to relations with others. Thus, it will be in your best interest to think of other people more. Whether in your work, love affairs or family life, don’t make any decisions without foreseeing its consequences on those around you. Good fortune will smile upon you if you put your family and friends first.

The Dog - “Sometimes I think the whole world is conspiring to destroy my house.” - Shigure Sohma

Other Dogs: Reza, Hera, Minnie, Sarina, Melody, John, Elena

People born in the year of the Dog won’t have to complain about the stars in the year of the Rat 2020, for they will have good luck in most areas of their life. You will need to be patient and tenacious at work. If you’re wise enough to adapt yourself to new challenges that arise, you’ll strengthen your character and develop two key qualities — the art of negotiating and the ability to make sensible choices.

The Pig - “I will forgive him right after I kill him!” - Kagura Sohma

Other Pigs: Hercules, Dodger, Mitte, Jane, Wendy

2020 will be an extremely lucky year for all the people born in the year of the Pig.The pig has the last position among the twelve animals of the Chinese Zodiac. The Pig horoscope 2020 predicts that the astral climate will lighten. After a rather chaotic year, you’ll begin to feel better about yourself. However, there are still lessons to learn. First of all, show yourself to be extremely reasonable in all domains of your life. Next, vow to be more selfless. Finally, the more willing you are to modify your plans at the last minute, the better you’ll fare in all aspects of your life.

#bdrptask #i have no regrets #if i missed a character to list as any of these it's either they have a weird birth year or #idk #i missed em #haha i did my best

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thehoneyjournal · 3 years

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Legend Lore #7: Herehand

Your vision fades to black, like so many times before, your senses muffled for a brief moment before your view clears, revealing a stunning plain with a magnificent stone road stretching away towards the horizon. As you look around you, you realize that your perspective rests atop an enormous stone wall, slate grey, with a thin sheet of metal bonded to the outside of the wall, almost woven into the stonework itself, cables of metal reaching through the stones, forming a structure you can feel but not see of enchantments humming within the stone work all the way to the ground below you. You look out over the vista once more, the expanses dotted with small villages and thick forests to either side of the perfectly formed stone road.

You frown. Where are the people? Why is it so quiet? And why is the sky so heavy and grey, and the air so cold? The trees are full of bright green leaves, the grass still rich and thick. You shiver.

You hear the sound of heavy footsteps, and muffled cursing in Dwarvish. A man appears at the top of the wall, continuing to curse as he finally mounts the top of the wall, leaning against it for a moment, breathing heavily. Even for a dwarf, he’s short, and so wide that it seems to be an arcane miracle he could fit up the stairs. He’s clad in a simple leather jerkin and wool pants, his hands stained and tarnished with soot and grime, the likes of which has probably been there for years. His nose is squashed and broken several times over. A thick black beard reaches to his prodigious stomach, immaculately kept. As he brushes past your perspective you catch a whiff of woodsmoke and charcoal, melting metal, the tang so strong it almost makes you retch. He steps forward past you, clambering up onto a small step carved out of the wall, likely there so the smaller races can see over the parapet.

A moment later a second dwarf appears, taller, thinner, and substantially cleaner. Rings adorn his long thin fingers, but his hands are stained much like his companions are. A long-hooked nose protrudes over a fine brown beard and relatively small mouth. He joins his companion at the wall, looking over the vista silently for a moment before breaking the silence, looking at his shorter, rounder companion.

“Looks like snow.”

The black bearded dwarf looks up at his companion, his rough voice rumbling up from deep in his belly.

“That supposed to be a joke?”

“A little. We don’t have much time. Thought I’d try to…. Lighten the mood, a little.”

“Ach, Sindri. We’ve had centuries together, and you still never learned. Your jokes always come at the worst times.”

A silence emerges between the two, stretching on for what seems like minutes. The one called Sindri’s voice emerges after a moment, almost flute like, melodic, like singing, as he asks a question.

“How do dwarves greet each other?”

You watch the shorter one’s hands clench for a moment as his breathing quickens.

“Not now Sindri. Bloody not now. Our home empty, our children gone. The only one of them left is a sea goddess with more vinegar than sense trying to take on a madman who we still don’t even know the name of on account of his memory magic he’s so fond of. Keep blocking every message spell we try to send to her. So, let’s just stop the bloody comedy show, eh?”

Another silence, shorter this time. Sindri speaks.

“Small world, isn’t it?”

You watch as the shorter one turns to Sindri, clenching his fist, grabbing the front of Sindri’s shirt so quickly you barely see him move, raising a fist. Sindri doesn’t move. After a moment you realize that the black bearded dwarf’s eyes are full of tears, and he lowers his hand settling with a “whumpf” on the stone step, turned partially away from Sindri, who lowers himself down next to his round companion. After a moment the shorter dwarf’s voice emerges, nearly breaking under the weight of his emotions.

“Did we fail them, Sindri?”

Sindri leans back for a moment, looking up at the cloud filled, grey sky.

“You know, brother, we’re sitting here at the end of days. A marauding army led by a demon has stopped the last god in Midgard from returning home, Odin has locked himself in Asgard and imprisoned that damn wolf, and the rest of the gods are dead or vanished. And you want to know something?”

“What?”

“I’d do it all again in a heartbeat. This realm has never known such peace as what we helped bring it for the last 600 years. Civilization, art, music, poetry, the tales they will tell of these people and what they could do! These things flourished with our aid, and that is a most noble cause to dedicate one’s life too. We knew the gods at their most vulnerable. We crafted them weapons that shook the heavens and rewrote the laws of nature themselves. But most importantly, my dear friend, I’d do it all again if it meant that I sat here, at the end of the days, with you. Because there’s no one I’d rather greet Ragnarök with at my side.”

The shorter dwarf’s shoulders begin to shake, thick tears flowing from his eyes into his beard. Sindri reaches a hand out, rubbing the shorter man’s back between his shoulder blades as the man’s tears eventually subside. Eventually Sindri’s voice floats out into the air once more.

“We didn’t fail them, Brok. It just happened faster than we ever could have prepared for. There’s an end to all things, even the gods, and Odin’s known it for centuries. Perhaps our mistake was preparing for it in the first place instead of accepting our fates. Hard to do when the Hanged One won’t share his knowledge with the rest.”

Brok sniffs, wiping his hand across his eyes and nose.

“Are you ready, Sindri? One last act before we go. One last thing good thing to put into this world. What incantation did you choose?”

Sindri smiles, a sad, wistful smile.

“The song mother sang us to sleep with when we were young.”

Brok nods, his eyes welling once more. The two brothers interlock their fingers, turning to the southwest, their voice crooning out over the trees, Brok’s basso rumble melding nicely with Sindri’s tenor.

“The darkness is naught to fear,

For it is whence we came.

From under mountains deep and far,

And will return again.”

“Close your heart to fear, dear child,

Keep always at your back.

You brother, Brok, and Sindri too,

To aid in what you lack.”

The song ends, the brothers remaining standing, hands clasped, as an enormous rumbling takes hold of the wall. Light crawls through the metal strands woven into the stonework beneath your feet, flashing and moving like neural impulses.

After about 20 seconds the rumbling stops. As you watch a metal man appears at the staircase top, walking over to the wall, standing at attention, sword and shield affixed to its arm, a crossbow strapped to it’s back, a quiver slung low on a hip with bolts. It deftly moves along the wall, snapping to face outwards over the plain. As you watch, and look further along the wall, you see dozens of these soldiers appearing silently at multiple staircases that lead to the top of the wall.

Brok and Sindri step back, making space for the metal men continuing to arrive. Brok speaks, his voice more even now.

“It’s done. They’ll defend what we couldn’t. No minds to BREAK HERE, EH SHADOW LORD?”

His voice rises to a fevered shout as he turns to the southwest, a rude hand gesture sent sailing towards Geldorcraft. Sindri grins, chuckling quietly to himself.

“Brok, I have to say, as final words go, those aren’t bad. What say we see what’s waiting for us after this world?”

Brok nods, smiling back up at his brother.

“Sindri, I couldn’t agree more.”

The two clasp hands once more, turning and sitting down again against the wall, their breathing beginning to slow. You watch as their hair begins to whiten, their hands to become spotted with age. After a moment Brok cracks an eye.

“Sindri?”

“Yes, my friend?”

“It’s snowing.”

Thick, fat flakes of snow have begun to fall, coating everything silently, including the soldiers on the wall, the snowflakes hissing slightly as they rapidly melt and steam on the armor.

Brok and Sindri laugh, sticking their tongues out, catching the flakes, making small piles of snow after a few minutes and dumping them down each other’s shirts before finally subsiding. Sindri clasps the back of Brok’s neck, looking him in the eyes.

“I love you, brother. You’ve been my best friend throughout our existence. Here’s to family.”

Brok nods, fixing Sindri with equal intensity.

“I love you too, Sindri.”

The two lean back against the wall, and as you watch they continue to age, before suddenly and simultaneously turning to snow. You look up and notice immediately after they do so two ravens flying away deeper into the city, cawing the whole while they leave.

And the snow falls. And the metal men stand watch.

#Found Lore #legend lore #Miere Notes

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