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elsannafervor · 6 years

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Goddess of First Snowfalls

By: ElsannaFervor

Notes: This fic is dedicated to @fruipit, who won its creation in the Elsanna Olympics. Better late than never! Special thanks to @idunscrewedup, @bittertomato, @forkanna, and @not-rotting for co-authoring this!

WARNING: Graphic depictions of gore/decapitation of minor characters.

GLOSSARY: dunga (DOON-gah) — a useless fellow eldhúsfífl (EHLD-hoos-feef-uhl) — “hearthfire idiot” goðar -- priests Einherjar -- warriors in the afterlife of Valhalla Thögn -- silent skáld -- poet

Disclaimer: Sources and texts vary on the nature of who specifically gains entry into Valhalla, so this fic follows only one of the many interpretations. This does not make the other interpretations any less valid, or this one more correct, nor does it reflect the personal views of the writers involved. It’s all for the sake of fiction and the pursuit of particular themes.

An arrow whistled past her head and Anna turned to spot the archer responsible, braided pigtails swinging. There! she thought, spotting movement in the right direction. Anna’s grip tightened on her sword in preparation of the charge.

“Ahhhhhh!” The sound spilled from her mouth as she sped after the enemy. The shape broke away from the strand of trees the archer had presumably been using for cover. The noise of the other battles faded away as Anna gained on him.

Belatedly, she realized she was being led away from the rest of her clan. Just a little bit--Anna lunged for the back of the archer’s legs--closer…!

Her blade connected, slicing into his calf. He fell over, letting go of his bow. Anna approached, cautiously circling around until she could see his face.

“Hans!”

“Anna,” Hans sneered.

A flash of steel was the only warning Anna had when Hans lunged using his good leg. A sharp pain in her abdomen indicated his ploy was successful. In response, Anna knocked his hand away, hopefully leaving the knife in the wound until she could inspect it, and used the momentum of a partial spin to slice through his neck.

A satisfying, wet thump sounded as his head hit the ground. Anna thought it was fitting that his last expression was twisted into a grimace.

She wiped her sword on his cloak and sheathed it in order to inspect her wound. The knife had stayed in, helping to stem the blood. She suspected it would be a mortal wound when her hand still found her shirt soaked and slippery with blood.

Anna fingered the white streak in her hair; it marked her the clan chief’s daughter and favorite of the gods. She sent a prayer, not for her but for her clan. Already her father had died to these battles.

Steeling herself, Anna turned and retraced her steps and followed the sounds back to the battlefield. The ground was stained red with the blood of all clans, and littered with bodies. She caught sight of a familiar shock of blond hair.

Olaf!

Anna hurried to his side, dropping to her knees into the bloody mud. Shaking fingers reached out to run through his hair. His eyes stared right past her, focused on something in the sky only he could see. Something inside her broke, wanting to shake her younger brother back to life, wanting to wail and scream.

Her hand drifted down to find the wound, a hole in his side from a spear. He wasn’t even supposed to be here. Anna roughly blinked the tears away. She closed his eyes lovingly.

Standing up, Anna felt a wave of vertigo. Her thoughts were becoming hazy, except for one: I need to declare a new chief to lead our clan.

Thankfully, most of the bodies seemed to belong to the Westergaard clan. She turned her attention to the group still fighting, one hulk of a man giving her hope. Anna watched as Marshal used his axe to cleave an opponent in two, following that to behead another.

A cry went up: the enemy’s retreat signal. Stumbling now, Anna made her way towards Marshal. He saw her easily, trademark strawberry pigtails standing out, and began to move towards her as well, much more swiftly.

“Oi, Chief!” he cried, and a roar followed from the others. “Chief!”

Marshal picked her up in a great hug and spun her before noticing her blanche. Then he noticed the wound, his eyes caught hers and Anna nodded.

“Marshal, lead them.” Her teal eyes sparkled with mingling grief and pride. “You’re chief now, old friend.”

In that moment, her eyes turned upwards, looking at something only she could see. Marshal laid her body back down respectfully, closing her eyes, and made preparations for the funeral pyres.

Blue eyes as clear and cold as ice slowly opened, taking in the morning rays creeping into her chambers and casting soft shadows along the stone walls. She felt an extra weight--ever so slight--on her back, and rose from her bed to walk over to the balcony.

Basking in the warmth of the sun, Elsa greeted the dawn with a Valkyrie’s wings. A sigh--carrying with it lifetimes of words left unsaid--drifted from her lips as she extended them, allowing the snow-white feathers to enjoy the sun as well. Although the wingspan was impressive, they didn’t feel all that heavy on her back. Weight would do no good for her on the battlefield, of course; she would need speed above all else.

As expected of the Allfather’s blessing.

“So it begins again,” Elsa muttered, raising a hand. An elegant but deadly spear of ice materialized in her grasp, glittering beautifully in the sun. Nordic runes carved themselves along the length of the shaft, imbuing it with ancient spells even Elsa did not know. Perhaps only the Allfather could discern their true meaning.

It was the Allfather, Odin, who had made her a Valkyrie in the first place--a minor goddess with only one priest to her name, almost fading away from memory. On a whim, he had saved her from the void all gods feared would take them someday, appointing her as one of the many Valkyries who dutifully served him.

...Whenever she was called upon, of course, for she was not part of the inner circle; only the reserve force. It was not often, but every call left her with something she could not quite place.

Or, perhaps...something you do not want to acknowledge.

Shaking her head to clear her mind of any more thoughts, Elsa’s grip tightened on her spear. She called her Valkyrie armor into existence, leaving the winged helmet for last. The helmets, she had been told, were a formality, as some preferred to leave theirs behind to better their visual range.

Elsa paused, wings poised and ready for flight, contemplating. It was a minor decision, one that wouldn’t mean much--if at all--in the grand scheme of things. But a helmet was order; it was sense, it was uniform.

It was a constant.

Enough of this, she chided herself. The battlefield is no place for beauty; no place for--

Her wings gave a mighty beat, speaking what she would not dare to voice, and pushed her off into the air like a deadly arrow, leaving all other thoughts behind. Her heart leapt into her throat at the familiar exhilaration that came with flight; the pure, unrestrained feeling called ‘freedom’ that left her fingers and toes tingling long after her feet gently touched the polished floors of Valhalla.

Her sisters-in-arms lingered in the Allfather’s throne room, waiting for the official order to descend into battles across the worlds. Odin’s Valkyries came in all shapes and sizes and colors, yet they all bore the same deadly grace of those who would shepherd fallen heroes from fierce battlefields to the blessed afterlife of Valhalla. Many were other goddesses; some, Odin’s own daughters. A lucky few were favored mortals, but still shone brilliantly nonetheless.

But regardless of their lineage, none would be spared of the Allfather’s wrath, should they incur it.

“Brynhildr!” Odin’s voice suddenly thundered, his fury echoing in the spacious throne room. “Step forward, and receive your judgment!”

Elsa craned her neck, peering over the shoulders of the other Valkyries in an effort to see. And when she couldn’t, a slight beat of her wings gave her the needed height.

A Valkyrie with long hair pale and ethereal as moonlight stood before the dais leading up to the Allfather’s throne, garbed in the intricate silver armor all of his daughters wore. She had forgone a helmet, so Elsa could see the fear in her amethystine eyes that her proud stance would not dare betray. Brynhildr brought her large spear closer to her, grey wings carefully spreading themselves behind as she bowed slightly--a sign that she would not run.

“For siding with King Agnar, I strip you of your wings and your immortality--”

Elsa gasped sharply, as did the other Valkyries gathered.

“--and sentence you below to Hindarfjall. There, you shall sleep until one of the heroes you love so much will awaken you from the flames,” Odin declared, scowling with a darkness to rival the black feathers of the two ravens perched on his throne’s armrests. “I have no need for a Valkyrie who is constantly swayed in her duties.”

They were meant to guide only the best warriors to the blessed halls of Valhalla, where food and drink and battles reigned eternal. At least, until the destined day of Ragnarok. Only the most honored of warriors. Only the most valiant of deaths. Anything less would be unsuitable for that glorious day.

“‘Duties to the Allfather’s ego’, he means,” a nearby Valkyrie muttered under her breath, barely audible even to Elsa’s divine ears.

The Valkyries were not perfect, though most could present themselves as if they were. Heroic deaths, arguably, could be subjective, and were up to the sole discretion of the Valkyrie watching. Barring those that could also be claimed by the goddess Freyja for Folkvangr, not even Odin could revoke a soul’s entry to Valhalla.

Watching the faint tremor in Brynhildr’s shoulders, Elsa’s hand curled tighter around her own spear. Her fingernails dug into the leather of her gauntlets, almost deep enough to bite at her palm. She fought to keep her wings steady, lest their mad beating from her weakened will draw the Allfather’s attention.

She had her own share of Einherjar who should probably not be at Valhalla, though not to the extent as Brynhildr’s chosen. Elsa concealed her feelings far more carefully.

“Father.”

Brynhildr’s soft voice, growing in uncharacteristic volume, tugged her mind out of the chaos it had threatened to plunge into. This was her punishment they were witness to, not Elsa’s.

“Please...reconsider!”

Even with the weathered eyepatch, Odin’s narrowed gaze hardly lost its edge. “I will not. This sentence is already generous of me, as you share my blood. You may not see it now, but you will...eventually. Simply pray your hero will not betray you.”

He stood from his throne, staff in hand, and slammed its butt onto the dais’ floor.

Instantly, a choked scream escaped from Brynhildr’s throat as her beautiful wings began to shed their feathers in mangled clumps. She doubled over--pitiful wings flapping desperately, as if they could take her away from the pain--heaving for breath amidst her screams as the Allfather wrested Eternity away from her grasp. Brynhildr could clutch her spear as tightly as she wished, but Forever was now beyond her reach.

The last remains of her wings tore themselves from her back, disappearing with the others in a white light, and the final cry she gave sent shivers through every Valkyrie’s soul. The sentence delivered, Odin gave a wave of his hand and the floor opened up beneath Brynhildr, to Hindarfjall waiting below. To her mortal life and enchanted sleep she fell; her spear and armor the only reminders of what once was.

For a bird stripped of flight would have no place in the heavens.

A tense silence settled over the assembled Valkyries as Odin slowly lowered his hand; the portal disappearing with it. He closed his eye, sighing with a weight to rival the nine worlds.

“Go.”

As one, the Valkyries spread their wings and took flight, riding the currents to the battlefields that awaited them.

Blade against blade rang sharply through the smoke-filled air, multiplied a hundredfold. Fires burned here and there, carrying the scent of charred wood or flesh as they blackened the earth in their hunger. Pained screams and war cries seemed to sound with every other beat of Elsa’s wings as the fighting grew in intensity.

It was a territorial war between a number of clans--a Valkyrie could not ask for a more perfect opportunity. Many of her sisters in arms circled the sprawling battlefield with her, eyes vigilant for a heroic death worthy to regale the other Einherjar in Odin’s halls. A few had already descended below to greet their chosen warriors and guide them to that blessed afterlife.

Yet, Elsa’s mind was far from the duty entrusted to her; further still from the memory of Brynhildr’s sentence.

A single streak of white amidst coppery locks--her wide-eyed gaze focused on this miracle of miracles as time slowed and the sounds of war faded from her ears. She was scarcely aware of the wind whipping at her braid as she sped towards the woman who bore the mark of her blessing.

Her blessing as a goddess.

Anna didn’t know how to speak around the lump in her throat. She was looking at the prettiest woman she’d ever seen.

The pain was suddenly gone, indeed Anna could no longer see anyone else on the bloody battlefield. The goddess, for no mortal could look like that, had the fairest hair Anna had seen on a woman, fairer than even Olaf’s. It seemed almost white and glowed, reflecting the sun. Atop her head was a Valkyrie’s winged helmet.

Anna froze upon meeting her eyes. They were a bright blue, brighter than the clear sky, but somehow deep and ageless. Her gaze continued down, finding full, pink lips wrapping a smile that reminded Anna of the moon. It was a compassionate smile, soft, but with brightness behind it. Then she was able to process the beauty in full; porcelain skin, white-blonde hair, piercing blue eyes, and a loved one’s smile. Anna swooned that this Goddess might be here to greet her, for what feeling there was in the goddess’ face.

The face was suddenly a lot closer, strong arms wrapping around Anna. A slight shift and Anna was being carried like a bride, an arm behind her back and knees. Anna felt safe, comfort filling her soul and sweeping away the pain and worries she’d carried.

The goddess leaned down, kissing her head, and Anna’s body lightened. A powerful beat from wings unnoticed until now launched them into the air.

Said goddess had first met her most loyal priest when he had been an apprentice, serving under the older goðar who dutifully tended to the shrines of the other gods in the pantheon, spread throughout the land. The gods had descended briefly to bless the Yule feast with their presence, and to welcome the apprentices into their final year of training. Elsa had noticed him then; his reddish hair out of place amidst the crowd of blond and brown. His freckled cheeks had still held the softness of youth; his teal eyes bright with curiosity and mischief.

Anders, his name had been. His companion, a pig named Norm, had never strayed far from his side.

Except for the day he had. Something had scared Norm, and the pig had made a mess of the feast--tripping many of those in attendance, knocking over tables of food and drink, and overturning the ceremonial braziers. A fire had spread by the time Anders had grabbed hold of Norm and calmed him down. Had it not been for Elsa and the other gods with the necessary influences, the fire would have burned the whole village to ash.

By the time the smoke had settled, Odin and most of the gods had already returned to their respective homes, thoroughly displeased by such a disastrous feast. Surrounded by the hostile or pitying gazes of both man and god alike, Anders had stood alone with Norm in his arms, shivering from the cold. He had fought not to let the tears stream down his ash and dirt-covered cheeks as the elder goðar passed the sentence.

Dishonorable loss of his apprenticeship, and death to his only companion.

Elsa had chosen to keep silent as the remaining gods voiced their approval, adding an extra layer of punishment for the eldhúsfífl that had ruined Yule. Not only would Norm be killed, but a portion of him would be a burnt offering to the gods to appease Odin. The rest would be served as a replacement for the food that had been lost.

And Anders, under the eyes of men and gods, had been forced to have the first bite.

Elsa was a minor goddess with priests dwindling every year--it would have been foolish to go against the majority-decision of her divine peers. Suicidal, even. To this day, it shamed her to think of the silence she had kept to protect the few priests left under her watch.

For she hadn’t known, back then, that Anders had chosen her long before she had chosen him.

“The Goddess of First Snowfalls,” he had muttered, two weeks after that disastrous day. He had visited her only shrine, and taken refuge there after his exile from the village. “As a child, I always loved it--that first snowflake falling gently from the sky. Norm did, too. We would play together, running around and catching as many as we could.”

He had seated himself in front of her shrine, back leaning against the weathered stone. Elsa had silently taken her place on the other side, watching the sun rise over the horizon and reflect off the northern sea.

“One could say you were my first love.” Peering into his past and his truest self had been easy, even for a minor deity like her. Each word had rung true, and his path had laid itself out before her, arriving at this day. A confession like that had deserved an honest answer.

“I do not love you.”

A moment of silence had descended then, uncomfortable at first before Anders’ chuckle broke the tension. “Fair enough. I didn’t ask you to.” There had been a soft ‘thud’ as his head rested against the stone. “But… if you will have me, I’d still like to be one of your priests.”

The few priests left to her had grown old--there had been no doubt that Anders would’ve been the last, if she had accepted. And if she hadn’t...that great and terrible void would have taken her.

“I have nothing left to lose,” he had said.

Elsa had lifted her gaze to the sky, watching the snow begin to fall. Her fingers had curled into the icy fabric of her robes, knuckles paler than her skin as she clung to the promise of Eternity.

“Neither do I.”

On that day, with snowflakes in their hair and the gentle sea behind them, she had appointed him as her priest. Two years after that, Anders had become the only person left to tend her shrine and speak the prayers.

As the years marched on, he had been a constant companion; smiling brightly with every visit and every crocus carefully laid upon the weathered stone. He had spread her faith around to those he could, and the edge of the abyss had receded for a time as her name passed around the hearths. A future had been established; her days had no longer been spent wondering if the next would be the last.

For the first time in centuries, Elsa had just enough power for a true blessing--one that would remain with her Favored even if she faded away. So she had gently pressed her lips to the reddish hair of the newborn cradled in her arms, leaving a streak of snowy white as Anders and his wife proudly watched.

His first love had waned, as all passions did with the passage of time, but it had yielded the greatest boon to them both: a successor. One who would keep the light of her faith burning long after the flames had eaten up Anders’ funeral pyre.

Or so they had hoped.

What am I doing? Eldhúsfífl, dunga! Why did I do that?!

She had acted without thinking. On today, of all days, with a Valkyrie cast down for the first time in her memory, Elsa had chosen a woman to be one of the Allfather’s Einherjar. Today, of all days, when Odin would be watching closely, Elsa had broken one of his strictest rules.

A less-than-heroic death could be ignored, or waved aside until one reached the degree that Brynhildr had. But for a woman to be chosen… only Freyja and her own Valkyries held that right.

Elsa grimaced, unseen by the warrior in her arms. Her death hadn’t even been heroic, by Valhalla’s standards. Bleeding out from a knife wound versus using one’s own body as a shield for their allies to create a decisive opening… She had acted on her instinct to protect and preserve the soul of her Favored without regarding anything else.

A soul guided by a Valkyrie could not be revoked their right to the afterlife. That was an absolute.

Odin will hear of this, if he hasn’t already.

She had precious little time to make her choice. To fly slow enough so as not to alarm her chosen warrior, but to fly fast enough to delay the inevitable consequences. Balancing these, Elsa gritted her teeth as her mind raced to match the frantic beating of her heart.

With Valhalla looming beyond--doors open and waiting with food, drink, and eternal glory--Elsa made her decision, just as she had that snowy day.

Her fate branched. Her path diverged.

She banked to the right with a mighty gust of her wings, sending them speeding away from Odin’s hearth to the warm fields of Freyja’s domain.

To say that today had been eventful would be an understatement.

The clans had found themselves embroiled in war. Anna’s father had died three days before in the initial skirmishes, making her chief; she had defeated her greatest rival, her brother had been the next to die. Her own wound mortal, she had appointed Marshal as her successor, and Anna had been spirited away by a beautiful Valkyrie when she herself had also fallen from the mortal coil. The afterlife would be a welcome reprieve following so much chaos and heartache.

So now why, with Valhalla in sight, were they turning away? Anna craned her head to look up at her Valkyrie. The question on her lips died once she saw her hardened gaze, and the sweat trailing down her brow.

And the fear. The unbridled terror no Valkyrie ever had in the stories passed down through her clan.

What should I even say to her? What if I distract her and she drops me? That would be silly. Surely a Valkyrie would have more grace than that.

“Excuse me--”

She dropped her.

Anna, battle-hardened warrior chief in her own right, screamed shrilly as she started falling. The scream abruptly stopped when impact knocked all of the breath out of her. Her hands felt around her, meeting soft grass warmed by the sun. What in the…?

She looked up to see the Valkyrie holding a finger to her lips in the universal sign for silence. She nodded, stomping down the flurry of questions in her throat at the sheepish look thrown her way. Apparently satisfied, the Valkyrie rushed off in a gust of wind.

Anna decided she would lay there until she came back.

Exhaustion seeped into every part of Elsa’s being--her wings, especially. But she could not rest now, not when the Allfather could intervene at any moment. Her armor grew more and more uncomfortable from the exertion of her journeys, so Elsa unclasped her Valkyrie helmet and tossed it below--whatever the outcome, she would no longer have need of it. As soon as she had spotted that white streak, all order and sense had been cast aside.

They had failed each other, but that didn’t mean she would turn a blind eye if she could help it.

Onward she flew over the verdant fields of Folkvangr, Freyja’s home rapidly approaching until Elsa almost crashed onto the steps from the speed of her descent. Fortunately, she didn’t. Accidentally dropping her chosen warrior had already been embarrassment enough.

“Oh…? And what business does one of Odin’s Valkyries have with me?” a lofty voice drifted to her ears.

Elsa raised her head to see Freyja standing there, her blonde hair radiant in the sunlight, and her white robes almost glowing. The smile on her face was not unkind, but Elsa would have to tread carefully nonetheless. Her chances for success could waver and disappear at any moment.

“I bring with me a gesture of good faith, Lady Freyja,” she finally answered with a bow of her head, “and a favor, if you would entertain me.”

“A rogue Valkyrie at my doorstep is already entertaining,” the goddess chuckled, stepping aside to reveal the spacious foyer of her home. “Come. Your words are probably best spoken away from prying ears.” And, when Elsa failed to move right away, “You… are a rogue Valkyrie, yes? You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t.”

“I… I am.” Hesitant on moving as the goddess had bade her--perhaps suspicious about the way Freyja wanting for them to talk alone--Elsa replied, “I would like to ask, this isn’t a jest, is it? I would very much have us talk out here if-”

“Come now, dear, who do you think of me as? What am I capable of doing other than… well, supply love?”

“Surely, you know more than just that?”

She raised a questioning eyebrow, a hand balanced upon her gently-flaring hip. “Unless you do think that I will supply love the instant you enter my home.”

“Don’t think me so presumptuous!” Elsa interrupted, but she knew she had stepped over the lines, sighting Freyja’s raised eyebrows. Though, other than feeling embarrassed, Elsa showed a distinct annoyance with the huff of air breathing out her nose. “Please, I am still… recovering from the heat of the moment; I apologize.”

“Well then, I suppose I can forgive that--only if you come in. I promise, I wish you no ill.”

“Then…” Elsa succumbed to defeat. “May I come in?”

Freyja sighed, shaking her head in disapproval of her reaction--then nodding in approval for the Valkyrie to be let in her doors.

While it was surely magnificent, the home that Freyja resided in, Elsa was nowhere impressed. She had not thought of the interior or exterior at all. In her mind, all that occupied was the woman with copper hair, and the endless sleep that Brynhildr was sentenced to. Still hearing the terror in her scream, seeing the tearing of her wings, the horror that was in her eyes, left Elsa scarred with regret. But it was that beautiful girl that kept her from thinking ever so grimly.

“So… I am guessing that you want a favour granted, seeing how you came to me.”

Elsa turned around, unbeknownst about how long she had just stood there, with the love goddess standing behind her. She opened her mouth, only to be interrupted.

“Ah, ah, ah. Quiet now, darling. I am also sensing… a speck of sorrowness? Oh! Perhaps, you’re also in fear of something--but what? Who?” Freyja squinted.

Elsa felt her heart begging for a rest from its rapid beating. “Lady Freyja… I’m sure you have seen it.”

“I’m terribly afraid that I have the worst memories, if I have ever seen it. Speak, my dear.”

The Valkyrie doubted that, but she could entertain this dance as long as she got what she wanted in the end. “I have gone down to the battlefield, and I wish for you to accept this person I have flown with--”

“Ah, it is no wonder you are feeling such great sorrow. He has fallen into death, is that it?”

“No! Are you not the Goddess of Love? How have you not seen it already?” Elsa was getting too uncharacteristically aggravated. The view of Freyja glancing over her nails at Elsa proved to her that really, the goddess did not care. But it did not prove that Elsa should give up on trying.

“Oh, you expect much of me. To soothe your grieving heart…?”

“My sorrow comes from witnessing Brynhildr’s sentence. But that is not why I have--”

“Will it not help to fly back down again in search for someone else?”

“Please! Listen to me!” Elsa took a deep breath. “Lady Freyja, it is my duty--as all the Valkyries here--to go search for warriors--”

“But who you have held in your arms is not a warrior, is he? Or should I say… she?”

Elsa felt her skin prickle with goosebumps at the sudden change in Freyja’s playful voice to something stone cold. But despite the piercing eyes drilling through her heart, Elsa felt it was her duty to stand her ground.

“I found her surrounded by bodies upon bodies. Unmoving, but alive as I am speaking now. A hole pierced her body with precious lifesblood spilling, and I was afraid I would not make it in time. I have flown down in duty, searching for a warrior, but I have found her in the peak of her beauty and strength. The streak of white hair amongst all the red confirms that she… that she is one of my Favored, as well.”

She took a brief pause, swallowing past the lump in her throat. “But she is a warrior in her own right, Lady Freyja, and you are the Goddess of Love--as well as the goddess overseeing the afterlives of warriors such as she. My wish is that when I bring her, you formally accept her into Folkvangr.”

Freyja tilted her head. “Now why should I do that for you… if you haven’t gotten yourself killed by Odin yet?”

She gulped. “My death is irrelevant. My only wish is for you to grant me--grant her a place here.”

The Goddess hummed, tucking her slender arms together. There was a moment of silence, in contemplation. “You surely do have a death wish. Fine, I will offer you this: I will accept her into Folkvangr, and in return, you will be my Valkyrie. That is, if Odin does not catch you first, and indeed… you do not want to be caught.”

In disbelief and filled with gratefulness, Elsa beamed. She bowed her head down immediately, disregarding the unpleasantness of Freyja’s voice when she said it was not needed. “How could I ever repay this favour?”

“You won’t.” Freyja strode towards her slowly, her hand touching upon Elsa’s cheek. “You will, however, remain forever in debt as the Goddess of Love’s Valkyrie. There are… worse fates, I suppose.”

“Thank you. A thousand times, thank you!”

“And surely…” She smiled with graciousness. “When she does arrive, she will be waiting for you with open arms.”

Elsa blinked. “What do you mean?”

Meanwhile, the mind of the maiden-warrior in question had changed itself. As if she’d wait for that Valkyrie to come back. She was in the afterlife now, for gods’ sake!

“It doesn’t look too different from back home,” Anna mused aloud as she sat up, fingers digging into the soft earth while she craned her neck to look around her. Lush green fields stretched on as far as the eye could see, broken up by small groves here and there. The warm sun shone brightly above the settlements scattered about, with a large longhouse in the distance. The Valkyrie had flown in the direction, if she remembered correctly.

“Might as well meet her there halfway, at least,” she mumbled, standing up. A stray thought passed through her mind, and she lifted a hand to feel around her abdomen. While there was indeed still blood on her armor and tunic, her fingers found no evidence of a mortal wound--only smooth skin. Marveling at her recovery, she began to walk.

It didn’t take long for her to come across the other residents in this afterlife--Folkvangr, unless there was some other realm the dead would pass on to that she didn’t know about. And this didn’t look like Hel at all. Maybe.

Hopefully.

“A new soul, eh? I haven’t seen you around here before. And trust me, I’ve had plenty of time to get to know everyone’s faces,” a young woman with blonde hair greeted her, smiling as she extended a hand for them to clasp forearms. Her grip was firm and trustworthy; the lean, bare arms bore the evidence of an archer’s craft, as did the bow hanging on her back.

“I’m Birgit, by the way. Over there’s Gunnar One-Eye, Alfhild, and Lars,” she continued, gesturing at the other three sitting around the hearth nearby, roasting a wild boar on a spit.

Gunnar indeed had one eye, with the other covered by a weathered band of leather wrapping around his bald head. He was a mountain of a man, the log he sat on seemingly too small for him as he turned the spit. Alfhild was a wisp of a girl, more suited to village work rather than the battlefield. Her dark hair fell messily over her eyes as she carved at some bread and cheese, wielding the knife with surprising dexterity. And as for Lars…

“Oh! We match!” the young man said with an easy grin, pointing at the white streak in his short, reddish-brown hair. “There’s quite a few of us here with it. Maybe you’re part of our clan?”

His sea-green eyes felt oddly familiar.

“I’m not sure. Maybe? My father had the streak, as did his father, and my great-grandmother before them,” Anna explained with a helpless shrug. Then her eyes widened. “Oh, sorry! I should introduce myself too, shouldn’t I? I’m Anna. Anna Agdarsdotter. Former chief before I, well… before I died, I suppose.”

“Guess they really are changin’ the names,” Gunnar grunted, peering at the sizzling boar. “Back in my day, best we got was--”

“Oh, someone shut him up before he goes on again,” Alfhild hissed under her breath, tossing some cheese, which Birgit deftly caught. Beside her, Gunnar harrumphed and scowled, plucking a knife from his belt to start carving up the meat.

Lars offered Anna a wedge as well, inviting her to take a seat around their hearth. “Don’t mind him too much, sister. He’s been here almost as long as Birgit.”

Perhaps she should wonder where they found this food, but she was too hungry to think any further on it. Dying apparently worked up an appetite, and Anna devoured the cheese with gusto, eyeing the cooked boar expectantly.

Birgit laughed, boisterous and loud and from the stomach as she swatted Lars’ shoulder. “She’s one of your kinsmen, all right!” He nearly choked on the tankard of mead he had raised to his lips, spilling a little bit of it on his lap as even Gunnar grunted out a laugh of his own.

“So, Anna--how did you die?” Alfhild asked, handing over a tankard of the same mead. A ghost of a smirk danced on her lips. “It’s not poisoned, I promise.”

Wait, what?

“Erm… thank you?” The drink felt warm to the touch. “It was a feud between clans; a territorial dispute. A bast- well… a rival stabbed me in the stomach, and I bled to death on the battlefield.”

“Aye, yer guts be messy like that,” Gunnar said, nodding as he began handing out the meat to everyone. “I trust ya got ‘em back fer it? Definitely not a worthy death fer Valhalla, either way.”

Anna frowned at the memory of Valhalla, its massive doors open to reveal the blessed hall within… before they had flown away to Folkvangr. “Yes, I… I beheaded him right after. He was an archer, so close combat wasn’t his strongest point.”

“Must’ve been a piss-poor archer to get in a position like that anyway,” Birgit scoffed, handing her some of the cooked boar. And she would know. “But if he put up a fight before you beheaded him… might be enough to win your way into Folkvangr.”

“Maybe even Valhalla,” Lars muttered, sipping at his mead.

“Don’t even joke about that.”

Anna felt their questioning stares as she kept her gaze fixed on her tankard, the meat briefly forgotten. “Someone like Hans? Going to Valhalla?” Her grip tightened. “If someone like him was chosen, and I wasn’t--”

“Oi, Agdarsdotter. Keep goin’ on like that, an’ I’ll finish what he started,” Gunnar snarled, rising to his full height. He must have had some giant’s blood in him with how he towered over them all. The light of the fire made his battle-scarred face seem more terrifying than before, and she could’ve sworn there was a faint glow behind his eyepatch.

Lars stood up as well, moving to block him from Anna. “Gunnar, let’s just calm down and--”

“Ya got a soft heart, boy. Don’t forget, that’s what killed ya,” the warrior growled over his protests. “Yer kin not only insulted Freyja’s hospitality, but her own Valkyrie, too. Aye, we all dreamed of Valhalla once, but this is where they decided we should be.” He clenched the knife in his hand tightly. “They held the fate of our afterlives in their hands. They chose us to pass on, and yer goin’ to disrespect them like this?”

“Gunnar’s just mad ‘cause he was in love with a Valkyrie once. One of Freyja’s,” Alfhild yawned, taking a sip of her mead. “She didn’t love him back, of course, but he did hurt his own Valkyrie by being an eldhúsfífl. Now that was an entertaining drama.”

Silence fell as the giant warrior turned to her instead, flashing the knife in front of her face. “Oi. Ya wanna die again?”

“If my scorekeeping is correct, I currently have the lead over you,” Alfhild nonchalantly replied, nibbling at her boar. “Anna’s mead isn’t poisoned, but I didn’t say anything about yours.”

Birgit quickly stood up, attempting to calm them both down and keep them from killing each other--again?--as Lars returned to his seat. He had knocked his tankard to the ground in his haste to stand, but now he made no move to retrieve it.

“I’m sorry,” he said, gaze fixed on his worn-out boots. “But honestly, it wasn’t intended as a joke. You only recently killed each other, and I wouldn’t make light of that.”

Pushing down the churning in her stomach from the whole display just now, Anna sighed. “It’s… Well, I wouldn’t say it’s all right, but I do forgive you. None of you know of Hans, so of course you wouldn’t understand.”

Lars chuckled wryly, lifting his head to offer a similar smile. “I think I can guess why.” The wry smile then shifted to a pensive frown; one that felt oddly… familiar. “But Anna, glory and heroics on the battlefield goes both ways. Who’s ‘right’ and who’s ‘wrong’ depends on perspective, and they’re both meaningless in the face of death.”

A bit of the anger began to return. “So you’re saying that it’s entirely possible for Hans to be in Valhalla?”

“It’s not an impossibility. Even here in Folkvangr, there are warriors who killed each other in battle, and ended up at the same place,” Lars replied, finally reaching down to pick up his fallen tankard. “Just as you would be heralded a hero in your clan, Hans would too in his own. Taking an enemy chief down with you? That’s something a Valkyrie could notice for Valhalla, regardless of the ‘side’ someone is on.”

Again, the memory of Valhalla’s open doors flitted through her mind. “Lars, could… Could a Valkyrie make a mis--”

A powerful gust swept through their encampment, carrying with it the familiar beating of wings as all conversation came to a halt. Her heart began to race at the thought of her Valkyrie’s return, but when Anna turned her head to look, an imposing figure with long, flowing brown hair greeted her instead. The armor was different as well--less elegant and complex, focusing on simpler leather and furs.

“Thögn!” Alfhild called, lips pulling into a warm smile at odds with the assessment Anna had already formed of her.

The Valkyrie gracefully touched down, folding her golden wings behind her back. She dismissed her shield and spear, spreading her arms wide with a shy smile of her own. Shoving the rest of her food into Birgit’s hands, Alfhild was little more than a blur as she ran over to the waiting Valkyrie. They embraced fiercely, Thögn lifting her a little as Alfhild nuzzled into her hair.

“They do this every time,” Gunnar grunted, taking another piece of boar from the spit. “It’s only been… what, since mornin’?”

“Yes, since morning. But for lovers, that might as well be whole lifetimes!” Birgit laughed merrily, setting Alfhild’s food aside. “Weren’t you the one who said it’s been two hundred years since you last saw Skuld? Please. It’s only been fifty since that Valkyrie’s last passed through here.”

Had Anna been in the midst of drinking, she might have spat out her mead. Fifty years seemed far too long for her young mind to wrap around, let alone two hundred. But...

“Do… Do all of Freyja’s Valkyries dress like that?” Anna whispered to Lars. He tilted his head, eyebrows scrunching together.

“Yes...? Is something wrong with that?”

“No, no, I just thought they… you know, wore more metal. And no furs.”

“Ah, those are Odin’s Valkyries,” Lars said with a slight smile. “We see them from time to time, like the one that flew over our camp not too long ago. But Freyja’s always prefer leather. Probably some sort of show of prestige on the Allfather’s part to insist on ornate armour; who can say?”

“Oh, gods…” Anna breathed, losing all appetite.

“Anna?”

She set her food down, grabbing Lars’ hand. “I need to talk to you. Right now.”

“But we’re already ta--oof!” She tugged him to his feet, calling out to a confused Birgit that they would return shortly. Family matters to discuss, and all.

Not that I even know for sure yet if we’re truly related, she thought to herself. Sharing the same white streak and same eyes doesn’t guarantee anything. But…

But she felt she could trust him, strange as it was. Looking at him was like looking into her reflection in the water, albeit an older, male version of herself. If they were related, that meant they were intrinsically tied through lifetimes--and if she couldn’t trust family, then what was left to trust in this otherworld?

When she was satisfied they had put enough distance to avoid being overheard, Anna turned around and said, “I’m not supposed to be here. My Valkyrie was one of Odin’s, and I saw Valhalla before she flew us here instead.”

Lars’ eyes widened like hers, mouth parting just like hers. “Oh, gods.”

“That’s what I said! Do you know if a Valkyrie can make a mistake? Has this happened before?” She let go of his hand, wringing both of hers in worry. “Is she even a real Valkyrie? What if she was Loki, or some other god in disguise, and I’m caught up in his schemes somehow? Would Freyja send me away if she found out one of Odin’s had brought me here? Would Odin take me in anyway, or would I go--”

Lars interrupted her by holding out his hand, gesturing for her to stop. “Gods, we really are kin. Oh, Freyja, just… just give me a second here to think. That was a lot to take in.”

“Sorry… sometimes my mouth runneth over.”

He bit at his bottom lip, eyebrows scrunching together as he stared at a point past her right shoulder. After a few seconds, his eyes finally met hers. “Yes. Maybe. I don’t know. Perhaps not. Probably no.” A beat. “In that order, I think.”

Anna ran her hands down her face, groaning. “I don’t even remember what I asked.”

“Who was your Valkyrie?” Lars asked. “Did she give you her name?”

I can’t tell him I was too stunned to ask... “No, she didn’t, but… she was very beautiful, like a goddess--”

“Almost all Valkyries are,” he laughed.

“--and her eyes were like ice even if her gaze was warm, and her fair wintry hair was tied back in a single braid. Her wings were white like snow and she had a spear that looked like an icicle, too. I think. She didn’t actually… say anything to me, but I bet her voice is as beautiful as her face! I can tell somehow.”

Lars blinked. His whole expression softened suddenly. “Anna. Tell me, why did you describe her like that? Like winter?”

What sort of question is that? “Obviously it’s because she’s the--” The words died on her tongue as her mind blanked. “She’s the… what? What was I going to say…? It was right there in my mind somehow, even though I’m sure I’ve never met her before.”

“Elsa, the Goddess of First Snowfalls,” Lars softly answered for her. His eyes shimmered, the fractures revealing a profound pain and grief similar to Anna’s the day the warriors had brought back her father’s body. “No one worships her anymore. No one has, for centuries.”

Elsa. Elsa…

The name rang through her mind like a song half-remembered. It was the first time she had ever heard that name, yet it felt like she had known it for a very long time. She tested every syllable, flowing off her tongue in a way that just felt right.

“What is she… to us…?” Anna asked, furrowing her brow as her hand absentmindedly drifted up to her streak. “Or rather, what are we to her? It has something to do with the mark, right? This blessing.”

“It’s a sign that she Favors our line. When we call upon her power, it protects us, grants us boons, some extra luck when you’re in a bind… those sorts of things. And the cold. We don’t feel the cold, not in the way everyone else does.” Lars’s breathing began to quicken as he endeavored to hold back his tears. “But that’s only if you remember that power; if you remember her and worship her. Until then, it lies dormant and unused.”

His shoulders began to tremble, ever so slightly, and Anna tentatively reached out a hand. “Lars…?”

“She was right there. She flew above us. Elsa is still alive,” he croaked, staring up at the sky. “When I first arrived here, I didn’t know any of it. My great-grandfather had to tell me everything--all that we had lost, how we failed her… How could we call ourselves Anders’ descendants if we let our goddess die?”

His pained words sent a chill down her spine, stronger than any winter or near-death encounter she had ever faced.

“Lars,” Anna tried again, her throat suddenly dry. “I’m sorry, but I’m a little confused. What happened? How did you-- did we fail?”

Lars brought his hands to his face, pressing his palms to his eyes to stop the tears. His mouth opened in a pained grimace, like a silent scream, before he answered, “Our… ancestor, my great-great-grandfather… was the last… the last true priest. His name was Anders, and he loved our goddess, and our goddess loved us, and we… we killed her…!” His hand clenched at the streak in his hair just as Anna threw her arms around him in a tight hug. “Great-grandfather… he wanted to be a… a warrior! And his children did, too, and his children’s children…!” Lars sobbed in her ear. “We all forgot somewhere along the line! We couldn’t hear her anymore!”

If a god called for help and no one could hear them, did they even exist anymore? It was a heartbreaking thought, and Anna’s own eyes brimmed with tears. How many other gods had faded away like that? How many had been left alone, pleading for someone to hear them as the void began to consume all that they were?

In that moment, Anna knew, neither of them regretted becoming a warrior. Somehow, she knew, no one in their line did. Only in the afterlife could they look back and regret the death of their patron goddess, but none could say they regretted the path that took them here.

And that made it all the more tragic.

Eventually, they ran out of tears. The remaining boar Gunnar had taken off the spit had already lost most of its warmth by the time they returned, and Birgit had already passed out from all of her drinking. She slept propped up against her log, head tilted and drool dripping onto Gunnar’s boots as he napped on the grass, surrounded by bones picked clean.

“Welcome back,” Alfhild drily greeted them, curled up against Thögn from where they sat beneath a tree. The Valkyrie had dismissed the rest of her armor, leaving her in a more comfortable-looking linen tunic and loose trousers. Her wings had curled around herself and the girl at her side like a makeshift blanket.

“Oh, right. Anna, this is Thögn. Thögn, this is Anna Agdarsdotter. She died today.”

“More than a bit late for that, don’t you think?” Lars asked, arching a brow as the corner of his lips twitched. “And welcome back, Thögn.” Thögn gave a small wave, smiling warmly.

“I can’t help it if you two run off into the woods to talk about boring family politics,” Alfhild jabbed back, closing her eyes as she leaned her head against the Valkyrie’s shoulder. “Every time someone with a white streak comes along, I swear…”

“Don’t get too comfortable there, Alf. We need to talk to Thögn.”

The Valkyrie in question lifted a hand, stroking through Alfhild’s dark hair until she gave a grumpy grunt of assent. “I’ll go nap near Gunnar, then. Birgit gets too cold.”

“The benefits of having some fire giant blood, I suppose,” Lars chuckled. Anna felt satisfied that she’d guessed correctly. “Don’t worry, we won’t take up too much of her time. Hopefully.”

Alfhild lazily waved away his words as she stood up and walked off. “If you don’t understand something, just give Birgit a firm kick to wake her up.”

Anna frowned, looking back and forth between the Valkyrie and her. “Ah… Wouldn’t it be better just to wake Alfhild up instead?”

“Alf might accidentally kill you if you do,” Lars explained, tugging the collar of his tunic down a bit to expose part of a pale, jagged scar on his neck. “Old habits, and all. She never naps without a dagger on her.”

Thögn giggled; her hands moving as if she were spelling something in the air, or making warding signs. Each move was graceful and precise.

“I agree with you there,” Lars laughed. His expression grew more serious; brow furrowing the way Anna’s did whenever she was about to make a possibly ‘bad’ decision. “Thögn… do you know if any of Odin’s Einherjar were ever sent to Folkvangr instead? If a Valkyrie made that sort of mistake, or if Freyja decided she wanted them?”

Thögn’s eyebrows drew together as she tilted her head. Her hands signed an answer, slowly and… questioningly? Perhaps a little belatedly, Anna began to realise that she was speaking through these hand motions--entirely, not merely gesturing for emphasis.

Lars exhaled loudly, reaching up to run a hand through his white streak. His lips pulled into a grimace. “Yes, I’m well aware that’s his rule. That’s what I thought. I only wanted to make sure…”

Anna looked back and forth between them. “What did she say?”

Her movement caught Thögn’s attention, and the furrow on the Valkyrie’s brow disappeared as her green eyes widened slightly. Her wings twitched as she signed something to Lars, never turning away from Anna. When Lars didn’t respond, merely fixed his gaze on his boots, she gave a little huff and turned her head to face him once more, rising to her feet.

Lars stumbled a few steps back as Thögn quickly approached, jabbing a finger at his chest. She asked something else that made Lars swallow hard. Did Thögn piece together the truth? He seemed strangely small in that moment, despite sharing the same height as her. He shook his head before answering.

“No, not Brynhildr. Elsa.”

Thögn blinked, her mouth parting slightly. Her hands signed with that questioning movement again.

“Yes, that Elsa. My... Our Elsa.”

The Valkyrie sighed, taking a few steps back to give Lars some space. Her hands had slowed with their movements, but they contained a sharpness to them. A finality.

“Most… most likely, yes.”

Anna had enough. She walked over to them, arms spreading in exasperation. “Excuse me, but could someone explain what’s going on? If I’m in danger of being killed by Odin or Freyja, I don’t have time to learn how to understand what Thögn’s saying.” A beat. “I-I mean no offense, Thögn! I’d definitely learn if I had the time! Especially if it makes things easier for you...”

Thögn merely nodded in understanding, lifting her shoulders a bit. Beside her, Lars exhaled loudly, muttering under his breath a little before properly answering her.

“Short answer? You should be safe as long as you stay in Folkvangr, but we’ll have to appeal to Freyja ourselves just to make sure. And… there’s a high chance Elsa might be punished. Severely. Odin hasn’t been in a good mood of late.”

The pounding in her ears grew as the beat of her heart took on a more panicked pace. “What’s… what’s the long answer, then?”

Lars hardened his jaw as he turned his head to look at a massive longhouse in the distance. Anna had seen it earlier as she had wandered, and something that big could only mean one thing.

“I’ll explain on the way to Freyja’s hall.”

Thögn agreed to fly them there, albeit at a slower pace than Elsa had when she left Anna behind in that field. After all, if she flew faster, Lars wouldn’t have time to give Anna all the details.

And gods, what a fine mess she had gotten into.

“That’s so stupid! Women aren’t allowed in Valhalla?” was all Anna had to say after that. In her right ear, Thögn grunted in agreement; as her hands were currently occupied with carrying both of them, it was the only response she might give.

“It’s Odin’s one, absolute rule for the Einherjar,” Lars answered from the other side. “And since one Valkyrie has already been cast down today--his own daughter, no less--the Allfather would be more than likely to simply kill Elsa and be done with it.”

And so, her only hope would be to work out a deal with Freyja, she thought frantically. Now that I’ve heard everything, her flying off so fast makes more sense… That terror, too.

“But… if it’s like you said and she did it to protect me as our goddess, can’t Odin just wave it off? You know, ‘what’s one girl between gods’, or something like that?”

Thögn cleared her throat a bit as she shifted her grip on them both. She started rasping a word that sounded like it might have been “duty” but never quite made it.

“A Valkyrie’s duties to Freyja or Ordin are above whatever godly duties she may personally have,” Lars finished for her, and Thögn shot him a grateful glance. “When she chose to guide you in that moment, she put herself before Odin, which… I suppose that’s worse than picking an Einherjar who died un-heroically. His title as the Allfather isn’t for show; his Valkyries have their roles because of his will. On top of that, you’re a woman too, so--”

“I understand,” Anna quickly cut him off as the tips of her ears burned. “Elsa is in grave danger because of me.” To think I was so happy to be in her arms…

“Because of all of us, honestl--AAH!”

Thögn had briefly dropped Lars mid-mutter, only to catch him a heartbeat later. She merely huffed; nose turned up, eyes narrowed ahead, and seemingly ignoring the panic and indignation on Lars’ face.

“Thögn, I could’ve died a second death with a scare like that!” he shouted, clinging to her arm as if she’d drop him again at any moment. “What was that for?!”

True to her name, Thögn kept her silence; lips downturned into a disapproving frown. Anna could guess why, but she fought back the urge to speak the words on her tongue. Scolding Lars for sharing the same sentiments she held would only be hypocritical. Instead, she voiced a safer, concern.

“Come to think of it… Why is Thögn helping us if she’s a Valkyrie? Wouldn’t she be in trouble with Odin for sort of helping Elsa?”

“What Freyja’s Valkyries do falls to Freyja herself, not Odin. It’s one of their agreements when it comes to overseeing their own--separate--homesteads,” Lars answered, mostly regaining his previous composure. He hadn’t let go of Thögn’s arm, though. “Since Elsa is already negotiating with Freyja, this won’t be seen as ‘helping’ her. That, and Thögn is one of the kindest people I know… except for when she drops friends from the sky.”

Thögn rolled her eyes, but Anna could see she was trying not to smile. Trying.

“She also owes me a big favo--AAAAHHH!”

The Valkyrie unceremoniously dropped Lars for good this time, paying no attention to his scream as her golden wings suddenly flared to slow her speed considerably. As Thögn gracefully began her descent, it was only then that Anna noticed they had already reached Freyja’s longhouse. Much like the brief view she had of Valhalla, the roof of Freyja’s personal dwelling was an overturned longboat massive enough to hold hundreds of warriors. Stone walls rose up beneath it with battles, fierce figures, and all manner of history beautifully carved onto their surface.

Freyja may be the goddess of love, beauty, and fertility… but she was also a goddess of war and death. The dying warriors with their stony mouths open in soundless screams grimly reminded Anna of the latter as Thögn gently touched down, finally allowing her to stand on her own.

“A hand’s breadth away, and I could’ve truly died again!” Lars shouted at them, gesturing to the stone path leading up to the doors of the longhouse--beside which was a suspiciously human-shaped indentation. With his other hand, he brushed grass off his hair and tunic, frowning in a way Anna knew all too well. Olaf’s pranks had often been similar in nature.

Olaf… I wonder which afterlife he has gone to?

Thögn signed something to him, though the mischievous gleam in her eyes told Anna all she needed to know.

“Let’s just go,” Lars grumbled, turning around to head for the doors after a brief--albeit intense--’conversation’ between them using their hands. “Thögn, you can return if you want. I know how much Alf’s sleeping face invigorates you so after work.”

Thögn absolutely beamed at that, and Anna’s own lips couldn’t help but pull into a smile of her own at the infectious joy radiating from the Valkyrie. Lars must have felt it too, for he hunched his shoulders to his ears as he walked, waving at her impatiently to get going. Golden wings raised themselves high, and Thögn shot into the air with a mighty flap, leaving a powerful gale in her wake. Anna’s braids slapped at her face as she raised her head in spite of the wind, watching as the Valkyrie sped back the way they had come like a loosed arrow.

Could we be like that, I wonder…?

Heat immediately gathered in her cheeks at the memory of Elsa’s smile--a genuine smile meant for her, and her alone. No one had ever looked at her like that before, as if she was the most important person in the world. If she had a gift for words like the skálds back home, perhaps she could describe the feeling better than even that.

“Are you all right?” Lars’ voice broke through her thoughts, layered with concern. “If you’re afraid, that’s to be expected. We are about to confront a goddess and try to help save Elsa’s life, after all--one who is a major figure in the pantheon, no less.”

She hadn’t yet moved from her spot, apparently. The heat spread to her ears as she hurried to join her ancestor at the base of the steps leading to the large doors of Freyja’s hall. “I-It’s nothing; I’m fine. My thoughts just wandered.”

“If you say so...”

To prove her point, Anna squared her shoulders and marched past him, eyes trained on the doors ahead. Once she reached the top, she raised her hand, ready to knock on the intricately carved wood. Her blood pounded in her ears like the war drums from earlier that day.

“Just knock,” Lars offered after ten heartbeats had passed without her moving, trying to smile encouragingly. It didn’t help. “Do you know how to knock?”

This shouldn’t be that hard. I can’t be killed for good again, can I?

But Elsa could. With that thought in mind, Anna took a deep breath and--

The door opened just enough for a woman with long, blonde hair to peek her head out. Her amber eyes held a mischievous glint in them as she smiled with a radiance to rival the sun above.

“How much longer did you intend to keep waiting?” she asked, voice light and teasing and at odds with the foreboding chill creeping up Anna’s spine. So Freyja really had been expecting them…

“Is… is Freyja angry?” Anna asked, fighting the urge to sneak a peek past the woman’s head. This would be the worst time to be rude to a goddess’ servant, even if by accident. “For waiting, I mean. I-I swear, we rushed over here as fast as we could after we figured it out!”

The woman blinked; her mouth parting slightly in surprise. Her smile was quick to return, however, as her gaze slid over to Lars. “She really is your kin, isn’t she? You were similar, yourself.”

...What?

Anna turned her head, a question on her lips, only for that question to die at the sight of Lars kneeling, his head bowed so low, it must have hurt. His hands had clenched into tight fists, trembling ever so slightly.

“Lady Freyja, please forgive her ignorance.”

Lady Freyja?!

Anna’s cheeks burned anew as she hurried to copy her ancestor, but a hand on her arm stopped her. “Relax,” the goddess laughed as she opened the door wider to accommodate them both to pass into the entryway, nodding for Lars to stand. “Come, join me.” He nearly tripped over himself in doing so, his own face red with embarrassment.

“Is this… really the time to be playing games, Lady Freyja?” he managed to ask as they followed her inside, determination coating every word even as he stumbled on them. “Odin’s wrath is an urgent and serious matter, and relaxing is, well… as I said, it seems a bad time.”

Anna had never been good at the more formal aspects of being the chief’s daughter, and speaking to a goddess would be similar to speaking with another chief and their council, wouldn’t it? Or perhaps something more, considering they were gods. She hadn’t been very close with their clan’s priests to know how to--

That’s right… We were priests, once. She bit her lip as the thought resounded painfully in her mind.

“Games? My dear Lars, I may enjoy watching you squirm from time to time when it concerns the heart, but I am not Loki. I would not have you dance to your demise,” Freyja answered with another smile as they entered the main hall of the longhouse. “Anna Agdarsdotter… I welcome you both to my home, Sessrúmnir.”

Anna’s eyes widened as she took in the large, open space. A big fire serving as the goddess’ hearth burned strongly in the center; enough so she could feel its warmth even from here. Lit braziers lined near the walls, evenly spread with beautiful banners hung in the spaces between. At the far end of the main hall, situated atop a raised, shimmering dais, sat Freyja’s gilded throne.

And standing at its foot, white wings carefully tucked behind her, ice spear firmly in hand, and head held as high as she dared, was--

“Elsa!” they both cried, feet already rushing them over to their goddess. Anna nearly stumbled in her haste, her chest almost painful from the frenzied beat of her heart. Questions upon questions welled up inside of her when they both came to a stop, their gazes reverent as they properly beheld the Valkyrie before them. She had so much to ask, so much to talk about, but the way Elsa clenched her spear closer to her, wings twitching anxiously, kept the words at bay.

But gods--goddesses?--she was beauty beyond measure, now that Anna had the chance to properly see her face-to-face.

“Hello,” Elsa said after what felt like a lifetime of staring had passed. Her voice sounded as melodic as Anna had imagined, her eyes darting back and forth nervously between her and Lars.

“‘H-Hello’, me?” Anna blurted out for them, seeing as Lars seemed to be paralyzed in place.

Elsa’s left hand left the spear briefly, reaching towards Anna almost imperceptibly before tightening back around its shaft. Her voice was softer when she answered, “Yes.”

Thoughts raced through Anna’s mind and her mouth started moving without her permission. “Lars told me who you are.” She twirled the streak absentmindedly. “Elsa, the Goddess of First Snowfalls. My--our,” Anna motioned to Lars and herself, “patron goddess.”

Freyja approached and Anna quieted as the goddess gestured between the other three. “You all might as well catch up. Odin could yet decide to kill Elsa.” Freyja’s words were not meant to be cruel, simply blunt, yet they cut through Anna and Elsa winced. Her expression was impossible to read as she breezed out of the room.

Before Anna’s mind caught up, she’d crossed the distance between her and Elsa. She stopped just before touching the Valkyrie, her goddess, and knelt before her looking at the ground.

“I’m sorry we… that we forgot. We lost touch with your memory and left you neglected, and now…” Anna raised her face. “Why would you choose me? Why call Odin’s wrath upon yourself when we’ve failed you as your priests and priestesses?” A small part of her, the one that warmed when Elsa’s blue eyes met hers, hoped it might mean something.

“Oh, Anna,” Elsa said tenderly, a bit of the tension bleeding from her posture. “Because you are mine.” She did reach out this time and threaded her fingers through Anna’s hair, through the streak. “My responsibility. That’s what this mark means; you have my Favor. I could not leave you once I saw you in such torment and peril.”

Her hand left Anna’s hair and held it out, offering help to stand. The part of Anna’s heart which already loved Elsa swelled. She took the proffered hand, clasping the cool and smooth one with her own warm and rough fingers. Anna was standing even closer to the goddess after finding her footing, close enough to feel Elsa’s light breath against her lips and for Anna to lose herself again in Elsa’s blue eyes.

“Odin won’t kill you,” Anna declared after a long pause. “I won’t let him.” The idea was ludicrous; she was fully aware. But she wouldn’t--no, couldn’t stand aside and let this majestic wonder be killed for choosing her.

“We won’t let him,” Lars spoke up, startling Anna further towards Elsa, though thankfully not knocking her over. He stated with conviction, “There’s quite a few of us here, Elsa. We almost let you fade away, and that was our mistake, but we won’t sit idly by and let this happen now. It’s the least we can do as penance.”

Elsa started shaking again, but Anna only knew because they were almost flush now. Automatically, Anna did the best thing she could think of, which was to wrap her arms around Elsa in a hug of sorts. One of her arms wrapped around Elsa’s waist, out of the way of her wings. The other came up and -- with no resistance -- leaned Elsa’s head into her shoulder. It was the same hug Anna’s father and mother had always given her when she was upset.

As if that was the cue Elsa had been waiting for, the trembling worsened until Anna was sure she was crying into her shoulder. All Anna did was hold her tighter. Was a goddess really crying on her? The afterlife was strange, indeed.

Long moments passed before Elsa calmed, sinking further into the comforting embrace. Her voice was soft and muffled as she turned her head and mumbled into Anna’s neck, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” was Anna’s simple reply. She pulled Elsa back enough to face her and leaned forward to softly kiss Elsa’s forehead. The act earned them matching flushes, and Anna marvelled that there was anything she could do to make a Valkyrie blush--much less something so simple.

“What a heartwarming scene. I presume you’re all ready for the battle to come, yes?” Freyja’s voice drifted over to them, carrying with it a mischief Anna hadn’t noticed before. Lars seemed to already be familiar with this particular tone, judging by the way he exhaled deeply--tiredly.

“Lady Freyja,” he began, “forgive me if I’m being presumptuous or too forward, but… your games aren’t over yet, are they?”

The goddess tilted her head to the side, smiling warmly. “I told you before, didn’t I? I would not have those under my watch dance to their demise, not when they have done nothing to deserve such a thing. Mind your tongue.”

They all visibly relaxed at that, though Elsa seemed to have already had a hint of the goddess’ decision, based on the way she tiredly shook her head as she stepped away from Anna’s embrace. “Before you both arrived at her hearth, Lady Freyja and I had discussed how to deal with Odin’s wrath.”

“A fight, yes?”

“Not quite, dear Anna,” Freyja chuckled. “Since you have both intruded upon my domain, what happens in my domain falls to me, not the Allfather. And although he is in a most sour mood--and believe you me, you’re better off not hearing the details--he has agreed to my decision to keep you both here as my denizens. There is little else he could do without risking outright war between us, which none here desires.”

Joy rose powerfully in Anna’s chest, and she felt her legs might buckle. They could stay. Even though she had not yet fully grasped that it worried her more than any matter had ever worried her before, she couldn’t pretend not to feel that worry flee, leaving her lighter than air.

They could stay. She could stay with her goddess.

“I am relieved,” Elsa admitted in a soft whisper, her arm around Anna to support her. She hadn’t even noticed when it found its way there. “That my Favor was not a curse upon you, Anna.”

“How could any fate be a curse if the fate comes from you?” she responded immediately. They leaned their foreheads together, basking in the warmth of the moment. The pure relief at knowing they would not be separated or cast down, or worse. That a new life lay before them--one in which Anna might rediscover her lineage, and the goddess who oversaw it.

And in which Elsa could discover Anna.

“Now, as for the matter of your punishment…”

Of course; there was always a catch. Anna held her breath, as did Lars. Even Elsa’s wings stilled so only the crackling of the massive hearth could be heard.

But Freyja winked, eyes dancing. “I much prefer watching you both find happiness and love. That amuses me far more than any number of lashes or years spent toiling.”

Given that it was not their place to argue with Freyja, neither Elsa nor Anna decided to try.

THE END

EPILOGUE

Turns out, Hans didn’t get into Valhalla. Anna would have felt vindicated, except that the asshole ended up in Folkvangr instead. And proceeded to not actually be so evil as he had been in life. Perhaps it was the knowledge that he wasn’t worth Odin’s hearth that humbled him, or perhaps it was the knowledge that Anna had made it there, as well. She never asked.

Lars’s knuckles had been oddly bruised for the first few weeks since they all had found out, though.

Anna didn’t really bother thinking about it that much. Elsa distracted her more than enough.

#fruipit #elsanna #elsannafervor #au: valkyrie #admin: quill

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