COF 08

 Ever since Hrist had seen the scorched earth in the meadow, her face had been set in grim determination. The raven haired Goddess moved with a purpose, her walk strong and confident as she strode forward. She had not yet sheathed her sword, finding comfort in holding the naked blade in her hand. She would have felt even better to be plunging it into the blackened heart of one of the undead, but that would come soon enough. For now she had to be content with just feeling the sword in her hand.

“Hrist, wait!” Freya, Goddess of Love and Fertility floated behind her, unable to keep up with the pace she set on foot. Her face was wrinkled with concern, her hands clasped before her as she played with her fingers. Once again she found herself asking, “What are you going to do?!” The valkyrie appeared to ignore her, her pace continuing unabated.

“I said wait!” She commanded, reaching out to grab Hrist by the arm. She nearly banged into the Goddess, when the woman became as still as a statue. “Does he follow us?”

“What?” Freya blinked, confused by the question.

“The boy…that mortal Lucian. Does he follow us?” repeated Hrist, pulling her arm free. Brow furrowed, Freya turned to glance over her shoulder. Lucian was a distant speck, still standing near Yggdrasil, lost in a melancholy reverie of his own. “No.” Freya shook her head. “No…he remained behind.”

“Good.” Hrist turned slowly, sheathing her sword. “What I am about to say to you is not fit for mortal ears.”

“A secret?” Freya smiled. She liked secrets. She had long since mastered the art of keeping them, and as the right hand of Odin she had been privy to a great many. She knew it had to be a good one if it was something that could distract Hrist away from claiming vengeance on Brahms.

“I’ve been thinking…who would gain from Lenneth’s disappearance?” Hrist asked. Freya didn’t respond, patiently waiting for the Goddess to continue. Hrist gathered her thoughts, choosing her words carefully. “Perhaps we should not only be asking who is responsible, but why.”

“You’ve thought of something? What?”

“Who else is there to take up Lenneth’s place as ruler? Hmm?” prodded Hrist. “Who else has the power?”

“No one. Only Odin and Lenneth had the power to transcend beyond their Godly limitations. It was through their half elf bodies that they attained the power of creationism.” Freya said. “It’s common knowledge among the Aesir.”

“And without a suitable candidate for the throne, who would rule us?” Hrist let out a cruel laugh. “Brahms certainly couldn’t, even if he somehow managed to harness the power of Lenneth.”

“Then you’ve given up on the thought that Brahms is responsible?” Freya asked, surprise evident in her voice. Hrist had never been one to back down from a fight, needing only the slightest provocation to initiate one.

“I didn’t say that.” She shook her head. “No…I still have my eye on him. But he’s not that important in the grand scheme of things. We need Lenneth returned as soon as possible. Barring that, we need a distraction to prevent a succession war.”

“A succession war?!” Freya’s eyebrows flew up on her face in surprise. “We haven’t had one of those since…since…”

“Since Lord Odin slaughtered Ymir.” finished Hrist. “It’s been centuries since the Gods turned against one another.” Her eyes darkened with pain. “You were there. You remember the damage that was done, how Midgard was nearly destroyed in the aftermath of the unleashed powers of the Gods combined.”

“Many of my Vanir brethren were slain…” Freya’s eyes closed in pain, recalling how she and her sister Frei were among the last of that nearly extinct race of Gods.

“So what do you think will happen if the throne remains empty for too long? Without a strong personality, an unconquerable power on the throne, soon the other Gods will turn their eyes to the prize of a kingdom. To rule over all Gods is a seductive thing for one who thinks they can hold onto the mantel.” Hrist said grimly.

Freya stared at Hrist, going over her words in her mind. “You’ve thought a lot about this.” She said at last.

“I have long thought my sister…too softhearted to rule over us.” The death goddess stated this as though it was a great stain on Lenneth’s soul. She had always thought Lenneth the weakest of her sisters, too kind, too human. She allowed emotions to rule her head, and she even consorted with humans on occasion. Such notions were an alien concept to Hrist. “When she first took the throne, I had not expected her to be allowed to keep it. But she proved too powerful for the others to dispose of. That was unexpected…it made me proud of her.” She gave a toss of her head, as though to shake off the feelings stirred up by her words. “I’ve made clear the true urgency of the situation. Do you know what I plan to do next?”

“A war…” Freya whispered a tad fearfully. “You’re going to start a war…”

“Yes. Better the Gods focus their attention on a single target, than each other.” Hrist smiled in self satisfaction. “Attacking Brahms will serve two purposes. Silmeria will be free at last. And the other? Heh. It wil serve as a distraction, should he be proven innocent of this one crime.”

“It will buy us time to seek out Lenneth elsewhere.” Freya realized. “While the other Gods are caught up in the war, we will have the chance to scout out other candidates who may have taken Lenneth.”

“Yes.” She nodded. “I just give thanks that it hasn’t rained yet!” Hrist looked up at the azure sky, not a cloud in sight. She shook her head ruefully. “If Lenneth were dead, surely the sky would have bled with rain by now. It’s something, however small, that we know she is still alive, that she still exists somewhere.”

“Hrist…let say Brahms did take Lenneth…what could he hope to gain by this treachery? We’d never allow him the throne, even if he somehow found a way to add her power to his..”

Hrist gave a shrug of her shoulders. “It matters not, he’d still accomplish leaving Asgard in chaos. The Gods will fight and surely destroy each other over the throne. Leaving his foul legion of undead to run free and unchecked on Midgard.” Hrist scowled. “That cannot be allowed to happen.”

“We won’t let it.” agreed Freya.

“Good. Now let us collect my sister’s mortal toy.” Hrist gestured lazily in the direction of Lucian. “I’m sure he will prove of great help in the search for Lenneth.”

Yes realized Freya. Lucian and other einherjar like him would have to be utilized to find the missing Goddess. There weren’t many Gods or Goddesses they could trust with this quest. How ironic it was, to have to depend on humans to avert a war among the Aesir.

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Lezard entered his bedroom with a world weary sigh. It had been a tiring day, one wrought with excitement and danger. He glanced at his bed that lay propped against the East wall of his room, seeing the woman in it had at long last fallen asleep. He was glad, the last few times he had been in here, she had still been up, panting badly from the strain of breathing. He had taken to his library, pulling out books he had nearly forgotten he had own, papers brown with age. They rustled as he paged through the books, rediscovering a lost art, the magic of healing. He remembered attending classes at Flenceberg Academy. One of the first courses they taught new students was of medicinal magic. Once he had turned down the dark path of necromancy, he had done away with light magic, only keeping a few status boosting spells in his repertoire. He had grown confident and sure of his powerful magic, knowing he could kill anything with just a snap of his fingers, long before they could ever hope to injure him.

Now he turned to those lessons, hoping to reawakened the forgotten magic for the woman he loved. “Heal!” It seemed so simple, just a word, not even two syllables. Of course if any old buffoon could do it, no one would ever be sick. It took the talent of the one who said that word, the innate magical ability you were either born with, or you weren’t, to force your will on the world, and demand it answer you. And if there was one thing Lezard was good at, it was getting magic to answer him. He watched in pleasure as the claw marks on her back melded together, the skin sealing up, and remaining whole and without scar underneath his hands. He even thought her breathing had evened out, no longer sounding labored. And though her fever still remained, she seemed to be doing better.

He had left her in good spirits, sending his homunculus to watch over her in his absence. He still had a door to mend to after all. He would not need to research the spells for this, the iron bubbling under his hands as he heated it up with a thought. A burning hot liquid of grey swirled in the air before him, and with an upwards gesture from Lezard, it fitted itself into the doorway, molding itself into it’s old shape. “Frigi-Da-Rune!” He said, ice coating the molten iron, freezing it into place. He allowed it time to harden and cool, using those moments to think out the new wards of protection he would put on the door. He debated doing away with an old fashion lock, thinking perhaps magic should be the only way to open or close that door. But in the end he decided against it, worried that someday the future might see him powerless and in need of a non magical escape route.

Of course he had to replace the manticore he destroyed. What was a maze without it’s guardians? He eventually settling on moving one of the zombie dragons from the herd that roamed the fourth floor’s corridors, to it’s lonely new home on the seventh. On occasion it still bellowed out a frantic cry, mourning the loss of it’s companions. He supposed they had been lucky no monsters had come to explore the entrance way when the door had been gone. Years of being zapped by his spells had beaten out any desire to explore the labyrinth past where they made their homes. No, they were content to let the food come to them.

While he reinforced the spells on the doorway, he did his best not to think of the Valkyrie. But it was hard not to, especially the thought that she was sleeping in HIS bed. How that thought titillated him, almost to the point of distraction, causing him to have to fight the urge to check on her every few minutes, almost as though to reassure himself that he did not imagine her presence there. If he let himself, Lezard could truly spend the rest of his night, nay his very life just watching her as she slept. It was no hard task on the eyes to view the beauty laid out before him. But the practical side of him, as well as his studious nature, cried out against such an endeavor, decrying it as a foolish notion.

Besides… He thought wistfully. She wouldn’t like it were she to wake and find me there, just staring… He sighed, wishing the Valkyrie was a tad more docile when awake. Lezard did not want to change her personality, heavens no! But to have her be more…manageable, less hostile when speaking with him, surely that wasn’t selfish of him to want that.

With the task of repairing the doorway over and done with, he was free to eat dinner, than retire to his bedchambers with a few books for company. It seemed strange to do his studying in there, the room nearly as unfamiliar to him as it was to his beloved. Many times he fell asleep in the library or study, or even his laboratory. He hardly ever spent time in his own bedroom. It was too clean, neat and tidy from disuse. It wasn’t that Lezard was a messy person, no. He was a forgetful person, leaving books and notes, even spell components, haphazardly scattered around wherever he stopped to read or work on them. Even his dining room was cluttered with tomes of information and magic, his library having been filled to overflowing. He kept meaning to make a second room for his book collection, but things kept distracting him. For a time when he had the Philopsher’s stone, he had no need of books, all of Midgard’s knowledge at his fingertips. And so his books had accumulated dust and cobwebs, others being forgotten and lost in his tower. He was still trying to sort them out in some semblance of order when the Valkyrie had arrived. Now he doubted he’d ever get around to that task when she was around. Besides she was much more fascinating that any dusty old tome!

He reached up to remove his cape, his fingers fumbling at the clasps on his shoulders. With a light click they came undone, allowing him to remove his cloak. He tossed it haphazardly on the desk, and then removed his green jacket, making himself more comfortable in the stuffy room. He nodded at Zepher, who quietly picked up after him, placing the jacket and cloak on a coat rack before leaving Lezard and the sleeping Goddess all alone.

Lezard stalked towards the bed, quiet as a mouse so as not to wake the girl. He looked down at her noting that she lay on her side, one hand curled up next to her face, red lips parted as she let out a sigh. Her hair lay spread out on the pillows, the ends curling in tangles, badly in need of a brush but still luxuriously beautiful. He bent down, pulling the bedsheet up higher across her body, having noted the goose pimples across her body. The fever made her feel hot, too hot, so much so that she kept on throwing off her blankets, ignoring the chills that sometimes shook her body.

He leaned towards her face, studying it. She looked younger when asleep, her face relaxed from all tension. “So beautiful…” He murmured, caressing her face. “So perfect…” Lezard caught her chin between his forefinger and thumb, lifting her face up towards him. “And all mine…” His lips brushed against hers, and he was surprised to feel her pull back. “Don’t…” She whispered against his mouth. “Not now…”

Astonishment on his face, he moved backwards to see the rest of her more clearly. Her eyelids fluttered, lashes thick and heavy against her tanned skin, but did not open. She talked in her sleep, her very words heavy with sadness. It would seem even in her sleep she denied him!

“Please stop…” The Valkyrie begged, and he released his grip on her chin. “Lucian no..” She turned over, giving him her back. “I said no Lucian!”

His eyebrows raised in surprise. Somehow he had never imagine her telling that stupid mortal no. It made him feel hope, that their troubles could be overcome if that insipid mortal boy she clung to displeased her, even in the smallest of manners.

“That’s not my name…” She whispered, and fell silent, sleep claiming her fully.

Lezard stared, wondering what it could all mean. He knew this was one mystery none of his books would have the answer for. Lucian wasn’t the only person she spoke of. She mentioned other by names, people and places he had only read about, obliviously sharing tidbits about the Gods he had studied so carefully. One item in particular held her attention. Idun’s Apples. Lezard wondered what interest a Goddess could possible have in mortal medicine. They weren’t really apples, but a potion, one that cured ailments that stopped the aid of healing magics. He pulled out a small, leather bound notebook out of his back pocket, and in it he wrote down the name, a large question mark next to it. Questioning her in this state did him no good, her thoughts were too disjointed and random. He doubted she would share information with him when she was lucid, but he would attempt to ask anyway.

He pulled up a chair next to the bed, and settled in with a book in his lap. In an attempt to cool down, he undid the buttons on his sleeves, and allowed his shirt to open down to midchest. He crossed his left leg over his right knee, using it as a prop for the book, and settled in for the night.

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Hours had gone by, how many she did not know, for Lenneth drifted in and out of sleep, time seeming to blur. It seemed with each opening of her eyes, the person by her bed changed. Sometimes it was Lezard, mopping at her brow with his handkerchief. Other times it was that strange homunculus of his, staring impassively at her with his bright yellow eyes. At one point she could have sworn she saw Queen Hel leaning over her, the evil of her smile making Lenneth scream in pure terror. Her cries awakened Lezard who had fallen asleep while reading. With a start he leapt out of his chair, the book slamming into the floor with a loud thud. “What, what’s happening?!” He demanded, half asleep, bringing up his hands, a spell already on his lips.

But there was no one in the room besides him and one terrified girl. With a shake of his head, he moved towards the bed. “It’s all right Valkyrie…” He soothed, taking her into his arms. “You just had a nightmare.”

She clung to him, though her eyes were distant and unfocused, not really seeing him. She seemed unable to stop trembling, and he ran his hand over the back of her hair, over and over. The petting seemed to calm her, and her breathing grew more steady. “She seemed so real…”

“Who did?” Lezard asked, still stroking her hair.

“…Hel…” She whispered as though saying the Queen’s name would conjure her into the room. If she hadn’t been partially delirious with fever, she would have noticed how he stiffened at the mention of the Ruler of Nifleheim.

“It must have been a bad dream.” He said, trying to convince himself as well as her. The pit of his stomach filled with dread. Could it really be coincidence that Lenneth had dreamt of the Queen, or did it have some significant meaning? There was also the troubling matter of the fact that he had too had dreamt of Hel moments before she had appeared to him in reality.

“Lezard…” Lenneth’s quiet voice pulled him away from his thoughts. “I’m thirsty…”

“That’s the second time you’ve used my name.” He said, pleased. She just looked at him, and the rest of her words registered. “Oh! Right! You’re thirsty.” He reluctantly pulled away from her, and went into the bathroom. He rinsed out a glass before filling it up with water, and returned to her side. She greedily drank down the cool liquid, not stopping until it was all gone.

“Try to get some more sleep…” He said, feeling her forehead. It was still warm, though not as hot as it had been earlier.

“…Will you stay with me?” She asked in a small voice.

His eyes lit up in surprised pleasure. “It would be my honor to do so.”

“…kay…” She said with a sigh of relief, laying back down against the pillows. “Please…” She touched his hand, trying to make him understand her urgency. “Don’t let her get me…”

“I won’t…” He promised, watching as Lenneth’s eyes slowly closed, drifting off to slumber with a worried frown on her face. Lezard took the glass off the bed, and with his free hand reached out to stroke Lenneth’s hair again. She smiled, and nuzzled deeper against her pillows. Lezard then turned and stepped away from the bed, depositing the glass on the nightstand. He turned and looked at Lenneth again, a frown now on his face. He thought it foolish to write off Hel’s appearance as merely a dream conjured up by a sick mind. He thought back to his encounter with Nifleheim’s ruler…her talk of having to kill Lenneth should she remain a Goddess…and how she had asked for nothing in return for helping him with the homunculus. He swore under his breath, not wishing to wake the Valkyrie.

“I will be right back, my love…” The necromancer said softly, heading out of the room. He didn’t want to leave her alone any longer than necessary. He headed out into the hall, taking care to close the door, so as not to wake Lenneth with his voice. “Zepher!” He called out, marching down the hallway. He had only a few feet to go before the homunculus appeared at his side.

“Yes, Master?”

“I have a task for you.” Lezard adjusted his glasses, looking at the homunculus consideringly. He no longer felt confident to leave the green skinned creature to watch his valkyrie, knowing his creation would be powerless against Hel’s magic. For that matter he wasn’t very sure of his own power when compared to that of the Ruler of Nifelheim’s. However he was sure he could find something that would help in one of his many books in his library. “I need you to go to the library.” he told Zepher. “Fetch me any books you can locate on Hel and Nifleheim”

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Loud, ruckus laughter greeted Lucian’s ears as he entered the dining hall. It was always noisy in here, chatter from the einherjar rising to near deafening levels as the ale flowed freely. He passed by tables, barely making out bits of amiable conversation and lewd jokes, the voices intermingling to produce a dull roar one had to strain to hear over. As on most nights, the room was packed tightly with einherjar, all in good spirits as they dined on the food laid out in front of them. Meats roasted and cooked to darkened perfection, candied yams, and platters of vegetables, all sprinkled with a light dabble of ambrosia. The ambrosia was what cured their wounds, lifted their spirits to an intoxicated height. Yes, this was the treasured food of the Gods given out daily to the warriors who had earn the right to sit at Odin’s table.

A long pine table, big enough to seat seventy people on each side dominated the center of the room. Much smaller tables were spread out on the floor, and even a few that were small enough to comfortably seat six existed for those who preferred a much more private dining experience. A large throne sat situated by the stone fire place, empty and alone. It had been Odin’s seat, a remnant left over from a time when the deceased God deigned to grace the einherjar with his presence. Centuries had gone by since someone had sat in that throne, Odin having long decided against mingling with mortals before Lucian had ever been taken to Valhalla.

Oranate tapestries of past battles hung on the wall, glorious hunting trophies, among which included the head of Bloodsbane and the pelt of Fenrir, decorated every available inch of wall space. In the East corner a small stage had been constructed, and on nights before battle the beautiful, blind song mistress Shiho would grace the warriors with her songs, her gift of magic working to stir them up, hardened their courage and vitality, other songs getting them worked up for battle better than any speeches uttered by one of the Gods could do. She would do much singing in the days to come, realized Lucian, if Hrist had her way.

Lucian was not much in the mood for company, having chosen to go off on his own, rather than follow Freya and Hrist. Hrist had given an uncaring shrug of her shoulders, not really caring what he did with his free time. Freya had frowned, and with a sisterly care advised him to go get some rest. He had chosen to ignore her words, more from a loss at what to do than any desire to spite the golden haired Goddess. He had wandered aimlessly for a few hours, until the chimes in the cathedral of Vingolf rang, signaling the end of the day. Still clutching Lenneth’s dress in his hands, he made his way to Valhalla, eager to have his wounds healed by the ambrosia laced food. Avoiding his friends, he headed towards the bar, choosing a lone stool in the corner. “The usual.” He said, nodding at the bartender. Food was quickly brought out, but he barely touched it. He pushed it around on his plate, poking at it with his fork, the occasional bites he took tasting like dust on his lips. He was simply too worried about the missing Goddess to appreciate the feast laid out before him.

He had no reason to doubt Hrist’s words…she was a Goddess and he merely a mortal. A dead one at that. Surely her divinity granted her a wisdom he lacked, an immortal life giving her experience with the vampire lord that made her know what she spoke of. And yet his gut instinct told him they should look elsewhere, that they should find more clues before jumping to conclusions. He couldn’t help but feel Hrist’s past history with Brahms made her naturally inclined to point the finger at him. Was this the pretext she had been waiting for, the excuse she needed to at last launch a raid on his castle that was backed by all of the Aesir?

With one last sip of his ale, he stood to leave. Distracted by his thoughts, he paid no heed of his surrounding, and upon rising, his body banged into a woman passing by. “Hey! Watch it!” She said sharply, whirling around to glare menacingly at him.

He turned, spilling some of his drink on her. “I’m so sorry, I…”

“Lucian?!” The woman’s green eyes widened in recognition, choosing to ignore the liquid dripping down her front. “What are you doing hiding in the corner over here?”

“Aeila…” Lucian said, hiding his displeasure at how loudly she had said his name. Aeilia was a tall, leggy redhead, whose ultra short armor was colored the same jade green of her eyes. It was extremely short, stopping just at the top of her thighs, revealing long muscled legs that garnered her many a compliment from appreciative males, and even a few from women! Her arms were clad in sleeves of light grey, silver chainmail interwoven into the material. Jade green gauntlets for her wrists and grieves that covered up to her knees, completed her look. She carried a spear almost as tall as she was, which she set down as she conversed with the blonde.

“Oh I get it…you must be embarrassed over what happened today.” Aeilia continued. “I don’t blame you…I’d be hiding out too if Freya came after me like that!”

“Ah…You heard about that then…” he said with a sickly smile.

“Oh who hasn’t! It’s all anyone can talk about today! That and the news about the All Mother.” She looked around, then leaned in conspiratorially. “Hey…the way I hear it, after calmer heads prevailed, you went off with the those two Goddesses. What did they talk to you about?” Her eyes sparkled at the thought of getting the inside scoop before anyone else.

“Nothing I can share.” replied Lucian, making Aelia moan in disappointment. “Oh come on! You can tell me! I promise, the secret will be safe!”With you, and Jayle, and about half the people in this room. He thought to himself. She stared imploringly at him, a small frown developing on her face, the longer he remained silent. “Fine…” The Dragonian female said. “Be that way.” She walked off, the stiff set of her shoulders letting Lucian know she was angry with him.

I better leave before anyone else decides to question me. He thought, and hurried to do just that.