The Valkyrie Queen Pt. 01

"I wonder what Aesir tastes like." Geir said, tilting her head. A few of Odin's guards seemed uncomfortable with that threat. Módi cracked his neck and for a moment, Aegir thought Thor and his son would fly into a rage and try to tear the fortress down by themselves. Aegir shared a look with Heimdall, the only two that seemed concerned with the cost of storming this fortress. It would take a siege that would shake Midgard for decades to dislodge the demi-gods of a fortress under the Runesmith's skilled protection.

"A motley band you have gathered." Odin called out through clenched teeth. "Armed with my weapons, gilded in my armor, standing on my walls!"

"Odd." Kára said, looking over the spear and then down the wall that she stood on. "Looks very much like my wall."

Odin seethed. His sole eye twitched.

"What do you want." He said, after a very long pause. Thor bristled, so did Módi and several of the Valkyrie. Frigga stepped out of the formation and turned her back to the wall, a hand on her beloved's shoulder, concern written clear on her face and a fire burning in her eyes.

"Leave Midgard." Kára said, simply. "All of you. Leave it, do not return. We will remain here, you will have the Eight Realms to rule over. Those prisoners that are dangerous, that have been imprisoned for valid cause, they will be returned to Heimdall's care. Others will remain with us. More still will be free to roam Midgard, never to cross the Bifröst and taint your beloved homes ever again."

Thor laughed, a bellowing sound that doubled him over. Kára stared at him.

"You can't possibly think that we would agree to that!" Thor roared, lifting his hammer over his head. "I will break your fortress, my sons will strangle the life from your bodies. You will be cast into the ocean for the creatures to pick apart until Ragnarok!"

"Son." Kára said. Thor froze, Módi's fingers twitched.

"Where is my son." Thor growled, tightening his grip on Mjölnir.

"He made a mistake, tried to force himself on a Valkyrie." Kára said, calmly. A bundle of thick furs was lifted onto the battlements, then rolled off. It landed with a devastating thud in the complete silence that had fallen. The furs came undone and Magni's face was freed from the constraints. He lay in grotesque death, dried blood flecked on his face and down his chin, soaking into the underclothes he remained dressed in. His armor, his arms, his power, his life had all been stripped from him. Thor moved slowly, his steps stuttering as he approached the sight that he did not want to believe. The jet-black hair of his son splayed out on the rock, his battered body cast off a wall as if it was something to be thrown away.

Thor knelt and held his son in his arms, cradling his limp body. Módi followed, kneeling with his father, brushing that black hair off Magni's forehead.

"Take him." Thor whispered. Módi obeyed. Wordlessly he carefully wrapped his brother in the fur again, then scooped his corpse up and walked to Odin. Odin, who stood there in shock. His grandson was dead, at the hands of one of Odin's own Valkyrie.

There was a burden of guilt on Odin's shoulders when he placed a hand on that bundle of furs, tears streaming down his cheek.

Thor stood and roared at the wall, raising Mjölnir above his head. The sky roiled and shook, dark clouds gathering in a terrible storm as a new wind battered the plateau and fortress walls. Rocks and dirt were whipped about wildly, Thor stood there in his armor as the great storm built above him. Then he slammed Mjölnir down into the rock with a thundering crash, shaking the island and the seas around it. All of Midgard seemed to shake and the storm lashed out with a great, gathered lightning strike. Brilliant white energy slammed into the walls with such fury and force none could believe it. The cloud of dust and dirt was overshadowed by the bursting of white light that blinded everyone who watched, the force of the explosion so great it sent gods stumbling backward. The noise was deafening and left everyone with a terrible ringing in their ears.

It took minutes for the gathered to see again through the haze of white that filled their vision. Minutes for their ears to resume hearing. For the dirt and dust to settle. Odin and the others had been thrown back a dozen meters by the force, their formation broken and scattered. Thor was visible in the crater that he had formed when he brought that mighty hammer down. Odin was certain that the fortress had crumbled into the sea, that they would find the smoking bones of his enemies within.

Instead, when Odin blinked, he saw something else entirely.

Two unmistakeable dwarfen cheeks atop the battlements. A sturdy dwarf with his trousers around his ankles, waving his back end about for the gods to see. When Odin could hear again, he heard laughter. Brokkr turned about and blew a kiss to Odin. A single rune sputtered and smoked, dying out as the power within was consumed to protect the walls. The walls that still stood, merely blackened by the conjured lightning.

"Father, call up the armies. All Nine Realms, bring them here and shattered this place!" Thor raged. Odin embraced his son, pulling him tightly against his chest.

"We will crush them." Odin whispered. "I promise that. But not this day."

Frigga took Thor and led him aside, comforting him. Odin straightened himself, brushed his armor clean, then stalked ahead toward the wall.

"You win." He called out. "My grandson is dead and I will hate you forever for that. I strip you of the name Valkyrie. I strip you of any right to the Nine Realms. You forsake your duty to the slain, to me, to the Nine Realms. Kára, you are Valkyrie no more. You are cast out and you are branded traitor, along with all those that stand beside you. You will have Midgard. For now."

"Fair enough." Kára shrugged. "I gladly forsake my duties to you."

"Then it is done." Odin said. "You should know that we will return."

"I know." Kára said, grinning and leaning on Odin's very own spear. "But you should know that we will be waiting."

Chapter Three: Midgard

"This place is a ruin." Brokkr griped. "Crumbling walls, rotting wood. It's cold, it's drafty, it's terrible."

Kára liked the Dwarf. He was a very capable Runesmith and he could work wonders with stone, wood, or steel. Whatever they needed, Brokkr could forge. He was stout and thick. His deep red hair was pulled back into a short bun atop his head, with the rest draped down his back. The ends of his moustache were braided and hung over an enormously bushy beard on his chin. He was hairy, intensely strong, and incredibly skilled.

He was also an enormous pain in Kára's ass.

"Brokkr." She said. "It needs work but that is why you are no longer in a cell."

"You want a miracle!" Brokkr shouted, holding his hands up and looking around the Great Hall. It was void of furniture but for the rotting remains of what had once been long tables and benches and ornate chairs. Tattered banners decorated the walls, rusted sconces without a source of light between those tatters. The many rooms were as barren as the Great Hall.

"He isn't wrong." Ragnheidr said. "There's nothing here to work with."

"Not a damn thing!" Brokkr shouted. "The smithy is barren, I scraped together enough to make the front gate and that's it! There used to be a forge and anvil worthy of the Valkyrie, nearly worthy of my talents! The stables are empty, except for the rotting hay. There isn't a bed to sleep on, the rooms here are worse than our cells! You have a ship stolen from raiders. Once there was a Skogsrå that maintained a lush forest on this island, we could build ships and houses and anything we wanted from those timbers! Now? It's nothing but rocks and gull shit. Which, thank those filthy gods for the gulls or we'd have nothing to eat. Freyja's gifts are gone and without her, it is a cold rock with walls."

"And all this, for us." Ylva said drily. "A kingdom of our own."

"You all think too small." Kára said, drawing attention back to her. The group fell silent, waiting and listening. "Yes, this place is a shadow of what it once was. We do not have access to all the great gifts of the gods that we once did."

"You are terrible at inspiring speeches." Geir muttered. Kára laughed.

"Midgard will be ours for a time, enough time for us to rebuild this place."

"How? You aren't going to convince many gods to come here and make this home when Odin will be on the warpath to tear it down." Brokkr said, pulling at his beard.

"We don't need the gods. We will make our own path." Kára fetched a map from one of her pockets and unrolled it against a wall, pressing the curling edges down to flatten it. It marked the many nearby places on Midgard, not so far from the island they now stood on. She traced the edge of a coastline to the west, settling her finger on a marking that resembled a stone house with runic letters beneath.

"They call it Lindisfarne. A place of the new religion that sweeps the places of Midgard. Those that still follow our ways raid these coastlines for riches, for glory. We will do what they do, we will become as they have become. And we will find worthy mortals that will take their place on this island. When Odin returns, he will not find a barren rock. He will find us ready, he will find the fury of these Northmen."

"That was better." Geir said, nodding along. "But one ship cannot do all that. We will be at it for decades, rebuilding."

"I happen to know that the holy men of this place have recently been stymied by the sudden growth of a lush forest on their island. I believe that we can solve several of our problems in one fell swoop."

"So, we will become raiders." Ylva said, looking at the map and running a furred hand over her bow. "I like it."

"No supplies, mostly piss poor weapons, gods after us, a crumbling fortress waiting to be rebuilt." Brokkr grumbled, still pulling at his beard. "Sounds fun. I'm in."

"Just for the sour look on Odin's face, I am in." Geir stood.

"Wasn't doing much else." Liv added. "The Valkyrie riding the waves, waging a war, fucking with Odin? Gods, that sounds like fun. When do we sail?"

"As soon as we raise anchor." Kára said with a grin.

Five pairs of leather boots crunched on the gravel of the pathway, slick with rain. For weeks it had not stopped raining and the five men in those boots were cold, wet, and tired of patrolling a road covered in sheets of rain. They could hardly see more than a few meters and torchlight would not keep lit in the deluge. Each man wore mail armor provided by the abbey, conical helmets with nose guards that dripped rain off the ends. They wore fastened cloaks around their shoulders and their hoods were drawn up, soddenly pressed against the dull metal of their helmets. Shields were slung over their backs, each with a polished shield bosses. Swords hung from their waists and water dripped off the end of their scabbards.

They patrolled the path daily, taking them from the abbey gates to the village, then back again. It was a three hour trip and they rarely saw anyone.

"Why don't we just find somewhere with shelter and wait for three hours." Stanford offered his opinion on the patrol yet again. Osborne was the Sergeant of this patrol and had been for many years now. He trudged the path and ignored the younger soldier, mostly because Osborne feared that he was beginning to agree. Even the damned Danes wouldn't be out in this, he thought, this much rain would have sunk their ships before they came close to the coast. Or drowned them in mud. Or just made them too pissed off to bother marching anywhere. Anyone with half a brain was sitting under a roof with a hot fire and plenty of ale to drink.

That's where Osborne wanted to be. Not out here listening to the wet slap of boots in puddles and the never ending complaining of his soldiers.

"Sergeant? Ahead." Tatton had the sharpest eyes, that's why he marched near the front. Osborne peered through the rain and saw it too, a figure shrouded in the downpour. He gripped his spear a little more tightly and motioned for his men to move out into more of a line. They held their spears warily and advanced on the figure.

"Hullo there!" Osborne called out.

"Gods bless you!" The figure came closer and Osborne saw it was a woman. He loosened his grip and raised a hand to shield his eyes from the rain. She was wearing a long tunic and simple trousers that were plastered against her body. A shapely body, Osborne couldn't help but notice. Her hair was long and brightly colored, stuck to her face and chest and tunic. Her nose came to a sharp point to match her chin, giving her beautiful features and expressive, green colored eyes.

"Gods bless us." Stanford mumbled, earning a slap across the back of his head from Tatton. "Ow!"

Osborne saw the curve of the woman's breasts, outlined by her wet clothes that clung to them. She was beautiful and she should not be out in this storm alone.

"What are you doing out in this?" He asked, handing his spear off and shrugging off his cloak to wrap it around her shoulders. She seemed surprised by the gesture.

"Not right, Sergeant." Tatton said, eyeing the woman. She eyed him back. "Never seen this one before, not from the town. Out in this? Strange."

Osborne had learned several years ago to trust Tatton's judgement. The man was observant and right now, his observations were that something was wrong here. Osborne felt it too, in his gut. The woman tilted her head and her eyes had lost something, something that had made her look hopeless. Now she looked dangerous.

"Well, that didn't work. She said, frowning. "Have I lost my touch?"

Osborne took a step back, reached for his sword. His hand found nothing. He grasped again and then looked down to find the scabbard hanging there, empty. From underneath the cloak, the woman produced his blade. She spun it in a hand and looked it over.

"It will do." She said.

"Her ears." Stanford cried out and for a moment Osborne wondered why that fucking idiot was on about the woman's ears. Women have ears, he thought, that wasn't unusual.

Then he saw it. They were long, swept back away from her head into a fine point behind that brightly colored hair.

Tatton moved first. He thrust his spear and the woman easily parried it, but Tatton was feinting. He dropped the spear and spun, drawing his sword in a fluid motion and sweeping it at the woman's neck. She parried that two, both swords sparking even in the rain. The woman grinned.

"Finely done!" She exclaimed. Then she headbutted Tatton on the bridge of his nose and the soldier yelped, falling backward as blood began to gush down his face. Stanford was close behind, coming with Alger. They thrust their spears in unison, aiming for the woman's stomach. She whirled and Osborne's cloak soared, settling over Alger's head as he dropped his spear. The woman thrust Osborne's sword through his cloak, into Alger's head, and the now shrouded figure crumpled to the ground. Stanford yelped and struggled for his sword. The woman sliced her sword and it opened the poor lad's throat.

Royce dropped his spear and began a desperate sprint away. Osborne cursed the coward and dug a spear up from the path, holding it out in front of him.

"Come on then!" He shouted at the woman. Two hands gripped his head, one on his chin and the other on the back of his head. His eyes darted to his left to see a purple skinned woman beside him. She smiled.

"Bad luck." She said and Osborne's neck broke with a snap as she twisted his head halfway around. Liv snatched up the spear from the dead Sergeant's hands and planted her feet, tongue sticking out between her lips as she watched the fleeing soldier. She took a stuttering jump step and hurled the spear through the rain. It cut a clear path and slammed through Royce's back. He gurgled once, held mostly upright by the spear that was now pinned to the ground. Then he died.

"Kill him and be done with it." Liv said to Ragnheidr, standing over the one with the broken nose. Ragnheidr knelt before the man. He blinked at her.

"Do you want to live?" She asked him. Tatton nodded his head once. "Not this one, he can be of us."

Liv shrugged.

"Fine. Come on. Kára and the others are waiting. You, what's your name?"

"Daddon." Tatton said, then he released his nose and spat. "Tatton."

"Alright Tatton. You want to live, you be of use."

Tatton nodded and was pulled to his feet by the dark elf. He looked between the two women. One with purple skin and golden rings piercing her ears, the other with a sort of pale, almost golden skin. They were very different. He couldn't help but stare at the long, pointed purple hued ears.

"Excuse me, my eyes are down here, alright." She said. "We're Elves, get over it. I'm Liv, that's Ragnheidr."

The lighter one waved politely, halfway through stripping poor Stanford of his armor. Tatton blinked and sighed, reaching down to fetch his own spear and sheathing his sword. He stood, sniffling and wiping at his nose, waiting for instructions.

"You seem rather calm about all this." Liv said.

"Not from here." Tatton offered. "Just a job. Doubt I could kill either of you, rather be alive."

"Practical. I like him." Liv said. "Come on, you're going to get us past a gate."

Tatton walked with the two elves until they were in sight of the abbey walls. Thick stone walls with a heavy set gate had been built around the monastery in response to the raids that had happened in the past. Much like the one that was coming. A handful of soldiers occupied the monastery, no more than a dozen at any given time. They would be hiding in their quarters, with maybe two or three on watch in this storm.

Tatton froze when more figures appeared in the rain, meeting them. He blinked harder, thinking he had been struck on the head harder than he thought.

There was a wolf, sort of. A very human looking wolf, sort of.

And a very human looking snake. Sort of.

There was also a rather normal looking woman with a raven on her shoulder and a short, hairy man. Neither of them really concerned Tatton all that much.

Tatton blinked at each of them, wondering what visions his mind had conjured.

"You brought a stray." The wolf said, baring her teeth in a sort of smile. "How cute."

"This is Tatton. Ragnheidr broke his nose but he's helping us. So be nice." Liv said, protectively wrapping an arm around Tatton's shoulders and pulling him close. "Long as mommy says we can keep him. Can we, mommy, can we?"

"You think we should?" Kára asked. When lightning flashed, Tatton saw the flash of tattered black wings from the woman's back. He swallowed hard.

"I do." Ragnheidr said. "For now."

Kára nodded and accepted it. Tatton released a breath and Liv squeezed him closer.

"Mommy said yes!" She said, planting a kiss on Tatton's cheek. He looked at her, confused, but she was already moving on.

"Time to prove your worth, Tatton. I'm Kára, this is Brokkr, Ylva, and Geir. Behind that wall are many things that we need. So you are going to help us get them. We are going to load these things onto our ship, we are going to sail away, and you are going to come with us. Unless you do even the slightest thing that I don't like. Then you will come with us, but only halfway. Then you can swim the rest of it. Got it?"

Tatton nodded again.

"Good." Kára said. When Liv and Ragnheidr were dressed in the stolen armor of the soldiers, they looked close enough the part with their hair hidden beneath the conical helmets. They carried spears, swords, shields.

"You almost look like Valkyrie again." Kára said. All three grinned.

"So, Tatton, how will you get us in there?" Liv asked.

"Osborne slipped, broke his ankle. Stanford with him. Need help." Tatton said, simply. Kára was amused by the man's way of speaking, it was to the point and that was rare enough among the gods, let alone mortals. Tatton shrugged his spear into place, took a few sucking breaths and then began jogging up the path. He was panting while he moved, as if he had been running some distance. Liv snorted a laugh.