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Chapter Text

You never thought your heart could break any more than it had in the past.  Many lifetimes of loss and anguish haunted your memories.  One would think a goddess would be numb to this sort of thing by now. The scene before you proved otherwise; several losses would now haunt you.  In a matter of mere seconds, you watched as who you thought was your husband kill your friend and turn your whole world upside down.  Your Týr had never truly returned. All of you had been played for fools.

Odin stood smugly as he held the knife still glistening with poor Brok’s blood to Atreus’s throat. You stood with your sword drawn facing him alongside Freya, Freyr, and Kratos.  The air was thick with tension as you frantically looked for an opening to disarm Odin and save Atreus. Adrenaline coursed like fire through your veins; every movement, every sound magnified tenfold. Your sole focus was making sure everyone got out of this alive. 

“I will kill you,” Freya snarled at the All-Father. “Plan on that.”

“Mmm. So nice spending time with you again,” he sneered. 

He turned to you, a sadistic grin splitting his face. “Oh, and what a shame our little reunion had to end this way ‘love’.” 

A white-hot flame of rage and disgust shot through your body like lightning. You wanted to rush at him and gut him right there, but Sindri pleading for Freya’s assistance snapped you out of your fury.  

“Ah ah ah… can’t be in two places at one, Frigg,” Odin taunted. The goddess’s frustration was apparent, but she chose to come to Sindri’s aid.  It was now up to you, Freyr, and Kratos to thwart the All-Father’s attempt at holding Atreus hostage. He was outnumbered, but this moment had proven he had tricks up his sleeve that none of you had dared to consider. You all had to tread carefully. 

“Hey!” Odin shouted as you all closed in on him. “I don’t move, you don’t move. Don’t do anything you’ll regret.”

“I regret many things—killing you will not be one of them,” Kratos spat. “Release my son!”

“I am in control here!” Odin yelled. Control—his greatest desire above all else. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. The All-Father was shackled by his need for control like an addict craves a drug. It was apparent in the way his eyes were wide with a euphoric frenzy. The idea of being in control of anything, no matter how minor, thrilled him to no end.

“Throw me the mask,” he demanded. “Now!”

Freyr glanced briefly at you and Kratos, contemplating his next move. Parting with the mask would cost you an important advantage over Odin. However, the possibility of losing another life to the maniac before you would be even more catastrophic. 

The next few moments were a blur. Freyr tossed the mask past Odin, distracting him just long enough for Atreus to transform into a wolf and sink his teeth into Odin’s arm.  Odin flung him to the ground as he scrambled for the mask and opened the broom closet that had been “Týr’s” room. You rushed at him but one of the many ravens that began swirling around the room nearly clawed out your eye. You swung at it with your sword, killing it, though it made no difference. The All-Father only needed one raven to escape, and he had many.

As the swarm of ravens began to thicken around Odin, he glanced at Kratos and Atreus with a smirk.

“Too bad, son. Looks like war after all.”

Kratos swiftly hurled Draupnir through the air. It caught the mask and ripped it from Odin’s grasp, impaling the wall behind him as he vanished in a storm of feathers. That small triumph was short-lived as your attention returned to the plight of Brok. 

Sindri helplessly cradled him as Freya frantically used her healing magic to no avail. Your ears were ringing as Sindri bargained with no one in particular on how to save his brother.

“Stop it,” Brok said raggedly, looking deep into his brother’s eyes. “I know what you done. And I forgives ya. But y’gotta stop. Y’gotta let go.”

With a final labored breath, the light faded from Brok’s eyes and his body fell limp in Sindri’s arms. It felt like a dagger had been plunged into your heart though you knew that was nothing compared to what Sindri must be feeling.

“Brok…?” he choked out as he looked up at the ceiling, broken and defeated. Sindri’s grief was palpable, his breaths growing more ragged as the weight of reality crushed him. He blinked out of sight with his brother’s body. A heavy sorrow hung in the air.

“This… whole time?” Atreus said as he fought back a sob. You shared the sentiment. The disgust from the deception whirled in your mind making you nauseous. You balled your fists so tightly that your nails cut into your palms, not noticing that you drew blood.

Freyr handed the mask back to Atreus. 

“So… what do we do now?” he asked, looking at his sister.

“Now…?” she picked her sword off the ground, eyes burning with a barely contained rage. “Now we kill Odin. And anyone who gets in our way.”

“He must pay for what he’s done to us all,” you managed to force out. Your throat felt tight as you fought back the urge to weep.

You looked up as Kratos approached Atreus. “Come,” he said.

“What? Where?” the boy blinked in confusion.

“It does not matter.”

“Where are you going?” Freya asked incredulously.

“We are done,” he stated as he looked off into the distance and handed Gjallarhorn to Freya.

Freyr looked on in disbelief as Atreus handed the mask back to him. As much as you wanted to be angry that they were walking away from this, you understood the position of a father trying to protect his son from more heartache.

“You can’t run away from this, Kratos,” Freya called after them. “Odin won’t stop until WE stop him. We need you here!”

Without looking back, Kratos walked through the door with Atreus and Mimir in tow. The room shook as the doors slammed behind them.

Freyr broke the silence. “Well, this could not have gone any worse.”

“I can’t believe that after everything he would abandon us when the nine realms need us most,” Freya muttered as she began to pace in frustration. 

“They’ll be back,” you said plainly.

Freya turned to look at you. “How can you be so sure, (y/n)?”

“I dunno,” you shrugged, staring down at your feet. “Just a feeling.”

Freyr gently tapped your shoulder. “Hey, uh. Are you okay? You’re kind of bleeding. A lot.”

You had been clenching your fists so tightly, blood had begun to drip through your fingers onto the floor. Freya’s eyes widened, then she turned to her brother and handed him Gjallarhorn. 

“Yngvi, take this for now and let me tend to (y/n).” Leaning closer to him she whispered, “Give us some space, please.”

Freyr nodded and took the horn. Freya gently wrapped an arm around you and guided you toward her room. “This way, dear,” she said softly.

You shuffled numbly into her quarters. On any other day, the aroma of herbs and flowers would have brought you comfort. Right now, it brought none. Your mind felt shrouded in a haze.

Freya gestured for you to sit on a blanket she had laid out on the floor. You unceremoniously dropped like dead weight onto it, wincing as your body jolted from hitting the ground hard. Though she tried to keep herself together, Freya felt dejected from the events that had just transpired. Even more so, her heart ached for you. She was no stranger to Odin’s treachery and manipulation, and seeing someone else fall victim to his cruelty made her blood run hot with rage. She stayed calm as best she could, knowing that what you needed most right now was someone to support you.

“I’m such an idiot,” you said weakly, tears streaming down your face. “A fucking fool.”

“You are nothing of the sort,” Freya said firmly. She gently grabbed your hands and unfurled your fingers to assess the damage. She cast a small spell to stop the bleeding and began to grind herbs to create a salve for the cuts on your palms.

“I should have been able to tell it wasn’t him. I’m his wife. I of all people should have known something was wrong. Now Brok is dead because I was so stupid . I—” your voice cracked and you let out a shaky sob.

Freya wiped your tears with a small cloth, then began applying the healing salve. When she finished, she wrapped your hands with bandages and rubbed your arm reassuringly.

“I never questioned when he wanted to be alone in that damn closet. I felt sorry for him and wanted to give him space after all he had been through. I held him, told him how much I loved and missed him, kissed him—” you couldn’t finish the sentence as bile rose in your throat. 

Freya’s heart dropped. “He didn’t… touch…  you? Did he?” she asked cautiously.  Freya swore if Odin had preyed upon your love for Týr, the next time she saw him she would—

“No,” you said, quelling Freya’s worst fears. “Thank goodness, no. Though he nearly tried, the bastard. I had told him no. It didn’t feel right being intimate with everything going on. I guess that was my sixth sense warning me.”

Freya internally sighed with relief. She was disgusted, though not surprised, that Odin would attempt to take advantage of you in that way.

“You cannot blame yourself for what happened, (y/n),” Freya said, turning your cheek so she could look into your eyes. “Odin’s lies and manipulation know no bounds. No one could have seen this coming. Not you, not even the know-it-all Mimir. I mean that.”

You realized she was right. Odin was an evil bastard, but you never thought he would put up an act for so long, let alone as a son he so despised. Still, you felt overwhelmed by an emptiness; too many negative emotions had assaulted your mind in such a short span. 

You looked up at Freya, lip trembling. “You’re right that I shouldn’t beat myself up about it, but… I never thought… that I would have to mourn him twice. I suppose the rumors were true all along. Týr really is dead.”

With that, you burst into tears. Ugly, gasping sobs wracked your body as you clung to Freya. She cried right alongside you; she knew the pain of loss all too well. Though she could only imagine how it must feel to think you were reunited with the love of your life just for it to all be a lie. You cried and cried until no more tears came. Freya continued to hold you, rubbing your back gently as you wept into her shoulder. You pulled away to wipe away your tears with the cloth Freya had given you, breath still shaky. She handed you a flask of water, which you greatly appreciated.

“Thank you, Freya. I don’t know what I would do without a friend like you.”

She smiled softly. “Don’t mention it. Come, you should get some rest. You need it.”

“No, let me help you plan our next move. Time isn’t on our side–”

Freya held up her hand. “Rest,” she repeated. “Freyr and I can handle the planning for now. Besides, we still need Hildisvíni to help us. For now, the best thing you can do is rest up so you can be ready for what tomorrow brings.”

There was no use arguing with her, so you reluctantly agreed to sleep on the bedroll she prepared for you. Once she was confident that you were actually going to rest, she left to go consult with her brother on the next steps you all would take.  

The emotional turmoil of the day had completely drained you of energy and despite your aching heart, your eyes grew heavy. Sleep overtook you, though it would not be restful by any means.

Chapter Text

Moments after you closed your eyes, you opened them to find yourself back at your old home just before the Jötnar fled Midgard. It was the last time you saw Týr before Odin got to him. You were sitting on the bed reading a book Týr had brought back for you from his travels.  It was a poem from a far-off land about love and war.  The writing style was unfamiliar to you, yet you enjoyed it nonetheless.  You looked up when you noticed Týr pacing as he began to get dressed in traveling clothes. There was a sense of urgency to his movements and, rather uncharacteristically, panic.

“What’s the matter, love?” you questioned. “Something’s wrong. I can tell.”

He sighed. “The time has come, I’m afraid. Holding Odin’s wrath at bay is no longer an option.”

You stood up in disbelief. “He’s really going to do it? Now? We must act quickly then,” you said as you frantically searched your dresser for suitable clothes. A large hand on your shoulder stopped you.

“No, (y/n),” he said solemnly, getting down on his knees to look you in the eyes. “You must stay here. He knows I will help them. It’s not safe for you to get involved with this.”

You looked at him like he had three heads. “I’ve been alongside you this whole time, every secret trip to Jötunheim, every meeting to plan with the giants. There was always a risk then. Why is it a problem now, Týr?”

He gently grabbed both your shoulders, eyes wide and pleading. “Because now he knows what I’ve been doing, but he doesn’t know about your involvement. If we both walk into a trap, who will stay behind to make sure everything turns out alright?”

You shook your head doubtfully. “Sure, your father doesn’t trust you, but how can you be so certain that he is planning to get rid of you too? His obsession with the Jötnar blinds him, he won’t be focused on you, will he?”

“If I am standing in the way of his goal, then yes. Yes, he would,” Týr said, voice wavering slightly. He reached up and brushed his thumb across your cheek with a sad smile. You wrapped your hand against his and squeezed.

“That won’t happen,” you said firmly. “We’ve made it this far without getting caught. You’ll return to me won’t you?” You almost asked him to promise but decided against it as you knew that wasn’t fair. As much as you didn’t want to accept it, the chances of Odin punishing Týr for aiding the giants were high. Too high.

He pressed his forehead to yours. “I’ll try my best, love.”

You leaned forward and captured his lips with yours. He sighed contently as he wrapped his arms around you, gently rubbing small circles along your back. You parted after a few moments and ran your fingertips over his face, tracing his nose, lips, and jaw so you could commit them to memory should he not return. He did the same before gently kissing the top of your head. He stood up and grabbed his pack of supplies, then turned back to you.

“When things settle down, Laufey will come find you to discuss the next steps if… I’m not… able.” He was trying to hold himself together but you could still see the glimmer of tears in his eyes. “I love you so much, (y/n). Never forget that.”

“I love you too, Týr,” you responded, feeling tears of your own welling up in your eyes. “Forever and always.”

Suddenly, the air grew stale as his demeanor shifted. The warmth vanished from his Bifrost crystal eyes and his face hardened. This is not how you recall this playing out.

“That’s a damn lie. A fucking lie,” Týr growled. “You don’t love me and you never have. Running off to be with my father at the first opportunity, what a whore. I suppose he was a better man to you than I ever was.”

“No, no, no!” you cried as you reached for him. “I didn’t know, Týr! I would never go to Odin. He took advantage of my love for you. I did not go to him willingly!”

His face twisted in disgust and he pushed you away. “I should have never married you, never trusted you. Meeting you was a curse. The realms are doomed because you were too busy whoring around with the All-Father!” he shouted as he towered above you.

You fell to your knees weeping. “I never– it never went that far I swear it Týr! I know I was a fool to fall for his deception. It will haunt me for the rest of my life, but you have to believe I never wanted to disgrace you. I DO love you, that’s the truth!”

“YOU LYING BITCH!” he roared, grabbing his spear by the door and brandishing it at you. You scrambled backward until your back hit the nightstand, looking up at Týr fearfully. His golden eyes regarded you scornfully—as one looks at a speck of dirt on their boots. 

“Please, no,” you begged. “I’m so sorry. I’ll make it up to you. I’ll make things right.”

“Yes…” he said cooly, tracing one finger over the tip of his spear. “Yes, I suppose you will.” He thrust the spear towards your throat as you screamed in terror.

You shot up in your bedroll covered in sweat. Tears were streaming down your face and your hands instinctively shielded your neck. You quickly glanced around to make sure no one saw and wiped your face with your sleeve. Freya and the others already had enough trouble on their hands; you didn’t want to worry them further. Hugging your knees to your chest, you let out a shaky sigh.  It was just a passing nightmare, yet it shook you to your core. 

Týr would never have said such things to you. It was extremely rare for him to raise his voice, and it was never toward you. This was a manifestation of your guilt and shame, not a reflection of your husband. You weren’t surprised as you tended to have vivid dreams when feeling intense emotions, though you bitterly wished that your mind hadn’t tainted your last memory of your late husband.

You were pulled out of your thoughts by the sound of hushed voices coming from the main area of the house. It appeared that Hildisvíni had arrived while you were resting. You noted with a tinge of sadness that Kratos, Atreus, and Mimir were still gone. Someone had moved the dining table to the center of the room and laid what you assumed to be a map across it. From your position on the ground of Freya’s room, you could see the mask and Gjallarhorn placed on the table as well. Hildisvíni had his arms crossed listening intently to Freya as she pointed out various spots on the map. Freyr looked serious for once and was nodding occasionally to whatever Freya was discussing with them.

There was no chance in Hel that you would be able to fall back asleep, nor did you want to. The idea of having another nightmare made you shudder. Besides, you wanted to make yourself useful. You regarded your hands and noted that they no longer stung when you opened them. You couldn’t help but smile. The sheer skill with which Freya used her magic always left you awestruck. With a heavy sigh, you picked yourself off the ground and made your way to the group. 

Freya looked up when she saw you approach. “Ah, hello, (y/n). I hope we didn’t wake you.”

You shook your head. “Hello, everyone. No worries, I woke up on my own. I hope I’m not interrupting.”

“Greetings, (y/n). Not at all,” Hildisvíni said with a wave of his hand. “We are still brainstorming. There is much for us to sort out.”

You smiled at the archer. “Well then, I hope to make myself useful. It’s good to see you again, Hildisvíni.”

“Likewise,” he replied.

Freya glanced at your bandages. “How are your hands? Did the medicine help?”

“If it’s anything like the stuff you gave me the other day I bet she felt reeeaaally good. Right, (y/n)?” Freyr joked as he nudged your arm with his elbow.

You laughed as Freya glared at him, and Hildisvíni looked up at the ceiling and shook his head with a sigh. Freyr held up his hands, “Just sayin’. That was some good shit.”

You looked back at Freya while trying to contain your laughter. “Yes, they feel much better. They don’t hurt at all when I move them. Thank you for taking care of me.”

She smiled. “It’s the least I could do. Wait a few more hours and you should be able to remove the bandages entirely. I’m glad that you’re feeling better.” 

Hildisvíni cleared his throat. “(Y/n), forgive me if this is not my place, but I would like to offer my condolences. Both for what happened to your friend, Brok, and for what happened to you. You did not deserve what Odin did to you and I hope that you are not too hard on yourself. If you need a shoulder to lean on, I will be here. We all will,” he stated genuinely, looking at Freya and Freyr who both nodded in agreement.

“Thank you, old friend. That means a lot. I’m grateful to have such amazing people by my side. Without you all, I don’t know where I would be. I am still not quite myself, but I will heal. Bringing Odin to justice will certainly help,” you said, eyes glinting with determination.

“It’s nice to see you up and at 'em’,” Freyr smiled as he gave your shoulder an affectionate pat.

Your heart was warmed by the support, temporarily staving off the oppressive heartache that threatened to drag you down into a pit of despair. This was Ragnarök: merciless and unrelenting. But having friends, no… a family that you trusted made things a Hel of a lot better.

You glanced around at the others. “Well, don’t delay on my account. Let me hear about this plan you’ve been working on. Odin may know we’re coming, but I don’t plan on giving him any room to breathe. We hit hard and show him no mercy.”

The twins and the archer nodded in fierce agreement. You all wasted no time huddling over the table and began to strategize.

Some hours had passed since the four of you had begun to fine-tune the strategy for invading Asgard. An operation of this level would require an immense amount of manpower and collaboration the likes of which the realms had never seen.  Even Týr, with his impressive ability to broker peace and unity amongst the races, hadn’t managed to achieve anything of this level.  Freya did not want to count on Kratos and Atreus returning, but you secretly hoped they did, and soon.  If the task remained to the current group, you would spread yourselves too thin to be effective.

Just as you were beginning to lose hope that the Spartan and his son would return, the door to the house burst open. In marched Kratos, followed closely by Atreus.

Freya glanced back at them. “You’re back. Are you with us?”

Kratos gave an affirmative grunt as he placed Mimir on the table. You gave Atreus a small smile and he beamed seeing that you seemed to be doing alright.

“Good. It’s time,” said Freya.

“Time for what, dare I ask…?” Mimir questioned, looking at the goddess.

“Time to unite the realms against Odin, once and for all.”

Atreus spoke up. “Týr tried to unite the realms—the real Týr. Everyone loved him… and even he failed.”  His eyes went wide as he realized what he had said in front of you. “I’m sorry, (y/n). I didn’t mean—” he began but you waved your hand in dismissal.

“No, Atreus. You’re right. Týr wasn’t able to accomplish his goal but WE can continue his legacy and set things right.”

Freya nodded in agreement. “Well said, (y/n). We better not fail or there will be no one left to try. This is Ragnarök.”

“... and Odin’s already heard every blasted plan we have,” Mimir interjected. It was the unfortunate reality of the situation.

“Yes, we’ve lost the element of surprise,” she acknowledged. “More than that, we have only one way to Asgard… and it’s not subtle.” 

“Gjallarhorn.” Kratos grabbed Mimir and gave him a better view of the map on the table. From there, you discussed the plan of attack starting from Týr’s Temple and working your way to Asgard’s wall.  To break it down, Surtr’s aid would be needed. Luckily, Ratatoskr had given you all a Yggdrasil seed to a new area of Muspelheim where the fire giant’s forge would hopefully be. 

It was decided that you and Freya would return to Vanaheim to find Sigrún and the other Valkyries. Hildisvíni would go to Helheim to try to recruit the Army of the Dead. You hoped Hræsvelgr, who was very persnickety about Hel’s affairs, would not give him too much trouble. Freyr would go to Alfheim and unite the Elves. Something that he assured was an easy task as they “really liked him” there. Kratos, Atreus, and Mimir would seek out Surtr in Muspelheim. Midgard, Niflheim, and Jötunheim had no army to call upon. The only realm missing was…

“That leaves only Svartalfheim,” Freya said as if reading your mind. For a moment there was silence. It was a gamble going to the Dwarves. Even the ones who hated Odin might not be willing to risk his wrath should they fail.

A voice from above broke the silence. “I’ll go to Svartalfheim.” It was Sindri. 

You were shocked to see him here so soon after losing his brother. Even from a distance, you could almost feel the grief and anger emanating from him. There was a look in his eye you couldn’t quite place. Something dark was brewing within the dwarf and you didn’t know whether to be scared for him or of him.

“Sindri! Are you sure?” Atreus asked hesitantly. 

“I said I’ll go,” Sindi said with a hint of annoyance as he promptly turned on his heel and disappeared.

Something had happened between the two since the last time you saw them. Judging by Sindri’s demeanor, you guessed it was nothing good.

Freya sighed and grabbed Gjallarhorn. “So be it.” She paused and looked around at everyone. “Good luck to us all,” she said as she handed the horn of prophecy to Kratos. 

Freya beckoned for you to follow and you joined her as she turned and headed for the door, Hildisvíni following close behind. Freyr caught up, but not before taking a long swig of his mead. You looked back one last time and made eye contact with Atreus who waved at you with a smile. You waved back then joined the others. He was a good kid. You hoped that Surtr, if they found him, would be more willing to aid the cause if a fellow giant asked for his help.

Now at the Mystic Gateway, you wished your comrades good luck with their missions.

“See y’all on the flip side. Don’t miss me too hard,” Freyr grinned as he stumbled through the door. Freya rolled her eyes and sighed. Hildisvíni actually let out a laugh, shaking his head with a smile. 

“Off to Helheim then. Good luck.”  

You and Freya waited for the door to close, then set the destination to Vanaheim.

You looked at the goddess teasingly. “After you, my lady .” 

You expected her to glare at you but, surprisingly, she chuckled. 

“Let’s go. The Valkyries await.”

Chapter Text

Finding Sigrún and her fellow Valkyries was much easier than you had anticipated. In fact, they were already waiting for you upon your arrival. You and Freya first went to Freyr’s camp to request Beyla and Byggvir’s aid in finding them, but as soon as you stepped foot within the camp they were already spread about. A most welcome surprise considering you would have wasted precious time trying to hunt them all down.

“Ah, how good it is to see you, my queen,” Sigrún greeted, “and you, Lady (y/n).” 

You were a bit taken aback as you were not expecting any of the Valkyries to have physical bodies yet. Freya noticed your surprise and informed you that before joining your group, she had been assisting Sigrún in returning the Valkyries to their former glory with her Vanir magic. It allowed them to finally have corporeal forms while being free of Odin’s corrupting influence.  In the time after Freyr was freed from Odin’s forces, they had begun to regroup in Vanaheim while they awaited Freya’s orders.

“It had been so long since I heard word of you all,” you explained to Sigrún, “I had feared that Odin’s perverted uses of magic would make it impossible to mend the damage. I shouldn’t have doubted your or Freya’s efforts. I’m glad I was wrong.”

“I cannot say I blame you for being weary,” Sigrún agreed. “We overcame nearly insurmountable odds to get to where we are now. We could not have done it without the aid of our queen. Now we are Shield Maidens born anew thanks to her magic.”

“Sigrún, you are too kind to me. You and the others stand here now because of your own perseverance and strength. I barely did anything,” Freya responded with a tinge of blush on her cheeks.

Sigrún gave a hearty laugh. “One day I’ll get you to stop being so modest, my queen.” She turned to you. “I was not able to sway you to join the Valkyries many moons ago, (y/n). Would you perhaps consider joining me as a Shield Maiden this time? No relinquishing of your physical form is required. It is a great offer if I do say so myself.”

“Oh, Sigrún,” you laughed, amused at her centuries-long persistence. “I’m afraid that the answer is still no. I’m flattered that you have that much faith in my abilities though.”

She sighed. “It was worth a try. I see that Lady Freya’s humility is rubbing off on you. There’s no shame in a little gloating now and then,” you would have seen her wink if not for her helm. “Let me rally my sisters and then we will wholly dedicate ourselves to Ragnarök.”

Sigrún gave a rousing speech, earning raised fists and thunderous applause from the group surrounding her. The Valkyrie’s skill in battle and their ability to bolster morale with their passion would be of great value in Ragnarök. Oh… and they could fight with style. You smiled warmly, appreciating the presence of so many strong and capable women on your side. It reminded you of a time long ago.

Once many, many years ago, some time after Freya had been exiled from Asgard, Sigrún had approached you. You were visiting Asgard with Týr, as the All-Father had requested to speak with him. You knew that Sigrún would never be satisfied with her new title as Queen of the Valkyries. In her eyes, the true queen would always be Freya, a sentiment that you also shared. Nothing could compare to Freya’s leadership, mainly because she could resist Odin’s meddling. 

Sigrún was convinced that the wife of the god of war would be a great asset. You indeed had fewer reservations about fighting than your husband but you did not want to make a promise you couldn’t keep. As much as you wanted to assist the Valkyries, protecting the giants from Odin alongside Týr was your main priority.  And to be completely honest, you had no desire to give up your physical body.  Thankfully, she was not offended by your refusal; she had anticipated it but thought it wouldn’t hurt to ask. 

With Freya exiled and nowhere to be found, you felt out of place in Asgard, even more so than before. She had been a trusted friend and you missed her dearly; you hoped that she was safe and that one day she would rise up and make Odin pay for what he had done to her. 

Your relationship with Sif was civil, but no more than that. It could not be easy being the wife of Thor, but you still condemned her treatment of her sons, and the monsters they became because of it. There was absolutely no excuse to join in on Thor’s abuse.  You knew better than to hang around Baldur. He was vocal about his dislike of you due to your friendship with his mother and made a game out of harassing you, hoping you would fight back and make him “feel something”. It was a tough situation: you didn’t condone what Freya did to him, but he was downright vile to you most days. 

“Our god of war is useless, though maybe his bitch can put up a fight… in more ways than one,” he would announce loudly, always in earshot of your husband. Few things made Týr genuinely angry, but Baldur had a special way of getting under anyone’s skin.  Whenever Baldur began his tormenting, Týr would tense up, fists and jaw clenched, nearly shaking with fury. You would have to nudge him to snap him out of it. As much as you would revel in watching Týr pummel Baldur, there would be consequences for picking a fight with Odin’s favorite son, let alone one that could not be hurt in any way that mattered.

Asgardians avoided you with cautious glances and hushed whispers, and Heimdall made it a point to turn his nose up and scoff dramatically when you two crossed paths. You devilishly hoped that he could read your intent to shove your foot up his ass. Odin’s trust in Týr had been growing strained over the years, and with you by extension. Word traveled quickly in Asgard, and few dared to be caught in the company of the disgraced war-god’s wife. 

In a moment of weakness, you found yourself growing self-conscious waiting for Týr alone in the courtyard. Being an outcast was nothing new, why did it bother you now? You could retreat to your residence in Asgard, but you did not want to give anyone the satisfaction that they had driven you away. 

As if sensing your restlessness or simply hating the sight of a warrior standing idle, Geirdriful approached you and asked if you would like to spar with her sisters. She was not training any einherjar today but still craved the thrill of a good fight. It was uncanny speaking to any Valkyrie. Even as spirits, their forms were discernible enough, yet there was something off when you looked straight at them. Like looking at a mirage, you could never quite focus on any particular feature. Even odder still, they were still somewhat solid; you couldn’t pass through them like other spirits you had encountered in your life. 

You agreed to her offer, desperately wanting a distraction. Your sword had been left at home, so you perused the weapon rack for a suitable weapon. Maces and hammers were too brutish for your tastes. Choosing either a sword or spear would be the safe choice, but you wanted a challenge.  Your eye was drawn to a twinblade, the only one of its kind on the rack. Nearly taller than you and with curved blades engraved with runes. It was not a traditional weapon by any means, which captivated you even more. Geirdriful cocked her head in bewilderment when you picked it up and spun it in your hand to test its balance.

“An unusual choice, Lady (y/n). Neither my sisters nor the einherjar found any use for that blade. You may feel free to take it when we’re done. It would go to waste otherwise.”

You nodded, fully intending to take her up on the offer. She led you past the other Valkyries, who were warming up with their sparring partners, to Kara who was waiting alone. Kara was much more relaxed compared to the others, not bothering to warm up. Her demeanor was easygoing, and if you didn’t know her reputation you would falsely believe her to be an easy opponent. She greeted you enthusiastically. 

“It is an honor to have such a worthy opponent, my lady. I’ve heard many tales of your skill with a blade.”

“The honor is mine, Kara. I look forward to seeing the ‘storm’ for myself.”

“And see it you shall,” she replied, her tone growing more competitive.

Sigrún, who was also participating, called for you all to stand at attention.  You and Kara readied your weapons and faced each other.

“May the most talented warrior rise victorious. On my mark… three… two… one… FIGHT!”

Kara’s previous calm demeanor evaporated as she rushed at you in a flurry. This was the wild storm people spoke of. You dove to the side as one of her wings nearly grazed your arm. Taking advantage of the momentum, you rolled under her wings and stabbed up at her torso. She jumped back, missing the brunt of the strike, though you grazed her stomach, drawing blood… or whatever the Valkyrie equivalent of blood was. It looked more like inky, condensed smoke than true blood. 

She growled, frustrated you had drawn first blood, and kicked at you. The blow connected with your ribs, sending you tumbling back and knocking the wind out of you. You wheezed and coughed as you struggled to get up on your hands and knees. Kara circled you like a lioness waiting to pounce.

“Is the goddess not going to fight back? Have you been possessed by your husband’s pacifism?” she taunted, her voice crazed with the euphoria of adrenaline.

All her teasing was light-hearted but you had a great urge to prove her wrong. You grew tired of hearing people underestimate you and would allow yourself to indulge in a petty victory this once. Yes… you had already decided that you would be the victor.  Losing had little consequence for a Valkyrie, as any wounds to their spirit forms would mend over time. For you, even with the enhanced healing abilities of a goddess, any severe injuries would have lasting consequences, especially from such a formidable foe.

Suddenly, the hairs on the back of your neck stood up and you dodged to the side just as her scythe pierced the ground where you had been just moments before. Kara gave you little time to catch your breath as she continued to swing her scythe at you mercilessly, forcing you to back away quickly as you blocked with the shaft of your weapon. You glanced around, frantically looking for an opening when you had an idea.   

You twirled the twinblade in front of you in a hypnotizing arc, hooking one curved blade against her scythe, disarming her. Kara froze in shock as her weapon clattered to the ground meters away. Now it was your turn to be the calm and the storm.

You approached her slowly but spun your blade like a baton, tossing it wildly from each hand in a disorienting whirlwind as she narrowly avoided each pass of the blades. Her fingers twitched impatiently, no doubt yearning for a weapon. Her wings began to tense and you readied yourself for an attack. 

In a hasty attempt to halt your pursuit, she thrust her wings forward and up. You casually leaned back, her wings missing you entirely. It was a reckless decision on her part; her entire body was now defenseless. You took advantage of the opening to strike at her shoulder, causing Kara to cry out in pain. You then swung the shaft of the twinblade at her legs, knocking her to the ground. Before she could scramble to her feet, your blade was already pressed against her throat. She raised her arms in surrender, acknowledging you as the victor.

The other Valkyries erupted in applause causing you to jump. You were so absorbed in your fight you hadn’t noticed them stop and watch. You grinned at all the attention, then extended your arm to Kara to help her up. She shook your hand vigorously, thanking you for such an exhilarating fight. The other Valkyries quickly surrounded you, clapping you on the back as they praised your skill.

“And to think she won’t join us,” Sigrún bemoaned, earning a spirited laugh from you and the others. 

As the crowd of Valkyries broke up, you spotted Týr waiting for you at the edge of the courtyard. You bid the group farewell and headed towards him, proudly holding your new weapon. He smiled fondly as you approached, uncrossing his arms to take your weapon and place it off to the side for you. Turning back to you, he bent down to plant a chaste kiss on your lips which you eagerly received. It was almost comical how he stooped to reach you and how you had to stand on your toes slightly.

“I hope I did not make you wait long,” you began. “I got distracted.”

He chuckled, a sweet, rumbling sound that warmed your heart. “No worries, my love. You were putting on quite a show. I was distracted myself.”

You blushed at his praise, rewarding you with another chuckle from the tall god. 

He glanced at the twinblade he had leaned against a wall. “A very impressive weapon. You’ll be keeping it, I assume?”

“Yes, I was quite taken with it. Though I hope I never have to put it to real use.”

“With the way things are going, I hope that remains the case,” he said wryly.

“Why, what happened, Týr?” you glanced around warily to make sure no one was eavesdropping.

“Oh, the usual. Mimir and I trying to keep my father in check. Damage control, if you will,” he remarked quietly, then cleared his throat to hint that it was not safe to speak further. At that moment, a raven flew overhead. 

You gave him a knowing look and he nodded in affirmation. So Odin was still Hel-bent on antagonizing the giants. The reason Týr had been called to Asgard so suddenly was to discuss the “Jötnar threat” with the All-Father. Odin was becoming more suspicious of Týr’s involvement with the giants with each passing day, so inviting him to speak on the matter was just a false show of diplomacy and an attempt to get information. 

Mimir on the other hand, being Odin’s most trusted advisor, had more swaying power and used that to the advantage of your cause. You imagine that Mimir had to get very creative to convince the All-Father not to send Thor out on yet another killing spree.

Týr sighed as he picked up the twinblade, which looked more like a twig in his hand. “Come, let’s go home,” he said, offering his free hand to you, “we can talk more over dinner.” 

And where we’re not being watched, you thought bitterly, resisting the urge to glare at the raven circling overhead. You took your husband’s hand and began the long trek back to his temple to return to your home in Midgard.

Chapter Text

You were broken out of your reverie by Freya’s gentle hand on your shoulder.

“(Y/n), are you ready to go now? We will be heading back to Midgard soon.”

You blinked your eyes rapidly, realizing you had been staring into the campfire for quite some time. “Yes, but there’s something I must do first,” you replied, an idea forming in your mind. “I’ll meet you at Týr’s Temple when I am done. I won’t be long.”

“What is it, if I may ask? I can help you if you’d like.”

You appreciated the offer but shook your head. “Thank you, but no. This is something I’ve been putting off for a long time, a memory I’ve avoided facing. It’s best if you go with Sigrún and the others. I’ll be fine.”

Freya nodded in understanding, she had done her fair share of confronting the past as of late. “Of course, I understand. Be safe, my friend.”

You collected yourself and exited the camp, making your way to the gateway. You stood before it and hesitated for a moment, fingers trembling around the travel stone in your grasp. What you had set out to do would bring back painful memories, sure, but it had to be done. Týr would not want you to be ruled by your grief, he would want you to endure and live on. Doing this would honor his memory.  You took a deep breath and stepped through the door.

You emerged in Midgard a little way east of the Lake of Nine from a gateway only you knew existed. You could barely make it through the door as a thick layer of snow had nearly buried the archway.  A dense forest stretched out before you and despite most of the plants being stripped of their foliage due to the frigid cold, it was still nearly impossible to see through the thicket in front of you. All of this was intentional, of course. There was no visible path for the sake of hiding this place from prying eyes but you could navigate this place blindfolded. You trudged through the forest, underbrush snatching at your clothes, using your sword to cut down any branches in your way. 

You were grateful to find the protection stave still intact even though it had been many days since you last checked on it; a little trick Laufey had taught you. You continued your trek, being mindful to not make too much noise or leave any tracks for anyone or anything that might try to follow you. This place had remained untainted by the presence of those who wished you harm for many years, and you would like to keep it that way.  A path opened up as the trees thinned, a bit overgrown and concealed by snow but otherwise traversable.  Your heartbeat quickened with every step, your pulse so loud in your ears you could barely hear the forest around you. The time to confront what you had been avoiding was drawing near—it terrified you. 

Then, a house came into view—your home. A sanctuary Týr had built away from the All-Father’s prying eyes. You hadn’t been back here since joining your friends in their mission to stop Ragnarök or, at least, their attempt to. It would have been risky coming back here anyway as Odin had proven his ability to bypass protection staves when he went looking for Kratos and Atreus.

You had the severe misfortune of running into Odin and Thor several days ago when they were on their way to strike a deal with Kratos. They had caught you by surprise when you were out hunting; you hadn’t noticed that a raven had started following you when you were tracking a deer that had left the safe zone around your home. It was already too late when you noticed your hair begin to stand on end. Ever the stealthy one despite his imposing physique, Thor had stepped out from behind a tree, Mjölnir in hand. 

“So you did survive our last encounter,” he had said, referencing a time when he had been sent to kill you after Týr had disappeared. “I won’t make the same mistake twice.”

“Yes, you better not. Next time check that she’s dead, don’t just assume. Though that’s what I get expecting you to use your head.” 

You whipped around to find Odin standing with one arm outstretched. The tattoo was missing meaning that Huginn was out…out following you. A mass of black feathers rushed past your ear and into the All-Father’s arm causing the tattoo to reform across his skin like ink bleeding on paper. 

“Well, I would hate to disappoint you again. Why don’t you take care of her this time since I can’t seem to do anything right?” Thor said through gritted teeth. You nearly pitied him but were sobered as you remembered that he had tried to kill you. 

“Very well, I’ll make this quick. We’ve got places to be.” Odin shrugged and slammed his staff on the ground, the tip transforming into a spearhead.

“Oh, am I not worth your time?” you scoffed, trying to mask your nervousness from being cornered by two very powerful gods.

“No, not really,” he said haughtily as he examined the rings on his fingers. In the blink of an eye, he rushed at you, spear aiming for your chest. You unsheathed and parried with your sword in one swift movement. The stinging sensation of static running up your legs and through your body alerted you to Thor barreling towards you. You jumped out of the way as he swung Mjölnir at your head, instead disintegrating a nearby tree in a shower of splinters and sparks. 

Odin took advantage of you being preoccupied with avoiding having your skull crushed and jabbed at your torso. You realized too late what he was doing and didn’t side-step quickly enough, the spear slicing a gash into your stomach. Your vision fogged and you clenched your jaw, resisting the urge to scream. You didn’t want to give Odin that satisfaction. You were outnumbered and injured; to stay and fight would be foolish. So you ran. Clutching at your bleeding stomach, you sprinted blindly through the forest, stumbling occasionally over tree roots. Thor began his pursuit, using his hammer to knock down trees blocking his path. 

He was beginning to catch up to you when Odin called out, “THOR! We don’t have time for this! Save that energy for the other one! I’m tired of playing cat and mouse.” 

“COWARD! You can’t run forever!” Thor bellowed as he hurled his hammer at you in frustration. It missed but came so close that a bolt of electricity arced and shocked your arm. He reluctantly recalled Mjölnir and returned to Odin’s side. You didn’t bother looking back and kept running, knowing that if you stopped, you would collapse from the pain.

After running for what felt like an eternity, you found a small cave to take refuge in. You had run in the opposite direction of your home, not wanting to give up your only safe haven’s location. You collapsed against the back wall of the cave and lifted your shirt to assess the damage, biting the hem with your teeth to keep it up. It was a nasty cut; you were lucky Odin didn’t gut you. Thankfully, you kept bandages in your pack and began to wrap them around your torso to stop the bleeding. The action of moving your arms to bandage the wound had you seeing stars from the excruciating pain and you bit down on your shirt as a strained scream made its way through your gritted teeth. 

Once you were done, you closed your eyes and focused on your breathing as you tried to heal your wound. You were very fortunate to have the ability to heal yourself like this. Not all gods possessed this ability, and the ones that did could do so with varying degrees of success; some could heal instantly, some over a longer period. Týr had shown you how to hone this ability once when you had gotten injured on a journey. You could hear his voice in your mind: “ Breathe deeply, acknowledge the pain but don’t let it overwhelm you. With each breath, your pain will subside and you will heal. You are safe, you will make it through this. Just breathe.” 

Sure enough, your wound was slowly mending, your skin and muscle slowly rippling and stitching together. It was an odd sensation that you don’t think you would ever get used to. After several minutes of focus, the gash was half closed and the bleeding mostly stopped. It would still leave a scar once you were fully healed, though that was better than being dead. The combination of running for your life and healing had exhausted you, so you opted to regain your energy instead of risking passing out from fatigue. 

Suddenly, you heard a thunderous clash in the direction of the Lake of Nine. The walls of the cave shook violently, causing stones to rain on your head from above. You assumed that Thor had managed to find whoever he had been searching for. The rumbling and flashes of lightning continued for several minutes, and you reluctantly left your temporary hideout out of fear of the walls caving in.

You limped your way through the woods, hoping to use the commotion from the fighting as cover. Pain still radiated through your abdomen with every step, forcing you to take it slow. Eventually, the crashing of lightning stopped and it seemed as if the forest around you held its breath. You needed to get to a better shelter and fast. A rustling from behind broke the silence and you whipped around. The sudden movement caused a bolt of pain to shoot through your body, nearly making you double over. You widened your stance and drew your sword as the source of the noise grew closer.

You held your breath as you saw two figures emerge from the bushes. Except, it wasn’t Thor and Odin, it was…

“By Ymir’s nutsack, (y/n), is that you? No offense, you look like shit,” Brok crudely observed.

“Yeah, yeah, nice to see you too Brok,” you said with mock annoyance.

“Brok! Can you not be so vulgar? She’s clearly hurt,” Sindri scolded his brother. “I am sooooo sorry about that, Lady (y/n). He can be such a…” he trailed off.

“Asshole?” you finished for him with a smirk. 

“Haha uh yeah… no comment.” Sindri laughed nervously.

“Well fuck both of you then!” Brok grumbled, crossing his arms angrily.

Sindri returned his attention to you. “What happened to you? Don’t tell me…Thor and Odin came after you too?”

“Well, more like I ran into them, but yes this is Odin’s doing,” you gestured at your blood-soaked clothes. 

“Hmm, I know a thing or two ‘bout fucked up inlaws,” Brok stated with a sage nod.

“Wait, really?”

“Nope! But I sure can imagine!”

You shook your head with an exasperated sigh. “Who were they after then? They wouldn’t come to Midgard for no reason.”

“Oh, so much blood…” Sindri gagged as he glanced at you. He took a deep breath and regained his composure. “We assume that they’re after Kratos, that’s why we came out here to check on things. Then we ran into you. Oh wait…you don’t know who that is do you?”

Your eyes widened. “Kratos? The foreign god who killed Baldur and Thor’s sons? I know of him. If Odin sent Thor after him…well, I hope he can live up to the legends I’ve heard.” You recognized that name from stories Týr told you of his travels to Greece before the fall of its gods and from mutterings you heard as you snuck past raider camps. 

“Naw, that fucker’ll be fine. He ain’t that easy to kill. Like a damn cockroach, that one.” Brok mused.

Sindri thoughtfully stroked his beard. “Say, you’re a long way from home and in rough shape, (y/n). While we go check on Kratos, you can catch your breath at my house. It’s in the Realm Between Realms. There’s a gateway nearby I can send you through.”

“Sure, I have one of these,” you pulled a bloodied travel stone from your pockets and offered it to Sindri. You realized your mistake and handed it to Brok instead. “Can you add it as a destination?”

Sindri sighed in relief when Brok snatched the stone from your hand.

“Where the fuck didja get this thing?” he asked, holding it close to one eye as he studied it intently. “This here is some fancy-schmancy shit I ain’t ever seen before. And I’ve seen some pretty fancy shit in my life.”

“It was a gift from the giants that Týr modified for me. I declined the Bifrost eyes they offered, so I received this instead. It mimics Yggdrasil seeds but only my touch can activate it.”

“Now that is impressive.” Sindri inched closer to get a better look, though still maintaining a healthy distance.

“That hubby of yours always had a knack for gettin’ around. Let’s hope I don’t screw this up fer ya,” Brok remarked as he gave the stone a firm whack with his hammer. The stone shimmered with a multitude of colors and the Huldra Brother’s sigil lit up on the surface. 

“Yer all set, lady!” He tossed the stone back to you.

“Thanks you two. I won’t hold you up any longer. I hope everything goes well.”

“Anytime, (y/n). Don’t be afraid to make yourself at home!” Sindri replied with a smile.

You greatly appreciated his offer as you knew that cleanliness was sacred to him. “I promise I’ll clean up after myself, Sindri. I’ll be seeing you both!” you waved at the brothers as they made their way to the lake to find Kratos.

Afterward, you found the travel gate and went to Sindri’s home to get cleaned up. Staying true to your promise, you cleaned up any blood you got on the floor when you changed your bandages. After some time, Sindri returned with Kratos and Atreus and introduced them to you. To your pleasant surprise, Mimir had managed to escape his imprisonment, though you wished it didn’t come at the cost of his body. 

Atreus was elated to meet you and informed you that he had reason to believe that “Týr” was being imprisoned in Svartalfheim. You had desperately wanted to go with them but were still too weak from your injury and the immense amount of energy it took to heal it even just a small amount.

What was originally intended to be a brief stay, turned into you vowing to assist the Spartan and company with trying to stop Ragnarök. Though that plan fell through and left you where you are now—with Ragnarök looming on your doorstep and immense grief that gnawed at your sanity. Hopefully coming back home would alleviate that somewhat.

Your scar ached from recalling the encounter you previously had, and you absentmindedly rubbed it in an attempt to soothe it. You approached the front door of your home as you made your way through what used to be the garden; now desolate from Fimbulwinter’s bite. You paused and looked up at the house. It was partly built into the side of the mountain, both for security and proximity to your giant friends. 

As you stepped onto the front porch a squirrel jumped out from under the stairs, in between your legs, and back into the woods nearly giving you a heart attack. You’re not sure who was more frightened: you or the animal. Other than the signs of the uninvited guest, nobody had trespassed in your absence.

You opened the front door and stepped inside, a welcoming warmth washing over you—when Týr was planning the construction he had taken advantage of a natural spring for heat and water, along with many other magical implements. He always had an eye for impressive and innovative architecture. 

Light fixtures made from modified Alfheim light crystals flickered to life and illuminated the entryway and living room with a warm glow. The house was not overly opulent, not as ornate as his temple, but it was certainly not a humble residence either. Týr proudly displayed all manner of treasures and trinkets in your home, wanting to be reminded of the people and places he had seen on his journeys. Anyone who did not know him might think he was materialistic and self-centered, as the Aesir believed. Týr was simply a very passionate collector who would eagerly explain the origins of any piece if asked. You fondly recalled how his face would light up as he would tell you stories of the foreign lands he had been to, eager to share his knowledge with someone who shared his enthusiasm. 

You slowly made your way through the living room, glancing at the decorations spread about the space. Greek amphora adorned one alcove by the fireplace to your left, an Aztec calendar hung next to the stairs surrounded by smaller jadeite figures and masks. To your right was an impressive kitchen filled with all sorts of cookware from all around the world, and a cabinet of Chinese porcelain sat against the wall next to the dining table. Týr loved to cook and always brought back new tools and techniques to experiment with new recipes. You always teased that you would eventually need a bigger kitchen.

You would love nothing more than to cook yourself a warm meal and have a long rest in your bed, but you shook the thought from your mind. You could not keep running from this forever. It seems Thor was right about one thing. In the back corner of the room and under the stairs, was a door leading down into the basement which doubled as a storage room for all the relics that did not fit upstairs. That was where you must go.

The door whined loudly as you tugged it open, not having been opened in many years. You normally avoided coming down here at all costs. Your hands were shaking as you tentatively stepped down the stairs. A thick layer of dust covered the floor and shelves, flying up into the air as you made your way into the storage room. You pulled the collar of your shirt above your nose to avoid coughing from all the dust. The room was dark but the lantern Sindri had given you provided enough light to make out a few weapon racks and display cases meant to hold weapons in case of an emergency, as you and Týr did not glorify needless fighting like the Aesir did. Only a few were souvenirs from Týr’s travels.

On the wall, one of Týr’s spears sat covered in dust, surprisingly untarnished despite years of disuse. When he was much younger, the spear was used for its intended purpose though still much more responsibly compared to his Aesir kin. He kept it as a memento of his youth and as a reminder to always choose the more honorable path, hence why it became a decoration rather than a tool of war. 

You combed the racks to no avail; unable to uncover what you were looking for. Your search grew more frantic as you began to run out of places to look. You couldn’t quite remember where you put the weapon as you had tossed it in here in a moment of hysteria when it became too painful to look at after Týr’s disappearance. 

You jumped when your foot got caught on a tarp jutting out from under one of the display cases. You knelt down and pulled on the corner of the fabric causing it to unroll and send your prize clattering to the ground. A rapturous cry escaped your lips and you snatched it up to examine it. The twinblade was still here and relatively unscathed. You ran your fingertips delicately across the hilt. What you were most focused on finding, more so than your blade, was the inscription Týr had engraved into the hilt. Using the fabric it was wrapped in, you wiped years worth of dust and grime to reveal the words:

“Swift strike; Righteous purpose”

You closed your eyes and sighed deeply, placing a reverent kiss upon the etched words, dust and filth be damned. Your eyes watered as you remembered the promise you made Týr. When you first brought the twinblade home, it was a memento marking a small victory against Asgard—stealing an instrument of destruction from them. Týr had taken it to the Huldra Brothers to make adjustments; making it more suited for you and adding his own touch in the form of the etched words. 

“Take this weapon and give it a newfound purpose. By your hand, let it be a beacon of justice, not of destruction. If the time ever comes that we must defend the peace, will you fight for justice, even if I am not at your side? Can you promise me this, (y/n)?” he had said as he knelt and offered the reborn weapon to you.

“I promise. I will defend the innocent from injustice until my last breath.”  

You were ashamed that you had hidden this away, even if it was due to your grief.  A pang of guilt shot through you and the tears that had welled in your eyes spilled down your cheeks. One of the most important reminders of your marriage and husband and you had neglected it because of your cowardice. Would Týr be disappointed in you? Perhaps he wouldn’t, he was always patient with you. You found yourself getting angry at his tenderness when you first met him, not used to being treated with such kindness, and skeptical of his motives. Through him, you quickly learned that not all love was conditional.

You had still kept your promise, to a degree, as you made every effort to continue Týr’s legacy on your own over the past several decades, fighting off Aesir oppression whenever possible. Now you could truly fulfill his wish with the weapon before you. You and Týr found the idea of standing up against Asgard with one of their own weapons to be poetic. It brought a smile to your face even now. 

With a deep breath, you fastened the twinblade to your back and made your way out. You stopped in the living room and took a moment to bask in the warmth of the fireplace before heading back out into the cold. When Ragnarök was over, you hoped to return to some sense of normalcy, perhaps even restore your garden and plant Týr’s favorite flowers once more. He could never pick just one, you remembered with a wistful smile. Maybe it was naive, as there was no guarantee that you all would succeed, but still, you held onto that glimmer of hope. It was all you had.

“I will finish what you started, Týr,” you thought aloud, voice dripping with resolve. “I swear it.”

With that, you exited the house and made your way to Týr’s Temple to regroup with your comrades.

Chapter Text

The trip back to Týr’s Temple was unnerving. Somehow both serene and tense, like you were walking both to your doom and salvation. It was as if every animal, every plant, and every river was waiting with bated breath. Fimbulwinter had spread its influence across the nine realms with ease, so it was plausible that just the prospect of Ragnarök had all of creation sitting on pins and needles. Now as you began walking across the frozen Lake of Nine, that same tension seemed to emanate from the ice, amplifying the already brutal cold. 

The helmet of Týr’s statue came into view, smoke billowing out of the eyes from the fire lit within. The temple was very close, and you could already see the faint columns of smoke rising from the bridge where your allies had gathered. It would be selfish to keep them waiting any longer, yet you wanted just a moment to collect yourself, as the emotions that had overwhelmed you earlier were beginning to resurface. You stood under the helmet, using the fire to warm your hands as you tried your best to calm yourself. You did not want anyone to see you like this. There were more important things for your friends to worry about.

Returning home to retrieve your weapon had certainly alleviated your grief, to some extent. It felt like a small step in the right direction; still, much like the precipice that the world seemed to be teetering on, you too felt uneasy. It felt as if a weight was simultaneously being lifted and dropped upon your shoulders at every moment. You had not traveled that far on foot, as you had used the gateway to go back to the lake, yet your very bones ached with a fatigue that you could not begin to describe. Was it all of the emotional turmoil of the past day setting in? Was it fear? You were being overwhelmed by a disorienting torrent of doubts and grief. Just as it seemed to let up, it was crashing down on you like an unrelenting storm, which irritated you, your throat feeling tight as you held back tears of frustration.

The “what-ifs” of your situation plagued your mind. What if you had noticed there was something off with the impostor sooner? Could you have saved Brok? “Týr” had insisted on going back to your home, which you had thankfully declined for wanting to focus on the mission. What could have happened if you had granted Odin access to the only true refuge you’ve ever known? You had found it odd that he seemed so nonchalant when you apologized for hiding your twinblade, claiming he didn’t want you fighting anyway. Of course he wouldn’t want you to; it was all Odin’s plan to get in your head to try to make you turn your back on your mission. You’re sure he took some sick satisfaction in trying to make you abandon a cause that was so meaningful to you and Týr, and in knowing that he successfully fooled you into thinking he was actually your husband. If things had gone any further… oh, how the thought repulsed you. Though as Freya said, there was no point in driving yourself mad dwelling in the past; there was no way you could have predicted any of this. 

The only consolation you had was knowing that if you did die at Ragnarök, you would at least die with a part of Týr by your side. Maybe death wouldn’t be so bad… you could finally be with him–

No, no, no… “NO!” you said aloud, voice reverberating loudly within the helmet and echoing into the surrounding area. You winced, hoping no one on the bridge heard your outburst. You scrunched your eyes shut and vigorously shook your head, trying to chase the unwanted thoughts from your mind. Entertaining such thoughts would be of no benefit to you or anyone. The lives of every being in the realms depended on you giving your unwavering dedication to the task at hand. You could not keep permitting yourself to be distracted. 

You inhaled deeply and took a moment to read the runes etched into the helmet:

“Win Minds; Not Wars”

“Oh, Týr…I’m afraid we don’t have a choice this time,” you whispered to yourself. “Though, perhaps if you were here, you’d agree.” He most certainly would. Týr wasn’t perfect, he had his moments of naivete, but at a time like this, you knew that he would have wasted no time coming to the defense of the realms, even if it meant taking up arms against his home. After all, you had both promised to defend the peace, no matter what it took.

You adjusted the straps of your weapons and exited the helmet, running your hand along the runes as you left, and made your way to the elevator for the bridge. The snow crunched lightly with each step and you pulled the hood of your cloak over your face to shield it from the sting of the howling wind. You stepped onto the elevator and fought with the crank as it was partly frozen. With a final forceful tug, the elevator shuddered to life and began to rise. You anxiously wiped at your face and fixed your clothes, trying to erase any visible signs of your misery. It was likely just paranoia, but you didn’t want to take the risk of someone noticing. Your facade was so fragile, that if someone were to ask if you were okay, you were sure you’d have a breakdown.

The lift slowed to a stop and you stepped off. The bridge had been converted into a makeshift base, for the time being, lined with numerous tents and campfires for your allies. Ahead of you, you saw Freya conversing with Sigrún and Eir. Sigrún was the first to notice you approaching and she nodded in approval when she saw the weapon on your back. Freya turned around, eyes widening in surprise.

“Ah, (y/n), I’m glad you’re back. I was beginning to worry.”

“Sorry I kept you waiting. It took a lot of effort to dig this up,” you replied, gesturing at your twinblade. 

Freya gave you a knowing smile, understanding the hidden meaning of your words. She had suspected that you would be retrieving something that reminded you of Týr; the same way she always wore her necklace with Baldur’s name.

“You’ve traveled a long way, why don’t you go have something to eat? We don’t plan on leaving until the morning anyway,” she said as she gestured to one of the large fires. “When you’re ready to rest, your tent is over there.”

“Thank you, Freya. I’ll be seeing you.” You waved at the group and made your way to the fire, eager to regain your energy and rest your weary legs.

You approached the fire where Kratos was sitting with Mimir propped up on the bench next to him. Atreus was off to the side chatting with Freyr and Hildisvíni. There was a stew brewing over the fire, the aroma making your stomach growl and your mouth water.

“Mind if I join you both?” you asked, though the question was mainly directed at Kratos.

He gestured at the seat next to him. “Sit.”

You sat next to the Spartan, fully enjoying the comforting warmth of the fire and the relief to your aching feet. You went to reach for a bowl, but Kratos held up his hand and served you a generous helping. He handed it to you and you smiled in thanks. You resisted the urge to shovel it into your mouth and ate a spoonful. It was rich and savory, making you sigh contently. 

“Ah, nice to see you, lass,” Mimir greeted cheerfully. “Where were you–ah…I see.” He immediately recognized the twinblade on your back, correctly guessing the reason for your absence. He was as perceptive as ever.

Kratos followed Mimir’s gaze.

“That weapon,” Kratos motioned with his chin. “You did not have it before.”

“Yes, you’re right. I’ve…not used it for some time.”

“It is important to you.” It was a keen observation.

You nodded. “Týr, he…he had this fixed for me. Gave it a new purpose, and I made him a promise. It was too painful to look at after…” you trailed off, suddenly becoming very ashamed to admit this to Kratos. But it was the truth and there was no point in hiding it. “After he disappeared, I hid it…like a coward.”

He gave a short grunt and stared down at his feet. A shadow seemed to hang over him. For a moment, he was lost in thought. Perhaps he too thought you a coward.

He raised his head suddenly, turning to look at you. “You cannot change the past, only how you move forward from it,” he stared directly into your eyes, the sudden change in tone unnerving you. “Do not focus on your past failings. What matters is that you are a coward no longer.”

“I–thank you Kratos, though I feel you are giving me too much grace if I’m being honest.”

He pulled his blades from his back, staring at them with a complex expression. Sadness. Hate. Nostalgia. All seemed to swirl within his amber eyes. “I once tried to ignore my past, falsely believing it would make me a better man. We do not gain anything by fooling ourselves. We will only cripple ourselves with regret.”

He gripped the handles tightly once more before putting the blades away on his back.

“I did not know Týr, but I know he was a good man. I do not think he would be angry with you. I have far more red on my ledger than you yet my wife loved me despite my failures, as I am certain Týr loved you. We must be better moving forward to honor them, and to protect the ones still with us.” His voice softened at the mention of his late wife, but his eyes betrayed a deeper sorrow. You recognized the feeling all too well.

“I appreciate your words more than I can express. Thank you, Kratos.”

“It is what you needed to hear,” he said plainly, not directly accepting your thanks as expected.

He looked at you again, the previous sadness dissipating from his eyes. “Since it has been some time, will you remember how to use it for the coming battle?”

“Did you ever forget how to use those blades?” you countered, pride slightly wounded at his insinuation.

He huffed in mild amusement. “No, that I could never forget.”

“So then you know my answer.” You were being very unfair to him. It was a valid concern as you could possibly slow everyone down if you didn’t know what you were doing. Still, his question made you defensive over the possibility that you may not be able to use the weapon as Týr intended.

“I suppose I do,” was his reply.

You sat awkwardly for several moments, then Kratos calmly stood up.

“I will be back.” He walked over to Atreus and struck up a conversation with him, Freyr, and Hildisvíni. It was just you and Mimir by the fire.

“Did I overstep?” you asked quietly.

“No, I wouldn’t worry. Trust me, lass. You would know if you offended Kratos.” Mimir reassured you. Still, you felt ashamed at your snide comment.

Mimir noticed that you were still not satisfied with his answer and sighed.

“You needn’t worry, (y/n). Truly. He understands. You’ve been through Hel and back. No one expects you to act like a saint.”

“I know, Mimir. I’m just not proud of losing my temper. Especially, with my friends.” You hoped that your retort truly did not offend Kratos as Mimir had assured you. It had nothing to do with him, and everything to do with your grief and insecurity.

“Well, it’s a good thing you feel sorry. A truly horrible person certainly wouldn’t give a shit? Right, lass?” It was a horrible attempt at cheering you up, which somehow made it funnier. You snorted and shook your head.

“Goodness, that was just awful wasn’t it? I’ll just shut up from now on.”

“I’ve heard much worse from you,” you teased.

“HA! I can’t argue with that!”

You both chuckled, the tension you felt easing somewhat.

“If I may ask, what made you go back for it after all these years?”

You took a moment to choose your words, stirring your stew before answering. “I figured it was better late than never. I am deeply ashamed of not staying true to my promise to him. I can’t ask Týr for forgiveness, but I hope to make things right and prove I am worthy of my own.”

“Ah, yes, we are our own worst critics after all. I know it hasn’t been easy these past few days, Hel, these past several years. Regardless, I’m proud of you, and I know Týr would be too,” Mimir said earnestly, looking at you with a smile.

“Thank you, old friend. That means a lot.”

“Anytime you need an old man’s ear, I’m here for you.”

You smiled and your eyes watered slightly. Mimir was always looking out for you, which you greatly appreciated. When he first started working for Odin, you didn’t trust him initially, but he quickly proved himself to be one of your dearest friends. 

“Go on, lass, don’t let your food get cold. You’ll need all the energy you can get.”

Your stomach rumbled loudly at his reminder of the stew sitting on your lap. Mimir burst out laughing and you playfully rolled your eyes. You wasted no time resuming your meal—you were starving. It was a good meal considering the circumstances. Nothing could ever compare to the meals Týr would make, but this hit the spot regardless.

Kratos must have wanted you to be rolled to your tent because you were not even halfway done with your dinner and you were stuffed. You put your spoon down and stretched, noticing that Mimir was looking at you with a longing in his eyes.

“Are you alright, Mimir?” you asked, worried by his forlorn expression.

“Aye, it’s…nothing, just lost in thought was all.” He avoided your eyes.

“I must say, you haven’t changed at all. You’re still a horrible liar,” you quirked an eyebrow at him, not falling for his lie.

He opened his mouth to protest but instead sighed in defeat. “Alright, alright, you got me, lass. I just…does it taste as good as it smells? Lately I…well…I don’t feel hunger for obvious reasons but still, I’ve been feeling this…craving. Like a phantom hunger. I don’t know what’s gotten into me lately.” His lips trembled slightly as he spoke.

Your heart broke for him. Mimir tried to act as if he didn’t care about his predicament, but in rare moments like these, you couldn’t begin to imagine how upsetting it must be. Where even the smallest pleasures in life are now inaccessible to you and you are at the complete mercy of those who care for you. How incredibly lucky he was to have Kratos as a companion who treats him like a brother, and not a bastard like Odin who would use him with little regard for his safety. You shuddered, not wanting to think of what would happen if Odin ever got ahold of Mimir in this state.

You contemplated how to best comfort him, then had an idea. “Would you like a taste? I know that’s not much, but it might help scratch the itch.”

Mimir stared at you in shock for a moment, then spoke. “Sure, why not? Might as well, since I might not ever have the chance again.”

“Here.” You scooped a small portion of the broth of the stew and gently placed the spoon to his lips. He took a small sip and closed his eyes with a shaky sigh, savoring the taste. It was the most he could muster considering he no longer had a stomach.

“Oh my…It’s these little things that make me… miss me old self,” he whispered, voice cracking slightly. Strangely, there seemed to be tears forming in the corners of his eyes. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.” 

“Oh no, no, thank you, dear. Nothing like a healthy dose of nostalgia every once in a while.” You noted that the tears you had seen were of joy and you were happy that you were able to help in some way.

“Tell me about it. It’ll never quite compare to the real thing, but we can pretend, so that’s something.”

“Aye, it truly is.”

You and Mimir said no more, enjoying each other’s company as you ate some more of your stew. Up here on the bridge, despite the looming battle, time seemed to stop as everyone bonded over their meals at every fire. Was it to distract themselves from the inevitable? Of course. But it was pleasant all the same. How ironic that the most peaceful you’ve felt in ages, is right before you set out to war.

Kratos returned after several minutes to collect Mimir. As you saw him approach, you stood up and walked over to him. If he was confused by you hurrying to speak with him, he did not show it. He lifted his head, acknowledging your presence.

You cleared your throat. “Kratos, I’m sorry for snapping at you earlier. That was uncalled for, especially since you have shown me nothing but compassion since we first met.”

He grunted. “Worry not, I understand. I was wrong to question your skill with a weapon so dear to you. I trust you as a warrior, and as a friend,” he paused. “I would have said the same if I was asked that question.”

“I know you’re probably tired of hearing this, but thank you again, Kratos.”

The corner of his mouth lifted into an almost imperceptible smile. “You’re welcome. You should rest soon.” 

You laughed, “Oh, trust me, I plan on it. See you in the morning.”

He nodded, then went to go grab Mimir. You turned and made your way to your tent, eager to rest your aching body.

You saw Atreus and walked up to him. You hadn’t had an opportunity to speak with him since…the incident. His eyes lit up when he saw you.

“(Y/n)! I was wondering where you were. I got worried when I saw you weren’t here then–whoa! I’ve never seen anything like that before.” He peered curiously at the weapon on your back.

You smiled at his enthusiasm and took it off to show him. “I took this from Asgard many years ago. Týr had it fixed up for me. I’m glad to finally put this to use the way he intended.”

“That’s so cool! You’ll have to show me how you fight with that when all this,” he gestured vaguely at everything, “is over. I know you’re probably exhausted, so I’ll let you rest.” 

His optimism was more than welcome at a time like this and was rubbing off on you.  “Sure thing. When we make it out of this I can teach you a thing or two. Good night, Atreus. I’ll see you in the morning,” you smiled and patted his shoulder as you began to walk to your tent.

“Good night!” he called out, waving to you as he went to his own tent.

You waved back and closed the flaps of your tent behind you. You carefully laid your sword and twinblade off to the side and crawled onto your bed roll, the call of sleep becoming irresistible. For the first time in many years, you had a dreamless sleep, as if your mind decided to be merciful due to Ragnarök. Nonetheless, you were grateful.

The chatter and bustle of people outside your tent woke you out of your deep slumber. You rubbed your eyes and grumbled, annoyed at your sleep being interrupted. Reality quickly caught up to you and you remembered why it was important that you must wake up. Though, a small part of you wished you could rest for longer. Who knew how long it would be until you could sleep this peacefully again? 

The noise outside grew louder.

“Shit.” You shot up and peeked through the flaps of your tent. 

Luckily, people had only begun clearing out the camp and hadn’t begun to gather for the battle, so you had time to collect yourself. You buckled the straps for your weapons and fastened your sword’s scabbard to your waist. Before, strapping the twinblade to your back, you ran your hand along the hilt. 

You kissed Týr’s inscription and whispered, “I will keep my promise…even if it kills me.” You heard your allies begin to gather outside and placed one more quick kiss on the hilt before securing it to your back and hurrying outside.

Kratos was standing at the head of the group, having accepted the position of general. You could not think of anyone else more fitting to lead the battle at Ragnarök.

“To the temple,” he said, then marched toward the door, everyone quickly following behind.

Your pulse pounded in your ears as you entered the realm travel room; it had been ages since you had last stepped inside and it was saddening to see it in such disrepair. Kratos stood up on the steps in front of the Asgard gate and began to speak. It was clear to you that all that you had heard of his past was true. For a man of few words, he certainly knew how to make them count. His experience from many battles won was apparent. Younger, more bloodthirsty leaders would have used colorful words and raised their soldiers into a frenzy. Kratos did not offer blind optimism, nor did he dampen your faith in your comrades. He spoke with a measured calm that eased your nerves without putting you in denial of the dangers to come. 

Odin knew you were coming; that was unavoidable. You may not know what would await you once you invaded Asgard, but you trusted your comrades with every fiber of your being. At this moment, you had the utmost faith in all of the armies waiting to be called to Ragnarök. Victory was not guaranteed, but the passion, the dedication, and the desire to fight for the freedom of the realms was. 

Kratos raised Gjallarhorn to his lips and you swore your heart stopped. The horns bellow resonated within your bones and you felt the very fabric of reality ripple around you. All of the realm gates activated one after another, illuminating with a radiance you had never seen even when the temple was in its prime.

The time had come: Ragnarök was here. 

Kratos turned back to look at you all, brow furrowed in determination. “Ready yourselves,” he said, then turned around, leading the assault on Asgard. As you charged through the gateway, you drew your twinblade, reveling in the feeling that you had so dearly missed all these years. You did not know what awaited you on the other side, or if you and your friends would even make it out alive. But you did know one thing for certain: whatever happened, you would have no regrets.