Asgard (The Realm Eternal)
The gold ceiling gleamed, bathed in the honeyed ambiance of late morning. Hel laid on her back beneath it, studying the traditional labyrinth of entwining knots and runes through the silver canopy of sheer silk.
Her restless mind had kept her tossing and turning all night. Her stomach grumbled impatiently, and she promptly lurched upright.
She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, arching her back as she stretched her arms out behind her and tipped her head back. Hauling herself to her feet, she tugged the top blanket along with her. Draping it around her back and across her shoulders, Hel enveloped herself in a woven cocoon of black cotton.
She padded across the marble floor and out onto her personal balcony. A fatigued sigh fell from her lips. She closed her eyes, basking in the warm sunlight. Her eyes reopened as she turned and headed back inside.
Exchanging the blanket for a robe of Prussian blue silk, Hel left her bedchamber in pursuit of the smaller dining hall.
Upon arrival, she took her usual place at the table. In spite of being reserved for the royal family, it was enormous; a lengthy, wide slab of aged oak large enough to seat roughly twenty people. She sat at the far right end, next to the vacant chair her father typically occupied. From the head of the table, the Allfather oversaw all proceedings, with Queen Frigga directly to his left.
However, at this time of morning she would be dining alone. A breakfast feast of roasted meats, smoked fish, baked goods, preserves, and fruits had been set out on platters by the kitchen staff.
Hel took a silver dish from the stack of plates and began compiling her breakfast from the spread. Plopping a slice of wholegrain bread onto her plate, she slathered it in nut butter, then selected a colourful variety of fruit and a few pieces of smoked fish. She dug in immediately.
Once the hunger gnawing at her stomach had been soothed, she slowed her pace to savour the remaining fruit that had been reserved for last. Between bites, Hel took sips of black tea.
Nibbling on a juicy slice of green-skinned fruit with sweet, white flesh similar to a Midgardian pear, she gazed ahead absentmindedly. She combed her fingers back through her hair and propped her chin on her hand. Her loose, black curls cascaded freely down her back. She was haggard, the ferocity in her eyes dulled and expression bleak.
She had fallen into an irregular sleep pattern. Lapses of insomnia were followed by crashes of utter exhausted, which then led to oversleeping to compensate. It was a repetitive, taxing cycle. Her affliction of many sleepless nights had a taken a visible toll.
Finished her breakfast, Hel pushed out her chair and arose. Abandoning her empty plate on the table, she began the return walk to her bed chamber.
The past year and a half had not passed quickly for her; every minute of each hour of the day had crawled by at an excruciating pace. During that time, she had kept herself preoccupied with training to avoid thinking about her short stay in Sunnydale nineteen months ago. To avoid her memories of him.
Her strict daily regime was as follows: wake up, eat breakfast, train for a minimum of four hours, break for lunch, train for another five hours, and retire to her bedchamber for a quiet dinner in solitude.
Hel worked diligently to improve her already adept skills in hand-to-hand combat, archery, swordsmanship, strategy, and hand-eye coordination. Pushing her strength and endurance from morning until evening provided her with very little time for deep reflection. The unpleasant concept of her upcoming marriage to Fandral invoked thoughts she did not wish to dwell upon.
However, tonight marked an end to her denial and distractions.
Preparations and planning for the ceremony had been underway for months. The palace was bustling with an array of activity, and every last servant, maid, and cook was in a mad frenzy, scrambling to ensure that not a single detail was overlooked.
Her morning went per usual, but later that afternoon, her interests deviated from the training session that normally followed her lunch break.
For no particular reason at all, she decided to take a hike through the woods bordering the heart of Asgard. She made the journey from the palace to the city outskirts on foot. Upon entering the woodland, Hel admired the endless greenery surrounding her.
Very little light streamed down through the canopy above, and moss cloaked every last stone and tree, blanketing their surface emerald. The forest floor was carpeted in a lush mat.
In spite of herself and for the first time in a very long while, she genuinely smiled.
She continued her stroll along the serpentine trail, hands stuffed into the pockets of her dark grey cloak and hood pulled up over her head. An ethereal, bluish quality tinted the air, lending the forest an explicable aura of mystery.
She came upon a grove. Its entrance was framed by the sturdy trunks of two trees, whose branches outstretched upward and reached for one another. Intertwining in braided knots, they formed an archway. Hel crossed the threshold and delved deeper with each step taken. It was pitch dark within the shelter of foliage. She simply ignited an orb of fiery light in her palm, illuminating the path ahead.
She arrived at the end of the grove, and her eyes fell onto the outline of an object piercing the mossy ground. Crouching low, she scrutinized it. Her conjured source of light glanced off a claymore.
She recognized the rune inscriptions engraving its golden hilt and gleaming blade. It was Tyrfing, the mythical sword. Rumoured to be incapable of missing its mark, to never rust, and possess the ability of slicing through stone and iron as easily as through clothes, it was also said to kill a man every time it was drawn.
Hel clasped her hand around the hilt, bracing herself, and heaved. The toned muscle ligaments of her sinewy arm flexed with the force of wrenching it upward, straining with the exertion.
The blade was swiftly uprooted, abruptly torn from the earth, and she staggered backward as consequence. She gazed scrupulously at her prize, suspicion furrowing her brow. She had expected more resistance from such a powerful weapon; the readiness of its compliance has been entirely unanticipated.
The sword's weight was just right. It felt as though it was meant to be held in her grasp, as if it belonged to her. She drew aside her cloak and slid the blade into one of two sheathes on the black leather belt that hung about her hips. It was a perfect fit.
Hel began the return hike, soon emerging from the extensive grove and winding through the woods. The cobbled city streets were narrow, flanked on either side by stone structures. They were an entanglement of alleyways and corridors, a complex labyrinth, and one could quite easily become lost while navigating.
She was not looking forward to this evening in the slightest.
YOU ARE READING
Gods And Monsters
Fanfiction"Everyone else I've met here is dull as a table lamp. Not that I blame them, of course. It's in their nature. They're just too... Human." "What am I then?" He inquired, his eyes searching hers intently. She smiled. "You're a riddle. I like riddles...
