Death's Princess

The Cloaked Lady

Hello, all! I am so so so so sorry for my lengthened absence. This chapter seems a bit longer. Will that make up for it? I doubt it... I hope you all haven't given up on me, as I still very much love these stories and these characters. I hope you'll continue to read. Things get a little bit more complicated in this chapter... I hope you enjoy!

~Hela

"I don't know what to think of him, Frit. He's so hard to place." Hela was lying in the bed of grass by the river. A few feet away, the black cat was lying as well. His back stretched, he seemed very content to sit there in the sunlight. The cat's eyes were shut, feigning sleep. Hela knew he was awake, though. "What am I supposed to do?"

"Whatever you like," Fritjof replied easily.

"That isn't helpful, Fritjof," Hela huffed.

She thought she heard the cat chuckle, but it might have been the wind. "Should I let him help me?" she asked, turning her head to gaze at the sleeping feline. "Can he even do anything to help me?"

"My dear, I certainly do not know," the cat answered, sounding very uninterested.

Hela's eyes flickered in annoyance. Fritjof continued, "That perfume you're wearing doesn't cover the stench, by the way. The smell of decay is not something one can over up."

The girl's eyes widened at the cat's words and she held up her hands in front of her face. Pale, skinny fingers, and a silver and emerald ring on one finger. A gift from Tony Stark himself, though he would never allow her to read too much into it. "Happy Month Early Birthday, or whatever," had been his exact words. He had been drinking, too.

"What do you mean, I smell like death?" Hela asked.

Fritjof stretched. "I mean exactly as I say," he replied, "Exactly as it sounds."

Hela's eyes narrowed and she sat up to glare at the dozing cat. "You're useless, you old mongrel," she snapped.

This time Fritjof really did laugh, and rolled onto his stomach before standing and stretching his back. He yawned and sat, momentarily licking his paw. "My dear, your problem is that you try too hard to hide what is obvious. You try to find the answers to your problems, but you do not try to find what the problem actually is first. But how can you come up with a solution if you don't know the equation?" He yawned.

The girl raised an eyebrow. "All right then," she said firmly, "Then tell me, what is my problem?"

"Your problem is the thing keeping you from seeing the reasoning behind the solution," answered the cat lazily.

Hela let out an annoyed shout. "Oh, you awful cat! Why can't you ever just give me a straight answer?"

Fritjof chuckled, now walking towards the canopy of trees across the river. "Because, Princess, as you say, I am a cat." He hopped across the stones, landing gracefully on the other side. "And for as long as any civilization can date back, there has never been a feline to give a straight answer."

The cat disappeared into the shadows of the trees, laughter echoing somewhere inside.

Hela stared after him, contemplating what he had said. Fritjof loved a good riddle, but Hela found that the cat rarely made any sense. She sighed and laid back in the grass again, staring up at the Asgardian sky. It was a beautiful sight, filled with many colors and moons and stars, though it was daylight. She could count the colors. Blue, red, green, orange.

"Hela?" The girl squeaked and sat up immediately at the voice, whirling around to see Natasha Romanov watching her carefully. "There you are. The twins said I might find you here."