L O K I
Loki did not ask about Amora.
When Frigga appeared in his cell, he did not have to. He had asked about the battle so many times over the last week that the expectant look on his face as question enough.
He ignored the minute smile that formed on Frigga's lips at his concern before she spoke.
"The battalion has pushed the marauders farther back into the forests. There have been few casualties, but our drones and scouts say that the area that they're going into will have a higher concentration of adversaries."
Loki nodded silently, a knot growing in his stomach at the thought of Amora going into the heat of a battle. It's nothing she hasn't done before, he tried to tell himself.
But back then, I was always with her.
Now, he was in this rotten cell, helplessly waiting for delayed news.
"Amora will be fine," Frigga said, having sensed his worries, "She can take care of herself."
"Not if she's too busy worrying over one of her patients," Loki muttered.
Frigga sighed, but said nothing. Instead, she settled on the sofa, carefully folding her hands in her lap. "Amora told me about what happened on Vormir."
It was as though someone had punched Loki in the stomach. The breath left him as a heavy wave of panic washed over him. Panic and betrayal.
How could Amora tell Frigga something so intimate? The queen was a mother figure for the woman, but would the nature of this not have superseded that?
"I had suspected her to have the seidr when I first learned of Karnilla's interest in her." Loki visibly relaxed at her words as Frigga went on. "But she never showed any signs of visions until the dwarf attack, and I thought that was just caused by the weapon that wounded her."
Loki sat down heavily beside his mother, wringing his hands in front of himself. "She thinks that Thanos wants her to be his Seer."
Frigga nodded slowly, obviously not surprised by this. "That would explain why Karnilla trained Amora and Lorelei so ruthlessly. She wasn't training them for herself; she was training them for Thanos."
A shiver ran through Loki. The thought of Amora serving as a Child of Thanos terrified him. She would have experienced such pain under his iron fist. But she also would have been a terrible force to be reckoned with.
"What if he comes for her?" The question slipped out of his lips as a whisper.
A flash of fear passed over Frigga's face, but she collected herself and straigtened. "Well," she said with only a slight tremor in her voice, "if he comes now, she'll be surrounded by an army. And if he comes later, she will not be alone."
Loki nodded, his face becoming set. He would die before he let Amora fall into Thanos' hands.
He only hoped that, wherever she was, she was being careful and wise.
* * *
A M O R A
"I don't think this is very wise!" Emelía called as she scrambled to follow Amora through the underbrush.
Amora finally stopped, crouched at the edge of the treeline. She watched through the leaves as Asgardian soldiers clashed with the mercenaries trying to take advantage of the realm's vulnerability. Without the watchful help of Asgard, Vanaheim had been an easy target.
Emelía dropped down unceremoniously beside her. "I really think that we should go back to the tent," she whispered harshly.
"If a soldier is wounded severely, he'll die before he even reaches the tent." Amora had strongly voiced her distaste with how far back the healing tent was placed behind the frontline. What was the point of them being there if they were unable to save anyone?
"And besides," Amora turned to her friend with a smirk and gave a slight wave of her hand, "no one can see us."
Emelía frowned before glancing down and gasping. She held up her transparent hand in front of her gawking face; then her face scrunched up in question.
"This invisibility spell doesn't seem very effective."
Amora rolled her eyes but still gave a chuckle. "This is only how we can see ourselves. To any other eye, we are perfectly invisible."
Emelía lowered her hand and turned her gaze to the battle despite appearing unconvinced. The sound of swords and shields clashing echoed through the field in front of them. Amora frowned as she watched a young soldier swing his large sword at a combatant twice his size. When did the army start enlisting such young men?
She jumped to her feet when the towering mercenary knocked the boy to the ground. The soldier tried to scramble away, his eyes wide as he looked up at the raised sword above his head.
"Aron!" a voice cried before Amora could move. An older soldier charged forward and slashed at the marauder.
The tall being gave a great cry at the new gash on his arm before swinging his sword toward the man. Amora immediately jumped up and raced forward, ignoring Emelía's protests. Reaching the young soldier's—Aron's—side, she grabbed him by the arm and yanked him up to his feet.
"Move!" she shouted, pushing him.
"No! I can fight!" He jerked away from her grasp and ran back to the other soldier's aid.
The older man was still standing but just barely. His feet dragged as he moved and his sword was no longer held high. Many slashed from the tip of the sword marked his arms and legs.
Just as the man fell to his knees, succumbing to exhaustion, the mercenary swung his sword and Aron reached his fallen companion's side. Amora threw out a hand, shooting out a bolt of magic, but she was too late.
The assailant was knocked several feet back, but he had already made his deadly blow. Aron stared with wide eyes, his breath coming out a choked gasps. His gaze slowly traveled down to the heavily bleeding wound in his chest.
He only managed to turn his head to look at the unconscious soldier by his side before collapsing to the ground.
"Emelía," Amora called out as she rushed to the boy's side.
"I got him," Emelía answered, going to the older soldier.
When she turned Aron over onto his back, Amora felt a sharp pang in her chest. He was stiff, clutching at his chest. His wide eyes darted to her face but came in and out of focus.
He opened his mouth, but only a wheeze and some blood came out. Amora shushed him gently, taking his hands in hers. "It's okay," she said softly, "It's okay. I'm here. You're not alone."
As she spoke, the panic in his eyes faded, and she felt somewhat relieved at having calmed him...but then even the calm faded to nothing.
A tear slipped down Amora's cheek. She had failed. She had specifically come here to save lives and she failed.
With a shaky hand, she closed the boy's sightless eyes and clasped his hands tighter. Lowering her head and closing her eyes, she recited the prayer that she had been taught as a child alongside Thor and Loki
"Aron, I bid you take your place in the halls of Valhalla where the brave shall live forever. Nor shall we mourn but rejoice for those that have died the glorious death."
As the words left her mouth, Amora felt a strange lightness—as though she were being lifted—and then she felt herself fall. Gasping, her eyes shot open and she moved to catch herself.
She stumbled forward, standing on a smooth, marble floor. However, Amora was soon distracted by the gasp that sounded beside her. There he stood; the boy—Aron—looked about them with a look of awe.
Amora gawked and scanned him for his injuries. But there were none.
Suddenly, Aron pulled away from her and stood stiffly at attention, his eyes trained ahead. Amora followed his gaze and found two tall women standing before her, guarding an enormous gate. It was comparable to the doors that one passed through on the Bifrost bridge to get to Asgard.
The women stood resolutely, their gray and gold armor glimmering in the bright sun. But when Amora looked around, she could only see startlingly white clouds.
The two guards were staring at Amora, the dark-skinned guard looked on in open shock and the other—with her brown hair cut short—in suspicion. The wary guard reluctantly tore her gaze from Amora and turned to the soldier.
"Welcome, Aron," she said, motioning to the great gates behind her, "Enter and feast on you and your ancestor's victories."
Amora watched in awe as the Gates of Valhalla were opened before her. A fresh gust of wind hit Amora's face, carrying music and the delicious smell of food. The boy glanced at her, but stepped quickly through the gates, giving the guards an awkward bow.
As soon as he passed through, the doors closed with an even louder sound. The suspicious woman turned back to Amora; her fellow guard had never stopped staring.
"You're the Valkyrie," Amora breathed in awe. She had only heard legends about these women.
"And you are not," the brunette guard said shortly, gripping the sword at her waist, "You are not dead either so explain yourself or I will fix that."
Amora blinked, her wonder fading to be replaced with bewilderment. "I-I don't know," she began slowly, "I was on the battlefield..."
"You don't look like a soldier," the dark-skinned valkyrie said skeptically.
"I'm a healer, a sorceress."
"Sorceress?" the brunette guard bristled, "What dark magic are you using, witch?"
"I'm not!" Amora insisted, "I don't know how I'm here. I don't know why I'm here."
"What's the commotion out here?"
The three women turned to see a blonde standing in the now open doorway, accompanied by two other valkyrie. Amora could have sworn that she had not heard the door make a sound.
The two guards straightened to attention. "Brunnhilde," the brunette valkyrie said, "this sorceress has found a way to compromise the Gate."
"I don't know how I got here," Amora stepped forward, "The last thing I remember is being at that dying boy's side on the battlefield."
Despite her adamancy, Amora was hesitant to approach the woman before her. Brunnhilde—the youngest general of the Valkyrie in Asgard's history—was a legend. While the Valkyries' last battle was shrouded in vague stories and legends, everyone spoke of Brunnhilde's unwavering leadership and determination through the end.
But this woman was not the great general that Amora had imagined. Even though she tried to stand tall, Brunnhilde appeared small and frail.
Her skin that usually appeared glowing in paintings was now pale. Instead of the heavy armor of the Valkyrie, she wore a light tunic with her blue cape pinned around her soldiers and a small dagger at her waist.
What happened to her?
The woman's battle-worn gaze bored into Amora, regarding her carefully. Brunnhilde moved closer, and as soon as she was only a few feet away, something strange happened.
Amora's necklace glowed hotly on her chest. Her hand instinctively grabbed the stone, and its light shone through her fingers.
Brunnhilde looked down at it. "What is that?"
"It's..." Amora hesitated. This is not going to look good.
"It's a soul-keeper," she answered.
The Valkyrie around her shifted, grabbing the hilts of their swords and eyeing her warily.
"I told you," the short-haired guard shouted, pointing a finger at Amora, "She is a witch, trying to use trickery to get into our halls."
"Calm yourself, Inga," Brunnhilde said, without removing her eyes from the necklace. She slowly stepped forward and reached a hand out.
Amora reluctantly unwrapped her fingers from around it. As soon as the general's hand touched the stone, both women jerked as though they had been shocked. With the way that the stone brightened, they actually might have been.
Brunnhilde remained silent, her gaze distant until she looked back at Amora. She observed the sorceress as though she recognized her, like she knew her well.
"What happened?" the dark-skinned guard asked, "Whose soul is kept in the stone?"
The general blinked and a faint smile came across her face.
"Mine," she breathed, "a piece of it."
A murmur ran through the group of women. Ignoring them, Brunnhilde ordered over her shoulder, "Open the gates."
She reached out a grasped Amora's hand, her eyes shining with a brighter light.
"We have much to talk about."
* * *
Wow, this chapter was longer than I had planned. But some important things happened so...
There are a lot of new revelations and new questions! Let me know what your thoughts are!
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