(2)The Avengers: The Goddess of the Sea

17

The dining hall was buzzing with conversation. My return went unnoticed so I slipped into a chair and prodded my newly scarred wound. It wouldn't hold forever but it was a lot better than it had been. It would last through the battle at least. The soldiers and civilians around me talked about anything that would get their mind off the impending doom. All I could seem to think of was my life back in Midgard.

If I died here, I couldn't go back. That seemed to be the only thing keeping me going, the idea of going back some day. But now I didn't have that option. No one was paying me any mind, so I went back to my room to change into my armor. The least I could do was be prepared.

I stood in front of the large mirror in my room and stared at my reflection. The person stared back, looking completely alien to me. My hair was long and black, my eyes were as blue as the sea and I was a lot taller than I had been as a mortal. My armor fit my body perfectly; breastplate, helmet, backplate, shin guards. My trident gleamed gold and menacing in my hand.

Suddenly a trumpet sounded from somewhere outside. Instantly, the hair on my arms stood straight up and fear coursed through my veins. That could only mean it was time. I straightened my breastplate and pushed my helmet snugly on my head.

The palace was in chaos. Soldiers ran everywhere while the children and older civilians made their way down to the bunkers where they would wait for whatever should become of the battle. I hustled through the crowd, hoping to find Freya to fight by her side. The crowd almost swept me right out the front doors, but at the last second I was able to push through and stood alone in the dining hall.

Odin was ushering the last few soldiers out then stopped to talk to Freya. He looked worried, a crease forming in his forehead and his hand absentmindedly pulling at his beard, seemingly out of habit.

"Rán, there you are. How are your wounds?" Freya asked.

"Better. The salt water won't heal it for good, but long enough for me to be of some use in battle."

"Perfect."

"I don't have high hopes for this," Odin admitted.

"Did we ever?" I asked.

"Do not forget to acknowledge why this is happening," Odin replied bitterly.

"Do not blame her, almighty. She is of no fault. Your son—"

"—Is no longer a son of mine. I have given him chance after chance to change his ways. I raised him as my own and he repays me by launching an attack against my kingdom."

"He's in love," Freya all but growled. "The things people do for love can never be understood by those who have not experienced it—"

"You think I have not experienced love?!"

At this point, they were in each other's faces. I stood back, not exactly sure what to do.

"You mean to tell me, Loki is in love with Rán?" Odin continued. He wasn't insulting me but it sure stung a little.

"Of course he is. He's loved her since they were children. Surely you knew."

"All of this is beside the point. I am not a cantankerous person, but ever since she reappeared, I've felt the need to be."

"This is no ones fault, Odin," Freya repeated. "Just face it: saving Loki was the biggest misjudgment you've ever made."

I wasn't quite sure what happened after that, but it seemed as though Odin had slapped the goddess of love across the face. She kept her composure, the only sign of anger being a vein popping out in her neck.

"If we don't get out there to protect our people, I will end up killing you. And that is a promise, Asgardian King."

Freya grabbed my arm and drug me out behind her. Odin's glare was murderous. We emerged outside where the sun was still bloody red and everyone gathered just beyond the steps of the palace. No one spoke but I could feel the fear radiating off of each body, pulsing in waves to the rhythm of their hearts. I took my spot up front, Freya to my right. Eventually, Odin joined us, slipping silently into the open space between Freya and I.

We stood in tense silence, awaiting our inevitable demise, until eventually the fear of everyone around me was too much. Quietly, barely audible at first, I began singing. I pulled back on the power so no one would attempt to end their lives, but it was enough. The fear turned to a blissful level of calm.

My song ended but the calm stayed. Unfortunately, my singing didn't cure my own fear. This was it; I was never going back to Midgard. Contrary to popular belief, gods don't live forever. We live a long time, sure, but we can die as easily as a mortal.

I felt the need to break the silence; it wasn't fair that everyone else was calm and I was drowning in fear. But it wasn't right. My mouth stayed shut. A few things happened at once after that.

First, my sword wound began to hurt, pus began flowing along with blood. Next, as it had in Loki's illusion world, my head began hurting as if someone were drilling into my skull. That only lasted for a moment, but long enough to disorient me. Finally, my name was being called from far away.

Turning around, I watched the palace doors open and the world started spinning as the little girl that refused to listen to orders ran out and straight to me. Eira jumped into my arms and buried her face in my neck. Once again, her tiara was tipping over her eyes, obscuring her vision.

"What are you doing out of the bunker?" I had to work to keep my voice from betraying my frustration.

"You're going to die, aren't you?" she asked, looking up at me with her big brown eyes.

I wasn't even going to answer. She clung to me but I had every intention to march her right down to the bunker myself and tie her shoelaces together so she couldn't move. Maybe that was a bit much, but this was the second time she was in a place she should not have been. And twice is too much when it comes to a war.

But before I could move in that direction, a loud boom sounded behind me. I whirled around, Eira still in my arms, to look in horror upon the Bifrost bridge. If we thought the army in Folkvangr was big, we were screwed. Our army didn't have time to begin marching in that direction before the Bifrost bridge exploded; Heimdall's palace, for lack of a better term, went up in angry flames.

"MY SON!" Odin screamed over the sound of explosions.

He wasn't talking about Loki, he was grieving over Thor who I just remembered was in Midgard.