The Benevolent Warrior (Fandral Fanfiction #1)

[7] Resurrection

Fandral would be the last to admit that he once envied the Princes as a boy. He envied the hall, the praise and the promise of glory. He was, of course, deterred by the prospect of leading an entire realm. He was content the small, loyal life he led, serving the realm as best he could.
But now, he envied nothing about the throne. There was hardly anything left. The entire ceiling had collapsed, the shards of Asgard's history lay waiting to be put together. He looked up, and by Odin he shivered at the history depicted there. It was a painting of a horned villainess, clad in green and obsidian.
"Hela," he gasped, his eyes gliding across the depictions of slaughter and purging. Odin stood beside her there, his smile proud. Fandral felt sick. He faltered and stepped back, not daring to look upon it again.
Suddenly Loki's transgressions faded slightly. "Odin, what have you done?"
***
Footsteps called for Fimbuldraugr to awaken in Fandral's grasp once more. He turned swiftly, his stance cured of horror and instead inclined to attack. A shadow moved in the corner, busied with some kind of firearm. Heavy boots, Fandral noticed, and much heavier armour. The shadow became a man.
"Aren't you supposed to be dead?" It was Skurge. Fandral could never rid himself of the image of those strange markings on his hairless head. Skurge kept his weapon trained on him.
Fandral stepped back and raised his hands. "Skurge, please."
"Is anyone else with you?" he sounded bored almost.
"No," Fandral shook his head, sweat trailing down his temple.
There was something Skurge couldn't get his head around, it seemed. He lowered his weapon for a mere second, earning a sigh of relief from Fandral. "How did you do it? Make it back?"
Fandral was taken aback by the question. "Wh-I... I... Odin..."
Skurge nodded, making his own conclusion. "I see. What did you offer him? Did you exchange your-"
"No!" Oddly, it was indignation that fueled Fandral's cry now. "No, I didn't give him anything. It was him he gave me something." He caressed the hilt of Fimbuldraugr and smiled. "Someone."
Just as Skurge made an effort to understand what he meant, his attention was arrested by the sight of an arrow slicing through the air. He raised his weapon and fired as footsteps frantically echoed in the throneroom. But he was too late. The arrow had clipped his shoulder. He fell to the ground and he clutched his wound, eyes glistening at the sight of the body opposite him.
"You said you came alone!!" the accusation sas directed at Fandral. For a moment, Fandral didn't move. He couldn't think. He just saw her lying there, blood seeping though her tunic.
"Ashildyr," the name, even then, tasted sweet.