His Queen | Book 1

Thirty Three: Mortal Men

A young man stands on the peer in Brooklyn surrounded by hundreds of other soldiers like him waiting to board. He stood alone, feet lined with his broad shoulders. Jaw wound tight. One hand gripping the shoulder strap. He stands among the young mortals of Midgard most with no experience of war. He could tell by the boys crying in the arms of their mothers they were afraid.

He turns his chin away from the sight.

Unlike the mortal men he stands with on the peer, he was not one of them. He might resemble them, wear their clothes, but he had centuries beyond their understanding. This war... the war to end all wars. He often remembers as a boy his own mother telling him war stories. Sitting in the lap of his grandfather Iwaldi with his brother as he retold those times as a King, fighting for his realm.

He remembers the feeling of empowerment and inspiration he felt listening to those stories.

Those feelings have changed to something more sinister leaking beneath the facade he puts on. He was in search for something. What? He doesn't know.

That same feeling he felt as a boy? He knows he will never feel that again no matter what war he fights on what realm. He is the second son, of a second son. He owns no tittles but that of Prince, God of Vengeance.

A duffle bag slung over his shoulder this boy stands firmly as those around him cried as their families sent their young boys off to war, most to never return. He gazed up at the ship rocking on the oceans gently as the break of dawn tried to warm the peer.

The weak rays of this realms sun cannot even warm his cheeks despite finding a spot to relish in. He is an unusual looking boy. Sharp cheek bones, but soft alluring features that gave him his mothers small nose, plump lips and the most piercing eyes of the blue you have ever seen.

He looks around at all the men and boys crying in the arms of their mothers or kissing their wives a final goodbye. He thinks how fleeting their lives are. So minuscule to the years he has lived and the pain he has endured. It's present on his face. The grief held down his broad shoulders and slumped his head most of the time.

The young prince hears a whistle and his battalion number being called out. Those around him began to shuffle towards the loading ramp prying their arms from the women who cried and pleaded, please don't leave!

The sun had risen a little more to cast down a little more light and the street lamps had switched off. As Vali puts his foot down to turn towards the loading ramp something catches his eyes. A face so familiar he could pick it from a crowd of thousands. A face that gave him warmth and comfort since he could remember.

He gravitated toward them carving a path through the crowd. "Mother?" his mouth hangs open shocked and confused. His dark eyebrows are pulled together as he approached her. He can't understand how she was here.

When he finally reached her he pulled her into a tight embrace. "What are you doing here?" he asked, concerned. He speaks with a thick Asgardian accent. Almost whisper like with a roughness behind his tone.

"I was sent to find you." she replied. "It is so good to see you again, son." she beamed brightly. Her hands hugged his arms gazing him up and down in a mortal mans uniform. "Are you well?"

He nodded, glancing to the left of her. "Odin sent you?" he remarked.

His mother pushed for a smile. "The tesseract was stolen." she said. "Heimdall told me so. He has been watching over you."

Vali huffed and raised his head looking over his mothers head. "I am my own person, I do not need to be babysat constantly." he shot. "I told Odin I am capable of doing this."