When Varce landed on Sakaar as a child the only thing she could remember was her father's whisper,
"We're going to war."
But she wasn't alone. Sakaar was covered with lost souls without families, all with the same goal to escape the Grandmaster's g...
"King Laufey, please!" A rugged-looking frost giant begged his ruler. He carried his new born daughter in his arms as he begged at the king's feet to not cast the infant out.
"I told you, out!" Laufey slowly got up from his ice-cold throne and kicked the parent away with ease, only leaving the baby within his reach. The child was apparently what was called Mis-born and it wasn't meant to of come into this world or even exist.
The king had been uncontrollably full of rage ever since the first wave of Asgardians that arrived at Jotenhiem and attacked his people. The worst part had been that the enemy Odin Borson had taken away the ruler's only son.
"I will dispose of the creature myself." He crouched down and snatched up the small child easily and held it in his clenched fist, "you, on the other hand, go home before I dispose of you too."
"C-can I at least wish her farewell..?" The Frost Giantess' father gasped for breath with every move he took and almost collapsed when attempting to stand properly.
"No! You will leave now!"
"If you dare to interfere with the pro– " A distant neighing stopped the king in the middle of his threat. His kind never rode horses so he knew for sure what was about to happen, "They're here..."
Laufey quickly threw the child at the ground and replaced the empty fist with an Ice Sword that all rulers of Jotenhiem held at war. His temper had shockingly changed from angry to impossibly furious at the sight of faded blonde hair and golden armour getting closer to him.
"Odin." The King spat in disgust as he mumbled the all-father's name. It had been centuries he had wanted to kill Odin but now it was his goal since the Asgardians dared to start a war so they could steal away the Jötunn's Casket of Ancient Winters.
Within mere seconds war started around them and the poor child and father were left undefended. The father - Gønféar - was usually one of the highest ranked warriors ever but this time he was too weak by emotion to even try to kill. All he could focus on was her.
Gønféar shouted and scolded himself every time he almost tripped over the short way to his daughter's side. She was crying desperately for someone to notice her pain for the whole way and every time her voice broke and she let out her already-signature giggle afterwards he would always try and shush her down to make sure the Asgardians didn't take her like they took Laufey's son.
"It's okay, it's okay, it's okay my little girl, Gønny's got you..." Gønféar wrapped his arms around the baby and pulled her into his chest in desperation to keep the soon-to-be-orphan safe. He knew he wouldn't make it out of the war alive but he didn't want to believe she would be going with him too.
"You will be okay my little misfit." He kept his face close to his daughter the whole wait until his death. He didn't want to have to die but he knew that death was better than surrender.
The seconds ticked by like hours and the tension that filled the air could be cut with even one of the most bluntest knives. Gønféar could of sworn he heard the tick of a clock ring in his ears like a bee on a midgardian summer's day.
Every clash of a sword and scream of the fallen caused the Frost Giant to cringe. Usually he would be jumping over dying friends, ignoring their cries, to get to the main battlefield, but today he was the one who would be stepped over, stabbed, dragged away with metal chains encircling his body. The irony almost made him laugh at the fact he was giving up his life for a child that may not even survive for 5 minutes alone. A child that may not even grow up to live a normal life. A child that won't even remember his sacrifice for their life on the day of the dead, the day that everyone only saw one half of the picture...
"We got one!" A thick-accented voice called from not that far away from Gønféar and his child that continued to make little laughing noises in his arms. The sound of boots on snow and metal clashing on the iced floor first appeared, then started to get louder in the soldier's ears. This was it, this was the moment he had been preparing for, torturing himself for, wishing for.
Take me.
"Hold him still!" A silver-haired man in gold armour commanded 3 other Asgardians that stood near him. They listened and 2 of them grabbed the Frost Giant's shoulders while the last pushed him down into his stomach. More voices then filled his ears, not physical ones: memories from his own childhood.
"Come on scrummy, get up and fight!"
"I already told you, surrender is the lowest of moves!"
"Jötunns are more than just frozen creatures with no hearts, we care too!"
"Listen, son. I don't mind you loving someone, just promise me you will never put their life in front of yours, because you are special. Special people don't need to be weak, promise me to be clever when I'm not around, son. Promise me my little Gønny."
"Any last words, Frost Giant?" A skinny, ginger man snapped at the father angrily. Both of his hands were tightly squeezing the prisoner's left shoulder and his legs were either side of their blue arm.
Gønféar just looked up to face the Asgardian - and death - in the eyes and smiled genuinely, "We're going to war."
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