The Einherjar

Chapter 2- Asgard

CHAPTER 2- Asgard

Sometime later, the foolish warrior awoke. This time, instead of finding himself surrounded by trees in some horrifying forest of death, Alarick woke sprawled out on a cot in a room with walls of grey stone. As before, the norseman woke without any lingering from the blow which felled him. Alarick's fingers drifted low to check on the condition of his breastplate, only to find it had been removed. He wondered quietly just where he'd been taken to now. When Alarick's blurred vision finally began to come into focus, he found a redheaded young man looming over him. Oddly enough he recognized the face.

"Williwulf?" the norseman groaned with sleep heavy in his voice.

"Alarick Svenson," The lad chuckled. "When they told me, you arrived I thought they were lying. After they made you a Lord, I figured you'd die comfortably in your bed." The man's grin was so keenly familiar that there was no denying the fact that he knew him. "I would have waited to come to see you, but when they told me you took a swipe at Captain Brynhild, I had to see if you died a second time." His words were light and welcome. Alarick was astonished to find Williwulf Fjell seated beside him.

"I suppose I am dead." The norseman sat up straight and stretched wide. "It pleases me to find you well." Secretly Alarick wished to escape this bizarre spectacle, thinking to himself that none of this could be a reality. Nonetheless, he carried on as if it were. "My son Theodoric, and your cousins were devastated when we received word of your death. Wulf, I know we did not always treat you like family, as we should have, but that does not mean you went unmourned." Wulf scoffed and nudged Alarick, not at all expecting such a warm reunion. "I was told I was being taken to Valhalla? I don't suppose this is it?" Williwulf laughed and shook his head negatively.

"Nay, but you're not far off. Where once it was across the great divide of life and death, Valhalla is now only a mile or so down the lane." the ginger-haired viking said with a certain playfulness in his voice, which did nothing more than confuse Alarick. "You've landed yourself in a stockade you fool. I have heard of soldiers doing right stupid things, but I've never heard of one attacking the Valkyrie set to save him." Though unfortunate, Williwulf seemed to find a great deal of amusement in what had happened. Alarick felt terrible for what he had done but more than that he felt shame. Shame in the fact that he had let fear move him to such brash action. It took Wulf a moment to conceal his sniggering and compose himself in a more congenial manner. "Oh, don't fret, I sincerely doubt you'll be here very long. The Aesir might have doubts about you, but she certainly doesn't. Brynhild is petitioning the Gods for your release as we speak."

"Why would she petition for me?" The older viking looked quizzical. "I attacked her. When you said stockade, I assumed she had put me here."

"Well, I can tell ya she ain't happy with you, but Bree handpicked you. She would look like quite a fool if it turned out you weren't worth the trip." As the ginger concluded, both men noticed a figure lingering in the doorway. It was Brynhild, though this time the weight of her armor did not burden her. She was dressed much more comfortably now in a soft green silken dress, the trim of which was stitched with a brilliant gold colored thread. Her hair, no longer concealed by a steel helm, was near so golden as the stitching, and carefully braided. Despite the comfortable informality of her attire, Williwulf shot to attention and gave his commander a modest bow. "Aye, Captain, don't be so hard on this one. He's a stubborn lad, but Lord Svenson means well." Neither Alarick nor Brynhild seemed amused with Wulf's play at humor, and so with haste, he dismissed himself. When Williwulf had gone, Alarick rose from the bed, unsure of how he was supposed to address this woman. He was a Lord, or at least he had been in life. Did mortal titles transfer into the hereafter? He had to learn the truth himself. Alarick opened his mouth in hopes of offering an apology, but Brynhild would not have it.