Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Atreus crouched behind a bush, hoping that he would not be spotted. Angrboda was a few feet away from him, focused on her painting. If he wanted to scare her, he’d have to move quickly; she had very good hearing and excellent intuition.

There was a chance she’d punch or slap him in response, but that was the price he was willing to pay. Startling his girlfriend was too fun. 

Just as Angrboda hunched over to dip her brush, he jumped out, grabbing her by the waist and jolting her backwards with a loud "surprise!" 

She yelped, let go of her brush and playfully swatted at his hands gripping her. "Loki you’re a- gah!" She tried to turn around, but he held her firm against his chest, laughing as she reached over her head to try to grab his hair. 

"Ha, you won’t- ow ow ow ow," Atreus whined as she managed to sink her fingers into one of his braids and yank. He let go of her a moment later, taking a step back and rubbing the side of his head.

"You deserve that," she said. Her arms were akimbo and she was jutting her chin out, challenging him to admit the opposite.

"I did, I did," he said.

After 17 winters passed, Atreus felt he wanted to change something about his appearance. The hair was an obvious choice, and within the next half-year, he grew it out past his shoulders. Now at nearly 19, he only kept the sides of his head slightly shaved, otherwise, his hair was generously braided on the right side, in a manner that resembled his mother's hairstyle. Sometimes he'd wear a headband to keep the hair out of his face, but usually, it'd be freely cascading past his shoulders.

Angrboda liked it, something she remarked on often.  She frequently ran her hands through his hair, usually when they were kissing, and sometimes when he had his head in her lap.

He hoped the former was about to happen, not that he minded the latter.

"I got you though, didn't I?" Atreus asked, a mischievous grin on his face.

Angrboda rolled her eyes, and closed the distance between them, throwing her arms on his shoulders. "You did, but that's only because I'm way too comfortable around you. I don't see you as a threat."

Atreus' hands were back on her waist, only this time with less malicious intent. "You should see me as a threat," he said. "A kissing threat." He leaned in, planting his lips on hers.

As corny as his flirting was, it always worked. Her giggles were muffled by his kisses, and soon they were lost in each other, pausing only to lie down on the nearby grass before enthusiastically continuing.

He was bolder now, not worried at all about where his hands wandered or how close he held her against him. After nearly three years of dating, they were intimately familiar with each other, to the point they could often read each other’s intentions and moods with little clarification.

"Hey, you want to tell me something, right?" Angrboda asked. Atreus was busy placing butterfly kisses on her neck, his hand idly rubbing circles on her lower back. Upon hearing the question, he paused his affections and readjusted his position, so that they were lying on their sides, facing each other.

"I do. I was thinking…."

"You have to leave again." The disappointment was palpable in her voice.

"No! No. Listen, I was away for so long, I don’t want to do that again, not anytime soon." ‘not without you at least’ Atreus thought, but he left that part unsaid.

He had gotten back from a five-month trip merely weeks ago. This time, he had taken his father with him, anxious about facing unknown lands near the sea on his own. In the end, it had been a wise choice. The creatures they had faced were frightening and alien, and the waves were unforgiving. It was there that his sailing skills had been brutally put to the test, along with his stomach. But in the end, it was all worth it.

Not only had they found more giant souls, they had actually found a handful of giants- alive, with families! The joy Atreus had felt was immense, even if most of them decided to stay, and not come back with him to Jötunheim. They had managed to build lives abroad, and were not keen on leaving them. However, the few Giants that had chosen to come back with them had gladly re-acclimated to the empty lands; one even brought his wife and three children with him, and another gladly took residence in Ironwood, not far from the tree house.

"Oh, I’m relieved," Angrboda said, "I know it’s selfish, but I’m so glad you're staying." She placed a quick kiss on his lips. Atreus sighed and smiled. He knew that he had to go back again, at some point; the Giants they had encountered told them about others, further South, in a land with deserts and sloped, triangular buildings, a land that Týr described as ‘immensely fascinating as it is unforgiving’ , and which Mimir called " the river nation with many powerful and feuding gods. "

He had to admit that he was not eager to go there. And when eventually he did end up going, he intended to not only take his father with him, but also Angrboda. Maybe he’d have a vision of her traveling with him across the desert. And perhaps then it would be easier to convince her to come with him. But that would be at another time. Right now, another thought was sitting at the back of his mind. 

"Atreus? Babe?" Angrboda caught his attention using his Midgardian name; she used the two interchangeably, although her preference for ‘Loki’ was clear. It was the name she first knew him by. 

"Oh yeah, sorry!" Atreus said. "What if we did a party?"

"A party?" she repeated, confused. "Like, we get some food and we invite Thrúd and Skjöldr and-"

"No, I mean like a big, big party. We invite everyone around our age, get food, drink, we decorate, we get someone to play music, all that!" He had been thinking about it from the moment he had set foot back again in Midgard.

"Okay, okay I like the idea, but what would be the occasion?" she asked.

Atreus shrugged as best as he could lying down. "No occasion. I just want to have fun."

"I’m in then." She squeezed his shoulder. "But, we’re not inviting the elders, right?"

"Elders? You mean my father?" Atreus laughed, but then quickly made a serious face. "Yeah no, it may get a little wild."

"Especially if we get alcohol," Angrboda said, "and herbs to smoke."

Atreus let out a ‘ pffffft ’ noise. "Come on, we won’t-"

She gave him a knowing look. "We will and you know it."

"Yeah we will," Atreus relented. It’s not as if they didn’t already smoke sometimes, and during parties like this, the stuff would always turn up. Might as well make sure the guests got the good shit from Vaneheim. 

Angrboda was tracing circles on his chest. "What about the location?"

"Thought about it too," Atreus said. "Obviously Midgard, cause everyone can get there quickly and easily-"

"-and we can use Fenrir," Angrboda interjected.

"-of course, we can use Fenrir, and besides, there is this house in the Upper Wildwoods that has been abandoned for a while, but looks to be in good shape. I'm gonna check it out later."

Angrboda then began to ask him about more details, but he waved her off, telling her they’d figure it out as they went. Right now, he wanted to get back to kissing her.

But Angrboda put a finger to his lips. "Didn’t you have to go back to your father?"

"Nah, he said I could come see you. We’re done with hunting for the week, and he wanted to just chop some extra wood." Atreus grinned. "I’m free for the rest of the day." And he dove in to kiss his girlfriend once again.

'Thump, Thump' .

The sound was rhythmical but muted, coming from inside the cabin. The front door aggressively rattled after every thump, as if it were on the verge of falling out of its hinges.

Inside, Kratos had Freya up against the door, and was thrusting into her, every jolt of his hips stable and sure. If he was tired, he did not show it, effortlessly holding up the Vanaheim queen, who in turn had her legs tightly wrapped around his waist, fingers digging into his shoulders, her eyes closed, eyebrows furrowed in blissful concentration as she was rocked back and forth. Unlike Kratos, she herself was not in a state of undress, having merely pulled her garments up- her pants had been discarded before she came to the house.

Their lovemaking was quiet, Kratos grunting every other thrust, Freya heavily breathing, only letting out a moan upon completion.

Kratos was not there yet. "Can I continue?" he asked in a strained voice.

Freya nodded, and Kratos resumed his thrusts, not faltering for a moment, not dropping her down, not even when he finished with a loud half-moan, half-grunt.

A moment passed, and he slowly released Freya, who took a moment to collect herself. "This is the last time," she said.

Kratos gathered his loincloth from the ground, and began tying it around his waist. "This is the third last time, Freya," he said, voice deep and raspy.

She slightly raised her arms in a dismissive gesture. "I mean it this time."

"You said that a fortnight ago as well."

"Oh for- Kratos!" She held out her hands. "We need to stop, I mean it. Neither of us are comfortable with this." She was looking at him earnestly, but he was avoiding her gaze.

"I am not uncomfortable," he finally said, turning his back to her.

"You won't even fuck me in your own bed." The words were not accusatory nor angry, simply a statement of fact.

Kratos sighed, and looked at her. "I cannot, not yet, I'm s-"

Freya put her hand up. "Don't be. I'm not doing this for the right reasons, and neither are you." She shrugged. "Or maybe they are right. Maybe it's what's needed for us to get over our….relationships." The last word was spat out, and Kratos knew she had thought of Odin.

The first time happened a year ago. They had both been after drink, and had just finished an official meeting in Vanaheim with a mix of leaders and notable citizens from the nine realms. Soon, the guests filtered out, until it was just the two of them alone in the hall. Politely, Freya offered another drink and a place to sleep, and Kratos accepted, figuring they'd talk more about future plans.

But as they retreated to the privacy of the guest quarters, the conversation gradually shifted to musings about loneliness, and before either fully realized what they were doing, they were kissing.

To say they were insatiable was putting it mildly. They tripped their way around the room, pulling at each other's clothes and touching each other all over before Kratos backed them into a nearby table.

As he pulled Freya's legs up and apart, she haphazardly cast a spell on the room, apparently 'for silence'.

And silence was needed, because once he sank into her, he let out a loud moan, and then a muted half-growl, desperately trying to not let go right there and then. Freya was no quieter, gasping loudly and clawing at his back. 

After the encounter (and the second one after that), they vowed to not do it again, blaming it on alcohol. They mutually agreed it had caused a moment of weakness, despite neither of them being drunk to the point of incapacitation.

They fucked twice more within the month, each time more heated than the last.

Kratos had been sure that after his longer journey with Atreus, they would not have sex again. And indeed when he paid Freya a visit upon his return, she also assured him that 'whatever they indulged in’ was in the past, and now they could continue on with their lives as friends and co-workers- he as the new God of War, she as the Queen of Vanaheim.

Kratos was kissing her within the minute, and on top of her the next.

It seemed that no matter what happened, they ended up having sex. Like now, when Freya had only meant to return some scrolls, something she could have easily asked someone else to do.

"I don't think there's a point in fighting this," Freya said, dejected. They had both cleaned up and were now cordially sitting at the table opposite each other, drinking a light beverage. Should any company appear, nothing would seem out of the ordinary.

"Are you disappointed?" Kratos asked.

"In myself? Yes." She sighed. "But if it's about the fornicating you're asking, then no, that's not a disappointment." A small smile spread across her lips.

Kratos smiled as well. "Good," he said.

Freya cocked an eyebrow. "And if I said it was?"

"Then I would ask what I should do to make it better."

Freya scoffed. "I hate how earnest you sound. You meant that."

Kratos nodded. "I did."

"Well, I only half-believe you." She got up, finished her drink, and placed the cup down on the table. "Thank you for your hospitality." She raised her eyebrows and snorted at her own choice of words. "I better be going."

"Hm, safe travels," Kratos said, a hint of amusement in his voice. 

She shook her head at him and walked through the door, not looking back.

And so, Kratos was left alone with his thoughts. No one knew about him and Freya, and he wouldn't have it any other way. This was a strange situation, one that by all accounts should not be happening.

He was still grieving. The pain of losing Faye was still fresh, and it haunted him both day and night, the sadness stronger when he was alone. Sometimes, when he looked at Atreus, he was reminded of her, and his mind would fill with bittersweet memories. Not a day went by that he didn't miss his late wife.

So why was he content to be intimate with another? He couldn't understand. He thought he had better self-control, but apparently, he did not.

Perhaps it was the needs of his body, or a base desire for pleasure. But wasn't he beyond that?

He wished he could ask Mimir for counsel. But if he told Mimir, he would have to tell Freya that he had told Mimir, and then he would have to explain why he told him, and then….well it was anybody's guess. If he only got away with a slap across the face, he'd consider himself lucky.

Kratos got up from the table with a grunt. He needed to do something, busy himself to get his mind off his relationship issues. The problem was, there was absolutely nothing to do.

At a loss, he figured he'd go to the forest with Speki and Svanna. Now that it was warm and sunny, traveling across Midgard was much more pleasant. He briefly considered traveling to Vanaheim to get Mimir, who was providing Freyr with council, but figured it'd be best to stay away, lest he end up in Freya's bed again, within mere hours.

Atreus stumbled through the Wildwoods, still a little lopsided from his visit to Ironwood. Angrboda's kisses had turned into fairly enthusiastic fondling, to the point he had to excuse himself early before his own over-excitement showed too much. Besides, she wanted to tend to the animals before nightfall, and he wanted to get started on the party preparations.

He sighed. Where was that house? Atreus sat down for a moment, before getting up and continuing his trek, determined to find the abandoned place. As much as the upcoming party was on his mind, his thoughts kept wandering to Angrboda.

It seemed they inched closer and closer to sex every time they hung out with each other. He wanted it, and it seemed she did as well. It's not as if he didn't think of her when he was alone in bed at night; once, in a rare burst of courage, he admitted as much to her, and she heavily hinted that not only did she think of him, she went beyond that, 'to satisfaction', as she put it. If they were going this far on their own, they might as well include each other at this point, right?

"Oh!" he exclaimed. The house was right in front of him. He etched a rune on a nearby tree, meant to serve as a future travel marker.

Atreus inspected the building thoroughly, relieved that it didn't look bad. It was sturdy on the outside, albeit slightly overgrown with plant life. He entered, realizing that the place had once been an inn of sorts. The hall-like room on the ground floor was large and wide, and could easily fit ten tables, perhaps even a dozen. It was also closed on both its sides by stairs, each flight leading up to a wide interior balcony that lined the upper walls of the hall.

Atreus skipped up one of the stairs, counting eight doors; on the left, seven led to small windowed rooms, clearly meant for overnight travelers, while one led to larger living quarters that housed a broken double bed, a half-room meant for bathing, and a dilapidated wardrobe. A glance to the right side confirmed the room arrangement the same.

Overall, the place wasn't in as dire of a condition as he thought it would be. The roof had no holes, there did not seem to be any mildew, and the grand fireplace at the back of the main room was unobstructed. The only problem was the thick layers of dust and unidentifiable, dark dirty splotches on the walls and floor, but it didn’t look like anything a wet rag and a broom couldn’t fix.

"Huh?" Atreus muttered; he had gone back down, realizing there was a side door near the fireplace. He pushed the door open, and was greeted with a very empty kitchen area that ran parallel to the hall, separated only by a wall. There even was a door to the outside, no doubt to bring in supplies, and many air vents, clearly meant to manage the smoke.

Wait, that meant….

Atreus walked out into the main room and over to the other side of the fireplace. Yes! There was a door, and even more rooms behind it, most likely the cheaper rooms, or the staff quarters.

He smiled to himself and let out a triumphant ‘ha!’. There was plenty of space, more than enough to host a party for at least fifty, maybe even a hundred.

"What are you doing?"

Atreus stifled a startled yelp as he grabbed his knife and spun around, relaxing as soon as he recognized who was standing in front of him.

"Sindri! Shit you scared me." By this point, Atreus knew not to ask how he had been found. Sindri was proficient in dwarf magic, and that meant he could easily step in and out of (most) realms as he wished, and find people with ease.

The dwarf smiled smugly at him. "That was the idea. My question still stands, by the way."

"I was just...uh…"

"Moving in?" Sindri asked. "Although if you are, this place will need a thorough cleaning."

"No no, I…" Atreus sighed. "I can tell you, but don't tell anyone else." He walked through the back rooms, glancing inside. One room had a giant hole in its outer wall, letting in the cool evening air.

Sindri walked stiffly behind him, careful to not bump into anything dirty. "Oh?" He said, indicating he was listening.

"So like, I want to throw a little party for people my age, friends I know, and friends of their friends too, I guess."

"Do you?" Sindri sounded surprised. "Well that's going to take some effort. I take it you're scouting this place as a possible location?"

Atreus nodded. "Or I mean, we could do it at your place." He grinned impishly, and Sindri made a noise of disgust.

"Don't even joke about that you reprobate! The mess would be outstanding!"

Atreus laughed. "Yeah, which is why this place is perfect. It's already dirty."

"Maybe, but you can't invite guests over here. Look-" Sindri took off to the main room, and gestured at the floor. "The floor is filthy, and I count at least three holes. Do you want your guests to break their ankles?"

Atreus shrugged. "I'll tell them to be careful."

Sindri scoffed. "Fine, that settles it. I’ll fix this place up for you. I mean, you don’t even have any tables!"

"Okay, first of all," Atreus gestured to the right corner of the hall. "There is one table right over there, and I’ll just steal some from…somewhere. Or make some."

"Make some?" Sindri asked, tone mocking. "And how do you make a table, Atreus?"

"Uhhh, just find flat wood, and then attach smaller pieces of wood of the same height with a hammer and some nails."

Sindri stared at him in silence, blinking. Atreus couldn’t tell if it was because he was appalled beyond comprehension, or shocked. Maybe a bit of both.

Finally, he spoke.

"Not only am I making the tables and chairs, I’m going to teach you how to make them! Starting now, come on!"

Atreus’ protests fell on deaf ears. "Come on Sindri, I can’t ask you to do all that, and-"

"First of all, I offered, and second of all…." Sindri cleared his throat. "I always wanted to…." he trailed off again, and gestured towards Atreus with his palms up. "...teach you something."

Atreus’ lips wavered, and his expression softened. "Really?"

"I mean, if you’d let me."

"Sindri, that’s, I don't know what to say. Thanks." Atreus shook his head, getting emotional. "Why are you so nice to me?" The question was honest. After the fake Týr turned out to be Odin, Atreus was mortified. He had been the one that had insisted on freeing him, and then led him, without thought, to Sindri’s home, where he stabbed Brok.

Brok had barely survived; had Freya not been with them, he would have surely died, as the knife had missed his vital organs by mere inches. Sindri had been rightfully angry for a long time, fed up by the danger they all brought, and fed up with how they took advantage of his hospitality and generosity. With time Sindri forgot and forgave, partially moved by Atreus’ repeated tearful apologies and Kratos’ earnest expressions of remorse for his own curtness and dismissal of the dwarf. Funnily enough, Brok held no ill will from the moment he got stabbed, mentioning at almost every possible opportunity how ‘cool’ it was that he survived a direct attack from Odin. It annoyed Sindri to bits.

But annoyance was close to fondness, and it was what Sindri felt  both for his brother and Atreus.

"Why am I doing this? Because I love you, Atreus, and you should know I don’t hold any ill against you, or your father, for what had happened," Sindri reassured. "It's all in the past."

Atreus flashed a smile, and outstretched his arms for a hug, only for Sindri to wave him off with annoyance, muttering about how dirty he was. "I’m glad you don’t hate me, Sindri, I love you too," Atreus said. "If I can do anything for you, remember to tell me, I’ll come immediately."

"I could never hate you, Atreus. And if I need help, I will let you know." The dwarf returned a  big smile, his eyes nearly disappearing into crescents. "Now, let’s go make some furniture."

"You see, Odin thinks he’s hot shit, but he couldn’t kill me." Brok brought his hammer down with fierce strength, beating the heated metal into submission. He was working at the forge in Sindri's home in-between the realms. "I will never die, and that shit pig should have known better than to try!" He roared with laughter.

"You already died once," Sindri muttered through gritted teeth. But he didn't want to bring that up again. He and Atreus were on the floor making a table. To the dwarf’s surprise, his young apprentice was picking up the basics very quickly, hammering where he should hammer, and sanding down what he should be sanding down.

"Wow, this is easy!" Atreus said, sliding a piece of neatly cut wood into place. "I think I’ll be able to make a table on my own soon!"

"Don’t get ahead of yourself. We’re making a basic table for now. Try to make a curved marble table, now that’s a challenge!" Sindri exclaimed.

"Marble?"

"Alfheim temple, the white smooth stuff." Sindri said. "Your father’s homeland is known for it too."

Atreus raised his eyebrows. He would have never guessed.

"And also remember," Sindri continued. "This is going fast because I already had some materials cut in the right dimensions. You will need-"

Atreus waved his hand. "I know, I know. You will need more."

"What’s the deal anyway with all this, why you needin’ tables?" Brok asked. He had abandoned his smith work and sauntered over, peering curiously at the nearly finished piece of furniture.

"I’m just teaching Atreus table-making," Sindri said nonchalantly.

"Bullshit!" Brok immediately exclaimed.

Atreus knew there was no point in hiding anything, not from Brok, so he fessed up immediately. "I’m having a party- don’t tell father-and I don’t have tables." Atreus paused. "Or chairs."

"Well damn!" Brok placed his hands on his waist. "Should have told me, I’m helping. I’ll do the fucking chairs then!"

"No! You-" Sindri hissed through his teeth. "Just make sure they match!"

Atreus laughed. "Sindri they don’t need-"

Sindri glowered at him, and Atreus raised his hands in submission.

Chapter Text

The three of them worked all night, making a fair amount of tables and chairs before Atreus excused himself in the early morning. There was still much to do, but he looked forward to it. It was nice to just work on something that didn’t involve prophecy, fate, or anything that was life or death.

Sleep crossed Atreus’ mind, but as he lifted his hand to the mystic gate, he decided to go to Vanaheim. He wasn’t that tired yet, and the more things he took care of, the sooner the party could start.

Atreus stepped through a familiar gateway, jogging through the thick jungle and making his way to Freyr’s. The now king resided in one of the royal houses, a spacious hut covered in gorgeous plant life. It was nice he and Freya ruled together, and it was even nicer that everyone was on friendly terms. A guard nodded at Atreus with a smile, waving him further on, noting that his majesty was in his quarters. 

Before Atreus knocked, he took a moment to lean over the railing of a connecting bridge and look around the realm. It was green, lush, and comfortably warm, nothing like the unbearable humidity during Fimbulwinter. People were milling about; some were taking care of errands or canoeing down the surrounding streams, others were simply chatting and talking with each other. In the distance, the laughter of children playing together could be heard.

Vanaheim had transformed into a happy, relaxed paradise, one few thought could ever be possible again. Atreus was glad he finally got to see it. Satisfied with his brief respite, he walked to the door and finally knocked. It swung open a moment later.

"Atreus, friend!" Freyr looked overjoyed to see him, and greeted him with a tight hug. "I haven’t seen you in a while!"

The feeling was mutual. "Same, it’s nice to see you," Atreus said. "I’m not interrupting anything, am I?"

Freyr shook his head and shrugged. "Just finished with Mimir." He was wearing his traditional vanir garments, and his hair was woven into a tight braid. Outward formality guided him, but his character was still very much carefree, as could be seen by the disordered state of his room.

"Ah and…where is Mimir?" Atreus asked, looking around.

"Oh, sent him off with Freya actually, she wanted to talk to him. Why? Oh, I know, I know, I got you-" Freyr held up a finger and walked over to a small chest. "We can sit down and catch up a little." He was holding a small, inconspicuous bag that had a pungent smell.

Atreus liked the sound of that. A moment later, he gratefully accepted a pipe infused with intoxicating herbs and relaxed in a comfortable, cushioned armchair next to Freyr. He inhaled once, and took a deep sigh. The king was already ahead of him, having inhaled at least twice.

They smoked briefly in silence, listening to the distant chatter of Vanaheim citizens and the calm sound of the nearby running river, before one of them finally spoke.

"Now this, young Atreus, is a premium Vanaheim mix," Freyr boasted. "Not too strong, simply ideal for an early morning relaxation."

"Yeah, this stuff is good," Atreus said. He was already floating away. "I gotta get some for my party."

"Party?" Freyr asked. He leaned over the arm of his chair, his voice taking on a serious tone. "Tell me more."

So Atreus detailed his plans, and admitted that he wanted to offer his guests ‘something good’. "Now, I can only pay for like, a bag-"

Freyr raised his hand. "Atreus, pay?" Freyr scoffed. "Are you crazy? You offend me." He put his hand on his chest. "You saved my ass, twice, and you are just about the coolest young god in all the nine realms. You’re getting whatever you want, free of charge."

Atreus grinned and lazily waved his hand. Sure, he had first saved Freyr from the Einherjar, and then during Ragnarök, he had yanked him through a realm tear, just seconds before Asgard had been destroyed. But Atreus didn’t expect to be repaid in any way, shape, or form. Freyr being alive was more than enough.

"Okay, but, so long as it doesn’t like…." Atreus trailed off, trying to find the words. Perhaps the herbs were stronger than Freyr had advertised. "....cause a great loss to you, I’ll accept." There.

Freyr scoffed and pointed to himself. "Are you asking me, the God of Rain and Fertility, if I have enough to spare? Pfft!" Freyr took another huff from the pipe. "Besides, since Ragnarökended, everything has been flourishing. Rich crops, plenty of food, we don’t know what to do with half the stuff! We just straight up give it to anyone who needs it!’’

Atreus’s eyes widened. "Freyr, I need food. Like now, and for the party too. But wait….am I asking too….much?" Shit, he was very hungry, and also slurring his words a little, and he kept losing his train of thought.

Somehow, Freyr was completely fine. "No you are not asking too much, and you got it- to both," he said. He snapped his fingers and pointed at Atreus. "Whatever you need, you name it. Just tell me when and where, and I’ll deliver it to you. But first, let’s eat." Freyr jumped up and whispered something to one of the guards.

Food was soon brought in, and it was an incredibly welcome sight; after Atreus gorged himself on some choice meats, vegetables, fruits and bread, he began to discuss his recent adventures with Freyr. The king listened intently, chiming in and asking questions here and there.

"So you sailed on a big boat, right into a water whirlwind?" Freyr cocked an eyebrow. "You have guts."

"Yeah," Atreus said slowly. The herbs seemed to be wearing off a little. "It was wild. But I liked traveling. And I’m happy we found some Giants alive too." He was now feeling drowsy, and his senses were comfortably dulled. He closed his eyes and listened to Freyr’s reply.

"No, that's the best thing, really. You’re amazing for doing that, you know," Freyr pointed at him. 

Atreus’ eyes were still closed, but he muttered a simple ‘naw’, even though he was flattered. "What about you? How’s Vanaheim?" He needed Freyr to talk; he was feeling way too sleepy. 

"Honestly? Fine. Everything is peaceful and calm, now don’t get me wrong there is work to do, but it’s all ‘meeting this, meeting that’, or ‘visit here, visit there.’" Freyr was wildly gesticulating with his hands, but Atreus saw none of it.

Freyr paid no mind. "Gotta tell you though, I am doing my best, my sister is counting on me to step up, and I’m gonna do that." He slammed his palm emphatically on the armrest. "Between me dividing my time between here and Alfheim, I’m busy with all this diplomatic stuff. No adventures, like you."

"But you like it," Atreus said, eyes still closed.

Freyr sighed. "I do, in a way, though like I said, I’m no leader." He then broke into a sly smile. "But I do like the attention . A lot."

That got Atreus to open his eyes. "Attention? Do you mean-" 

"Yeah." Freyr was grinning. "I’m a known royal traveling around, also relatively famous for being one of the heroes of Ragnarök, it’s obviously made me quite popular."

Atreus wanted to hear more. "Got an example?" he asked.

"Well." Freyr squared his shoulders and cleared his throat. "Was in Alfheim for the library opening. They generally like me there, obviously, but there was a pair of elves that seemed especially interested in me. They were off to the side, so I made conversation, found out they were actually library staff."

"Uh-huh, and?" Atreus leaned in. 

"Took me to a newly opened backroom," Freyr said. "Hosted me to the best of their abilities, if you know what I mean." He winked. 

Atreus snorted and then laughed. "I envy you. You’re so smooth."

"Oh come on, you’re the one here with a gorgeous girlfriend, and a Giant at that." Freyr playfully hit him on the shoulder. "Tell me how that’s going."

"It’s going well," Atreus said, hesitantly. "I just…" he waved his hands about, unsure what to further say. "...don’t know how to take it further."

"Further? You mean sex?" Freyr asked point blank.

Atreus stuttered and spluttered, but Freyr calmed him down. "Here see, that’s the problem. You’re way too worried about that."

"I am?"

"One, you’re a grown man, you can say sex, and two, don’t overthink it. You love her don’t you?"

"Yeah. So much," Atreus said, a wistful smile on his face.

"There you go, no need to worry further." Freyr waved his hand and gave him a reassuring nod. "She been giving you signs?"

Atreus nodded. "Yeah, I think she has. She’s been looking at me a certain way-"

"Oh get on that then, when a girl is making eyes at you-" Freyr batted his eyelashes exaggeratedly. "It’s a very clear signal. I mean, obviously still ask directly but-"

Suddenly, there were voices near the door. "Oh, that may be Freya with Mimir…..." Freyr began.  

Atreus shot up, eyes wide, realizing he was still high as a kite and in no shape to lie about why he was idling away his time in Vanaheim. "They can’t see me here!"

"Wardrobe!" Freyr hurriedly said, before shoving the armchair against the wall and hiding the plates and pipes just as Freya knocked.

"Yngvi?"

Freyr glanced at the wardrobe- Atreus had managed to successfully hide. "Yeah! Come in!" He called over-enthusiastically. 

"I-" Freya shot him a disappointed look as the smell hit her. "I am done with Mimir." She set the head down on a nearby table. "Could you get him back to Kratos?" 

"At your own convenience, Your Majesty," Mimir said with amusement. 

"Sure, uh, but why can’t you go?" Freyr asked.

"I have some business to take care of, and besides, you are the host." She motioned at him, and Freyr lifted his hands in agreement. 

"Fair. Take care, and we’re still having dinner tonight?"

"We are," Freya said with a smile, and left the room. 

"Hey, Mimir, mind if I leave you outside for a second while I change?" Freyr asked. 

"Of course Your Majesty."

"I wonder why she didn’t want to really go," Freyr muttered as he picked the head up and headed to the door.

Mimir had heard him. "Well, not my place to say, but it is odd. It seems she’s avoiding the realm, and Kratos, for that matter."

Freyr’s eyes flicked towards the wardrobe before turning back to the head. "Do you think they’re arguing over something?"

"Possible. Hard to know. But it is weird- she used to visit a lot more. Now it’s as if she’s making a conscious effort to avoid the man."

Freyr shrugged, and admitted he knew nothing about it. As soon as he set Mimir outside and closed the front door, Atreus crept out of the wardrobe, declaring he was going to sneak out the window. "Thanks Freyr," he whispered, outstretching his arm-Freyr grasped it and gave it a firm shake. "Just, remember, don’t tell dad or anyone about the party," Atreus reminded.

"Lips sealed," Freyr promised.

"Fuck….."Atreus mumbled under his nose as he dragged his feet towards the backyard. He had attempted to sneak into his room, but the moment he approached the cabin, his father materialized out of nowhere, inviting him to go train. It was heavily implied that refusal would not be accepted.

Since Atreus would have to explain why he hadn’t slept, he figured it’d be easier to just go along.  So here he was, following his father out to their private training grounds. Hopefully, the planned exercises wouldn’t be too much of a challenge.

He couldn’t have been more wrong.

His father put him through a series of grueling sword fights, after which he insisted Atreus practice combat and defense with a spear and a shield. That was thankfully less demanding, but he swore he could feel his bones rattle in protest when his father threw his entire weight and strength onto the metal shield he was holding up. 

Thing was, Atreus actually really liked the spear, and he especially liked the Draupnir spear. It was compact, light, and an incredibly powerful magic weapon. Granted, he wasn’t allowed to use it, but if the simple metal spear he was practicing with was even just a tenth of what Draupnir was, he knew he’d love it. 

Atreus told his father as much, and was rewarded with a big smile and a pat on the shoulder. "I am not surprised. You have Spartan blood in your veins," Kratos said.

"So can I have Dra-" 

"No."

Atreus sighed. 

"But, I will have a good one made for you," Kratos said, voice softer. "One that you can carry with you on your journeys," his father said. "But for now, we briefly rest."

Atreus nearly screamed in relief. Everything ached, he was tired and sweaty, and wanted nothing more than to pass out and sleep for ten hours. He washed himself over the bucket of water at the porch, and dragged himself into his room, collapsing onto his bed with a heavy groan. 

Muscles still ached as Atreus made his way, hand-in-hand with Angrboda, to one of the biggest settlements in Midgard, housing not only displaced Midgardians, but also Aesir and Vanir, and even a handful of dwarves. Thrúdwas a frequent guest at the settlement, even though she lived in Vanaheim with her mother. And hopefully, she would be around to ask about the party.

"I liked seeing you with that spear," Angrboda said.

"Yeah?" he asked, shooting her a flirty look. She had come to the cabin some time after he woke up, right when he was idly spinning the practice spear around outside. Coincidentally, he had not been wearing a shirt.

"Mhm," she confirmed, raising her eyebrows slightly at him. "You looked good." Her tone was light, but the words were uttered in a coquettish way, and Atreus puffed his chest up in pride.

He had not only gotten taller, but he had gotten wider; his muscles more pronounced, nothing like his father’s of course, but he was toned, and he knew it made him look good. "Well, I have been working out, exercising, all that," Atreus boasted.

"I noticed, it makes you very attractive." She had leaned her body into his, and Atreus had no choice but to stop and pull her in for a quick kiss. 

"You’re attractive too," he whispered after the kiss, his face hovering inches away from hers. They were facing each other, Atreus’ hands resting on her hips, her’s on his biceps.

"You think?" she asked. "I’ve been getting a little lazy, not swimming as much. But my boobs have gotten bigger at least." 

"They have," Atreus breathed out, shamelessly looking down at her chest. It’s not as if he hadn’t touched them already. "You’re really pretty, you always were," he quickly added, eyes still down. She whispered a soft ‘thank you’ in response.

She was wearing bright yellow garments, accessorized with an arrangement of belts and a dark green corset. The ensemble emphasized her figure flawlessly, especially the aforementioned boobs. Atreus wondered if she liked how he looked; his red hair half-pulled back, his light chest armor on top of his bright blue shirt, thick pants that went into his newly cleaned boots. He'd have to ask her one day what outfits she preferred him in, and then he'd wear nothing else but them.

"I also like this," Atreus said, his fingers gliding along the hem of her surprisingly low neckline. 

"Thanks, it’s one of my favorite tunics," she responded, doing nothing to stop his hand from dipping beneath the hem, fingers brushing the top of her left breast. "What are you thinking?" she asked, voice hopeful.

"Just, um, that- oh." Atreus pulled away. There were people nearby, some of them heading down the path they were on.

He gave Angrobda a kiss on the cheek, and they continued, still holding each other’s hands. "I do want to talk to you, about something, by the way," Atreus said. The words didn’t come out easy.  He adored her so much, to the point his heart ached, so the mere thought of accidentally making her uncomfortable or upsetting her was enough to give him a pause. It’s not that she would get mad at him if he proposed intimacy, or deny him friendship, he knew that. However, the fear of overstepping was very real. "But, maybe we will get to it another time, when we’re somewhere more private." He gestured toward the town that had come into view.

"Promise?" she asked, squeezing his hand.

He smiled and nodded. "Yeah, promise." He had to ask soon. Anxiety couldn't guide him, not with those he loved.

They managed to find Thrúd, along with Skjöldr, sitting and chatting away on a patch of green grass in the middle of the settlement.

"This place is so wonderful!" Angrboda said, looking around. Wooden houses lined their vision, separated by patches of plant life and vibrant gardens, much like the one they were in. There were people everywhere, each preoccupied with their own work. The settlement was still expanding, and there was always something that needed doing.

"All thanks to you though," Thrúd said. "You brought back so many seeds, and good soil from Jotunheim." She scoffed. "Kinda crazy that you, well, are helping us, Asgardians."

Angrboda furrowed her eyebrows, but before she could protest her geneoristy, Skjöldr chimed in with a ‘but I’m not an Asgardian’.

"Thanks man, great timing there," Thrúd said and gave him a playful hit. He in turn playfully nuzzled his face into her neck.

Atreus laughed. He knew the two had gotten a lot friendlier with each other ever since the events from a few years ago, and after a few months of fooling around, they actually got together. Skjöldr changed a lot; for instance, he was taller, just half-a-head shorter than his new girlfriend, and he was wider, with bigger muscles. He had also let his hair grow longer, and his blond hair was neatly braided on the sides, reaching just up to his shoulder blades. Funnily enough, Thrúd didn’t change much. She of course was slightly taller, but her hair was the same, as were her clothes. The only significantly new item on her person was her father’s hammer, which always hung on her hip. Skjöldr was less a creature of habit, having changed his style up a bit; he now wore darker colors and basic leather armor, and more importantly, took up proper fighting. It was why he almost always had a sword neatly hanging in a scabbard at his side.

"Anyways, we’re getting off track here. You were saying Loki…" Thrúd waved at him to continue.

"Yeah, so I want to-"

"We-" Angrboda interjected. "You’re not doing this alone."

"We want to have a party. And well, obviously you guys are invited, but we also need some help getting more guests."

Thrúd raised her eyebrows, and Skjöldr whistled. "What guests are we talking?" he asked.

"Well, our age, more or less. I just…" Atreus laughed awkwardly. "...realized I don’t know that many people my age."

"Yeah, same here," Angrboda said somewhat sadly.

"Aw, but you should invite the general. It’d be fun!" Thrúd joked, and Atreus screwed his face in mock disgust. "Seriously, don’t tell any of our parents," he said. "I’m also getting herbs from Freyr, you know," he said, and outstretched his arms in boastful triumph. "Called in a favor."

"Well, if I wasn’t interested before, I am now," Thrúd said, leaning in. She lowered her voice. "Okay, I’ll get you some cool guests. I know a bunch of fun people from around here. And trust me, they’re all very bored teens dying for some fun."

Atreus looked at Angrboda, who nodded in approval. "We’re thinking about like…50 people? Just enough so it’d be merry, but not so much that it’d get out of control, you know?" she said.

"Yeah, agree with that," Skjöldr said. "I know a couple of nice guys too, some from my training group. They’re chill."

"Then it’s settled," Thrúd said. "Oh, and, I may or may not have a contact who could get us some mead and beer, but trust me, it’d be better if you had someone controlling the amount of drink that exchanges hands."

Atreus nodded, taking Thrúd’s suggestion to heart. There was a reason as to why she didn’t touch alcohol, and was overall wary of it.

"I’ll get someone to do bar duty then," Atreus said, "and I guess, herb duty while they’re at it." No point in everyone being so intoxicated that they didn’t enjoy the party.

"By the way, where are you hosting this thi-" Skjöldr began asking, but his words were cut short when all of a sudden, the ground violently shook. Screams soon followed.

"The fuck?" Thrúd exclaimed, standing up and beginning to run to the direction of the noise. The rest followed, concern painting their faces.

When they finally got to the affected area, they momentarily halted in shock. There had clearly been a powerful explosion, causing a fire that had already spread to two houses. In the midst of the airborne dust and dirt, a group of raiders were attacking citizens, hellbent on killing anyone in their way.

"Fuckers, I will send you to Helheim!" Thrúd roared, lightning overtaking her body. 

Raiders were, unfortunately, still common. Some of them still worshiped the late Odin, others simply sought violence and loot, unhappy that the end of Fimbulwinter had all but robbed them of an excuse for savagery.

But to attack a large Midgardian settlement? That seemed unwise. Especially with gods around.

Atreus, Angrboda and Skjöldr sprung into action, attacking quickly and with ferocity. Atreus dispatched his arrows at lightning speed, hitting anyone who got too close. Angrboda managed to blind any enemy around her with her pigments, after which she would punch them so hard they would go flying a few feet into the air.  Skjöldr dutifully followed Thrúd’s path of destruction, finishing off anyone who tried to get up. 

"Well, that went by fast," Thrúd said. The ground was littered with bodies, which were already dissipating into ash.

"Were they cursed?" Skjöldr asked, panting. 

"I don’t- Look out!" Atreus yelled. A stalker came out of nowhere, clearly cursed with Seithrmagic. She charged towards Angrboda, and instinctively Atreus pushed his girlfriend aside. Undeterred, the creature slammed into him with force, knocking him to the ground and trampling him with its’ hooves, mercilessly stomping all across his torso.

Atreus screamed in pain and frustration, unable to stave off the attack. He held his arms up, hoping to block at least a part of the ruthless onslaught. A hoof kicked him in the head, and then in the throat- Atreus gasped, unable to breath.

It was then that Skjöldr plunged his sword into the Stalker’s side, followed by Thrúd throwing her hammer at it, slamming the creature into the ground in a flurry of lightning. As the pair finished off the aggressive creature, Angrboda ran up to Atreus. 

"Loki? Loki!" she called, nearing tears when he didn’t reply.

Atreus couldn't answer. He couldn’t breathe.

"Shh, it’s okay, calm down," she said, massaging his chest. "Heal up."

Calm. Right. He could heal himself. He forced himself to stop panicking, and just like that, he was okay. The wounds were gone, and he could breathe again. "Shit," he said, struggling up to his feet. Angrboda steadied him, only letting him go when she was sure he was fine.

It was over. The stalker was gone, having also dissolved into ash, and the fires were being put out by the inhabitants. Thankfully, only one house burned down; the other was still standing. It also seemed there were no casualties, although that was still to be confirmed.

"What the fuck," Angrboda muttered, looking around.

Atreus laughed. "Yeah. What the fuck."

"You dead?" Thrúd called out, pointing at Atreus. When she got a weaary nod back from him, she laughed and saluted, and then ran off to the side, Skjöldr following her, no doubt to get some more information about what had happened. 

Luckily, no one had been killed, although a few broken bones and bruises had occurred. As suspected, the attackers had been corrupted by magic, magic that had no doubt pushed them to mindlessly attack the settlement. It would explain the reckless, haphazard onslaught they carried out.

"This is not putting a dent in your plans though, right?" Thrúd asked. They had all retreated to the side, away from the winding down chaos. Lady Sif had been nearby, and stood a ways away, talking to the family whose house had sadly burned down. 

Atreus was sitting with his back against the tree. Angrboda was next to him, her arm wrapped around him, clearly not minding all the dirt and grime and blood he got on him during the fight. 

"Pft, come on, of course, we’re having this party no matter what," Atreus replied. "Woohoo! Party time!" He awkwardly pumped his fist up.

Thrúd stared at him blankly. "How hard did that thing kick you in the head?"

"Pretty hard," Atreus admitted.

Angrboda insisted on taking him home, even though Atreus swore he was alright. "I even talked to Lady Sif without stuttering! You saw!" he protested. Thrúd’s mother had come up to them right before they left, offering thanks. ‘With your quick reaction the damage was minimal,’ she had said, ‘But I also have your father to thank; he was the one that trained everyone. If I may request you to do so, please thank him, on my behalf.’

"I know, and you seem fine," Angrboda replied, "but you know, you jumped in front of it. Like a hero." She giggled.

Atreus tried to shrug it off, but truth be told, he was blushing.

"You know, I am a lot stronger than you. I would have probably ripped its legs clean off," Angrboda said, making a twisting motion with her hands.

Atreus raised his eyebrows. "I would have loved to see that, holy shit," he said. Why did the thought excite him?

They soon arrived at the cabin, and Atreus headed over to the pail outside to quickly wash up. 

"Is father around?" he asked in between splashes of water to his face. He had stripped down to his pants, and had thrown the remainder of his dirty clothes into a nearby bucket. 

Angrboda looked around. "I don’t see anyone. Do you think he heard about what happened?"

"Probably not yet," Atreus said, wiping himself off. He noticed a gleam in Angrboda’s eye; she seemed to be ogling him again. As mischievous as he was, he stretched in front of her, happily drinking up the attention his girlfriend was giving him. 

If no one was around, he could take this further. "Like what you se-"

"Children? You out there?" a voice called from inside the house. 

Atreus sighed. Mimir. 

"Oh, yeah! Hi Mimir!" Angrboda called back, and jutted her thumb to the door. "I’ll go say hi."

"Yeah, right behind you," Atreus said, trying not to let his disappointment show. Damn it! He could have really shown off, and maybe even segued into the big question, but no, Mimir was here. Why wasn't he with father?

"Ah, thought I heard the young ones," Mimir joyfully said. "You just getting back from Jotunheim? I was supposed to be here yesterday, but someone left me outside for a whole night! Not that I mind, the weather in Vanaheim is wonderful, as is the view, and-lad is that blood on your trousers?"

"Oh yeah." Atreus looked down. Looks like he’d have to change his pants too. "But it’s not all mine, don’t worry."

"Yeah lad, I think I will worry. Did something happen?"

Angrboda detailed the events in the Asgardian settlement as Atreus went to the room to change. He chose something that was more snug, but still comfortable; there was his old yellow tunic, made by his mother, but improved upon endlessly by his father as he grew. A twinge of nostalgia overcame him, and he decided to put it on, tying the piece together with the meander sash he had been given as a child. He ignored the armor, hoping it would not be needed anymore today. 

Instead, he planned on cleaning up the house with Angrboda. They could swing by her tree house before, and get some painting materials too, maybe even some dried plants and flowers to brighten up the place. But more importantly, he wanted to get around to finally talking to her.

Oh, and bedding. He could steal some bedding from the closet. Father wouldn’t miss it.

He coyly threw the bedding into a sack, and then out his bedroom window- he had to go around and take it so Mimir wouldn’t see. 

When he walked back into the main room, Angrboda was finishing up the story.

"Insanity! Raiders, still?" Mimir exclaimed. "Well I am glad you are all alright, and the Asgardians as well." His eyes flicked towards Atreus. "Are you sure you’re quite alright, lad?"

"I am, thanks."

"Really? Because it sounds like you got tossed about fairly strongly."

Atreus waved Mimir off.  "I’m fine, I’m fine. Hey, I wanted to go take care of something with Angrboda, could you tell father I’m alright? Where is he anyway?"

"I dunno!" Mimir replied. ""But I will pass it on. You go have fun now," he said, with a wink.

Upon waking up, and noticing Atreus was still fast asleep, Kratos had left their abode in the early morning, oblivious to the excitement in the Asgardian camp.

His destination was Svartalfheim. Brok had set up a permanent shop near one of the local taverns, and was kind enough to do repairs on the axe. That, and he seemed to not mind Kratos’ company- the feeling was mutual. 

To the best of his luck, he encountered Brok in his shop, merrily hammering away at what looked like….mining tools. "Oh yes, this blue hind-sucker isn’t only making weapons anymore! I blame you and your young one!" Brok said when asked. 

There was a twinkle of amusement in Kratos’ eye. "How so?" he asked, wordlessly handing Brok his weapon. The dwarf set about fixing it without as much as a question; he knew what needed to be done.

"Well, back when we all first met, you had me making a key. Then, I just in general started making other things, though I guess that’s Sindri’s influence too. Chairs included!"

"Chairs?" Kratos asked, his curiosity piqued. 

"Ah, never mind that," Brok answered, suddenly quiet.

An inkling of suspicion scratched at the back of Kratos’ mind, but he brushed it away, silently sitting down on one of the small stools in the workshop. "Have the townspeople made trouble for you?"

"None at all! But then again, Sindri was out there saying terrible things. How I was all good-" Brok slammed his hammer down. "-helped make the axe that killed All-Shitter-" He slammed it down again. "-saved a bunch of people, shit like that." Brok discarded the hammer and picked up a red hot poker onto the floor. "Now, not only do people tolerate me- they fucking like me!"

Brok’s words were complaining, but his tone was jestful and, Kratos daresay, happy. Naturally, he tactfully avoided acknowledging it, only grunting to indicate his understanding.

The axe was soon handed back to him, polished, and without the odd nick Kratos had noticed the night before. "Brok, I would like to request a spear. For my son."

"Ohhhhh, and what spear are we talking?" Brok leaned on his workbench. "What magic we putting in it? What metal?"

"I defer to you," Kratos said. "You know Atreus, and you are one of the finest blacksmiths I’ve ever known."

"Stop talking fucking bullshit," Brok said, pounding his fist on the table. "I am the best blacksmith you’ve ever known, bald-head."

"You are," Kratos said, smiling. 

"A spear you will get then."

"I will pay handsomely."

"Over my dead body."

Kratos huffed. "I cannot accept-"

"Fine, you will pay me with your company then," Brok said. "Here, drink with me."

Kratos was not one to turn down a civil invitation, and despite all, he liked to think of himself as a good guest. So he dutifully sipped a beer, listening to Brok rant about the type of work he had, and how some other dwarves were, putting it kindly, ‘half-witted cocksuckers’.

It was half-way through an old tale that word came, in the shape of a fellow customer, about the attack on the Midgardian settlement. Kratos was unconcerned, right up until he heard that his son had been defending citizens, and had gotten trampled while doing so. 

"Dwarf, do you know of anything else?" he asked, mildly alarmed. 

The fair-headed dwarf shook her head. "I am afraid not, High General Kratos, but I do know that no casualties, bar the Raiders, have been reported." 

The words calmed Kratos. If his son had been badly hurt, word would have been swiftly sent to him. He bid farewell, adamant to at least lay eyes on his son for his own peace of mind. Their cabin was the first place he wished to check.

But upon arriving home, he was met with Mimir, who confirmed that indeed, Atreus had been in a fight, and that indeed, he was alright. "And now he’s off somewhere with his loved one," Mimir concluded.

"Hm," Kratos grunted. "He is, as always, restless."

"I just don’t think the fight took too much of a toll on him, brother," Mimir said. "He was in good spirits, and eager to go take care of….well whatever it was."

"But he did take his bow," Kratos observed. The hook on the wall was bare.

"Ah but that bow is fused to him," Mimir said. "Let’s not worry. Instead, let’s talk about Her Majesty Freya."

"Why?" The question left Kratos’ lips aggressively and sharply. 

"Because there is something going on."

"There is not," Kratos said, sentence cuttingly curt.

Mimir squinted. "Normally, I'd ignore the matter, but we've had relative peace for a while now, and the last thing we need is you and Freya getting at each other's throats again."

"I…" Words were difficult to find. "I understand." Kratos kept a straight face. It made sense that for an outsider, his and Freya's relationship translated to animosity, not familiarity of any kind.

"Let me advise you brother. I've been around both her and you for a while now, and maybe we will stop this from turning into a mess, yeah?"

Kratos now had two choices. Either lead Mimir astray with an imagined conflict, or stomp off and refuse to answer. Both would have consequences, but the first would let him control the situation somewhat. One thing was certain: lying that everything was fine was no use. If he did not offer something, then Mimir would eventually say something to someone else. 

This was terrible. He cared. He cared about Freya's feelings and reputation, and was actively bothering with something past him never would-mitigating rumors. Perhaps there was an inkling of him that was frightened of her, but it seemed that to some degree, he was infatuated.

The realization could not have come at a worse time, as Mimir interpreted his cold silence as anger. 

"If you're gonna go off, go off!" Mimir exclaimed. "Don't keep it in."

"I am not angry," Kratos stated truthfully. He began to slowly pace around. "However, I am finding it difficult to communicate with Freya." A half-truth. "We do however conduct our official meetings cordially and with respect." Also true. "Nothing more." A lie.

"Is the guilt back brother? About Baldur?" Mimir asked. He seemed placated by the response.

"It never left." Kratos looked at Mimir. "And I will not let it."

"Alright." Mimir sighed. "I suppose if it is just a matter of unease in each other's presence, then it's not the worst."

Kratos turned to leave, unsure where to go or what to do with himself, when Mimir squeezed in a last breath of advice. "Try to meet with her in an unofficial capacity. Let a dialogue take place. I can be there to smooth over things if you'd like."

"That…." Kratos almost said it would not be necessary. "I will give it a thought."

"Thank you brother."

Kratos stepped out the front door, and made his way to the training grounds behind their home. Aside from a few stray arrows here and there, the yard was neat, Atreus having taken it upon himself to gather up the mess that had been left of their previous training. 

His mind briefly wandered to his son. Atreus still had much to learn, yet he also had already grown so much. Regret seized Kratos, regret that he had all but ignored his son in his younger years, and then not cherished him enough in his younger teen years. 19 winters. Many his age would get married, or already think about children. Had these thoughts already crossed Atreus’ mind? 

He felt the urge to go see his son, but pushed it down. There was no point in being overbearing. He was fully aware he could make an excuse to train, but knew Atreus was mature enough to know when he needed to practice. Besides, his son already suffered a good measure of excitement today. 

Instead, Kratos went to the wolves, content to enjoy their company as he looked for herbs and thought about his relationship with Freya. But to his surprise, neither were there. 

Chapter Text

“Good girl, yes,” Atreus encouraged Speki, petting her head vigorously. The wolf was pulling a cart loaded with a table and two chairs. Her sister was not far behind, pulling a similar load. 

“They’re really strong,” Sindri said, watching the canines pull his masterpieces into the main hall. “Oh by the way, I fixed that hole in the wall. Nothing elegant, but it’ll keep the night air out!” 

“Thank Sin,” Atreus said, and then gestured towards the wolves.  “You know you can pet them?”

Sindri made a disgusted face, and Atreus laughed. There were a few reasons Fenrir didn't come along,

The preparations were going well. Speki and Svanna had towed in more tables and chairs through a tear Fenrir had opened, Atreus had managed to actually get the floors clean, and Angrboda had wiped off most of the dust and grime. Even though more things were still needed, such as bedclothes, dishes and kitchenware, they were closer to being done with the preparations than they were further. 

Atreus wiped his hands on his pants. “Sin, listen, I have to thank you somehow-”

“I told you no need.” Sindri was balancing on the balls of his feet, content with looking at his handiwork being displayed. 

“Yeah but, it feels unfair.” 

“Why do you think that?” Sindri said, genuinely surprised at Atreus’ comment. “I offered myself.”

Atreus threw his arms up. “I feel like I ask too much of you.”

“Again, I offered, and Atreus, what are you going to do with this house after the party?”

“Uh…...haven’t actually thought that far ahead.”

Sindri turned around with a glimmer in his eye. “Well I have. I want it.” The dwarf seemed giddy at the thought, and he pivoted about, studying his surroundings. 

Puzzled, Atreus asked why he would need such a place, and Sindri launched into a detailed, run-on explanation. 

“I don’t actually have a place in Midgard, not since Týr’s temple got fixed up and well, since Týr himself started living there. And it would be nice to have a base of operations and a proper shop- Brok may be now comfortable in Svartalfheim, but I’m still not.”

Atreus had been nodding along, but paused, and furrowed his brow. “What about all the rooms?” he asked. “You don't need that many, do you?

“Unfortunately, after hosting yours truly in my house, I realized I’m a good host. I’ll let people stay, and let it out to people-such as yourself- who want to host events.” Sindri shrugged, and snorted.  “Of course, they will be obliged to thoroughly clean up after themselves.”

Atreus grinned and stuck his hand out. “Deal.”

To his surprise, Sindri not only took it, but shook it firmly, before immediately putting a solution from a bottle on his gloved hands and rubbing it into the material furiously. 

Atreus took no offense.

A moment later Angrboda arrived at the main hall, armed with paints, colorful paper, and candles.

 “You’ll be decorating then?” Sindri asked. 

Angrboda nodded, just as she leaned to give Atreus a kiss. “Didn’t see you for a whole two hours. I missed you,” she said.

Atreus put his hand over his heart. “I did too.”

“Awwwww,” Sindri said. “You two are very cute.”

Angrboda smiled at him and walked off to the side to set up her materials. Atreus moved to go after her but Sindri stopped him, beckoning him down to his level.

“Just so you know, I fixed a couple of the beds upstairs, including that big one.” His eyes shifted to Angrboda's back and then back to Atreus. “You know, in case you two want to spend the night.”

Atreus sputtered and spluttered, somehow coughing out a ‘thank you’ entwined with a passionate protest. “Thanks, but it's not like that, I mean, we-” 

Sindri held his hands up. “I wasn't implying anything by it. Just want you two to be comfortable after working on this place.” Sindri gave him a reassuring smile and walked off, bidding the couple goodbye and promising to return the next day with more things.

“Damn, he is a good host,” Atreus mumbled.

“Huh? What was that about?” Angrboda asked.

“Oh, he was just telling me he’s also making beds. And, apparently, taking this place when we’re done with it.”

Angrboda laughed. “I mean it’s only fair, he’s doing like, half the work.”

“No, yeah for sure,” Atreus mumbled absentmindedly. He slid over to his girlfriend’s side, and snaked his hand around her waist. “So, you gonna be painting?”

She responded by letting her body rest against his, and Atreus faltered for a moment as he felt her full weight against him. “Uh-huh, and we will also make garlands from these colorful parchments,” she said. “By the way, we probably should figure out music soon too.”

Atreus rested his chin on Angrboda’s shoulder. She was so lovely, and he was thoroughly distracted. He would have begged her to leave the project and come make out, but she quickly commanded him into focus, showing him sketches of how she wanted to decorate the wall, and what designs to paint. 

Time began to fly; arts and crafts were as much of a delight for Atreus as they were for his girlfriend. While they both had different tastes, it was always easy to pass the time painting or drawing, and even more so if it was in preparation for a party. 

Before either realized, it was late evening, marked by Speki and Svanna’s whining for their dinner.

“Oh shit, I should get something for them,” Atreus said. He was up on one of the balconies, looping a colorful chain through it. 

“You good on your own?” Angrboda asked, and Atreus nodded, knowing it wouldn't be difficult to hunt a deer for the wolves. “After you’re done, I’ve got some nice fresh bread and dried fruits for us.”

“Awesome! I already have some smoked meats, and cakes for us.” He pointed to a small pouch on a nearby table; the food had been pilfered from the cabin's storage back in Midgard. “But…” He wanted to say it was getting late. “ ….do we wanna spend the night here?” Instead, he floated the idea he realized he wanted so badly to happen. 

“You got somewhere to be?” she asked, and winked.

Atreus gulped. “No. No I don’t.”

Having concluded that the wolves were with Atreus, Kratos restlessly paced in the backyard.

There was nothing to do. He had trained for the day, he had taken care of any odd business that was left to take care of (aside from the herbs), and he had fulfilled any pressing social commitments. 

For a God of War, there was surprisingly little to do. Kratos considered following up about the attacks, and decided that if nothing else, he'd try to find his son and get some more information. He knew in his heart it was an excuse to see his son; nothing pointed to any greater danger, and if anything, Atreus would convey this information to him swiftly and efficiently. However, that didn't matter. Kratos wished to be around him, perhaps especially so since he could see the pull of time tugging at Atreus. His son was becoming older and even more independent, keen on spending time with his loved one, and his much younger friends. Even though they had recently traveled together, he knew his son would soon shift entirely away from him, an eventuality he was not prepared for just yet. 

After notifying Mimir, who insisted on staying in the cabin to read, Kratos headed out on his own, aiming to begin his search from Týr’s temple. Logically, he knew he should start with Ironwood, but he figured he could use the opportunity to visit the former God of War. That, and fool his own soul into thinking he was not that eager to see his son after a mere day. 

The gate yielded to Kratos, and he stepped into the light, walking onto the branches of Yggdrasil. The trip was short, as the connecting gate deposited him footsteps away from Týr’s antechamber, nestled beneath the bridge.

The god had repurposed some of the rooms beneath the travel room into elaborate living quarters. ‘ I can be close to my vault, but I can also step out and see the surface of the lake, be close to the water ’, Týr had justified, and Kratos understood why. The god had been parted for eons from Midgard, suffering in Odin’s freezing prison in Nifelheim. If he could be close to his valued possessions, and live in a realm where everyone lived in relative harmony, he would. 

Kratos seated himself near a lantern with an orange flame. The antechamber functioned as a guest waiting room, and if Týr was up for visitors, he would remerge promptly. If he was not available, the flame in the lantern would turn blue. The solution was a reflection of Týr's reserved, but decisive nature, perhaps one Kratos best experienced in the halls of Valhalla. 

The door opposite Kratos swung open, and Týr emerged. “Kratos!” he exclaimed joyfully, and extended his arm in greeting. Kratos greeted him in kind, clasping his arm and shaking it before courteously asking about how the god was doing.

“Well, I am happy.” Týr's smile was bright. “I still feel I have not thanked you and Freya properly for freeing me.”

“That was a good few winters ago, friend.”

“And I feel as if it were yesterday.” 

Kratos nodded in understanding. If one lived long enough, a year or two went by unfelt, as if it were but a single, long evening. 

Týr continued on. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your presence?”

“I wished to inquire about your well-being.” An interval. “And my son.”

“I am well, and your son? You ask if I have seen him?”

Kratos nodded, And Týr shook his head in response. “I am afraid I haven’t seen Atreus in about a week-”

“A week? He has been more gracious than me then,” Kratos said, with seriousness. His last encounter with Týr had been before his and Atreus’ last trip. 

However, true to his character, Týr did not hold a grudge. “I take no offense- like I said, time is somewhat irrelevant when you get to be above a 100 winters old.” He gestured to follow him. “And I know that as the God of War, you are engaged with many matters.”

Back when he and Atreus fought through Týr’s traps and riddles to deliver Faye’s ashes to Jotunheim, Kratos had held a grudge against the then God of War, despite not having met him. Then, five years ago, his opinion had been drastically altered. First, there was annoyance at Týr's cowardice and regression, followed by abject shock at Odin's deception, and finally, astonishment at finding the true Týr alive in prison. As if that had not been enough, Kratos was further forced to reevaluate his perception of Týr when he had been summoned to Valhalla. Týr’s wisdom and patience stood out immensely, as did his heavy-hitting yet quick fighting style. 

Kratos was silently grateful he needn't willfully submit himself to it again. Instead, he was being invited to something much more pleasant; a drink and a talk in Týr's ornate private quarters. 

Tasteful metallic blue and gold decorated the columns around them as they sat at a crafted wooden table, one Kratos assumed to be from faraway lands, as he did not recognize the style at all. The pale white walls of the round room were lined with shelves brimming with books and scrolls, while a large desk sat at the center, enshrined by a skylight coming from above. Týr certainly had a flair for the dramatic, one that was balanced by his appreciation for quiet and calm, as evidenced by the cozy nook they were presiding in. 

“So, I must ask how your duties are going.” Týr set down an assortment of food, and with a gentle wave of his hand, encouraged Kratos to speak. He gladly did so, talking about his duties, his life, and his son. Some years ago it would have been unfathomable for him, but now, he had come to enjoy company, especially if it was someone like Týr.

It also helped him stave off the sharp pangs of loneliness felt whenever Atreus was not around. The first few months when his son was gone were hard. As much as had the company of others, such as Mimir and Freya, he could not find himself to enjoy it. If he was not needed elsewhere, his days had been mostly spent at home, preparing for Atreus’ return.

Kratos imparted some of these concerns to Týr, and time passed quickly, both gods  soon talking about their thoughts and experiences. Night soon visited Midgard, and Kratos inquired if he should leave, but Týr decisively shook his head, indicating he was still welcome. “But you do want to find your son, right? You may want to try His Majesty Freyr in Vanaheim. From what Atreus tells me, he is a fairly frequent guest of his.”

An inkling of suspicion tickled at the back of Kratos’ mind. “That is interesting.” He couldn’t justify his instincts yet, but they were there, telling him that something was going on. Innocuous, probably, but nevertheless something. He would first go to Ironwood, and then, if his son was not there, he’d set off to Vanaheim.

Angrboda and Atreus ate in relative silence, content to enjoy their meal in relaxed silence after a long day.  Both of them sat in front of the fireplace, taking in the warmth of the hearth and the comforting sound of the crackling wood.

Atreus took a deep breath and stretched out his legs, propping them gently up on Speki’s back, who was fast asleep on the floor next to her sister. The wolves looked content, all curled up and happy to be inside, near a source of heat. 

The pair deserved it. They carried many things for them, and now, they were all surrounded by high quality furniture and gorgeous decorations. Angrboda had painted spiraling colorful patterns on the walls, marked by simple drawings of flowers, the stars, and the moon; he, on the other hand, had managed to set up colorful paper garlands and unlit lanterns, which were now hanging from the handrails and the doorway. If he managed to get a hold of a good ladder, he’d get up and attach some to the ceiling itself, but that would be an activity for another day.

Instead, there was something more important on Atreus’ mind.

His eyes wandered to Angrboda. She had let her hair down, and was gently massaging her scalp. The warm glow of the fire made her more ethereal-looking than ever, and Atreus’ heart pounded as he carefully studied her features: the shape of her nose, her lips, her slightly puffy cheeks, her chest, her long legs that she had playfully wrapped around him more than once. 

“You’re looking at me,” she quietly said, startling Atreus out of his reverie.

“Well yeah, you’re right there,” Atreus said jokingly.

She shot him a disapproving look. “Don’t try to pretend,” she admonished softly. “You’re looking at me differently. Your gaze is heavy, but in a good way.”

Ah. She already knew he wanted her. Atreus looked at the fire, and began to play with an empty cup.

“Hey, I have some wine, you want?” she offered.

Atreus nodded, still keeping his eyes averted, as Angrboda produced a clay bottle, and poured them each a drink. 

“To your health,” she said.

“To yours as well,” Atreus responded, drinking half the cup quickly. 

“So, what was it you wanted to ask me? Back then, when we were walking.” 

Atreus smiled through his nervousness. “You know how I look at you?” he asked. 

“I look at you like that too, you know?” Angrboda corrected him. She reached out and took his hand in hers, and he eagerly squeezed back. 

“I thought you were just….saying stuff,” he said. “Like, how one does when they like someone.”

“Well I like you alot,” she said. “Love, even.”

“Same,” Atreus said without a missing beat. He lifted her hand to kiss it, and she, in response, climbed onto his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck and immediately began to kiss him.

Only, this was a different kiss, one that did not scream affection as much as it did want, desire. Her tongue slid in between his lips, and Atreus wasted no time in deepening the kiss, letting himself drown in her passion. His hands wandered all over her back, while hers dug into his hair, pushing him closer to her. 

When they moved away to catch her breath, she asked him if he wanted to go upstairs to one of the beds. He hesitated only momentarily in offering a reply. “Yes, please.” There was no better time than now.

She got up from his lap, grabbed his hand, and began to lead him upstairs to the master bedroom. Atreus felt his stomach begin to knot, even though he figured there was nothing to worry about, not when he was with her. Even though they were alone in the inn, he closed the door in a symbolic gesture of privacy. Everything felt quiet, and calm, and suddenly he was glad he hadn’t decided to do this at the party, as had been his original intention.

The room was spacious and, in its own run-down way, cozy. The glow of the fire in the corner bathed everything in warm colors, painting the inviting bed in colors of dark brown, red and dark orange. A shuddering sigh escaped Atreus’ lips, and he would have stalled had Angrboda not continued undeterred, pulling him all the way to the bed and onto his side, just so she could curl up against him, placing kisses all over his neck. 

Finally, the relaxation Atreus sought came. He let himself fall into her arms, feeling comforted and happy, any lingering nervousness gone. All was right, and one could daresay, romantic. No one would disturb them- the night was theirs.

Atreus woke up slowly, his mind having to take a moment to understand where he was. The fire had gone out sometime during the night, and he was buried beneath heavy pelts that Angrboda had dragged in from somewhere when he was asleep. 

Angrboda.

Atreus slowly turned around to face her; she was lying on her side, fast asleep, her hair covering her entire face. A soft smile, bordering on a grin, spread across his face, and he nestled in closer to her, careful not to wake her up. 

He thought their first time around would be awkward, but somehow, it wasn’t. If anything, it had been more clumsy at first (and a little weird), but once they got past that stage, things picked up quickly. By early morning, just before dawn, they were fully comfortable with each other, and had gained a good understanding of what they both enjoyed.

As far as he was concerned, he could stay here forever. Yes, it was noon, and yes, he not only had his normal duties to take care of, but also further party preparations, but at the very moment, he couldn’t bring himself to care.

So he laid there, in a blissful, relaxed state of half-sleep, occasionally opening his eyes to look at her, and sometimes brushing his fingers against her arms tucked in close to her naked chest. 

“You can go lower,” she suddenly whispered.

Atreus’ half-lidded eyes shot open. “You’re awake?”

Angrboda hummed and stretched, the heavy blankets shifting from the movement. She then swept her hair free from her face and shuffled close to Atreus, making sure to kiss him before cuddling up against him. Atreus sighed contently in response- she was warm and soft and the feeling of her bare skin pressed up against his own was titillating, to say the least. 

“You’re so pretty.” Atreus said, holding her close. Her leg was thrown up across his lower stomach, and he had his arm wrapped tightly around her shoulders.

“You said that a good few times last night.” She had her head on his chest, and she was gracing it with small kisses.

Atreus let out a half-moan, half-sigh. 

“Did you….like it?” he tentatively asked, a moment of doubt overcoming him.

“Loki, you know I did.” She raised her head and looked at him, her hand dropping low to his upper thigh. “The question is, did you?” There was a slight, coquettish smile on her face.

He didn’t reply. Instead, a half-whimper escaped his lips, and he pulled her up on top of him, kissing her deeply and pressing her tight against him.

She laughed joyfully, and they soon indulged in more intimacy whilst gleefully ignoring the passage of time.

Wishing to avoid Freya, Kratos set out to Ironwood, but was surprised to not encounter either Angrboda, or his son. Certainly the two were together- his son, while not having voiced it directly, clearly loved her, and now that he had returned he did not expect him to leave her side for more than he had to. He politely inquired one of the newly arrived Giants, Maiti, about the pair’s whereabouts, but was concerned to hear that not only had the pair not been present since the day before, Angrboda had not arrived to feed the animals as she did early every morning. Maiti reassured him that the giantess knew all too well that he could take care of things in her absence, and insisted that something may have simply come up, but it was enough to strike a deeper sense of worry in Kratos’ heart.

All signs pointed to the pair running off somewhere with the wolves. Did they depart on an impromptu expedition? He wouldn’t be surprised if Atreus simply went off without a word, but Angrboda was more reliable, and would have notified someone if she expected to be away for longer. Perhaps his son was rubbing off on her negatively. 

Kratos sighed in frustration.

Torn as to what to do, he finally gave up and decided to go to Vanaheim, as was his original plan. If he encountered Freya, so be it. He had self-control. 

After giving Fenrir a quick pet and bidding Maiti goodbye, he stepped through the gate, entering swiftly into the Vanaheim realm. He was soon near the royal headquarters, and received warmly. To his relief, he was informed that her majesty was not around, but his majesty Freyr indeed was. Before Kratos could so much as announce his presence, Freyr had already thrown the doors to the Royal Hall of Unity open, and was inviting him in for a meal. 

“I have already-” Kratos began to protest.

“Nonsense, we are all set up over here!” Freyr waved at the large table with what was already a host of Vanaheim dignitaries and officials that Kratos only partially recognized. 

Unwilling to succumb to rudeness in the face of an explicit invitation, Kratos nodded to signal his acceptance. He expected to be quietly seated somewhere near Freyr, but what he did not expect was for the god to loudly announce his presence, and to encourage everyone to clap for his appearance. 

Even though Kratos was moved by the positive reception, he still found the whole affair embarrassing. It was a great relief to him when everyone had finally eaten and taken to conversation in small groups, which let him talk to Freyr relatively uninterrupted.

“Atreus? Oh yeah, he came by to say hello recently, actually,” Freyr confirmed. The god was slumped in his chair, leisurely smoking a pipe while looking up at the ceiling. “Man those designs are amazing, aren’t they?” He gestured up at the intricate wooden carvings in the support beams, along with the fanciful light fixtures lining the walls of the entire hall. 

“They are,” Kratos admitted. “Midgardian inspiration, I see.”

Freyr snapped his fingers and pointed at Kratos. “That is correct,” he said. Vanaheim’s architecture was primarily adjusted to its humid, hot weather, but after Ragnarök had ended, a decision had been made to erect certain buildings that looked more familiar to Midgardian residents. These served not only a welcoming purpose for refugees, but also a practical one: for instance, a grand hall was conducive to large interrealm meetings, and allowed for the organization of community events. 

“Freyr, had my son mentioned anything?” Kratos continued his query.

“As in….?” Freyr looked at him questioningly. 

“Some plans, or ideas for a trip?” Kratos pressed.

“N-no, I mean, he was just telling me how his previous trip had gone, and he talked a little about his girlfriend, but that’s about it, why?” Freyr talked fast, and then feigned nonchalance, which for Kratos easily signaled that there was something indeed happening.

“I have not been able to find him, and he has not appeared for his regular duties. Or Angrboda. And this is after being attacked. I am….concerned.” He was in fact not very worried at all, but if he amped up his fatherly concern, then maybe Freyr would be inclined to tell him whatever it was he was hiding. 

“Oh, no don’t worry, I’m sure he is fine,” Freyr said, confidently. “Probably just holed up somewhere with his girlfriend, I mean, you know how it is to be young,” he laughed.

Kratos sighed and closed his eyes. “I see.” He understood now. If his son was off spending so much private time with his girlfriend, only one conclusion could follow. That much he knew, and that much he remembered. 

“Yep, they grow up fast,” Freyr said knowingly. 

“He came to you for advice, then?” Kratos asked.

Freyr leaned in and lowered his voice. “Sorta. More like a confidence boost. Kid is a little too self-conscious for his own good.”

Kartos harrumphed. “He has no need to. He is a fine young man and a brilliant warrior.”

“You raised him well,” Freyr said. 

“I did not do so on my own. My wife….she instilled most of his good values into him.

Freyr nodded solemnly, and they fell into a comfortable silence, listening to the innocuous chatter around the table. After an amount of time Kratos deemed appropriate, he excused himself, and soon, he was bidding farewell to people yet again. 

He needed to see his son. But he also needed solitude-he had socialized far too much in the past hours. It was an annoying contradiction.

A walk through Vanaheim should satisfy his mood. The climate reminded him of his home, and the colorful wildlife was as visually pleasant as it was tangibly dangerous. It would make for an interesting journey, and maybe once he had crossed the valley, his son would reappear somewhere.

Kratos set off towards a nearby cliff, deciding to climb down for a better look- the very valley he and Freya once looked out on, just after he had fought her behind his home in Midgard. Only now, the migration was not taking place, rendering the vast area quietly empty. 

Well that at least meant he wouldn't be attacked by any animals. 

The axe serving as leverage, Kratos began his descent, getting as far as half a stone’s throw before a loud, confused voice echoed from above him. 

“What in the realms are you doing?” Freya called out. She was wearing her Vanaheim attire, the bright blue serving as an announcement of her presence.  “Are you keen on bothering the fauna of Vanaheim?” She was looking down at him, her face a mixture of disapproval and confusion. 

Kratos was quick to defend himself. “Certainly not, I am merely -”

“You know there is a mystic gate below?” she interrupted.

Kratos went silent. He truly did not know that. 

“Come up, I'll get you there.”

And here he had thought himself lucky to avoid Freya. But now she was leading him to a gate, asking what his business was in the valley. 

“I came to look for my son, and when I did not find him, I decided to go for a climb.”

Freya smirked. “Your search does not strongly preoccupy you then.”

Normally he would not elaborate, but he realized what Freya was implying. Eager to prove that his search was not an excuse to come see her, he explained the circumstances and his discussion with Freyr.

“I see,” she said. “I imagine he's busy with the party.”

“Party?” Kratos faltered his steps. 

Freya launched into an explanation that had Kratos stunned. “I knew Atreus enjoyed company, but not to this extent,” he finally commented. 

“He’s made a lot of friends despite his long travels. And to no wonder. He’s a kind young man who is agreeable and friendly to all, almost to a fault.”

Kratos smiled at Freya’s compliments. “Traits that he has inherited from his mother.”

“I would partially disagree.” Freya tapped the gate open with the stone, and they crossed through the light and on to the ethereal roots. Their gait was slow and measured, and they walked without hurry in each other’s presence. 

“Why?” Kratos asked. His weapons clinked rhythmically against his back.

“Look at yourself. Your prime concerns, worries, and fears have mostly dissipated, such as concerning Ragnarök or your son. Since then, you’ve become more social, and dare I say friendlier.” Freya sighed. “What I am trying to say is that you’ve always been a good man Kratos- spare me the protests-” She held up her hand to quiet him.  “-and without life’s heavy burdens, this fact has become more apparent. It is no wonder your son takes from you in many ways.”

Moved, Kratos thanked Freya for her good words. “It is good he has inherited my better qualities,” he said.

“But not diplomacy, that is for certain. I think he got that from Mimir.”

“Possibly.” Kratos furrowed his brow. “But why bring up diplomacy?”

“This party is already having a positive impact. Youths around Midgard are very excited for it, and trust me, the profound meaning of a young god inviting people regardless of their upbringing, race or abilities does not escape them,” Freya said. “From a diplomatic point of view, this could not be more perfect.”

“Only Atreus does not think like that,” Kratos interrupted. “He is genuine in his efforts. He values other beings for what they are, and the companionship and wisdom they can bring.”

Freya nodded in agreement. “Exactly. Which is why this is such an effective ‘non-diplomatic’ diplomatic mission. And why I have subtly arranged for extra ‘free’ food and drink deliveries.”

“I remain confused.” Kratos stopped just shy of the door exiting the roots onto the valley. “Why has he not mentioned this to me? I would have helped.”

Freya shrugged. “Very simple reasons I think. One, you, nor I, meet the age requirement to be at this event-”

“Freyr is going there.”

Freya rolled her eyes. “-No matter the party, Freyr will always be there. And two, You would not approve of all the debauchery going on at the party, such as the drink and sex. Your son wishes to spare you even the thought of that.”

“And yet here you remind me, woman,” Kratos grumbled. 

Freya laughed, and stepped through the light, followed closely by Kratos.

“My, a young god, the son of the God of War, who along with his father saved me and aided with the unification of Alfheim, thus allowing me to be with my love, my wife, is asking me, a simple elf, to attend his party, and to show his craft. What an honor.”

Atreus’ eyes went wide upon hearing Byggvir's speech, and after overcoming his surprise, he began shaking his head in violent opposition. “No no, Byggvir, listen, it’s not like that. I just….you’re one of the few people I know who play an instrument, aside from Freyr, and I need musicians. I don’t want to burden-”

The elf looked at him in earnest, his ethereal eyes shining, a wide smile on his face. “You are too humble, Atreus. I would be delighted to join.”

“To say no would be a disgrace. We owe you favors,” Beyla said. She had been silently listening to their conversation from the side, busying herself with some sort of craftsmanship. The elven pair had been openly living together for a while in Alfheim, aiding the unification efforts, their relationship a strong testament for it.

“I will also come,” Beyla announced. “Fireworks are something each party should be accompanied by, and you remember…” She gestured towards her work table. “I am very good at making them.”

“I mean that would be so cool,” Atreus began, “but again, I don’t want to-”

“It is then done.” The dark elf’s statement left no room for argument, and she held out her hand offering a typical Midgardian handshake- Atreus accepted it, as well as Byggvir’s handshake right after.

“Would you like a whole group of musicians?” Byggvir added.

“Well, we have two that will be playing string instruments, and one playing a flute-”

“Ah then the small youth troupe will be a perfect completion.” Byggvir clasped his hands together. “There are only three of them, but I’d be happy to bring them along.” Byggvir went on to explain that the young elves had taken up music- now that fighting did not occupy the elves' time, their less violent culture began to boom. 

“They are quite good,” Beyla stated. “They practice here often, and Byggvir sometimes joins them. It would be an honor for them to attend a party like this as well.”

Atreus could barely hide his delight. To have young musicians from another realm, Alfheim no less, would be amazing. Few Midgardians had even seen an elf, let alone heard their music. And combining it with Dwarven and Asgardian influence could produce amazing results.

Not to mention that Beyla and Byggvir were influential in their own right; after their win, sorrowfully cloaked in the tragedy of Ragnarök, artists across realms had taken to painting, singing and writing about the figures involved. The elf pair was frequently mentioned, and there were few that did not know of them.

“Yes, please come. And you don't need to rehearse or anything.” Atreus waved his hands.

“Nonsense,” Byggvir said. “We shall rehearse, and I would love to meet our fellow musicians.” 

Preliminary arrangements were taken care of, and Atreus promised to keep the elves informed as to the time and place of the rehearsal and party before leaving the pair’s humble, but beautiful home. However, he did not immediately make his way back to Midgard. He walked a ways away, and then sat down on a rock, and took a deep breath. The party plans were moving quickly- too quickly. It was no wonder anxiety began to take hold of him. What was supposed to initially be a small party between young Midgardians and Aesir was already turning into a much bigger deal, with other races coming in as well.

If a few elves appeared, along with Sindri and Brok representing the dwarven race, would rumors appear that teens from other realms were excluded? What if he didn’t invite enough Midgardians and Aesir? Would they take offense, even though the party was meant to be private? Should he also invite the Aesir in Vanaheim? But then what about the Vanaheim teens?

Atreus put his head in hands. Oh fuck, perhaps they should do a head count and make sure there weren’t more Aesir than Midgardians. What if someone noticed and a fight broke out?

“Atreus?” The voice was calm and soothing; it was Byggvir. 

“You followed me?” Atreus asked with a nervous laugh.

Byggvir slowly shook his head and sat down next to the boy, his white, flowing robes gracefully rippling along with his movements. “I was heading out and noticed you sitting here. Your back looked worried.”

“Yeah, it’s because it is.”

They shared a small laugh, all the while keeping their gaze turned toward the light temple in the distance. The elf pair lived on a rocky hill on the side of Alfheim, the elevated position permitting a view of not just a fragment of the desert, but also the lush forest and the light of Alfheim in the distance. As much as Alfheim still held unpleasant memories for him, Atreus figured he disliked it less, especially when faced with a view as such.

“So Atreus, would you like to talk?” Byggvir asked.

“No, I mean yes, I mean….” he sighed. “I’m worried about the party. I put it together without thinking.”

“I would not agree, it seems you’re putting in great effort.”

Atreus threw his hands up. “But yeah like, it’s getting too big, and I didn’t consider all the diplomatic implications, like maybe I should invite more elves and dwarves too, or what if I-”

“Atreus, forgive me for being so blunt, but why should you care?”

Atreus balked. The statement was surprising, especially coming from someone who knew what a deeply conflicted realm looked like. “Why-”

“You are simply organizing a party for people from your home realm, and asking your friends, who are from different realms, to help. Your intentions and thoughts are sound.” Byggvir gently put his hand on Atreus’ shoulder. “That’s all that matters. If any criticism appears, it will most likely be unwarranted.”

Atreus turned to look at the elf. Byggvir’s presence had always been calming, but it was especially so now, brought on by his relaxed stature and bright appearance. Atreus smiled and nodded, grateful for the assurance. 

Byggvir continued. “Beyla would agree with me. And you’ll see how much she’ll like the party. Speaking of Atreus, we never personally invited you and your father to our post-wedding event.”

“No, no, I mean we got the letter-”

“But a letter is a letter. In person it is different. We would be delighted if you both came, and remember, feel free to bring Angrboda too.” Byggvir and Beyla planned to hold a proper celebration of their marriage, one they affectionately called their ‘post-wedding’ wedding. It was shaping up to be a large event.

“We will come, we will.” Atreus was happy the elf thought of him fondly. “I’ve never been to a wedding before.”

“Well, just like this party, it will be a first.”

Kratos walked behind Freya, the forest’s rich wildlife filling in the solemn, but comfortable silence between the pair. Everything was lush and green, and Kratos held out his hand to brush against a few stray flowers.

 “I am thinking of building a house here,” he blurted out. The statement was as surprising to himself as it was to Freya.

“A house?” Freya’s eyes were wide. “Do you intend to leave Midgard?"

“Hardly so, but I do like to spend time here, and I will not take advantage of yours, or Freyr’s, hospitality.”

Freya hummed in understanding. “Ah yes, you did mention Vanaheim was closer to the climate in your home country.”

“It is.” He had forgotten he had told her so. Interesting that she remembered.

They continued through the thick forest, Kratos surprised that there was such greenery in the valley; from up high, he thought the place to be mostly barren, a place where the river seasonally swept everything away in lieu of providing a much needed source of water. However, as Freya explained, there was much greenery near the cliff sides, through which they were making their way. It was a way to avoid the boiling midday sun, as well as any open attacks from bigger wildlife. 

“How far do you wish to go? Just to the gate?” Freya asked.

“Yes. You needn’t come with me,” Kratos replied.

“You’d get lost.” Her voice was light and playful, as if she knew that even if he got lost, he wouldn’t be in any peril. “But also, I want to propose something.”

Kratos halted. Her voice was heavy, and he assumed it would be about them. 

“Oh, it’s nothing serious,” she said nonchalantly, noticing that he was tense. She beckoned him to keep walking. “It’s about certain, well, I guess you could call them dissidents.”

“Dissidents? In Vanaheim?” 

“Everywhere, really, but mostly in Midgard.” Freya threw her hands up. “Some raiders, some dissatisfied Aesir, some Midgardians, even, from what I am told.”

“Must they be dealt with?” Kratos asked. He had been sure that by now, most trouble had died down, at least according to the humble troops he commanded. 

“I don’t believe in such preemptive action,” Freya said firmly. “After all, everyone is free to voice their dissatisfaction, but some are perhaps a little too keen.” She then stopped, and turned around to face him. “I am concerned they’ll try to target Atreus’ party.”

“Is there proof?” Kratos asked. Stopping violence fell under his duties as the God of War, and more so if the target would be his son and his friends.

Freya sighed. “There is not. Honestly, I was hesitant to tell you because I didn’t know if I was being overly concerned.”

“Your judgment is usually sound,” Kratos said. “What do you propose?”

She shrugged. “Just to post a couple of lookouts around. You can also stick around. And I’d also tell Freyr. He will be at the party so if he notices anything, he can alert us.”

Finding the plan sound, Kratos hmphed and nodded, and they resumed their journey, reaching the gate in less than a few minutes. Freya unceremoniously gestured to it, mentioning that it was a good starting point for wanderings in Vanaheim. “And if you want a summer home, let me know. There is some good land up North-isolated, but not too far away from others.”

“Thank you,” Kratos said, in more of a mumble than anything. He was grateful, but he also did not want to foster more affection than was polite. So he moved to leave through the gate, moving all but a step before Freya’s hand on his arm stopped him.

“Kratos,” she said softly, “I’ll take advantage of the fact that you have been more social as of late, and ask you to spend a little bit of time with me right now.”

“We spent time yesterday,” he said hastily. 

“We did, we did. But I have something to tell you.” 

He continued his protests, knowing they were futile- his heart was already stirring, and he knew he was about to give in. “We were supposed to stop this,” he continued, pointlessly.

“We were, but I don’t think I can help it. It’s ridiculous,” she scoffed.

Neither could he. 

He put his arm on her shoulder and gestured towards an inviting patch of grass on the ground, guiding her gently towards it. She smiled at him, no doubt somewhat amused at his gallantry, but he knew that she liked it. He did his best to treat Freya with quiet respect that barely masked his genuine adoration of her, a feeling he could barely stifle when he was around her.

“Kratos, I was wondering, perhaps we could start a casual relationship.” The proposal was uttered in a light, casual tone, but it was a powerful statement-and a wholly foreign one. Both his previous wives simply somehow came to be, Lysandra announcing she’d be his wife, Faye inviting herself inside his tent and never leaving. But here Freya was proposing something, and clearly waiting for his insight.

“It is a pleasant thought, but I worry it is too strange,” Kratos stated. His heart was racing.

Freya’s confusion was palpable. “Strange?” 

Kratos let his silence speak for itself. They had a heavy, complicated history, marred with events that would have been better left unrepeated, unsaid, as they were filled by deeds that still haunted the present.

And yet, Freya was unmoved. She leaned in to kiss him, slowly, her hand on his cheek, and then slowly moved away, wordlessly encouraging him to say yes. 

He did. “We may try,” he said, voice low and slightly hesitant. He was weak to her charms and requests, and even if this would not work out- and a part of him was certain it would- who was he to deny himself the possibility of romantic affection?  

Freya patted him on the leg, glad he had acquiesced. He responded with a touch to her arm, but then figured he could do slightly better than that. He cupped her face and kissed her lips slowly, glad that she did not shun the gentle gesture, but rather embraced it, placing her hands on his and kissing him in kind.

Chapter Text

Atreus looked around the main hall, pleased with what he was seeing.

After another day of work, the house started to truly look amazing. Thrúd and Skjöldr had also come to help, and together, the place was shaping up to be a proper venue, one that could easily double as a place to live in. 

“Hey Loki check this out!” Thrúd called out,  waving him over to the corner of the hall and gesturing towards a pile of fabric. “Sleeping rolls and tents, in case more people wanna crash.”

“Where’d you get them?” Atreus asked.

Thrúd shrugged, only to have her silence thwarted by Skjöldr yelling that she stole them out of an old supply house. 

All in all, the party seemed to be coming along. It could take place in a few days; all that was left to do was to transport the rest of the things and set everything up, and also make sure that everyone knew where the house was, and also a host of other things that Atreus didn’t even want to think about.

“Hey, you look worried,” Angrboda said. She had suddenly come up behind him and gave him a kiss on the cheek. Atreus closed his eyes and savored it, instantly feeling calmer. 

“It’s cause I am,” Atreus mumbled. “This party is getting kinda big.

“Oh it’s getting fucking huge!” Thrúd said, bounding down the stairs. She jumped off the last step with gusto, her red hair waving about her wildly. “We are looking at like what, babe? 60 people?”

“ Oh yeah, something like that,” Skjöldr said. “This going to be great.”

Atreus put his hands on his head. “We don’t have enough-”

“We do, we do.” Angrboda reassured. “In fact, surprisingly more than enough.”

Skjöldr shrugged and walked up to the group, leaving his activity of cleaning the tables. Atreus side-eyed him. How had he gotten taller than him?

“I think people are just chipping in.” Skjöldr said. “When was the last time a bigger party took place in Midgard?”

They all muttered words of agreement, realizing that this was the first bigger, happier event since before Ragnarök. They fell back into planning, and soon were joined by none other than the Huldra brothers.

“Got that fence up kids,” Brok said, sauntering past them and sitting down with a grunt. “Beer?” He held up a clay jug as he pulled up a chair next to one of the tables. 

“What fence?” Atreus asked, sitting down next to the dwarf. 

“The one I reckoned would make the place look classier.” Brok slammed down an extra cup, and Atreus shrugged and pulled it closer- he could use a drink.

“ It doesn’t, and it’s not needed. We should have made a small moat!” Sindri practically roared as he sat down in a huff at the other end of the table. “The ground’s soft and moisture will-”

“Then we fucking take the fence down and build a moat later, but the kid’s having a party, he needs it to look nice!”

“I really don’t-” Atreus tried to reason, but was quickly interrupted.

“A moat can look nice, you, you, you oaf!” Sindri yelled, slamming his fist on the table.  

Brok burst into laughter. By then the rest of the group had gingerly sat down, unused to the dwarves’ lively bickering. Atreus just shook his head and sighed, and wordlessly poured Angrboda and Skjöldr some beer. 

“That’s the best insult you can think of?” Brok finally asked, his laughter having died down into slight chuckles.

Sindri sighed. “For now. The fence does look nice, I admit.”

“ We should be paying you,” Thrúd blurted out, bouncing Skjöldr sitting on her lap.

“I’ve already been through this with the kid, we’re not accepting payment.” Brok took a large sip, foam pouring down his beard. Sindri cringed. “I, gracious as I am,” Brok continued, “Am doing this because I love this kid right here.” He pointed at Atreus, who was now beaming. “But my brother, over there, he is doing it for the house.”

“Atreus you know that’s not true,” Sindir said through clenched teeth. “Say the word and you can have the house, and I’ll make you new armor-”

“Guys, no come on.” Atreus reached out to touch Brok’s forearm, and waved at Sindri. “Just, whatever you need in the future, you got it.”

“Same here,” Angrboda said with a smile. “I mean, didn’t you want to come to Ironwood?”

Just like that, the dwarves’ heads snapped in her direction. “I mean, we didn’t want to impose, but, the inspiration, the materials-” Sindri said, excitement in his voice.

“Would be shit-fucking grand. And we’d do some work for you too, lass,” Brok said.

“Listen, you’re welcome anytime.” Angrboda meant it. “Atreus has told me so much about you both and you’re helping us now so-”

“Done. We will finish the campground and if you ain’t too pressed for time, we’d go with you, if that’s alright with your prettiness,” Brok said.

Angrboda giggled, and agreed.

“When you two getting married Atreus?” Brok blurted out, nodding at Angrboda. “I like her.” 

Atreus devolved into a fit of stammers and sputters, but Angrboda was not nearly as flustered- she thanked Brok for the compliment and said ‘one day’, all to the tune of Sindri voicing his disapproval at Brok’s lack of tact, and Thrúd and Skjöldr making annoying whooping sounds. 

Once the excitement died down, the group realized time was escaping them. “Hey, why don’t you go train, I’m gonna head over back to Ironwood with Brok and Sindri.” Angrboda smoothed her hand over her boyfriend’s shoulder. “You get antsy when you don’t train.” 

She was right-it had been a couple of days. “Have father to thank for that,” Atreus said. As much as his comment was sarcastic, he genuinely was grateful for the discipline instilled within him. Perhaps he was a slave to it, but it was what kept him alert and alive, and that wasn’t something he could hold against his father.

Atreus bid farewell to Thrúd and Skjöldr , who both declared they’d be back the next day to continue helping out. Angrboda said the same, and was ready to go to Ironwood with the all too excitable dwarves. But just as Atreus was about to turn into a wolf and run back home, Brok pressed a bag into his hand, saying that it was for his father, and to not open it. Atreus promised to give it to him, and bid a final farewell to everyone before stepping outside. 

He jogged into the thick of the woods, still on his own two legs, and as soon as he was sure no one was looking, he tried to open the bag given to him. The string was tightly knotted, and he struggled with it for a good few minutes before realizing that the bag was most likely enchanted, meant to be opened only by his father.

“Brok knows me too well,” he mumbled, shoving the small bag into his waist pouch. He deduced there was some kind of metal in the bag, but apart from that, he had no idea what the object was.

His curiosity unsatisfied, with a lunge he transformed into a wolf, his four legs carrying him through the Wildwoods with great speed. 

Kratos was in a good mood. A very good mood, so much so that Atreus was suspicious. His father had greeted him with unusual gumption, and after giving him a warm hug and a hearty pat on the back, he inquired about his well-being. 

“I mean I’m fine dad, nothing I hadn’t dealt with before, with you.” Atreus shrugged, ignoring the weird pull in his shoulder that suddenly appeared.

“An aggressive Stalker, after so long.” Kratos shook his head. “It is most unusual.”

“Yeah, I guess. Oh hey.” Atreus produced the small bag. “From Brok.”

Kratos grunted in approval, taking the item and putting it in the large pouch at the back of his belt. 

Atreus knew better than to ask; his father would either ignore him or tell him it was not his concern. Maybe Brok would fold one day.

But for now, training.

His father was relentless, as usual, but there was an odd delighted gleam in his eye, one that rarely appeared. And Atreus did notice the attacks did not hit as hard, neither were the parries as quick as they tended to be.

It was why Atreus did well, better than he usually did. A part of him was glad his father let him feel good about himself, even though he knew it was a bit of a front. In the end, he was glad to spend time with him one way or another. 

After a few hours, Atreus was hunched over a bucket of water at the edge of their personal training grounds, splashing water over his dirty face and sweaty body, his armor and shirt discarded in a hurry. His father had gone inside the house to fetch fresh clothes before cleaning up. 

The cold water felt delightful and provided much needed relief for his aching muscles. Atreus sighed, eager to finish washing up and perhaps lie down for a moment. He’d have to-

Atreus dodged something. It swished past him, embedding itself in a nearby tree. It was a throwing knife. In seconds, Atreus grabbed his bow and arrows and ducked behind the tree, determined to avoid another attack.

His hands slightly shook as he nocked an arrow. He knew it wasn’t his father surprise-attacking him, and he knew it wasn’t a prank from his friends. The knife had been thrown fairly precisely, but not perfectly, meaning it had to have been a subpar, but capable warrior.

He took two deep breaths and peeked around the tree, only to realize in horror that a band of five Seithr-poisoned raiders were bounding at him. 

“Father!” he yelled, knowing he’d need the help. His quiver had only three arrows left, and he was without any protective gear. 

As he put an arrow through one of the incoming raider’s eyes, his mind began to race. What were they doing here? They still had a basic protection stave up, one that should not have been easily penetrated. 

One of the attackers swung a club at Atreus, one that he side-stepped easily. He used the momentum from his evading maneuver to slam his bow into the back of the raider’s skull, and then spun around to land another blow on yet another approaching enemy. It was then that his father appeared, or rather the axe did. It slashed the first, second, third, fourth and fifth raider, and then flew back into his father’s hand.

The weapon was beautiful, and his father wielded it magnificently and gracefully, clearing out the raiders before Atreus had the opportunity to fire a second arrow.

“Are you alright?” Kratos asked, hand outstretched towards Atreus. He nodded- he didn’t even get a scratch on him.

“What are the raiders doing here?” Atreus asked, still somewhat shell-shocked. They hadn’t been around for ages, and yet here he was meeting them twice in the span of a week.

“I…do not know.” Kratos sheathed the axe on the hook on his back. “But it is concerning. Someone may be experimenting with corrupt magic.”

Atreus noticed the look of recognition on his father’s face. He knew about something. “Father?”

“It is nothing. Pay no mind.”

Well now Atreus knew he couldn’t ignore it. “You think it’s connected to what happened in the Aesir camp.”

His father slightly nodded his head, the conclusion obvious. But that wasn’t what caused the realization. 

“You have information, huh?” Atreus asked, crossing his arms. Not surprising since his father was the new God of War. “Should I help?”

“It is not needed,” Kratos replied quickly. “I will contact the council, and I suspect the matter will be taken care of before long.”

The answer was good enough for Atreus- at least, that’s what he hoped his posture and nod telegraphed. There were now other things to worry about. The party was at stake; it could be dangerous to gather a large group of people largely unfamiliar with combat in the heart of the Wildwoods. The risk of attack was not insignificant.

Atreus twirled the unfired second arrow in his hand. He needed to get back and talk to Angrboda and the rest. His mind was far away, so far away that he didn’t notice his father watching him.

“We can put up additional protection, I know some-” Angrboda said.

“Or I could get some armed men from Vanaheim, I’d just need to lie to Freya a little-” Freyr interrupted.

“ Ok but what if we just make it slightly smaller and move it to the outskirts-” Thrúd began. Skjöldr wanted to say something, but was interrupted by Brok.

“Shit-hell like you are, people are going to admire the new door frame I made!” Brok yelled.

“What door frame?!” Sindri cried, sitting up so fast the chair behind him rattled to the floor. “You made a doorframe?!”

Atreus groaned, putting his head on the table. The discussion was going nowhere, and he also had no idea how Freyr suddenly turned up.   

It didn’t help that he was still concerned about the uninvited Aesir in Vanaheim. After the desolation calmed and relations stabilized, many Aesir moved to Midgard, but there were still significant numbers of them back in Vanaheim. Would they feel ignored? After all, they intended to use realm gates and Fenrir to bring over  those further away in Midgard. In theory, they could do the same for Aesir, and other races, in other realms.  

It was another point he wanted to bring up, but now the conversation was overwhelmed by the potential threat. He felt Angrboda rub the back of his neck, but it did little to quell his worries. This very well may fall apart.

Freyr, kind as he was, noticed his worry, and calmed the room down. “Everyone, a moment, please?” He was authoritative, but his voice was smooth and pleasant, reassuring those gathered. “This party is too important to abandon. I say we just-” Freyr outstretched his arms. “-keep on doing what we’re doing, and take comfort in the fact that each and every one of us here are capable people with unique skill sets, ones that helped us survive Ragnarök.”

No one could argue with Freyr’s assurances, and the mood in the room considerably lightened. “To be fair, mom hadn’t mentioned anything to me, and she usually does if something is up.” Thrúd said. 

“Yeah, and my friend’s dad, who is in the General’s protective unit, hadn’t mentioned anything either, and they patrol frequently,” Skjöldr said, 

Freyr gave everyone a knowing look. “See? It’s calmer than we think it is.”

“But we still have to be careful,” Atreus said.

“And we will be.” Freyr took a breath. “Kratos will be talking with my sister and others. I will find out what they decided, and we’ll go from there.”

The solution seemed fair. 

Unbeknownst to the group, similar scenes were playing out in Kratos’ austere war room, located near the base of The  Mountain. 

Freya, the Valkyries, Mimir, Hildisvíni, Sif were there, discussing in overlapping tones what to do. Kratos sat on his stone throne, his chin resting on his closed fist. He tuned out the chatter, letting his own thoughts roll over him. The propositions heard so far were all fairly reasonable, but most relied on no more than guesswork.

“A methodical approach is wise,” he suddenly said, and just like that, the chatter died down.  

“What are you thinking, brother?” Mimir asked. All eyes were now on Kratos.

“Survey, see what the true issue is.”

“Kratos is right,” Hildisvíni said. He straightened his back and rested his hands at the small of his back. “Skirmishes have happened before, who is to say this isn’t another instance?”

“I don’t think so, this feels different,”  Freya commented. “That magic is intensely corrupt.” Freya crossed her arms, concern painted on her face. “I haven’t seen any in a while, Kratos. It would be wise to try to find out the source.” 

“You know more of this magic than I. What you say goes.” He nodded, encouraging her to give orders.

And orders she gave: they decided to spread small armed scout groups around Midgard, coupled with some trackers here and there to try to find the person or persons responsible.

“ If there is someone responsible,” Mimir said midst the hubbub. “Still a possibility these are just all odd coincidences.

“I hope so,” Freya sighed. “But I have a feeling that is not the case.”

“Speaking of which, what of the party location? I’d recommend placing discreet lookouts around the area.” It was Sif who had spoken up. 

“Ah, the party I’ve been hearing of,” Mimir said. “The lad’s preparations going well?”

Freya nodded. “From what I know they are, but he may be inclined to halt the party if he senses danger.   

“Your brother is with them isn’t he, your majesty?” Mimir grinned. “Leak the situation to him, and he should pass it on.” 

Freya let out a laugh and nodded, knowing that Mimir was right.

“Make sure the boy knows the troops are far enough away so he won’t get worried about being found,” Hilidsvini added. 

“No, I’d rather someone be close,” Kratos interjected. “Further away, but close.”

“False information then,” Sif suddenly said. “Freyr is whimsical but he is not unwise. He will get suspicious if we tell him that the scouts will specifically avoid an area. Let’s just say they are scattered about, and hope it won’t dissuade him.”

“Ah, her majesty is right,” Mimir agreed. “Kratos?”

Kratos relaxed against the back of the throne. He knew the party was of great importance to his son, and he would prefer it not be thwarted. “We will be vague then, and hope the party is not called off. However, even if it is, it will be to our benefit.”

“Wh….how so?” Just as the question left Mimir’s mouth, he let out a noise of realization. “You think this isn’t a coincidence. The party, the attacks.”

“I do not,” Kratos admitted.

“But it’s been so long, and our travels across the realms have not uncovered any greater discontent.” Sigrun, who had been quietly listening up until now, spoke up. It was hard to miss Mimir’s smile when she did.

“Discontent can be harbored for a long time, hidden beneath the surface.” No one disagreed with Kratos’ statement. There was a sullen silence before the room launched into detailed planning. 

Chapter Text

Everything was set up, everything was ready. But they had no clue if they could go forward.

Atreus knew everyone was waiting for his word, but until Freyr found out more about the potentially dangerous situation, there was nothing to be done. Bored and impatient, he sulked in his bedroom, the very bedroom his father had attached to the side of their cabin, along with Angrboda. Atreus looked around- every piece of furniture had been made by his father during his first longer absence, impressing with its simplicity and meticulous handicraft. Additionally, according to Mimir, his father had at one point ran out of furniture to build and carve and resorted to sewing. The product of that endeavor were a good few sets of bedclothes; Angrboda was admiring one at the moment, running her fingers across the golden meander stitching on a bronze-colored blanket. She was sitting at the end of the bed, while he reclined against the headrest, content with watching her slow, gentle movements.

“I never learned to sew as well as father did,” Atreus said, and then waved at the tapestry above his bed. “Father also made that. He said it's a typical flat landscape in Greece.” The tapestry was dominated by colors of gold, beige, green, and red, depicting olive crops on the side, and a columned building on the left. 

“Your father must have been a little bit bored when you were gone,” Angrboda said. She looked around the room. “So much handiwork.” 

Atreus nodded. “Yeah. Mimir told me father was incredibly restless, up until he was invited to Valhalla anyway. He needed something to do.”

It was a sentiment that Atreus could relate to. There was nothing to be done at the moment, not until there was more definitely news about the threat. It felt wrong to be grumpy in a room tailor-made for him, but sulk he did, ignoring Angrboda's ooooing at a small square stool carved with runes. 

Eventually, his girlfriend picked up on his bad mood, and did what she knew often worked best- she cuddled up to him, placing her head on his chest and  wrapping her arm around his stomach. Enjoying the affection, he put his hand on her shoulder, caressing her as he took a deep breath. 

“When is your father coming back?” she quietly asked. There was no point in talking about his feelings of disappointment,  and they both knew that. So another distraction was in order. “Cause we could-”

Atreus tensed. “No, we can’t,” he replied immediately. The thought of his father catching them in the act or even simply hearing them would be too much. He'd have to move to Ironwood permanently, and never set foot in front of his father again. 

Angrboda began to trace patterns on his thigh, and Atreus let out a shuddering breath. It would be easy to ask her to stop, but he didn't want that, especially since her advances were helping him feel better. He pulled her up to his level and kissed her, slowly, deeply, happy she was with him, happy she waited for him when he had left, happy she was trying to make him feel better. He loved her so much, and couldn't imagine her not being around him. 

So wrapped up in emotion they were, kissing and embracing each other that they barely registered the front door swinging open. As if burned, Atreus jumped back, and nearly fell off his bed, the sudden action making Angrboda chortle in amused surprise.

“Atreus?” his father called from behind the closed door. “Are you home?”

“Uh, yeah!” he yelled back, a shake in his voice. Angrboda was trying to muffle her laughter, and he swatted her playfully on the shoulder, hoping his father wouldn't hear. 

“I am here.” Kratos replied. “You and Angrboda may join us, if you wish.”

Atreus hung his head, dejected. Of course his father had heard them. Angrboda slid off the bed. “I don't know why you're so shy about me, you’re an adult.”

“It's just you know, I feel awkward.” Atreus admitted.

“Well.” Angbroda jumped up to her feet and pushed the door open. “I don't.”

When Angrboda entered, Kratos immediately stood up, and gestured to a seat near the table while greeting her warmly. Atreus took a deep breath and walked out of the room a moment later, greeting his father.

“My son, he treats you well?” Kratos asked. He had already poured her a drink. 

Angrboda looked at Atreus with a twinkle in her eye. “He does, he does.”

“If he does not, see me, I shall reason with him.”

“Father, I would never-” Atreus began to protest.

“Come, he's joking, sit down,” Angrboda quickly said, pulling him next to her on the bench.

Atreus eyed his father. He wasn't joking. And he really did like Angrboda, to the point that he had no doubt his father would verbally berate him should he do something out of line. Not that he would ever dare. His father raised him far too well for that. 

“I do not wish to intrude on your time together,” Kratos said, “But I wanted to see you both, inquire about your well-being.”

“We're good.” Angrboda laid her head on Atreus’ shoulder. “It's nice to have him back.”

Kratos smiled at Angrboda's words. “You must miss my son when he leaves.”

She nodded. “I do, a lot. But I know he always finds his way back to me and to Ironwood. So I wait.”

Hearing that, Atreus relaxed and put his arm around his girlfriend. His father was fond of Angrboda, perhaps to a fault, and approved of the relationship she had with him. His father had apparently visited Ironwood a few times in his absence, talking to Angrboda and even bringing her essentials, along with a gift-a woven gold bracelet that she never took off.

Mimir had said that it meant Kratos accepted her as family, which further implied that a silent agreement for marriage was given. But that was something Atreus didn't want to think about yet. So, he changed the subject. “Where is Mimir?” Atreus asked.

Kratos chose his words carefully. “Stayed with Sigurn. We had a meeting about the attacks.” 

“Did you find out anything?” Atreus asked, perking up. 

“Freya is out to find the source of this,” Kratos said, figuring a half-truth will do. “And we will scatter some troops on the outskirts of the Wildwoods. We already combed through the forest, and we didn't find any danger, so our reasoning is that they will come from the outside, possibly from the North.”

Kratos’ explanation was vague but reassuring, and it seemed to work. Atreus seemed to not pick up on the deception, accepting the news with a slight smile, which meant he made the decision to not postpone the party.

“Oh that's great, I mean, it doesn't sound like much of a threat, then?” 

“What he means is, we can go on long walks without concern.” Angrboda joked. 

 “Fine warriors as you have nothing to fear,” Kratos said solemnly.

“You call me a warrior, but I barely fight,” Angrboda said. 

“With weapons. But you fight in other ways. We have discussed this.” Kratos said, firmly.

“Yes we have,” she replied.

From then on, they then launched into a friendly conversation that lasted for a good while. They brought out some food while Kratos said a few words about his past, at Angrboda’s polite behest. It was the kind of spontaneous social meet-up that was overtly about nothing, but at the same time meant everything due to the company shared.

A good two hours had passed before Kratos bid farewell and discreetly excused himself, but not before exchanging heartfelt goodbyes and well-wishes. He would have urged his son, and possibly future daughter-in-law, to stay the night, but he wanted to give them the possibility to leave freely. He knew that they had much to prepare for, as did he.

The party took place only two days later.

Guests began to arrive in the early afternoon, most traveling by horse, carriage or by foot, while other braver souls mounted Fenrir, the dog acting as an inter-realm ferry. 

Awkwardness prevailed at first, many unsure as to what they should do with themselves, and whether they could enter the refurbished house or stay outside in the forest. However, after a moment, Angrboda, Atreus and Sindri began to officially greet the newcomers, directing them either to the main hall or the fenced yard, and offering them drinks while they wrapped up last-minute preparations.

Soon, an impromptu campsite was made in the yard, some pitching their tents around the fire pit, while others made use of the empty rooms at Sindri’s direction. Any offerings of gold were swiftly rejected, but additional food and drink was welcomed.

In the end, they realized they had received more supplies than expected, so much so that it had positively shocked Atreus. When he inquired Freyr about the amount of food and drink from Vanaheim, he simply shrugged, saying it had been lying around. Curiously, Thrúd had the same luck, as did the dwarves. It puzzled Atreus, but his confusion was quelled by Angrboda explaining that he was well-liked, and that it should come as no surprise.

And so, they had a fully-stocked kitchen and bar, to the point that the cooks and waitstaff - graciously ‘stolen’ by Freyr from the royal headquarters  in Vanaheim - said that even if they had twice the number of people, there would still be food and drink left over.

Well, at least nothing would run out.

Atreus then shuffled out of the kitchen, trying to not listen to the smooth-talking Freyr was subjecting one of the cooks to. Instead, he began to absentmindedly wipe down the already spotless tables. 

Atreus was taken away from his task when Skjöldr tapped on his shoulder. “Hey, wanna introduce you to someone,” he said, gesturing towards a couple standing next to him. 

Eager to meet them,  Atreus smiled and extended his arm in greeting, and was met with heartfelt handshakes from both.

“It's so nice to meet you.” The girl - Mola - smiled, and what Atreus assumed was her boyfriend repeated the same sentiments, introducing himself as Nir.

“We, uh, just wanted to thank you for inviting us, really. We brought homemade bread.” He waved at the kitchen. “Well, Mola made it, I just carried it.”

“It's appreciated,” Atreus said. “I mean, shit I think we will have more people than expected. But there’s plenty of food, we won’t run out.”  He saw about 50 people so far, and he knew that more still should be coming.

“It's just….” The girl shrugged. “We didn't think a god like you would invite normal people like us to a party.”

“Wh-really?” Atreus balked, the thought never having crossed his mind. “But gods regularly have feasts and all that…didn't they invite anyone in the past?”

“ Man I've been telling you, you're a rarity!” Skjöldr exclaimed. “I mean, they're Aesir, and they've never been invited to anything.

“I'm Aesir,” Mola corrected, “Nir is Midgardian.” 

She didn't seem that upset at Skjöldr’s oversight, although he immediately began to apologize furiously. “Right, shit, shit, sorry my bad,” he said.

She laughed. “It doesn’t matter. Either way, Atreus, thank you. I hope we get to talk more.” She bowed slightly, and it was then that Atreus realized she was pregnant, her belly protruding from beneath her elegant cape. “It's nice to know there are good gods,” she said.

Something overcame Atreus, an emotion of humble pride mixed with relief. However, t hose complex feelings did not manifest in elaborate words- only another string of ‘ thank you’s ’ and a fumbling ‘I ’ m glad I could make, I mean do, I mean organize, this party. ’  He finally got a coherent sentence out after taking a deep breath. “Thanks, I mean, I just want everyone to have a good time. And um, if you need comfortable lodging….” he awkwardly trailed off and pointed at her stomach, and she reassured him that they had been set up in one of the rooms on a comfortable bed.  

“You alright man?” Skjöldr asked when the pair walked away after exchanging goodbyes. 

“No, yeah.” Atreus looked away, half-heartedly picking up the cleaning cloth before dropping it on the table. “This really is a big deal, as big as I thought.”

Skjöldr gave his shoulder a light punch. “It is, but it also isn't, you know? You're just confirming all the rumors.”

Atreus furrowed his brows. “What rumors?”

“That you're a good guy- no don't roll your eyes, listen to me, sit.” Skjöldr was insistent, so Atreus heeded him, sitting down near the fireplace, which was flickering slowly at a low flame.

The guests milled about in the background as Atreus’ friend launched into a short monologue. “You've got here a whole bunch of kids our age, some slightly younger and some older, who had grown up afraid, alone, and feeling abandoned. And then rumors about you and your father spread. Good rumors. And then you announce a party, and you fucking invite everyone in the vicinity, and don’t cheap out on the location, on the food, or the drink.” Skjöldr huffed and spread his arms. “And you don't even say shit like ‘ I am a god so this is a special party and I sit at the head of the table ’” .

Atreus made a disgusted face. Maybe one day he’d be in charge, but he wouldn’t single himself out like that.

“See, there you go!”  Skjöldr pointed at him. “And you know that Mola and Nir met over a campfire storytelling about Ragnarök? And bam look- they're going to get married, and they're having a child. You're a matchmaker.” 

“I did notice that, yeah. But they can't be older than me…”

“Nir is, but not Mola. You know how it is.” Skjöldr slapped the table and wiggled his eyebrows. “I hear you and Angrboda finally hooked up.”

Atreus sighed in exasperation. “Thrúd told you.”

“Oh yes.” Skjöldr jutted his chin out.  “We're gonna be doing some of that tonight. As are a lot of the guests-”

“Ok-”

“-and I assume you two also. Just give us a shout if you need us to take over as hosts.”

How Atreus wished he didn’t blush so much when he got embarrassed. He tried to ward off Skjöldr but it was no use; his friend enjoyed riling him up too much. It ended with Atreus rolling up the cloth and trying to thwack him with it, while Skjöldr hollered in protest.

“Shit you've got a crowd there, Atreus.” Freyr had run in from outside (when had he left?), slightly out of breath. “Uh anyway, news- it's safe. They got patrols on the outside of the forest, and the stave is up. If something comes through we will go with my plan, which is to hunker down and defend the perimeter.” He nodded decisively.

“Sounds good,” Atreus said. It was a relief that there were patrols out, but they still hoped nothing would come near. “Also, you look amazing,” Atreus said. 

Freyr beamed, and then held his arms out and slowly spun around, drawing everyone’s eyes to him. He looked regal, his elegant green and red garments held together by a gold openwork belt and complemented by a bronze-colored shoulder cape that draped over his shoulder. The cape itself was kept in place by Ingrid, who had been strapped on to Freyr's back with a belt.  

Atreus needed to put something on too- the party was about to start. Of course, no one else had to dress up if they didn't want to, but Atreus figured he wanted to look more than presentable, as did Angrboda. They retreated into their private room to do so, noticing the guests seemed to be wearing their best clothes as well.

“ It’s good we’re leaning into the whole fancy clothes thing, I haven’t worn this in a while.’ Atreus brushed some dirt off the sleeve of his shirt. “Does this look okay?” he asked Angrboda. He decided to wear the golden yellow shirt his mother had first made for him when he was young, and then which was gradually mended by his father into his early adulthood. The ensemble was completed by his father's touched-up loincloth tied tightly around his waist; after it had been thoroughly washed and patched up, it became an impressive decorative garmen t . Atreus wore it proudly, letting it cascade just above his knees, the striking red pronounced against the golden meander pattern. He was without his quiver, which had been stashed behind the bar below, but his bow was still on his back- it felt wrong for it to not be there, and he'd be worried about it if he let it out of his sight. Atreus could not bear to be apart from his weapon, especially since it was one of the last gifts given to him by his mother.

“You look fancy,” Angrboda said, leaning in to give him a kiss on the cheek. “Very handsome.” She placed her hands on his shoulders, and lightly squeezed him. 

He turned to look at her. Her hair was loosely tied together with a number of smaller golden pins, and she was wearing a deep emerald dress cinched at the waist with a leather corset that had been hand-painted by her. 

“Shit, you look really beautiful.” Atreus finally said after staring for a while.

“I do, don't I?” She smiled, and leaned in for a kiss. Atreus planted his lips on hers and embraced her tightly, wishing for a moment just to stay with her in this room, and do nothing else but revel in her presence, and ignore the large company that had gathered within the inn. 

But that was his infatuation and shyness talking. This was too important to let it go to waste. So he reluctantly pulled himself away from what he was sure was the love of his life, and went down into the hall.

There were nearly a hundred people waiting, all of whom cheered and whooped as he came down. Brok and Sindri were also there, and it was the blue dwarf that told him to get up on the table, much to the horror of his brother.

“Ok uh, hi everyone,” Atreus began. The room had instantly fallen silent, the guests looking at him expectedly. “I, I am looking forward to meeting everyone today.” Freyr was in the back gesturing at him in encouragement. “We have music, games, uh, food and drinks planned, and what else-”

“Fireworks!” Beyla boomed. She and Byggvir had also arrived, and were standing at the back of the hall, hand in hand. 

“That too,” Atreus awkwardly laughed. Fuck he was nervous. Angrboda must have noticed, because she smoothed her hand on the back of his calf, giving him a reassuring smile. 

He knew what to say.

“I really hope you will all be able to have fun and make new friends. The past few years have been difficult-” he scoffed. “-terrible even, and it feels like we just got Midgard back. This party is meant to celebrate that, and celebrate you, for being here. Thank you everyone who made this possible, and thank you for coming.”

The crowd erupted in cheers, with Brok hollering that the kid was getting all eloquent and emotional. Sindri was still begging him to get off the table, and began to scrub furiously when Atreus jumped down, immediately greeted with pats on the back and greetings from people who had been impressed by his short speech. It felt good to be appreciated, and he made sure to let everyone know that he was glad to make their acquaintance. 

The party naturally took off from there. Dusk hadn't even arrived, but the food was coming out, Freyr and Brok were managing the bar, and Byggvir started the music with his troupe. The kitchen was bustling, with Skjöldr, Thrúd and Angrboda helping out the kitchen and waitstaff by carrying plates to the tables and seating everyone down.

It was hectic at first, but it quickly became fun, very fun. It was lively and joyful, and by all accounts, everyone seemed to be having a good time. Atreus circled around the tables, making a point to say hello to everyone, and at the very least ask them their names and where they were from. So many had been displaced, and even more had lost family and friends- if not to the desolation, then to Fimbulwinter or Ragnarök. But no one was in bad spirits, and if anything, they said that the party was the first time in years that they felt truly happy and relaxed. And they had barely started. Atreus eventually got to Mola and Nir, and greeted them by pouring them more drink, before making polite small talk. Curiosity getting the best of him, he asked when the baby was to arrive. 

“Oh, four months or so, I would say,” Mola answered, patting her belly. “By the way, thank you for serving something that is not mead or water. I am enjoying this…juice?”

“Yes, from my girlfriend's homeland,” Atreus laughed, tapping the clay bottle. “Not everyone enjoys alcohol.” He glanced at Thrúd, who was now in the corner with Skjöldr, playing with his hair. “So we figured it would be better.”

“ Well, we are having a great time, and it's not even evening yet!” Nir exclaimed. “By the way, is this going to be a regular thing?”

“The party?” Atreus asked. “I….I don't see why it couldn't be.” It was a nice idea for this to happen from time to time. 

Nir's suggestion bounced around in his mind as he continued on to the other tables, only to eventually get flagged down by Freyr for a drink. “Atreus, here, to your health!” He tapped his mug against Atreus’ and drank the beer in one fell swoop. Atreus himself wasn't that able, but he managed to down half, the sticky drink pouring down the corners of his mouth. He coughed and wiped it away while Freyr laughed heartily. “Atreus, this gotta be one of the best parties I've been at in a while. And it's been a while.”

Atreus coughed. “Are you drunk already?”

Freyr gave him an indignant look. “Well of course I am! And it's great! Everyone is walking over asking me if I'm really Freyr, and when I say yes, they get all wide-eyed and ask for stories, and oh boy have I got plenty of them!”

“Thought you'd be bored, hanging around people so young!” Atreus was now shouting. Most guests had finished eating and were well on their way to the drinking and dancing, the music and chatter growing louder and louder by the minute. 

“Pfft, as if. Also, I noticed a lovely lady in the kitchen-”

“I noticed!” Atreus exclaimed.

“-and I'm gonna say hello to her in a bit, but first-” Freyr pointed at the stairs, which were beset on both sides by tipsy guests sitting and laughing and chatting. “-I need to go and bore them with my stories. And offer them herbs.” He saluted and sauntered off, his gait already off-center. 

Atreus shook his head and knocked back the rest of the beer, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He had to get back to the guests, but figured he could use another drink, so got Brok to pour him another.

Angrboda ran up to him, her hand going around his waist. “I met so many people!” she exclaimed, glee in her voice. “We have to do this every year!”

“Funny enough someone told me that!” Atreus said, struggling to hear her over the hubbub of the party. As if the music wasn’t loud enough, he knew it was about to get louder, because yes, Freyr had brought his harp, no doubt intending to add to the melodious cacophony. He was in the midst of showing off the gold instrument to some guests, who were already smoking something. 

“ I want to go to talk to everyone else, you coming with me?” Atreus wanted to hurry before it got too rowdy. 

Angrboda nodded, and planted a wet kiss on his cheek before stealing the rest of his beer and running off with him towards the guests.

Chapter Text

The party continued on without a hitch, and everyone was having a very good time socializing- including Atreus.

“Can we ask you about that?” A fair-haired girl asked, pointing at the loincloth. “It's gorgeous.” Atreus had sat down at the table with some Midgardians, ones he recognized from the camp that had been unfortunately attacked.

“Oh sure,” he said, downing yet another mug of beer. He was now properly tipsy, the alcohol having dulled any inhibitions or hang-ups he had left over. “It was my father's. He gave it to me as a kid, and well, I wear it now.”

“The new God of War's loincloth? Woah…” Another dude chimed in. “What's your father like? We hear he’s from a land called Sparta?”

“Yes, he is, and he's like, super strict.” Atreus’ features softened. “But he's also very kind, and he's nice. He just looks scary.”

“Invite him to the next party then!” Another bellowed. 

Atreus burst into laughter, managing to squeeze in some sure's and why not's; the thought of his father at a party like this was inherently amusing.

He excused himself politely after chatting a while longer, noticing that he was stumbling. In his tipsy daze, he stopped to look around. Freyr was still on the stairs, chatting up a large group and drinking in the attention that came from him playing the surprisingly large, golden harp; unfortunately, the sound of the instrument was easily drowned out by the playing band. Atreus suddenly careened to the side, grabbing a corner of a nearby table to right himself up. He spotted Angrboda in the distance making small talk with Sindri, while Thrúd and Skjöldr were next to her, whispering, no doubt making plans to find some privacy. 

Perhaps it was the beer talking, but everything looked brilliant. The hall was glowing in hues of orange and gold, the lanterns and fireplace basking everyone in warm light. The air was heavy with the smell of drink and smoke, alleviated only by the open windows and the skylight, and everyone was dancing and fraternizing and laughing. It seemed that all troubles had been forgotten, and Atreus realized that he did it, he managed, this was exactly what he had pictured when the idea of the party first crossed his mind.

The only issue was that the music had suddenly stopped. Byggvir called off his troupe to go take a break - they deserved it - but a party could not be without music for long, not at this stage. So, Atreus hollered at Freyr to drag his harp down and play it.

Freyr pointed at Atreus. “I will if you play your lyre!” he shouted back, already picking up the heavy instrument. Atreus scoffed, pretending that the idea of him playing an instrument was preposterous, when in fact he not only knew how to play, but he knew how to play well, once again thanks to his father.

So they both settled down in the corner of the hall, on the musician’s pedestal. “I have no idea how we’ll do this, but let’s just wing it. Try to follow me,” Freyr said, while tuning the harp. Atreus made similar adjustments to his simple wooden lyre- Angrboda had been kind enough to go get it from upstairs, and he had thanked her with an exaggerated kiss on the back of her hand, one that she blushed and giggled over. Once the duo signaled they were ready, Angrboda took a step back and loudly announced both of the “up-and-coming musicians”. The joke earned some laughs as Freyr was quick to explain he had played the harp since forever and a day, while Atreus had played his lyre for a mere two years, much to Atreus’ indignation.

After some more light banter pertaining to the nature of their sobriety and musical prowess, Freyr started to play, and silence befell the hall. This harp was smaller than the one housed in the royal Vanaheim rooms, but was still large enough to stand upright and deliver slow, melodious music that sounded like cascading rain. Atreus listened for a moment before following with a slower tempo. The lyre was a plucky instrument, ‘more stringy’, as Mimir once put it, and Atreus wanted these decisive notes to complete the softer melody of the harp. It worked well, and soon, all the guests were enchanted, swaying to the calm music. Hell, even Brok had ceased putting out drink, focusing his entire attention on the performance. Atreus glanced up, and noticed that Beyla and Byggvir were sitting hand-in-hand, listening happily, while Angrboda looked at him with a certain wonder in her eyes. He realized that he had played for her only once, and figured that if she was going to look at him like that, he’d have to indulge her and play everyday.

It was amazing how Freyr could naturally wrap up a piece, so much so that Atreus had no problem playing the ending notes of an old Greek composition his father had taught him without it sounding out of place. He realized that at some point, he had closed his eyes, and when he opened them, he was met with uproarious applause. Wow, he actually played something coherent while half-drunk. He got up and bowed, as did Freyr, both satisfied with their performance. Freyr was already gunning for more, and was encouraging some of the troupe to come up and accompany him.

But Atreus needed to be with Angrboda, the music having put him in a romantic mood. So he jumped off the stage, waving at Freyr to continue with the troupe (much to Byggvir’s approval). He sought out his girlfriend, and before she could say anything, he wordlessly pulled her to his side while motioning for the door. She caught on immediately, and grabbed a bottle of mead on their way out.

The cold night air provided a comfortable cool as they walked off as much as they could until Atreus grew impatient, pulling Angrboda into a kiss and pushing her up against a nearby tree. The light from the house was visible, but the shadows obscured them, giving them some coveted privacy; he used it to slide his hands under her dress and up her legs, and she replied by kissing and nipping at his neck. The continued their fondling for a good while, only pausing to take a sip of mead here and there. Soon, the inebriation took its toll, rendering the ground unusually unstable. In order to counter such an unfortunate situation, they slid down onto the grass and sat on the ground, taking another swig of mead while giggling and cuddling up against each other.

“Have we ever been this drunk?” Angrboda giggled.

Atreus laughed. “No, I don't think so. But man this is fun. You want to smoke?”

Angrboda shook her head against his chest. She was curled up against him, head in the crook of his neck. “I'm good. You go ahead though.”

Atreus lit up, slowly inhaling and exhaling the smoke. The herbs pushed him to further relaxation, and with it, a lowering of any filter between his mouth and brain. 

“You think we will get married?” he blurted out.

“Yes, I think so,” Angrboda said, without a second of hesitation in her voice. “I think I love you too much.”

“Yeah, same here,” he said. He knew he would have never dared ask if he was in any way sober, but seeing all the happy couples at the party got him thinking. He pulled her close to him and fully leaned against the tree, letting himself fall into a light sleep, knowing that a quick nap would energize him a little, and help him clear his head. The party was still continuing, and he needed to keep his wits about him.

Which would be hard, considering how he was floating away. But fuck it, he needed to also have fun, and he had fulfilled his duties as a host for the time being. “Let's just stay here for thirty minutes, and then get back to it,” he mumbled.

“Are you actually going to be coherent in thirty minutes?” Angrboda asked.

Atreus scoffed. “Totally. This-” he waved the pipe in his hand, “Is not strong. I asked Freyr to give me the milder stuff.”

“Okay, if you say so, handsome.” 

He giggled. “You're handsome too.”

“Yes I am."

Angrboda coaxed his head onto her lap, and Atreus lied down with a sigh, the rumbustious sounds of the party acting as an unorthodox lullaby. Slumber took him as Angrboda stroked his hair, his last waking thoughts being about how lucky he was to have her, his friends, and his family.

Kratos studied Draupnir absentmindedly. He was with the wolves at the edge of the Wildwoods, waiting for reports on any movement or suspicious activity. 

So far, the party had been going very well, or so he'd heard. His son was an amicable host, and the youth was having a fun time. Perhaps too fun; he hoped no one would overdo the drink, or the herbs.

Still, that was a relatively minor concern, especially with what they could possibly be facing. 

The brush nearby rustled, and out came out Freya holding Mimir. Both looked concerned.

“How many?” Kratos gruffly asked. He had forgone his heavy armor, deciding to wear his leather-bound shoulder guard and belt. Something told him he had made a poor decision. 

“A small army Kratos, a small army,” Mimir said. Freya had put him on a nearby log. “My dear Sigrun is taking stock at the moment-”

“Mimir exaggerates,” Freya interrupted. “It's not even a garrison. Not even a-”

“What would your guess be?” Kratos asked.

Freya sighed. “200. All under the influence of magic.”

Kratos growled, and began to pace. Speki and Svanna sensed his disquiet, and followed his steps, nudging at his thighs with their heads. He did not shoo them away.

“How far out from the party?” he finally asked.

“There's the good news, they're not even at the edge of the Wildwoods. We can stop them if we act quickly,” Mimir said.

“It's not entirely good news,” Freya interrupted. “Because you know how this magic works, Kratos.”

He grunted. Beings could be easily brought back if the wielder was skilled, and there was much indication that they were. Many had been missing after Ragnarok, and some were skilled users of magic, including Vanaheim magic. But he did not want to jump to conclusions- origin was not important. Intent was. 

“Regardless, we must stop them.” Kratos concluded. “A team is still however needed to look for the source. And someone has to warn Atreus.”

“So you want to warn the boy?” Mimir asked.

“Warn, but not stop the event yet. There is no point in raising an alarm beforehand.”

“And panic may make things worse, I understand what you are thinking, “Freya said. “I will search, and the rest will stop the group at the edge of the Woods.”

Mimir sighed in concern. “Kratos, I take it you plan to fight?”

“I do, but I will also be the one to warn my son. Mimir, go with Sigrun. You have a keen eye for deception.”

“That I do,” Mimir said, almost boasting. “Which is why I know something more concerns you.” 

Kratos nodded and reached down to pet Speki. “Why send so many to attack so few?” He finally said. “Most there are not warriors.”

“Your son is there, as is Thrúd, Beyla, Byggvir, Freyr and Skjöldr. There's a group that could already take down many,” Freya said, but it was clear to Kratos she was just as unconvinced as him. 

“No matter, we shall find out soon. For now, let's do what we can.” Kratos held out his arm, and Freya shook it, giving it a gentle squeeze just as they unclasped. Mimir pretended he didn't see. 

“The dragon was enormous, and it attacked father and me without warning, just as we were ascending to the top.”

Atreus was the center of attention again, and this time, he got badgered into telling stories. He knew this would come about, especially since everyone could dance for only so long before needing another break. And what better entertainment than to hear stories from a god?

Someone yelled out if he had ever seen a dragon, and that was when the first story started. Now that he had the blessing of hindsight, any guilt or remorse he felt was largely gone, and he could recount his past with relative ease, knowing that his experiences led him to where he was now. 

But as he engrossed himself in storytelling while sitting at the center of the table and surrounded by eager listeners, he failed to notice Freyr slip out, and was almost stunned when the King suddenly appeared next to him, asking him to come outside. 

“Why?” Atreus whispered. 

“It's your father, he says it's urgent."

Atreus felt the hair at the back of his neck stand up. He quickly excused himself to the disappointed aw’s of everyone, and he hastily promised he'd be back in a moment before Angrboda to take over. 

He was not naive. He knew his father would find out eventually, but he had hoped it would happen much, much later.

And now, his father was a few steps away from the cabin, waiting in the shadows with Speki and Svanna. 

“Father, I-” 

“A moment. King Freyr, is your constitution steady enough to join Queen Freya?”

Freyr scoffed. “Kratos my friend, you have to know it isn't.” He stretched his arms and shrugged. “But also I think it is best I stay, as we discussed. I will drink no more.” 

Kratos sighed and nodded at him, and Freyr saluted him goodbye, uttering a teasing ‘good luck’ to Atreus. 

Kratos then sized his son up, Atreus standing before him nervous. “I wish to congratulate you on your party. It looks very….joyful,” he said.

Atreus relaxed when he realized his father meant it. “Thought you'd be mad.” He began walking away from the house, and his father followed him. He bent down to pet Speki and then Svanna, both wolves pushing their heads into his palms, delighted to see their young master.  “You're both so cute, yes you are,” Atreus cooed.

His father had cracked a smile. “I would not be mad. You are an adult, you do what you wish. But the party looks wonderful. You brought many together.”

Atreus furrowed his brows. “You really think so?”

“I….am more diplomatically oriented, these days.”

Atreus laughed, and thanked him. “You didn't come here to congratulate me on throwing a party, father. I know you must disapprove of the drink and…..other intoxication's.”

“I am old, and a Spartan. I will always disapprove.”

Atreus grinned. “I swear I'm not overdoing it.”

“I know you aren't,” Kratos said, but that is not why am I here. “First, I give you this.”

To Atreus’ surprise, he was handed the very pouch he had passed on from Brok to his father. Curiosity gripping him, he hastily untied the thick golden rope, which now gave away with ease.

Into his palm fell a thin, solid white bracelet with glimmering golden patterns, made from some precious metal. Atreus stared at it, stumped and impressed by the piece's beauty- it looked like living, shimmering marble.

But he was confused. He felt the bracelet held power, but he was unsure what kind. His father urged him to put it on his right wrist, and that's when it clicked. 

The bracelet summoned a spear, a gorgeous, golden-white spear, with a winged motif running down the sides in bronze. It complimented the talon bow perfectly.

Atreus stared at it speechless, in awe at the beauty of it. 

“Throw it,” Kratos said. 

“It's dark though-”

“Do not worry. You will not lose it."

Putting faith in his father, Atreus threw the spear, into the forest. It glistened as it whooshed through the air, getting stuck in the trunk of a distant tree. He took a step to retrieve it, but his father put his hand on his shoulder.

“Hold out your hand."

Atreus did, and like that, the spear flew back, placing itself perfectly in his palm. 

“Holy shit,” Atreus gasped.

“You like it then?”

Atreus scoffed in disbelief. “Well yeah! Father I…thank you."

Kratos placed his hands on Atreus’ shoulders, bringing him closer to him. “It is my gift to you. For your training so far, and what you have accomplished.”

The gift moved Atreus. His father had it made specially for him, and it was a weapon seemingly similar to the axe. He could not wait to use it, and was eager to learn of its abilities.

He moved in to hug his father, realizing it had been a long time since he had done so. His father reciprocated in kind, giving his back a firm squeeze before breaking them apart. “I'm afraid I give this gift to you sooner than hoped,” Kratos said.

“Sooner?” Atreus was confused. “What-”

Kratos explained what was coming, or what they suspected was coming. Including his thoughts regarding the numbers and direction. 

Panic overcame Atreus. “I can stop the party right now-” His feet were already headed to the house.

“No, no.” Kratos took his son's arm. “I wonder if this is not a ploy. To get the guests to scatter-"

“And pick everyone off.” Atreus put his hands to head. “But ok, we travel in a big group-”

“Also dangerous. Easy to spot.”

Atreus sucked in a shaky breath. “I shouldn't have done this. I wanted to have fun and get drunk and-"

“No,” Kratos said softly. “It is precisely because you did this that this is happening. Or at least we suspect. This means it's a good thing.”

“Yeah,” Atreus mumbled. 

Kratos grabbed his son’s shoulder and gave it a reassuring shake. “Do not worry. Go back to the party, and make sure everyone stays. There is room for everyone to stay the night, yes?”

“There is.” Atreus put his hands on his hips. “Easier to defend if everyone is inside, in one place.”

“Exactly. But Atreus, do not tell anyone. I repeat, do not allow for panic.”

Atreus nodded, still visibly distraught. He heard his father sigh, and for a moment he was sure it was in annoyance. 

It was not. “Atreus, it will be alright. I know it will be difficult, but…” Kratos gestured towards the house. “Enjoy the party. We will not let anyone come close,” he said, softly. 

“No yeah, you're right, I'll try not to worry. But you'll send someone if something starts to go wrong?” 

Kratos shook his head. “I will send no one. I will be here myself.”

Atreus smiled. Granted, he'd still be tense, but he'd do his best to not let the situation get to him. In hindsight, he should have predicted that some kind of emergency would arise. 

He parted ways with his father, and made his way back into the hall. The crowd was still surrounding his girlfriend, who was telling what seemed to be a Jötunn tale. 

To think that they were at such a point that everyone would be hearing Giant stories with actual delighted interest. His father was right-it all had been worth it. He scanned the entranced guests, some slightly swaying from the amount of drink they had, while others, like Thrúd and Skjöldr, were draped over each in a relaxed manner.

It was then that Byggvir and Beyla came into his view. “We have heard of the situation,” Beyla said. “His Majesty Freyr let us know.”

“Freyr!” Atreus hissed. He thought that it would stay between them, but no, Freyr apparently decided to let the other hosts know, and then lie down on the stairs, drinking a bottle that he dangled through the balustrade gaps. 

“Did you not wish us to know?” Byggvir asked, worried.

“No, no, it's just father told me to not spread it around.” He corralled them into a corner, further out of earshot. “Obviously I'll tell Angrboda, but we can’t let it get out.”

“What do you need us to do?” Beyla asked. “His Majesty told us to simply continue as it were.”

“He's right, my love. If we sow disquiet-”

“Everyone freaks out, yeah.” Atreus held up his hand. “We have enough food, and we can put everyone up, let's just stay here, all of us.”

Beyla smirked. “A true party, with the threat of danger ever present all night.”

Atreus laughed nervously. He didn't want to know what elf parties actually looked like. Or maybe he did, but he would have to ask later. Right now he needed to let everyone know that they were welcome to stay the night, and that in fact, he insisted on it. Something told him that little convincing would be needed.

He slid in next to Angbroda, putting his hand on her waist and politely excusing her. “Everyone! My apologies, but we have good news. The party will last until morning! Please stay, and we will put you up! Also, I’ll continue my story in just a moment, gotta take care of some….organization….things!”

The small crowd erupted in cheers, much to Sindri’s dismay. He pulled Atreus to the side, complaining that they had way too little rooms, while Angrboda tried to ask what was going on. .

“You're a stiff, they will just sleep on the floor!” Brok said, having come from behind the bar.

“The filthy floor?” Sindri shook his head and gestured wildly. “No, no. This won't do. We can’t let people sleep on the floor, it’s improper!”

Atreus looked up and sighed. “Then I guess I have to tell you too.”

As he predicted, Angrboda accepted the news with solemn calmness, Brok was barely concerned, and Sindri was near panic. Not over the threat- but the overflow of people. 

“Sin, Sin.” Atreus moved to put his hand on his shoulder, but retreated at the last moment. “It's all on me okay, I'll take care of it, and when this is over, the place will be spotless.”

“No, I know Atreus, I know.” The dwarf took a deep breath and held up his hands. “I get too worked up-”

“-and over the wrong fucking thing too!” Brok chastised. Sindri nearly erupted, but was stopped by Thrúd’s arrival.

“Oh we freaking out about the magic army?” She leaned on Atreus. “We alone could deal man, come on.”

“Yeah but we don't wanna fight with all these people around. Also, I rather keep the party going.”

Thrúd sighed exaggeratedly, stretching her back. “Fiiiiiiine. I'm too high anyway.”

Atreus grinned. “Having a good time?”

She scoffed. “A party where everyone isn't dead drunk and fighting? Yeah it's a good one.” She leaned in to kiss him on his forehead, much to Atreus’ surprise. “You're the best, man. And now, me and Skjöldr are gonna go dance.”

“But you know I was supposed to finish my story-” Whatever he wanted to say was drowned out by Byggvir starting up the music with the band again, with much more gusto than before.

Well fuck it, time to dance. “Angrboda!” he called out. He'd finish the dragons story later, but right now, he was jittery and anxious, and he needed to offset it somehow. 

The music was joyful and cheery, sweeping up most to their feet. Tables were swiftly cleared and anyone who wasn't dancing was on the stairs and upper balcony, looking down at everyone and clapping to the beat or tapping their toes. The lights from the candles flickered against the ceiling and the wall, casting shadows that made the whole room seem to dance along with the guests.

Atreus had Angrboda by the waist, and spun her around and around before grabbing her hands and vigorously dancing to the beat. She laughed, the sound of her voice going beyond the crowd, and he felt so deeply in love again. She then let go of one of his hands to grab the hem of her dress and wave it around as they moved from side to side, smiling at each other and laughing. He didn't even know what he was doing, but he did not care, his feet taking on a life of their own. It was so fun, and he realized they had to do this more often; they had only danced a few times before, the first time being a mere two years ago. 

Atreus reached back to linger on that memory. He had just passed 16 winters, and he had noticed that some people were dancing at a formal banquet he and his father were attending. As petrified as he was, he asked Angrboda to dance, and she agreed. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed his father looking at him with a fond expression, as if silently approving.

It had been so awkward back then; he was afraid to even come to close to her, but now he grabbed her close to him and playfully spun her around again while cackling, not at all concerned about rejection or where his feet would land. 

“Atreus I'm dizzy,” she laughed. “Stop!"

He did, and made sure to hold her by the arms, steadying her. The happiness he was feeling was overwhelming, damned be any threats, and damned be any worries. His girlfriend was here, his friends were here, and that was all that mattered. 

They continued their dancing punctuated by clumsy kisses, their energy not dying out for a while. From the balustrade, Freyr cheered everyone on, spurring the rest of the crowd into wild dancing, himself soon joining in. Even Sindri was swaying to the side, observing the happy chaos from a safe distance. 

“Return fire!” Kratos shouted. He was glad they had brought archers with them- they were now doing an excellent job of stalling the incoming rabid infantry. The enemy numbers quickly thinned, the arrows whooshing through the air with a deadly sound, killing a good two dozen before they came close. 

So be it. Kratos let the axe fly, sowing its ruthless destruction while Draupnir rained another hail of piercing metal, this time wiping out another five or so. Kratos slammed the spear down with fervor, detonating the spears around the enemy. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Midgardian soldiers stare in awe. Some of them had never seen the axe, or the spear, in battle.

“Focus! they are coming!” he roared, and just like that, his men were back in formation, ready to fight in close combat. 

He would not let these men die. He could not. Not after they had survived Fimbulwinter and Ragnarök. Kratos swung the axe and fought furiously before even a few managed to run past him, and these were taken care of quickly by the forces in the back. Before they knew it, 50 raiders possessed by Seithr magic had been wiped out, each scattering into ashes.

“They hit…strangely.” Kratos mumbled, sheathing the axe. The blades didn't have to come out, for which he was glad. 

“They did seem more ghostly, General, as if the magic wasn't as strong,” A nearby solider from Vanaheim commented, having heard him. “I hope her Majesty is fairing well with the other group.”

Kratos grunted. He hoped so too. Unexpectedly, the small enemy army had split into two, the bigger one heading towards Freya and the Valkyries. There was no doubt they'd handle them, especially since they had support from warriors as well. Even Birgir had come out of retirement, and joined the fight. 

“General, there seem to be no more around.” His captain, clad from head to toe in heavy armour, approached him; a fine, stout young man with a calmness that Kratos wished he had in his own youth. 

“Good, we then go to support her Majesty.”

This had to be it, hadn't it? Kratos did not know much of Vanaheim magic, but he couldn't see how the numbers could be any larger. The scouts kept reporting a lack of armed forces, and the defeated enemies themselves did not feel strong. Whoever was responsible for this was wearing themselves thin. 

It would be an hour before they made it to the other battlefield, and Kratos began the hasty march at the forefront, his captain keeping in line with him. 

The captain, whose name was Sten, walked side by side with him in respectful silence, occasionally commenting on their surroundings or which route to take. Kratos had grown to enjoy the man's company, and was satisfied in his choice when making him a leader of one of the best Midgardian garrison's. 

“General, if I may ask, do you think it is a one-time occurrence?” Sten asked. They were nearing Freya's location.

“We are still unsure.” Kratos replied. “It is our hope we find those responsible.”

Sten grunted. “Yes, the attack was chaotic, but still organized. Certainly not a spasm of old, tired corrupt magic breathing its last breath.”

“Hm, yes.” Sten would know. He and his immediate family had managed to stay hidden from the desolation, and then Fimbulwinter. The captain had not been able to fight much, but he observed a lot, and his insight was keen.

Which was why when he halted in his tracks, Kratos followed suit. “What is the matter?” he asked.

Sten pointed his sword at the ground. “These look like fresh draugr tracks.”

Kratos furrowed his brow. He was right. No animal made such odd marks in the ground: piercing, deep round holes combined with drag marks. 

“But we are still far from-”

Kratos did not finish his sentence. Draugr descended on them from all sides, some fast and wielding two-handed weapons, others carrying heavy hammers and clubs that could shatter a mortal's head in an instant. 

“Form a circle!” Kratos roared. They needed to defend, and he hoped the men would not be panicked enough to forget their shields. 

They were not, and withstood the first onslaught. And then, it was fair game. While the draugr had had the element of surprise, they did not have numbers to rely on. It was three to one to their benefit, and soon, the enemies were swiftly disposed of. 

But that was not why everyone looked frightened. “They were organized,” a solider muttered, letting her chipped sword fall to the ground. A companion offered her another. 

Sten looked at Kratos, slight panic in his eyes. This had to be someone powerful enough to not only command draugr, but to summon them unexpectedly, which meant the danger could be more grave than anticipated.

“We must run to Freya,” Kratos said, hastily. 

Chapter Text

Tiredness began to take hold on most guests. Some were snoozing on the stairs, others had meandered off to the rooms, deciding to take a ‘quick nap’ and promptly succumbing to sleep despite the rambunctiousness taking place in the hall. 

Atreus had told another round of his stories, after which Beyla got everyone out to show off the fireworks, an act met with vivacious cheers and delighted squeals. After that, there had been more dancing, and now, it was Freyr telling stories, capturing everyone with his charisma and vivid descriptions. He was now telling of the elves, and assuring everyone that Byggvir and Beyla would hold a Q and A as soon as he was done. The elves had aroused the respectful curiosity (along with some wariness) at first, but by now, all party-goers were comfortable enough with their presence.

“Father was right,” Atreus said. Angrboda was sitting next to him on the table, feet hanging off the edge.

“What do you mean?” she asked. 

“He said this party was important, and he was right, look. Everyone is chatting, hanging out, listening to each other. We have representatives from the nine realms, and there's no bad blood anywhere. I mean look.” He pointed to Beyla, who was off on the side, talking to a group of people and showing them her wings. It was hard to miss her smirk of satisfaction when they gasped in awe.

“It's really great, isn't it?” Angrboda leaned into him, and began to kiss his neck. Atreus sighed, suddenly tempted to go upstairs into the confines of privacy, but he was fairly sure that if there wasn't someone sleeping in one of the rooms, they were having sex. Sure, there was the main room they had sort of claimed, but Thrúd and Skojldr had gone inside, and neither he or Angrboda was brave enough to go see what exactly the two were up to. Again. 

“Hey, listen, I-” Atreus’ words were interrupted by loud laughter. Freyr had said something amusing, and Atreus strained to hear what exactly it had been. Perhaps it had been something about his companions in the forest? 

“Yo, Loki!” Someone called from up top, startling some of the snoozing guests on the stairs. It was Thrúd, and she came bounding down, looking energetic and rejuvenated.

“What is up, love birds?” she asked playfully, sitting on the table with such force that it rattled. “You good?” 

“Pretty good,”Angrboda giggled, her hand wrapped around Atreus’ waist. 

“Alright, so am I. Skjöldr kinda wiped out, but I can kick him out from your bed if you want.”

“Nah, we're good,” Atreus waved. He spied an open bottle, and, deeming it safe to drink, he took a swig, pleasantly surprised it was mead. He thought they had run out an hour ago. 

“Hey, Atreus, and Angrboda, if I can get real for a second.” Thrúd squared her shoulders and cleared her throat. “Thanks for this. All of it. It’s been great. Between all the Valkyrie training and all the other shit, I didn't have time to have any fun, let alone hang out properly with my boyfriend.”

“We should organize things like this more often,” Angrboda said with a smile.

“Yeah, ha,” Thrúd said, her voice cracking slightly. “Thanks guys.” Her happiness was genuine and abundant. 

“We wouldn't have done it without you though,” Atreus said. He leaned in to hug Thrúd, exaggeratedly wiggling out of Angrboda's embrace. Thrúd squeezed him back, and gave him a strong clap on the shoulder. “Fuckin’ love you man. And your father, he got me in with the Valkyries.”

“You deserve it,” Atreus said. He took Angrboda's hand, and leaned against Thrúd. “I'm glad you aren't turned off by all the drinking.”

“This is like brunch compared to the shit I had seen.” Thrúd shrugged, Atreus’ head moving up and down with her shoulder. “Besides, you made sure there's other good stuff to drink, and smoke.”

“You should try the stuff Angrboda grew in Ironwood,” Atreus said.

Thrúd raised her eyebrows at the giantess. “Oh yeah,” Angrboda boasted. “His Majesty Freyr himself buys from me.”

“Please tell me you have some with you.”

“I do, upstairs.” 

With that, they jumped off the table, and Atreus waved them off, gesturing that he wanted to keep listening to Freyr's stories.   

In reality, he needed some time to be alone. The threat outside was still real, and even though he wasn't worried, he was still seriously concerned. He wished he could get himself properly drunk, but he knew he had to curb himself should an emergency arise. At least none of the guests had opted to leave, which meant that if there was trouble, it would involve only those here. He had also played up the possibility of getting lost in the woods after dark, and given that the dangers were still fresh in everyone's mind, he assumed no one would dare sneak off, not with a place as inviting as this. 

His thoughts were interrupted by Freyr's story. He had begun telling the tale about his sword, a tale Atreus had heard often, but was happy to hear again. It seemed that the audience had forgotten Freyr was royalty, and whooped and hollered at him without a thought. Freyr, as easy-going as he was, welcomed the attention from everyone, spurring them into an even greater tizzy. 

Now Atreus wondered if anyone would actually sleep. Dawn would be upon them soon, and aside from the select few that had turned in, everyone was still up and going. He hoped the next few hours would be peaceful. 

Just then, out of the corner of his eye he saw a light flickering outside. He quickly turned to look out the nearby window, but noticed nothing. Not about to brush anything off, he walked up to the wooden shutters and shoved them wider apart, peering into the darkness.

Nothing. He didn't see, feel, or hear anything. 

Atreus sighed. He was more on edge than he had thought. 

Kratos was relieved to see upon his arrival that Freya and the Valkyries had dispatched all enemies.  

“Do you have injured?” Kratos asked, approaching Freya and Sigrun.

“A few, but nothing Eir cannot handle,” Sigrun said. 

“Still, we do not like this, at all.” Freya grunted. Her armor showed the wear and tear of battle; she was also strikingly dirty,  her braids were mussed and tousled, a sight that woke as much admiration as it did attraction.

Kratos attempted to ignore the flutters in his heart, and failed miserably.

“Our observation was very much the same,” Kratos finally said. 

Sigrun laughed. “That you did not like this?” She gestured at the now devastated patch of forest. “Hello again Mimir.”

“Hello love,” Mimir said softly, Kratos finally unhooking him from his back to face his loved one. “And yes, it is what we mean, of sorts. Have you noticed that everyone was a little too organized?”

“Yes. But this is not news; we suspected someone was behind this,” Freya said. 

“But these forces are not formidable. In fact, we have barely any injured, and no deaths,” Kratos said. “I do not wish ill upon us or our forces, but this is most suspicious.”

“And I assume the scouts have not brought warnings?” Mimir asked.

“They have not, no, I just checked,” Sten interjected; the captain had been quietly listening up to that point. “It seems everything around the house is calm and quiet.”

Kratos fell silent. Nothing about the situation felt right, and something told him that they were missing something. He asked about the source, but Freya said she couldn't find anything, not even with the help of her magic.

It was Mimir who provided the breakthrough they needed. “Forgive me for asking such a perhaps inane question, but have you checked the area around the house Atreus is in?”

“Of course.” Freya furrowed her brows. “I made sure that no enemies were nearby and no traces of old magic.

Kratos’ eyes flew wide open. “They expected that would be done. It is why they busied us here-”

“-so they could move in.” The panic on Freya's face was palpable. “But wait, the scouts have not brought word-”

“Because they expect an army. One is enough.” Sigrun said.

Kratos shouted out orders for the men to stay to deal with any stragglers, while Sigrun voted to keep watch with Mimir. “Go!” they yelled, and Kratos and Freya took off without a second thought. 

They both broke into a run, deftly avoiding the trees and branches in their path, nothing able to stop them. “The gate?” Kratos yelled.

“I think it’s best, but it will only take us so far. We will have to run the rest of the way!” Freya yelled back, already a good few paces in front of him.

“You can fly! As soon as we are on the other side, go without me! I will catch up!” Kratos said.

“Right!” Freya agreed.

Minutes later, they arrived at the realm gate, their frustration amplified by having to stop, tap the stone, wait for the light to appear, then walk onto the branches, run to the other end to the gate, then slowing down to step through. It was but a moment, certainly shorter than any journey by foot, but by the time they both stepped back into Midgard, Kratos was grinding his teeth, and Freya was curling her fists. 

As soon as they were beyond the gate, Freya unfurled her wings, flying up majestically and at a frightening speed. Kratos only paused momentarily to watch her reach the tree crowns, and then he took off towards the house. Every moment counted.  

He followed, running as fast as he could, cursing that he had not realized the enemy plans sooner. Of course stealth was the best option here. If the scouts hadn't raised the alarm, then that meant no one was coming, right? It was logical, yet stupid. Perhaps the perpetrator meant to kill only one target- Atreus. 

What frightened Kratos was that such a being would have to know who his son was, and what he could do. Atreus was kind and gentle, but perfectly capable of unleashing destruction if the situation called for it. What was more, he was accompanied by other fighters- Freyr, Thrúd, Skjöldr, Angrboda, and the dwarves as well, who would undoubtedly defend Atreus with a fierceness only outmatched by his own. 

So who would be so unwise as to attack?

These thoughts raced through Kratos’ mind as he ran. He briefly regretted leaving the wolves at the cabin: the sisters had excellent noses, and could sense danger from far away. But it was too late to go back now, and he hoped that it was not too late to stop an attack. 

As he approached the house, he descended into a light jog. Nothing seemed amiss, but he could not tell where his son was. Should he enter the house? His presence would be-

He heard a crash nearby. It sounded like trees falling to the ground. But he could not go, not until he knew that his son was safe. 

He was.

Kratos had moved to the West side of the house, and as he looked up, Atreus and Angrboda were looking out of the window, having heard the noise as well. 

Their eyes locked. “Stay inside, do not let anyone out,” Kratos ordered in a harsh tone.

Atreus opened his mouth to ask if he should join, but soon realized his father meant business. So he nodded, and slammed the shutters, moving on to do so in the other rooms.

Kratos ran again, a peace settling in his heart, tempering only mildly the righteous anger coursing through his veins. 

He was soon met with a puzzling sight. Freya was fighting with what appeared to be a Valkyrie. They were clashing wildly, their swords slamming against each other, their wings appearing and disappearing as they dodged each other's attacks. 

Kratos watched, waiting for an opening that could ensure victory. It was apparent Freya was struggling, and no wonder- the Valkyrie was hurling Seithr magic at her, hoping to make sure Freya was fully on the defensive. 

That would not happen.

Kratos summoned the spear, and threw a few in the Valkyrie's direction. The split second distraction was more than enough for Freya, who drew her sword and summoned the branches to grasp at the Valkyries feet. The axe flew into Kratos’ hand from his back, and he threw it at the trapped warrior, only to be blocked by a shield. Freya advanced, but was also thwarted by a powerful hit, one that sent her crashing into a tree. 

Undeterred, Kratos summoned the axe back into his hand and charged with a roar. The Valkyrie however was much more agile, and flew out of range, hitting him in the back, toppling him to the ground and knocking the wind out of him.

It was like fighting Gná all over again. 

Kratos gasped, fighting to get his bearings. Freya's wings came into his field of vision, protecting him as she pushed the Valkyrie backwards, swinging her sword in a wide berth.  

It was difficult to land a hit. Kratos managed to get up and make contact with his axe, but it was superficial, the hits absorbed by what seemed to be magic-infused armor. The Valkyrie said nothing, wordlessly fighting them, her anger palpable, but silent. 

It was clear they were not the targets. And it was clear that their sudden presence upset the Valkyrie greatly, meaning that they had interrupted her successfully. Overpowering her was of the greatest import, lest she attempt to succeed in her mission again. 

Freya was fighting brilliantly, but Kratos knew that even with him as support, it wasn't enough. They were on the defensive, not losing, but not making progress either. Freya’s magic was constantly being deflected, and his own moves were read from a mile away. He even did a feint, swinging the axe to the side, and then quickly down, but the Valkyrie read his move, blocking the lower cut and punching him square in the face. Freya returned the favor, but was not allowed another punch before being swept to the side, slamming back first into a bush. She groaned in pain. 

“What do you want?” Kratos roared, but the Valkyrie ignored his question, aiming to swing at his neck. Kratos blocked it with the axe, registering a second too late that the attack was misleading.

The pain was sharp- the Valkyrie’s secondary blade had embedded itself into Kratos’ side. He cried out in pain, his legs wobbling beneath him. Rage began to overtake him, and he prepared himself to see nothing but red. 

And then, a spear slammed into the Valkyrie's arm. She wailed, and then screamed in anger. The spear then tore itself out of her arm, and before she realized that it was gone, two arrows pierced her knee, knocking her to the ground. Both Freya and Kratos took advantage, moving to disarm her in two swift motions. Another onslaught of arrows stopped the Valkyrie from even standing up. 

“You did not listen,” Kratos gasped out as Atreus emerged from the thick of the woods, bow drawn.

“You knew I wouldn't,” Atreus said. “And besides, I drew lots with Thrúd and Freyr who would come help. I won.”

Kratos was appalled. “You won-”

“Thrúd! Blasphemous granddaughter of the All-Father!”

The three stopped in their tracks. “You are here for Thrúd?” Kratos asked. The Valkyrie was kneeling, caged by Freya and Kratos’ weapons. 

“Yes. And her traitorous mother.” 

“Who are you, sister?” Freya inquired. “Did you escape from Asgard during Ragnarök?”

The Valkyrie chortled. “Not all Valkyries loyal to the All-Father died.” Her face was covered by a helmet, much like that of the fallen Gná, only longer and with pronounced horns on the side. Kratos had no doubt a sinister smile hid behind it. 

“You attacked the village? Why?” Atreus asked. His expression was cold, a silent anger under it, but his eyes were blown- Kratos wondered if it was because of the excitement, or because his son had smoked far too much. 

“That I did,” The Valkyrie replied. “I studied Vanir magic as best as I could, and I created a distraction. Sadly, Sif arrived later than I had expected. My information was imperfect.”

Atreus sucked in a shaky sigh, and reacting to his father's nod, he lowered his bow. 

The Valkyrie was bound, the intention being to escort her to a prison. “There is no reason to be unfair,” Kratos said, and Freya agreed with him. 

“You will undergo a trial, sister,” Freya announced. “Your actions will be judged.”

“I do not care. Know that if you leave me alive, I will finish what I started.”

Freya sighed, as if she had been expecting such a response. “Will you tell me your name? Were you trained-"

“I have spoken enough.”

Knowing that was the end of it, Freya brought the bound Valkyrie to her feet. “Kratos, let's go.”

Kratos, who had sat down on a log and was concentrating on healing, nodded and got up. 

Atreus protested. “Father, come to the house, you're still wounded-”

Kratos shook his head. “I am fine, Atreus. And I cannot let Freya go alone. You, on the other hand, have to go back, and stay inside.” He put his hand on his son's shoulder. “I am happy to see the weapon is useful.”

Atreus grinned, summoning the spear again into his palm. “It sure is.”

Kratos smiled and nodded. “I will come in the morning to confirm it is safe.” He paused. “Do not smoke so much.”

Atreus laughed awkwardly. “I have never smoked anything, ever.”

Freya fought a smile, and beckoned Kratos to come. The Valkyrie was still silent, seething with fury that she had been caught. 

With a final nod, Kratos set off. 

 The brisk morning air was welcoming as Kratos and Freya walked side-by-side through the forest. They had discarded their armor, washed up, and managed to even eat and drink a little. Both their moods were significantly heightened- the threat was gone, they suffered almost no casualties, and his son's party had been a resounding success.

“You will go check up on them?” Freya asked. 

“I will. It is on my way to my home, either way.”

“I am keen to go with you, I am curious to see how it all looks,” Mimir said. “Ah, I almost regret not being there.”

“You are far too old to be there,’ Freya joked. 

“But I am of young mind, and that is what matters. The young ones would gladly listen to my stories, I am sure.”

“They would, friend,” Kratos acknowledged. “But this is a celebration of youth, we can have our own gathering at some point.”

“It would be nice to do something so big,” Freya agreed. “However, I think it is best to make sure more problems will not come our way before we do so.”

“You are concerned about the Valkyrie?”

“More…sad, Kratos. She has been deeply corrupted by Odin. I hope she will change.”

“I believe you would be the only one who could change her mind, your Majesty,” Mimir said.

They continued to walk in silence, Kratos finally deciding to ask Freya why she was accompanying him. “Not that I don't….” He had to think of a word that wouldn't be too affectionate. “....respect your company, but you are surely wanted in Vanaheim.”

Freya picked up his tone, and matched it effortlessly. “I wished to simply discuss a few matters with you, but perhaps, it'd be better to do it at another-”

“I know you two are messing about with each other, so please stop this charade, for all our sakes,” Mimir exclaimed.

“Did you tell him?!” Freya nearly shouted.

Kratos stepped back, denying the accusation with unusual vigor.

“He did not say a word, not a word,” Mimir calmed her down. “But you both hide it so poorly that a blind man could see it. I have made a side-bet with Sigrun as to how long this has been going on,” Mimir joked. Still attached to Kratos’ hip, he was lucky to not notice Freya's glare.

“That is none of your business Mimir,” Freya said sternly.

“So over a year then, yeah?” Mimir brazenly asked. 

Kratos groaned. “Perhaps you noticed, but please don't go talking about it.”

“I will hex you into silence, Mimir, I will,” Freya threatened.

“Mum's the word. And also if you want some privacy, you can leave me here on-”

Mimir did not finish his sentence. Kratos had unceremoniously dumped him on a nearby tree stump and walked off a good few paces away with Freya without a second thought. 

“He should not be able to hear us,” Kratos said.

Freya was pacing back and forth. “I should think so,” she said. 

“What was it that you wanted to discuss?” Kratos asked, softly. He reached out to touch her arm, and she quieted, taking in a deep breath. 

“I, well, I have been thinking about us. Or rather, I thought of something when we were fighting.” She put her hand on his chest.

“You did?”

Freya smirked. “Fighting fosters a closeness, and if you remember, we have not fought in unison since Gná.”

She was right. “I greatly admire your form,” Kratos said in a hushed voice. The compliment was genuine and tactful, carrying its double entendre with grace.

Freya sucked in a shuddering sigh, and her eyes jolted to the right. It was possible Mimir could see them, but she realized that she didn't care. She leaned in for a kiss, and Kratos accepted it heartily, pulling her closer to him. Her hand never left his chest, but her other hand grasped the nape of his neck. 

They both lost themselves briefly in each other's embrace, letting time slip by as they kissed. There was no hurry after all. 

When they moved away, Freya said what was on her mind. “I am conflicted, Kratos. You are one of the greatest men I have met, in spirit and in mind, but when I think of you, I also think of my son.”

“I would not expect otherwise,” Kratos said. He truly did not. As much as Freya had changed her mind and understood in the end, it was an act that could not be forgotten easily.

“But I do not want this to stop. So let's keep going, and even if we end up not being romantically entwined forever-” She held out her hand. “I will always have the honor and the privilege of you being my close friend, and companion.”

She looked him in the eye, the morning sun shining through the trees, illuminating her complexion with golden colors. Kratos opened his lips to speak, but closed them back again. She knew how he felt- surely his eyes betrayed him, and what he thought of the beautiful woman in front of him. 

Opening up to her did not mean that he was forgetting the past. It did not mean he was forgetting Faye. There was always room for more in his life, more than he had ever dreamt.

Kratos clasped her arm firmly, and shook it with conviction. “I would not have it differently,” he said.

The relief on Freya's face was palpable. Kratos wondered if she thought he would decline an outright attempt at a relationship, and perhaps if she had asked him merely a few days ago, he would have indeed replied differently. But something made him see reason. Maybe it was the knowledge of his son moving forward, or maybe it was a reaction to seeing Midgard change for the better.

Either way, Freya needed to know he was sincere. “I would invite you to my home,” Kratos said matter-of-factually. “My new home, the one I will build in Vanaheim”

Freya raised her eyebrows. “You will move out of Midgard after all?”

“No, no. Midgard is my son's home, and mine as well. But I can have two homes.” His ties to Vanaheim were numerous, and the more he thought about it, the more it made sense for him to have a second house in Freya's kingdom. And since she had so kindly offered the place to build one, it would be only polite take her up on the offer. 

“And I will make sure to build a bigger bed,” he said. 

Freya chuckled and shook her head. “I look forward to it.” Freya leaned in to kiss him on the cheek. “I would go with you to make plans for your new home immediately, but duty calls.”

“In two days then?” Kratos asked.

“Yes. That sounds good.” She pointed behind him. “Now go, see your son.” And with that, she flew off. 

Kratos smiled at her again, and they set off separately. Naturally, Kratos went back to pick up Mimir, the head complaining that he had been left alone. “So you will not tell me anything, Kratos?” Mimir asked. “That is fair, it is personal-” 

“I will be building a house in Vanaheim, to stay in sometimes.”

“Really?” Mimir's voice pitched higher.

“And if you must know, me and Freya are in a tentative relationship. But I will not betray anything further.”

“I do not ask you, brother. I am just happy you have found someone.”

Chapter Text

Kratos quietly knocked on the front door, not wanting to barge into a house that no doubt was full of drunken, sleeping guests. He was grateful that Mimir had not pestered him further about his relationship with Freya, although he could sense his friend's insatiable curiosity.

The door finally creaked open- it was none other than Sindri who let them in.

“In all the stars in the nine realms,” Mimir gasped. “It's been a while since I've seen something like this.” Kratos had unhooked him to witness what were the remnants of a truly wild party. The faint smoke from the burnt out fire lazily made its way through the main hall, slowly dissipating/rising above the still chaos in front of them: dishes, bottles and plates were strewn about, dirty tables placed askew, decorations haphazardly hanging from the stair rails, and the odd youth here and there sleeping on the floors, stairs, and under the tables, with the rest presumingly in the rooms. Kratos noticed Brok himself huddled up near the instruments, snoring loudly. The glorious scene was punctuated by the stench of dried out beer and mead mixed with burnt herbs heavy in the air. 

“It's so dirty…” Sindri whispered. The dwarf looked mighty uncomfortable. “But Atreus told me he would clean, and I hold him to his word.”

“The lad will you do right, Sindri,” Mimir said, and Kratos grunted in agreement. “Especially since I can see that some of the things here are your craftsmanship.”

“That they are, and well-” he waved at a chair. “-Brok's.”

“You were kind to help my son,” Kratos said. “Thank you.”

A smile tugged at the corner of Sindri's lips. “You know I will always help Atreus, no matter what. Even if it leads to-’ he gulped. “-a mess like this.”

“I assume my son is asleep?” Kratos asked. 

Sindri gestured up towards the last room on the left. “I'm guessing he's in there, along with the rest. They all just sort of piled in.”

“All?” Mimir asked.

“Well with so many people, there isn't that much room to speak of,” Sindri explained, “Basically everyone sleeps where they can. And I know that Thrúd, Skjöldr, Freyr, Angrboda, and a few more went in with him, since it's the master bedroom. I'm guessing they are all sleeping on the bed and….floor.”

Kratos hummed in understanding. He scanned the room once more, and figured there was no point in making his way to the room and waking everyone up. “If you would tell my son that all is well, and that there are soldiers patrolling the woods to keep an eye on those heading back, I would be grateful.”

Sindri nodded decisively. “I'll tell ‘im.”

With that, Kratos stepped out, noticing that a few of the youths had woken up and were curiously peering at him in a fashion they deemed discreet, but one that he easily noticed.

“You're gonna be the source of some rumors no doubt,” Mimir said as they stepped back outside. 

“Perhaps,” Kratos said.

“Well, at the next party you will make a full introduction no doubt. Then we will seat you on a throne and everyone will listen to your stories.”

Kratos growled in annoyance. “I would not want that and you know it.” He began to head towards the cabin, grateful for the silence and calmness the forest offered. His side did not hurt anymore either, so he could forego the realm gate, and walk to his home. 

So it then came as a surprise when he heard footsteps behind him, and none other than his son emerged from the trees, his red hair unkempt and bouncing with his every step.

“Father!” he exclaimed, a wide smile on his face. “I caught up!” He was still running, and skidded to a stop in front of the two. 

“Why hello laddie! We were told you were asleep,” Mimir said. 

“Nah, too excited. Was sort of lying on the floor talking with Angrboda until she fell asleep.” Atreus shrugged.

“The floor?” Kratos asked.

“Yeah, it got sort of crowded,” Atreus laughed.

“Well it's not a party if everyone isn't sleeping on every possible surface,” Mimir said. “I'm glad all went well. But you are in remarkably good spirits, Atreus,” he observed. “You don't look…… tired at all.”  

Kratos nodded. “You don't.”

His son could barely hide the smile that had affixed itself so firmly to his face. There was a bounce to his step that Kratos saw rarely, which told him that it was a matter of the heart. A good one.

But he did not pry. Instead, he proposed Atreus accompany him home on foot. If his son wanted to open up, he would. When it came to romantic affairs, he firmly believed they were private; he would demand no information, unless it should be offered.

Mimir, however, was much more forward, and a simple ‘so, how's your loved one?’ was all it took for Atreus to open up and recount a moment he had with Angrboda. 

“So, we all kinda settled down to rest a little. Freyr was curled up at the foot of the bed, and….”

Atreus peeked over Angrboda's shoulder to see how everyone was doing. It seemed all were asleep, including Mola and Nir, who had taken up the main bed. He wasn't about to let a pregnant person sleep on a floor, or one of the worse beds. 

He smiled when he noticed Thrúd and Skjöldr. Skjöldr had his arms wrapped firmly around her from behind, and had nestled his face into the crook of her neck, her thick red hair providing a pillow of sorts for him. She herself had her free hand on his arm, with the other ntucked under her head. 

“Everyone asleep?” Angrboda whispered. They were lying on a thick blanket in the corner of the room, facing each other. Atreus had let his hair down, taking out most of his braids and letting his red hair cascade over his shoulders. His girlfriend was playing with it, twirling the strands between her fingers. 

He settled in next to her, placing his hand on her hip. “Yeah. I don't feel like sleeping though.”

“I don't either. Let's talk a little,” she said. 

“About what?” he asked.

Angrboda smiled. “I think you've been thinking about all the marriage comments.”

Atreus closed his eyes and sighed. Hiding anything from her was difficult. “Yeah.”

She nestled in closer, pressing her chest against his, the blanket providing them with a measure of privacy. “I think it's a nice idea. Do you?”

“Yeah, I do.” He felt breathless, and didn't know what else to say. Atreus sighed and parted his lips, hoping she would accept a kiss from him. 

She did, and they kissed slowly, quietly, not wanting to bother anyone.

“You have to know I'd agree,” Angrboda quietly said. Their foreheads were touching, even though neither opened their eyes. 

“Aren’t we too young? We're not even 19 yet,” Atreus whispered. 

He felt Angrboda smile. “We don't have to get married right away, we can be betrothed for a long time and get married when we feel ready,” she whispered.

Atreus felt a lot more comfortable with that. He opened his eyes, and nudged her to do the same. He needed to see her. “I love you,” he whispered. 

“Love you too,” she said. 

They were betrothed. 

“......Sindri stopped by a moment later, and told me you were here-” Atreus didn't finish his sentence, on account of Mimir beginning to lose his mind. 

“The lad is engaged!” he practically yelled.  “Kratos, we must prepare celebrations- unhook me so I can look at the boy- we need a feast, and we need a formal gathering, and th-”

“No Mimir! It's like just a small agreement we have for now,” Atreus said. “But you know, it made me happy so I wanted to tell you. I mean, I was going to tell you anyway, but-”

Mimir was beyond excited. “I am so happy for you! This is huge Atreus! I regret not being at that party, oh I would have kept it going until today and two moons longer.”

“Much has happened indeed,” Kratos said in a soft whisper that could be barely heard above Mimir's delighted rambling. 

“Listen Mimir, I haven't even given her a gift yet- I need to do that. But we'll have a celebration later, I promise.”

“I hold you to that promise lad. And I assume you are taking it slow? You still have your travels to tend to-”

“-yes, it's one reason why I'm not trying to rush into this. I love her, and- father?”

Mimir had taken up all his attention, and he had just noticed his father trembling from emotion, looking at him with what Atreus knew was unconditional love. Atreus could swear there was a tear in his eye. 

“Father, you haven't said anything….”

Kratos hooked Mimir to his belt and reached out to hold his son's face in his hands. “I am happy for you,” he simply said. He tried to not let his feelings get the better of him, but with Atreus it had never been easy. He loved his son too much to not lay himself bare, so he let his son see the overwhelming gladness in his eyes, along with the pang of sorrow every parent felt when they realized their child had grown up. 

Atreus placed his hands on his father’s arms, returning the loving gesture. “You are then giving your blessing, father?” Atreus asked.

Kratos nearly scoffed at the ridiculousness of the question. But knowing that his son was earnestly seeking his blessing, he nodded. “You know that you need not ask for my approval.” His voice cracked. “You already have it.”

Atreus smiled. “It's just nice to hear you say it.”

They continued their walk side-by-side, talking about future plans and possibilities, including the possible engagement gift Atreus would prepare for Angrboda. There was much to do, but much to look forward to.  

A few weeks had passed since the party. Everyone had safely returned home, and news about Atreus spread far and wide, many singing praises not only about him, but his companions and friends. Some even claimed to have seen the God of War walk amongst the partygoers, but those rumors were quickly dismissed and blamed on drunken hallucinations. 

Yet while things had calmed down in Midgard, Atreus found himself restless, again. His visions had become more persistent, more pressing, and he could feel the urgency swelling in the pit of his stomach. He would have to head out soon, only this time, he was taking Angrboda with him. He had to- in one of his dreams he was giving her the engagement present in the shadow of a huge triangular, sloped building, one that he knew did not exist anywhere in Midgard.

He needed to tell his father.

To Atreus’ surprise, he wasn't in their family home. In fact, it seemed he hadn't been there for a good few days. Mimir wasn't on his perch either,but that wasn't unusual- he knew he was in Vanaheim. Confused, Atreus approached the realm gate in their backyard, waiting for it to sense the stone in his hand. Once it sprung to life, Atreus lifted his hand to tap on one of the runes, only to realize he had no idea which one he wanted to tap. If his father was in Midgard, he'd be either in the War headquarters or in the forest hunting, but both seemed unlikely. Alfheim didn't seem probable either, or did it? He could have official business there. Stumped, Atreus figured there was only one option, that is if the other party cooperated. 

He headed to the heart of the world tree, and hit the chime near Sindri's house with his spear. 

“Little shithead, bothering me at this time of night!” Bitter spat out, having emerged from beyond the branches.

“It’s daytime,” Atreus deadpanned, having long since accustomed to Bitter's biting insults. “Where's Ratatoskr? I need to talk to him.”

“He is working, tending to the tree, BUSY! Unlike you fu-”

“Bitter! Go make yourself useful! Away with you!” Mercifully, Ratatoskr had come running down from the roof of Sindri's house, shooing away his rude aspect. 

“I am ALWAYS useful. Deal with the Oaf's son for me, will you?” And with that, Bitter was gone.

“Unbelievable rudeness, I do apologize, young master Atreus.” The squirrel had perched down next to the chime, and was fluffing up its tail. “How may I be of assistance? Oh, before you say, I must congratulate you on your party!”

“Thanks Ratatoskr, and hey, I would have invited you, but….”

“Ah yes, my apparitions do not make for the best company. Well perhaps you shall have a party here one day.”

Atreus raised his eyebrows, realizing that if there was to be an engagement party, the treehouse would be a perfect place. “Actually, that may be a good idea. But first, I need to find my father.  Have you seen him?” 

Ratatoskr hummed. “Indeed I have, I saw him here not too long ago, talking to Sindri. At the risk of invading your father's privacy, I will say that I heard Vanaheim mentioned.” The squirrel fluffed his tail up. “But I do trust you of course. I can sense it's a personal and urgent matter for you.” 

Atreus smiled. “Thanks Ratatoskr, and yeah I need to talk to him.”

“You leave yet again?” Ratatoskr asked, and seemed disappointed when Atreus nodded back. “Oh well, I hope to see you soon then. If you have the time before you leave, do come by and tell me more about the party. I had heard some truly fascinating things about it, but a first-hand account is always better.”

“I will!” Atreus perked up. “I promise, and I will bring mead from the Asgardian camp.” He was indebted to the squirrel, even from back when he was a boy and was using the apparitions to find healthstones in the heat of battle. The least he could do was honor a request for company, something he felt guilty for not doing more often.

After bidding Ratatoskr farewell, and sneaking a peak at Níðhögg’s now stunningly big children hiding in Yggdrasil's branches below, Atreus stepped into Vanaheim. It did not take long to find out where his father was. Villagers kept pointing him in the right direction, all the while greeting him warmly. Atreus even came across a few party guests, who were all too happy to lead him through the lush forests, right up to where his father was. As they themselves said, it was hard to miss the God of War himself toiling away near the royal headquarters. 

“Father?” Atreus called out, walking up to his father who was balancing an enormous tree trunk on his shoulder. From the corner of his eye, he noticed a blue figure shuffling about with a hammer near what looked to be the foundations of a house- Brok. 

“Atreus!” His father threw the tree down with a resounding thud. “Are you well? It has been a few days.” His father gave his shoulder a firm shake and squeeze- in response, Atreus raised his arm and looped it around his father's bicep and squeezed his upper arm to return the greeting. 

“I’ve been with Angrboda, and well, there is something I needed to talk to you about…” Atreus trailed off, looking at Brok who was busy measuring something. The dwarf hadn't even noticed his arrival. The more he thought about the house, the more it puzzled him. Was his father moving? Without telling him? Worry clouded his mind. 

“This is just a place for respite, Atreus, I am not leaving our home, your mother's home,” Kratos reassured him. He squeezed his shoulder again and let go, gesturing towards a patch of shade next to them. 

“Oh, so it's like a summer house?” Atreus asked, sitting down on the grass away from the sun. He looked up- there was a tangle of vines above him, clutching at a number of enormous tree trunks  and rocks. No wonder his father was building here- he'd have a spot of shade, but also sunlight for plants to grow. He imagined there was also a source of water nearby. 

“Of sorts. I enjoy the climate here.” Kratos sat down with a grunt, and then sighed as he rested his back against the tree.

Atreus studied his father. He looked older, his hair and beard was greyer, the wrinkles around his eyes were deeper. He didn't like to think about it, but he knew deep down that his father was, without exaggeration, ancient. He never found out  his father's exact age, but he knew he had to be at least over 300 years old, judging by how Mimir referred to and talked to him. Still, even though he knew death would not come for the God of War in the foreseeable future, he did know he would become more tired, slower, and calmer. He once had a dream where his father looked like Mimir, beard all white and somehow paler face. He hoped that dream wouldn't come to pass for another thousand years; he wanted his father to be around to train him, guide him, and help him forever. As they were gods, that was a real possibility, but one that perhaps would not be sustainable for as long as he would like.

Which made the next sentence all the harder for Atreus to say. “Father, I need to go. Again. But with Angrboda.”

His father didn't look surprised. Instead he nodded, and asked if he knew where. 

“Somewhere close to where Mimir talked about the river gods.”

Kratos immediately tensed. “That is farther than my old land, Atreus.”

“I know, I know. And it's a longer journey too. Well, longer-ish. Angrboda spoke to a giant that knows flying magic, and we figured that we would take a sled with two Gulons, since they are accustomed to sand and hot, humid weather. We could alternate between flying and riding across the sands.”

“Hm, a wise idea.” A heavy pause. “I will miss you.”

“I don't, I don't plan to be long, because well I promised Mimir an engagement party, and I do plan to do that.” Atreus found it hard to get the words out. 

His father's smile reassured him. “You had a vision then?”

“Yeah, of the party, and me giving Angrboda an engagement present.”

The explanation seemed to satisfy his father somewhat, and Atreus relaxed against the tree, chatting away about odds and ends, when he planned to leave, and how much he liked the location of the summer house. His father, as usual, responded with the odd grunt and nod.

“It's good you will have a place to rest, father. How big will the house be?”

“Two stories, a few bedchambers, a dining room, an antechamber, a basement. A regular house.”

Atreus’ eyes flew wide open. To him it sounded more like a luxury than anything, especially having lived in a one-room (and then two-room) cabin for most of his life. 

“So….it's not just for you?” Atreus tentatively asked. 

“It is not. It is for….family, friends. And for me, to rest.”

There was something more, but Atreus did not press further, not wanting to invade his father's privacy. Instead, he turned his attention to Brok and called out to him, but the dwarf was too preoccupied to listen.  “Well, Brok seems excited to be doing this,” Atreus concluded.

His father smirked. “He is. As good as the townspeople were, they were annoying him, so he used this as an excuse to come here. Sindri will help too, later.”

Atreus laughed. A few years ago he would have never guessed that his father would become friends with Brok, but here they were, working together on a house. 

They talked for a moment longer before Atreus excused himself, vowing to come back to properly bid farewell whenever they were ready. His father made him promise to bring Angrboda to say goodbye as well before he set off.

“The house looks nice so far,” Freya said, leaning out to look. A gentle breeze blew through the tent, billowing her hair about her, ever so slightly rustling the bedclothes she had wrapped around herself. 

Kratos was lying on what was meant to be a bed: a pile of hay thrown onto the ground and covered with a bear's thick hide, providing both warmth and isolation from the prickly hay.

“Come, Freya. Once more,” Kratos beckoned. He was not wearing anything.

She lingered at the tent opening, as if pondering if she had the time and the want for more pleasant, but frankly tiring, sex. 

Freya had come to see how the building was going, or rather- how Kratos was doing. She had found him in his large tent, which measured at least 10 paces length and 6 paces wide, its height only barely forcing Kratos to hunch forward.  

He invited her in, only to soon abandon any proper conduct and pull her towards himself, wordlessly inviting her to the bed, asking her to lie down so he could nestle himself between her legs. 

That had been two hours ago, and Freya still felt weary. “Kratos, I am tired. Not necessarily of body, but-”

“You won't have to do anything,” Kratos assured.

“That hardly seems fair,” she laughed. It had, however, convinced her, and she lied back down next to her current lover. She threw the sheet over them, only for it to be shaken off when it began to tangle around their legs, restricting Kratos’ movements as he rocked into her. Freya clung to his back, half-asleep, enjoying the motions and the warmth, and the unique pleasure that only a climax could bring. 

An hour later she was alert, and they were talking again, this time about Atreus. 

“Do you think it would be presumptuous of me to ask him for a favour?” Freya asked.

“I do not think so. He would do anything you asked, within relative reason.” Kratos had dressed, and was sitting with his legs crossed on the ground next to the bed. It was his relaxed pose. 

“I heard the river gods practice interesting magic.” Freya put her hand up. “I do not want to practice it, nor do I wish to bring it here to Vanaheim, but I want to read about it.”

“I think he will take a few scrolls back with him.” Kratos brushed his knee. “It's a simple request.”

“Then I shall ask.” Freya turned over to lay on her side, and she closed her eyes. It had been a while since she stopped and actually slept. “Kratos, I will stay here for a moment.” It was midday, and the weather was hot. The next few hours were perfect for napping, provided Kratos didn't mind her sleeping naked right next to the building site. Someone, after all, could come by. 

But that didn't seem to bother Kratos. “Sleep, I will work and keep an eye out,” he said, getting up. 

Freya thanked him, and settled down, letting a shallow sleep take her. She vaguely registered Kratos moving the carefully folded sheet next to her, if she wished to cover herself. 

Kratos let out a satisfied sigh as he stepped out. It had been a week since Atreus announced he'd be leaving, and he knew the day would soon come when he would be gone for longer, again. Only this time, he knew he'd feel less lonely, and much less bored. He set off to work, losing track of time as he cut wood and laid the foundations, carefully following Brok's recommendations. Sindri was to come next week to help with some smaller details. 

The nearby rustle of trees made him stop in his tracks. Someone was coming. “Freya!” Kratos called out in a harsh whisper. He walked to the entrance of the tent, realizing she was still sound asleep. 

“Father!” Atreus called out behind him. He was accompanied by Angrboda, who was also holding Mimir. 

Panic flooded Kratos’ mind. He hurriedly closed the tent flaps and turned to meet his son and Angrboda, hoping they'd not notice the sleeping queen. 

“Good day,” he greeted, hoping that his consternation would be read as tiredness from physical effort. 

“Hello, Kratos, hard at work eh?” Mimir asked. Kratos ignored the head, knowing that if Mimir took a closer look at him, he'd figure out who was in the tent. 

“Hello!” Angrboda waved at him, seemingly not having seen past his deception. She was dressed in a traveler's attire, with less jewelry adorning her, and a cape slung over her arm, meant to most likely protect her from the elements. 

“Father, we are going to leave tomorrow,” Atreus said. He still sounded regretful, as if he hated that he had to go.

“I know, it's alright Atreus,” Kratos said. “I would see you off. Do you leave from Midgard?”

“Yes, but in the morning,” Atreus replied. “Freyr actually has the gulons and the sled we will be traveling in.”

“It is a brilliant idea. It will speed travel up, and ensure additional safety, at least so long as nothing flying attacks you,” Mimir said. 

“The gulons are pretty good at maneuvering, even in the air according to Freyr,” Angrboda said.

“And with a sled nonetheless!” Mimir exclaimed. “I am impressed. I shall be eager to read your journal, Atreus.” 

“But before leaving, we will be having dinner this evening, with Freyr- would you join us?” Angrboda asked. 

Kratos did not hesitate. “Of course I would. I shall be there.”

“It would be wonderful if her Majesty could join, but her whereabouts seem to be unknown at the moment,” Mimir commented. “She is of course busy, as always, but Kratos, if you happen to meet her, do let her know she is welcome.”

“I will,” Kratos replied quickly.

Mimir furrowed his brows at him. He then looked towards the tent, then back at Kratos. His eyes suddenly widened.

“I don't think Freya will come here, it's more likely we will meet her near the Royal headquarters,” Atreus commented.

“And right you are, lad!” Mimir exclaimed. “Let's go to Freyr, and leave your father here to wrap up his work. Kratos, we shall be in Freyr's quarters, join us whenever you're ready!”

Atreus was bewildered at Mimir's sudden eagerness, and Kratos could tell a suspicion had wormed its way into the back of his son's mind. But thankfully, Atreus, didn't voice it; instead, he and Angrboda bid a cheerful farewell, with the promise of meeting up in the evening. 

Kratos pet the gulons. They were magnificent creatures, hooked up to a beautifully crafted sled. It was Vanaheim handiwork, apparently made by Freyr himself. 

He was having a moment to himself outside after the meal: the dinner had been tasty and satisfying, and Kratos was grateful for the hospitality extended to him. Freya even managed to come in a fashionably late manner, talking about how she had business to attend to on the other end of Vanaheim. 

All Mimir said to that was a dry ‘of course, Your Majesty’ , after which he shot Kratos a knowing look. 

Fine, Mimir could know, but his son couldn't. Not yet.

“Will you be sleeping tonight, father?” Atreus had stepped out of the covered hut. Freyr's, Freya's, Angrboda's and Mimir's lively conversation could be heard in the background. 

“I do not think so,” he replied.  “I do not feel tired. You?”

“No, not really.” Atreus walked onto a nearby bridge and leaned against the railing. Kratos followed. The night was calm and beautiful; the moon was lighting up the night sky with its white glow, and the river flowing lazily below them. 

“I can't help but feel nervous,” Atreus said. He was fidgeting with his bracelet. “It’s far, and while the sled works well, I don't know what will meet me there.” He sighed. “ Thrú d said I don't have anything to fear, not with my skills.”

“She is right,” Kratos said. “ And you will have Angrboda with you. But perhaps….have you thought of taking Mimir?” Kratos asked.

“I did, actually,” Atreus said. “But he already told me everything I need to know. Or rather, everything he knows that I should know.”

“And I assume your visions showed only you and Angrboda?”

Atreus nodded.

“Then you will be fine, Atreus. And you will be back, and we shall have another party.”

His son finally smiled.

They stood there on the bridge in silence for a moment longer, until Atreus spoke again. “Father, is there something up with you and Freya?”

“How do you mean?” Kratos asked cautiously.

“You seem to be more relaxed around her, and Freyr said he somehow constantly sees you around her.”

A part of Kratos wanted to say that it was his own personal business, but the other told him that if his son was willing to share with his life with him, he owed him the same. “Yes, we've become very good friends.” Still, he did not have to divulge everything. 

“It's nice. I mean, I thought you'd never be.” 

“I thought so as well,” Kratos quietly said. 

After stretched-out goodbyes, Atreus was off with Angrboda. His father had insisted on accompanying them to the edge of the forest before they set off into the morning sky. Atreus felt a pang of sadness in his heart; he had been incredibly reluctant to go without his father, and the tender hug they shared made him feel all the more guilty.

“Don't feel bad, Atreus.” Angrboda had craned her head back to look at him. She was sitting at the front of the sled, while Atreus stood at the back, ever so slightly tugging the reins so the gulons stayed on course. The magic was working perfectly, and they were coasting above the Midgardian landscape at a leisurely speed. They would go faster once they left the realm.

“I didn't tell him, Angrboda,” he said loudly, his voice slightly wavering. 

“I know!” she called back. The wind had picked up. “But we will be fine!”

So she claimed. It wasn't that Atreus didn't believe her, but by now he knew that visions could be deceptive, and not show everything. 

Apparently, they were going to be in Greece. Would they visit the land before their visit to the sandy deserts, or would it be after? Or maybe it wasn't Greece that they both saw: a few columns and a Greek forum could have just meant they would come across some ruins, and nothing more. Sure, the visions showed they would meet a young man dressed in a typical Greek toga with a meander pattern, and with wings on his back and feet, but that didn't mean they had to meet him in Greece, right?

Atreus pulled his cape up and urged the gulons higher. The journey would be long, difficult and strange, but he looked forward to it. At least he was with Angrboda, and at least, he would finally visit his father's home country, even if it would be without him. There would be more answers soon.