VBS - Dawn of the Gods: Prequel ~BL~

(Fjolnir)

My mind is empty, my body is relaxed, and I am at peace within. The light sheen of sweat at my hairline itches, the deer-hide rug beneath me offers no relief from the dull ache in my hips caused by sitting on a hardwood floor, and I can’t feel my left foot. My shoulders bunch in sympathy - I force them back down.

My mind is empty, my body is relaxed, and I am at peace within. Again, I begin the breathing exercise taught to me by the Emperor of the Fujiwara Clan on a visit to the newly established realm of Nidavellir. And again, my mind wanders.

This practice is famed throughout the Nine Realms for its restorative qualities and, when the Dwergz of Nidavellir gather together - seated much as I am now - the serenity they radiate is tangible. Yet, in the early hours of the morning, in a silent and sleeping Central Asgard, it’s nothing but an additional source of stress and discomfort. No matter my efforts, my mind constantly engages in ‘what if’ scenarios.

I’m also still haunted by the memory of the state that Modi was in the last time I saw him. When he entered through his door, pushing it so hard it ricocheted off the wall, it wasn’t the sudden noise that startled me. Nor was it the dirt and sweat smeared over his skin, the blood-soaked clothing, or even the slight limp that hindered his walk. It was the vacant and distracted look in his eyes - I’ve never seen him look so troubled. I couldn’t bring myself to add to that by telling him the full extent of Aunt Freyja’s threat. That was four nights ago, and I’ve barely slept since.

High-pitched whinnies and huffed snorts from the draft mares in the stable across the courtyard snap me from my maudlin thoughts. Latching on to the distraction, my eyes open and I shuffle around, straining to listen. The mares are usually quiet at this time. Even the brazen mousers don’t bother them, so I can’t help but wonder what is disturbing them.

Rising to my knees, I notice that it’s still fully dark outside, and the irritated stomp of hooves on the stone floor filters through the slightly open window. Instantly, my heart rate spikes. The memory of Modi telling me about the decapitated Bilskírnir goat rushes to the front of my mind.

Keeping my footsteps light, I stick to the darkened edges of my quarters as I creep closer to the window, hoping to get a look at whoever might be out there. If I can discover who is targeting the animals, maybe even catch them in the act, I can free Modi from suspicion.

He is such a smart and resilient man. The intensity with which he commits to any task is unparalleled, and whilst I love to be the focus of that passion, it’s the reason he is maligned. I won’t stand by and watch him vilified further. With a renewed resolve, I flatten against the wall and peer into the dark.

A solitary figure dressed in black, their head covered by a heavy cowl, is only visible because they carry a small lantern as they weave around the stalls.

The mares are agitated. Their ears are back, and large, dark eyes reflect the light. One is saddled but continuously attempts to pull away from the head harness as she is led from her stall. A nyirseg carriage is waiting in the courtyard, but draft mares are tall and powerful, and this one is not complying. The person leading her struggles to maintain control, and the mare rears up in warning. The cowl slips when they set down the lantern and reach up high with two hands, revealing the determined set of Aunt Freyja’s jaw.

My mouth runs dry and I pull away from the window, slamming the back of my head against the wall as my heart pounds wildly against my ribs. Since that night at the Tavern, Freyja has kept me on a short leash. She’s in my quarters by daybreak to ensure I dress in the clothes she chooses, she escorts me to each meal and closely supervises my leisure time. I’ve bitten back many sarcastic comments and bottled up my resentment because I understand the strain our family is under - and being compliant is the only strategy I have to deflect attention from Modi.

Her leaving under the cover of darkness might mean she hopes to be back by dawn. Or it might mean she’s disappearing on one of her private business trips. Hopefully, it’s the latter. That way, she will be gone for days. Either way, it’s the perfect reprieve from her constant scrutiny for me to act on my plans.

Wasting no further time, I rush to the closet and hurry to dress, making sure to grab my riding gloves and a thick, woollen cloak. The Citadel is a couple of hours’ gallop east of here, and I need to do everything I can to ensure a safe future for Modi.

⇷☾ᛰ☽⇸

The Himinbjörg Citadel is a brutal structure that dominates all but the northern mountain range behind it. It’s the only building in Asgard constructed entirely from stone, but with an unlimited supply of basalt nearby and a critical need for defence, it more than serves its purpose.

Each of the Nine Realms is connected by the Bifröst, a heavily guarded portal that forms the only point of access in and out of any of the realms, and the Citadel was purpose-built to house it.

Slowing the mare to a walk, I ascend the cobblestone path that winds under the formidable bulwark, fully aware of the ranged weapons trained on me by the Himinbjörg Guards above. Asgard’s first line of defence they are an intimidating sight. Armed with spears and wearing caps fashioned from the skulls of boars, bears and wolves, the Guards can summon the strength of their chosen animal in battle. Three step forward of the towering wooden doors, halting my progress, and I lower my cowl.

“Heilir,” I greet them, handing over the reins to the mare. “Fjolnir, Heir of the House of Vanir. I seek an audience with General Heimdall.”

The Bear Guard nods briefly, permitting my dismount, but I am immediately flanked by the remaining two whilst he ties the lead to a nearby hitching post. No further words are spoken as he leads the way through the spartan Citadel, the strikes of our boots echoing loudly from the stone of the passageways. The fortress is kept bare on purpose. The Guards are semi-feral and have no use for decorations.

When we reach the door for the General’s private quarters, the Bear Guard knocks twice in rapid succession but doesn’t wait for a response before pushing it open. General Heimdall, Protector of the Realms, stands from behind a large, linden-wood desk when I enter.

“Fjolnir!” His pale, craggy skin breaks into a wide smile, and his white tunic, uniquely woven with threads of silver and steel, glints in the morning light. He holds his arms out, and I close the distance, accepting his embrace.

“It’s been a long time, ’dall.” The name I gave him in childhood falls from my lips by mistake, and a modest blush heats my cheeks.

He chuckles, his white eyes sparkling with fondness, as he shakes his head. “You are the only one who has ever treated me as anything other than my title.” His eyes darken to a shade of grey as a memory plays out in his mind, “My mistake. Your father was another.”

I squeeze his shoulders as we acknowledge our loss, and he leads me to a low cushion by a blazing fire. Heimdall’s eyes brighten back to their regular, pearly white as he pours two cups of sparkling water and adds a slice of lemon. At first glance, the General appears to be a blind and frail older man, harmless and without guile, but nothing could be further from the truth. Those eyes see more than anyone I’ve ever known, and he is lethal in battle - as most from the House of Aesir are. He is also the only one who can help Modi and I vanish from the realms.

“Forgive my abrupt question, Fjolnir, but you visit me today without your usual light. Where is the Heart of the House of Vanir, hmmm?”

I find myself smiling at his use of my father’s term of affection for me, but it falls just as quickly when I open my mouth to answer. My light is where it has always been since I fell in love - with Modi. Letting out a sigh, I attempt to tuck my unbraided hair behind my ear and hope that I’m making the right decision, “I need to ask for a favour that I can never repay.”

Heimdall’s ethereal eyes lock onto mine, and the more I look, the more I see. Like staring up at the night sky, they become littered with stars that swirl until they form a glistening nebula. As if under a spell, I find myself speaking without thought.

“I’m resentful of my family. They’re using our weakened position as leverage to control my life. Each day, they arrange meetings with other elite families that offer a strong strategic alliance, but they do so at the cost of my happiness. I am to form a union, and for what?! The Røkkar Cycle has begun; Soul Energy is already imbalanced, and no children have been born in any of the realms since me. One marriage isn’t enough to tip the scales and end the Cycle! If the Nine Realms are to die, then let them! Let me spend the last of our days with the man I love!”

My chest heaves and the echo of my voice rings in my ears. Heimdall’s eyes change to nothing more than a milky-white hue, and the power they exude relinquishes its hold over me.

“I see,” he says as he leans back, sipping from his drink. “You say all of this is possible because your title as Heir is being leveraged against you. Have you considered simply not being the Heir?”

I scoff at his question before I can control myself, “That’s not possible!”

“Is it not?”

“No. The heir apparent is a gift bestowed upon the firstborn son of each House.”

“Is it?”

His quiet confidence sows the seed of doubt, “Is it not?”

Heimdall laughs low in his throat and replaces his cup on the table beside us. Taking my hand between both of his, he squeezes, “Tell me, upon the death of the Head of a House - when an Heir is already named - what happens to that family’s Powers?”

“They travel automatically to the Heir,” I answer immediately, and Heimdall shoots me a pointed look.

“Yet your father died after you were named Heir, and you are not the Head of the House. How so?”

His question hits like a Jötnar’s fist, knocking the air from my lungs and causing the room to spin around me. “Because your aunt convinced him you were too young to be burdened. If anything were to happen to him, your childhood innocence was to be protected. Upon his death, he transferred the Powers to your mother - breaking the line of succession. So tell me again, if you desire your love above even the Nine Realms, why not choose to simply not be the Heir?”

“They would still need an Heir - they would look for me.” My tongue feels heavy in my mouth, and my words come out in a whisper. The abdication of an Heir has never happened before. If a Guard were to overhear …

“Indeed, they would still need an Heir, but anyone can take the role. Surely Vanaheim has some worthy candidates? But you’re right - you would need to disappear.” Heimdall’s eyes crinkle at the corners as his mouth tips into a knowing smile, “But isn’t that why you came to visit me today?”

I pull back my hand from his and drain the water from my cup, the bubbles fizzing as they glide down my throat. “There’s no other way in and out of the realms than the Bifröst, and no one travels without your permission. They will come to you to find me.”

Heimdall dips his chin, his voice lowering, “And this man you spoke of, you would take him with you?”

Nodding, I answer, “What use are Powers if you can’t use them to protect those you love?”