Chapter Text
Freya was having a really bad day. Classes had been exhausting, she'd received a disappointing mark on her last essay even though she was so proud of her work, and she'd come out of her fencing class, which was usually her favorite part of the week and always did her so much to boost her mood, with a slight pain in her shoulder that didn't feel good.
Unfortunately, this was the day she had to follow up with a trial boxing class. Midgard University, where she had recently resumed her studies, offered a wide choice of sporting activities, and she had jumped at the chance to get back into the sports she had loved when younger, as well as trying out new ones. Boxing had been on her mind for a long time, and Freya being Freya, she had ignored her pain and given it her all. She'd loved putting on the gloves and punching violently into the void, but her shoulder was now hurting twice as much.
Great, Freya. Always so reasonable.
Fortunately, it was Friday evening, and a more than deserved weekend awaited her. Freya sighed, finished changing, gathered her things in her sports bag, and looked at her phone to see if she'd heard back from Baldur. She hadn't. She did, however, see that the hiking group she'd signed up for a while back was proposing an outing for the following day. She shook her head and quickly typed that she wouldn't be going. She was a little worried about her shoulder and, above all, felt a great need to rest. She'd signed up because she loved walking in the great outdoors and hoped to meet like-minded people, but so far she'd only declined every outing she'd been offered, as her studies were taking up so much of her time.
Rebuilding her life on her own was not the easiest thing in the world.
Freya tucked her phone away in her bag and grabbed her coat and scarf. She hurried out of the gym and had a bad feeling when she saw that no one was waiting at the bus stop that served this side of the University. As she approached, she saw that the sign indicated that service was interrupted.
Clearly, this day was getting worse and worse.
The station was only a twenty-minute walk away, but the sidewalks were covered with snow and the cold was particularly sharp on this winter's evening. In any case, she didn't have much choice. The last train back to her town was quite early and her double sports class had finished late, so she had to hurry. Careful not to slip on the snow, Freya pressed on, both to keep warm and to avoid getting stuck at the station.
The platform was crowded. This, too, did not bode well. She looked up at the traffic signs and groaned in exasperation. There was no train indicated for her destination. And the other trains were all advertised as delayed. How was she supposed to get home like this?
She waited a few more minutes, hoping that the sign would display the name of her town, but in vain. Nothing moved. Maybe the sign was defective and train arrivals were announced by loudspeaker. Not very likely, but after all, it was a possibility. She turned to the person on her left, a man busy reading a book and who seemed to have been waiting on his feet longer than she had.
“I'm sorry, but do you know if the sign's working? Nothing's moved since I got here, so I'm beginning to wonder if it does.”
The man looked up at her and Freya, glancing around, realized that the book he was holding was actually a method of learning the Midgardian language.
“Oh, uh... Do you speak...”
“I speak it,” the man said, and his Midgardian was indeed tinged with a strong foreign accent. “It sometimes happens that I reread this method, just to remember a few notions.”
He closed the book.
“Where are you going?”
“Fólkvangr,” Freya replied. “If I'm to believe the sign, there's no train going there.”
"No, there is not. They made an announcement earlier, the snow has cut off train traffic on that line.”
Freya couldn't help swearing. She was going to have to take a cab home, not for the first time. If only she could live closer to the University... But housing there was extremely expensive, she'd had no choice but to live at the end of the line. Money problems had become her daily lot since her divorce.
“Do you have a way home?”
She looked up at the man who had just spoken. He was looking at her with polite interest, but his voice betrayed genuine concern. It was freezing cold, night had long since fallen and Fólkvangr was an isolated village. Freya smiled wearily.
“I think I'll take the first train that comes along, try to get as close to Fólkvangr as possible and take a cab to finish the journey. As if the day wasn't long enough as it is!”
“Mmmh. I hope you manage to find one. Apparently, it really snows a lot around here. Do you have anyone who can pick you up at the station?"
She shook her head.
“No. But I'll find a cab, don't worry.”
At least she hoped so. The man opened his mouth to say something, but just then, a train pulled into the station.
“Finally a bit of luck,” Freya said with a smile.
The train stopped, and the man pushed the button to open the door. He was tall and massive, and Freya slipped in behind him, taking advantage of the fact that he was opening the way for her among all the tired and irritated passengers, determined to get on this train at all costs. There was no more room to sit down, and she found herself wedged against the back door and the man; strangely enough, she didn't find it so unpleasant to have his powerful form protecting her from the tide of travelers. He tried not to crush her against the door, easily resisting the pressure of the other passengers massed trying to get into the carriage.
“I am sorry.”
“Oh, don't be. Typical train trouble situation.”
He nodded. Under the raw light of the carriage, Freya discerned better what he looked like than in the gloom of the platform. Bald, hard features, rough beard, face tattooed red. Not exactly her type. Yet there was something about this man that appealed to her. He returned her gaze and she felt the need to say something, a little ashamed to have been caught staring.
“Where are you getting off?”
“To the Wild Woods.”
“Oh, it's not quite next door either.”
“Indeed.”
They fell silent. The man didn't seem particularly keen to continue the conversation, and Freya suddenly felt very tired from the day. She pulled her phone out of her bag and saw a missed call from Freyr, but still no news from Baldur. She closed her eyes and let the hum of the train lull her to sleep.
Twenty minutes later, she was roused from her reverie by the driver's voice announcing that the train would finally be terminated at the next station “due to snow”. She looked up at the station sign as a murmur of discontent echoed through the carriage. It was the stop just before the Wild Woods stop. At least the man wouldn't have too much trouble getting home. For her, however, it would be a different story.
The train slowed to a halt at its new terminus. The doors opened, spilling out a stream of passengers already taking out their phones to find a way to continue their journey. The man turned to Freya.
“What are you going to do?
“I'm going to look for a cab. Don't worry, I can manage.”
He nodded, not quite sure. Around them, the snow swirled, falling densely and continuously.
“What are you going to do?”
“Walk to my station. My car is parked over there.”
Freya nodded and smiled.
“You'll be home before me!”
“Are you sure you have no one you can call?”
“I just moved to Midgard. I don't know anyone there. But I assure you, don't worry. I'll be all right.”
“Very well.”
She smiled at him again, showing that he was free to go to his warm home and leave her to her fate.
“Have a nice evening.”
“You too.”
Freya watched him walk away and pulled her scarf tighter around her. Right. Find a cab. She pulled out her phone and launched the app that would allow her to find a driver willing to take her ride and take her home. She waited. One minute. Two minutes. Five. Ten. There was no driver nearby. Freya began to feel a little anxious. She watched as people got into the cars of loved ones called to the rescue, the station gradually emptied, there were no cabs on the horizon, she was in a city she didn't know and it was really getting late. Soon, the last person waiting with her disappeared into a car that had come to pick him up, and she found herself alone, her useless cell phone in her hand.
“Don't panic, Freya. You'll find a solution,” she whispered to herself.
Just as she was about to re-enter the station to ask an agent for advice, a car arrived and stopped right in front of her. She hesitated. The window rolled down, and she immediately recognized the driver: it was the man from the train. She stared at him in surprise.
“What are you doing here?”
"I could not help worrying about you. I thought I would check to make sure you were not still waiting. If you need it, I can drive you home."
Freya gave a nervous little laugh. In reality, she was relieved to see him.
“What are you, my knight in shining armor?”
“I just want to help, if I can.”
She walked around the car and opened the passenger-side door.
“Thank you. You're a real lifesaver. There's not a cab around, you were right.”
The man nodded.
"No wonder, driving is really dangerous."
“Are you sure you don't mind going all the way to Fólkvangr?”
“I am, otherwise I would not suggest it.”
She climbed into the car, trying to ignore that little voice in her head that told her this really wasn't very safe. She didn't know the man. But spending the night in this station wasn't safe either, and she didn't really have a choice. She sent a brief message to Freyr, telling him she was being driven home by a stranger and sharing her location. Freyr immediately replied to let her know the moment she got home. She put her phone away and turned to the man.
“I'm Freya."
“Kratos.”
He started off and began to drive cautiously along the snow-covered road.
“What weather,” she remarked, in order to make conversation. “I'm glad I'm not going to the University tomorrow.”
“Do you work at the University?"
"Studying. Resuming studies.”
He nodded.
“What subject?”
“Political Science. And you, what were you doing there? You don't look like a student, or a college professor.”
“I was visiting a friend. He teaches the ancient languages of Yggdrasil at Midgard University."
“Oh, that sounds interesting. Does he know the ancient language of Vanaheim? I speak it a little, I was born there.”
"He does. He knows them all.”
He paused, before adding, “Have you always lived in Vanaheim before coming to Midgard?”
“I grew up there, but I lived my adult life in Asgard. What about yourself? You don't look like you're from here.”
"I am not. I come from a faraway land, much further south, called Sparta.”
Freya wanted to ask him why he'd left to come here, but she suspected the question might be a little personal. She decided on something more conventional.
“And what do you do for a living?”
“I work in a sawmill.”
She nodded. He clearly didn't look like he'd work in an office.
They drove for a few minutes in silence before arriving at the crossroads that led to her village. The road they had to follow was clearly cut off, with several barriers strictly preventing passage. Kratos braked gently on the snow so as not to block the wheels and came to a halt.
“This is as far as we can go.”
Freya hid her face in her scarf, feeling her nerves give way.
“This can't be happening! What am I going to do? This is the only road, and it's much too far for me to walk home! How...”
“Calm down, Freya,” Kratos cut her off in a soothing voice.
“Calm down? Calm down?! It's nearly midnight, I can't go home, I don't know anyone here, and there's not a single hotel in this cursed area!” she shouted.
Kratos didn't reply and just watched her take deep breaths to try to calm down.
“I'm sorry,” she finally said, having regained her composure. “I shouldn't have yelled at you. It's not your fault, and you're trying to help me.”
“I am trying. But I understand your reaction. Listen, Freya. I can host you tonight, if you wish. I have a guest room."
Freya scowled at him.
“You'd let me sleep in your place?”
“Yes.”
She hesitated, a little surprised at this spontaneity. There seemed to be no ill intent or ulterior motive in Kratos' amber gaze. He simply wanted to help her.
“You... You live alone?”
“With my son. But he is not here tonight, he is sleeping at a friend's house.”
He pulled his phone out of his pocket and showed her its screen. It was a picture of him and a teenager of about fifteen, with red hair and blue eyes, who seemed to be bursting out laughing. Father and son were arm in arm, clearly enjoying a healthy, happy relationship. She smiled, her heart a little tight, as she thought of her own son and her ex-husband.
“I don't want to bother you.”
"I would rather you bother me than spend the night out. Do not worry, Freya."
She pushed her brown hair back behind her shoulder and smiled at him again. Her cats Thófnir and Kælinn and her turtle Chaurli could do without her for one night, and Kratos was strangely inspiring in her trust. There was something frank and honest about him that appealed to her - even if, she had to admit to herself, there was also something a little mysterious. Her heart began to beat just a bit faster.
“So I'm bothering you?”
“Of course you are. But I do not mind.”
She laughed.
“So much sincerity compels me to accept.”
“Good.”
Without another word, he restarted the car and turned around, heading for the Wild Woods. Freya picked up her phone again and sent a message to Freyr, telling him that since the road to her apartment was blocked, she was going to spend the night at the stranger's place.
Do you trust him?
Yes. His name is Kratos, he has a son, and he's nice.
It doesn't mean a thing.
It's okay, Yngvi. It's either that or I sleep outside, and it's freezing.
Mmmh. I hope he's hot.
He is. But that's not the point.
Just be careful and let me know. I'll keep my phone on.
Right.
They arrived at the Wild Woods and Kratos parked in front of a small house.
“Here we are.”
Freya got out of the car, taking her bag with her, and followed him, careful not to slip on the snow.
This was definitely no ordinary night.
But she still didn't know how special it would be.
Chapter 2
Summary:
Kratos and Freya learn a lot about each other.
Notes:
Warning: Freya's and Kratos's past are very dark, and this chapter is quite angsty.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Kratos turned the key in the lock and opened the door, gesturing for Freya to enter - and when she stepped inside, the warmth of the house immediately felt like a soothing balm. It had been two hours since she'd left the overheated university gym, and only now was she aware of how cold she'd been on her journey, nervous tension having somewhat anesthetized her physical sensations. Freya sighed with relief and began to remove her scarf. Kratos turned on the light and she glanced around. The entrance led directly into a modest yet welcoming living room, and she smiled, for the place seemed completely in harmony with what little she thought she knew of Kratos: simple, honest and gentle.
“Come this way, Freya. The guest room is upstairs with the bathroom. Would you like to take a shower?”
She shook her head.
“I took a shower in college,” she said. And, seeing that Kratos was giving her a puzzled look, she added: “On Friday nights, I have my sports class. I prefer to shower directly at the gym, it's one less thing to do when I get back to my apartment completely exhausted.”
“Sports class?”
“Fencing. And today, exceptionally, I followed it up with a trial boxing class.”
“Did you enjoy it?”
“I liked it a lot. It's perfect for getting out all the frustrations.”
He nodded.
“Mmmh. Would you like something to eat, then?”
“That, on the other hand, I wouldn't say no to. If you don't mind, of course.”
“No, or else...”
“...you wouldn't propose.”
“Indeed. Friday night we have a ritual with my son, we always eat pizza. I bought the pizzas at lunchtime, forgetting that he was sleeping over at a friend's house on Friday. Perhaps you would like to share them with me."
Freya smiled, completely reassured by the prospect of sleeping somewhere warm and eating something.
“With pleasure.”
Kratos motioned for her to follow him into the kitchen. The small room adjoined the dining room, and he opened the fridge, taking out two pizzas still in their carton; when he closed it, Freya's gaze lingered on the photos hanging there. She recognized the auburn-haired, blue-eyed teenager Kratos had on his phone screen background and asked, pointing, “That's your son, isn't it?”
The Spartan nodded.
“Atreus. He will soon be fifteen."
“You two seem to have a wonderful relationship, judging by these photos.”
“Yes, we do. I am very lucky to be his father."
They cut the pizzas and arranged them on the plates. Freya brought them to the dining table, and as she returned for the cutlery, she saw that Kratos had brought out a bottle of wine.
“Great occasion?” she said with a smile.
"I rarely drink, but perhaps you would enjoy a glass of wine after tonight's misadventures, and so would I. This is wine from my homeland."
“I'd love to, Kratos.”
They sat down at the table and began to eat in silence. Now that they had nothing to do but share this moment together, Freya felt a little nervous. The incongruity of the situation became clearer to her, now that the stress of not being able to go home had disappeared: she was in a stranger's living room, sharing a pizza and a glass of wine with him, and it seemed at best truly awkward, at worst dangerous.
Stop thinking like that, you killjoy. Remember how you used to be. You'd have thought it was great and you'd have had fun.
She decided to pay more tribute to that younger version of herself who would have found it wildly exciting to enjoy a meal at the home of a man she'd never met two hours before and opened her mouth to say something, eager to get the conversation going. But a bark cut her short; she looked at Kratos, confused.
"Those are the dogs, do not pay any attention to them. They sleep in the basement and it happens that one of them barks in its sleep."
“In the basement?”
“There is no room to put their baskets in the living room as there are three of them. But do not worry, they have their room and Atreus has made them a real palace. It is probably more comfortable than the room you will be sleeping in tonight."
Freya smiled.
“Three dogs!”
“Atreus loves animals,” Kratos clarified. "I did not want to have any, but when he found these three puppies on the street, I could not say no. The deal was that we would take care of them while we found them a family, but..."
He spread his hands helplessly and Freya smiled again.
“Children always find a way.”
“Do you have any?”
“Yes. A son, too. He's a few years older than Atreus. But things are... complicated between us.”
"I am sorry. ”
“You're lucky that your separation from Atreus's mother didn't hurt your relationship with him. That's what happened when I left my husband.”
"Actually, I am not separated from his mother. She is dead."
There was silence. Freya gazed at Kratos, aghast, her brain racing to find a proper way to apologize for this painful blunder. Kratos spared her the effort.
"Do not be embarrassed, Freya. My wife, Faye, fell ill when Atreus was eleven, and the disease took her in a matter of weeks.”
“Kratos, I... I'm terribly sorry, I didn't... I didn't see a picture of her on the fridge, and you told me you lived alone, I thought...”
The Spartan nodded in the direction of the fireplace; Freya turned and saw, resting on the beam, a family photo featuring Kratos, Atreus as a child, and a woman who had the same eye and hair color as her son. Faye was beautiful, ethereally beautiful, and even in a photo Freya could see that her blue eyes shone with a gleam of intelligence and kindness.
“It is not abnormal that you have come to this conclusion.”
“I'm sorry,” Freya repeated anyway, tearing herself away from contemplating the photo. “It must have been... so difficult.”
“It was.”
There was a silence during which they swallowed a few bites of pizza. After a moment, Kratos spoke again.
“You said your relationship with your son was complicated. In what way?”
Freya winced and took a long sip of wine.
“It's a long story.”
“We have time. But if 'long' really means you have no wish to talk about it, you need not."
Freya hesitated, and was once again overcome by an urge to tell him everything - nothing was ordinary on this strange night, she could well tell the story of her life to this man facing her, whose surname she didn't even know. Something in him made her want to confide in him, to get closer to him emotionally - Kratos pierced her with a gaze in which one could read both reflection and fire, an intense gaze that showed he would understand her wounds and not judge her. She sighed.
“I blame my marriage, it's easier that way,” she began with a sad smile. “But my husband didn't make it easy for me.”
She took another sip of wine.
“I married very young, and not by choice.”
Kratos frowned.
“What do you mean?”
“I was born into one of the oldest and noblest families in Vanaheim,” Freya explained. I grew up being told over and over again that one day I'd be called upon to make the decisions that would determine the fate of my homeland, but the truth is, I never decided anything at all. When I was twenty, Vanaheim went through a major economic and political crisis, and my family was threatened with ruin and disgrace. My ex-husband took advantage of this state of weakness to get what he wanted.”
She sighed. Kratos was still staring at her with his amber eyes.
“Vanaheim and Asgard have always had a relationship of great rivalry, Asgard having long had its eyes on Vanaheim's resources. And my father made the mistake of seeking help among Asgard's notables, hoping to negotiate advantages by ceding them some of what they so craved... He was overjoyed when the richest and most powerful among them agreed to this negotiation. Odin Borson, president of the Aesir Company... This man could save Vanaheim and us from bankruptcy.”
“But he did not.”
“Not in the way my father would have liked, anyway... In exchange for his help, Odin demanded total control of our resources. He wanted us to be subservient to him. He would have defeated us in a war and the result would have been the same... But my father was desperate, he would have accepted anything in his distress, and he convinced himself that he would be able to regain at least some of his independence after receiving Odin's help. He relativized the situation so much that he didn't really see the problem when Odin asked, to symbolically seal the alliance between our two parties, to marry me...”
“He asked for your hand in marriage to conclude a political and economic alliance?”
“Oh, yes. It wasn't so far-fetched in the aristocratic environment I grew up in."
“And you accepted?”
Kratos's tone was incredulous. Freya sighed again.
“Yes. My family kept convincing me it was the right decision. He was twice my age, but he was rich and powerful and would promote Vanaheim's future... I'd want for nothing, and neither would my country... I told myself the same tale as my father, I believed I could regain my freedom after playing this game. But I had no idea who I was about to marry.”
"This is unfair, Freya. You should never have been sacrificed...”
“No,” she cut in. “I shouldn't have been. But that's what happened. The first months of our marriage were almost happy. I got pregnant very quickly, and while I'd never particularly felt the urge to be a mother, I was deliriously happy when that baby arrived. It eclipsed everything else. But not for long. Odin never gave my family its freedom, nor Vanaheim.”
“It is indeed said that the Aesir Company controls the land.”
“And they do. My parents have since died, and my brother tried to rebel against Odin's rule, to no avail. He lives in Alfheim now... As for me, I've seen Odin grow harder and more violent. He never hit me, but... I always lived in fear of doing something that would displease him and for which he would want to punish me... and he was particularly good at finding punishments that would leave no visible traces... I'd known for a long time that I was married to a cruel manipulator, but the day he tried to take Baldur from me, the urge to act became stronger than the fear.”
“What did he do?”
“When our son turned sixteen, he took away his phone and sent him to a private school without informing me of its name or whereabouts. I had no way of contacting my son. I thought I was going crazy. But so much the better, for it was this madness that gave me the impetus to leave the golden prison I'd been living in. I searched through his papers, found the name of the school... And tried to get there to see my child. No one would let me in. Odin had given orders.”
Hearing these words, Kratos rose from his chair and came to sit beside Freya. He placed his hand on her shoulder, and the weight of it had a soothing effect on her, as if it kept her grounded in reality as she relived the trauma.
“I've been told that I'll only be able to speak to Baldur again when he's eighteen. I left him a letter, with my phone number, for him to call me the day he came of age, and I left Asgard to settle in Midgard."
“And now...”
“He turned eighteen six months ago. He called me... to tell me how much he hated me. I finally figured out that Odin had made him think I didn't want to hear from him anymore, and that's why I never came to see him at his school. Clever, isn't it? You could say that my ex-husband put a lot of zeal into destroying the relationship between me and my son.”
“Why would he do such a thing?”
“Because he's cruel. That's just the way it is.”
Freya shuddered, and Kratos, almost unconsciously put his arm around her shoulders.
“But Baldur finally understood that his father had lied?”
“He's beginning to come to terms with the fact that his father may not have told him everything. But it's hard for him. He's lost faith in me, and I have to rebuild the bond we've lost. We talk on the phone twice a month, maybe? And I asked him to come to Midgard a week ago to see me, but... He hasn't replied yet. It's probably too soon.”
She looked up at Kratos, and he didn't seem surprised to see her eyes glistening with tears.
“I miss him so much.”
The Spartan held her close, and she felt how right she'd been: Kratos could understand her. After a long minute, she finally released herself gently from his embrace and he planted his golden gaze in hers again.
“ You are strong, Freya” he said in a deep voice that made her shiver. “So strong. What you are doing now... Rebuilding... Not everyone would be able to do it."
She smiled through her tears.
“It's not easy every day. My studies are difficult. Odin cut off access to my accounts. My son... Sometimes it's really complicated.”
“I can imagine. Political science... You want to help Vanaheim, do you not?"
“I've always dreamed of saving the world.”
His lips quivered into a smile behind the beard.
“And,” she added, ”I prefer to live like this. I sleep five hours a night and work in a garden center so I can feed my cats, but I'm free. I wouldn't go back for the world.”
He nodded.
“I understand.”
And again, she knew he did. She took a deep breath, wiped away the tears drying on her cheeks, pushed away her empty plate, and looked at Kratos. He too had finished eating.
"I really don't feel like sleeping on this. What do you suggest?”
“How about watching a stupid movie?”
“That sounds great. I'll let you pick the movie. And I'm going to need another glass of wine.”
A few minutes later, they were on the sofa, and the movie was playing on the TV screen.
Freya couldn't help but comment on everything.
“Wow, you didn't lie when you said stupid.”
“This is the latest movie Atreus is obsessed with.”
“Teenagers have weird tastes, sometimes.”
She had finished her second glass of wine, and suddenly felt much bolder. She snuggled up to Kratos and crossed one leg over his lap. He placed his hand on her leggings, his thumb mechanically caressing her calf. The touch made her shiver, and what little interest she had in the movie vanished for good.
Kratos was... hot. His powerful, masculine presence awakened a long-extinguished fire within her, and its flames began to warm her gently. Wearily, she straightened and placed her hand on the Spartan's bearded cheek, averting his eyes from the screen to force him to look at her.
“I'm going to kiss you now,” she murmured.
But he didn't give her the chance. Before she could read his reaction on his face, Kratos had slipped an arm around her waist to draw her against him and capture her lips. She moaned in surprise and pleasure, and returned his kiss with all the passion she was capable of. She climbed on top of her partner to deepen their embrace and the contact of their two bodies, but this movement seemed to bring Kratos back to his senses. He tore himself away from her lips and loosened his embrace, pulling her slightly away from him.
“Freya... Wait.”
But Freya didn't feel like waiting. Intoxicated with desire, she tried to kiss him again, and he pushed her away again, gently but firmly, ignoring her look full of frustration.
“Freya, no. You do not know me."
“No, I don't. And I don't care, Kratos.”
“I do not think you understand. I am not... I am not a good person.”
“Mmmh. I can deal with that."
"I have killed people. ”
This time, the effect was immediate. Freya stepped back as if burned by Kratos's touch and looked up at him, her big brown eyes that had been burning with desire a second before now expressing dread and amazement.
“I...”
He searched for words. She did nothing to help him find them.
"Sparta, my home city, is part of a land long dominated by an extremely powerful family, the Olympians. Their power was matched only by their cruelty, and they ruled all over Greece, not least through men like me. I was young and ambitious, hungry for power... I did terrible things under their command."
Once again, Freya remained silent, content to look at him.
“One day,” he continued, eager to explain the whole story to her, ”I made a mistake. I don't even remember what it was, but it was a mistake they made me pay for more dearly than I could ever have imagined. I was married then, to a woman who had given me a daughter I loved more than anything else in the world. The Olympians killed them both to punish me for my wrongdoing. I swore revenge.”
Silence. She let him continue, horrified.
"I paid their blood by the thousandth. I killed the members of that murderous family, mercilessly, one by one. Every time one of them stood up to me, I found a way to bring him down. But with each murder, I lost a little more of my humanity. I had forgotten all my moral bearings, and was left with only the primal and urgent instinct for revenge. I got it. The Olympians thought they could control me and I proved I was their downfall."
Freya saw Kratos' gaze darken, and get lost far, far away, in a past filled with tears and flames.
“I was arrested for it, but against all odds, the courts concluded that I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and found me not guilty. Greece was relieved to be rid of the iron fist of the Olympians... My guilt, however, was obvious. But I did not seek further information. I fled to Midgard, determined to be alone, determined to do everything in my power never to hurt anyone again.... But Faye had other plans.”
“You've fallen in love,” Freya murmured.
Kratos nodded.
"Madly in love. But she would never have agreed to love an murderer. For Faye, I had no choice but to become a good person, and that became even truer when our son was born. Atreus is a gift I don't deserve, that I will never deserve. His kindness, his happiness, his trust make me move forward day after day to become a better person."
He turned his gaze to her.
“I want you, Freya. You are beautiful, strong, smart. But I cannot allow myself to be intimate with you without telling you the truth about me."
Freya nodded. She was shocked, stunned, but not frightened.
She should have been. But strangely... not so much.
“It's... It's a lot. It's... I'm happy for you that you've found the right path back. Really.”
She took his hand, squeezed it briefly and added, “We should go to sleep, now.”
“Yes, we should.”
“Good night, Kratos. I'll see you tomorrow,” she said, forcing herself to smile.
“Good night, Freya.”
She grabbed her bag and climbed the stairs without looking back while Kratos followed her with his eyes. Entering the guest room, she threw herself fully clothed on the bed and cradled her head in her hands.
Kratos had been a violent man.
A criminal.
A murderer.
And she still wanted him just as much.
Damn, Freya. What's wrong with you?
Notes:
The final chapter is closer to a romantic comedy... I'll post it very soon, I hope you'll like it!
Thanks for reading :)
Chapter 3
Summary:
Sexy time.
Notes:
I wanted to keep this scene very non-explicit, but it turned out a little wilder than I'd intended. I'm changing the rating of the story just in case.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Freya awoke with a start in this unfamiliar room, her heart pounding, and it took her a few moments to realize where she was. She rolled onto her side to grab her phone, which she had placed on the bedside table, and looked at the clock. Four o'clock in the morning. She groaned as she pulled the sheet up over her face. It was far too early to get up. She was going to have to go back to sleep.
She settled back on her back with a sigh and tried to remember what had woken her up. It wasn't some random noise she'd heard that had roused her from her slumber. It was the dream she was having. Freya frowned, making an effort to remember what it was. Trying to relive a dream was like trying to hold water between your fingers: this moving, elusive substance refused to let itself be contained, apprehended, and took a malicious pleasure in escaping from you. She closed her eyes and quickly gave up, determined to let sleep take her again.
Five minutes later, she opened them again. Her unconscious had given her the information she'd been trying to retrieve consciously: her dream was about Kratos. Kratos, his body, and hers.
Damn.
That explained her slightly too-rapid heart rate and the emotional state in which she'd woken up. She was in the middle of an erotic dream.
Starring Kratos. Annoying, but not surprising. She had fallen asleep in the memory of their kiss. It was the first time she'd had such intimate contact with another man in years, as she and Odin hadn't slept together since long before she left for Midgard. And so much the better: sex was just another way for him to dominate her, and she'd felt intense relief when he'd suggested they should have separate bedrooms from now on, when Baldur was only a few years old. Odin hadn't been her only lover: before her marriage, she'd had partners, but it all seemed so long ago; as if belonging to another life, as if the younger body she'd used to discover her sexuality and experience pleasure was someone else's and had little in common with the one she lived in today. Odin, with his selfishness and coldness, had taken away her capacity to give and take pleasure, he had disembodied her and she was now trying to relearn how to love and live with her body, freeing herself from all the constraints he had placed on her during the years of their life together: dressing as she wished, eating what she wanted, and above all indulging in the sports she loved and which he had forbidden her to practice. Ever since she had dared to regain her freedom, Freya had constantly marveled at this incredible feeling of becoming herself again, of regaining control of her emotions and sensations. But finding herself back in a man's arms was another story altogether. She was convinced that it would take time, a lot of time; she was even prepared for it to prove impossible.
And Kratos had made it so easy.
Being in his arms had seemed the most natural thing in the world.
But the miracle was too good to be true. Beneath his gentleness and humility, beneath his appearance as a kind, devoted lumberjack, lay a past tinged with blood and anger.
Freya had no idea what her romantic life would be like in the future, but she swore to herself one thing: she would never, ever get back into a relationship with a violent man. Psychologically or physically. Never.
But who was talking about getting into a relationship?
You shouldn't open that door, Freya... Protect yourself...
She ignored the little voice inside whispering to her to go back to sleep and pushed back her sheets, her heart pounding. She got up, opened the door, and as quietly as a cat, descended the stairs. Kratos' bedroom adjoined the living room. She hesitated only half a second before pushing open the door and stepping inside.
Kratos lay on his bed, shirtless, and opened his eyes just as she opened the door. The room was illuminated by the moonlight shining through behind the only half-closed shutters, and she could make out his fiery gaze, strangely unsurprised to see her advancing towards him in the middle of the night, but also his body, the grooves of whose muscles she could perceive in the glitter of the stars. The sight aroused her, and she felt a surge of self-confidence that surprised even herself. With a self-assured gesture, she removed the t-shirt and leggings she'd fallen asleep in, offering to Kratos' intense gaze her harmonious silhouette and her body possessing the grace and the sensuality of a goddess. Her flawless skin looked like a dream in the moonlight.
He didn't move, letting her come, but she could feel the aura of desire emanating from him like a warm breeze. Emboldened - but where did this sudden audacity come from? - she climbed on top of him, caging him with her naked body, and she shivered as she felt him place one hand on the arch of her back and slide the other into her thick, unbound brown hair.
“You said you wanted me,” she murmured.
“Mmmh. I did."
She brushed her lips against his.
“Then I'm yours.”
“Are you sure this is what you want?”
She didn't answer, merely planting her eyes in his. The intensity of her gaze matched his and he read in it a similar, all-consuming desire.
Right.
He flipped her over, reversing their positions, and, pressing his body against hers, kissed her breathlessly.
His warmth, his strength, his muscular arms around her, his hungry mouth against hers, devouring, quickly overwhelmed Freya. She squeezed him back as hard as she could, moaning, clinging to his powerful shoulders, consumed by a sense of urgency and the need to let herself go with him.
“Kratos,” she managed to utter, tearing herself away from his lips. “I don't want to wait. Don't make me wait.”
“I will not,” he replied, she perceived a note of teasing in his voice.
Damn, this man knows what he's doing.
He backed away from her a little to get rid of his pants, the last physical obstacle to their intimate union, and glancing down at his member, Freya felt a somewhat discordant sense of nervousness in this ocean of excitement. He was big. He was big, and it had been a long time.
Kratos positioned himself to enter her and she took a deep breath, instructing her body to relax. He began to penetrate her gently, watching her reactions, and she immediately felt an unpleasant sensation, a blocking sensation, as if she refused to welcome Kratos easily inside her. The Spartan obviously felt it too, for he stopped and stroked her face with concern. Frustrated and annoyed with herself, Freya put her hands on his back to give him the impulse to continue penetrating her; but he didn't resume his movement.
“You are too tense, Freya.”
“I'll be all right, it's just been a while.”
“You need more time.”
“No. Kratos, I want it, now.”
“I know you do. But your body tells a different story.”
She looked at him with frustration. She refused to pay the price for years of domestic abuse, not now, not when she finally felt so good in a man's bed. But he reassured her.
“It needs to be prepared. It needs to know me better. Trust me.”
He gave her no time to protest and began kissing her again. Her lips, her forehead, her neck, her chest. She gasped when she felt his mouth on her breasts, hesitated to stop him, then decided to trust him and let him surround her body with all his attentions, kissing and caressing every inch of her skin, lower and lower, until he reached the most intimate part. Breathing rapidly, eyes closed, Freya moaned, feeling his powerful tongue caressing her, his fingers gently penetrating her, and pleasure rising in a way she never thought it would. Kratos was touching her with an out-of-this-world mastery.
Hell, how many women had he slept with to know the female body so well?
She could never have imagined that a man could spend so much time caring for his partner. What dedication. She savored, moaning with pleasure, and after a moment, Kratos withdrew his fingers from her and pulled up.
“I think that you are ready now.”
She nodded, her eyes clouded with desire, and, sensing that he was beginning to penetrate her again, began to tremble slightly.
"Do not be afraid, Freya. You are safe with me. Let me in.”
His voice, low and deep, had both a thrilling and soothing effect. He progressed inside her, slowly penetrating her, filling her, and the feeling was so intense that she turned her face away, hiding in the pillow. Kratos took her chin in his hand and forced her to look at him again.
“I want to see your eyes,” he whispered. “I want you to look at me when I take you.”
His words might have offended her if everything about him didn't betray the concern he had for her and her comfort. She felt so secure with him that she wanted to cry.
“Then take me harder, Kratos,” she replied in a breath.
The Spartan's gaze turned predatory.
How long they made love like that, Freya couldn't say. Kratos flooded her with wonderful sensations, taking her again and again, insatiable. She marveled at the contrast he constantly offered: that of a dominant, experienced man, incredibly good at giving her pleasure, but also incredibly good at respecting her boundaries. When a position made her uncomfortable, or he touched her in a way or somewhere that made her feel uneasy, he not only realized it immediately, but stopped without her even having to ask. And as he made her come for the third time, she wondered if he wasn't ruining all the other men for her.
Finally, exhausted and satisfied, their bodies covered in sweat and no doubt something else, Kratos and Freya snuggled into each other's arms. She lay on his chest and he put a possessive arm around her waist, keeping her close, and they stayed that way for long minutes, catching their breath, coming down from the afterglow of their orgasms. Slowly, Freya began to regain her senses and was once again overwhelmed by the thoughts that pleasure had completely driven from her mind.
A murderer.
She raised herself on one elbow to look at him. He questioned her silently with his eyes.
“Maybe I should go back to my room now,” she said nervously.
“Mmmh. Maybe you should.”
There was silence. She rested her head on his shoulder.
She didn't move. Nor did he.
And the last thing she thought before drifting off to sleep in Kratos's arms was how screwed she was.
***********************
Freya awoke, dazzled, the sun flooding the room she was in, illuminating her beautiful sleeping face. It took her a few moments to remember where she was and what had happened during the night: she was completely naked in Kratos's bed, her body still bearing the memory of his passion. But he was gone.
She rolled onto her side. What time was it? Her phone was still on the bedside table in the guest room, but judging by the light peeking through behind the shutters, the sun had long since risen. She decided not to dawdle and got up, quickly slipping on her leggings and T-shirt abandoned at the foot of the bed, sacrificed on the altar of their nocturnal activities. She smiled.
As she left the room, she heard no noise in the living room, the kitchen or upstairs. Nor was there any sign of the dogs. Clearly, Kratos had gone out.
Oh, please let him have left a note. I want to feel like I'm in a romantic comedy right now.
She approached the coffee table in the living room and smiled again when she saw that he had indeed left her a note. It indicated that he'd gone out for a run with the dogs and would be picking up breakfast as well. He added that she could use the bathroom and pointed out where the towels were.
Freya purred like a cat.
So good.
If you took away the fact that he'd killed people in a former life, Kratos was clearly the perfect man.
She climbed the stairs and went into the bathroom to take a shower. There was always something a little strange about using someone else's bathroom for the first time, but having slept with said someone else, she was no stranger to it. She pulled her hair up into an elegantly messy bun, stepped into the shower and had barely begun to run the hot water over her bare skin when there was a knock at the door.
“Freya?”
“I'm in the shower,” she said, although the sound of the water must have left little room for doubt. She added, after a brief moment of hesitation. “You can come in, I haven't locked up.”
She wondered if he would dare. The answer was yes. Kratos entered the bathroom; she could make out his imposing silhouette behind the misty glass. He washed his hands at the sink.
"I have just come back from a run, I need a shower too.”
She smiled, though he couldn't see her.
“Why don't you join me? There's room for two.”
She sensed his hesitation, but it lasted only a few seconds. He removed his clothes and headed for the shower. Opening the glass door, he took a few moments to revel in the sight of a completely naked Freya, her hair up, her skin wet, her gaze inviting. She didn't refrain from staring at him, either. The moonlight had provided them with a soft, modest light in which to discover each other, and she appreciated being able to contemplate her lover's body in the full light of day.
And Kratos did nothing to stop her from watching. Why should he, anyway? His body was perfection, and he knew it.
He stepped into the shower. A few minutes later, he had her pressed up against the tiled wall and was inside her again, claiming her body with the same hunger as the night before.
They somehow managed to stay far enough away from each other to actually take that much-needed shower. Once washed, dried and dressed, Kratos took Freya by the hand and led her into the kitchen, giving her the delicious sensation of being a teenager again. They made breakfast together, talking about anything and everything, cooking eggs and pancakes between kisses, unable to keep their hands off each other.
“Where are the dogs?” Freya asked as she set the table in the living room.
“Outside,” Kratos answered from the kitchen. "They need to exercise in the morning, they prefer to be in the garden than indoors. I will introduce them to you later."
They were just sitting down at the table when a cheerful bark was heard. Freya looked at Kratos, who frowned in astonishment. His gaze became almost panic-stricken when, a moment later, a key was inserted into the lock, producing a metallic sound that was instantly recognizable. He turned to Freya.
“He was not supposed to be home so soon,” he murmured, his eyes wide. And he added, hurriedly: “Let me do the talking.”
Freya had no time to reply. The door opened and a teenager entered the living room, a teenager she recognized immediately from having seen his photo several times: Atreus.
Shit shit shit shit.
Atreus put his backpack on the floor and froze, speechless, as he saw his father sitting at the table with a woman he'd never seen before. He looked at them questioningly, his gaze shifting from one to the other, and Freya could almost see the assumptions about her presence forming in his big blue eyes. She turned to his father.
Okay, Kratos. It's up to you. Get us out of this.
Notes:
I always underestimate the number of chapters in a story! One last coming.
Thanks for reading :)
Chapter Text
Kratos quickly regained his composure. The surprise that had been in his eyes half a second before faded away and his expression became as impassive and stoic as usual, as if the situation did not particularly disconcert him. He looked at his son without the slightest embarrassment.
“Atreus,” he said in his deep voice, and Freya couldn't help but notice the light but unmistakable note of affection that colored his tone when he said his child's name. ”You are home earlier than expected.”
Frowning, Atreus didn't answer. He was clearly waiting for an explanation.
“This is Freya,” Kratos added. ”I met her on the platform yesterday on my way back from the university. The snow caused a lot of problems and she could not get home. I offered her a place to stay for the night at the house.”
To her great relief, Freya saw Atreus's slightly tense face relax a little at the thought that the mystery had been solved. So that was what it was all about. He smiled at her.
“Oh, okay. Hi, Freya. Train problems suck.”
“Hi, Atreus,” she replied, returning his smile. “They totally do. Luckily your dad was there, he really saved my life.”
There was a silence, and she couldn't help but notice that despite his softened expression, Atreus was still watching them, his blue gaze indecipherable, and that he hadn't moved from the doorway, still wrapped up in his winter coat.
“We were just about to have breakfast,” his father said after a few seconds. ”Would you like to join us?”
“Yeah, definitely. I'll just go and wash my hands.”
He smiled again and took off his coat, hanging it on the coat hook with his scarf, before heading for the kitchen, passing the dining table. Kratos and Freya exchanged a look as they heard him run the water in the sink, then Atreus returned and sat down in his place, opposite his father. He glanced at the abundantly laid table.
“Wow, you made eggs and pancakes.”
“I always make eggs on Saturday mornings.”
“But you never make pancakes.”
Freya hid her smile behind her hand. Kratos was clearly hesitant to answer and preferred to change the subject.
“So why are you back so early?” he asked as he filled the plates. ”You were supposed to have lunch at Skjöldr's and go straight to your archery class from his place.”
“I was, but Skjöldr is panicking about Monday's biology test. I let him study. Poor guy, he kind of has to get a good grade on that one, otherwise his average is really going to take a hit.”
“Given your skills in biology, you could have stayed and helped your friend.”
Atreus shrugged, taking a bite of scrambled eggs.
“I explained everything to him again last night. He prefers to work alone now.”
“And you do archery?” Freya asked, having noticed the information.
The teenager's face lit up.
“Yes! For five years now. I'm starting to get really good, my coach said I could start competing when I'm in high school next year.”
Freya smiled.
“I did archery, too, when I was younger.”
“No way!”
“Yes, I did. I was very good. I never competed, but I loved it.”
“Awesome! Why did you stop?”
Freya hesitated for a moment, feeling Kratos's gaze on her.
“Because of life,” she replied as cheerfully as possible. ”But I'd love to take it up again one day. I miss it.”
“You have to come to my club. Everyone is so nice and you can ease yourself back in. No pressure!”
The young woman smiled, her heart both light and a little sad. There was something about Atreus's proposal and the enthusiasm with which he had made it that touched her more than she could have imagined. With the presence of his father near her, the memory of his touch, she suddenly had the lovely feeling of being rolled in a warm, creamy dough... A family dough.
“I'd love to, Atreus.”
Kratos cleared his throat and looked at his son seriously.
“You could have warned me that you were coming home early.”
“I did. But you didn't read my message.”
The two adults resisted the urge to look at each other. Kratos had probably not read Atreus's message because he was too busy banging her in the shower. Freya thanked her lucky stars that the boy hadn't come home while Kratos was making her scream with pleasure in the bathroom, and she knew he was thinking the same thing. She picked up another pancake to distract herself from these thoughts.
“So,” she said, covering her pancake in jam, ”are you good at biology?”
“Pretty much.”
“Atreus is good at all subjects, but since he wants to be a vet, it is a good thing he excels at this one.”
The teenager rolled his eyes and Freya smiled.
“Your father told me that you love animals.”
“I love them, and I understand them,” he said simply. ”And I feel like they understand me too. Do you have any?”
“Yes. Two cats and a turtle."
“A turtle!”
“I work in a garden center that is also a pet shop. I mainly take care of the plants, but I sometimes help out with the animals. When I met Chaurlie, it was love at first sight,” she joked.
“That's really cool. I've never seen a turtle in real life.”
“I'll introduce you to him sometime.”
Atreus nodded and Freya wondered if things weren't going a little too far, a little too fast. She had just met his father, had not yet sorted out all the conflicting feelings that this incredible night was stirring up in her, and yet she had already planned to go archery with his son and show him her turtle. But Kratos did nothing to dampen their enthusiasm, he said nothing to stop the bonds that his son and this woman he barely knew were beginning to develop.
“I'm going to make some more coffee. Do you want some, Freya?”
“Yes, please!”
“Can you bring the apple juice, Father?”
“I can.”
They remained at the table until late in the morning, neither of them really wanting to break the moment. Atreus and Freya got on wonderfully well, and she took real pleasure in listening to his stories about being at school, which Odin had deprived her of concerning her own son. Kratos spoke little, but she could feel in his voice, his gestures, his aura, a gentle and tranquil serenity that was the closest thing to joy he had, and which showed how good he felt with her. How much the three of them together at a table sharing breakfast made sense.
And it made so much sense that it ended up making Freya a little dizzy. Looking at the clock, she saw that it was not far from noon. She looked at Kratos.
“I should go,” she murmured. ”It's getting late, and I have lots of things to do, as usual.”
He nodded.
“It is not snowing anymore. The traffic must have picked up on your route. I can drop you at the station, if you like.”
“Yes, thank you.”
“I'm going too,” Atreus said. "I still have to finish two or three things for school before going to archery, so I'll be free tonight. And I'm going to take a shower, I didn't wash at Skjöldr's."
That damned shower.
They all got up, leaving the remains of breakfast on the table. Freya turned to Atreus and smiled at him.
“I'm really glad I met you.”
“Me too. I'll be waiting for you at my archery club.”
“And you must show me your drawings too.”
“And you your turtle.”
“Done. Bye, Atreus.”
“See you next time, Freya.”
The teenager waved cheerfully at her before disappearing down the stairs towards the bathroom. Freya turned to his father.
“He's great.”
“He is. As I said before, I am very lucky to be his father.”
Kratos hesitated, then added, “He takes after his mother a lot.”
“Stop, don't devalue yourself. He has your genes too. You raised him too.”
She walked over to him, put her arms around his shoulders, and he did the same, holding her close.
“I'm going to get my things,” she murmured, and after kissing him on the cheek, she released him.
In the spare room, she retrieved her sports bag and her phone, which she had forgotten on the bedside table. She quickly checked her notifications: Freyr had sent her numerous frantic messages and had called her several times. She hurried to write to him to say that she was fine and that she would call him soon. As she expected, Freyr's reply was furious.
For goodness sake, Freya! I was worried! You disappear for a whole night at a stranger's house until midday and you don't give any news?
Sorry, really. I've been busy, but everything's fine, I assure you. I'm going home now.
Busy? Ouch. Did you sleep with him?
I'll call you when I'm home.
You did.
Maybe. I'll call you.
You'd better.
Freya smiled, put her phone back in her bag, and went back downstairs. Kratos was waiting for her, already wearing his coat, car keys in hand.
“Are you ready?”
“Yes,” she replied, grabbing her coat and scarf.
They went outside, and immediately three wolfdogs ran towards them with joyful energy. They spent a few moments with them, Kratos explaining who was who, naming Speki, Svanna and Fenrir, and Freya stroked them at length. Then they got in the car and drove in the opposite direction of yesterday's journey, in silence. Watching the houses of the Wild Woods pass by behind the window, Freya couldn't help but consider how much had changed in twelve hours. She could never have imagined what would happen when she agreed to stay with this man.
Or could she?
Suddenly, the idea of arriving at the station and getting on that train that would take her far from the Wild Woods and that unforgettable night seemed unbearable. She glanced at Kratos, who was driving in silence, his gaze fixed on the road, and wondered if his throat was also tightening at the thought of their imminent separation.
They would have to decide the question that neither of them had yet asked: what did that night they had spent together mean?
Worse, what did that family breakfast they had shared with Atreus mean?
Freya would have liked them to continue driving endlessly so as not to have to answer this fateful question, and just enjoy the silent presence of Kratos next to her, but to her great regret, the ride was short and they arrived at the station after a few minutes. Kratos parked the car in the parking lot and opened his door.
“I am coming with you."
They walked together, hand in hand, to the platform, the snow crunching under their boots. Freya let go of his hand and looked up at the sign indicating the waiting time before the train's arrival: ten minutes. Ten minutes with him.
Ten minutes to answer that damned question.
She turned to Kratos, nervous, rubbing her gloved hands together mechanically, less to warm her fingers than to do something with her body.
“So...”
She paused, searching for her words, unsure how to express what was in her heart and mind. But Kratos seemed to decide not to give her the opportunity to beat around the bush.
“Will I see you again, Freya?”
Her heart immediately felt lighter.
“Is that what you want?”
“Yes. But only if you want to.”
Freya looked at him, plunging into his amber gaze. The few words he had spoken seemed innocuous, and yet they had almost more effect on her than everything else.
Only if I want to.
He had already shown her that she mattered, of course. That was all he had done since the first moment they met on the platform of the university station the day before. He had shown her that her desires, her needs, her limits mattered. But he had not yet formulated it so clearly, so soberly and sincerely.
He was giving her freedom. He was giving her choice. The choice to love, to take and to give.
That choice had been stolen from her when she was twenty.
Suddenly, she knew that there was a real chance that she would fall in love with this man.
If only there wasn't... She took a deep breath.
“Your past matters, Kratos,” she murmured, clutching her scarf to her. ”I'd like to, but I can't pretend it doesn't exist.”
“I know.”
“But I can't get on that train without the prospect of seeing you again.”
Kratos's gaze intensified. She continued.
“We could... We could take our time. Give it a try. You know?”
“Yes. We could. Freya... Take my number. And call me whenever you want. Whenever you are ready.”
She nodded.
“Okay.”
She handed him her phone, and he entered his number. After saving it, she put it back in her bag and looked up at the board again. Just a minute.
“The train is coming.”
Kratos didn't reply. He simply put his arm around her waist and pulled her to him. Their lips met. They kissed with as much passion as when she had joined him in bed in the middle of the night, and they were still kissing when the train pulled into the station. They reluctantly parted, their eyes burning with desire, a tyrannical longing for each other already devouring them.
The train came to a screeching halt, and Freya tore herself from Kratos's arms. She pressed the button to open the door and turned to him one last time. They kissed again, but this time it was a very different kind of kiss, a quick, affectionate, familiar kiss. A kind of “have a nice day, darling” kiss. A kiss that an old and long-standing couple would exchange.
“Goodbye, Kratos.”
“Goodbye, Freya.”
She gave him a final smile and boarded the train as the whistle sounded, announcing the closing of the doors. She flopped down onto a seat, feeling suddenly exhausted, and watched Kratos's figure disappear as the train picked up speed.
***************************************
Atreus rushed out of the bathroom and hurried to the window of his bedroom overlooking the street to see his father's car disappear. Perfect, they were gone. He took out his phone and threw himself on his bed to call his girlfriend, Angrboda, who answered on the second ring.
“Hi,” she said. ”How are you? Are you back from Skjöldr's?”
“Yeah, I'm home. And you'll never guess. I think my dad is seeing someone. I caught them together this morning.”
“What! Are you kidding?”
Atreus shook his head vigorously, although Angrboda couldn't see it.
“I'm very serious. Her name is Freya. He told me he had taken her in for the night because her train line was cut off because of the snow. Who's going to believe that?"
“It might be true!”
“It didn't just seem like that. You should have seen the way he looked at her... And he made her pancakes for breakfast. He never makes pancakes, he hates them.”
“Oh, I see,” Angrboda replied with a laugh. ”He really has a crush on her. And what's she like?”
“Super cool. She's done archery, she loves animals and plants. And she's beautiful. She's just perfect for my father.”
There was silence at the other end of the phone.
“Doesn't the idea of him getting back together with someone bother you?”
Atreus thought for a few moments. He had never really considered the question before... But seeing his father with Freya had been something... Good. Normal. Something he could get used to.
“No. He's been alone for a long time, he deserves to have someone in his life. Especially if it's her, she's really great.”
It was Angrboda's turn to think.
“You know what, there's a way to find out if your father was telling the truth. Go check the spare room. If she slept there, it will show.”
“Yeah, you're right.”
Atreus sat up, left his room and pushed open the door to the next room. He grimaced as he saw that the bed had indeed been slept in.
“She slept here.”
“Hmm. It doesn't mean anything, though. Maybe they're not at that step yet.”
Atreus grimaced again, uncomfortable with the implications of those words.
“Please, don't say any more.”
Angrboda snorted with laughter.
“Go and check your father's room.”
“Why? Since she slept in the guest room...”
“Go and see anyway, you never know.”
Atreus sighed and went downstairs. As he opened the door to his father's room, he stopped dead in his tracks.
“Wow.”
“What?”
“The bed hasn't been made.”
“So?”
“My father always makes his bed in the morning. It's the first thing he does when he gets up.”
“Ah!” Angrboda exclaimed triumphantly. "Maybe he wasn't the last person to leave his bed this morning.”
Atreus suddenly had the impression that his mere presence in his father's room was extremely indiscreet.
“After all, one can very well start the night in one bed and finish it in another,” the young girl added.
The teenager's gaze fell, despite himself, on the undone sheets of his father's bed, and his eyes stopped on a shiny object, half-hidden under a piece of the blanket. He approached, despite this feeling of meddling in other people's business, to identify the object, and his eyes widened: it was a thin gold bracelet, which definitely did not belong to Kratos.
“Yeah,” he replied with a smile. ”One definitely can.”
***************************************
No sooner had Freya opened the door to her apartment than Thófnir and Kælinn rushed towards her, rubbing against her legs and meowing.
“Hello, my loves,” she murmured, putting her bag down and bending down to pet her cats. ”I know, I know. I'm late.”
She hurried to the kitchen, hastening to fill their bowls with cat food, then went to check on Chaurlie. The turtle slept peacefully in its aquarium.
She went into the bathroom, took off her earrings and vaguely set about untangling her long brown locks. As she raised her arm to run the brush through her hair, she noticed that one of the bracelets she wore on her right wrist was missing. She must have lost it somewhere. Too bad.
Once her mop of hair was more or less under control, Freya leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. She felt like she was floating and could think of only one thing. Kratos.
Kratos.
She smiled dreamily. She wanted to be careful, to take time to develop their relationship, to learn to trust him, but she couldn't help it: she already wanted so much to see him again, to talk to him, to be in his arms. To make love with him again.
They had a long way to go to overcome the wounds of their pasts, but at that moment, nothing seemed impossible to her.
Her phone vibrated in her bag on the floor, rousing her from her reverie and forcing her to open her eyes again. She went back into the hall and bent down to pick it up, expecting to see another message from Freyr asking for news.
But no. It wasn't Freyr who had just written to her. It was Baldur. Baldur, who had suggested he come and see her next weekend.
Freya made her way to the sofa, dropped down on it and curled up, her whole body being flooded by a burning wave of relief. She could hardly believe it, reading and rereading the message to make sure she had understood the meaning of the words that danced before her eyes, one hand pressed over her mouth, tears threatening to spring from her eyelids. All those months of frustration, all that painful waiting, those moments of anger and despair, everything she had suffered and endured suddenly no longer mattered. She was going to see her son again. The nightmare was going to end.
She managed to control herself enough to reply to Baldur that she would be happy to welcome him to Midgard in a week, before throwing herself into a sofa cushion, crying with joy and relief. Exhilarated, Freya couldn't stop smiling or crying. She made an effort to calm down and picked up her phone again.
She had to call Freyr. But right away, he wasn't the first person she wanted to talk to... She scrolled through her contacts until she found Kratos's name, and pressed the call button.
After a few rings, he picked up.
“Kratos,” she said without even giving him time to speak. ”It's me. Freya.”
“Mmmh. You took your time. You have been gone for almost an hour and a half.”
She laughed, happier than ever.
“Yes, I decided it wouldn't hurt you to wait a little.”
“I think I have suffered enough.”
“Mmmh, I'll be the judge of that. Let's see: a date this week is not serious with work. On Friday, you have pizza night with your son, and on Saturday, I'm having dinner with mine.”
There was silence at the other end of the line, then Kratos came to his senses.
“Baldur... has contacted you.”
“He's coming next weekend.”
Even on the phone, he could hear her voice vibrating with joy and excitement.
“Very well. If you don't want to go out during the week and next weekend is already taken, we have...”
“Tomorrow evening. I'll be waiting for you at my place at 7pm. I'll send you the address. Don't be late, I'm not a patient woman.”
“I will not be.”
Freya hung up with a smile and looked out of the window. The world suddenly seemed much brighter, and it had nothing to do with the snow that had covered every last blade of grass.
Her phone vibrated again, and this time it was really her brother who was seriously starting to get impatient. Damn it, he wasn't ready for this conversation.
As she picked up the phone again, Freya thought that the future was still to be written, but one thing was certain: she would never, ever complain again about train problems.
Notes:
Yeah, good vibe!! Freya deserves it.
I've decided to continue this story! More chapters to come, and maybe some trouble that will disturb the honeymoon!
Thanks for reading :)
Chapter 5
Summary:
Freya and Kratos are meeting again.
Notes:
I'm back with this story after a break! Still as self-indulgent and with rom com vibes!
For this chapter, I made up a surname for Kratos and I didn't look very far. I took the first word following Kratos name in the main theme of God of War 2, which means “shield bearer” (even if in ancient Greek it's pheraspis and not pheraspi).
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“No, Freyr, I promise. I don't need your cooking advice, I already know what I'm going to make. I need to pay... Hang on a minute...”
Freya hurried to finish filling her shopping bag, her phone wedged between her shoulder and ear, and gave the cashier a slightly strained smile.
“I'll pay by card, please.”
“Sure.”
She picked up her phone with one hand and took out her credit card to pay the amount, then picked up the bag.
“Thank you.”
The cashier smiled back at her and gave her a sympathetic nod, clearly feeling some pity at the sight of her agitation.
“Freya, seriously,” her twin said on the phone as she headed for the exit of the only supermarket in Fólkvangr, a few dozen meters from her apartment. ”I adore you, I think you're the most wonderful person in the world, but you absolutely can't cook.”
Freya rolled her eyes. Freyr wasn't entirely wrong: she had no talent for the culinary arts, and above all, she had never really had the opportunity to practice. During her youth in Vanaheim and her years of marriage to Odin, she had never really had to worry about what was on her plate. When she had the courage to regain her freedom, and found herself a little disappointed in front of a knife and a cutting board, she became aware of the immensity of her shortcomings.
“You're exaggerating.”
“No, I'm really not. You can't inflict that on Kratos, it would end badly.”
“Come on, it's not that bad. Besides, Kratos isn't the kind of man to judge a woman on her cooking skills. If he was, I wouldn't go to all this trouble, believe me. Besides, I wouldn't even invite him to my place because it wouldn't be worth it.”
“That's not what I meant, sis. The last time I had to eat your cooking, I thought I wasn't going to make it out alive, and I wouldn't want your budding romance with your future husband to end so quickly and so tragically.”
Freya couldn't help but smile. She was still not down from her emotional high and hearing her brother call Kratos her “future husband” made her want to start dancing like a schoolgirl.
“Very funny, Yngvi. Just to remind you, it was only half my fault that day,“ she said with an amused tone, once again wedging her phone between her ear and shoulder to open the door of her building.
“I'm only half serious,” Freyr replied. “You know, when you called me yesterday, I rarely felt you so happy. Not for a long time, anyway... I know it's also related to Baldur, but clearly there's something special between you and this guy. I just want it to go as well as possible, and the best possible thing would be for him not to poison himself with the contents of his plate. Order something, for fuck's sake.”
“Wait a second, I'm home."
Freya dropped the shopping bag on the floor and opened the door to her apartment, placing the phone on the entrance console. She happily took off her scarf and coat, hurried to put the food away in the fridge, and picked up her phone again to go and wallow on her sofa.
“Don't worry about me,” she said cheerfully, resuming her conversation with Freyr. ”If I really see that we're heading for disaster, I'll order something. Anyway, Kratos could see that I wasn't the most talented person in the world yesterday morning when we made breakfast. He clearly did everything, I was just there for emotional support.”
Freyr let out a tender little laugh.
“He made you breakfast, so cute. I still can't believe it.”
“Don't laugh. It was great,” she replied, feeling like a hypocrite, unable to stop smiling herself.
Kælinn jumped on her chest to snuggle up to her and she stroked her cat mechanically behind the ears, making him purr.
“And I agree. Let's repeat one last time. Is your apartment tidy?”
“Yes. It always is.”
“That's a lie.”
“Yes. Don't lecture me, you're in no position to talk.”
“True. Are your sheets clean?”
“I changed them at the beginning of the week.”
“It will do. Kratos isn't allergic to cats, is he?”
Freya was silent for a few seconds, frowning, and looked at Kælinn. Kratos knew she had two cats; she had said so when Atreus had asked her if she had any pets, and he would surely have told her if it was a problem when she had invited him to her house – or rather when she had ordered him to come to her house.
“I don't think so, no.”
“He might be allergic to turtles.”
“Freyr...”
“What! I'm just making sure Chaurlie doesn't ruin your date.”
Freya rolled her eyes. She pretended to be exasperated; deep down, she relished Freyr's interest in her happiness. Every day she thanked life for having given her this twin brother: he undoubtedly had many faults, he could be light-hearted and carefree to the point of irresponsibility, but he had a deeply good and generous soul. He loved his sister, and wanted more than anything to see her overcome the violence that Odin had inflicted on her by opening her heart to someone else. Someone who was worth it.
“Freyr, I appreciate the coaching, but I assure you it's unnecessary. I've got it covered, don't worry.”
On the other end of the line, her twin sighed.
“You know I'll have to meet him and approve him.”
She smiled.
“I'm sure he'll pass your test. I'll call you tomorrow to let you know.”
“Okay, love you, Nad. Have fun.”
Freya hung up and petted Kælinn again, who was pressing his paws to her chest like a kitten.
“I'm right, aren't I? There's no reason for it to go wrong.”
All she got in reply was a satisfied purr. She smiled.
“Mmmh, you always say that. You're not helping me much, my love.”
Purr.
“Oh, for goodness sake, Kælinn, make an effort. This date could be The Date, capital T and D. The kind of date that changes your life forever. Maybe in a few months, we'll move in with him somewhere, you'll have to get used to a new house and you'll remember this conversation where you didn't want to understand the importance of what's going to happen tonight.”
Purr.
“You're hopeless.”
Freya set about removing Kælinn from her chest, preventing his claws from getting caught in the stitches of her sweater, deciding that it was time to stop talking to her cat and go and change her sheets, given that she had lied to Freyr and hadn't done it at all at the beginning of the week.
After all, in just a few hours, Kratos would be there. In her home.
Freya tried to shake off the beginnings of the panic she was starting to feel and set about doing something. In her case, action was always the best way to deal with paralyzing emotions. She tidied her room, putting away the pile of clothes that had piled up on the armchair and sorting through the lecture notes that were scattered on the desk, wincing as she realized that she wouldn't have time to get any work done for college today and that she would undoubtedly fall behind. She vacuumed the living room, chasing the cat hairs, and took a quick look in the bathroom. She didn't have much time to do much cleaning in her daily life, but this would do.
Once she was satisfied with the condition of her apartment, she set to cooking, determined to prove Freyr wrong.
It took her all afternoon, but in the end, she was pleased with herself, and left the dish to simmer gently on the heat for a few more minutes.
As she finished tidying up and cleaning the worktop, her phone vibrated. It was Kratos.
Are you still expecting me at 7pm?
She looked at the clock. She would be ready in time.
Yes. But don't arrive early, I'm still choosing my dress.
Do not put too much effort into it, I am going to take it off anyway.
Freya smiled, closed her eyes, and sat down on her sofa. Damn, that man.
Then I will choose more carefully what I wear underneath.
She sent her reply before realizing that she didn't have a single sexy piece of underwear to show him. She had left behind the gigantic wardrobe that had been hers during that cursed period of her life, the time when she was married to the most powerful man in Asgard and had to bow to all kinds of social obligations. Giving up cocktail dresses, luxury handbags and elegant lingerie had not been a great sacrifice for Freya, who had happily regained the freedom to wear jeans and backpacks, and had not really seen the point of buying lace panties for a life she shared between university and work at the garden center. That being said, she doubted that Kratos would hold it against her.
I cannot wait to see you, Freya.
She couldn't wait either. And she suddenly felt very, very nervous again.
Things had been so fluid, so natural between them. But the context was very different: the situation that had led them to get closer, to kiss, to make love was exceptional; the snow had thwarted their plans to spend an ordinary evening, and like a benevolent genie, had precipitated them into each other's arms. The spontaneity of that moment was unique, supernatural, and they would not experience it again. Not in the same way, anyway. The snow had put them on the path to each other, and now it was up to them to seize their chance. They could no longer be content to live in the moment and savor the magic of it, they would have to build their relationship.
And then there was the question of the past. The past.
Although she had barely thought about it since she had boarded the train the day before at the Wildwoods station, Freya was suddenly seized with an irresistible urge to find out more. She looked at the clock again. 6:30 p.m. She still had a little time left. She got up, went to her room and sat down at her desk in front of her computer. She opened the browser and typed a single word.
Olympian.
She really didn't know why she was doing this now, when Kratos would be arriving in a few dozen minutes, but she couldn't help herself.
There were numerous search results. She opened one of the first ones, uncertain, and found herself looking at a photo of Kratos. She narrowed her eyes.
He looked so different. Still handsome, but younger, his eyes sparkling and outlined in black, his beard reduced to a goatee that made the harshness of his features more visible. Even in the picture, she could see in his eyes the anger and rage that had driven him to attack the Olympians, and she wondered for a moment if this killer was really the same person who had raised Atreus and made her breakfast the day before. Her heart pounding, she tore herself away from contemplating his photo to read the article.
MAIN SUSPECT IN MURDER OF OLYMPIANS RELEASED
At the end of a trial lasting several weeks, Kratos Pheraspi, nicknamed the Ghost of Sparta and considered by many to be the perpetrator of the slaughter of the Olympians' family, was found not guilty due to the lack of formal evidence. Kratos Pheraspi was on trial for murder with aggravating circumstances due to the particularly serious violence committed against the victims.
A demonstration in support of the defendant had taken place the day before the final judgment in the Athens court, bringing together citizens from all over Greece, especially from Kratos' hometown of Sparta. Many Greeks came to express their relief after the disappearance of the Olympians who had exercised a ruthless domination over the country. “It's the best thing that could have happened to Greece,” Nikkos claims, a young Spartan of the age of twenty-five. “Kratos gives us hope. He got rid of those tyrants, and now we will be able to rebuild our country in a different way.” Others do not share his enthusiasm. This is the case of this 38-year-old Athenian, who shared with us her fear at the announcement of the verdict. While she recognizes that the Olympians could be “harsh,” she believes that the Ghost of Sparta should have been convicted: “He's a monster, a murderer. He shouldn't be free.”
And for good reason. The crimes attributed to the defendant are particularly violent. The leader of the Olympians, known by the single name of Zeus, who was brutally murdered, was none other than the father of Kratos Pheraspi, although according to our information, he played no role in the upbringing of his son. The Ghost of Sparta himself claimed to be unaware of his blood ties to the Olympians for most of his life.
Kratos Pheraspi did not wish to answer our questions after the announcement of the judgment. His lawyer, Mr. Orkos, simply stated on the record that his client would not sue the State for defamation and wished to distance himself from the media spotlight he had unwillingly occupied during the weeks of the trial, or even to leave Greece for a while. The prosecutor, for his part, contented himself with a short speech, simply stating that “the courts have declared him innocent, but Greece knows he is guilty”.
Freya closed the page. She had read enough. Kratos had hidden nothing from her, except for one thing: he was the son of Zeus, the leader of the Olympians. He had killed his own father.
She really didn't know what to make of this information.
But she hardly had time to collect her thoughts, because at that moment, the doorbell rang, startling her.
Freya hastily closed her computer and got up from her desk to go and open the door. And when Kratos appeared in front of her, she immediately realized that there was only one thing that mattered: he was there.
“Good evening, Freya.”
“Hi.”
Freya smiled at him and hesitated for just a second before coming to snuggle in his arms; when he took her face in his hands to kiss her, she felt relieved. Kratos showed no embarrassment, joining his lips to hers as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and the mysterious bonds that had drawn them to each other were as strong as ever. She wrapped her arms around his neck, enjoying the sensation, and after a moment, Kratos broke away from her and frowned.
“Freya. Something is burning.”
Her eyes widened as she too caught the smell of burning and she hurriedly turned her head towards the kitchen, suddenly remembering; her dish. Preoccupied with her meticulous research, she had forgotten to turn off the heat under the casserole.
“Damn it!”
The young woman rushed to remove the pot from the heat, with Kratos close behind.
“Oh, no...”
She lifted the lid and took a spoon to stir the dish and assess the damage.
“I think it is still good to eat,” Kratos said in his deep voice, slightly amused, behind her, placing his hands on her waist.
Freya squeezed her eyelids and smiled, exasperated by herself.
“My twin brother will be thrilled when he finds out.”
“You have a twin brother?”
“Oh, yes. He thinks I'm a terrible cook. And he's right, even though I'd never admit it to him.”
She turned to Kratos, her back to the stove.
“In any case, you're going to have to eat this dish if you want to make me happy.”
“If this is the price I have to pay to be with you tonight, I will gladly pay it. What is it?”
“One of the few dishes I know how to make, a Vanaheim specialty. I hope you like spicy food.”
He chuckled softly and pulled her back against him. She felt his hands caress her waist and hips, and his touch ignited a fire of desire within her, the arousal spreading through her body.
“I do.”
She brushed her lips against his.
“That's what I thought.”
They kissed again without restraint, a deep, intimate kiss, overflowing with desire, their tongues joining passionately. Kratos lifted Freya slightly to sit her on the edge of the stove, spreading her legs and thrusting himself between them, rutting against her like an animal, and the intense friction of his crotch against hers was already enough to give her a pleasure that made her pant. The Spartan held her so tightly against him, rolling his hips and grunting with pleasure, that she had the impression that he was trying to merge with her, and she returned his embrace with all her strength, so that there was not a square millimeter of air between their two bodies. When they parted slightly to catch their breath, their eyes were clouded by a similar desire.
“I can't believe how little time we managed to hold on. You arrived barely five minutes ago.”
“Do you want to?”
Freya rolled her eyes.
“Are you kidding? Can't you tell?”
“Gnh. Bed or couch?”
Freya took Kratos' face in her hands, her thumbs caressing his cheekbones. His amber eyes shone so intensely that if she had been able to, she would have recognized the dark sparkle that animated the gaze of his younger self in the photo of the article she had read just before his arrival. But Freya was too dizzy with arousal to make that kind of connection. All that mattered to her was him, right here, right now; she didn't care about his past when Kratos's body was so close to hers, and the future was reduced to the next few hours she was going to spend against that body.
“Bed. I changed the sheets just for you.”
“Mmmh. I will have to make it worth then.”
“You set the bar very high last time. It will be difficult for you to do better.”
“I will.”
Well, that's promising.
Freya saw no reason to wait any longer. Abandoning the dish in its casserole, she freed herself from Kratos's arms, took his hand and led him to her room, her heart beating with excitement.
Notes:
These two can't keep their hands to themselves, the beginning of the next chapter will be smut!
Thanks for reading :)
Chapter 6
Summary:
Kratos and Freya enjoy each other's company.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Freya closed the door behind her and turned to face Kratos. The Spartan approached her and looked at her as if hesitating between pouncing on her like a wild beast and letting her come closer so he could devour her more easily. In any case, she felt herself the prey of his desire, and that feeling was exquisite.
At least with him, it was. Because she felt that Kratos would let her become the predator the second she wanted to.
The haste they had shown a few minutes earlier in the kitchen had given way to a sensual and bewitching languor. A thick, warm and intimate softness now filled the space between them. They slowly measured each other with their eyes, their breathing a little faster than usual, savoring in advance the gift they were about to receive from each other. They anticipated with delight the contact of the other, their warmth, their cries of pleasure.
Kratos took a step towards her.
“I am going to undress you now. I do not want to see you wearing clothes for another minute.”
His voice betrayed controlled eagerness. He approached Freya, and, his gaze still fixed on hers, began to unbutton the cardigan she was wearing. When he had finished, he slid it down her arms and let it fall to the ground, gently caressing her bare skin. Then he took off her T-shirt, pulling it over his head. The T-shirt joined the vest at his feet, discarded, and then Freya stood before him, her bare chest offered unrestrainedly to his hungry gaze. He did not content himself with just looking at her: he gently traced the curve of her breasts with his fingertips, delicately, as an artist would have made the first stroke of a pencil on a future work of art.
She shivered at this light but infinitely intense touch.
His fingers went down to undo the button of her jeans and unzip them. She helped him slide the garment down her hips, then her thighs, and it too joined the pile of clothes; then he looked at her questioningly, and she gave him her permission in the same way, without a word: he got rid of the last piece of fabric that enclosed the most secret part of her.
She smiled, a little contritely.
“No sexy underwear to show you.”
Kratos's hands caressed her bare hips, moving up towards her stomach, and he gently stroked the small of her waist with his thumb.
“No need. You are breathtaking.”
He took her wrist to guide her to the bed.
“Come on.”
Freya broke free of his embrace and lay down on the sheets herself, stretching lasciviously, shamelessly exposing her nakedness to her partner. Then she half-got up, kneeling in front of him, a seductive gleam in her dark eyes.
“You know, there's something I didn't get a chance to do last time, and I really want to try it now.”
She approached him and placed her mouth on his still-clothed crotch, kissing his erection through the fabric of his jeans. She could feel his member throbbing behind his pants on contact with her lips and smiled, satisfied.
“You seem to like the idea...”
Kratos growled and she smiled again before setting about freeing his cock from the confines of his clothing, unfastening his belt and unbuttoning his jeans.
It was time to make him suffer a little.
She teased him, gently licking his massive erection, kissing him tenderly, taking care not to take him completely in her mouth, keeping a slow and steady rhythm, deliberately depriving him of the intensity he so badly needed. Freya could feel his self-control beginning to crack; his hips were moving almost in spite of him, his hand, which he had slipped into her hair, began to tighten in frustration, and his breathing became heavier and heavier. When she looked up, she saw the fire of desire burning in his eyes, his gaze almost dangerous, as she slowly but surely broke him. It excited her so much to be on her knees in front of him, her gaze fixed on his, her power over him so obvious, her tongue lovingly playing with his cock, that she had to resist the temptation to touch herself.
“Freya...”
His threatening tone sounded like a warning. But she wasn't afraid. She smiled seductively at him and placed a final kiss on his lust-swollen member before rising gently. She kissed his stomach muscles, his waist, his chest, traced the line of his tattoo with her lips, her open mouth leaving shiny trails of moisture on the red mark. Kratos closed his eyes, clearly enjoying the sensation, letting his lover worship his body with her lips and tongue, and growled when he felt her teeth sink into his bicep, gently nibbling at his hard muscles.
She continued, mercilessly, kissing his neck while circling his cock with her long, thin, black-tattooed fingers. When she pressed her lips to his, Kratos kissed her back without restraint, and she moaned with delight, pleased by his eagerness, pretending to reward him with a slow movement of her hand that she knew would only fuel his frustration.
And indeed, it was the provocation too far.
Breaking off the kiss with a roar, Kratos pushed her away brutally and she fell back onto the bed; she only had time to let out a surprised moan before he threw himself at her with a passion that might almost have frightened her if the arousal had not erased all sense of danger in her. On the contrary, she wrapped her arms around his neck and stared into his eyes, showing him that she was ready to take up the challenge.
“Don't hold back,” she whispered.
“I will not.”
And he didn't. Instead, he fucked her with more strength and passion than she could have imagined.
And that was everything. Everything.
Their breathing primal, their bodies fused together, drove them half mad with pleasure.
Like the last time, time no longer existed. The minutes passed, like seconds or hours, they no longer knew.
And with every moment, Freya lost her mind a little more in Kratos's arms.
It was as if he were the only thing left in the world. He was her world.
His body, his grunts that increasingly resembled roars, his burning skin, his presence inside her, piercing her, his angry eyes, his incessant, overwhelming movements.
It was supernatural.
When the orgasm hit her, she was overcome by the feeling that Kratos was opening up whole universes for her.
And for the first time since she had met him, as uncontrollable waves of pleasure so powerful it seemed dangerous were overwhelming her, Freya felt fear.
Fear, because she was no longer sure who she was.
It suddenly seemed to her that she had known Kratos for a long time. Entire lives. Centuries, perhaps more.
That she had loved him before.
And that she had hated him too.
That he had been everything to her. Her reason for living and her reason for dying. That she had fought with him, for him, and against him.
That they had shattered worlds together.
She closed her eyes, trapped beneath his massive body, overwhelmed by his power, unable to escape these confused emotions, both foreign and familiar at the same time.
Kratos's embrace told a story that was completely unknown to her and yet seemed to be her own.
And in the eternity of those few seconds that the paroxysm of her pleasure lasted, she was certain that this man who was thrusting deep inside her was not just that: a man.
He was more. Much more.
And perhaps she was too.
But it only lasted a few seconds.
She opened her eyes again, feeling her lover reach orgasm in turn.
Kratos had sent her to the peak, and when he joined her there, roaring with pleasure, everything suddenly made sense again.
Freya felt herself again.
Her panting breath, her skin glistening with sweat and saliva, her hair scattered, her muscles tense with pleasure, she vaguely tried to remember the emotions that had overwhelmed her a few moments before, but in vain.
The feeling of strangeness that she had felt so strongly was already gone. She could only make out its blurred, ill-defined contours, like a distant, feverish dream, and she struggled not to let the fragments of impression that she still had slip away.
“Freya...”
But she did not listen to him, her attention focused on her impossible task.
“Freya. Stay with me.”
She closed her eyes and opened them again, forcing herself back to him, locking gazes, surrendering, knowing full well that she was fighting a losing battle.
And when Kratos placed his lips on hers, kissing her with a tenderness that contrasted with the roughness with which he had fucked her, she even forgot that she was trying to remember something.
Only one thought obsessed her now, as she opened her mouth to let Kratos invade her again.
She was in love.
Or she would be soon.
He broke the kiss.
“Do you want more?”
She smiled. She was so beautiful like that, naked on the sheets, her gaze happy, her hair scattered around her head like an aura.
“You're amazing.”
“No. You are. You have no idea how much.”
He kissed her again.
“But I think we need a break. And there's a typical Vanaheim dish waiting to be eaten in the kitchen.”
“Mmmh. You haven't forgotten.”
“Of course not.”
“Are you sure? It's at your own risk.”
“I like to live dangerously.”
A little later, they were back in bed, plates full of Freya's cooking.
She wasn't sure about the experiment, but after the sex they'd just had, the food didn't even have to be good.
She snuggled up to him, intertwining her legs with his, quite uninterested in the contents of her plate.
“Right, I need to know more,” she began in a falsely serious tone. ”What's your secret? Are you a god of sex who infiltrates mortals? Or do you have a gift of clairvoyance to know exactly what to do when you have to do it? Because seriously, I've never experienced that.”
Kratos suspiciously stirred the food with the tip of his fork, avoiding the question.
“What exactly is it?”
“Vegetables. Or maybe you've slept with so many women that you're now a living pleasure manual.”
“Did the recipe really say to cut them like that?”
“Kratos.”
“Wait, at least let me try it.”
She watched him take a bite, impatient.
“Well?”
“It is... not bad.”
Freya rolled her eyes and turned to pick up her own fork. She grimaced as she swallowed, the acrid taste of burnt food assaulting her palate.
“Liar. It tastes burnt!”
Kratos smiled apologetically.
“I do not want to discourage you. And I find it really edible.”
“Ugh. It's terrible.”
She threw her fork back onto her plate and turned back to him.
“You haven't answered my question.”
Kratos took a second bite of the dish, and she admired the effort inwardly.
“I have had many partners,” he admitted. ”That is true.”
“Ah!” Freya said triumphantly. ”How many? Careful, your answer will be proportional to my jealousy.”
“I have not counted them. But please, do not be jealous of women whose faces I haven't even remembered.”
He gently caressed the bare skin of her arm.
“What I feel with you is in no way comparable to empty moments of pleasure with strangers I have long since forgotten. Only two women have ever meant anything to me before, and I married them.”
Freya held herself back from commenting.
“And you?” he asked after a moment. ”I know you were married very young, but...”
“But I had time to lose my virginity before, if that's what you want to know. That said, I don't have your experience, sorry.”
She didn't seem sorry at all.
“Do not be. I do not care. Experienced or not, you drive me crazy like few women have been able to.”
“Mmmh. I know.”
He kissed her on the hair.
“There is something about you, Freya... I cannot say what exactly... At least not yet... You are like... a breathing inside me.”
She looked up.
“I am no stranger to excessive emotions. I have often drowned in them, and I have worked hard to keep them under control. But with you... I... I cannot control myself with you, but for the first time in a long time... I think it is a good thing.”
He looked at her and hesitated, as if he wanted to explain what he meant by these enigmatic words, and seemed to decide against it. But Freya understood. She understood him as if she shared with him mysterious and ancient soul ties. She understood that fire within him, that storm. She wanted it.
“I do not want to frighten you by talking too seriously. We hardly know each other. I do not...”
Freya put a finger to his lips.
“Stop it. You do not frighten me.”
She got up to straddle him, and smiled.
“But you are right. We hardly know each other. We are likely to spend a lot of time together in the near future, so we had better remedy that.”
“Mmmh. What do you want to know?”
“Let's start with a classic. What's your favorite color?”
“Red. Yours?”
“Green. No. Blue. Or yellow. The color of the sun. I don't know. The colors of the world, I can't choose.”
He chuckled softly.
“What do you like to eat most?”
“Honey. Sweet.”
“Olives. Salty.”
They continued like this for a long time, determined to know everything about each other. After a while, Freya realized that time was passing and that they hadn't really talked about when the evening should end. She hoped he could stay at her place for the night, but being the father of a teenager, he had a good reason to go home.
“Do you have permission until midnight? Or are you going to stay out all night?” she asked anyway, rolling onto her back.
“Atreus is sleeping at his girlfriend's. I have no reason to go home... If you agree.
“His girlfriend!”
“They sleep in separate rooms,” Kratos clarified. ”Angrboda lives with her grandmother, and I have every confidence in her to look after them.”
Freya gave him a dirty look and rolled over again to lie against him.
“Do you think he suspects anything?”
“No.”
“Are you... planning to tell him?”
“Of course, when I think the time is right. I have not been with anyone since his mother died, I do not want him to be upset.”
Freya nodded, understanding, and a little nervous. She had gotten along so well with Atreus; if the boy were to, out of loyalty to the memory of his mother, reject her when he learned the true nature of her relationship with his father, she would be heartbroken. But they weren't there yet.
At that precise moment, Kratos's phone began to ring, still in the pocket of his jeans abandoned on the ground. The Spartan leaned down to pick it up.
“It is Atreus, I have to answer it.”
Freya nodded and he unlocked the screen.
“What is it, son? It is almost 11 p.m., you are not sleeping yet?”
Freya heard the teenager's response, even though it was not on speakerphone.
“I am looking for my maths notebook. Can you check if it is on my desk, please? I have maths first thing tomorrow, and the teacher goes crazy if we don't have our materials... If I've forgotten it, I'll have to go back home before going to school.”
Kratos remained silent for a few moments.
“I cannot. I am not at home. You will have to come back tomorrow before school.”
“Oh,” Atreus replied, a little surprised. ”Okay. No problem. Where are you?”
“At... At a friend's house.”
It was Atreus's turn to take a few seconds to reply, and Freya was overcome with a severe urge to laugh. This kid really had a knack for getting them into awkward situations.
“At a friend's house. Okay.”
“Go to bed, Atreus. Good night.”
“Good night, Father.”
And he added, just before hanging up without giving Kratos a chance to reply, something for which the latter was almost grateful: “Say hello to Freya for me.”
In surprise, Kratos dropped his phone on the nightstand and looked at Freya. At the sight of his incredulous expression, the young woman couldn't help but burst out laughing; even a defeated Kratos cracked a smile and held her tightly against him as she giggled incessantly.
“Well, it looks like we have one less problem.”
“Yes,” Freya managed to say between two sobs of laughter. ”It seems so.”
*******************************************
The months passed, and their relationship blossomed like a flower in the sun. They were already in their second summer: Atreus had been in high school for a year now, and Kratos and Freya were starting to talk about moving in together somewhere. Freya spent most of her time at the Spartan's and his son's house. Her animals now lived in the house, cats and dogs getting along better than they had expected. But even though they were happy there, the place was too full of Faye's memory for them to really want to build their future there. Freya had kept her apartment; Baldur, who studied at an Asgardian university, stayed there every vacation and was there almost more often than she was now. But when her son wasn't staying there, Freya and Kratos would often use it to escape from the family home for a while and explore aspects of their relationship that required Atreus's total absence within a defined perimeter.
Freya felt completely happy. She had passed her first year at university, then her second; her degree now seemed within reach and the possibility of doing what she wanted in life was going to become a reality. Her relationship with Baldur was gradually rebuilding, freed from Odin's suffocating shadow. Atreus was growing up as a son to her. And every day she thanked life for bringing Kratos into her path, her love, her soul mate, her partner. Her everything.
She was thinking about all this as she took her sunglasses out of her bag, blinded by the morning light. The school holidays had just started, and Atreus was taking part in one last archery competition before the summer months break. As expected, he had started the competition when he entered high school, and he had quickly become a hope for his club, which he represented more and more brilliantly.
Freya turned around and made out the silhouette of Kratos in the crowd, who was approaching her, two coffees in hand.
“Here.”
He kissed her and handed her one of the two coffees.
“Oh, thank you. I needed that.”
She had just finished her exams at university, and even though she felt tired, she was delighting in that end-of-year feeling where everything that was compulsory during the year is suddenly no longer compulsory: revising, wearing sweaters, getting up early. What a joy.
“Have Angrboda and Skjöldr arrived?”
“They are with Atreus.”
He pointed in the direction of the archery range and she indeed made out the auburn hair of Atreus, the blond hair of Skjöldr, and the black hair of Angrboda. Freya narrowed her eyes and frowned. There was another redhead with them. A teenager whom the young woman recognized immediately, even though she hadn't seen her for a few years.
Her heart skipped a beat.
It was Thrud, Odin's granddaughter, the daughter of his son Thor. Thrud, Odin's granddaughter, deep in conversation with Atreus, Kratos' son. Two worlds that should have remained perfectly distinct, yet were coming together.
No, no, no, no, no.
Her blood seemed to have turned to ice in her veins. The atmosphere around her was as cheerful as ever, the sun was shining, people were laughing, but the only thing she could feel now was the threat posed by this red-haired teenager, this part of her cursed Asgardian history that was contaminating her present happiness like a virus.
Kratos seemed to sense the tension that had suddenly taken hold of his companion and took her hand.
“Freya, is everything all right?”
She nodded without taking her eyes off Thrud.
“Yes, of course. Do you know who that girl over there is, with Atreus?”
“No. I have never seen her.”
Kratos continued to stare at her, questioning.
“Are you really sure you are well?”
“I…”
Freya suddenly realized that she had to leave. She was in danger, and those were not just words. Thrud knew who she was; she could not be recognized by an Asgardian, even if it was a teenager she had seen grow up, and even loved.
She couldn't risk Odin finding out where she was. The risk of seeing the life she had rebuilt shatter again. Never.
She almost felt like crying.
What if it was already too late?
Could Thrud's presence at that moment, talking precisely to the son of her new love, really be a coincidence?
Don't panic, Freya. Of course it can.
She suddenly felt the irresistible need to be alone and turned to Kratos.
“You're right. I don't feel very well. Probably the backlash from the exams. I think I'll go home.”
He nodded, but his gaze was still suspicious. And with good reason: her sudden change in mood was particularly surprising, as she had been looking forward, as usual, to attending Atreus's competition and had suddenly become a ghost.
“We will meet you at home when it is over.”
“No... I think I'll go to the apartment. I need some solitude,“ she explained with a brave smile.
There was a silence between them.
Please, Kratos, let me go. I can't stay here.
“Very well.”
He kissed her and felt her agitation in their kiss. Well aware that she was acting strangely, Freya fled quickly to avoid questions.
But Kratos was not the kind to give up so easily. Once the competition was over, he immediately joined her at her apartment, obviously worried by the turmoil she had been plunged into upon seeing the red-haired teenager.
“Freya?” he called as he pushed open the door - he had had the keys to her house for a long time now.
“I'm in the bedroom.”
He joined her there.
“Atreus won."
“I know, he sent me a message.”
“He also told me that the red-haired girl we saw with him was called Thrud and that she came from Asgard. Apparently, they met at an inter-realms school event organized this year. Atreus's school and Thrud's school met and they became friends. He invited her to his archery competition today.”
“A school meeting between schoolchildren from Midgard and schoolchildren from Asgard?” Freya asked incredulously. ”And she came today? Alone?”
“No, her mother was with her. I spoke to her briefly.”
“Her mother?”
Freya had turned very pale. This time, there was no room for doubt. The presence of Sif, Thor's wife, was no coincidence. It couldn't be a coincidence.
“Freya...”
“He knows where I am.”
“What?”
“Odin. He knows I'm in Midgard. He...”
But she didn't get the chance to say more, because at that moment, three knocks were heard at the door.
It could have been anyone. Her neighbor coming to ask for sugar. A door-to-door salesman offering some service or other. The building caretaker reminding her for the tenth time that the light in the main hall still had to be switched off manually until the motion detector was repaired.
But Freya knew immediately that it wasn't. She knew immediately who was behind the door.
And with the terrified look she gave him, Kratos also knew.
Three more knocks were heard.
She had no choice. There was nothing else to do. Like a robot, she walked to the front door and opened it.
She blinked repeatedly, her heart torn, as if closing her eyelids could banish that monster from the past that stood before her.
Odin.
“Hello, Freya.”
She didn't even have the strength to answer him, overcome with anguish.
And only Kratos' presence behind her kept her from collapsing.
Notes:
Trouble in paradise!!
Thanks for reading <3
Chapter Text
“Will you let me in, Freya?”
She still hadn't made a move, numbed by the shock, but Odin's voice brought her back to reality. For a second, she wanted to slam the door in his face. But she knew it would be pointless: Odin knew where she lived now, she had no choice, she had to confront him.
There was no point in putting off the inevitable. She stepped aside to let him pass and watched him enter the apartment that had until now been her refuge, the symbol of her newfound freedom, the first place that had been truly hers after living in a cage for years. Odin casually walked into the living room, looking around curiously, without a glance for Kratos, and, reaching the couch, caressed the fabric with his hand appreciatively.
Freya forced herself out of her state of shock. She stood in front of him and crossed her arms.
“What do you want?”
Odin raised an eyebrow and sat down on the couch, even though he hadn't been invited to do so, and looked at the young woman.
“Isn't it obvious? I want my wife back.”
Freya flinched when she heard him use that term.
“I am not yours.”
“Oh, but you are, Freya,” Odin replied with a chuckle. "You are.”
“She left you," Kratos growled behind her, his voice so heavily laden with threat that Freya shivered again.
It was among the most intimidating sounds she had ever heard, but Odin did not seem impressed. He turned his pale, motionless eyes towards Kratos, notifying him of his presence for the first time, and gave him a slight smile.
“So it's you who's currently fucking my wife? She's always lacked discernment in certain aspects of her life.”
“Leave.”
“With pleasure. But not just yet. First I want to explain how things are going to go.”
Freya took a step forward, feeling anger take over from astonishment. Did this man still believe he could control her? After all the efforts she had made to get rid of the vice of her marriage, did he still think he could tell her how things were going to go?
“You're going to leave, that's how it's going to be,” she spat with hatred. ”And you're going to leave us alone. There's a reason why I left, Odin. I don't want you in my life.”
“I'm afraid you don't have a choice, my dear.”
He sighed as if he deeply regretted the situation, but his eyes were colder than ice.
“Because unless my mind is playing tricks on me, Freya, we are still married. You are my wife, and you have no right to tell me to leave.”
Freya felt as if she had suddenly been filled with a leaden weight. She turned to Kratos, who had turned his amber gaze to her in surprise, and looked down. She had never fully told him the truth about her separation from Odin. They had never divorced; she had fled, she had hidden, she had extracted herself from his deadly domination, but in the eyes of the law, they were still husband and wife. This thought always made her want to cry and she had chosen to ignore it, immersing herself in her relationship with Kratos to forget that she legally belonged to another man. The Spartan said nothing and she shifted her intention to Odin.
“If that's all, fine. I'm filing for divorce.”
Odin stood up and approached her. She had to make an effort not to back away like a hunted animal.
“No. I have no desire to divorce.”
He stepped forward again, until he was facing her.
“I still have feelings for you, Freya... We've had our difficulties, but what couple doesn't? I know... I know we can work it out."
He raised his hand, and to her horror, he gently caressed her cheek with an artificial tenderness. Revolted, she did not dare to make a move to withdraw from his touch: but she did not need to, because a second later, Odin was brutally thrown back and Kratos was standing between them.
“Do not touch her, or you will regret it.”
Odin fell to the ground, but then got back on his feet with dignity, lightly dusting off his clothes. He sized up the Spartan with a look.
“I see I was right about you.”
Kratos frowned even more and Freya turned pale. Did Odin know him?
Stupid question. Of course Odin knew him. This man was obsessed with control, and this manifested itself in him through a thirst for infinite knowledge. He wanted to know everything about everything, about everyone, all the time, compiling thousands of pieces of information about people and things in thick black files. Despite the summer weather and mild temperatures, Freya felt cold. How long had he known that she was in Midgard? How long had he been watching her? What exactly did he know about their life here? About their family, their friends? About Atreus?
Odin quickly gave her an answer. He looked into her eyes, and for the first time, she saw emotion in his icy gaze. Anger.
“Your little escape has caused a lot of talk, you know. It put me in a difficult situation. Have you thought about the humiliation you subjected me to when you left Asgard? I can't afford to have the reputation of a cuckold. Not to mention the fact that you're poisoning my son against me.”
“Don't...”
“Silence. I'll leave now, and Freya has a month to join me in Asgard and tell the press that she's been missing all this time for health reasons. And she'd better be convincing when she tells them how happy she is to be back with her husband.”
Kratos came to stand behind her and put his arms around her waist in a protective gesture.
“She will not.”
“Oh, she will. Or you will all pay the price. Including Atreus. He is a sweet kid, but if I have to use him to get my reputation back, and my wife, I will.”
Kratos released his hold on Freya and advanced towards Odin. He exuded an incomparable aura of power: his eyes had taken on an almost orange hue in the grip of anger and Freya almost felt as if she could see flames haloing his silhouette. She blinked, dazzled, and even Odin seemed to hesitate for a moment.
“If you come near my son,” Kratos whispered, his low voice more terrifying than if he had shouted, ”nothing and no one in this world will be able to protect you from me. There will be nothing you can do to stop me from finding you, and from killing you.”
Odin met his gaze.
“The Ghost of Sparta lives up to his reputation, from what I can see,” he replied. ”But don't overestimate yourself, Kratos. Think of the catastrophe it would be for your child if you were to be tried for murder again... You were lucky once, you were forgiven for destroying Olympus, but here? You will not be spared... You will be found guilty, locked up forever... and Atreus will have to grow up without his parents. Without anyone to protect him. How regrettable that would be.”
Kratos did not reply, his gaze filled with hatred, and Odin turned to Freya.
“One month, Frigg. I know you will make the right decision.”
He said nothing more, walked to the door and, without another glance, slammed it behind him.
And Freya collapsed onto the couch, her face in her hands as if refusing to see the real world around her. As if refusing to accept the reality of what had just happened in her living room.
Kratos immediately came and sat down next to her to give her a hug.
“It is all right, Freya. He is gone. We will find a solution.”
She suddenly looked up.
“A solution? What solution? This man is all-powerful, Kratos! He always gets what he wants, always. I was so stupid to believe I could win against him...”
Tears began to well up at the corners of her eyes. Kratos took her by the chin and forced her to look at him.
“No one is all-powerful. Everyone has a weakness, you just have to find it. I know it is difficult, but I need you to be strong and for us to think together about what it might be.”
“He threatened Atreus...”
“I know.”
Freya wiped the tears running down her cheeks with an almost childlike gesture. Her eyes were like those of a hunted doe, dark and filled with fear.
“There's something... Maybe... That I could use against him.”
Kratos's gaze intensified.
“What is it?”
She got up.
“It's on my computer at home.”
“Let us go, then. Atreus is still at Skjöldr's, let us take advantage of that.”
They left the apartment, went to Kratos's car and returned to the Wild Woods without a word. Several times, the Spartan wanted to open his mouth to speak; but such tension emanated from his companion that he did not even dare to break the silence to whisper words of comfort to her.
He parked the car in the street, as he often did, in front of the house, and got out, slamming the door behind him.
Immediately, three men pounced on him.
“Kratos!”
Freya's terrified voice reached him from afar. Kratos did not answer her. As his assailants began to beat him, he let the adrenaline flood his veins, tensing his muscles at the prospect of combat, his heart pounding with excitement, and struck back.
It had been a long time since he had fought, but he felt it immediately; he had lost none of his killing power. He could easily have killed each of these men with the strength of his fists alone. But he knew better than to commit murder on his own doorstep; almost mechanically, he was content to wound them enough to send them fleeing.
Which they did. When they realized that they were no match for the Ghost of Sparta, the three bloodied men abandoned the fight and ran away as fast as the blows they had received allowed them to. Their silhouettes quickly disappeared in the fading light of dusk.
Kratos took a deep breath and turned to Freya, still hiding behind the car. She was staring at him with wide eyes and rapid breathing, as if she were seeing him for the first time: she knew that her love had been a warrior in a past life, but she had never had the opportunity to see him fight. And it was quite a sight.
“Are you all right?”
“Are you serious? You're the one who fought!”
Kratos shrugged as if he had done nothing more ordinary than pour himself a glass of water. She walked around the car to snuggle up to him.
“They were not very difficult opponents.”
“Still.”
She closed her eyes, her face buried in his neck.
“I guess Odin sent them. Do you know who they are?”
“I've never seen them. But they're probably Einherjar, Odin's private militia... Kratos, it was...”
“A warning.”
Kratos's voice was harsh.
“Odin will not leave us alone. He is going to put us under pressure without giving us a chance to find a solution. We have to be quick and not let him intimidate us. Come on, inside.”
He took her hand and led her into the house, and she followed him like a robot.
“What did you want to show me?”
She forced herself to snap out of the mental fog that threatened to make her lose her footing. She knew it was a protective reflex in the face of what had happened to her today: the reappearance of Odin, his heinous blackmail, the attack of the three men. But she knew she had to remain determined, take a leaf out of Kratos' book, who kept his cool as if he had been dealing with crisis situations all his life, and take action. She had once managed the impossible. She would succeed this time too.
Focus, Freya.
She walked straight to the coffee table in the living room where her computer was and opened it. She looked up at Kratos.
“Do you remember that I infiltrated Odin's office to find the name of the boarding school where he had sent Baldur?”
Kratos nodded.
“Well, that's not the only piece of information I stole from him.”
He leaned over the screen. They were photos of documents, clearly taken with her phone. Handwritten letters, informal contracts, reports... Kratos frowned and examined each photo one after the other. Freya let him do it, watching his reactions, very pale.
“Freya...”
“I know.”
She was trembling slightly.
“I don't know what I can do with them. But I kept them, just in case... Just in case...”
“Just in case you need to use them against him.”
“Yes.”
He put his arm around her shoulders, his eyes staring into space.
“We need a lawyer,” he said after a moment of silence. ”We need someone we trust to help us exploit these documents.”
“But who?”
“Sigrun.”
“Mimir's girlfriend. Of course.”
“She is one of Yggdrasil's most brilliant lawyers.”
It was true. Sigrun was a professor of law at the University of Midgard, and she was a formidable lawyer. Freya was very fond of the couple. Mimir had her eternal gratitude because it was thanks to him that she had met Kratos a year and a half earlier, as he was the friend who was a professor of ancient languages at Yggdrasil and whom he had visited at the University that evening. As for Sigrun, Freya had boundless admiration for her intelligence and charisma. The two of them were a couple of brilliant intellectuals and she sometimes had the impression that visiting them was like visiting an encyclopedia, but a particularly funny and friendly encyclopedia.
“Do you think she'll help us?”
“I am sure she will.”
“Then please, Kratos, call her.”
“I will.”
********************************
Freya and Kratos waited with beating hearts for Sigrun to finish examining the photos on Freya's computer.
Mimir placed two cups of tea in front of them, but they paid no attention.
They had gone to the eccentric couple's house the very next evening. Sensing the urgency in his friend's voice on the phone, Mimir had suggested they come straight after dinner.
And they wasted no time in small talk. Mimir and Sigrun knew Freya's story: they had simply told of Odin's visit and explained their plan to bring him down.
But judging by the slight frown on the lawyer's face, the plan seemed far from perfect.
Sigrun closed the computer and looked up at her guests.
“It's even worse than I thought. We all know that Odin Boreson doesn't always bother with the law when it comes to acquiring power and money... But this... This is beyond comprehension.”
She got up and began to pace around the living room, clearly agitated.
“These documents are astounding. I couldn't have imagined...”
“It didn't surprise me when I found them,” Freya cut her off. ”Odin is a cruel being. He has no scruples. What he did to Jotunheim and Svartalfheim is hardly different from what he did to Vanaheim.”
She in turn stood up.
“Can we use these documents against him? Bring him to justice? They bear witness to all his violence and corruption. If we could rid Yggdrasil of his tyranny... It's been going on for too long, and he won't stop until someone stops him.”
Sigrun looked at Freya with compassion and sighed.
“My dear,” she began slowly, ”I know you have personal reasons for wanting to see Odin behind bars. And you're right, the facts are extremely serious. It would justify life imprisonment. But...”
“But?”
“But... These photos have no legal value.”
“What?”
Freya had paled. Kratos got up too.
“We could take action if we had the originals. But if we attack Odin with photos as evidence, we don't stand a chance. Understand this, Freya: Odin's defense will have no trouble invalidating their authenticity. We need the real documents.”
“But they're in Odin's office,“ the young woman murmured, her voice gone weak.
“Are you sure there's nothing we can do, love?” Mimir asked, sorry to see his friends in this situation.
Sigrun remained silent for a few moments.
“I promise to give the matter serious thought. It is possible that Odin has made, or is making, a mistake that would give us an angle of attack. I need you to keep me informed of everything he says or does during the month's reprieve he has given you, Freya.”
And she added, her voice harsh: “You are right. Odin is a thorn in Yggdrasil's side, and if we have the opportunity to get rid of him, then we must act. But... I can't make any promises.”
Kratos and Freya said goodbye to their friends after they had assured them of their full support. They drove in silence to the Wild Woods, disappointment and anxiety weighing on them like a leaden blanket.
Back at home, Freya broke down again. She looked at Kratos, and it felt like she had already lost him. Despite Sigrun's words of comfort, she knew that there was really only one way that could keep her new family safe.
“I have to go back to Odin.”
Her eyes were glistening with tears.
“No.”
“Kratos...”
“You will not do it. Never.”
“You don't understand!” the young woman whispered, desperate, and she would have cried out if Atreus had not been sleeping upstairs. ”We can't do anything against Odin.”
“Sigrun said...”
“Sigrun is just trying to cheer me up. But she knows there is no way out!
Kratos remained silent. Deep down, he knew she was right.
“If I don't take back my place by his side as his wife, he will turn on Atreus and you,” Freya continued, her voice filled with tears. ”He will, I know he will. He has no scruples. I can't let anything happen to you... because of me.”
Kratos took her by the shoulders and looked deep into the eyes of his love.
“We will not give in to his blackmail. It is out of the question.”
“We can't do anything against him if we don't get the original documents. In his office. In his house. In Asgard. It's impossible!”
“Then we will run away. We will leave, together, far from here.”
Freya shook her head and let out a sob.
“He will find us.”
And she threw herself into his arms, desperate, as if she wanted to merge with him. The prospect of leaving him only to fall back into Odin's clutches literally tore her heart out. Kratos wrapped his arms around her and held her as tightly as he could.
“We will find a way, I promise. I will not let him take you from me.”
She didn't reply, too exhausted and frightened to contradict him.
So caught up in their worry and distress, they didn't hear the light step of a teenage boy discreetly climbing the stairs.
********************************
Atreus crossed the corridor with cat-like footsteps, his heart pounding, and closed his bedroom door as quietly as possible, careful not to be heard.
He couldn't believe what he had heard.
Odin was threatening them.
Thrud's grandfather, who had been so kind to him during the inter-school meeting and had even invited him to his home in Asgard, was in fact Freya's ex-husband. He was a manipulative liar who wanted to hurt her. And his father. And him.
And judging by Freya's tears, the situation was not in their favor. As he understood it, the only way to turn things around was to get hold of documents that would compromise Odin.
Well, there weren't many solutions.
Atreus took out his phone to call Thrud.
It was late and the girl did not answer. He left her a message, trying to adopt the most casual and least suspicious tone possible.
“Hey, Thrud, it's me! Listen, I've been thinking about that weekend we wanted to spend at your grandfather's with Skjöldr. It would be good if we organized it as soon as possible. I'm super excited. Call me back!”
He dropped the phone back on the bed, his heart pounding with excitement.
He was going to play a dangerous game, he knew that. But he had no choice.
His father and Freya were in danger. And he was the only one who could save them.
Notes:
Go, Atreus! Always ready to protect his dad...
The next chapter won't arrive until May, life is going to be busy for me in April so I'll see you in a month!
Thanks for reading <3
Chapter Text
The gatekeeper of Odin Borson's sumptuous villa looked sternly at Atreus and Skjöldr as they stepped out of the elegant car that had brought them from Asgard Central Station. With all the false kindness that characterized him, it was Odin himself who had given them the train ticket and arranged for their arrival at his incredible home. The driver had picked them up when they got off the train and had them get into the limousine without a word, like some young movie stars. The two boys had obeyed silently, too intimidated to speak, and now they stood in front of the huge gate bristling with metal spikes that led to the Borson family home, watching the guard walk toward them.
“You sure this is a good idea, right?”
Atreus sighed. If he was being completely honest, he felt a little nervous. And judging by the slightly frantic movements of his friend, who kept running his hand through his golden hair, Skjöldr was too.
“I'm sure it is not. But I don't have a choice.”
Atreus turned to him.
“You don't have to do anything dangerous, you know. I'm not asking you to come with me into Odin's office. I just need you to be there. It would have been weird if I'd gone alone.”
Skjöldr nodded and hesitated. Atreus knew he would have liked to be able to assure him that he would follow him into any situation, but he couldn't. And that was okay. Not everyone reacted the same way to danger, and Skjöldr undoubtedly had a much stronger instinct for self-preservation than he did.
“I'll do what I can,” he finally whispered.
“I know. Hey, look! There's Thrúd!”
Skjöldr turned his attention back to the villa to see the young girl with flame-colored hair walking up the driveway toward them. A wave of relief washed over them like fog over Midgard on a winter evening.
The guard also turned toward his boss's granddaughter and bowed slightly. He had long, curly black hair, a scar across his entire left cheek, and the sternest expression Atreus had ever seen. When he met his gaze, he sincerely wondered if this man had ever smiled once in his life.
“These are my friends, Vidar,” Thrud explained to the guard. ”Grandfather invited them for the week.”
The guard bowed a second time.
“Yes, Miss Thrud. I am aware.”
He shot Atreus and Skjöldr a dirty look and opened the gate reluctantly, as if he were letting them in only against his will. The two boys hurried past him, dragging their suitcases behind them.
“Don't mind him,” Thrud said with a laugh once they were far enough away from the gatekeeper. ”He's like that with everyone. I'm so glad you were able to come so quickly! I wasn't sure your parents would let you travel so far.”
“Oh, it's not that far, just a few hours by train,” Skjöldr replied, smiling at the girl, a dazzling smile that revealed as many teeth as a piano keyboard. ”And anyway, you know, I'm almost eighteen, my parents can't really tell me what I can and can't do anymore.”
Atreus rolled his eyes, amused.
“Don't get too excited, you've still got ten months to go.”
Skjöldr was a year older than Atreus, having repeated a year when he was little, but he was willing to do anything to impress the Asgardian girl.
“Count your blessings! I'm not sure my parents will let me do what I want, even when I'm an adult. What about you, Atreus? Were your parents okay with you coming to Asgard?”
“Yeah, no problem.”
He had, of course, lied to Kratos and Freya, telling them he was going to spend the week with Skjöldr at his uncle's house on a beautiful lake in their area.
His father had agreed without asking many questions, and Atreus knew why. Given what had just happened, he must have been relieved to send his son to a remote part of Midgard, leaving him and Freya to think in peace about the dilemma Odin had imposed on them.
At this thought, Atreus reflexively clenched his fists. He forced himself to banish the memory of Freya's tears and his father's voice promising that he would not let Odin take her from him. He had to stay focused. So much depended on him...
The house appeared around a grove of fir trees, a few hundred yards from the entrance gate, and the sight of it banished Atreus' dark thoughts. He had never seen anything like it. The grounds were so vast that he couldn't see the boundaries, and he even wondered if they existed. The house could not be described as such, as it was so large and spread over several buildings. It was a true palace.
“The pool is behind it,” Thrud said as if it were the most natural thing in the world. ”I hope you didn't forget your swimsuits.”
“Wow,” Skjöldr finally managed to say, after standing speechless for a few minutes in awe of the magnificence of the place. ”This is...”
“I know. Incredible. Breathtaking. Awesome. Everyone says that the first time. Come on, I'll show you your rooms.”
The place was indeed impressive in its beauty and luxury, but Atreus couldn't help noticing the discreet presence of cameras everywhere. As he walked along the groves, his blue eyes regularly rose to meet the glass eyes of these conscience-less spies that stretched toward him with a metallic clang. The teenager frowned involuntarily. Every square inch of the main driveway must be under surveillance. Was the rest of the villa too?
As they approached the monumental entrance, a young man with blond hair came out of the villa to meet them. Thrud gritted his teeth.
“Oh, no.”
“Who's that?” Atreus asked.
“My uncle. Heimdall.”
“Your father's brother? Odin's son?”
“Yes. He's in charge of his security and the villa. Don't pay any attention to him. He's suspicious of everything and everyone, and he's a real jerk.”
Skjöldr looked a little worried.
“Is he going to question us?”
“Probably not. But he might be a little unpleasant.”
Heimdall watched them approach, and from his body language, Atreus knew immediately that this was going to be the case. He smiled at them, and his smile already exuded immeasurable contempt.
When he opened his mouth, he confirmed Atreus' suspicions.
“Well, I wasn't informed that the villa had been repurposed as a babysitting center.”
Thrud shot him a cold stare.
“Boring. You couldn't come up with a better line than that?"
“That's all I could think of. Having you in my field of vision burns my brain cells and drains my creativity.”
“Cool, then save your brain and leave us alone.”
Heimdall smiled again, just as nastily, and looked at Atreus and Skjöldr as if they were insects squashed on his windshield.
"A babysitter, and a social services center, apparently. Midgarders... You really don't know how to choose your friends, little girl.”
Thrud shot him a murderous look that made him snicker, but before she could respond, he continued, “But you're right, there's no need to impose your presence on me any longer. Come in, since you've been so graciously invited.”
Heimdall stepped aside, bowing as elegantly as ironically, and Thrud stood still for a moment, as if deliberating with herself whether or not to stand up to him, and seemed to decide against it. She gave them a little wave and they followed her, passing one by one in front of him; but when it was Atreus' turn, he grabbed his arm to hold him back. The boy turned his gaze toward him, nervous and defensive.
“What?”
“You seemed very interested in our surveillance cameras earlier,” Heimdall whispered, his voice laden with sarcasm. ”Questions about our security system, perhaps?”
Heimdall had fixed his gaze on him, a strange, sparkling gaze of an indefinable color, a magenta color he had never seen in anyone before. But what impressed him most was the absolute fixity of that gaze, which pierced him like a dagger thrust into his body to read his soul. For a moment, he wondered if Heimdall really had a gift for clairvoyance, and if he already knew his true intentions.
“I'd just never seen them before, that's all. They intrigued me, so I looked at them. I didn't do anything wrong.”
He tried to break free, but Heimdall tightened his grip on his arm, and it felt like his bicep was caught in a vice.
“Oh, really? Just curiosity? The thing is, I don't really want to believe you. There's something about you that screams 'liar'.”
“I don't...”
Heimdall tightened his grip again, eliciting a grunt of discomfort from Atreus that prevented him from finishing his sentence.
“Don't let your eyes wander too much. Mine will be on you.”
And he released him abruptly. Atreus said nothing, contenting himself with glaring at him as he rubbed his arm, before hurrying to catch up with his friends who had gone ahead. Too busy talking to each other, they hadn't noticed that he had fallen behind. Just as well.
As he walked behind them, Atreus mentally assessed his situation. If he was completely honest, he had to admit that he hadn't expected any of this. He had clearly underestimated the power and significance of the master of the house; Odin's residence was proving to be more secure than a prison, and it hadn't taken him ten minutes to attract the attention of his number one guard dog.
Atreus now saw what kind of mission he had set himself. Infiltrate the office of one of the most powerful men in Yggdrasil.
Damn it, what had he gotten himself into?
******************************************
Atreus took an arrow, mechanically placing it against the string of his bow, drew back, aimed, and fired.
The arrow lodged itself in one of the outer circles of the target.
The boy sighed. It wasn't his best performance.
But how could it be, when his mind was so far away?
He had been in the villa for four days, four days during which he had disobeyed Heimdall and let his eyes wander, mentally noting everything that seemed useful between swims with his friends. The locations of the cameras, the comings and goings of the inhabitants, Odin's daily routine. He had drawn a map of the villa in his sketchbook, noted the days when Thor was in, studied Heimdall's patrol route, and was beginning to see the outline of a plan.
But he still needed some more information, and unfortunately, for that, he needed Odin.
But if his keen observations were correct, he might soon have it.
Just as he was about to take another arrow, his heart began to beat faster. He had just spotted Odin's silhouette appearing on the walking path that crossed the park, visible from the villa's archery range. Atreus had been right. Every day, at this time, Odin took his daily walk. He congratulated himself inwardly on his first success and nocked an arrow, pretending to be too absorbed in his activity to have seen the old man walking by.
His movement seemed to attract Odin's attention. Out of the corner of his eye, as he aimed at the target, he saw him stop and turn his face toward the archery range.
Come on, come here... Come talk to me... Come on...
Atreus waited a second, then fired. Further down the path, Odin finally made up his mind. He stopped walking and headed toward the archery range.
Satisfaction flooded the teenager, who took another arrow. A few minutes later, Odin had joined him. It was his chance.
“Good morning, Atreus,” the old man said in his monotone voice. ”You're up early.”
Atreus smiled, a frank, honest smile. To his great surprise, he had developed a taste for lying and discovered a certain talent for manipulation through his contact with Odin. This proved Heimdall right, but desperate times called for desperate measures. He didn't really have room for scruples.
“Yeah, I woke up before sunrise and couldn't get back to sleep. I figured I'd shoot some arrows while waiting for the others to get up. It's such a beautiful day, it feels good to be up.”
“I understand. I like to start the day early, and I've gotten into the habit of taking this walk every day when I wake up.”
“Cool way to start the day,” Atreus replied with a smile. ”Even in winter?”
“Yes. It helps clear my head, you know? I can think more clearly during the day.”
Atreus nodded and took another arrow.
“My dad always starts the day with a jog. I think it has a similar effect on him.”
He had decided to talk openly about Kratos and Freya in front of Odin, determined to show him that he was unaware of the terrible game he was playing with them to gain his trust more easily.
“Your father is more athletic than me. I just walk.”
“Yeah, definitely! Running isn't really my thing either!”
Odin watched him as he drew his arrow. Atreus grimaced when it landed near the previous one, still far from the center of the target.
“Not your day, it seems.”
“No, clearly not.”
He put down his bow and turned to the old man.
“I think I'm going to go home. I'm not getting anywhere with this bow. I've got a book to finish, I think it's a sign!”
Odin nodded thoughtfully.
“Speaking of books... I promised to show you my personal library. Are you still interested?”
The villa had a library that would make a bookseller jealous. But Odin had told Atreus that he kept his most interesting books... in his office. The teenager felt a tingling sensation of excitement in the palms of his hands. This was exactly what he had hoped would happen.
“Oh! Yeah... I mean... Yes, yes!”
“Why not now?”
“Don't you want to finish your walk first? I don't want to interrupt...”
Odin waved his hand to indicate that it didn't matter.
“My walk was almost over.”
“Will that be enough for you to see clearly today?” Atreus joked.
Odin smiled.
“I think so.”
Atreus and Odin walked back up the path that led from the archery range to the villa, passing by the turquoise waters of the huge swimming pool. They headed for Odin's office, and Atreus tried not to look at the cameras monitoring the long corridor leading there. When they reached the door, the old man took a key from his jacket pocket and inserted it into the lock.
He motioned for Atreus to enter. The boy obeyed and stepped inside the coveted office, his heart pounding.
While Odin showed him his books, he tried to quickly analyze the layout of the room. He immediately spotted the thick black files that were bending the wooden shelves behind the huge cherry wood desk, but he doubted that the confidential information his father and Freya needed—documents incriminating Odin—would have been left so prominently displayed. Those papers had to be hidden.
Atreus pretended to look at the books, and after a moment, Odin seemed to decide that he had shown him enough.
“Good. Your friends must be up by now. You should join them.”
Atreus nodded.
“Yes. Thank you, sir. Your collection is incredible. I wish I had one like it.”
“Nothing's stopping you, Atreus. You're talented, intelligent, perceptive. You'll go far, believe me. I'm never wrong.”
The teenager didn't answer right away. In his head, he wanted to insult him. Stop your fake kindness, you piece of trash. I know you want to hurt my family. I'm not your friend, and you're not mine. We're just rivals in lying, you and me.
But he just smiled, that sweet, honest smile that had become his specialty with Odin.
“Thank you, sir. That means a lot coming from you.”
Odin gave him a rare smile and nodded toward the door. Atreus headed for the door, but before crossing the threshold of the office to return to the hallway, he turned around and had time to see Odin trying to open one of the drawers in his desk. The drawer was clearly locked. Atreus turned away and left the room. When Odin came out after him, he simply closed the door behind him.
“You... You don't lock it?”
“Never during the day,” Odin replied in his usual even voice. ”Just at night. I go into that room a lot, and I don't want to lock and unlock it every time.”
“Yes, that's understandable.”
Well, that was good to know.
After another day of swimming, playing tennis, and watching movies while eating ice cream, Atreus waited patiently for everyone to go to bed before joining Skjöldr.
“That's it,” he said, his cheeks red with excitement, as he burst into his friend's room. ”I know what I'm going to do. I have a plan.”
Skjöldr had already gone to bed, but when he heard Atreus' words, he threw back his sheets in a rush of adrenaline and sat up. His eyes, which a second ago had been clouded with sleep, were now as sharp as a hawk's.
“Okay. Tell me.”
Atreus took a deep breath and launched into his plan.
“It's a piece of cake. Odin's office is only locked at night. All I have to do is sneak in during the day while he's out, make up some excuse for Thrud, find the documents, and get out as quietly as possible.”
Skjöldr looked at him sideways.
“Are you kidding? That's your plan? What about the cameras? And Heimdall? You know he's watching you all the time...”
His friend was right. Without really being seen, Heimdall never let them out of his sight. His presence was discreet, yet incredibly heavy. On the rare occasions when he happened to catch his eye, Heimdall always sent him the same message through his unreal eyes: you are being watched.
As if the cameras weren't enough... Damn, he couldn't wait to get out of this villa. A paradise that too often made him feel like a fly caught in a spider's web.
“That's where you come in.”
Skjöldr sighed.
“I saw that one coming.”
“I need you to distract him. Keep Heimdall busy while I find those papers.”
“What about the cameras? A distraction won't stop them from filming you!”
“No,” Atreus acknowledged. "You're right. We need to disable the cameras in the hallway leading to Odin's office.”
“In that case, we need to find a way to cut the power in the office hallway," Skjöldr pointed out.
“Not just that. If the power cut is too localized, it'll be detected.”
“You're right. Do you know where the circuit breaker panel is?”
“I've spotted it, yes. I'll go cut it while you keep Heimdall busy in another part of the villa, ideally outside. He mustn't realize the power's been cut, or he'll figure it out immediately.”
“Yeah. That could work.”
“We'll do it on the day we leave. By the time Odin realizes he's been stolen from, we'll be long gone...”
“Brilliant... But, Atreus... Do you have any idea where you're going to find the documents, exactly?”
The teenager smiled.
“I know where. He took me into his office this morning to show me his book collection. I was able to do some reconnaissance... There was this little drawer in his desk that was locked... At first, I thought Odin was trying to open it, but thinking about it... I'm sure he was just checking to make sure it was secure. I'm willing to bet the papers I need are in there.”
There was a silence, and Skjöldr finally nodded.
“Yeah. That could work.”
“It will work.”
*****************************************
Kratos finished filling the dogs' bowls and stroked them behind the ears absentmindedly, his mind elsewhere. He picked up the water bowl and went to fill it at the kitchen tap. He went through all these daily motions as if nothing had changed. As if Odin hadn't threatened Freya with that horrible blackmail.
He had rarely felt so powerless in his life.
The days passed, and no miracle solution presented itself. Mimir and Sigrun called them every day, more to offer moral support than to offer a real way out of their predicament. Odin had not reappeared. He had said nothing, sent no one; he was simply waiting, with the certainty of an arrow that knows it will hit its target.
Kratos forced himself to clear his mind. Anger constantly threatened to overwhelm him, and that was not something he wanted. Not now, not when Freya needed him to keep a cool head. He had to save his rage for later...
Today was the day Atreus was supposed to return, and his son's return appeased him as much as it distressed him. Atreus was his reason for living, and what allowed him to keep emotions capable of destroying worlds under control day after day. But playing the part in front of his son was going to be difficult. They couldn't hide the truth from him for long... That awful, despicable, unspeakable truth.
Kratos put the bowl on the floor and walked over to the coffee table in the living room to pick up his phone. He frowned. He had a missed call and several messages from his son. Busy feeding the dogs, he hadn't heard his phone vibrate.
He read the messages.
The first was clearly a mistake. Atreus had sent the letters “Qiq.”
The second made him frown again.
Hi Dad! We're going to stay with Skjöldr for a few more days, I hope you don't mind! We're having a great vacation. I'll call you later.
Although the prospect of delaying Atreus's return was a relief—under the circumstances, the boy was better off on vacation with his friend than at home—Kratos didn't like being presented with a fait accompli.
He hurried to call his son back, but there was no answer. Atreus had sent the two messages a few minutes earlier. He must have already put his phone away somewhere.
Kratos replied that he would have liked him to ask his permission, but that he would allow it anyway.
You know the rule. One message a day to let me know you're okay.
Ten minutes later, Atreus replied.
Thanks! Yeah, I know the rule. See you later!
That evening, Kratos lay down next to Freya in their bedroom. She was already half asleep. He kissed her gently on the hair, then grabbed his phone to turn off the ringer before going to sleep.
Without really knowing why, he felt the need to reread Atreus' messages.
We're having a great vacation...
Yeah, I know the rule.
Kratos' gaze fell on the three letters his son had sent by mistake.
“Qiq...”
Those three letters, which had no meaning, seemed to be screaming something at him.
Following his intuition, he pressed the small flashing bar, as if to type a reply, and looked at the keyboard that had appeared on the screen, searching for the letters “q” and “i.”
And he felt his heart sink into his chest.
Atreus hadn't made a mistake. He simply hadn't had time to write his message correctly. For some reason Kratos didn't understand, his fingers hadn't been able to find the keys corresponding to the message he really wanted to send his father, a word composed of the letters next to “q” and “i,” which he typed himself.
His blood ran cold in his veins, and the next moment he felt as if it had caught fire.
He looked at the word that had just appeared on his screen, the word his child had failed to write to him.
SOS.
Notes:
Note: I'm using an AZERTY keyboard :]
Things are going to get a little darker, but Odin will get what he deserves!
Thanks for reading <3
Chapter 9
Summary:
Atreus in trouble.
Notes:
Warning: things get a little dark in this chapter. Atreus is kidnapped.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Freya. Freya! Wake up.”
The young woman turned, half asleep, raising a questioning eyebrow above her sleep-filled eyes and brushing the hair from her face with her hand.
“What? I'm trying to sleep…”
“Atreus is in danger.”
This time, Freya's eyes immediately cleared. She sat up on her side, a worried expression on her face.
“What? What are you talking about?”
Kratos handed her his phone.
“Look.”
She took the device and looked at the screen, then back at Kratos, her brow furrowed.
“I don't... He's in danger because he's staying longer at Skjöldr's uncle's house?”
“He did not write these messages. Do you see those three letters he sent, ‘qiq’?”
“It looks like a message sent by mistake.”
“It is not. Atreus tried to send me an SOS. The q and the i are right next to the letters s and o.”
Freya remained silent for a few moments.
“You mean he didn't write the messages that followed?”
“No. Someone must have taken his phone and sent this so I wouldn't suspect anything.”
Kratos' voice was barely altered by anxiety and anger, but Freya could sense his inner turmoil. She reread the messages, confused and frightened.
We're having a great vacation...
Yeah, I know the rule.
She dared not imagine the scene. Atreus, trapped, his fingers trembling on the keyboard as he tried in vain to call his father for help. And then a man, faceless and nameless, manipulating the teenager's phone and imitating his style to deceive his family and make them believe he was safe.
“Kratos, maybe you're overthinking this. That ‘qiq’ doesn't mean anything, it's probably just a mistake, he locked his phone too quickly and...”
“He did not send those messages,” Kratos repeated in a harsh voice, his gaze hardening. “I know it. Atreus would not have just called me once before presenting me with a fait accompli like this. He would have waited to speak to me before extending his vacation. Besides... He never calls me ‘Dad.’ “
”I've heard him call you that before..."
“It is very rare. And never in a message.”
Freya fell silent. How she wished he were wrong... But she knew they could trust his instincts as a father. Anxiety crept into her veins like poison, tightening her stomach.
“Kratos...”
“I know.”
“He gave us a month...”
“He must be getting impatient.”
The Spartan's voice was heavy with hatred, and Freya couldn't help but remember how he had slaughtered the most powerful family in Greece once for his child. And judging by his angry glare and clenched fists, she trembled at the thought that he might very well do it again here.
Before she could say a word, Kratos violently threw back the covers and got out of bed.
“I need to do something.”
“Where do we start?”
“Skjöldr's parents. I have their number. I will call them.”
“It's late, they might already be asleep...”
Freya was right. Neither his father nor his mother answered. Kratos left them a message asking them to call back immediately, as he had reason to fear for the safety of Atreus and Skjöldr, then sat down on the bed and buried his face in his hands, feeling helpless.
Freya knelt behind him on the mattress, wrapped her arms around his bare chest, and pressed herself against his back in an embrace she needed as much as he did. Kratos let her, responding to her gesture only by placing a hand on hers. But that was enough. They remained like that, in silence, for a few minutes. “Why now?” Kratos finally whispered. “He is breaking his own rules, it does not make sense…”
Freya remained silent, content to press herself even closer to him.
“He knew Atreus was on vacation at the lake… Why? Did he want to give us a false sense of security? Did he plan to go after him from the beginning? Was giving us a month a lie?”
“I... I don't know...”
She pulled away from him slightly.
“There's nothing we can do tonight. We have to wait until tomorrow.”
Kratos nodded, resigned. Freya was right: they couldn't act. Not yet.
The night was endless. Neither of them could sleep a wink. Freya tried to cling to the slim hope that Kratos was wrong, and imagined Atreus sleeping peacefully in Skjöldr's uncle's house to comfort herself. Kratos, meanwhile, tried to understand what could have gone through Odin's mind to kidnap his child two weeks before the deadline he had given them. But he couldn't. None of it made any sense. It was just one more obstacle he had imposed on himself, when they were already in the grip of his blackmail. So, to kill time until sunrise, he began to imagine all the violent deaths he could inflict on this odious man when he found Atreus and had him at his mercy.
When the sun flooded the living room with its morning light, they were both already up, anxiously waiting for Skjöldr's parents to call.
“I will call again.”
“You've already called five times. It's only 7 a.m., Kratos, let them wake up.”
Kratos ignored her and got the answering machine for the sixth time. Freya sighed.
“At least they don't seem worried...”
And then, finally, half an hour later, as Kratos was filling his third cup of coffee, his phone rang, displaying Skjöldr's father's name.
The Spartan lunged for his phone and put it on speaker. Freya approached.
“Hello, Kratos,” Skjöldr’s father said. “I got your message. Why did you…”
“I am sorry, Lotherus, but I have good reason to believe that our children are in danger,” Kratos interrupted. “We need to call your brother, Skjöldr’s uncle, right away… I need to know if they are safe."
There was silence on the other end of the line.
“My brother? But what does he have to do with this?”
Now it was Kratos' turn to remain silent for a few seconds.
“I... Atreus and Skjöldr are on vacation at his house... Since the beginning of the week... Did you not know?”
“My brother is in Svartalfheim on business at the moment,” he said slowly, as if trying to explain something very basic to a ten-year-old. “Our children aren't at his house. They've been spending the week in Asgard with their friend Thrud... I thought you knew that.”
“Thrud?”
Kratos' voice barely concealed his surprise.
“Yes,” Lotherus confirmed, a little embarrassed. “Atreus obviously didn't tell you everything... Children, sometimes... Skjöldr has lied to us like that in the past... It's never pleasant. But don't worry, they're fine. Skjöldr came back yesterday, and Atreus is staying a few more days, as I understand it. I think they had an argument because my son seemed upset. He needs to stop by your place to return something he took that belongs to Atreus, apparently... I think he's already..."
Kratos couldn't take any more. Indifferent to any notion of politeness, he hung up on the kind man without another word and turned to Freya.
“He is in Asgard.”
She was pale with worry, but her eyes also flashed with anger.
“We should have told him. He shouldn't have trusted Thrud like that.”
“It does not matter. It is done.”
“What are we going to do?”
Kratos frowned, his muscles tensing.
“We are going to Asgard. I will claim my son from Odin.”
She placed an arm on his bicep.
“Wait. We must warn Mimir and Sigrun.”
“I do not have time…”
“They're good advisors. Don't forget that Odin is a criminal.”
“I have dealt with criminals before.”
Freya narrowed her eyes.
“I know. But this time, your child is alive. You can't just... destroy. We have to find another way.”
Kratos opened his mouth to reply, but seemed to give up. Freya was right. Last time, facing Zeus, he had nothing to lose. Today, all that mattered was saving Atreus...
"Very well.“
Luckily, they picked up immediately.
”We're on our way,“ Sigrun said in a determined voice just as Kratos explained that Odin had probably kidnapped his son. ”If you have to confront Odin, we'd better be with you.“
”I have no time to wait.
”You'll need a lawyer. You don't realize who you're up against."
Sigrun's voice brooked no argument, and Kratos fell into line. Waiting around doing nothing made him feel on edge, but he resolved to do just that. To pass the time, he tried calling Atreus' cell phone several times. To no avail. The rings echoed in the void.
A couple of hours later, Mimir and Sigrun's car pulled into the driveway and parked in front of the house. They burst into the living room and wasted no time in greetings.
“To Asgard. Now.”
Kratos was beside himself with restlessness. But just as he was grabbing his car keys, the doorbell rang. Impatiently, he opened the door, ready to quickly send away the intruder, but stopped short when he saw who it was.
“Skjöldr!” Freya exclaimed when she saw the young man from the living room. “Are you okay? Is Odin...”
“What happened? Skjöldr, where is my son?” Kratos growled at the same time.
But Skjöldr just shook his head, looking very pale, and handed a small box to the Spartan, who remembered that his father had mentioned something belonging to Atreus that he had to return to them. Kratos took the box without looking at it, his eyes fixed on the boy, but Skjöldr refused to meet his gaze.
“I can't tell you anything. I just have to give you this.”
And he ran away.
“Wait!”
“Brother, let him go.”
Mimir had placed his hand on his friend's shoulder, preventing him from running after the teenager. Kratos turned to him, his eyes full of flames.
“He was there when Atreus was captured...”
“He's scared. And he won't tell us anything more than we already know, I'm sure of it. Leave him alone.”
Kratos knew Mimir was right, as he often was. He looked down at the small box he held in his hand, the small box that contained something that belonged to Atreus, and felt anxiety tighten his chest.
“And this?”
“I guess we'll find out soon enough.”
There was no reason to wait any longer. The two men entered the house and Kratos placed the box on the living room table before opening it.
It contained a simple USB drive.
The four friends felt immediately relieved that nothing worse had been found in the box, but their relief was short-lived, and the thought of what the flash drive might contain filled their hearts with anguish once again. Without a word, Kratos grabbed his laptop, which was also on the table, and plugged in the flash drive.
It contained a single file. A video.
Kratos knew immediately that he wasn't going to like its contents, but he didn't hesitate. He had to know what had happened to his son. He opened it, his heart pounding in his chest, with Freya, Mimir, and Sigrun leaning over him.
Immediately, Atreus appeared on the screen, and the Spartan wanted to grab the computer and smash it on the floor.
His son was kneeling, his hands and legs bound, in a position that couldn't have been very comfortable. He had no visible injuries, but he had a frightened expression that twisted Kratos' heart.
He felt Freya's hand on his, and he squeezed it tightly. Too tightly.
On the computer screen, Atreus began to speak.
“I've done things that got me into trouble,” he said in an uncertain voice. “I stuck my nose where it didn't belong, and now I have to pay the price.”
He was clearly reading from a script behind the camera. Or reciting words he had been forced to memorize. Kratos realized he was holding his breath and forced himself to exhale.
“I'm going to die unless Freya surrenders herself tomorrow to the one she belongs to.”
Atreus made a strange movement with his head, as if to chase away an annoying fly, then continued.
“I know you wanted to run away, but you can't now. Freya, you don't have much time left if you want to save me.”
Again, he made that odd movement with his head.
“Please, don't leave me.”
And the screen went black. The video was over.
A heavy silence fell for a few seconds.
“I have to go. I have to get to Odin.”
It was Freya who had spoken, and for the first time, Kratos found himself agreeing with her. After seeing this video of his son, shamefully filmed by captors he knew nothing about, he suddenly felt capable of sacrificing everything to get his child back safe and sound. Everything, including Freya.
Fortunately, Sigrun kept a cool head.
“No, Freya. I don't think that's a good idea.”
“He has Atreus...”
“Did you hear what Atreus said? He saw things that compromise Odin. That may even be why he left for Asgard without telling you. Odin won't let him go so easily, I'm sure of it.”
“What do you mean?” Kratos growled, his eyes still fixed on the screen. “Handing over Freya will not bring Atreus back?”
Sigrun sighed.
“I’m not certain."
“And I agree with you,” Mimir added. “Demanding Freya’s return by making empty threats? Fair enough. That might work. But kidnapping a child? A child who has clearly seen things he shouldn't have seen? Things have gone too far, and I'd be surprised if Odin intends to let you go on with your lives as if nothing happened. He wants Freya back and he wants rid of both of you. And going to the police is not an option. Everyone knows that Odin is very influential in the police forces of the various realms. We have to find Atreus ourselves."
Kratos slammed his fist on the table, causing everything on it to shake.
“How, exactly?”
“He probably didn't keep the lad at his house. Too dangerous, that's the first place we'd look for him.”
“The video,” Sigrun interjected. “It's our only lead. We have to watch it and try to find a clue. It's the only way to save him! Maybe something will catch our eye, a clue, a detail... We have to try.”
“Yes,” Freya said, her voice trembling slightly. “You’re right.”
Kratos hadn’t let go of her hand, and he could feel it shaking too.
Mimir restarted the video, and despite their revulsion, they forced themselves to watch it a second time, trying to shake off the emotions and fear that flooded their hearts like a rain of sorrow, in order to study the images projected from the USB stick as objectively as possible. Kratos, blinded by paternal love, saw only his son, but Mimir and Sigrun, more accustomed to analysis, didn't miss a single detail. Sigrun pressed play again and immediately paused to zoom in on what was behind Atreus.
“It looks like he's in a tunnel,” she remarked thoughtfully.
“Yes,” Mimir confirmed. “Look at the beams supporting the walls. There’s dirt on the floor and what looks like moisture on the camera lens. Atreus is probably being held prisoner underground.”
“That does not help us much,” Kratos growled.
The sap of helplessness flowed through his veins.
“Wait a minute, brother. See the color of the walls? It's hard to make out because the boy is filmed close up, but they have little white streaks. I'm no geology expert, but it reminds me of a particular type of rock... One that isn't found in Asgard.”
“Then you're right,” Freya said. “Odin didn't keep Atreus in Asgard. But where can we find this kind of rock?”
“Unfortunately, in many other realms. Svartalfheim, Muspellheim, Helheim, even Midgard have it... And all of them have known underground cavities. We need more specific information.”
Kratos growled again in frustration.
“And Atreus? He seems to have been drugged, he's acting strangely... Did you see those head movements he makes twice at the end of the video?”
They watched the recording again. Atreus was moving his head awkwardly: he moved his chin up, then down, then up again, before tilting his head twice.
Kratos rewound the scene again.
“I'm going to die unless Freya surrenders herself tomorrow to the one she belongs to.”
Head movement.
“I know you wanted to run away, but you can't now. Freya, you don't have much time left if you want to save me.”
Head movement.
The two sequences were exactly the same.
“He has not been drugged…” the Spartan whispered. “He is aware of what he is doing, otherwise he would not repeat the same movement so precisely. He is trying to tell us something.”
“But what?” Freya asked. “It doesn’t make any sense…”
Kratos tried to mimic his son’s head movement. He repeated it several times, and Mimir let out a cry.
“It's a rune! Damn it, the boy is telling us which realm he's in!”
“The rune of Helheim,” Freya stammered. “You're right, Mimir.”
“Do you know of any tunnels in Helheim where Atreus could be imprisoned?” Kratos pressed him.
Mimir shook his head, embarrassed.
“There are hundreds of underground cavities in this cursed realm... Your son could be in any one of them and...”
“The other part of his message,” Kratos interrupted. “He's bowing his head twice. What could that mean?”
“I... I don't know, brother.”
All four fell silent to think, but nothing came to mind. Kratos was about to give up and get in his car to race to Helheim and explore every tunnel to find his son when he felt something brush against him. He looked down and saw Fenrir, one of Atreus' wolf dogs, lying down at his feet, wagging his tail and lifting his beautiful, trusting gaze toward him.
It was like a thunderclap in the blue sky.
“Fenrir,” he whispered. “He's imitating Fenrir.”
The dog had a habit of sitting down and tilting his head twice when he wanted something. It was a technique that had proven successful: Atreus had learned with difficulty to resist it as he grew older, but when he was younger, he gave in to his pet.
“The dog?” Mimir said, his voice vibrating with excitement.
“Yes.”
“Garm,” Sigrun murmured.
Garm was the name given to one of Helheim’s most famous monuments. It was a statue of a gigantic, terrifying-looking dog, considered the guardian of a cave with a sinister reputation to which it was chained: Gnipahellir.
A cave.
The four friends looked at each other.
They knew where Atreus was.
With a sudden movement, Kratos closed his computer.
“Let us go. To Helheim.”
After a few seconds of deliberation with himself, he added, “Wait for me outside.”
As Freya, Mimir, and Sigrun left the house, the Spartan opened the door leading to the basement. He ran down the steps, quickly made sure the dogs had water, and refilled their food bowls. Then he headed for a tiny room that he kept locked. He took the key from under an empty flower pot on a shelf and opened it. Inside were objects he had never been able to get rid of, but which he kept out of sight to silence the cries and screams that continued to echo in his memories. He opened a drawer in a chest and quickly found what he was looking for: the Blades of Chaos, two swords he had wielded during his war against Olympus. He had hoped they were part of a past too painful to bear. Today, he was ready to use them again to save his son's life.
Kratos put the Blades in his bag, hoping with all his heart that he wouldn't have to use them.
A wishful thought, he knew. He would save Atreus, but he didn't expect it to be easy.
No matter what, as long as his child lived. And woe betide anyone who stood in his way.
Notes:
Of course things will turn out right for our favorite blended family.
Thanks for reading <3
Chapter 10
Summary:
Saving Atreus!
Chapter Text
Helheim was only a few hours' drive away, but the ride seemed endless. In Midgard, the sun set late at this time of year, and the inhabitants enjoyed long, warm, pleasant evenings; but as soon as they crossed the border of the frozen realm, the sun disappeared mercilessly and the clear Midgard sky was replaced by a bluish fog.
“Helheim. I really hoped I'd never set foot in that cursed realm again. This place gives me the creeps, both literally and figuratively,” grumbled Mimir, sitting in the back next to Sigrun.
“You've been here before?” Freya asked, surprised.
No one ever went to Helheim. There was no reason to go there: the realm offered no amenities or utilities. No universities, no department stores, no bucolic nature where vacationers could come to relax. Nothing made you want to come there, let alone stay. Not only were the temperatures permanently freezing, but there was a strange, disturbing atmosphere. Moreover, the realm was sparsely populated, and its inhabitants had a sinister reputation.
“I had to go there for my research.”
Freya nodded. As a university professor specializing in the ancient languages of the realms of Yggdrasil, Mimir had had to visit Helheim once or twice. The realm was said to be one of the oldest in the country.
”Are we still far from the statue of Garm?"
Freya looked down at the GPS on her phone, which she had kept in her hand.
“Ten minutes. It's on the left at the end of this street, then left again.”
"All right. “
Kratos' voice betrayed nothing, but Freya could see his hands clenching the steering wheel regularly. She placed a hand on his thigh in a soothing gesture. He didn't turn his head toward her, focused on the road, but he covered her hand with his own.
”We're going to find him," she whispered.
“I know.”
They continued driving in silence for several minutes. Kratos turned left twice toward the forest, leaving the city buildings behind them, and then the statue of the Helheim wolf finally came into view. Freya turned off her GPS and put her phone away.
Garm sat enthroned in the center of a large, empty, cold square at the end of a road marked as a dead end, framed by rough trunks overgrown with moss and ivy and by poorly maintained garden vegetation. There wasn't a car in sight, and it was almost dark, despite the fact that it was the middle of the afternoon. The faint lights of the town they had just left were now nothing more than a diffuse glow; darkness crept through the leafy gaps between the trees surrounding the statue, almost obscuring the slanting light of their headlights. Kratos pulled the car over to the side of the road, digging the wheels of the sedan into the damp earth, and the four friends got out, pulling their coats tighter around them, seized by the cold as much as by the desolate atmosphere of the place. Luckily, they had thought to bring some, knowing that the temperatures would require more than the simple T-shirts they wore at this time of year in Midgard.
Opposite them, the stone wolf stared at them with silent violence.
“What a place!” Mimir complained, his body disappearing into a parka lent to him by Kratos.
Sigrun was already examining the place. She wasn't used to giving in to irrational fears.
"Where is Gnipahellir? I don't see any caves... “
”That's strange. They say that the statue of Garm guards the entrance... But I don't see any entrance,“ Mimir added.
“It must be hidden. Come on, let us not waste any time. Let us explore. "Kratos grabbed Freya's hand and they headed toward the huge statue, jumping when they stepped on broken glass. They circled the square cautiously, searching every inch of it for a good quarter of an hour. A man passed by, looking like he had stepped out of a child's nightmare, limping and coughing, and gave them a sinister look. He didn't say a word to the four strangers and passed them with his uneven gait, beyond the statue, sinking into the forest as if into the mouth of a giant monster, where he disappeared.
Once the sound of his footsteps faded into the polar darkness of the woods, silence fell over the square like an icy blanket. No one said a word.
“We cannot see anything. I will go get the flashlight.”
They continued their exploration by the pale light of the flashlight. Kratos swept it across the ground, looking for any clue that might reveal the existence of a cave or tunnel.
”There's nothing... Are we sure this cave isn't just a legend? "
Kratos ignored his friend's question, determined not to leave any room for doubt. Instead, he continued to scan the area around the square, carefully observing the wasteland and the abandoned buildings that surrounded it. There were a few small buildings made of brick, steel, and tile; most of them were in such poor condition that it would have been dangerous to venture inside, and their doors, when they had any, looked more like gates, so rusty that just looking at them seemed enough to give you tetanus.
One of them, however, caught Kratos' attention. The beam from his lamp fell on a gate that was locked with a padlock. The padlock was a pristine chrome silver, with no trace of rust or dirt, and clearly out of place in this setting of ruins.
"Kratos?" Freya asked softly, seeing the Spartan standing motionless, staring at the object.
Sigrun and Mimir had also stopped, watching the brand-new padlock.
“That padlock has just been put there...”
They approached the gate. Kratos tried to open it, but as he expected, the padlock was locked.
“Stand back.”
He handed the lamp to Freya and took one of his blades out of his bag. He had no trouble opening the gate, breaking the lock. Together, they entered the darkness of the small building, the shadows torn apart by the beam of their lamp, and after a few steps, Kratos's foot struck another padlock. He aimed the light at the floor and saw that it covered a trapdoor, and he felt his blood pressure rise.
The underground tunnels of Gnipahellir stretched out beneath their feet... And Atreus was trapped in this nightmarish place.
There wasn't a second to lose. Kratos looked up.
“Wait here. We do not know what awaits us in there. Let us not put us all in danger.”
“No way,” Freya replied, which did not surprise the Spartan. “I am coming with you.”
“I do not…”
“You will need help. I am coming. End of discussion.”
”Your phones probably won't work underground,“ Sigrun pointed out, preventing Kratos from responding. ”We won't be able to help you once you're out of range.“
”I know. Stay near the car and watch the entrance. If things go wrong, if we take too long to come back up, get out of there. Try to find help."
”Not the police,“ Freya reminded them. ”The Aesir control them. Contact my brother in Alfheim.“
Mimir and Sigrun nodded solemnly.
”Good luck, both of you. Come back up quickly, and bring Atreus with you."
Kratos broke the lock in the same way he had destroyed the first one, with a violent blow from his blade, and opened the trapdoor, which revealed a stone staircase leading down into darkness even thicker than that of the forest. The two sides of the open trapdoor looked like the jaws of a wolf trap. He looked at Freya.
“Let us go.”
Kratos and Freya descended the stone stairs together, careful where they placed their feet, and it seemed as though the temperature dropped 10 degrees with each step. Once they reached the floor of the tunnel, they began to move forward under the arches, from which drops of moisture dripped and occasionally fell to die on the stone. Areas of shadow caused by the uneven surface loomed above them like the gaunt silhouettes of ghosts. In some places, the dripping was heavier, and they had to wade through pools of stagnant water. Very quickly, the tunnel split into two branches, forming a Y in front of them. Freya looked at Kratos. She was trembling, and he didn't know if it was from fear or cold. Probably both: the place was as freezing as it was frightening.
“Let us keep to the right. It will be easier to turn back if we stay on one side.”
The tunnels must have stretched for hundreds of meters, maybe even kilometers. New passages were constantly appearing, extending out, seemingly endless. Each time, Kratos and Freya stayed on the right, mentally trying to remember the route they had taken, until they came to a dead end.
”We have to turn back. "
The nervous tension made their muscles ache, but they kept going. They retraced their steps several times, forced by more and more dead ends to choose other passages. Until finally, the corridor they were following seemed to widen, leading to a small room whose walls were far too straight not to have been artificially created. What lay at the end of this room made Kratos's heart leap: the tunnel had a kind of vertical bend, a small ladder leading up to a short platform behind which was a door... And under that door, a beam of artificial light was clearly visible.
There were people behind that door. And no doubt Atreus.
The idea that his son might be just a few meters away made Kratos throw caution to the wind. Handing the torch to Freya, he rushed toward the ladder, grabbed a rung, and began to climb.
But just as he set foot on the first rung, the Spartan felt a sharp sting in his left shoulder. He stopped dead in his tracks and, turning his head, looked down to see a small tin tube stuck in the fabric of his coat. He recognized the object immediately... A paralyzing dart. With a sudden movement, he immediately pulled it out, but he knew it was useless. The liquid in the tube was already beginning to take effect: a pressure suddenly crushed his lungs, as if the invisible hand of an all-powerful being had suddenly squeezed his throat. Kratos felt a cold liquid running through his body: at first it seemed as if his arms were about to fall off, then his lower limbs. He tried to move, clenching his hand against the abrasive bar to fight the effects of the anesthetic, urging his muscles to react, but to no avail. One by one, they gave way. He felt himself fall to the ground, hitting the damp earth of the cave with a thud, and vaguely heard Freya shouting his name, but he was already unable to respond. Dust kicked up by his fall obscured his vision, forcing him to close his eyes.
He could hear nothing now, nothing but the sounds of his own body, his heart beating loudly in his ears. Kratos surrendered to the numbing power, praying with every fiber of his being that he would wake up again someday.
But that choice was no longer his to make. There was nothing left to do but accept his fate.
Accept his fate... He had never been good at that.
Kratos suddenly regained consciousness. In the darkness behind his closed eyelids, he had no sense of direction. He had no idea how much time had passed: a few seconds, a few minutes, a few hours? All he knew was that he was gradually regaining control of his senses; his limbs still seemed to float around him as if they were leading their own lives independently of his body, but the unbearable tingling sensation he felt at the tips of his nerves was beginning to subside. His hearing, too, seemed to be coming back. A woman's voice was growing clearer, a voice that sounded as angry as it did fearful. Freya.
“Odin promised he would leave Kratos and Atreus alone if I came to him,” she said, her voice heavy with hatred.
“He did promise, but that was before that little weasel started playing amateur detective. The runt had no idea what he was getting himself into. Now he has to pay with his life.”
The voice that spoke was unfamiliar to Kratos. It was the voice of an adult male, betraying arrogance and confidence. It was a voice laden with sarcasm, and he hated it immediately.
“Don't you dare...”
“Silence, Frigg. I have no idea how you got here, but it doesn't matter. In the end, you're making things easier for us. Eliminating the Spartan will be even easier in this godforsaken place. No body, no evidence... Father and son will disappear together, in silence!”
“Heimdall... You can't. You won't.”
“Oh, you really don't know me.”
There was a silence. Kratos still hadn't opened his eyes, pretending to be unconscious, but he could only imagine the murderous look Freya was giving her interlocutor. Heimdall let out a falsely exaggerated sigh.
“Seriously, Frigg... Did you really think you could break up with my father, leave Asgard behind, start over somewhere else, live out your little romance with this brute who came from who knows where, without any consequences? You married the most powerful man in Yggdrasil and you really thought you'd be free to leave?”
“And you really think Odin can force me to go back to our old life after this?”
“You know my father can be very persuasive when he wants to be.”
“If you kill Kratos and Atreus, he'll have no leverage over me.”
Heimdall chuckled contemptuously.
“Then perhaps we should keep the little bastard alive. As for his father, however, I'm afraid it may already be too late... I gave him a dose that would kill three adult Midgardians at once. I'm sorry, Frigg. My condolences.”
Kratos had heard enough. He knew everything he needed to know. Atreus was alive. And Heimdall believed him dead. Good. He would soon learn his mistake. The anesthetic he had just injected him with might kill three Midgardians... But it wasn't powerful enough to kill a Spartan. He quickly assessed the situation: he was lying on the ground, probably where he had collapsed after being hit by the dart. Heimdall and Freya were standing a few feet away from him, and unless they were surrounded by ghosts, they were alone in the small room.
Freya seemed to slide to the floor, and Heimdall sighed again.
“Oh, please. Get up. Spare me the widow act.”
”Stay away from me,” the young woman whispered, and Kratos could clearly hear the tears of despair in her voice, tears she was obviously letting fall silently, for he heard no sobs; and it took all his willpower not to sit up immediately and rush to her.
Not yet. Just a few more minutes. Your body needs it.
He tried to open his eyelids slightly and was pleased to see that his vision had returned. His eyes burned, he felt as if he were swallowing sandpaper with every swallow, and his limbs were sore, but his body seemed to be functioning, and the feeling of pressure that made him feel as if his chest were in a vice seemed to be slowly easing. He waited longer, hyper-aware of the blood circulating through his body, of the fibers of his still-numb muscles regaining their strength; he waited patiently to regain enough confidence in his body's abilities while Heimdall continued to harass Freya, mocking her despair.
And then it happened. When he finally felt ready, Kratos opened his eyes abruptly, rose with the speed of a cat, and lunged toward Heimdall with the ferocity of a wild animal. He only had time to make out a young, elegant face, magenta eyes, and carefully braided blond hair before punching him square in the face.
“What the…!"
“Kratos!”
Freya’s cry of joy drowned out Heimdall’s surprised and pained shout.
But the Spartan paid no attention to either of them. He raised his arm again, fist clenched, ready to strike once more at the young man with the cruel voice who held his son. But Heimdall seemed more quick to react than expected; this time, his fist struck empty air. With almost supernatural speed, the Aesir had stepped aside and was now out of reach.
“Wait, what?” he said with a chuckle. “You're not dead? You're tougher than I thought, Sunshine."
Kratos didn't answer, and tried to reach him again, throwing his fist with all his strength at what should have been Heimdall's face. He regained his balance and made a third attempt, but once again, he met only air. Heimdall's reflexes were beyond anything he had ever experienced in his life as a fighter.
The Aesir sneered.
“Frustrating, isn't it?”
Indeed it was. The Spartan decided to bide his time. His body was still weakened by the effects of the anesthetic, and his three attempts to knock out his enemy had only served to exhaust him.
His breath was short, his movements less fluid and slower, and he knew he couldn't rely on his physical strength as much as usual. If Heimdall continued to play this game, he would run out of energy very quickly. He shot the Aesir a murderous look.
“Why does Odin want Atreus dead?”
“Because your son is far too curious for his own good.”
His face broke into a wide smile, revealing gold teeth.
“He searched his desk, looking for evidence against him! He wanted to help his father and my dear stepmother here... He's got guts, you can't deny that. Unfortunately, he lacks common sense and caution.”
Heimdall smiled again, and his hand reached for his waist to draw a golden sword.
“I don't use this thing often... But it seems appropriate for the occasion.”
Kratos barely saw him move. However, he clearly heard the air whistle, cut by the edge of the weapon, and felt a sharp pain in his chest. The sword tore through his clothing and skin, slashing his chest across its entire width. Blood spurted out and the Spartan felt his head spin. He cursed his weakness, but couldn't help falling to the ground under the force of the blow and the pain.
Freya rushed towards him, but just as she was about to reach him, Kratos instinctively pushed her away with a sudden movement; and indeed, as he threw her to the ground, the sword appeared again between them like a flash of lightning, and Kratos barely had time to roll to the side to avoid the attack. The blade struck only the ground.
“Stay out of this, Frigg,” Heimdall spat. “Odin wants you alive... To spend all the long years of your life by his side, as the loving wife you should never have stopped being.”
Freya stood up abruptly, her eyes full of flames, her body tense like a predator ready to attack, but Heimdall held her at bay with the tip of his sword.
”Don't even think about it. "
The Aesir was seriously beginning to get on Kratos' nerves. Gathering his energy, diminished by the substance Heimdall had injected him with, the Spartan painfully got back to his feet and concentrated, letting the spirit of Sparta, his warrior instinct, his killer instinct, take over. For a long time, he had tried to silence the storm within him, expending his energy to calm the hurricane of anger and quell the fire of his rage, and he had succeeded. But today, faced with a new family of tyrants, beings bound by blood, power, and total impunity that allowed them to play with the lives of innocents, Kratos once again let himself be overcome by a lust for slaughter.
The Aesir were no better than the Olympians. They controlled, subjugated, and killed according to their desires and interests. And like Zeus, Odin thought he could simply get rid of him, and worse, of his child, as if he meant nothing.
Big mistake. He would not let an all-powerful tyrant take his family away from him again.
Kratos threw himself at Heimdall, and all feelings of weakness were forgotten.
The Aesir recoiled, surprised by this unexpected surge of power, before regaining his composure and striking back with astonishing ferocity. Heimdall added a few cuts to Kratos' skin, and Kratos added a few bruises to his, but their strengths seemed evenly matched, and neither seemed ready to fall from exhaustion.
After a moment, Kratos managed to grab the Aesir by the throat and throw him against the earthen wall; his back hit a wooden beam and he let out a curse of pain. The Spartan wanted to take advantage of this moment of vulnerability and, standing tall, raised his fist, ready to strike; but Heimdall reacted too quickly, rolling to the side to avoid the blow, and Kratos lost his balance. Carried away by his own strength, he fell to the ground. He immediately tried to get up, but the sword pierced his arm, pinning him to the ground. He let out a groan of pain, immediately silenced by Heimdall's foot, which landed on his throat and began to choke him.
"It was an entertaining fight, but I'm starting to get bored. Goodbye, Spartan.“
Gasping for air, Kratos raised his uninjured arm to try to grab his enemy, but Heimdall had moved out of reach. The lack of air quickly made him see stars.
”Get out of him right now!"
Kratos heard Freya's furious cry and clearly saw the contemptuous smile on Heimdall's handsome face; then he heard a sinister sound of tortured flesh, felt the pressure on his throat ease, and his expression changed, sarcasm giving way to surprise.
Heimdall collapsed, the ghost of his last smile still visible on his face, pierced by one of the Blades of Chaos, and Freya appeared behind him, pale and terrified, holding the hilt of the sword that was disappearing into the Aesir's body with both hands. She let go, her eyes wide, frightened by her own action.
Kratos hurried to push away Heimdall's lifeless body and rushed towards her to take her in his arms. She snuggled into him, trembling, panting, still shocked by what had just happened. By what she had just done.
“Freya,” he whispered. “You are all right. It is all right.”
She pressed her body against his, and he returned her embrace, gently stroking her hair to try to calm her. After a minute or two, she seemed to come to her senses.
“Atreus...”
Kratos looked up, staring at the ladder as if he wanted to let go of Freya and rush through the door on the small platform.
“Yes.”
She took a deep breath.
“Let's go.”
They stood up together and headed for the ladder. Kratos let Freya go ahead of him and followed close behind, then stepped back in front of her to open the door. It wasn't locked.
Immediately, four Einherjar, men with hidden faces belonging to Odin's private militia, threw themselves at him. They must have heard the fighting and, realizing that Heimdall had been defeated, had prepared for an ambush.
Kratos sent them flying against the wall, one after the other, where they slumped, unconscious.
“Father!”
Atreus was there. Alive. Bound, clearly cold and exhausted, but alive, his blue eyes sparkling with their usual brightness. He knew immediately from the look on his son's face that he was as well as he could be. That didn't stop him from rushing over to him, his heart consumed with worry and relief, Freya close behind.
"Atreus! Son... Are you all right... "
It seemed to Kratos that he was breathing freely for the first time since he realized Atreus was in danger. They set about cutting the ropes that bound the teenager, and as soon as he was free, he threw himself into his father's arms.
“I knew you'd come. I knew you'd understand my message. They forced me to make that video... I had to think of something fast... But I knew you'd get it!”
“We did it, yes,” Kratos replied, hugging his son tightly. “We did it. That was brilliant, son.”
“Atreus...”
Freya hugged the boy in turn. They remained like that for a few moments, silent and entwined, in the damp room dimly lit by neon lights casting a ghostly glow, the guards lying unconscious in the corners. They were overwhelmed by the joy of being together and safe. It was Kratos who spoke first.
“Let us get out of here,” the Spartan finally said, breaking away from his family. “You need medical attention.”
“Where's Heimdall?” Atreus asked. “He's in charge of watching me…”
Kratos hesitated for a second and decided on a half-truth.
“He left me no choice.”
He felt Freya's gaze on him, but she said nothing, leaving him to take responsibility for the Aesir's murder.
“Oh... Well, he deserved it. He was evil. Father... there are other people here. I'm not the only one.”
“Other people?”
“The tunnels are huge,” Atreus explained. “And Odin uses them to imprison people he wants to get rid of... Father, we really have to stop him.”
Kratos clenched his fist. So Odin was using Gnipahellir as his private prison... There was no limit to his cruelty and omnipotence. Atreus was right: he had to be stopped.
“His own son is here,” the teenager added.
“His son!” Freya exclaimed with a start—she was probably thinking of Baldur.
Atreus shook his head.
“Not Baldur. Another of his sons. A guy named Tyr.”
“Tyr! But... Tyr died years ago... He was Odin's second son...”
“He's not dead,” Atreus corrected. “He's alive. Here. I saw him.”
Freya and Kratos looked at each other for a long moment, without saying a word. Then the Spartan took his son by the shoulders and guided him toward the exit.
“Let us get out of here. Once you are safe, you can explain everything.”
“And we will bring Odin down,” Freya added. “Legally. I promise.”
They passed Heimdall's body without comment, collecting the blades, and began walking toward the surface.
Kratos said nothing, content to enjoy his son's presence at his side. His injured shoulder barely hurt, so focused was he on other things.
We will bring Odin down...
He truly hoped they would find a way. But he knew from experience that men like him were always willing to do anything, and diabolically unpredictable.
Notes:
One more! Already written, I'll post it soon!
Thanks for reading <3
Chapter 11
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Mimir and Sigrun let out cries of joy and relief when they saw them reappear from the trapdoor, and Kratos briefly explained what had happened in the tunnels.
With her characteristic efficiency and intelligence, Sigrun took charge.
“We still don't have the original documents incriminating Odin. But with Atreus kidnapped, we'll be able to order an investigation. There will be a search, and we'll have access to everything we need.”
“Odin probably already knows what happened in Helheim,” Freya remarked as the car sped along the highway connecting Helheim and Midgard. "He'll be expecting a response and will be ready.“
In the back, between Freya and his father, Atreus had fallen asleep. Kratos had handed the wheel to Mimir as a precaution, as the effects of the anesthetic had not yet completely worn off.
”That's why we have to act very quickly. I'll start proceedings against him as soon as we get back."
Once back in Midgard, they were unpleasantly surprised to find that Atreus' video asking for help had been automatically deleted.
“We should have expected this,” Mimir sighed. “Odin would not have left such obvious evidence in our hands. We should have made a copy.”
Sigrun shook her head, her heavy golden earrings clinking with the movement.
”We'll do without it. Atreus' testimony will be enough."
It was the middle of the night, but the boy refused to go to bed, unable to take his eyes off his father. He was on the couch, huddled against Kratos' side, a cup of hot chocolate in front of him. Speki and Svanna were lying at his feet; Fenrir, unusually, had been allowed on the couch, and his head rested contentedly on Atreus' lap.
“What about Heimdall?” he asked, his voice heavy with worry and tiredness. “I don’t want my father to get into trouble…”
Once again, the lawyer dismissed the objection.
“Self-defense. It won’t be hard to prove, I’m not worried about that.”
As she had announced, Sigrun wasted no time, and the next day saw the start of the biggest trial Yggdrasil had ever known: the trial of Odin Borson, president of the Aesir Company and a powerful and respected figure, for crimes committed with impunity for years and years.
Predictably, the inhabitants of the Nine Realms immediately became fascinated by the case and followed the events closely.
Things started very badly for Odin.
Damning evidence was brought to light. The Aesir Company turned out to be nothing more than a criminal organization, and its seamless integration into the highest institutions allowed it to operate with impunity. Soon, it became public knowledge that Odin had infiltrated all economic, cultural, political, and media spheres and had subjected entire populations to illegal taxes: in Svartalfheim, Jotunheim, and Vanaheim, in particular, the inhabitants were reduced to serfdom, working for the Aesir Company under threat of reprisals. The institutions controlled by Odin tried to defend him, restore his image, and portray his opponents as opportunistic liars, but justice prevailed. Sigrun, despite receiving death threats on an almost daily basis, never gave up; and even in Asgard, where Odin was considered a benefactor and a national symbol, an independent press began to develop to counter the Aesir-controlled media, which worked tirelessly to defend his cause.
A resistance began to organize to prevent Odin from getting away with it.
But more than anything else, it was the prison affair that stirred public opinion.
Discovering that Odin was holding people prisoner at will in the bowels of Helheim had horrified the inhabitants of the Nine Realms.
To add to the horror, it was learned that he had imprisoned a sixteen-year-old teenager there—and Heimdall's death did nothing to lessen the shock of this news. The outrage doubled when it was revealed that he had also imprisoned his own son — Tyr, the rebellious son, who disapproved of his father's mafia activities and had made the mistake of trying to oppose him.
Although he tried to stay away from the media frenzy surrounding this gigantic trial, Kratos found himself watching Tyr's speech on television. He was impressed by his self-control, the calmness with which he told his story, his spirit surprisingly unbroken despite years of arbitrary imprisonment. His quiet, righteous serenity moved the Spartan, and entire populations with him.
Yes, things were really going badly for Odin.
So he did something no one expected.
He denied everything.
And he shifted the blame for all his crimes onto his son Thor.
He was remarkable in the role of the old man who had lost his touch. He pretended not to understand what was happening to him. He spoke publicly, his voice heavy with sadness and sincerity, explaining that he had nothing to do with any of the scandals, and that his only mistake had been to trust his eldest son, to whom he had handed over the reins of his company years ago.
He asked for forgiveness and shed a few tears as he spoke of Tyr's miraculous return to life.
Freya was furious.
“What a liar,” she spat after yet another tearful speech. “He's a good actor, but he won't get away with it.”
However, public opinion quickly seemed to be swayed by his words of a wounded old man. And Thor, to everyone's surprise, confirmed his father's version of events. Laconic, his eyes expressionless, without a word too many, he admitted his guilt and did not even attempt to defend himself. And when the final judgment was pronounced, after weeks and weeks of trial, Thor Odinson was sentenced to twenty years' imprisonment, and Odin Borson was given only six months' house arrest.
Odin had won. His reputation was tarnished, but he had been found not guilty. The verdict fell on Freya and Kratos like an icy rain.
They had both gone to the Midgard courthouse to support Sigrun on the last day of the trial. It was a beautiful autumn day, the sky was clear blue, vivid, and the leaves on the trees were turning red, taking on a warm, comforting hue. They stood outside the palace, basking in the gentle sunshine, surrounded by protesters—both Odin's supporters and detractors, who had turned out in droves with their placards. There was commotion on the steps of the administrative building: when the final verdict was announced, both sides began to shout, some in jubilation, others in outrage. Freya said nothing. She simply paled, her eyes staring into space, and Kratos was also at a loss for words. He was thinking fast, desperately searching for the right solution, because he understood what this verdict meant. They had failed to put Odin out of action, and his revenge would undoubtedly be terrible.
They had to flee, and fast.
The commotion around them grew louder: Odin was the first to leave the courthouse, appearing on the steps leading up to the building with a sorrowful smile on his lips, the relieved and sad smile of someone who has seen justice triumph, but who is not happy about it. The cameras followed him as he descended the stairs, photographers' flashes popping everywhere. His supporters reached out to him, shouting his name and begging him to come and greet them, but the Aesir, seeing Kratos and Freya not far away in the crowd, headed in their direction first. The Vanir woman took a step back, but the crowd around her prevented her from fleeing, and soon Odin stood before them.
Completely ignoring the Spartan, he addressed only his wife.
“Freya, I'm glad to see you.”
The tone of his voice said otherwise, and Freya did not reply.
”Have you nothing to say to me? I have a few words for you, myself. “
He took another step toward her and leaned forward, invading her personal space, his hand over his mouth so that the cameras couldn't see his lips move. His eyes were colder than the frozen plains of Niflheim.
”Nice try, my dear. I was really counting on your return to save me from a scandal... But as you can see, the scandal came anyway. I don't care what people say now. I don't need you by my side anymore, and you know what that means. It will destroy you, Frigg. You and everyone you love. You're going to pay dearly for what you've done to me, believe me, my dear wife. You're going to...“
But he never had the chance to finish his sentence. For at that moment, just as he was about to promise Freya hell, his eyes widened, his mouth formed an "o" of surprise, and a dark stain appeared on his suit.
Around them, the crowd screamed, and Freya, stunned and in shock, vaguely heard Kratos shouting her name. With his eyes wide, Odin weakly raised his hand toward her, and she didn't know if it was to caress her or strike her. It didn't matter. He never reached her. He collapsed, dead, the stain on his chest spreading wider and wider. She sensed the panicked reactions around her, but she herself was unable to react. She felt Kratos' hands grab her waist and pull her along, and she had the vague sensation of starting to run. Her muscles moved, her heart beat faster, and the cool autumn air caressed her face. She felt like a robot. She focused on the feeling of Kratos' hand clasping hers and guiding her through the crowd.
Soon, he forced her to turn right and cut through the crowd to rush into a small alley. A few people followed them, and Kratos guided her to a small recess in the wall, where she huddled.
“What... What happened...”
“Odin is dead,” the Spartan's voice was heavy and serious. “He was hit by an arrow. Someone killed him.”
“Someone?”
“I do not know."
"Were other people killed?”
“I do not believe so. Odin was the intended target.”
Relief flooded Freya's heart.
“Odin is dead...”
“Yes. It is over, Freya. He can no longer harm you.”
She snuggled up against him, wrapping her arms around his body.
”He can't do anything to us anymore..."
Odin was gone. The nightmare was over. For the first time since she had agreed to marry him, she was truly free from his threatening existence.
Kratos held her close. They remained like that for several long minutes, entwined in each other's arms and love. In the adjacent streets, the cries gradually subsided, and the crowd regained its calm.
Freya realized that her cell phone was vibrating continuously in her bag, and the thought that their loved ones must be dying of worry suddenly struck her. She gently pulled away from Kratos' embrace.
“We should...”
“Yes. I will let Atreus, Mimir, and Sigrun know.”
He took out his phone, and Freya did the same; she had dozens of missed calls and messages.
Most of them were from Baldur, Freyr, Atreus, Sigrun, and Mimir, but there were also many numbers she didn't recognize. She contented herself with sending a quick message to Baldur and Freyr to let them know she was okay, postponing a conversation that would require more strength than she had at that moment. After all, Odin had been filmed at the moment he was mortally wounded, whispering threats in her ear... She shuddered at the thought that Baldur had witnessed his father's murder live, and hoped with all her heart that he wasn't watching television at that moment.
Next to her, Kratos, who had hung up with Atreus, was talking to Mimir and Sigrun.
“That is all we know? No other clues?”
She deliberately took a few steps away, not wanting to hear the conversation. Of course, Odin's death would be investigated... It wasn't over yet...
Her phone vibrated again in her hand. She looked down and saw a number she recognized immediately, one that had long since been deleted from her contacts. It was Sif, Thor's wife. Surprised, she answered without thinking.
“Sif?”
"Hello, Freya “ the familiar voice replied. ”You must be surprised to hear from me. Are you all right?“
”I... I'm fine... What are you..."
Sif cut her off, putting an end to her stammering. Despite the years, she had retained that firm, authoritative tone, the tone of a seasoned diplomat who was not afraid of difficult discussions.
“I wanted to offer you my condolences in person,” Sif said in a tone that betrayed no sympathy. “And my congratulations.”
“What?”
“You are now a widow, but also president of the Aesir Company. That calls for a toast.”
There was a long silence. Sif waited patiently for Freya to find her voice.
”What are you talking about?“
”As Odin's lawful wife, you inherit everything. His fortune, his estate, his businesses. Congratulations, Freya."
Freya was starting to get angry.
“Is this a game, Sif?”
“Absolutely not. Your phone must be ringing off the hook by now, right? You're about to be inundated with calls from people who want to talk to you as the new president. Get ready.”
Freya was silent again for a few moments. All those unknown numbers that had already tried to call her...
“You're going to need my help, sweetheart,” Sif added, her voice dry. “And I'm going to need yours. Tit for tat.”
“What do you want?” Freya asked.
“I want you to help me clear my husband's name.”
Of course. Thor, sentenced to twenty years in prison...
“I can't influence a court decision...”
“You are the most powerful woman in the Nine Realms now, Freya,” the Aesir woman interrupted her again. "I know Thor is not innocent, I know he has committed serious crimes, but he does not deserve to pay for his criminal father. He was only following orders, for the good of his family. You must help me.“
”Sif, I... I don't know what to do."
Her distress was genuine. Odin's blackmail, Atreus's kidnapping, the trial, Odin's death, and now this... It was too much, and Sif seemed to understand. When she spoke again, her voice had softened considerably.
“I know it's a lot. You need time. Take it. But you can't run from reality forever, Freya. You're going to have to be strong and take responsibility.”
“I know,” she whispered.
“Think of it as an opportunity,” Sif continued. “You have the chance to undo the damage Odin has done. Anything is possible now, and it’s all up to you…”
“Sif, I… I thought you were loyal to Odin.”
“Not for a long time. Not since I realized who he really was... Goodbye, Freya. Call me when you're ready.”
“I will.”
They hung up at the same time. When Freya looked up, she found Kratos watching her intently.
“Are you okay?”
She gave him a smile, a real smile, sincere, almost happy. Everything had changed, but in her heart, she felt at peace.
“I’m fine.”
And for the first time in a long time, she really meant it.
************************************
“Freya, slow down.”
“But we're almost there!”
“The summit will still be there even if it takes you five minutes longer to get there.”
Rolling her eyes, Freya turned to Kratos, who was walking a few feet behind her.
“You're such a killjoy.”
She playfully reached out her hand toward him, and he caught it.
“I am just looking out for your health. And I am the only one doing so. This hike is a bit tough, considering your condition…”
“My condition! You make it sound like I have some terrible, incurable disease.”
Kratos walked past her and pulled her toward him.
”Come on. Let us get this over with.“
”So now I'm too slow..."
He kissed her to silence her.
The summit was only a few hundred meters away: they reached it easily and were greeted by a sublime view. Freya smiled, stretching. She was never more beautiful than in moments like this: surrounded by nature, dressed in her hiking clothes, her thick hair gently waving in the breeze, the Vanaheim sun illuminating her face. Behind her, Kratos put his arm around her waist.
He found her even more breathtaking than the view.
“See, it was worth it. And I did pretty well, I feel great.”
“That was unreasonable. You just gave birth.”
Freya rolled her eyes again.
“That was six months ago.”
“Already? We will have to start thinking about the next one...”
“The next one? Two children with me aren't enough for you?”
“It was just a suggestion.”
Freya snuggled up against him, her back against his muscular chest, smiling with happiness.
“You just love to see me pregnant...”
”Mmm. I cannot deny that...”
They remained silent for a few moments, enjoying the beauty of the nature around them as much as each other's company. The moments they managed to carve out for themselves were rare and precious, especially since becoming parents, and they savored every second.
Four years had passed since Odin's death. The killer had never been found. The murder weapon had been identified as a weapon typical of Svartalfheim; the realm had suffered greatly under the tyrannical rule of the Aesir, and it had been concluded that this was an act of individual revenge, but the perpetrator had never been identified.
And since Freya had taken over the Aesir Company, everything had changed for the Nine Realms.
It was a colossal task, but fortunately she had surrounded herself with trusted people who helped her fulfill her role. Tyr and Sif, first and foremost, of course—and Freya had kept her promise, because after the trial was reopened, Thor's sentence was greatly reduced, and Odin was convicted posthumously in his place. His deception had been exposed, and he had finally been held accountable for his crimes by the justice system. He would never have to answer for his actions in his lifetime, but that didn't matter to Freya. She preferred him dead, his legacy and memory trampled underfoot. She put a lot of her energy into dismantling his criminal empire and rebuilding a better world on the ruins that remained. It was a huge task and an overwhelming responsibility, but Freya was born to lead.
She had taken the time to continue her studies at college, earned her degree, and fully embraced her status as the most powerful woman in the Nine Realms.
On top of that, she had two children, a boy and a girl, with the love of her life.
Life was exhausting at times, but always so beautiful.
Kratos kissed her on the hair.
“It was not only the birth," he whispered. "The wedding took a lot of energy.”
Baldur had married his girlfriend Nanna a month earlier, and Freya had not been able to resist taking charge.
“It was a bit of organizing, but nothing too terrible.”
And she meant it. The hardest part had been getting Freyr, who had celebrated his nephew's wedding with great enthusiasm, to give up that one glass too many, the one she thought would make him sick. Freyr had initially resisted, but eventually gave in to his sister, as usual.
Freya turned to face Kratos.
“You know I've always said I never wanted to get married again.”
“I know. And you know I do not care whether we are or not.”
“What if we did it anyway?”
The Spartan glared at her.
“What?”
Freya giggled.
“Marry me.”
”Are you joking?“
“Not at all. I’ve changed my mind. I want to be your wife, officially. Only…”
“Only?”
“The media will be particularly interested in this mysterious man who is going to be my husband…”
“That will be nothing new. The media are already interested in me. I do not care, and I will not care as long as they leave Atreus alone.“
Freya wrapped her arms around his neck. Her warm brown eyes sparkled with happiness.
”Should I take the use of the future tense as a positive answer?“
”Gnh.“
"I've never heard anything more beautiful. You're such a romantic.“
”Very well, Freya Njordsdottir. I accept. I will be your husband.“
”And I will make you the happiest man in the Nine Realms...“
Her tone was playful, but Kratos looked at her with the utmost seriousness.
”You already have."
Freya shivered under the intensity of his gaze and suddenly lost all interest in the landscape.
”Come on, let's go back down. We have to be back in Midgard by late afternoon tomorrow, which leaves us a little over twenty-four hours to make love like there's no one else in the world."
“Mmm. We do not need to go down for that.”
Freya raised an eyebrow, smirking.
“Here?”
“And now.”
And with those promising words, he pulled her down into the grass and began to devour her.
Notes:
Yes, the shooter is Sindri!
And it's over! Happily ever after...
I don't know if there are still people who enjoy this story, but I had a lot of fun writing it.
Thanks for reading <3
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