Chapter Text
The crisp evening breeze swirled under the weighty cloth of Helia's oxblood cloak. Her fingers clenched tightly around the old book tucked beneath her left arm- an attempt to keep it hidden. Quick and quiet as a whisper, she glided through the dimly lit streets, melding seamlessly with the darkness that enveloped her.
The book's cover, weathered and worn, resembled a mosaic of cracks and fading hues, telling a story of its own journey through time. Inside, each page bore the marks of age with edges torn and yellowed by the passage of innumerable years and countless hands. Yet, rather than repel her, these imperfections drew her in like a moth to a flame.
The rhythmic echo of her worn leather boots, marked by countless journeys through Asgard's ancient paths, echoed softly. The late hour enveloped the deserted streets in heavy silence, her senses, sharpened by years of lurking in shadows, remained acutely attuned to every detail in the air - from the gentle rustle of fabric to distant creaks hinting at concealed presences lingering in the shadows. She realized too much time had gone by since she left the house, and she needed to return to Fritjof before his indifference turned to concern.
From the instant their paths intertwined, Fritjof had protected Helia. She was just a child when the Frost Giants descended upon Vanaheim like a storm of ice and fury, leaving devastation in their wake. Their arrival was unexpected and they tore through the realm with relentless force. Homes that once teemed with life and laughter were reduced to frozen ruins, their hearths cold and silent. Innocent Vanir, men and women who had lived in peace for generations, fell victim to the brutal might of these militants.
The Frost Giants reveled in their strength, slaughtering the Vanir not just out of necessity but for sport. They painted the forests red with blood, turning Vanaheim into a gruesome canvas of death. Those fortunate enough to evade immediate execution were enslaved - shackled in chains as cold as the invaders' hearts and forced into servitude. Whole communities vanished from existence, wiped off the face of Vanaheim like dust swept away by a cruel gust of wind.
Amongst this desolation stood Helia, her world shattered into countless pieces around her. Her family had met an untimely end at the hands of these monstrous creatures and she would have shared their fate had it not been for Fritjof Hagen's intervention.
Fritjof, a man she had crossed paths with merely a handful of times before the invasion, had somehow discerned her location amidst the chaos and swiftly whisked her away to safety. With forbidden magic at his disposal - strands of energy that manipulated the fabric of reality - he rescued her from certain demise. They emerged in Asgard, a realm vastly different from her war-torn homeland yet just as formidable. Helia found herself owing Fritjof more than gratitude; she owed him her life.
It wasn't long before she found herself turning down the familiar lamp-lit alleyway, her stomach fluttering in anticipation. She had a good feeling about this tome, that there was something of interest within its pages. She knew Fritjof would be skeptical, he always was. Still, excitement flooded her as she approached the arched wooden door, fingers prickling as they grasped the cool iron handle.
The crackling flames in the hearth enveloped her as she stepped into the room, casting a flickering dance of light and shadows across the walls. Eagerly seeking refuge from the biting chill outside, she wasted no time shedding her thick cloak, its weight slipping off her shoulders like a burden lifted, and carefully draping it on the rack by the entrance.
"I'm home!" She called out, leaving the echoes of the street behind her. Their house was simple yet cozy, the hearth illuminating the space with a soft warm glow. Helia scanned the sitting room, but Fritjof was nowhere to be seen. At this hour, he was usually sat by the fire, meticulously carving a piece of wood into a Vanir mythical creature. A sense of unease settled in her stomach, the old book still clutched tightly in her hand. She had never liked being alone in the house, the silence seemed to press in on her, suffocating her with the weight of her thoughts. Her memories.
If he wasn't in the kitchen, then he must have already retired for the night. And if he had gone to bed before she returned, he would undoubtedly be angry with her in the morning. Helia gritted her teeth as she turned the corner, her mind racing with thoughts of his potential reaction.
As she entered the modest dining space, her steps faltered, her gaze locking onto the scene before her. The flickering torchlight danced off the polished armor of the Einherjar sitting across from Fritjof at their simple dining table. Steam drifted from cups of spiced tea, the smell tickling her nose with its pleasant aroma of cinnamon and cloves. Consuming the space, the Einherjar’s stature loomed impressively, his presence filling their cramped home with an aura of intimidation and authority.
Helia's heart thudded violently against her ribcage as she struggled to keep her hands from trembling. What was an Einherjar doing in their home? They were enforcers of the royal law and protectors of the crown. The only explanation for his presence was that they had been caught, and they were to be taken away to the dungeons for their crimes.
"Good evening," she stammered, with an awkward bow. Her voice came out more as a croak than a confident greeting. Her mind screamed at her to remain calm, not to give anything away, but her hands clenched around the stolen book giving away its presence immediately.
"Helia, you're back," Fritjof said, his voice just as unsettlingly calm as always. "This is Bjorn, he's here to speak with you. Please, take a seat."
Approaching the table with trepidation, she swept the skirt of her dress to the side to take a seat alongside them. Helia's mind spun in turmoil, a whirlwind of fear and confusion clouding her thoughts. Desperation clawed at her as she glanced at Fritjof, seeking solace in his eyes, but what she found only deepened her unease. His gaze remained unyielding, exuding an unsettling aura of unwavering confidence that sent shivers down her spine.
Helia swallowed, her throat suddenly parched. She plastered her face with a cool expression despite the panic rising within her. Bjorn regarded her with impassive eyes, his expression inscrutable. She had heard tales of the Einherjar's unwavering loyalty to Odin, their might in battle, and their ruthless determination in carrying out their orders.
Helia stood under Bjorn's scrutinizing gaze, his piercing sapphire eyes dissecting her features as if hunting for hidden truths. His hair cascaded like a waterfall of golden sunlight, exuding a vibrancy that made her heart ache with a mix of admiration and jealousy. The stark contrast between his radiant appearance and her own dark tresses stirred conflicting emotions within.
In Asgard, where beauty is held in the highest regard, fair hair and alabaster skin were considered the epitome of perfection. The noble women, with their delicate features and flowing locks that mirrored the golden fields of their homeland, were the living embodiments of the realm's aesthetic ideals. Helia, a Vanir woman with hair as dark as the midnight sky and skin the color of warm sand, stood out starkly against the backdrop of flawless Asgardian ladies.
While some Asgardians merely glanced at her before turning away, others couldn't help but openly stare, their eyes tracing the contours of her face with a mix of fascination and unease. They speculated about the true nature of Helia's lineage, while others dared to question the legitimacy of her claim to walk within the sacred grounds of Asgard.
"Helia, we've been looking for you," Bjorn said, his voice gruff. His eyes flickered between her own and the stolen book clutched in her fingers. "The Allfather wishes to speak with you. He has been made aware of your... special attributes and has a vested interest in your abilities."
Her anger surged within her, a fierce storm brewing beneath her calm exterior. With steely composure, she restrained the intensity in her voice, keeping it clipped and controlled as she countered, "And for what reason?"
"That is classified," Bjorn said, his composure just as controlled as her own.
"I am not inclined to entertain an audience with the Allfather without a clear understanding of the purpose behind his summons," Helia declared firmly and slipped the book below the table- out of sight.
"He deems them potentially advantageous," Bjorn remarked.
"I hold no interest in aiding Odin in his pursuits," Helia retorted dismissively, "whether my abilities are of use to him or not."
This time, Bjorn emitted a subdued chuckle, shaking his head with amusement. "In all earnestness, you do not possess the authority to rebuff the Allfather's requests."
She shifted her eyes briefly to Fritjof, whose face remained impassive, but the stiffness in his posture gave a warning that she deciphered instantly: remain passive- hear him out.
For centuries, their schemes had brewed in the shadows, whispered plans and dreams of vengeance. Fritjof's words lingered in Helia's mind. If only Odin had stood by Vanaheim when the Frost Giants descended upon them, her homeland might have stood unyielding and strong. Instead, he remained aloof, an indifferent figure as Vanaheim crumbled under the weight of despair and devastation. Vanaheim had no army, they were a realm of peace, relying solely on Odin’s protection.
The mantle of the Allfather that Odin bore so proudly was tarnished in Helia's eyes. He paraded as the guardian of the Nine Realms, but in reality, he was a sovereign consumed by his thirst for dominion. The once revered protector had forsaken his duty, callously turning a blind eye to the cries of her people as ice and darkness encroached upon their lands. Power was his currency, and Asgard his prized possession; he would safeguard both at any cost, even if it meant bartering away an entire realm to the malevolent forces that lurked beyond their borders.
With all the control she could muster, she responded, “Very well. But that does not mean I will do so gladly.”
"Ah, see. Something tells me you will be glad to hear that his interest provides you unlimited access to The Royal Archives." Bjorn’s eyes dropped momentarily to the book she clutched between her fingers.
Helia's dark eyes widened in astonishment, her heart pounding with an unexpected surge of excitement. The Royal Archives - the sacred and protected vault of wisdom - had been locked up for years since the previous Keeper passed away. It was as if the very air around her had thickened with anticipation. Having unlimited access to all of Asgard's secrets was something she never thought would be within her reach. It was a desire that seemed too impossible to ever come true.
The Archives were not merely a collection of books; they were a treasure trove pulsating with life, every volume throbbing with tales waiting to be discovered. Each one was a door into another world, another era - bearing witness to heroic deeds and tragic downfalls, love stories and blood feuds, creation myths and apocalyptic prophecies.
And somewhere within this labyrinthine library lay the secrets she yearned for – truths hidden in cryptic texts and forgotten lore. The thought sent a shiver coursing through her veins. The Archives were more than just a repository; they were an opportunity, an answer...a destiny.
“Under what conditions would I be granted such access?”
"Come and speak with the Allfather. All will be explained."
She risked a quick look at Fritjof, finding his gaze piercing hers like sharpened icicles. His satisfaction was evident; this opportunity was flawless. Not only would she unlock the secrets of the forbidden texts in the archives, but she would reside within the very heart of the palace.
With a deep breath, she nodded to Bjorn. "Tomorrow then. It is late and I do not wish to be out any later."
Bjorn acknowledged her with a brisk nod, rising from his seat with a grace that belied his imposing stature. "I shall be back at dawn. It would be wise to attire yourself suitably for an audience with the King." His gaze swept over her simple gray cotton dress, a silent commentary on its inadequacy, before deftly retrieving the tome from the table. "This belongs elsewhere," he remarked as he pivoted on his heel and departed their modest home.
Helia's exasperated breath escaped through clenched teeth as she sank into the chair, the worn wood creaking beneath her weight. Was her gown truly so appalling? Yes, the hemlines bore signs of wear and the material boasted no regal quality, but it hugged her form elegantly and it matched flawlessly with her beloved scarlet cloak. Dismissing the thought with a shrug, she resolved to unearth an alternative from her modest wardrobe that might be a bit more presentable.
Fritjof leaned his tan arms against the worn wood of the table. "Helia."
“I know. I know what you’re thinking.”
“No matter what Odin says tomorrow, you agree. You take whatever he offers, this is everything we’ve been hoping and waiting for for years.”
“I don’t know Fritjof, he could ask me for anything,” Helia's voice wavered with uncertainty, her eyes reflecting the flickering candlelight in the dim room. She turned a delicate silver ring on her finger absentmindedly, a nervous habit she had picked up in moments of doubt. “We don’t even know what he knows of my abilities or what he could be asking for.”
"This is what we’ve been waiting for. This is the opportunity to destroy Odin we have always dreamt of. With you in the palace walls, with every Asgardian secret at your fingertips, we could kill him. It wouldn’t even be hard. He would never expect it from a peasant girl with regeneration abilities." He looked at her incredulously. "Don’t be ridiculous. Do not let your own insecurities block the way for everything we’ve ever hoped for."
Helia’s jaw slackened slightly in shock. “Kill him? You want me to kill the Allfather?”
Fritjof’s brown eyes darkened. “Do you need me to repeat myself? Yes, stupid girl. You enter those palace walls, gain their trust, learn their secrets and then end him. Once and for all.”
“And then what? What happens after that? He has two sons, either one could take the throne and we’re back where we started.”
“None of that matters, what matters is that Odin pays for his crimes. What happens after that is irrelevant.” He met her gaze, sympathy now painted on his face. “Helia, you know we’ve been talking about this for years. Is this not what you want? Vengeance? For everything he has taken from us? From you?”
Helia's hands clenched around the armrests of her chair. It was true; she had yearned for this moment for as long as she could remember. She craved the chance to set things right, to avenge her fallen people. But now that the opportunity was within her grasp, it felt... wrong. As if the path before her had shifted ever so slightly, a foundation cracking with fault lines she never knew existed. There was so much that could go wrong, and besides, this relied on her ability to do what Odin asked. If she didn’t hold enough power to regenerate the objects he asked then this was all a moot point.
And then there was Fritjof. The mere thought of leaving him here, abandoned and alone, clenched her heart in a vise-like grip. She couldn't bear the idea of being separated from him, the one constant in her immortal life. The one who had saved her, kept her safe, protected her.
“I don’t want to leave you. You’re the only family I have,” her voice bordered on the line of desperation. “What if something happens to you and I’m not here?
"I am an adult, Helia. I can handle myself." Fritjof knelt down in front of her, grasping her hands gently in his calloused ones. His eyes, usually so cold and calculating, softened with a flicker of something that resembled compassion as he stared into her eyes. "But you are right. We have been through a great deal together, the two of us." He squeezed her hands reassuringly, each roughened pad of his fingers a reminder of the life they had built. “But you were born for more than this. To do more than this.”
Stress forced her to clamp her eyes shut. "I don't know... This all seems so sudden."
Fritjof's voice carried a hint of impatience, but he kept his tone gentle, as if speaking to a child. "Besides, you will not be gone for long. Once we have our revenge, once the Allfather's blood stains our hands, we will leave this accursed place and never look back. We will find another realm, one where we are free to live as we please."
Helia took in a shaky breath, her chest tight with conflicting emotions. He was right; this was everything they had hoped for. "Okay. You're right. But I’m not letting him keep me locked away in the palace. I’m going to come see you, every week. Just to make sure you’re okay."
"Excellent," he replied with a grin. "Now, let's find you something to wear."
The white marble floor was smooth and solid beneath Helia's feet as she followed Bjorn down the impossibly long hallway. The Palace loomed before her, breathtaking and full of wealth and power that surpassed her wildest dreams. Its walls rose high, etched with intricate designs that seemed to tell ancient tales in a language only the elite understood. The ceiling arched above her like a marble sky.
Torchlight danced on the golden accents that adorned each pillar, casting flickering shadows that played tricks on the eye. The air was heavy with the scent of incense, adding an otherworldly aura to the already majestic surroundings. Helia couldn't help but run her fingers lightly over the ornate patterns, marveling at the skill and dedication it must have taken to create such beauty.
Yet, amidst all this splendor, a sense of unease crept over her. The opulence that surrounded her felt suffocating, almost grotesque in its excessiveness.
Draped in her finest velour black gown, Helia stood amidst the opulence of the grand hall, feeling like a lone shadow in a sea of light. The gown, a marvel of craftsmanship, hugged her form with precision. Its neckline gracefully framed her collarbone and shoulders, while the lacing at the back accentuated her silhouette. Yet, it was the intricate details that truly mesmerized - delicate gold trim adorned with elaborate marigold embroidery that seemed to come alive as if caught in a dance along the edges of the dress.
Over the span of several weeks, she had tucked away every spare coin she could muster, amassing a small fortune to acquire the luxurious black gown that had captivated her in the window of the secondhand shop. The shop owner, upon witnessing how elegantly it draped over her figure, offered her a generous discount. Buoyed by the extra change, she indulged in a trip to the cobbler for a fresh pair of walking boots and treated herself to a novel from her favorite bookstore nearby.
When she presented the gown to Fritjof, his laughter cut deeper than any blade. "Why on earth would you even bother with such a frivolous thing?" he sneered. "No one will sweep you off your feet to a grand ball, we're not invited to feasts, and as far as suitors go, well, we both know you're hardly anyone's first choice." It stung like a venomous barb, his words poisoning her hopes and dreams. She had felt foolish for wasting her money on such a ridiculous piece of clothing
But now, walking toward a meeting with the Allfather in the Palace of Valaskjalf, Helia was grateful to have spent her money in such a way.
Proud and determined, she held her head up high as she followed Bjorn to the towering golden doors that led to what she could only imagine to be the grand throne room. The corridor leading to the door was lined with torches flickering in their sconces, casting dancing shadows on the polished stone floor. As they approached, the doors opened just wide enough for them to enter, emitting a faint creak that echoed through the vast hall. Revealed before her was not just a room but a cavernous expanse of opulence and power.
The largest room she had ever laid her eyes on sprawled out before her, its dimensions almost incomprehensible. The air carried a scent of ancient parchment mixed with the subtle tang of metal from the armor adorning guards stationed around the perimeter. The throne itself, a seat of unassailable power, loomed like a resplendent monolith at the far end of the room. Its surface glinted with an array of gold and jewels that caught the light in dazzling reflections.
Helia's eyes rose to meet the sight of the imposing figure perched upon the grand throne—the Allfather, Odin. The air in the hall seemed to thicken around her, charged with an undercurrent of power. Her heart drummed a frantic beat in her chest as they drew nearer, a mix of awe and trepidation swirling within her. Bjorn guided Helia towards the base of the throne with a sure stride, each step echoing softly against the polished marble floor. As they reached their destination, he executed a fluid bow before Odin. Mimicking his gesture, Helia's pulse thrummed in her ears, her palms clammy with nerves as she fought to conceal the quiver in her knees beneath the weight of her gown.
"Rise," Odin commanded, his voice echoing off the walls of the cavernous space.
Bjorn opened an arm to present her, "This is Helia of Vanaheim as you requested, Your Majesty."
With a nod and a wave of his hand, Odin dismissed Bjorn to the back of the massive chamber before speaking directly to Helia. "Helia of Vanaheim. I have heard much about you."
She struggled to hide the tremble in her voice, "And what have you heard, Allfather?"
"Enough." Odin smiled, lifting his bearded chin. "I have a proposal for you."
Swallowing the nerves that threatened to overpower her, she managed to respond, "What kind of proposal?"
"I have a collection of forgotten relics, decaying and neglected beyond repair. They crave a touch of restoration, a spark of life. When whispers reached me of a Vanir maiden with the power to breathe new life into the lifeless, I knew fate had delivered the perfect remedy."
Helia's heart quickened its pace, a rush of adrenaline surging through her veins as she licked her lips in anticipation. "I'm listening."
"I understand you have an affinity for books," Odin remarked. "My collection is vast, beyond your wildest dreams. Many volumes are in dire need of your 'restorative' touch, as you so eloquently put it. I offer you a position in the Royal Archives, as the new caretaker. Nurture them, breathe new life into their pages, and bestow upon them the care they've long been deprived of since our previous caretaker's passing. In return, the palace shall be your abode, every meal yours to savor, and any necessity required for your task shall be promptly met."
Helia's mind raced, struggling to process the weight of the offer. The chance to work in the Royal Archives, to uncover centuries of hidden knowledge and long-buried secrets, was a tantalizing dream. "So you want me to simply restore books? That's it?"
"I may come across a few artifacts that need your assistance," he nonchalantly remarked. "But yes, your duties will primarily revolve around the upkeep of The Archives, ensuring order is maintained, and of course maintaining the books."
Helia's mind reeled at the offer before her, temptation waging a vicious war with the burning hatred in her heart. If she accepted, it would mean working for the man she had sworn to destroy, but it would also grant her unfettered access to the heart of Asgard and its secrets.
"In that case," she said, summoning a demure smile, "I humbly accept your generous offer, Allfather."
As the terms were settled, Bjorn stepped forward to escort her to the Archives. His heavy footsteps echoed in the grand hall as he met her at the foot of the elevated dais, offering a respectful nod to Odin before focusing his attention on guiding Helia out of the throne room. Just as they began their departure, a commanding cough from Odin halted their movements.
"Ah, one more detail," Odin's deep voice reverberated through the chamber. "It seems fitting that my son shall be your mentor during your initial months here in the palace. He will ensure your seamless integration into palace life." A subtle gleam danced in Odin's eye as he added, "I understand this structured environment may be unfamiliar to you."
Helia brushed off the veiled insult about her origins, her jaw clenched in silent defiance. Mentor? She scoffed inwardly, a surge of independence at the mere suggestion that she needed guidance. Nevertheless, the idea of having someone familiarize her with Asgard's intricate corridors and hidden nooks didn't sound entirely unwelcome. Especially if that guide happened to be a towering, blonde prince with muscles rippling under his armor.
"I am grateful for your consideration," Helia replied smoothly, her tone betraying none of the tumultuous thoughts swirling within her mind. "I look forward to meeting Prince Thor."
Odin chuckled, "Oh no. Thor is on an outreach trip on Midgard at this moment. My other son, Loki, will be your mentor."
Helia felt a sudden rush of unease, her normally vibrant face turning ghostly pale. Loki's reputation had spread far beyond the golden walls of Asgard's palace, his name stirring fear and intrigue in equal measure. Stories of his unpredictable temper, sharp tongue, unbridled arrogance and dangerously seductive charm were common knowledge among the people.
"Oh," Helia managed to say, her voice barely audible as she tried to process this unforeseen information. She took a deep breath, mentally preparing herself for what was to come. "I'm eager to meet Loki," she declared, managing a strained smile that did nothing to conceal her anxiety. The silence that followed was heavy with tension as she bowed deeply, a gesture of respect hiding her inner unrest. Her heart pounded like a hammer against an anvil in her chest as she followed Bjorn through the magnificent golden doors into the unknown.