[Norse Mythology/Thor]: Breathe
Title: Breathe
Author:
grey_gazania
Rating: PG
Word Count: 400ish
Characters: Hel, Odin
Warnings: None
Notes: Originally posted on tumblr
The day that they were cast out haunted her as she traversed the empty marshes, images as stark and scarring as the gouges of the glaciers that once crept across the earth - Fenrir in chains, blood-spattered, lashing out with his teeth at any who dared draw near; Jormungandr shuddering in agony, held fast by a fearsome, suffocating spell; her father screaming for his children. And, clearest of all, her grandfather's hand clenched around her arm - her good arm, for he never dared touch her dead skin - and his voice, cold enough to freeze the very air in her lungs, as he proclaimed her fate.
"There is no place in Asgard for one such as you. You are banished to Niflheim, where I am certain you will be welcomed as one of their own."
She drew her cloak closer about her and walked on, marsh turning to packed earth as the days passed, until finally it gave way to ice and frozen rivers. Dropping to the ground, she scraped up a handful of snow and watched as it melted between her fingers. No birds cried, no animals rustled in the sparse trees; only her thoughts echoed in the desolate silence.
There is no place in Asgard for one such as you.
I breathe, she would have said, had she been given even a moment to speak. My heart beats, my blood flows - you say that death has no place in Asgard, but I am alive. I breathe, Allfather, and if I am too dead for Asgard, then I am also too alive for this place.
She dug her fingers into the ground once more, reaching deep into the frigid wellspring in her center, and watched as frost crept from her hands to deepen the snow around her.
That is what I will do, she thought. This place is dead and harsh and cold, but I will build on it all the same. She pushed herself to her feet and turned back towards the marsh with renewed vigor. She would make this place hers, make its people hers, sink her roots so deeply into the swamp and ice that no man could dislodge her.
She would not let the Allfather toss her away like some broken trinket. If he refused to acknowledge her as kin, she would make him see her as an equal.
This entry was originally posted at http://grey-gazania.dreamwidth.org/459962.html. Please comment there.
Author:
grey_gazania
Rating: PG
Word Count: 400ish
Characters: Hel, Odin
Warnings: None
Notes: Originally posted on tumblr
The day that they were cast out haunted her as she traversed the empty marshes, images as stark and scarring as the gouges of the glaciers that once crept across the earth - Fenrir in chains, blood-spattered, lashing out with his teeth at any who dared draw near; Jormungandr shuddering in agony, held fast by a fearsome, suffocating spell; her father screaming for his children. And, clearest of all, her grandfather's hand clenched around her arm - her good arm, for he never dared touch her dead skin - and his voice, cold enough to freeze the very air in her lungs, as he proclaimed her fate.
"There is no place in Asgard for one such as you. You are banished to Niflheim, where I am certain you will be welcomed as one of their own."
She drew her cloak closer about her and walked on, marsh turning to packed earth as the days passed, until finally it gave way to ice and frozen rivers. Dropping to the ground, she scraped up a handful of snow and watched as it melted between her fingers. No birds cried, no animals rustled in the sparse trees; only her thoughts echoed in the desolate silence.
There is no place in Asgard for one such as you.
I breathe, she would have said, had she been given even a moment to speak. My heart beats, my blood flows - you say that death has no place in Asgard, but I am alive. I breathe, Allfather, and if I am too dead for Asgard, then I am also too alive for this place.
She dug her fingers into the ground once more, reaching deep into the frigid wellspring in her center, and watched as frost crept from her hands to deepen the snow around her.
That is what I will do, she thought. This place is dead and harsh and cold, but I will build on it all the same. She pushed herself to her feet and turned back towards the marsh with renewed vigor. She would make this place hers, make its people hers, sink her roots so deeply into the swamp and ice that no man could dislodge her.
She would not let the Allfather toss her away like some broken trinket. If he refused to acknowledge her as kin, she would make him see her as an equal.
This entry was originally posted at http://grey-gazania.dreamwidth.org/459962.html. Please comment there.