September 13th

[runeskin]

September 13th

Between her the whirl of her Window moving and arriving in Asgard, her freeing of Fenrir, her communications with the Norns, and her constant training by the Valkyrie lieutenant, Meja hadn't had much time to sit down and think. Ingibjörg knew the limits of her runes, but also their strengths; she kept her on her feet for hours on end, with only small breaks for food and refreshment. Only when every muscle in Meja's body ached, and when she could barely hold her eyes open, did the Valkyrie let her crawl off to get in some hours of sleep. Meja would sleep well and normally for the first time in a very long time, five or six hours instead of her normal three. Then, Ingibjörg would arrive in her room to shake her shoulder, shove food into her hands, and tell her to meet her in their customary training grounds: one of the many courtyards of Valaskjálf, Odin's silver citadel.

Though on this particular morning she was craving a bath, Meja instead swallowed down several pieces of fruit and a glass of water, washing her face thoroughly. She was clean, and had taken a bath before falling asleep as well (almost drifting off in the basin itself) — but just the idea of another nice soak in hot water spoke to her. Previous to this, her Valkyrie mentor had worked her for nearly twenty-four hours, emphasizing the use of short swords in particular. Meja had even managed to surprise her once or twice. But the longer the training had gone on, the less her mind was connected to it, and the more she found herself with small cuts. Or on her back, with no memory of how she was suddenly there, staring up at Ingibjörg's faintly smirking face.

"This will save your life," Honir noted, from his position on the bed — four-posted, and draped in rich purples and reds. The material wasn't like anything she'd seen before, silken and soft and yet as shiny as satin. That, and the very decent mattress, made it very easy to drift off to sleep. Even if she hadn't been getting fight training from a workaholic.

Meja pulled on the clothes that had been provided for her with a sigh. "Yes," she had to agree. Before now, she'd had to rely on her runes, since she hadn't had any formal training. "Or... well, it's part of saving my life. I haven't had the chance to talk to anyone about the other part, yet. And I won't if she keeps this up."

"So tell her." The snow lynx dæmon gazed at her piercingly. "We did promise several people that we would come back from this."

She paused in the middle of sliding on her heavy, plated boots. Did Honir think she was going to give up that easily? He was her dæmon... he should have known better. All Meja needed was a plan, a lead to go on. And then she would attack the situation accordingly. ...and, too, he should have known better than to bring up promises. But perhaps that part was deliberate.

"I don't intend to break any promises."

Honir slid from the bed as she stood up, and he nodded to her. "I know. I was making sure you were focused," he said smoothly. "Don't let the Valkyrie blindside you. There's more to the fight than just the fighting."

For that, he got a set jaw, but she couldn't help her fond smile. How had she done without this sensible creature? "...stop being my nursemaid, fuzzball."

Meja pulled on her cloak, and headed out into the halls to meet Ingibjörg. It was a thick, long cloak, with a deep hood, spun from the wool of 'sheep who weathered the harshest winter'. Whatever that had meant. Functionally, it seemed to mean that the wool wasn't scratchy, and that it was highly resistant to water. (She'd worn it in the rain, and it had only been a little damp on the outside.) Perhaps there was magic to it, as well. She wasn't sure. All she knew was that the Valkyrie seemed to favor them, and that it branded her with a certain respect from the guards.

Valaskjálf wasn't called Odin's silver citadel for nothing — the walls, ceiling and floor were literally made from silver. For the most part, it had an 'unworked' look to it, like it had simply come into being. Certain parts, like the top of the walls and patterns on the ceiling, gleamed like a blacksmith had taken them under his fire, but were incorporated seamlessly. It was one of the many reasons that Meja didn't doubt why her ancestors had called these people gods. As for hard proof, like asking how the universe had been created, well, she wasn't sure that she wanted to know. But if Æsir were anything like the other higher beings she'd met, she'd find out sooner or later, most likely through plenty of boasting.

As she turned through the doorway into the courtyard — she could already feel the warm summer air — Meja had a question half out of her mouth about what sort of training this block would be. But that question instantly evaporated.

Ingibjörg was a tall, imperious-looking woman, clad in the same white and grey that she now insisted Meja stick to. She was several inches taller than her, and had red hair that glowed like hot coals in the sun. Standing next to her was a man still a few inches taller, with hair so blond it was almost white... harsh, black-grey armor... and very familiar grey eyes...

Honir, invisible to all, tensed, ears shifting back.

"Look who's here from Valhalla?" Ingibjörg said, as if she were pulling a present out of a sack on Christmas. "A neat trick, that, but I hear Odin has a soft spot for him, like he does for you, Champion. Well? Aren't you going to say anything?"

All of the words had been squeezed from her throat by a sudden pressure there.

"Hei hei, Meja," Stellan Urdahl said, just like he'd done during all of Meja's childhood, returning late and greeting her as she was falling asleep. Her father had a tentative, but genuine, smile on his face. It was that smile that kept her stronger, negative emotions at bay.

Meja swallowed. "...pappa..."

Without another word, he strode forward and swept her into his arms, hugging her tightly. She didn't protest. It had been more than nine years since she'd received a hug from her father. Probably more like twelve or thirteen. Meja sank into it gladly and shut her eyes.

"My girl." Her father beamed as they parted, eyes suspiciously bright. He was almost never that emotional. "It's good to see you."

It made her feel strange, him with that expression — him being here. She swallowed. "A-and you. I... um..." She didn't know what to say. The last time she'd seen him had been the day he'd died. Right in front of her, by the hands of a troll he should have been powerful enough to not worry about. "...are you... all right, here?"

Stellan threw one arm around her shoulder, though he did so tentatively. Nine years had gone by. They needed rules, now, that told them how to act. "I'm better than all right," he assured her. "Let's go somewhere and talk."

Her Valkyrie mentor didn't object — in fact, she was smiling broadly, which Meja hadn't seen her do before — as her father steered her away.