![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
Chains of Fate
Each day was its own, different struggle. Sometimes Meja's arm only burned a little, like a slow ache from a long and arduous run, and sometimes it felt as though someone had poured acid into the veins themselves (which was, more or less, true). The cut itself, from which it had entered her system, was healing at a slow rate, but the flesh was beginning to mend. It no longer felt as though her arm was in two separate pieces.
Which helped, really. It made her feel like a person again, rather than a person who should have still been in the infirmary. But no, she wasn't checking herself back in, not even with Helen there. She either felt good enough for a walk or two, per day, or she curled up on her bed and focused on breathing, when it got too bad. Honir was there each step of the way, nuzzling his head against hers, trying to be as encouraging as a stern and dry dæmon was capable. But on the worst days, even he couldn't summon the words, and would curl up silently alongside her in shared pain.
The visions and little auras didn't help. Sometimes on her walks, Meja would see white wisps of fog out on the water, in the middle of the day. Or someone would walk by and she would see an odd blur on their skin, like an image on top of theirs. She and Honir tried to puzzle each one out, usually to no avail.
And most confusingly, that chain around her right arm hadn't gone everywhere. It glimmered cheerfully in the sunlight and no one else looked at it, ending in that little broken and rusted link.
She was outside in the sun, near the beach, when it finally hit her. A story her mother had once told, about the Norns — beautiful giantesses who assigned fate to both gods and men. Like Skalla, her friend and mentor during Ragnarök. Legend had it that they came when you were born, unseen to all, and fixed a length of chain around your arm. A chain that only the Norns could see. On this chain was carved all the deeds you would do with your life, and the length determined how long you would live. The gods had chains with no beginning or end, inscribed with great deeds. But the chain of a mortal would end in a broken link for a violent death, and a whole one for something akin to sickness or old age...
Skalla had once mentioned that by refusing to die as the prophecy foretold, and by saving others from the same fate, she would anger the three most important Norns of all. At that point, she had already spared the human race from their foretold end, but now there were several more alive who 'shouldn't' have been. Gods, even, who would continue to go on living for quite some time.
"No wonder it feels horrible whenever you try to move it," Honir mused. He was sitting up, at her side, also staring at it. "It's like if you tried to take me away."
"Mmm." Meja smiled wryly. "Looks like I'm stuck with both of you."
"Hey, now..."
She turned her arm over, though slowly, examining it. The links were too small for her to see what was inscribed on them. She'd need a magnifying glass. And even then, she wasn't sure if she wanted to know. Technically, this was her past. The broken link stood for Ragnarök.
"So does this mean we're in free fall?" she wondered. "What happens to my lifespan?"
"Be careful what you eat, and get plenty of exercise," Honir said. If a cat could smirk, he would have. "When we go back to Asgard, I'm sure Skalla will know. This can't be the first time the hero of a prophecy said, 'no, I'm not going to do that.' ...we're going back, aren't we?"
Meja lifted her gaze up, toward the horizon, watching the water. "...eventually."
"What does that mean?"
"It means we are going back," she sighed, "I just don't know when. Midgard will be reborn. The human race will have to start over. Our home's still gone. What would we even do there?"
For the first time in the conversation, Honir looked timid. "Accept the Allfather's suggestion?"
Meja snorted. "You want to parade around with that ridiculous title? Act like one of the Æsir? I could barely stomach killing those trolls for the safety of my town, Honir. You want me to go and kill things for, what, glory? I'm not a deity. I don't need and crave recognition."
Except that was only a half truth. It was true that she didn't crave it, but it did feel nice, sometimes. It lessened the crippling guilt. On the other hand, though, she definitely wasn't going out of her way for it. Not like some kind of hunting party of gods, needing to make mortals 'ooh' and 'aah' over them.
"We don't have to kill. We can explore. We can take Erling, Fenrir and maybe even Gong Gong with us," the dæmon pointed out. "See all of the nine realms." He paused. "But you're not going to, are you? Not like that."
She could see the merit of his suggestion — he was her dæmon, after all, he knew something of her heart — but that required a lot of time away from the Observatory. Like when she'd been preparing for Ragnarök. She wouldn't be able to drop things and answer a summons, if... something came up...
"No, not like that," she said slowly.
Honir was back to almost-smirking again. "You don't want to leave the angel."
Meja scowled. "Look, I miss Erling and Fenrir just as much as you do. But we have worlds we can explore here, too. And we won't get that opportunity in Asgard. Just the other eight realms. But here, there's... at least a hundred."
"And you'd miss Balthazar," the dæmon pointed out smugly.
She rolled her eyes at him. "Don't give me that. You'd miss Ishtar. Besides, there are other people here I'd miss, too. Can't we take a vacation for once? See a few worlds? Enjoy not having to worry about the end of the world?"
Really, that was almost the best part. For months, now, she'd either been stressed about the destruction of Vardø, or stressed about Ragnarök. Now, there was a blissful (but also very confusing) emptiness in her line of priorities. She needed to worry about herself. That was it.
"A little R&R, as they say," Honir mused.
Meja blinked — where had he picked that up? — but nodded. "We're squandering the opportunity, here," she pointed out. "Anyway, with that donation we gave the Company, they're not going to kick us out any time soon. We should make the most of things."
He had that smug look again, and, being that they were the same creature, she got a head full of what he was about to say. That was one fortunate aspect of this conversation. She cut him off, feeling her cheeks turning red despite her determination to stop them.
"Before you say anything, no." She glowered. "And you claim to be so much more dignified..."
Honir sighed. "Well, if you're not going to march over to his room and tell him how you'd really like to—"
Meja tugged her hood over her head, to hide the deep scarlet she'd turned. "Honir."
"—then I guess we'd better find a world to go to."
Which helped, really. It made her feel like a person again, rather than a person who should have still been in the infirmary. But no, she wasn't checking herself back in, not even with Helen there. She either felt good enough for a walk or two, per day, or she curled up on her bed and focused on breathing, when it got too bad. Honir was there each step of the way, nuzzling his head against hers, trying to be as encouraging as a stern and dry dæmon was capable. But on the worst days, even he couldn't summon the words, and would curl up silently alongside her in shared pain.
The visions and little auras didn't help. Sometimes on her walks, Meja would see white wisps of fog out on the water, in the middle of the day. Or someone would walk by and she would see an odd blur on their skin, like an image on top of theirs. She and Honir tried to puzzle each one out, usually to no avail.
And most confusingly, that chain around her right arm hadn't gone everywhere. It glimmered cheerfully in the sunlight and no one else looked at it, ending in that little broken and rusted link.
She was outside in the sun, near the beach, when it finally hit her. A story her mother had once told, about the Norns — beautiful giantesses who assigned fate to both gods and men. Like Skalla, her friend and mentor during Ragnarök. Legend had it that they came when you were born, unseen to all, and fixed a length of chain around your arm. A chain that only the Norns could see. On this chain was carved all the deeds you would do with your life, and the length determined how long you would live. The gods had chains with no beginning or end, inscribed with great deeds. But the chain of a mortal would end in a broken link for a violent death, and a whole one for something akin to sickness or old age...
Skalla had once mentioned that by refusing to die as the prophecy foretold, and by saving others from the same fate, she would anger the three most important Norns of all. At that point, she had already spared the human race from their foretold end, but now there were several more alive who 'shouldn't' have been. Gods, even, who would continue to go on living for quite some time.
"No wonder it feels horrible whenever you try to move it," Honir mused. He was sitting up, at her side, also staring at it. "It's like if you tried to take me away."
"Mmm." Meja smiled wryly. "Looks like I'm stuck with both of you."
"Hey, now..."
She turned her arm over, though slowly, examining it. The links were too small for her to see what was inscribed on them. She'd need a magnifying glass. And even then, she wasn't sure if she wanted to know. Technically, this was her past. The broken link stood for Ragnarök.
"So does this mean we're in free fall?" she wondered. "What happens to my lifespan?"
"Be careful what you eat, and get plenty of exercise," Honir said. If a cat could smirk, he would have. "When we go back to Asgard, I'm sure Skalla will know. This can't be the first time the hero of a prophecy said, 'no, I'm not going to do that.' ...we're going back, aren't we?"
Meja lifted her gaze up, toward the horizon, watching the water. "...eventually."
"What does that mean?"
"It means we are going back," she sighed, "I just don't know when. Midgard will be reborn. The human race will have to start over. Our home's still gone. What would we even do there?"
For the first time in the conversation, Honir looked timid. "Accept the Allfather's suggestion?"
Meja snorted. "You want to parade around with that ridiculous title? Act like one of the Æsir? I could barely stomach killing those trolls for the safety of my town, Honir. You want me to go and kill things for, what, glory? I'm not a deity. I don't need and crave recognition."
Except that was only a half truth. It was true that she didn't crave it, but it did feel nice, sometimes. It lessened the crippling guilt. On the other hand, though, she definitely wasn't going out of her way for it. Not like some kind of hunting party of gods, needing to make mortals 'ooh' and 'aah' over them.
"We don't have to kill. We can explore. We can take Erling, Fenrir and maybe even Gong Gong with us," the dæmon pointed out. "See all of the nine realms." He paused. "But you're not going to, are you? Not like that."
She could see the merit of his suggestion — he was her dæmon, after all, he knew something of her heart — but that required a lot of time away from the Observatory. Like when she'd been preparing for Ragnarök. She wouldn't be able to drop things and answer a summons, if... something came up...
"No, not like that," she said slowly.
Honir was back to almost-smirking again. "You don't want to leave the angel."
Meja scowled. "Look, I miss Erling and Fenrir just as much as you do. But we have worlds we can explore here, too. And we won't get that opportunity in Asgard. Just the other eight realms. But here, there's... at least a hundred."
"And you'd miss Balthazar," the dæmon pointed out smugly.
She rolled her eyes at him. "Don't give me that. You'd miss Ishtar. Besides, there are other people here I'd miss, too. Can't we take a vacation for once? See a few worlds? Enjoy not having to worry about the end of the world?"
Really, that was almost the best part. For months, now, she'd either been stressed about the destruction of Vardø, or stressed about Ragnarök. Now, there was a blissful (but also very confusing) emptiness in her line of priorities. She needed to worry about herself. That was it.
"A little R&R, as they say," Honir mused.
Meja blinked — where had he picked that up? — but nodded. "We're squandering the opportunity, here," she pointed out. "Anyway, with that donation we gave the Company, they're not going to kick us out any time soon. We should make the most of things."
He had that smug look again, and, being that they were the same creature, she got a head full of what he was about to say. That was one fortunate aspect of this conversation. She cut him off, feeling her cheeks turning red despite her determination to stop them.
"Before you say anything, no." She glowered. "And you claim to be so much more dignified..."
Honir sighed. "Well, if you're not going to march over to his room and tell him how you'd really like to—"
Meja tugged her hood over her head, to hide the deep scarlet she'd turned. "Honir."
"—then I guess we'd better find a world to go to."