Ragnarok n' roll
By Jessica Chambers
©2014
A cold wind blew through Valhalla.
Odin didn't like this kind of wind. It was the kind of wind followed by little specks of rain, as if they couldn't be asked to be a proper rain shower. Lazy raindrops. Hoping one day they'd grow up into a nice storm.
He wondered if this was Thor's doing, just to annoy him.
He doubted this highly, as Thor had been preoccupied with that wife of his.
Then why did this wind make Odin feel so uncomfortable? He shifted his weight around on his throne, trying out his limbs to see if they were all functioning. They seemed to be.
For now.
Another wind found it's way to Valaskjalf, and ran under the door, trying to find another way out. This simply caused it to become giddy, and it continued to spin on itself three or four times, whipping up the carpet as it went. It eventually found a way out near the window, squeezing itself out under the pane.
What on Asgard was it playing at? Odin had never seen wind with such personality.
Many a wind had blown through his realm, usually a pleasantly warm one, that ruffled the golden leaves and breathed life into the flowers. This wind was wholly different.
It made everything in it's passage cold and crisp, including Odin's joints, and made the flowers want to dive back underground rather than revive them.
This wind seemed to bring death.
That was what disturbed Odin. This malicious air-movement carried with it the stench of death; perhaps not a death that had already come, but a death that would soon be in Valaskjalf, asking whether the old, fat dude was still hanging around there with those crows of his.
Odin had a sudden empty feeling in his bones. These were the signs he's been waiting for all his life. Now, he knew it. A little trip to Mimir was in order. He hoped he wouldn't ask for his remaining eye, that sort of exchange can't continue.
It was Ragnarok.
Chapter 1
“Just hold it. Then it will take care of itself.” said Thor.
Freyja and Thor stood in one of the larger meadows of Thrudvang, surrounded by the pure orange grass and small flowers which didn't, couldn't, wouldn't and shouldn't grow on Earth.
There was a fresh morning smell in the air, and every now and then a small breeze would come and ruffle Freyja's hair (she suspected it was Thor's doing). The starlit sky shone it's orangey hue down on Asgard, saving it's blues and greys for Midgard and Jötunheim. Ander flew to and from them, but got quickly bored as their lessons didn't seem to be advancing and Mjollnir was being awkward.
Thor had decided that Freyja had better learn to use Mjollnir, even if only for safety reasons; but Mjollnir was having none of it.
Freyja would have hardly wrapped her small hands around the stone handle before the hammer would have flown up and shaken her off.
Nonetheless, they persevered.
Freya took a deep breath, and placed one hand on the handle.
As before, the hammer writhed and shook under her palm.
“Please!” she pleaded between gritted teeth.
The hammer flew off like a flash, striking Freyja's leg on it's way. She let slip a small shriek of pain and surprise.
She fell to the ground, nursing her knee. It began pounding and stinging simultaneously.
“Are you all right?” asked Thor, crouching down to her level.
She bit her lip and nodded, swallowing the pain.
“It's OK if it hurts, that's a mountain-crushing hammer.” counselled Thor.
Freyja giggled weakly and dragged herself to her feet. Her dress seemed to weigh her down more than she had been expecting. She threw her cloak off, trying to lighten her load.
She braced herself as she saw Thor extend his hand towards the horizon. He bellowed his usual earth-shaking command, and the hammer flew into his open hand much faster than any laws of physics would have allowed. But, this being Asgard, inhabited by gods, the laws of physics were null and void, although they occasionally wandered in by mistake, claiming they were looking for the men's room.
Thor scolded the hammer in Old Norse.
Freyja had begun to pick up a few words of this mysterious language, but she suspected the ones that she picked up off Thor while he was in a bad mood were not the more polite ones.
“Do you want to try again?” he asked softly.
“Will It cooperate this time?” sighed Freyja.
The hammer seemed to give her a dirty look, which she promptly returned. It had a face; or at least two eyes and a moustache; made of the Celtic knot-work on the handle which seemed to animate itself without actually moving.
“It better had.”
Freyja stretched her shoulders, and placed a hand on the cold stone of the hammer, and grabbed it firmly. As usual, the hammer reacted, it spun around and around. The difference this time was that Freyja's grip was so much firmer that she was dragged along with it helplessly.
The hammer whizzed off into the sky, and Freyja clung on with both hands, trying to focus on getting back onto terra firma and less about the wind rushing into her face and leaving her gasping for air. She didn't have enough air to scream, and so she just held her mouth open in case some noise decided it could come out.
The scenery whizzed past her, and she lost her bearings. Her dress whipped back against her legs, and her bruised knee was pounding. She fought back tears, and gripped the handle tighter, until her knuckles turned white.
The sky and the ground all became one sickening orange blur. The wind rushed past her ears, echoing inside her head. Her hands began to loosen their grip...
With no warning, the hammer performed a sharp U-turn and rushed back towards the ground.
They stopped abruptly as Freyja felt the warmth of another hand on the other side of the hammer. She had barely noticed that she had squeezed her eyes shut. She slowly opened them, finding that the rushing wind had near enough welded them shut.
She looked up and saw Thor in front of her, his face partly obscured by Mjollnir. The part of his face she could see wore a worried expression.
“By Odin's beard! Freyja, are you hurt?” he asked.
Freyja found herself uncontrollably shaking, and let go of the handle. She wasn't aware of where her feet were exactly, and so fell quite a distance to the ground, where she proceeded to collapse in a weary heap.
Thor threw the hammer aside and knelt down by her, wrapping his arms around her to hold her up. Freyja was very grateful for this, as the whole of Asgard still seemed to be spinning. She held her breath, waiting for the pounding in her heart, stomach and knee to stop.
“I think that's enough practice for today.” Thor said.
He helped her up and held her as she limped back to Thrudheim. He gave the hammer a sharp kick on the way by.
They sat down in one of the many rooms of Thrudeim. Freyja was given a goblet of mead in an effort to calm her nerves. She sat staring at it for a while before realising she was supposed to drink it.
“I don't know why Mjollnir's being so stubborn.” Thor sighed.
“Maybe it doesn't like me. Maybe it's jealous.” Freyja suggested.
Thor thought about this for a moment.
“I remember my aunt's dog didn't like her husband at first, we all said it was jealous, but it warmed to him eventually.” she added.
“How?”
“Mainly through the unregulated giving of dog-snax. The dog was morbidly obese by their second wedding anniversary.”
They both laughed a little, before letting the room fall back into a cosy silence.
“Do you feel any better yet?” Thor asked.
Freyja swallowed her mouthful of
mead and let the warmth flood her limbs before nodding.
“My knee still hurts a bit, though.”
Thor gave her a look which indicated that he was not surprised, and that most mountains that had battled with Mjollnir had come off worse than that.
“Let's go see Frigg, she'll know what to do. She has the largest medicine cabinet in all Asgard.”
“Why?”
“Odin's ailments, mainly.”
He helped her to her feet and they ambled to Bifröst. Thor had decided not to take the hammer.
As they reached the rainbow, they saw Heimdall stood with his eyes closed, as if meditating.
Thor snapped his fingers in front of his eyes.
Heimdall flinched, but didn't awaken. He raised one finger to his lips and said: “Ssshhh...” very softly.
“Heimdall? What are you playing at?” asked Thor.
No response.
“Can we get into Valhalla, please?”
Heimdall pointed a finger towards the gate, then made the motion for them to go away. Thor assumed they could go in.
The usual drunken/dead Vikings loitered around the entrance to Valhalla, eyeing up the Valkyries and letting slip appreciative grunts every now and again.
This was the part of Valhalla Freyja did not like at all. Sure, the Valkyries were pretty, and most of these guys hadn't seen a woman since they'd died... But then, if faced with the goddess of love, beauty and (apparently) fertility, their reactions became borderline hostile. If they had reacted that way on 21st century Midgard, Freyja would have filed several sexual harassment suits by now, successfully.
Thor was also aware of this, and so wrapped a protective arm around Freyja. No dead, remotely sane Viking would take on the god of thunder, even if he