She steps forward without a trace of self consciousness although every eye in the hall is upon her. The torchlight flickers and shadows race across her regal features. Outside the wind creaks the trees and launches another attack on the door but it won't win this time either. The wolves in the corner stir as she passes. One in particular offers a sympathetic eye as she goes by, but it wisely remains silent.
Standing before the audience she is all bronze and fire. Red hair blazing, green eyes, sharp as flint. She halts before her mentor. Proud but not defiant she waits to be spoken to.
The woman before her is, without a doubt, as lethal as the three feet of honed steel she bears at her side. Golden hair twisted into a braided cord, jawline straight and set firm. She stands before Hrist, one warrior before another.
"You were assigned to gather a fallen at Keflavik, were you not Hrist?" Her eyes are focused closely on her soldier. Watching as one predator watches another. She is not foolish enough to think the woman before her is an equal but she is not foolish enough to discount her either.
"I was."
"Yet you have returned with no one to this hall."
"Yes"
"Where is your weapon Hrist?" This is the real issue here and for the first time, Hrist drops her gaze to the dirt floor.
"Where is it Hrist?"
She raises her eyes again. She is not ashamed of this.
"I gifted it to a mortal." This time there is a hint of defiance in her speech.
"I see. This mortal. Was it the man you were sent to collect?"
"Yes"
The officer pauses at this. This woman is not her enemy. In fact she has great respect for her.
"You understand the consequences of this? The brothers do not give these gifts to us freely. They are costly. A great trust was given to you which you surrendered to a mortal. I have never known you to have poor judgement Hrist but this... You will go to the final battle with no weapon."
Hrist stands firm. She expected this. Head high she stares directly into Brynhildr's eyes as she speaks.
"I have always held the dwarven gift in the highest regard. No greater friend have I known than that hammer of their hands"
At this an indignant "chuff" comes from one of the wolves waiting in the shadows but if anyone hears it no one aknowledges it with more than a fleeting smile.
"I will abide by your judgement Brynhildr, but I beg you one favor for my years of service."
Silence.
"Come with me to the scrying pool, you and all gathered her. Come with me and bear witness as I bore witness to the events that led me to surrender my hammer"
Silence again but silence filled with thought.
"Very well."
The pool is still as glass. An opaque surface, black as night and filled with stars. Not a ripple stirs the surface. As Hrist approaches she disgards her armor piece by piece. Helm, breastplate, gauntlets and leggaurds all fall to the stone floor of the chamber. Her body bespeaks the struggles she has faced. Taut with muscle and beautiful by even Valhalla's standards she is covered with scars. The wars of past ages fought over and over, these marks of courage are worn with more pride than the most cherished jewels or golden trinkets. Silently she descends the stairs into the pool. Still no ripples mar its surface, but the stars begin to swirl around her. She takes a reflexive breath as her head lowers past the surface and she is gone. The stars swirl and couple, tryst and tangle, there color changes from silver to pale yellow to a gold with the depth of sunrise.
Sunrise.
They stand together, two figures, their bodies haloed by the rising sun. The North Atlantic breaks on the rocks below but it is more of a murmer than a roar.
"Two years I've been here. Two years in this beautiful land. I don't know how I can leave. I don't know how I can leave you Lisbet."
She shivers in the crisp Norwegian air, draws closer to him.
"You don't have to leave me. I will follow you anywhere Eric."
His heart pounds in his breast, a joyful drumroll.
"Will you? Come to America, come to Paragon City! Lisbet, will you..."
"I will my Love. I will."
With a rush of wind an F-16 breaks the morning's dreamlike veil as it passes overhead from Issacson Airforce base to the Grey North Atlantic beyond.
The stars swirl and couple, tryst and tangle, their color changing from the gold of sunrise to the crimson of war.
"War! We are at war!!!"
The cries of war have been ringing throughout the world for 3 days now. The claxons at Paragon City's Miller Airforce Base have become relegated to mere background noise amidst the constant sound of fighting. Monsters have broken the sky and descend upon us with naught but hatred in their hearts. Somehow throughout the onslaught the media is still broadcasting on local channels.
Staff Sergeant Eric Dover is racing through Miller Airbase. His 6'5" frame hurtling down hall after hall. He is Pararescue and he is needed yet again. His body should be at it's end. He has had no rest in 72 hours yet it never crosses his mind to stop. People are dying, and he is needed. The only comfort he is allowed is the thought that Lisbet and Elisa are still safe. The fighting is nowhere near their home. Thank God for that small grace.
As he runs to the aid of yet another his mind is, for just a moment, distracted from the job at hand.
"Statesman has just took off for the mothership! Are you geting this? We getting this? I don't know what he thinks he can do against that thing."
His steps falter as he turns to view the moniter mounted to the wall. He sees a scene surreal. A Monsterous ship literally eclipsing the sun over Rhode Island. Death in the sky and one lone figure hurtling towards it. A man of legend. A hero like none the world has ever known, rocketing fearlessly towards the very embodiment of evil on our planet.
"No way," He whispers,"Come on States..."
With an emerald spark the shields fail and with a muffled "thump" Statesman hits the ship and vanishes inside.
A moment that stretches to a minute, then two. Still the ship hangs in the sky a malevolent God waiting to punish.
"Is that smoke? Yes! Smoke! Smoke!"
First a spiral of white smoke. A signal drifting from the rear of the craft that all is not well. Then in a heartbeat a plume, and suddenly with a deafening crack this malevolent God is falling from it's lofty perch. As if in slow motion it canters to one side. Listing hard in the open air, gravity beckoning. A burst of fire and a cheer goes up.
"My God he's done it! He brought that sonuvabitch down!"
But elation turns to horror moments later as the onlookers realize that even a dying God must obey the Law of Gravity.
"It's coming down! It's going to hit the city!!!"
Eric's eyes narrow as he stares unblinking at the monitor. The camera's jerky movements drop from the sky to the neighborhood directly in the saucers path.
"Please God no."
The stars swirl and couple, tryst and tangle, red of war glows brilliant then fades to grey.
The grey water churns beneath his boat. Chugging and lurching the small craft moves out toward the cold Icelandic waters. It has been six years since Eric Dover lost everything that made his life worth living. Six years since he fled America and returned here to her homeland. Six years and Eric Dover still weeps when he first wakes in the morning. He sought solace here, but there is none. This land that was so filled with life now seems cold and lonely. There is no comfort here. There is no comfort anywhere. He walks through life with his once proud head lowered. Eyes cast to the ground or the distant sea.
The boat stops. He drops the traps. He sits and waits, eyes to the sky he cannot see her. She is mere feet away yet the distance spans more than space, it spans worlds as well. The Valkyrie watches her charge as always. Her heart is the heart of a warrior. It has known triumph and defeat, pride and bitterness, yet still she cannot help but feel some measure of sympathy for this man. It seems doubtful that he will fall as the warrior he is. His spirit is to damaged now. More likely he will slip off the side of the boat and simply surrender to the sea and it's promise of forgetfullness. His time is short now.
His destiny approaches.
Lightning.
His head jerks up. In the distance he sees the green lightning over Keflavik and hears the sound. The electric hum that only means one thing to him.
Death.
Looking north he sees it begin. Just as it began six years before. A horrific tearing sound, green lightning and a wound in the sky.
Hate.
With all hope murdered years before, Eric Dover knows what he has to do now. Without a thought he cuts the traps free and throttles the boat full speed for shore.
When he hits the dock he is going over 40 knots. The momentum carries the small craft through the wooden beams and 50 feet onto the shore. He leaps from the bow of the destroyed craft to take the first one by the throat. Breaking it's neck. The second falls with it's skull caved in. By the time the third one is down the rest are aware of this fearsome, silent giant in there midst and the battle truly begins.
Always a man of stature Eric Dover is a force of nature now. Having no fear and no need to walk away from this fight he reaps death and mayhem as if he were an avatar of vengeance. A fourth one falls, then a fifth. His hatred and loss have so blinded him that he doesn't see her until she is almost upon him. Screaming with fear the little girl rushes from her hiding place beneath the ruin of another boat to cling to his leg.
Five years old and golden haired she is the embodiment of this land. Her blues eyes streaming tears she grasps at the only thing she can see that doesn't want her tiny life snuffed out.
The sight of this child, so like his Elisa, wreaks havoc on this broken man's heart. His powerful hands grasp her gently and ease her behind him, offering what little protection he can he turns to face these adversaries of man once more.
As if on cue the legion of aliens before him part. Making a path, not for him, but for their champion. Seven feet tall it strides between them to face Eric. Cold eyes black and lifeless as a sharks the two face each other 20 feet apart. The champion of an alien culture bent on the death of mankind and the champion of a five year old girl.
A broken length of chain lies at his feet and as Eric bends to pick it up the alien draws his blade and the battle begins.
It's rush is fast and full of power. The blade falls with a supernatural speed yet the target is not there at the end of it's arc. Diving forward Eric slips beneath certain death as it crackles it's green malevolence inches from his face. He twists to the side, momentum carrying him forward, and swings the chain. The rusty links lash out and wrap around the alien's legs. With a superhuman effort Eric yanks the beast off it's feet. An angry cry is cut short as his fist slams into the creatures jaw. Another follows but lands short as the monster struggles to throw him off. Snapping it's head forward, it's boney brow impacts Eric's face with the sound of a gunshot. His nose explodes in a splash of red. His vision dims but refocuses.
He is needed.
The child behind him has ceased her crying. She stands silent, eyes swollen with fear. This fight will end with her death if he falls.
The beast is on it's feet again. Eyeing it's prey with new respect it dashes forward only to fall back again. Lunge, retreat, lunge, retreat. Eric hears the child behind him begin to weep again. The next lunge carries the monster further and Eric lashes out to feel a satisfying crack as the beast's blade is deflected into the ground. He smashes the alien full in the face with his fist. As it reels backward a keening sound erupts from it's throat. A cry of pain. Eric presses forward, grasping the hilt of the creatures blade, the two begin a battle for it's use that will see one of them dead. As they both grapple for the weapon the alien kicks out, tangling Eric's feet as it's own had been tangled. As he begins to fall he loses his grip on the blade completely. The strike is swift and powerful. The blade is buried in the left half of his skull.
As the killing blow is struck the Valkyrie knows this is the moment she was called to witness. This man has fought with the bravery of a worthy soldier and she will welcome him to his rightful place. She dismount from her wolf and waits for his soul to depart the mortal realm.
The child knows her life is ending as her champion falls and begins to cry with the unashamed fear that children have. The beast turns it's eyes to her for the first time.
Eric Dover is cold. Cold as death. The sounds of the mortal realm are quickly fading, as is his sight and connection to it. He sees the world from a distance now. A long way off he sees the girl, cowering before her approaching death. He is connected to that place by a thin silver thread. A cord whose essence is fast unraveling as the world fades. He turns away. Before him stands a figure of legend. Tall, golden, and graceful, red hair blazing, this armored woman extends her hand.
"Come warrior, your reward was justly earned."
He is so weary. So tired of loss and pain and the hatred that is the world. He needs peace. He needs this relief. He welcomes it.
The child lies helpless with terror. She screams with the wild abandon of one who does not care who knows, who does not care who hears. As her lungs fill with breath for the last time her heart whispers the only thing she can think of. She calls out for the one man who always made it better.
"Daddy..."
And he hears it.
Heart thundering in his chest Eric Dover raises his eyes to the woman before him and speaks but four words.
"I. Will. Not. Go."
Then he turns his back and faces the silver thread. With a rush and a crack he is hurtling back towards his dead body on the beach.
He is needed.
As the blade descends to end her small life it is suddenly stopped short. Not by another blade or weapon of any sort but by the bleeding, battered fist of the man who is Eric Dover. Knocked backward by the blow the alien stand transfixed. This creature is dead. It has killed it. It saw this. For the first time in it's long existence fear enters those black alien eyes. Placing a hand to it's wrist it activates a distress call. Portals open in response. In but a moment a legion of aliens will pour forth to end this threat once and for all.
Standing in the air above this scene, invisible to it's participants, the valkyrie stands in awe. This man. This man whose will alone was strong enough to defy the will of the Gods. This amazing man who is a protector of the helpless will surely fall now. The battle he faces is too unmatched. The army of his enemy grows by the score every second and he is weaponless.
Her hand drops to the hammer at her side.
"You came back for me." the girl whispers, arms going to his legs again as they make ready for the coming fight.
"Yes child. I promise I'll not leave you again"
His gaze returns to the mounting force he is soon to do battle with. They are hundreds now. If only he had something to swing.
A blinding flash, an explosion of sound and sand, and buried in the ground at his feet is a weapon of old. Black as night, inscribed with burning runes, a hammer lies half buried in a crater at his feet.
Something to swing.
...And the stars swirl and couple, tryst and tangle, their color changing from grey and lifeless to a sparkling silver, shining with hope.
Every voice in the room is still as she emerges from the pool. Even the howling voice of winter falls mute outside the doors. She climbs the steps to face her mentor with head high. No trace of regret in her emerald eyes. And if those eyes shine with more than just the water from the scrying pool, well, they are not alone. Face to face they do not speak but hold each others gaze silently until finally Brynhildr's voice rings out across the hall.
"Sveio!"
"Yes, my lady?"
"Send word to the brothers. The Valkyrie have need of another weapon. A hammer if it pleases them. One of our own was lost in battle."
"Yes my lady."
