Chapter Text
The next morning was a rush of preparation and a test of your patience. You had no time to process the fact that Heimdall could now read your thoughts, or that he was even affected by them at all. He had experience with ignoring the little whispers at the back of his head due to his foresight; you did not. You had no clue what he was hearing and what he was not hearing, but every so often as you were packing supplies into a magically enlarged sack for the Einherjar to load onto Gulltoppr, he would give you a strange look—it was always during the thoughts where you considered murdering him in his sleep, of course, but the bond was quick to force you back into neutrality and he would avert his gaze back to the task at hand.
It was both a curse and a blessing, in a sense. It prevented you from killing him, but it also prevented him from killing you, as well; which, in turn, led you to the idea that if it came to it, the bond would force him to protect you from Odin. The only reason the All-Father would have to harm you was if you tried to get the damned collar around your neck removed, or tried to flee his rule in going elsewhere. His spells, however, were the cinch in all of your plans: you were too weak to break them. Heimdall couldn’t touch what he couldn’t see, and so he was useless to you in many ways.
You withdrew a pair of wrapped leather boots from a wooden crate. They were sturdy and looked fit for the hiking you knew you would be doing in searching for the merchants, as one of the last locations mentioned for several of them was a spot on top of a high mountain. The insides were lined with a thick fur for the snow you would encounter at the peak, so you tucked them into your bag and reached for another parcel of clothing. Vanaheim was to be hot and humid, as you remembered it, so you could not wear your long sleeved and high necked dresses even if your body could tolerate the intense weather. Your next best option was a sleeveless dress that dipped low in the front and back with more than tasteless gashes cut into the hips to allow larger range of movement. You would wear a thin tunic underneath, but even that would have to be shed at some point during the night when the heat would grow more humid.
“My lady.” A Einherjar woman retrieved the sack you held and the dress from your other hand. Her features were blank, as if Odin had pulled every other emotion other than a desire for battle from her, and her long dark hair was pulled into a thick braid at the nape of her neck. She wore armor, but it was none you would be able to wear even in your dreams. “It is almost time to depart.”
You pressed your lips into a thin, displeased line. If there was one thing you didn’t like, it was realm travel by Bifrost. Odin’s ravens were messy, but they were preferable to the intense nausea and spinning vision the Bifrost seemed to give you. But Odin was away, taking Huginn and Munin with him after Atreus returned to his father—to Brok and Sindri. You had been unsurprised that he had left before you had ever awoken, but you wished you had roused yourself to slip him the letter you had written for Brok and Sindri to read. After that, Odin had left for the day and had said not to expect him for some time afterwards, claiming he was too busy to deal with your ‘little acts of rebellion’. You were certain Heimdall was reading your thoughts even from where he stood across the small wooden warehouse, but because of the vows you were ensured he couldn’t open his vile, treacherous mouth about anything you were thinking.
As if drawn by your thoughts, his fuchsia eyes darted from the Einherjar captain he was speaking to over to where you stood by the crates of clothing and supplies. He scowled and looked away, but you caught the smallest glimpse of his neck underneath the more higher necked tunic he had decided to wear and your expression of displeasure curled into one of slight amusement. He was doing a very poor job at hiding it—and when you noted it, he reached up and tugged the collar higher.
“How long?” You inquired, reaching for a collar that you could no longer feel physically. Your fingers brushed skin and you turned the habitual gesture into something more of a scratch, but the woman didn’t seem to care much about you besides what you were bringing on the journey.
“A few minutes. The Bifrost needs time to open.” And she was walking away with your bags in tow, leaving you to stand alone in befuddlement. You watched her go until she vanished on the other side of Gulltoppr, her head sticking out slightly over the lashing of his tail.
You had packed what you had thought you would need, including a balm for the rash you knew you would get trekking through wet snow in leather boots. It had never failed during your childhood and you would not go unprepared now, when you knew what to expect. You would be traveling with a small group of Einherjar, so any weapons had been confiscated before you would ever set foot outside of Gladsheim, To make it even worse, the Einherjar that had been chosen consisted of that same woman, a captain, two foot soldiers, and a—you were hesitant to even put an age to him—young boy no older than thirteen. The boy had died young and seemed to have been brought back at that same age, with no regard to how someone frozen in such a mindset would react to being resurrected for Odin’s army.
He took armor and weapons back and forth between the Einherjar, offered them food or wine, but you never saw him touch or take any of either. He did not wear much save for some leather pants, a tunic, and cloth boots that would never hold in the mud he was walking in. He had a plain face, plain features, and was completely unrecognizable, but there was something of familiarity that welled within you that could not explain. If you had taken out those Bifrost eyes and replaced them with shining gold, perhaps…
“Bifrost is open!” An Einherjar yelled from somewhere across the small clearing. You stepped outside of the storage house, your eyes breaking away from the young boy who had begun to jog towards the growing group of warriors. Gulltoppr’s tail flicked to and fro, irate at the many people surrounding him. “Rendezvous with the main camp on landing!”
That would be easier said than done. The Bifrost was not completely accurate in its location when it was sending more than one person through at a time. You could end up in the camp or somewhere wildly different, and while that may have benefited you once, you were without a weapon and power and if the whispers among the Einherjar were true, Vanaheim had become overrun with dangerous monsters as of late.
“Up.”
Your eyes drew to Gulltoppr and then followed the straps of his saddle upwards, to where Heimdall sat lazily at the top. He did not hold his hand out for you, the smallest of slights, and an Einherjar stood waiting to boost you up into the admittedly large saddle. Your eyes narrowed, but you rested a hand on the einheri’s shoulder and placed your foot in his waiting hands. He pushed you upwards with nary a breath of exertion and you shifted into a side saddle riding position, your dress unaccustomed for anything other than horse riding.
“So generous,” you sneered softly. The light of the Bifrost glowed around you to the point that you had to close your eyes against the shifting rainbow hues. “I wonder where you would end up if I pushed you off.”
Heimdall huffed. His words sounded almost distorted as your immediate surroundings faded, rapidly being replaced by the colors and whorls of blue, white, pink, and yellow. “You can’t get rid of me so easily.”
“I can try.”
Your words cut off in a strained grunt as the Bifrost dropped you in midair. Gulltoppr made up for the distance by orchestrating one of the most tooth rattling movements you had ever witnessed, twisting his torso in midair and landing on his front paws. You clung tight to the saddle as his back feet made contact with the ground, your stomach threatening to leap right out of your mouth. Other various ‘pops’, which were more akin to the sound of rushing water, surrounded the immediate area around you, each indicating the arrival of the Einherjar. You had to wonder how you had arrived first when you had been teleported at the same time, but you wiped the concern from your mind when a more immediate urge became apparent.
Dropping down from Gulltoppr before you lost your lunch all over Heimdall’s back (which you would have done simply out of spite, had it not been for the fact you would like to go the entire trip without being strangled), you made your way to the nearest thicket of bushes and emptied your stomach’s contents all over the forest floor. When you were done, you automatically felt better, the Bifrost-induced nausea gradually ebbing away into unease. You wiped your mouth with the sleeve of your dress.
“It’s a two day journey to the camp site,” an Einherjar captain was explaining to Heimdall as you tuned in to the conversation at hand. Your mood was automatically ruined even further at the announcement. “The Bifrost landed us outside the designated zone, so we will be days behind schedule.”
“Is that so?” Heimdall’s voice was full of disdain as he peered around the forestry. Small squirrels and butterflies were the only evidence of anything living in the area, save for the echo of running water in the distance. “Helms! Let’s get moving. We make camp at dusk.”
The forests of Vanaheim seemed to welcome your return to the realm. As you had refused to get back on Gulltoppr, you settled for walking in the middle of the retinue of soldiers with Heimdall leading. You didn’t want to talk to him at all at the moment, lest your mood be soured for the entirety of the trip. The flora seemed to reach for you as you passed, releasing pleasing scents into the air, and you would draw your hands across their leaves when you could reach them. You silently laughed each time one would reach out and slap at the Einherjar or Heimdall, picking the exposed parts of their legs or arms or, in Heimdall’s case, the back of his neck or hands.
“My lady.” Your attention was drawn to the same young boy you had been focused on before. He held out a leather flask of water to you with shaking hands. Young, nervous, and intimidated—you raised an eyebrow and he continued before you could speak. “Water. Your seem flushed.”
And perhaps he was right. Your hair stuck to your face and you could feel the sweat starting to trickle down your spine. The Einherjar seemed unaffected by it, but they were also dead, and so you accepted the water graciously and took a deep swig. It tasted faintly of Asgardian earth and your mouth pursed, but you could not deny it was refreshing when the heat was slowly beginning to pick at you.
“Thank you,” you said, after a moment, handing the flask back to him. He hooked it onto the belt at his hip after taking a sip of his own, careful not to touch his lips to it. “Your name?”
He shrugged lamely. “I was never given one.”
“Never given one or never had one?” You pressed curiously. Indeed, the more you looked at the boy, he looked oh so familiar, his plain features seeming to warp under your gaze. Eyebrows furrowing, you tried to look closer, but he appeared uncomfortable all at once and you were forced to look away. “I have made you uncomfortable.”
“No more than the other Einherjar.” The boy’s voice was quiet as he spoke. “I—“
“Eyes forward, wife,” Heimdall’s voice rang from the front of the group. You spotted Gulltoppr’s fur from between two Einherjar, and frowned. He had either noticed your attention wavering or your thoughts were becoming too distracted for him to ignore. “I would rather not have one of the helms fish you out from the depths of some carnivorous flower.”
While it may have seemed fond from any other mouth, from Heimdall it was an insult. The einheri laughed amongst themselves at Heimdall’s slight—that he would leave you to be devoured by some flower. Not that the flora of Vanaheim would harm you, as a goddess born there. You pressed your lips tightly together and looked downwards at your feet, then at the footprints being left behind in the mud.
You heard, rather than saw, the vine uncurl and lash at the back of your foul husband’s neck. He never let out a sound of pain, but you could feel it rumble through your bond unfiltered, and you could only snicker to yourself.
At your side, just out of the corner of your eye, you could see that the boy, too, was smiling.