"Of course I’ll come."
A flaming sword is imbued with the power of fire. In Norse mythology, this glowing blade with destructive energy is wielded by Surtur, leader of the Muspelheim giants, as well as the alleged antagonist for the final installment of the Thor franchise. Thor 3 is said to have not one, nor two, but three leading ladies, one of which is Amora the Enchantress, the seductress and sorceress who can enslave anyone with a mere kiss; like Catwoman, Amora could be friend or foe, so things could get interesting. Also, the fates of Odin and Loki are unknown; if Thor 3 is about Ragnarok, then the latter will die. In any case, the movie is certainly happening, so we’ll just have to wait and see ourselves.
Fire Sword, by Dmitriy Grebenkov.
"Not when it leaves you like this." He pointed out, brushing a calloused hand through Melodi’s rich hair, trying to sooth her. "Tell me and I can help. I can not when you keep it all to yourself."
Looking up into Fenrirs eyes, it was almost like she was searching for truth in them.
"Well.. It’s just seeing you with Melrakki and the way you care so much, I guess it just got me all worked up, made me realise something I want." She frowned, looking down and snuggling into fens arms "it was foolish."
"There is nothing foolish in that…" Fen assured his mate, his words as warm as his lips against her head.
"What do you wish for, my sweet cheeks? Whatever shall I grant you to put you out of such a mood that you have found yourself in?"
The cosmos in Norse mythology consist of Nine Worlds that flank a central cosmological tree, Yggdrasil. Units of time and elements of the cosmology are personified as deities or beings. Various forms of a creation myth are recounted, where the world is created from the flesh of the primordial being Ymir, and the first two humans are Ask and Embla. These worlds are foretold to be reborn after the events of Ragnarök, when an immense battle occurs between the gods and their enemies, and the world is enveloped in flames, only to be reborn anew. There the surviving gods will meet, and the land will be fertile and green, and two humans will repopulate the world.
"Distance is not the AllFather’s current policy on such matters." Tyr explained, Maleficent’s points all good, but he explained that if the Moor’s were to be threatened, it would be that of Asgard’s finest to fight at her side if she so chose to join their forces.
"Your wisdom would be prized highly as well. If you wished, a place would be readily made upon Asgard’s council."
Otherwise calm features clouded a little with annoyance as the Faerie continued to give the wolf attention. It seemed it was a mistake to bring him, but now here, it felt like a subject he would not be able to avoid.
"This is Fenrirsulfr." Tyr explained, feeling the young god shift uneasily beside him, seeming restless now his chains had begin to slacken.
"Son of Loki and my war hound. He has done enough to deserve them, Maleficent, I assure you of this. I am the god of justice."
"Hmmm." The Faerie mused as she considered the chains anew, her eyes holding Fenrirsulfr’s as if to discover whether or not he thought his binds adequate and deserved. He instead seemed restless, pained. Bitter maybe. "I am not concerned with who his father was, or with his use to you. My concern comes from the remembrance of chains marring my flesh, and how such a hard touch never inspired a sense of justice or subservience in me. This is no threat to you, Tyr, I assure you of that. You seem a noble enough man and I know not of your ways - not yet. But allow me, if Fenrirsulfr will allow it too, for me to heal the wounds from his chains. I would consider him a Fair Creature, while you might give him justice I would give him protection. Surely we can find some sort of balance between them."
Maleficent offered her hand to Diaval, the raven climbing upon her wrist with ease before lifting to the sky. Her attention returned to the Asgardian seamlessly. “I have sent my servant to prepare room and food for you. You are welcome to come and discuss your terms of alliance with me, and the option of coming to Asgard for council. Perhaps some of your artisans and craftsmen should come and visit The Moors; I am sure there is inspiration aplenty for them, and they would be more than welcome - just as you are now. Come, you may enter my realm. I do not fancy being named a coward for meeting you on the border again after all.”
"With all due respect.." The Norseman began, for once a look of worry colouring the grey of his eyes. "You will more than likely lose your entire arm if you were to try. He is a beast unmatched. I do not mean to say you would not be able to defend yourself, but I would rather he not try and tear someone as yourself apart as he has done so many men before."
Fenrirsulfr wrinkled his nose with another growl, eyes darting downwards as though he were a child in trouble. In fact he wasn’t actually that old, or at least not appeared to be. Maybe 19, maybe 20. Barely a man with any stubble on his face. He had only been under Tyr’s care for a few years, the age of his silvery scars evidence to this.
He was pulled gently to heel again as his guardian began to follow Maleficent, now granted entrance into her land, that which they had been denied before. With the promise of food came another growl, one of the wolf’s stomach, but Tyr took no notice, instead assuring his host that her offer was most welcome, and that he was sure even the blandest would be inspired by a place of such beauty.
My mother, a wonderful person, asked me for a “key” for Pagan holiday names so she “doesn’t use the wrong name” when she’s writing holiday cards to our kids as they get older. I thought it was extremely sweet of her to ask for such a thing.
I hope my kids are patient with her as they grow up and correct her pronunciation sometimes (I can hear it now: “Grandma, it’s ‘sow-en,’ not ‘sam-hain!’ Geez!”).
I included a few civic holidays, and some that specifically match dates (Saturnalia, Lupercalia), even though I was mostly looking at Celtic names for things.
"I had no problem with you being thin." Fenrirsulfr frowned deeply, glancing up at the goddess where she stood.
"I mean, I admit it made me worry you were not feeding yourself, but my opinion about your body should not mean a thing… it is your body. You do what you see fit. You are beautiful, thin, thick, short, tall, blue, green or orange. I care little. I do care though if you are well and fed. I didn’t mean to insult you or make you think I did not like you or needed to change…"
"I did not say that you thought me unattractive, but I know it was a concern of yours that I was perhaps a little thinner than what you deem healthy. You have seen that I feed myself quite adequately. But it is good to know that even if I were stout and blue that you would still think me beautiful. I do not know that I could say the same for you though…" She added with a mischievous grin. "Maybe if you were blue. The colour does seem to suit you."
The topic left Fenrir nodding a slight, thin lips pressing together in a thin line. He was of Jotun blood.
"But are you happy that you have put on a little weight?" The wolf asked, stepping towards Nanna slowly, each step seeming to be drawn out as he eyed each subtle curve. As soon as he reached her, he came to rest upon a knee, pressing a kiss against the goddesses stomach and looking up at her.
“Oh my, hvernig þú hefur vaxið Melrakki.” (Oh my, How you’ve grown Melrakki.)
“Jæja einhver er ekki hljóð vonbrigðum, Lady Melodi. (Well someone doesn’t sound disappointed, lady Melodi.)”
“Er ég að ætlast til að vera fyrir vonbrigðum, lítið eitt? Vinsamlegast, Melodi er fínn, Lady gerir mig hljóð gömul.” (Am I supposed to be disappointed, little one? Please, Melodi is fine, Lady makes me sound old.)
“Þú ert ekki gamall, en ég vildi vera harður þrýsta til að finna konu betri en sjálfur. (You are not old, but I would be hard pressed to find a lady better than yourself.)
“Mér finnst að mjög erfitt að trúa Melrakki, Svo hvar hefur þú verið að fela sig öll þessi ár?” (I find that very hard to believe Melrakki, So where have you been hiding all these years?)
“Ég efast Fenrirsulfr logið um þig. Ásgarður (við Þór) að mestu leyti. Önnur Realms ekki svo mikið. (I doubt Fenrirsulfr lied about you. Asgard (with Thor) mostly. The other realms not so much.)”
The Nine Realms → Niflheim
the world of silent mists and primordial cold, whence the children of the mist and ice giants hail
"No." He shook his head, glancing about in search of his boots. They weren’t under the couch, or the table, or dirty enough to be in the laundry…
The Norseman meandered around for a second in thought before replying, shouting over his shoulder as he headed down the hall to look in their bedroom, telling Kida he was off to do ‘boring god stuff’ and by that he meant he was ‘stuck speaking to Vilje about something’.
At first she enjoyed watching the god dress himself but then once the show was over, she was just left feeling confused. If they were not going out then what was the point of him getting dressed especially going so far as to put on a belt. “Fen?” She called out and then she heard him yell back at her as an answer to her confusion. That was when she just felt completely disappointed and she fell back onto the couch with a huff of frustration, pouting dramatically. “But I thought we’d be spending all day indoor and in bed again. I didn’t know that you’d be going to see Vilje.”
"This is important, little one." Fenrir explained, coming back with his warn boots already tied and hair slicked back, the ends curling and kinking around the nape of his neck. He looked a little like his father, if not for the silvery scars on his face and the much more tanned complexion.
He kneeled before Kida and took her pouting face in the warmth of his hands, bringing his lips to her own to steal a kiss she wasn’t to forget any time soon before whispering that he would only be a few hours and she were to rest while he was out.
"I promise not to be long… but this is important."
The Nine Realms → Midgard
the world of a thousand wonders and endless extremities, where mortals have sprung their roots