Recompense [Fólkvangr End, Book 1] [Loki Fanfiction]

Chapter Fifty

Author's Note: Brought to you with limited commercial interruption...nah, I'm just kidding. Hello there, chums. How art thou? Are you going to kill me for how long it's been? It's been a while, and ultimately I had to make the decision to cut the final chapter into two pieces, SO, you will be getting another chapter after this one. It was just too long for me to keep intake and try to make one chapter without losing anything. The final chapter will be considered the Epilogue. And with that chapter I'll include some fun facts about this whole writing process! It's been a long journey, let me just say, but you are the best for sticking with it, joining along the way, or even just joining now! I'm all moved into college (NYU) and I am still very, very busy, but I took some time from activities to lock myself in my dorm so I could write for you guys and get this chapter edited! So, here is the aftermath of the battle for Asgard.

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I kneel in the soft candlelight, hands clasped together, glancing up at Fandral’s sword, hanging against the wall. The swords of all the fallen men of Asgard have been mounted on a wall of marble in the armory, the blades glistening clean and glinting in the low light. I catch sight of my reflection, warped in the blades, but not warped enough to distort the unsightly burns around my right eye. Loki tells me every day how much he respects them, how they give me character—but that doesn’t mean they make me pretty. And in time, they may heal a bit, but my eye will not. Eir has tried everything, from herbal remedies to magic, but nothing can bring back the sight Malekith destroyed. He left me both blind and without any traces of my Seer gift. He destroyed my sight and my blood stills boils at the thought.

I slowly unclench my hands, fingers trembling, and I breathe deeply, trying to calm myself. Despite my feelings towards revenge, I have yet to be able to shake the desire to destroy the Dark Elves entirely. Though I am hazy on the details of the end of the battle, I do know for certain that Odin was able to coerce the Dark Elves into an uneasy alliance after the loss of both Algrim and Malekith. No one was left to lead them, and they quickly fell to the chaos. Of course, I missed the reveling of success, and the many days after, as Loki and I lay cooped up, wounded and healing.

My good eye flickers up to Fandral’s sword once more and my heart aches. I don’t feel very healed. In fact, everything hurts more than it did before. Just because the physical scars are fading, it does not speak to the ones inside. I reach into the folds of my robes, drawing out the flask Eir gave me so that I could take my medicinal doses with ease. Of course, I dumped that out and filled the flask instead with ís eldur. I take a sip, already numbed to the burning feeling that courses down my throat. In fact, I can no longer discern whether the ís eldur burns hot or cold for me.

“I’m sorry,” I mumble, getting to my feet. I stroke the blade carefully, affectionately. I recall a day, long, long ago, when Fandral helped to whip my swordsmanship into shape. I wrapped my hand around the hilt of this very sword and he tried his best to teach me everything he knew. I wish that was the last time I held his sword. But it wasn’t. The last time I held this sword, before they enshrined it here, was to wash the gritty Dark Elf blood away. I scrubbed this blade clean so they could commemorate Fandral’s valor. It was the least I could do…I was not awake for his funeral. Though the remnants of the funeral pyres do still exist on the outskirts of the forest, just beyond the western palace gates, I have not willed myself to go there.

A hand touches my shoulder lightly and I turn, expecting Thor, or Loki, but instead it is Odin who greets me with a tight smile. “Odin!” I gasp in surprise.

“How are you faring, Valkyrie?” He asks gently.

My gaze flickers down to the flask in my hand and I lift it up in bleak resignation. “Surprisingly well, I think.”