Domstolens Kontorist lived in a very small hut near the Great Wall. It was an A-frame shaped building with a roof made of wood slats that reached to the ground. Her hut had but one door and no windows, but it received enough sunlight for an expansive garden. With a working, stone well nearby, Dom grew beans, turnips, carrots and cabbages. At the end of the path, from her front door through her garden, she planted a patch of lavender and rosemary.
From the roof beams inside her hut, she dried herbs and fish when she could find it at the market. One wall was lined with baskets filled with vegetables. On the other hosted her bed, nightstand and chair, which functioned as her sitting room as well. Though her hearth occupied little space, it could warm her home enough so she slept deep beneath her fur blankets in the winter.
She planted her seeds in the spring. Come summer, she traded part of the early harvest for meat and salt. In the fall, she pickled and placed her jars alongside her dried meat in her root cellar, which was no more than a hole in the sloped ground of her garden.
Her quiet life encompassed books when she could find them and mead when she could afford it and long walks along the granite wall that kept Vahalla safe from the ever-threatening trolls and giants. She kept her own company and spoke little to anyone who crossed her path.
If asked, she would have said that no one in Asgard knew she existed, and she said it proudly.
Once a season, maybe twice, Dom woke to a funny sensation, such as bees setting up a hive in her skull; nice bees who only wanted to make honey. She dressed for the weather before starting the long walk to the Great Hall. As she progressed, grass gave way to a narrow dirt path which expanded into a two trail dirt path for wagons. Soon enough, her small feet walked on stone. Around her, the houses grew larger, then closer together.
From the houses, the einherjar emerged with armor and weapons. Tall, scarred men and women with stern, ready-for-battle expressions paid her no attention as her short, plump legs scurried past. She didn't look at them so they wouldn't look at her.
No one did look at her.
The top, golden branches of the mighty tree, Glasira, outside Odin's Hall set her path. Once having climbed at the polished granite steps, Dom shuffled past the great, wooden doors, carved with the great battles of the Aesir. From the golden roof, Heiorun, the famed goat who provided an endless supply of mead, chewed a mouthful of green grass as it watched her pass. The great hall at the center of Asgard, Valhalla, echoed with booming voices.
As she walked along the wall, Dom gazed up as she always did at the marvelous sculpted stone. Each section was its own story of glory, honor and valour, preserved in cold marble and accented with Vanlig Rogn and Sommereik, Mountain Ash and Summer Oak. The beams and vaulted room rose too high for her to see what kind of wood. She did not look at the gods and goddesses sitting amongst the sturdy, elm tables, cleaned and polished for the night’s feast. She did not listen to what was being said. Assuredly, no one paid her any attention.
At the far end of the hall, on a small dais, sat Odin the All Father in his large, comfortable chair. In one hand, he held his most precious weapon, his spear Gungnir, dwarven-made and about as pretty as expected. He rested as he listened to the din. Dom walked to her usual place behind his throne, where she could watch the circus but the performers would not pay her any mind. She folded her pudgy fingers together while she inhaled a deep, calming breath. She found it too loud.
“Enough!” The largest and foolish of the gods stood. With his meaty hand, he stroked his bristled beard and held the mighty hammer, Mjölnir, in the other hand. It was an ugly hammer, with a short handle and poultry head, but it suited its wielder. “She has no claim! Her father was a villain and received no less than he deserved.”
Off Odin’s left hand stood a hulk of a woman; the object of Thor’s tirade. With her head held high, she stared at the All Father as if nothing being said mattered. Her well-used battle armor suited her stature: unyielding and wrought. A bow and quiver clung to her back and an effective sword swung from her ample hips.
“My father entered into a rightful bargain with an Aesir, and he upheld his end.” She lifted her chin and spoke louder. “For his troubles, he was tricked and murdered. I come before you not seeking vengeance, but justice.”
The roaring crowd dulled to murmurs. Dom noticed all whispers and glances were saved for one of the Aesir: Loki. The trickster god, master of mischief, lounged on top of a table near his brother. His long legs extended to the bench, crossing at the ankles. He smiled with only half his mouth.
“What do you seek, Skadi?” Odin said.
“Since my father is dead, I must find my own husband. I ask to marry one of the gods.”
After the hushed voices of the crowd ended in agreeable tones, Odin nodded his head. “You may marry, but you must choose your husband by his feet, not by his face.”
For a moment, Dom couldn’t quite follow the All-Father’s logic - until she spotted Skadi smiling at what everyone said was Odin’s most beautiful son, Baldr. Prince Fire and Music blushed whenever he caught the giantess’ stare, shifting uncomfortably in his seat between Thor and Loki.
“Agreed,” Skadi nodded, but she did not smile. Dom thought he would smile at the prospect of marrying pretty, pretty Baldr, but she did not. “Also, for my wedding present, I want to laugh again.”
“Done.” Odin did not wait for the rest of the gods to agree. He struck the staff of his spear upon the floor, indicating that the negotiations and trial was over. And just like that, the honey-making-bees sensation left Dom’s head. She exhaled as quietly as she could while that played before her rested in complete detail in her mind.
“Let us prepare a wedding feast while the groom is chosen,” Freya said as she stood. As supposedly beautiful as Baldr was, Freya was his equal except for her practical nature. When she spoke, the goddess rose from their seats and set to work while the gods removed their boots.
All except one: Loki. Dom happened to look up to see Mister Shenanigans himself staring at her. His face was unreadable. While the other gods set about their tasks, Loki sat. He lounged and stared at the small, roundish Dom standing behind the throne.
As fast as her little legs would carry her, Dom left the way she came. She walked out of the great hall through the doors, down through the quiet of Asgard to her small hut near the wall. After stirring the ashes in her small, sturdy fireplace, she laid a few logs before preparing her dinner. She sat in the glow of the fire and ate in blissful silence.
Until a knock came upon her door.
“Help!” came a wail through her walls of someone gravely injured. No one, wounded or not, ever came to her door. No one. For a moment, Dom froze in her wooden chair, holding her clay bowl. She held her breath.
Another knock, though weaker, came upon her door.
After wrapping her woolen shawl around her shoulders, Dom lifted the weathered latch on her door. She pushed the door open a crack, far enough for one eye to see out. On the ground, a tall, lean figure curled on its side. His hands pressed between his thighs, though the night and shadow obscured important details. Just as she pressed a weight to open the door more, the figure moaned.
“Help, please, help. I need something cold. Quickly! Please!”
Dom pushed open her door enough to squeeze through. Fire light spilled onto the cold, snow-kissed ground, missing the figure within inches. With her rumped pressed against her hut, she scooted past the writhing, moaning man to her root cellar. Using the rope handle, she opened the wood slate lid and pulled out the closest jar. She handed the pickled onions to the stranger.
“Oh, thank you,” he said as the jar replaced his hands between his legs. He sighed.
Dom waited. When he didn’t move, she shuffled back towards her house. As she reached the door, the figure sat up and leaned into the light. She gasped.
“Thank you, again.” Loki smiled. His sharp eyes stared at her, even though she stood in shadow. “That feels so good right now. You wouldn’t believe what I’ve been through tonight.”
She said nothing. She stood perfectly still; a rabbit in the gaze of a hungry wolf. She did not know how long she would have to endure, but in her heart, she commited to be ice.
“Say, didn’t I see you today? In the Great Hall? I don’t remember seeing you before.” Loki leaned onto his hip and propped himself up by one arm. He unclenched his thighs to adjust the jar. “Are you a friend of Skadi?”
Dom shook her head.
“Oh. Then I am surprised we haven’t met before. I’m Loki.”
Dom nodded.
“And you are?”
“Domstolens Kontorist,” she said while taking a side-step towards her front door.
If she didn’t know better, she would have guessed that Loki appeared surprised. He frowned for a moment, but nodded his head. “It’s very nice to meet you. Have you been in Asgard long?”
“For a long time now,” Dom muttered, unsure if she betrayed too much or not. From what she had seen in her duties, she learned not to give the gods too much information, other than the All-Father. She dared another stride towards her home.
“Oh,” he set the jar on the dirt before he knelt. Loki tilted his head. “And what is it you do here?”
She felt the teeth of the trap closing. Sharp, pointed fangs pricked her heart as she swallowed. She stood too far away to make a polite dash for the door with some well-intended farewell. Still, she siddled towards salvation. “Oh, I serve Odin, the All-Father.”
“We all do that,” Loki chuckled.
It sent a shiver down her spine. As she realized she was trapped, Dom panicked. “I record things. Certain things, not everything. Well, I record everything, that’s what I do, but only certain things do I write down and give to Odin.”
Mister Shenanigans smiled the widest smile. He perked right up, as if all the pain disappeared.
“That’s it.” Dom squeaked. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to go. Keep the onions.”
Polite or not, she ran into her hut and closed the door. Only once the latch slid into place did she breath. Once she caught her breath, she started to cry.
The next morning, All-Father Odin found the scrolls he expected on this throne; the yellow paper wrapped around a smooth and polished wooden dowel, secured with a simple, brown ribbon. When he picked up the top scroll, the two ravens on his shoulder squawked. His smile fell. He knew with undying certainty that these would be the last scrolls he would ever see.
There would be more, but only at the end of all things; only for Ragnarok.
At the edge of Asgard, near the great wall, sat an empty hut. Its garden remained unattended. Its front door swayed in the breeze.
From the roof beams inside her hut, she dried herbs and fish when she could find it at the market. One wall was lined with baskets filled with vegetables. On the other hosted her bed, nightstand and chair, which functioned as her sitting room as well. Though her hearth occupied little space, it could warm her home enough so she slept deep beneath her fur blankets in the winter.
She planted her seeds in the spring. Come summer, she traded part of the early harvest for meat and salt. In the fall, she pickled and placed her jars alongside her dried meat in her root cellar, which was no more than a hole in the sloped ground of her garden.
Her quiet life encompassed books when she could find them and mead when she could afford it and long walks along the granite wall that kept Vahalla safe from the ever-threatening trolls and giants. She kept her own company and spoke little to anyone who crossed her path.
If asked, she would have said that no one in Asgard knew she existed, and she said it proudly.
Once a season, maybe twice, Dom woke to a funny sensation, such as bees setting up a hive in her skull; nice bees who only wanted to make honey. She dressed for the weather before starting the long walk to the Great Hall. As she progressed, grass gave way to a narrow dirt path which expanded into a two trail dirt path for wagons. Soon enough, her small feet walked on stone. Around her, the houses grew larger, then closer together.
From the houses, the einherjar emerged with armor and weapons. Tall, scarred men and women with stern, ready-for-battle expressions paid her no attention as her short, plump legs scurried past. She didn't look at them so they wouldn't look at her.
No one did look at her.
The top, golden branches of the mighty tree, Glasira, outside Odin's Hall set her path. Once having climbed at the polished granite steps, Dom shuffled past the great, wooden doors, carved with the great battles of the Aesir. From the golden roof, Heiorun, the famed goat who provided an endless supply of mead, chewed a mouthful of green grass as it watched her pass. The great hall at the center of Asgard, Valhalla, echoed with booming voices.
As she walked along the wall, Dom gazed up as she always did at the marvelous sculpted stone. Each section was its own story of glory, honor and valour, preserved in cold marble and accented with Vanlig Rogn and Sommereik, Mountain Ash and Summer Oak. The beams and vaulted room rose too high for her to see what kind of wood. She did not look at the gods and goddesses sitting amongst the sturdy, elm tables, cleaned and polished for the night’s feast. She did not listen to what was being said. Assuredly, no one paid her any attention.
At the far end of the hall, on a small dais, sat Odin the All Father in his large, comfortable chair. In one hand, he held his most precious weapon, his spear Gungnir, dwarven-made and about as pretty as expected. He rested as he listened to the din. Dom walked to her usual place behind his throne, where she could watch the circus but the performers would not pay her any mind. She folded her pudgy fingers together while she inhaled a deep, calming breath. She found it too loud.
“Enough!” The largest and foolish of the gods stood. With his meaty hand, he stroked his bristled beard and held the mighty hammer, Mjölnir, in the other hand. It was an ugly hammer, with a short handle and poultry head, but it suited its wielder. “She has no claim! Her father was a villain and received no less than he deserved.”
Off Odin’s left hand stood a hulk of a woman; the object of Thor’s tirade. With her head held high, she stared at the All Father as if nothing being said mattered. Her well-used battle armor suited her stature: unyielding and wrought. A bow and quiver clung to her back and an effective sword swung from her ample hips.
“My father entered into a rightful bargain with an Aesir, and he upheld his end.” She lifted her chin and spoke louder. “For his troubles, he was tricked and murdered. I come before you not seeking vengeance, but justice.”
The roaring crowd dulled to murmurs. Dom noticed all whispers and glances were saved for one of the Aesir: Loki. The trickster god, master of mischief, lounged on top of a table near his brother. His long legs extended to the bench, crossing at the ankles. He smiled with only half his mouth.
“What do you seek, Skadi?” Odin said.
“Since my father is dead, I must find my own husband. I ask to marry one of the gods.”
After the hushed voices of the crowd ended in agreeable tones, Odin nodded his head. “You may marry, but you must choose your husband by his feet, not by his face.”
For a moment, Dom couldn’t quite follow the All-Father’s logic - until she spotted Skadi smiling at what everyone said was Odin’s most beautiful son, Baldr. Prince Fire and Music blushed whenever he caught the giantess’ stare, shifting uncomfortably in his seat between Thor and Loki.
“Agreed,” Skadi nodded, but she did not smile. Dom thought he would smile at the prospect of marrying pretty, pretty Baldr, but she did not. “Also, for my wedding present, I want to laugh again.”
“Done.” Odin did not wait for the rest of the gods to agree. He struck the staff of his spear upon the floor, indicating that the negotiations and trial was over. And just like that, the honey-making-bees sensation left Dom’s head. She exhaled as quietly as she could while that played before her rested in complete detail in her mind.
“Let us prepare a wedding feast while the groom is chosen,” Freya said as she stood. As supposedly beautiful as Baldr was, Freya was his equal except for her practical nature. When she spoke, the goddess rose from their seats and set to work while the gods removed their boots.
All except one: Loki. Dom happened to look up to see Mister Shenanigans himself staring at her. His face was unreadable. While the other gods set about their tasks, Loki sat. He lounged and stared at the small, roundish Dom standing behind the throne.
As fast as her little legs would carry her, Dom left the way she came. She walked out of the great hall through the doors, down through the quiet of Asgard to her small hut near the wall. After stirring the ashes in her small, sturdy fireplace, she laid a few logs before preparing her dinner. She sat in the glow of the fire and ate in blissful silence.
Until a knock came upon her door.
“Help!” came a wail through her walls of someone gravely injured. No one, wounded or not, ever came to her door. No one. For a moment, Dom froze in her wooden chair, holding her clay bowl. She held her breath.
Another knock, though weaker, came upon her door.
After wrapping her woolen shawl around her shoulders, Dom lifted the weathered latch on her door. She pushed the door open a crack, far enough for one eye to see out. On the ground, a tall, lean figure curled on its side. His hands pressed between his thighs, though the night and shadow obscured important details. Just as she pressed a weight to open the door more, the figure moaned.
“Help, please, help. I need something cold. Quickly! Please!”
Dom pushed open her door enough to squeeze through. Fire light spilled onto the cold, snow-kissed ground, missing the figure within inches. With her rumped pressed against her hut, she scooted past the writhing, moaning man to her root cellar. Using the rope handle, she opened the wood slate lid and pulled out the closest jar. She handed the pickled onions to the stranger.
“Oh, thank you,” he said as the jar replaced his hands between his legs. He sighed.
Dom waited. When he didn’t move, she shuffled back towards her house. As she reached the door, the figure sat up and leaned into the light. She gasped.
“Thank you, again.” Loki smiled. His sharp eyes stared at her, even though she stood in shadow. “That feels so good right now. You wouldn’t believe what I’ve been through tonight.”
She said nothing. She stood perfectly still; a rabbit in the gaze of a hungry wolf. She did not know how long she would have to endure, but in her heart, she commited to be ice.
“Say, didn’t I see you today? In the Great Hall? I don’t remember seeing you before.” Loki leaned onto his hip and propped himself up by one arm. He unclenched his thighs to adjust the jar. “Are you a friend of Skadi?”
Dom shook her head.
“Oh. Then I am surprised we haven’t met before. I’m Loki.”
Dom nodded.
“And you are?”
“Domstolens Kontorist,” she said while taking a side-step towards her front door.
If she didn’t know better, she would have guessed that Loki appeared surprised. He frowned for a moment, but nodded his head. “It’s very nice to meet you. Have you been in Asgard long?”
“For a long time now,” Dom muttered, unsure if she betrayed too much or not. From what she had seen in her duties, she learned not to give the gods too much information, other than the All-Father. She dared another stride towards her home.
“Oh,” he set the jar on the dirt before he knelt. Loki tilted his head. “And what is it you do here?”
She felt the teeth of the trap closing. Sharp, pointed fangs pricked her heart as she swallowed. She stood too far away to make a polite dash for the door with some well-intended farewell. Still, she siddled towards salvation. “Oh, I serve Odin, the All-Father.”
“We all do that,” Loki chuckled.
It sent a shiver down her spine. As she realized she was trapped, Dom panicked. “I record things. Certain things, not everything. Well, I record everything, that’s what I do, but only certain things do I write down and give to Odin.”
Mister Shenanigans smiled the widest smile. He perked right up, as if all the pain disappeared.
“That’s it.” Dom squeaked. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to go. Keep the onions.”
Polite or not, she ran into her hut and closed the door. Only once the latch slid into place did she breath. Once she caught her breath, she started to cry.
The next morning, All-Father Odin found the scrolls he expected on this throne; the yellow paper wrapped around a smooth and polished wooden dowel, secured with a simple, brown ribbon. When he picked up the top scroll, the two ravens on his shoulder squawked. His smile fell. He knew with undying certainty that these would be the last scrolls he would ever see.
There would be more, but only at the end of all things; only for Ragnarok.
At the edge of Asgard, near the great wall, sat an empty hut. Its garden remained unattended. Its front door swayed in the breeze.
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