Chapter Text
He knew this feeling all too well.
Hands uneasy, a slight tremor raced across the nerves as he gathered the freshly cut reindeer and tossed them into a pan. It always came on mundane days like this. Days where life was simple and harmless. Days that were almost poetically beautiful; where the clouds hung like feathers of a dove against the soft blue sky, where calm sang melodies through the wind and trickled down through the wood surrounding his cabin.
It seemed that when the world fell into ease, he simply fell.
It starts as it always does, an itch in the back of his mind. The incessant sensation runs deep, escaping only through that same subtle tremble of his hands. It was an everlasting queasy reminder of his countless mistakes and failures, the wrongs he could never seem to set right.
Ragnarok had concluded, he had done what was necessary to protect the ones he loved, to protect Atreus. It was always to protect Atreus , he told himself.
He had tried to show mercy, to not surrender to that vile reflection of his former self. Yet, he still could not get over the death of a certain god.
Still, he knew the blood of the innocent had stained his hands long before that. Killing incapable, unwilling pawns that stood in his way. Regardless, his hands could not possibly be tainted any more than they already are, soaked and dripping in violence.
Long before he became a god, even before he was a man, deaths of those deserving, and more so undeserving, had defiled his blades. With each death came that painful, pitiless pain; one that fed that ghost of a man that Ares weld as a weapon.
Even so, Valhalla was a turning point for him. Tyr’s strange invitation to face the past led to many revelations for him. It made him remember that monster that ravaged Olympus and decimated Greece in the name of his own selfish vengeance. Perhaps Mimir was right and joining Freya’s council would help heal that broken visage of a God of War.
Yet, it was that same monster that reared his head when Atreus was threatened. He didn't regret it, no. He would never for a moment regret protecting his son. But he did regret that senseless, merciless, and uncontainable rage that consumed him.
“Monster.” it was uttered, barely a whisper, through straining lungs and a crushed windpipe, as he watched the glow of the bifrost fade from the fearful Watchman's eyes.
He did what he had to do. But he couldn’t help but feel remorse for the life of one he never knew. Still, he knew enough. Heimdall was a threat. A threat to his family; a threat to the world.
“Monster .”
He was a miserable excuse for a God, making his death oddly satisfying, but that’s what perturbed him most - and that sheer terror that consumed the face of the Watchman seemed all too familiar- one that a ghost of his past was all too fond of.
“Monster …”
He was still right… even after everything… wasn’t he? He would always be the same man, a mere visage of his past, haunting the lives of those around him.
And no matter how hard he tried to move past it, it always came back.
“Uh, Brother, is everything alright over there?” Mimir piped up from behind him. He was propped up on the dining table with his usual book and spoon combination, however now he seemed more keen on Kratos. He had subconsciously begun to grip the metal handle of the cook pan in hand so hard the shape of it was warping.
There was a beat of silence. Then, a slight turn of a head; the firelight catching his eyes in a mildly unsettling way.
Kratos simply grunted as a reply. He moved back to the task at hand, preparing a stew that Mimir had suggested he try. Trying to refocus himself on the simple task of chopping vegetables.
“If I may, perhaps some fresh air could help settle the nerves?” Mimir advised.
Kratos took a moment to process his advice, bristling slightly at the direct notion of his well being. He had gotten used to Mimir’s unsolicited, albeit useful suggestions, over time.
However, knowing that never stopped his hackles from raising at the confrontation. It was instinct, wasn’t it? Or maybe it was something worse, something that ran deeper than he thought. Somewhere beyond the marrow of his bones.
Kratos sighed, he was going to pretend he didn't hear the sage advice. Even as he knew that this sulking would do him no good.
He steadied himself and resigned himself to his fate, perhaps some fresh air would calm his nerves, Norns know this cabin gets stuffy.
Perhaps, afterwards he’d go on a walk and check on the wolves. Or maybe he would leave to venture into the surrounding forest. Possibly he’d even see if Mimir would like to join him this time. Truth be told, he quite enjoyed the head’s stories. Especially the ones of his unruly adventures in his youth.
They had lived such different lives, experienced such different upbringings, yet Mimir had never judged him for it. Or, he never mentioned it if he did. He saw him for who he was now, not for his wrong doings.
Kratos made his way to the front door, he was just going to prop it open for the time being while he finished up his chores inside.
He reached a hand out, fingers brushing the handle. Just before he could grasp it, the rickety wooden door creaked open
There was a dead man standing before him, a gruesome ghost of his past. An unwelcome visage of his worst deeds.
“You.” The broken man before him croaked.
His voice was strained and weak, but the sheer hatred in his accusatory tone held power nonetheless.
There was a pause before he spoke again and a dreadful silence filled the air. The once peaceful atmosphere filled with birdsong and soft winds was now seized by an uncertain tension. It was then that he noticed the rusted dagger that was pointed in his direction, held in a hand that was clearly untrained and unsteady.
“ You have something I need.” Those eyes, now faded to a turbulent storm of rolling fog, took a moment to assess him, looking him up and down frantically like a madman.
The fallen god absentmindedly shuffled forward, his stance was guarded. Everything about him was tense. The man before him looked more animal than human. Rabid, cornered. He was hesitant, clearly desperate, and in no condition to fight.
“So, I recommend you hand it over.” The shifty, gaunt man before him was almost completely unrecognizable. If it weren't for his familiar attire and matching injuries, he may have not been able to identify him.
His once pristine white tunic was stained with old blood and earth, shredded along the seams. His waist guard was lost from attire leaving him more vulnerable than before. One belt remained tied around his waist while a second was tied haphazardly around the stump of what remained of his right arm.
“ That is , if you wish to keep your life.” That tone… still just as petulant and snarky as he remembered.
He was pale, paler than before, he looked like a sickly phantom of who he once was. His hair was partially undone, long strands of rogue dirty blonde hair fell from their once tidy braids. Dark rings hung heavily under those eyes that appeared as a miasma of smoke, merely a ghost of their former radiance. They were still enchanting nonetheless, like a tormented storm brewing on the horizon.
“Heimdall...” Kratos muttered, A meager, instinctive golden snarl flashed on the man before him. “I suggest you leave.”
“Not happening,” The hand holding the dagger gestured vaguely in his direction.
“Well, that is not until you hand over that traitorous head.” His voice was hoarse, yet it still maintained its arrogant and condescending tone.
Heimdall smiled again, this time wider and painfully forced. “ Then ,” he started, through gritted teeth, “Perhaps I’ll spare your son the grief of your well-deserved demise.”
Maybe he came here with a death wish, he considered. Perhaps his death would be the mercy Kratos could finally grant him.
Or maybe there was something else going on here? The peculiarity of it all was not lost on him, but he had enough unannounced visits from Aesir Gods to know by now that nothing good came from their sudden appearance.
However, Heimdall was weak and in no such place to be making demands. So, his decision was an easy one to make.
If Heimdall wanted a fight, he would get one.
He turned heel, watching the foolish God’s face drop into an expression full of confusion and surprise as the door slammed shut before him.
“What's all the commotion about, Brother?” Mimir piped up as he made his way back through the Cabin. “I Haven’t seen you so worked up since,” He considered it for a moment before continuing, “Well, now that I think of it, it's quite not an uncommon look for you, actually.”
“Hmph.” Kratos grunted, brushing off the sly comment. “It’s Heimdall, he's alive.”
“Heimdall? Alive? I thought you killed him, Brother?”
He gave no response, simply retrieving his weaponry as a bitter feeling made its way through his chest.
“Well, what did he want? Surely he wouldn’t come here looking for a fight. He out of anyone would know how that ends.”
He paused.
Mimir was right and Kratos had already considered that, so that shouldn't have made him hesitate.
Heimdall knew how this would end, and yet he still came here. He buried that sinking feeling the thought gave him as he turned back to Mimir.
“He came here looking for you. Why?” he questioned, but with his tone it sounded more like a demand.
“Me? I don't know…” Mimir paused, wracking his mind for an answer he wouldn’t find. “I mean, I’ve known that boastful bastard for centuries and not once has he taken interest in anything involving me. To be completely honest, I thought he despised my very being, even before I betrayed his deceitful father.”
“Hm.” He didn’t like the implications of that.
He didn’t like not knowing what threat Heimdall posed to those he cared about. But he hadn’t threatened Mimir, nor Atreus. He only threatened Kratos, musing over Atreus which he had been right to do. Perhaps he had considered that after what happened last time…but, that would imply he wouldn’t want to repeat his past mistakes.
Once again he doubted himself. Kratos’ brow furrowed and he contemplated the obscurity of it all. Why was he here? And how is he here? Furthermore, why did he demand Mimir? Odin was dead, Asgard had fallen. All of Heimdall’s allegiances were no more.
So, why?
There was a simple answer to those questions: he was desperate. But that was too vague and too broad for him to consider that was his only motivation. Which inevitably led to more questions that could not be answered.
Nevertheless, he still reached for Draupnir, picking it up from its mount on the wall. The cold medal of the spear ground his mind and just for a moment he felt a foreign solace.
“What do you plan on doing with him?” Mimir’s tone wavered, he sounded hesitant for once.
“You ask that as if you don’t already know.” he stated bluntly, still turned away from Mimir. He didn’t want him to spot his reluctance; he didn’t want him to worry.
“It's just… strange . I mean I thought he was dead, but now he’s here and asking for me of all people.” Kratos turned back to Mimir, watching as his eyes worried over his own thoughts.
He looked as if he was trying to solve a complex riddle Kratos had proposed to him… albeit remorsefully. “Perhaps we could restrain him? To get some answers from him at least. For why he’s alive for starters- and demanding of me.”
Kratos considered it. It would be all too easy to destroy the problem at its root. Kill Heimdall before he tries something deceitful and hurts someone Kratos cares for. But for some reason, he still felt pity for the man… even after everything.
He grunted a vaguely affirmative reply as he snatched Mimir and placed him on his hip. He would go with what Mimir suggested…for now. But, if Heimdall was unable to reason with or restrain, he would do what he must.
He reached for the door and wondered why he had heard no protests or demands from the Aesir all throughout his conversation with Mimir. It was all too quiet for the boastful god…suspiciously quiet.
He opened it in one quick motion, It was quiet again. The atmosphere seemed peaceful once more and Heimdall was nowhere to be found.
That was, until he looked down.
There in the muddied snow before his house laid the man, passed out cold, seemingly from exhaustion. He once more retrieved Mimir from his hip and faced him towards the spectacle before them.
“Well, that’s certainly a sight to behold. I was starting to wonder why the little trickster was so quiet!”
“Hm.” It was small, but there was a hint of amusement in his voice.
“Perhaps, you should bring him inside before he succumbs to whatever it is that managed to shut him up.”
Kratos nodded, he was right. If they wanted answers, he better get him inside.