Regina et Equi Nox

by NejinOniwa


Interlude I: Valhalla

INTERLUDE I – VALHALLA

ᛗᛚᛈ ᛒᛖᛚᚩᛝᛋ ᛏᚩ ᚻᚨᛋᛒᚱᚩ ᛫ ᚨᛋᛋᛁᛏᛁ ᛋᚻᚨᚱᛗᛋ ᛒᛖᛚᚩᛝᛋ ᛏᚩ ᛖᚱᛁᚳ ᚠᛚᛁᚾᛏ ᛫ ᚾᚩᚱᛋᛖ ᛒᛖᛚᚩᛝᛋ ᛏᚩ ᚡᛁᚳᛁᛝᛋ ᛚᛁᚳᛖ ᛗᛖ

Four days after Freyr's arrival at Gyldvik, the Ynglings left their proud village for good. Leaving their home had been tough, but everyone had known they'd have to sooner or later. Now, the final battle loomed; every warrior in Asgård was going to fight on one side or the other. It wasn't much of a choice, really. Those who stayed behind would undoubtedly die. If they survived the inevitable cold and starvation long enough, they would simply be killed off by the victors in their process of purging the land of their last remaining enemies – or nidings and traitors, depending on what side you were on.
Besides, who could resist the promises of glory that lies just beyond the horizon? Thorulf thought as he trudged on ahead in the snow. The fate of an entire world lies in the balance. Nothing can surpass it!

Regardless of any promise of glory, the march had been hard. The snow and cold had persisted, and grown worse as Gyldvik disappeared in the whiteness beyond. Of course, they were quite hardy enough to handle the damn weather. They had been for three years, now. Besides, they had no shortage of food for the journey; half a year's supplies were more than enough to last them on the trip to Valhalla.

The difficult part of the march had been the fact that it soon degenerated into less of a march and more of a refugee caravan trail. What first was only constituted by the proud, victorious Yngling warriors of Gyldvik and their families, was soon joined by scores of forces less fortunate – and far dimmer in morale. Kornbirke, inhabited by danes of the Yving and Gamje clans, was the first village they walked into. Literally. Built on a small plateau, they ended up marching full score into the market square.

Needless to say, it gave the inhabitants quite a scare, but as soon as Freyr emerged they were quite willing to listen to what they had to say. Before long the entire village was on the march, and their forces were almost doubled in size. The Kornbirkans weren't exactly well off, but they had held out.

That was not the case with the vast majority of people they came across, however. Most were already marching to Valhalla, simply to save what they could of their clan before they ran all out of food; and many had also suffered great losses. Caravans of half-starved Jormings and Gördings, Vallungs and Björkungs, all fleeing the only foe they could never hope to defeat. Time, with winter's endless hunger as its instrument.

They were close to their goal, however. Their home plains of Merrmonland were almost two weeks' march behind them, and they were now marching ever upward to reach the plateau upon which Valhalla was situated. Not the easiest climb; the Valhalla plateau was almost twice as high as any of the nearby mountains, and its slopes excruciatingly rocky. According to Freyr, at least – the snow made it just as impossible as ever to see anything beyond a stone's throw away. It was a tiresome hike indeed.

Freyr, who was leading the pack, came to a stop by a small ridge. After breaking their camp at the bottom of the plateau, they had been marching since before dawn in order to avoid being forced to make camp on the slope. Thorulf had no idea how far they'd come; the only time he had been to Valhalla was when his father had taken him from his mother's home to Gyldvik, on the Bifrost – and since he had been about 1 year old at that time, it was quite understandable that he didn't exactly remember much.

He approached his king, stopping a few steps behind him. “Your hi-” he began, before he remembered The Talk. Luckily he'd stopped himself in time to avoid another reminding session. He acts like I'm some misbehaving little brat. Baldr's balls, I'm over fifty! He shook his head. Though I guess I am a brat, by his standards. My own now, as well. Fifty years is not exactly old for a Vanir... I mean, how old am I supposed to get, anyway? How old is HE? Not that it matters with the final battle coming up and all. Still...
Fighting his instincts, he took another step. Then one more, and another until he was side by side with Freyr. My uncle. Not my king. My elder, not my liege. Gods, this is hard.  “Uncle Freyr. Why are we stopping?”

Freyr gestured ahead of him, a deep frown creasing his face. “The gatekeepers, nephew. They will fight with us in the battle, oh they will, but they aren't used to change. Centuries of nothing but gods and einherjar in their bonds, and now we're bringing a host of men to walk their stone. I have to speak to them to ensure our the safety of your people, and they're taking their time showing themselves. I...” He trailed off, noticing the look of total confusion on Thorulf's face, and sighed deeply. “I really need to teach you more than just a thing or two, don't I. We're dealing with trolls.”

Thorulf couldn't restrain himself from sputtering at this revelation. “Trolls!? In Valhalla? And they're fighting with us? I–”
Before he could continue, however, the air was filled with a thundering cacophony of rock against rock. The earth shook slightly beneath his feet, but that was nothing compared to what happened next.

An enormous construct of rock and earth, many times bigger than any jötunn, sprung from the ground like water from a spring. Not a single cloud of dust or snow escaped into the air as it did. Like it's been here all the time. Which actually isn't too far off, trolls being what they are, Thorulf realized as the creature lowered its massive bulk, bringing it closer to them. I can only hope they are as loyal to the Allfather as the k– uncle Freyr says they are. Fighting something like this...

His thoughts trailed off as he noticed the thing was looking at him. Not that it had much in the ways of a head, eyes or any other sort of defining features, but the feeling was unmistakable. Moments later it spoke up, with a booming voice as filled with gravel and stone as its body was.
“Fear not, Van-child. The wildkin are similar to us only in shape. They are fleeting incarnations, risen from mere desire to exist. We are permanent. We are the Allfather's wisdom. We are Valhalla. Welcome to our grounds, Van-child Thorulf.” Every time it mentioned itself, an echo of voices reverberated through the snow-laden air.

As the behemoth paused, Thorulf noticed a loud racket coming from behind. Turning around, he saw good number of his clansmen running towards them from the front of the pack behind them, axes in the air.
Having noticed the troll – which, considering its entrance, they'd be really hard pressed not to – they had most likely done what any man worth his name would have done when spotting a troll. In one well-trained movement they'd have slung their shields off their backs and raised their axes, breaking into a charge less than a second after spotting the beast.

Had things ended there, Thorulf could easily have defused the situation himself. Which things would have, had his men been like most men. That is, lacking the magical abilities that comes with only the slightest presence of Vanir blood in the flesh. Which, as they were Ynglings all through and through, was not the case. Decades of Thorulf himself insisting they train those talents certainly did not help either.

What happened was that half a dozen Ynglings lowered their shields to draw their horns from their waist belts, and sounded their Calls. With a deafening echo it washed across the white-laden grounds of the Valhalla plateau, its message ringing through bone and skull of all who heard. To arms! Trolls afoot! Trolls on the cliff! To arms!

Utter chaos ensued as the Call spread to the ragged masses of refugees that made up most of the caravan. For one, they'd probably never heard Calls before – magic had a tendency to inspire fear in those who didn't understand it.
However, they all knew very well what a troll was. Or, at least, they' have d heard the stories. Thorulf felt his eyes dim for a moment as a vision came upon him – thousands upon thousands fleeing down the steep, rocky plateau, dying in scores as they tumbled and fell over each other, all adding to the panic. The vision passed, and fire flowed through his veins. Red flames burned in his eyes and clouded his sight somewhat, and the now slightly more familiar feeling of his power rose up within him, gripping his spine and chest. He drew a breath, and fed the embers in his lungs with power, fanning them until they burst alight and sent black sparks coursing out his mouth. He let his breath out, and drew another – and suddenly the flames were an inferno, holding His entire body in its blazing armor, melting any snowflakes that strayed too close. He saw, and He spoke.
“Heel.”

As one man, the men on the cliffside came to a stop.

My voice... Thorulf thought briefly. I'll have to take that up with Freyr when I'm done with this. He's got a lot of explaining to do. Anger drifted across His mind, flashing briefly where it stopped. Later. Now, the humans...
He regarded them where they stood, an immense throng spread out over the massive slope. He could feel their fear – it was almost laughable how easy it was – and if He let them out of His thrall now, panic would ensue on even greater scale than before.

He would need to take action.

“Do not disrespect the guardians of Valhalla. Defy the land, and you defy the gods. You shall enter our grounds in peace and humility. March.”

And as one man, the humans started walking again. Walking in an orderly, if somewhat confused and uncertain, manner. He swept his gaze across their ranks a few times, until He felt satisfied. The fire died out as He let the power feeding it ebb–

By the Ravengod, what am I DOING?
He felt as if he'd just fallen off a cliff – both mentally and physically. His body ached everywhere, and he could feel small surges of magic still coursing through his body, spreading like fire in his veins and dying out as fast as they rose.
I never meant to... I tried to make myself heard, wanted to take control of the situation. I wanted to...

I was controlling them.

The cold numbness of his realization beset him in force. He would've remained frozen in place had nobody roused him. However, the gatekeeper had lowered its massive bulk, even shrunk in size to a more manageable height not much greater than his own. It put one of its immense limbs on his shoulder, and he could feel the weight of the world itself bearing down on him as it spoke. “You handle yourself well, Van-child, and there is much honor in your words. We are pleased, and grateful.

Then, it smiled. A tiny fissure opened in the massive rocky surface of its head, revealing a small row of shining gemstones beneath the crust. “Few gods could have done what you did here today. I shall stand at your side in the final battle. Land guide you, Vanir Thorulf.”

Moments later it sunk back into the earth it had come from, leaving only a deep hole with a patch of uncovered granite at its bottom, surrounded by towering walls of snow. Seconds later, the walls collapsed, and all trace of its coming was gone.

Thorulf looked around him, looked for answers in the eyes of his men. They shied away from his gaze, and gave him none.
Sighing, he turned back to his uncle, who had already started walking. Scrambling slightly to catch up before falling into his quiet trod, he moved to his side to talk to him.


Fear.

They trudged on in silence, just like the rest of the caravan.
Not a single word was uttered during the march to the halls of Valhalla – in respect of the souls they held, they were as silent as the fallen themselves in their march to join the Warhost of the Gods.

-/-/-/-/

A certain pony lay in her bed, restlessly flinging her limbs about as she struggled to catch some sleep.
It was hard. Very hard. She usually had no trouble sleeping when she wanted, and since she usually didn't have to sleep until she wanted to, it had never been much of an issue.
Until now.
Something just wasn't right, and she had a feeling that she was the one who'd made things wrong.

She didn't like those feelings, because all too often they turned out to be true. She was good at feelings. A little bit too good. That was just how things were.

“Having trouble sleeping?”
The voice wasn't really there, but it sounded like it came in through her ears. He'd told her it was because it made things easier to understand. Secretly she also suspected it was because he was too lazy to keep track of her thoughts, when he could just talk to her like anypony else. He was strange.
“Nopey-lopey! Not at all,” she said confidently. After which she immediately realized the exercise in futility it was to try and lie to someone who was effectively inside your own head, even if they weren't paying much attention. “Well, I mean, a little. Maybe. Just a teensy little bit. Which is weird! I usually don't have any problems at all sleeping and I don't think I've done anything unusually unusual today so it doesn't really make sense that I'd have it now because things are just as usual and–“ A massive gasp cut off her rant as she came to a realization. “Omigosh! What if I've done so much of my usual things that they've stopped counting? Does this mean I can't do them anymore or I won't get to sleep ever never ever again? Because I want to sleep! Sleeping is fun! Well, kinda. Sometimes. When you're tired. But I am tired! Sometimes. When I've really done a lot of things. And I mean really! Sometimes I... just take... a...”

 there so there wasn't anyone to talk to. Then again, she was usually pretty good at talking to herself, so that probably wasn't it.

“I see you're just as energetic as ever.” A pause. “You know they say that if you stay in bed for more than fifteen minutes without getting sleepy, you should do something else before trying again?” She perked her ears at this. “Perhaps tonight is a night you should try doing something other than sleeping. There's always a tomorrow, even if you don't sleep as much. And if you stay up, you might even get to have some kinds of fun like you've never seen before. Right?”

Her eyes were wide and her mouth hung wide open. That actually makes sense! She shook her head before thinking it over for a second. I can either stay here, not sleep and keep getting bored and frustrated, or I can go out and have some night-time fun! That's not even a choice, you silly! Her face split up in a smile, and she bounced over to the mirror, retrieving a variety of party hats from its hangers and putting them on her head all at once. “Okie dokie, Loki! Boy, I'm going to have so much fun tonight! Thanks a bunchie-lunchie!”

For a brief moment, she saw him in the mirror, smiling with that strange, scarred mouth of his. “It was my pleasure to help you, my child. Now go, while the night is still young.”

She did. Bouncing toward the door until she stopped, realizing she'd wake the twins if she went down the stairs at this hour. So instead she bounced over to the window, popped it open, and jumped.

“Hey, Ponyville! Guess what time it is!?”
There was a pause, as the empty streets echoed her high-pitched voice around town. Then:
“IT'S PARTY TIME!”

Downstairs, two baby foals woke up and started crying, as the figure in the mirror in her now empty bedroom gave a quiet little chuckle.