Entry Eleven
I have removed from the record several months' worth of pages and documentation. Most of it is filled with complaining on the same subjects, pointless repetition, and information about my relationship with Terra that has no bearing on the purpose of this narrative. I shall summarize in short the important parts:
- Antares Mīrus has completed basic liaison training and Sleipnir has passed on his title and status to the younger stallion. Antares had also decided he would serve in this position best by working to imitate his mother's form of diplomacy. This severely irritates and frustrates me; more so because it has proven effective during the few missions I have sent him on thus far. Obnoxiousness is the most childish debate technique, whether it is effective or not.
- Terra is my 'official mistress.' She was named as a Lady of Valhalla by the council against my express orders after gaining citizenship in Heaven.
- Aria has been promoted to 2nd Division Commander for her exemplary skills and remains a highly-valued coach and leader of the new Valkyries. Terra has warned me that it is likely anger at me driving my former assistant, and that I should avoid her. I am uncertain whether or not Terra is joking on this subject.
- Gymbr remains mostly in solitude. He has developed a strange affectation for throwing dinner parties for myself and Terra; perhaps this is a method of trying to establish an amicable relationship and maintain some form of personable contact, although I remain unsure as to his motives.
- Brynhild, against all laws and regulations set forth by Valhalla, took her family on a quote-unquote 'vacation' to Layer Thirty-Four, which she has visited several times before. Upon her return, I sent a message demanding an explanation: Antares Mīrus delivered a message essentially saying that she was visiting friend and wished to introduce her child Innocence to the Princess Luna of that layer, known by the colloquial term 'Little Luna.'
- I docked two weeks' pay from Antares and sanctioned Brynhild, noting that she swore an oath to help maintain the layers and follow the orders and laws of Valhalla. Brynhild, in apparent protest, mailed a package to me, the contents of which I will not describe in this record. I have since given up all hope of exercising even a modicum of control over her family and strongly regret making Antares Mīrus acting liaison.
- The Pious have completed their Cenobium. As anticipated, they have attempted to ward it to prevent scrying, but it has had minimal effect thanks to the rampant energies of Asgard. The Pious have also begun spreading their Holy Word on the layers where their churches have been established, to very minor effect. Their unnatural appearance does not at all help their cause.
I will now allow the narrative to resume. On a final note, an appendix will be attached that will allow the reference of specific dates to build a distinct frame of time and better establish the chronology of events, allowing a more detailed cross-referencing of information and details should it become necessary in the future.
I sigh quietly as I stretch slowly out, grimacing a bit. Excelsior is still jotting notes, and the councilors are droning on. I don't know why, but I'm having trouble paying attention: yes, we're currently dealing with very small fiscal matters, such as petty cash regulation and a few other minor taxation issues, but usually I'm able to dredge up some minor interest and at least keep myself engaged to the subject.
Not today, though. I sit here, playing absently with my bone cufflinks – Terra made them for me, and they're slightly more professional than the bone and tooth bracelet – and just trying to make the time magically pass. Yet at the same time I'm far from anxious to be done work: Terra has made me promise we would go on a short 'vacation.' I'm loathe to think that she got this idea from Brynhild's little foray into a different layer.
I shake my head moodily: this strikes me, in a way, as encouraging Brynhild's behavior in the future. Or worse, acknowledging and even approving of it. I do not want to give any of Brynhild's ideas any positive reinforcement, no matter what they might be or what they might lead to. She has enough encouragement as it is from her family and friends.
The councilor finishes his speech, and I look up as all eyes turn towards me. I shift uncomfortably, awkwardly rubbing at my bare throat: even after all these months, I'm still not used to not wearing a tie. I realize they're waiting for some approval or argument, and... I'm not even sure what we were just talking about.
This is Terra's fault. I've never been so unprofessional before, or inattentive. She's a bad influence on me, and I know it, and she knows it, and yet... she's the only thing that can ever make me relax anymore, too.
I clear my throat as I sit up, then ask calmly: “And how many times did you review your assessment of the situation?”
The councilor fidgets awkwardly at this, then he says finally: “Well, only once, but it's a minor fiscal change, only a one percent increase to budget allowances-”
“Globally?” I frown at this, and the councilor shifts uncomfortably, which makes me think... “No, I see. One percent increase in minor worker allowances would set a precedent to allow a minor increase in other business funding, which I'm guessing would be framed by matter of importance. I motion to deny the proposal and move to have this agenda issue reopened next meeting. And any proposal, no matter how innocuous, that might serve as a stepping stone to allowing the increase of cash flow to your supporters or yourselves will be firmly and roundly blocked. Understood?”
There's mumbles around the table, and I sigh and shake my head slowly, reaching up to rub at my forehead moodily. I'm lucky I caught that. It annoys me that even in Heaven, these politicians are trying to operate by greed and wealth. That every single time we try and help the lower class, it ends up being some shadow play actually designed to benefit the upper echelon and those with status.
I glance around the table. The council looks chastened: lately, they've been trying to take advantage of my lack of focus, and it's irritated me. I'm loathe to think of what the two days I'm to be away are going to be like, but I've already made it clear that the council will not present any new bills or laws, and Excelsior will be acting as my proxy. He may be cripplingly shy, but he's far more afraid of me than he is of anyone on the council.
“If there is no other business...” I look around the table. No one quite dares to speak up or step forwards. “Then council is dismissed, to reconvene in three days' time. And as a gentle reminder, no new laws or bills will be considered or passed while I am away for two of those days.”
There's a few awkward mumbles, and I nod once before standing and moodily watching as the other councilors stand and leave. Excelsior and Pipsqueak are both looking at me, but I ignore them pointedly until the council has left the meeting room, and then I finally sigh and turn my eyes towards Excelsior, who is staring at me pleadingly overtop his clipboard. “You can handle two days.”
Excelsior shakes his head violently, and Pipsqueak clears his throat before saying awkwardly: “Not to step on any hooves, sir, not to be a bother but... perhaps you should consider – and just consider, sir! – the proposal that we contact Valkyrie Freya and have her manage things while you're away. After all, there are still things to be ratified and collections to be overseen and administrative details to be dealt with, Lord Kvasir...”
“And that is what you two are here for.” I say moodily, glancing between Pipsqueak and Excelsior. They trade looks past me, then both wince and quail at the glare I give the two aides. “Valhalla will not collapse in two days' time. You can both handle delegating duties and delaying any larger issues.”
I'm actually repeating arguments that Terra has used on me. It seems a little less effective on the two aides, but this is likely because I am not a large, demonic dragon, and or do I have the habit of attempting to swallow their heads when disagreed with. Irritated as the two of them might make me at times. It almost makes me wish for Aria, who was always more direct, more ambitious, more... capable of getting the job done.
I shake my head slowly out. That sounds worse than intended, and it's unfair to Excelsior especially: he's always been my assistant and always been successful with work. I turn a calmer look to him, and when the unicorn looks up at me uneasily, I say as gently as I can manage: “You can handle this task. I have every confidence in you.”
Excelsior sighs, shifts, mumbles... then finally lowers his clipboard and nods awkwardly to me, giving a faint, strained smile. I nod to him, feeling more relieved than I want to admit, before I turn my eyes to Pipsqueak as he looks worriedly up at me. “Your only job is to carry messages for Excelsior and to sign and send out prewritten memos. Considering that you have acted according to my expectations so far, I am sure that you can handle basic mail duties.”
Pipsqueak salutes awkwardly, but his smile – while nervous – is still genuine, and I nod to him before shaking my head out and muttering, more for my sake than theirs: “Valhalla is not going to fall apart. It's only two days, that's all. Two days is not enough time for the title of a bill to be decided on with our legislative system, let alone an entire plane of reality to collapse.”
“You're right, sir! We'll be fine.” Pipsqueak says in an optimistic voice, bouncing a little and nodding firmly, and... why doesn't that reassure me? Why is it, if anything, that just creates an even worse sinking feeling in my gut?
Excelsior studies me uneasily, but I shake my head and quickly push away from the table, deciding to leave before I have to reassure them further or they give me any more reason to doubt that Valhalla will actually survive without me.
I head quickly out into the corridor, shaking my head once to try and clear it. I feel... well... cranky, I suppose is the best word for it. I dislike the idea of leaving Valhalla, especially at the mercy of politicians like the Heavenly Council.
Maybe that's a little harsh, considering I wasted so much of today's meeting daydreaming like that idiot Sleipnir would. Maybe it's just that I loathe the idea of being completely out of contact and control. I don't like feeling like I'm leaving my property in the sometimes-fumbling hands of others. And of course, there's also the fact that I am a little politically-minded myself.
I walk down the corridor, trying not to think too heavily on this subject. I really have no desire to psychoanalyze myself: I don't care why or how I function, nor how I've been affected by my past experiences with Valthrudnir and the other figures who have influenced my view of the world; I only care that I do continue to function first and foremost. Productivity, responsibility, dependability, modality and lastly appearance, in that order.
I brush at myself absently, then look up as I realize I've already reached a central corridor before sighing as I see Terra trundling towards me. She's bouncing eagerly along on her claws, grinning at me like an excited child, and the moment we reach each other she leans forwards and immediately licks my face like a sloppy dog. I groan in irritation. “Not in public.”
“Oh, don't be like that, Kvas. Everyone knows anyway.” She huffs at me, and I scowl back at her grouchily, but she and I both know this is more posturing than anything else. A minor attempt at me keeping the little dignity I have left.
Then she reaches up and musses up my mane before grabbing my horn and using it to shake my head briskly. I only continue to look at her sourly, refusing to flinch, but she barely seems to notice as she chirps happily: “But now we get to go and spend a weekend together!”
“Two consecutive days are not automatically a weekend. Especially when they are not a weekend.” I retort, and Terra replies by just leaning down and staring at me, until I finally sigh and roll my eyes. “Let's please just get this over with. We need to finish packing, and then go. The sooner, the better.”
“That's the spirit!” Terra declares positively, looking at me brightly.
“The sooner we're gone, the sooner I can get back.” I mutter, and Terra grumbles and grabs at me, but I lean quickly out of her reach. “Stop that.”
“If you paid as much attention to me as you did at work, I'd be a wreck every single night, nothing but melted metal from all the sex we'd be having.” Terra complains, and I roll my eyes again as we automatically fall in step with each other, heading towards what are now our shared quarters.
She leans down and shoves her muzzle childishly into me, and I absently push her head back, letting my hand stroke gently over the slope of her skull in an affectionate gesture even as I keep my eyes forwards. It's a disguised motion, but Terra smiles happily at it all the same, as if I'd shared one of her awkward, uncomfortable public affections instead of hiding my touch in a push.
We reach our room with only a little more shoving at each other. I note that Terra has almost finished packing, but left enough room in the travel bag for me to add a few personal items.
I nod to her to show my gratitude, then turn towards the dresser... and frown in surprise at the wooden box on it before I sigh and say mildly: “Terra, you know that I have one rule about this one dresser, and that's it. Please keep the top of this clear for my things...”
But Terra is looking at me with excitement, her eyes bright and expectant. I frown further at her, then my eyes draw back towards the wooden box, reaching a hand out to touch it hesitantly as I look down at the smooth top surface.... and realize my name is carved into it in an ancient runic script, long forgotten by most demons, by most gods even... but what I first learned to read and write in. A fact about me that... only Terra knows.
My fingers slid down, grip the edge of the box, and open it; inside, resting on a soft cushion, there's a gorgeous necklace that's made from ivory teeth and claws and gleaming platinum beads...
I study it, then look up at Terra in disbelief, and she smiles at me warmly before saying softly: “I wanted to finish off your outfit, Lord Kvasir. You seem to need to wear something around that neck of yours, even if it's just so your silly fingers have something to play with. So I put a little something together for you, teeth and claws and folded and shaped scales. I hope it's okay.”
I don't know what to say. It touches me, more than I want to admit. I reach down, stroking silently over the artifact, licking my lips a little before I clear my throat and murmur: “Terra... thank you.”
I still remember how stupid I thought her first gift to me was. I remember how it felt awkward, how it seemed almost barbaric... and now, just the thought that Terra made this necklace for me...
She has changed me. Made me a better person, helped me find myself, find some... more peaceful part of myself, that doesn't concern itself as much with what other people think. That is able to be a little selfish, but in the best of ways; that is able to look out and actually factor in emotions instead of just going by logic and numbers, important as I know that is in my line of work.
Terra only smiles and shrugs, then she leans forwards, saying eagerly: “Well, put it on, put it on! It should still carry my energy, I wanna see how well it works with you.”
This makes me feel less confident. I've learned that in Terra's culture, these bone objects are a way of showing... affection, importance, and sort of... a territorial marker as well. Not property wise, but more like what a ring serves to certain cultures and peoples. Even if that thought also made me feel... a little bit awkward. I've also learned that these objects, when they're made with a dragon's own claws and teeth – and scales, in this case, I suppose – can be enchanted with ease to be permanent attachments, or... for other purposes.
I look mildly at Terra, and she sighs and looks back, saying grumpily: “Oh come on, Kvas. It was one little... cultural error last time. Besides, you weren't that grossed out.”
I grimace a bit: a few weeks ago Terra decided to share dinner with me. The food was strange but edible... until I found out the drinks were made from strained and spiced blood, and the food itself was comprised of the organs of intelligent demons she had hunted down while in Helheim and killed for our meal, then carefully prepared. Terra may be cute, and childish, and is plenty friendly and obeys Valhalla's laws and etiquette... but she also is both a demon and a dragon. And not a dragon who lived in a pony-dominated Equestria, but a much-rougher country in a layer of Midgard that has long collapsed since her lifetime.
It's easy to forget, but she and I both have our quirks, and our... pasts. But I do trust her, and I... I care very deeply about her. So finally, I sigh, and I grumble a little as I slip the necklace on, then look down at it as it sizzles quietly with energy, the teeth in particular glowing: but from the research I've done and what Terra has shared with me, her species of dragon has teeth that can easily carry a powerful charge of magical energy, part of what allows them to bite through even the hardest of metals. It also means that once removed, they're very easy to enchant in a wide variety of ways.
The glow settles, but I can still feel the magic. I frown after a moment as I raise a hand, feeling it seem to respond to me, and I flick my fingers a few times as I concentrate on the magic energies. The necklace jumps a little as energy crackles over it, and Terra giggles quietly before she says kindly: “It's really nothing major, Kvasir, honestly. It's a beacon charm, so I always know where you are.”
“Wonderful.” I mutter. The part that almost bothers me is that... it actually is. For some reason, it really means a lot to me that Terra apparently wants to be able to know where I am at all times. I glance up at her as she smiles at me brightly, and then I sigh quietly as I reach up and play slowly along the necklace before mumbling finally: “I... appreciate it.”
“Good.” Terra strides over to me and leans down, and I meet her for a gentle kiss. It only lasts a few moments, but it reassures me, it clears my mind, it makes me feel... better. When she steps back, I look up at her, still awkwardly playing with the necklace, and she smiles at me softly. “Now come on, Kvasir. I really am eager to get out of here. I've been looking forwards more than I can begin to say to having just some me-and-you time, you know.”
I sigh and nod a little, then turn back around and open the top drawer of my dresser to pull out a few personal items: a comb, a toothbrush, some other odds and ends. Many of Valhalla's residents may be content with stained teeth and messy hair and... everything else... but I am not one of them. I might not trust appearances, but I am responsible when it comes to my own hygiene and health. “It... it will be nice. But I wish we could at least stay in Asgard.”
“No, no, no! I want to spend some time on Midgard, and you said we could, Kvasir!” Terra complains. I shift grouchily, and then the dragon adds: “And we'll take one of your journals so you can keep up your silly log thing, and... you know, you really don't need to bring that stuff. You can't get cavities and I'm pretty sure your mane is always perfect. You're like a girl like that.”
I scowl at her as I place my things carefully in the bag, after double-checking that they're all safely secured inside their individual cases. “I don't like the idea of food rotting between my teeth. Nor do I enjoy having filth in my mane. I take care of myself.”
“You take too much care of yourself. Also, you're a shapeshifter. I still say you should just be a dragon like me. That would get you respect, and your teeth would always be shiny, and you'd have no hair.” Terra suggests brightly, and I sigh as I close up the travel bag, shaking my head.
“I am not interested in getting respect simply by magically making myself large and scary. I desire them to respect me for my mind, and my ideas. And this form is... suiting enough for those purposes.” I gesture at myself absently. “I am also supposed to represent what is in the best interests of the majority of Midgard. The majority of Midgard is comprised of equine species, the most well-known of which are the three races of so-called pony. Therefore...”
Terra groans and rolls her eyes, then she leans forwards and opens her mouth wide, but I quickly draw my head back before she can clamp her jaws over it. So instead her teeth only click loudly together in thin air, and she huffs before saying flatly: “You just like to complain. And primp. And preen. I can preen too, you know.”
“Yes, you can polish yourself. You're made of metal.” I say distastefully, and Terra grumbles. We glower at each other, and then I glance upwards and grimace a bit as I mutter: “I should head up to my office and turn my enchantment off.”
“No, no, you should leave it on. For all you know, it could keep recording while we're gone.” Terra says pointedly, and I give her a flat look, but she only shakes her head vehemently. “Well, you don't know either! And if it's relay magic, or psychic-based or something, maybe it'll... stop writing once you leave this plane, but the moment you return, it'll fully write out the events of everything that happened or something.”
I pause and think about this for a moment. Technically she's correct, but I feel a stubborn need to not admit that. Yet at the same time I dislike lying to Terra, so I move on with my next best option of simply... moving on. “We should get going, either way. The more time we spend here, the more likely it is that something is going to happen to disrupt our plans. I know neither of us want to risk having to stay behind in Valhalla, after all.”
“Well, you kind of do. Or did. Now you're just trying not to admit that I'm smarter than you, that's all.” Terra says smugly, and I sigh tiredly before picking up the travel bag and moodily throwing it over my shoulder, and then I grimace when Terra firmly bites the back of my collar and tosses me over her shoulder onto her back, her metallic scales automatically shifting so they form into a comfortable kind of seat for me. “But yay, trip!”
“Yay, trip.” I repeat dryly, and then I sigh and rub slowly at my forehead with one hand, muttering: “I really hope this is worth it, Terra, and that we don't attract the attention or ire of whatever races dwell in the layer we're heading to.”
“Oh, shush. We're going to be fine. We won't even be in Equestria, we'll be vacationing on one of the oceanic islands.” Terra replies quickly, and I sigh a little again as the dragon turns and heads for the door, before I wince and drop low against her as she squeezes through the double doors, narrowly avoiding getting knocked off thanks to the size and less-than-careful movements of the dragon.
She happily bounces through the halls, and I sit up a bit, shifting to get more comfortable as I give flat looks to anyone stupid enough to stop and stare at us. Most of those around Valhalla know to just keep moving, though, and admittedly this has become a more and more common sight lately. Although I'm still far from fond of Terra's habit of carrying me around on her back.
Terra at least knows where to go... but she does have the advantage of honed hunting instincts mixed with long-developed tracking skills, and the fact that her job as an import-export officer also means she's very often monitoring or actively using civilian and-slash-or merchant portals. She's also worked very hard to memorize Valhalla's entire layout over the years she's been here, and done a surprisingly good job of it: I just wish that she didn't seem to need to constant talk or hum while walking.
I'm paying attention, but not as much to the subject and her words as to what she's saying beneath it. She likes to talk, but I've learned that beneath everything, there's a secondary message: that the real conversation happens beneath her barrage of words on... bunnies, or rocks, or her new favorite thing. Right now, for example, she's talking about her culture... but while most of it is repetition on the same things she's told me about her tribe over and over again, there's... a distinct subtext.
I understand after a moment, and lower my head a little, reaching forwards and quietly touching the back of her skull. She quiets, then smiles over her shoulder at me, and our eyes meet for a moment as her pace slows through the hall before I lean down and say quietly: “I do care about you, and I'm not ashamed of the fact that you are a demon or a tribal dragon. I just... that's hard for me. To say or to think about, or to... show.”
“I don't blame you. I don't. I just get... I'm a hoarder, like most dragons. You know that.” Terra replies quietly, smiling and blushing as she looks ahead, turning down a wide hallway and adding in an almost-embarrassed voice: “And I don't... think of myself as owning you, of course, I know that... well, you know I want you to be honest, and I want you and me to be... you and me, but I know really I have no real say in whether or not you, you know...”
“You do have a say. I remember what we agreed on but I have... your title is mistress, but you're more than that to me, even if there's all these laws and rules regarding our kind of relationship and who the King of Valhalla is supposed to... pursue. I... my interest is in you.” I say gently, and Terra blushes deeply as she looks up with a warm smile over her shoulder, before I clear my throat and mutter: “We should talk about this in private, though. Please watch where you're going.”
“Oh, it's fine, I'm not going to-” And then I grimace as Terra accidentally steps on a Nibelung, squashing the warrior with a yelp, and she hurriedly leaps off him and manages out an apology before rushing onwards... and with her great size and the sudden burst of speed, knocking flat several more unfortunates in her way, making me sigh tiredly from atop her and drop my head forwards into one hand. I'm suddenly very glad that we'll be gone and out of contact for the next two days.
Terra hurries onwards until she reaches the Waystation: a massive, restricted-access transit hub on one of the sublevels of the Castle. There are at least twenty-five different portal rings, all of them made by the hands of experienced Nibelung Architects or gods, all of them permanent fixtures and hooked into their own individual power sources to ensure that even if there's a massive disruption of magic or energy through Valhalla or Asgard, the portals will still function enough to either evacuate or bring in reinforcements.
Some of these portals connect to other permanent portal structures, like interdimensional bridges: some of these portals are more like rails on a switch, capable of rotating between several different points. And a rare few that are under special guard are capable of creating a temporary bridge to any location, provided that a person possesses the right knowledge and coordinates.
Terra is heading for one of these rarest portals now, on the lowest ring of the Waystation: we pass both patrolling guards and enormous sentry golems, neither of which pay us any attention. We may be a strange sight, but it's not like I can say either of us aren't well known.
We reach the foyer in front of the portal I scheduled us to travel out from in good time, only a little early. I slip off Terra's back, absently shouldering the bag and gesturing irritably at one of the employees: a divine being, bipedal, pale skin and large dark eyes. Similar to a race from another world, but a little more durable. They make good workers for more delicate operations around Valhalla.
“Sorry Lord Kvasir, we're a little behind. There was a problem while we were getting ready.” he apologizes, and I frown slightly at this even as I gesture that it's alright. “Just a minor power surge as we were testing the portal.”
“Another one?” It strikes me as a little odd. Over the past few years, we've been experiencing strange power surges now and then, mostly from the larger and more powerful portals. I've been told it's some kind of reactionary effect from Asgard's energies, but so far no explanation has actually been able to... explain it. No tampering, modifying, or technical adjustments have done anything to prevent the surges, and the minor damages they cause the portals when they occur.
“Yes, sir. Your coordinates were lost, although the good news is that the planar map wasn't scrambled.” the angel says quickly with a smile and a salute, and I nod meditatively. I like that at least some of these divine beings we've offered sanctuary to are actually appreciative and thankful of the fact that they have a place to stay and work.
He hurries away after a moment back towards the gates that seal off the portal room, and I sigh before turning my eyes towards Terra, as she only shrugs and smiles. “Hey, we'll still probably be out of here on time, Lord Kvasir. That's a lot better than usual.”
I nod grudgingly, shifting the carry-bag against my back before I turn my eyes back towards the gates, muttering: “True. But it's a concern-”
“It's a tic. Seriously, Kvas, you're dealing with massive, temperamental time-space technology in a place charged and rife with magic energies.” Terra says pointedly, and I grumble and nod moodily before the demon adds: “And these were made from designs ancient even by Nibelung standards, right? Of course they're not entirely stable, who knows how much they had to fiddle with and guess at while putting them together?”
“I don't like the thought of that. I'd rather not hear that my portals are made with random parts and guesswork.” I say moodily, but Terra only laughs and shakes her head, looking down at me with entertainment.
“Everything starts as guesswork, though. What you do, what I do... facts come from guesswork. Even your boring god-stuff started as guesswork.” she argues, and I feel this urge to smack her. I resist, mostly because I know it'll just make her giggle and I'll probably hurt my hand with her being a giant metal dragon and all.
Thankfully we're spared further argument as the gates sealing off the portal room rumble their way slowly open. I look up and note that Nibelung and a few angels are finishing the last of the adjustments around the circular frame at the back of the half-dome shaped area, while another is setting dials at the wide, circular control panel.
Everything looks secure: sometimes the power surges cause metal panels to pop open or wires to come loose or, as happened with one particularly-nasty incident, the frame to distort. But the Nibelung Architects have been carefully recalibrating and fortifying the portals, and they're much stronger now than they used to be. Apparently adjusting both the frames and their frequency of response has been cutting down on the surges, and it's true: they've become much less and less noticeable. Perhaps now are only minor inconveniences, which gives me some hope that in the future, we won't have to worry about the fluxes at all.
Terra and I stride forwards, and we're met by an Architect in flowing robes. The dwarf bows to us, putting his clawed hands together, the shorn-down tips of the tusks sticking out of his wolfish muzzle covered by small silver caps. “Lord Kvasir, Lady Terra. The portal is just about recalibrated and ready for travel use. We just have to reprogram the planar map and coordinates, and the portal will be back in full working order.”
I nod at this with relief, then look up and study the Architect, paging through my mental library of names before saying finally: “Thank you, Nile. Do you have any further information about the energy pulse that occurred?”
Nile shakes his head, the Architect replying after a moment: “None, I am afraid. I am still unsure as to the source, but I will consult my brethren from the Academy, and we shall pool our resources again. Perhaps you should consider speaking to Valhalla's allies when you return: they may know more about this with their own travels. Do not forget that we are... in a process of rediscovery.”
I nod again, then sigh and look mildly at Terra when she steps forwards and noses at me like a... well, a riding horse is the first thing that comes to mind, but thanks to these insipid ponies, it seems like every metaphor I go to has something to do with the equine species. I absently push at her, then look ahead at the portal as it glows with energy.
The workers have apparently finished their repairs on it, and I mentally calculate the time before nodding once. We might be able to stay on schedule after all... even if I'm well aware that any pretense of an agenda is going to fall apart the moment we're through the portal, but for now pretending that things are all set and rulered helps to settle my nerves.
Terra looks happy, though, and right now, that's the most important thing to me. I can almost feel her excitement, and even though I know I'm probably going to regret the next two days, all the same I feel like I'll enjoy them, too. As long as I get to spend them with her.
This edit is to note that the moment we began to approach the portal, the enchantment was distorted, then dispelled. I have removed several paragraphs of nonsense gibberish, and the narrative will resume one day after returning from my vacation. No relevant events occurred while Terra and I were away from Valhalla.
I close my eyes as I rub slowly at my features, then shake myself out, making my necklace jingle quietly around my neck. I'm still a little surprised Valhalla did so well without me: it's both reassuring and leaves me feeling... well... somewhat like a parent who's just realized his child doesn't need him anymore. It... stings, in a strange way.
I shake myself out, then pick myself up and step around my chair, pushing it into my desk and leaning over it. My office is neat and tidy, I've completed all the forms that were in my inbox, the meeting with the council went smoothly and I know that I should be feeling good, or at least accomplished. But for some reason I don't.
Maybe it's just because I have this... feeling in my gut. Maybe it's because I can't help but think that somehow... this is all leading up to something terrible happening, that everything is going to go into a decline. I want to lay it at Gymbr's claws, blame my own obsessive-compulsive needs, or any of the thousands of other issues I deal with every day, but... no. I don't think it's any of those things.
I don't know. Maybe it's because things have been so good recently, and I don't feel that I really deserve this. I don't think I deserve the happiness and the freedom that Terra brings me, with how responsible I feel for the shape that Valhalla is in, thanks to my actions and inaction. I don't feel that I should be so free to pursue all these hopes and dreams when Terra is still only called my 'mistress,' and I've let myself be bound by laws that... I have the power to change. That, better yet, I have the power to completely ignore.
I push myself away from my chair, then walk around my desk and head to the open door. I close it carefully behind me, listening to the snick of the lock and reflecting on the fact that locks really don't serve any purpose in keeping the people I want out of my office, out of my office; they only stop the people I want to spend time with from getting in.
That strikes me as a particularly-morbid thought. I wonder what's gotten me so frustrated as I head through the corridor, shaking my head once to try and clear it as I decide to head for Valhalla's library. I can go over codices and old laws and further familiarize myself with the original ruling system of Valhalla and Odin's years as King. It might help at least get my mind focused, if nothing else, and that's something I need right now.
The walk to the library is long, but quiet. I don't pay much attention to my surroundings, responding automatically to the few people I do pass. My mind is scattered and I feel confused. My emotions all feel out of sorts and jumbled-up, and I just wish that things were... a little smoother, a little different. Like the world would make more sense, like I could understand exactly why I'm feeling the way that I do.
I'm surprised to find the library is mostly empty, but I'm glad for it: I might not have much of a fan club, but both demons and angels like to ask me for favors or try to impress me, neither of which I'm precisely in the mood for at the moment. It also means I'm able to loiter a little through the shelves, taking my time in selecting a few of the older texts that catch my eye before I head for a table.
I sit down, and I start to read. To me, it's a worthwhile way to pass the time: I don't believe that reading in and of itself is automatically a mark of intelligence, or even a worthy venture, but that the content which we choose to read determines its worth. I think history, science, and philosophical texts all have the greatest impact on our lives and minds: when we push ourselves to learn, we push ourselves to become better, that is what helps determine the quality and value of our lives.
It helps that this research is important for current events as well: many of Valhalla's current laws come from the study and modification of much older rules, after all. I enjoy the challenge that comes with adapting tradition to modern culture. Maintaining Valhalla as chief administrator and so-called King is my job and responsibility, but actively working to make Heaven a better place for all its citizens and personnel is something I take pride and pleasure in.
Reading and researching does help soothe my mind: shortly, I summon a notebook to start drafting ideas and proposals, and that helps me feel even better. Perhaps it was just the lack of having anything to do that was getting to me, exacerbating my negative feelings and all the concerns still floating around in my mind.
I'm shortly interrupted by a pony I hadn't expected to see, however: Excelsior. He sits himself quietly at my table, and I pause to regard him for a few moments with interest before sighing and returning to working on a bylaw when the unicorn only looks at me awkwardly from behind his clipboard. “I'll wait for you to gather your thoughts.”
Excelsior remains quiet and a little awkward, shifting back and forth before he finally clears his throat and says nervously: “Lord Kvasir, uh... we just received a strange request from Valkyrie Freya. She says that... she wants to meet with you.”
I look up with a frown at him: there's no reason even Excelsior would be hesitant or nervous to bring this sort of message to my attention... unless... “What's gone wrong?”
“The letter mentioned a possible... problem with the Pious on Looking Glass World. She's concerned about their behavior.” Excelsior replies as carefully as possible, and I sigh a little. Freya isn't someone who jumps at shadows, and Excelsior likes to sugarcoat everything. This makes me very worried that something has just gone horribly wrong. “I believe she wants them evacuated... well... for their own safety.”
That's even more worrying. But also gives me a hint towards what could have happened: considering the Pious, my best guess is that they've gone and done some show of righteousness that's angered one of the indigenous populations, who are now threatening them. I'm unaware of precisely where their Sanctuary is, but I know that the Nibelung and griffins can both be far less accommodating than the ponies. As I'm also aware the Pious are proud enough to perhaps even try and pass their judgments over the barbaric dragons of Looking Glass World.
I sigh and shake my head slowly, then look at Excelsior, saying after only a moment's consideration: “Tell Freya to come by Bifrost to make her case as soon as possible, and to bring Antares Mīrus with her. Also send a message to the Pious, saying that I require a special session with an ambassador to discuss a conflict at one of their holy places. They should respond quickly, considering our earlier agreement.”
“Right away, sir.” Excelsior scribbles a few notes hurriedly on the clipboard, then excuses himself with a mumble and runs off to do his job. He's efficient, at least, but I find myself wishing he'd handle things a little bit better.
I shake my head again, then look down at my reading and research before closing the texts and making my notebook vanish with a simple spell. Then I stand and reach absently up to play with my necklace, before muttering: “Well, I suppose things could be worse.”
I know that's a dangerous phrase to say. Invoking it is almost like asking things to be worse, but in a strange sort of way, I'm actually glad that I have something to do. I stand up and head out of the library, making my way back towards my office: if Freya is serious, then it means she'll be here shortly, and I want to get a head start on composing the warning letter I have no doubt she'll ask me to write.
After all, if she actually wanted to protect the Pious, she's more than capable of doing the job. Even if she's stepped down from serving as a Baroness, she all the same wields great influence and power, and has only grown sharper over the years when it comes to matters of debate and discussion. Anyone not blinded by stupidity or insane levels of pride would be very compelled to listen to her, considering her habit of speaking softly but very effectively wielding a very large, sharp stick.
My end analysis is that she doesn't want the Pious in Looking Glass World: this assumption is backed up by the fact that she's told me this several times in her own words. While part of me is a little concerned that she's using whatever conflict has been roused with the Pious to pursue a personal vendetta, at the same time I trust Freya's judgment and her ability to overlook personal biases in pursuance of the greater good.
It's funny: only half an hour ago I was frustrated and needed to relax. Now I'm dealing with something frustrating and finally feeling back in my proper place. Maybe I need the right amount of conflict to feel like I have purpose in this world.
No wonder I like work.