Chapter Text
The war between the Nine Realms had now stretched for centuries, but to the Icosian people, it seemed no longer than a single blink of an eye. A hundred thousand battles, with the blood of millions being spilt and finally, the hard-won Asgardian victory had passed in the time it took for Qaelia to pass from girlhood to adulthood. A warrior in her own right, she had fought beside her people, blood-streaked and weary as Odin's wrath fell upon them from above and decimated the mass of her Grandfather's forces in one unholy blow.
Her head whipped around, her face threatening to crumple as her eyes fell upon the sight before her. Her beloved uncle Luxton and his wife Etrix, the most precious of High Priestess and Qaelia's own mentor, fall together, their bodies pressed together in one final embrace.
Beyond her Father's Lords, the same men who carried her upon their shoulders in formative years and in more recent had educated her in the way of the sword fought to meet her gaze. They sought Enia's gaze one last time through her, trying to find peace in their most desperate moments. Their children too, some no more than 3000 years old, fell beside them, destroying bloodlines in one blow. Her sword clattered to the ground at sight, and she fought the urge to fall to her knees in a deep prayer mourning the mere men moments after their passing.
"Enia… why have you forsaken us so?". Her voice was no more than a rasp, hoarse and tired from the frenzied screams of battle. Tears threatened to spill from her eyes, and fighting them back, she raised her gaze to face Odin's forces once more. Terror flashed through Qaelia as she surveyed the crowd and her heart ached for retribution for the fallen. Her silent prayers seemed to be heard, for King Idien let out a guttural cry of anguish that echoed the pain she felt in her own heart. He broke forward into a run as the fire for which he was named curled down from his eyes to the crimson sword he grasped in his hand. Flames burst out from him in hot tendrils as he broke forward from their ranks in one final desperate attack, launching himself at the King of the Gods one last time.
All her hope for their people faded in that first moment that their swords collided as her Grandfather's arms shook and buckled at the overpowering force of Odin's blow. Despite his appearance as an aged and wizen gentleman, she had never seen him so much as tremor before. In desperation to reach him, she darted forward but was stopped in her tracks by her Father's arms encircling her waist, clutching her close to her chest as she squirmed.
"Remember the laws, Qaelia." he snarled into her hair above the clashing blades. Qaelia knew the law, she helped uphold the law, but she could not help but hate him further as she heard the faint trace of exhilaration in his voice.
Those who rule alone must fight alone.
If her Grandfather was to engage Odin in combat, he would do so on his own, no matter the consequences. Qaelia watched as the duel raged on, flinching within herself as Odin's overpowered attacks rattled Idien's injured form.
Whilst the raging fire masked the severity of his wounds, and he still fought with the ferocity of ten men, she could see his attacks were weak, his frame taut and pained. Before long, he resorted to frantically throwing his fire forward towards the Norse King. Unphased, Odin's eyes crackled with energy both familiar and unlike anything the Icosianwould ever see, and with a cruel smile, he launched his own attack at the other King. The world flashed, blinding all who still took a breath on the field, and smoke erupted as lightning met flames. To Qaelia's horror, a familiar figure was launched backwards, landing crumpled a few feet from her.
An elbow to her Father's stomach saw to it that she was released from his grasp, and she threw herself forward towards the broken form. A scream threatened to escape her throat as she surveyed her King's pulverised features barely recognisable from the same man who had chased her around his throne room as a child. His helmet had been blown free in the blast, and his long grey hair was caked in the blood that had escaped as his head had caved in. She brought his hand to her lips and kissed it gently, tears streaming down her face.
The shriek she had been holding back finally erupted, and she cradled her Grandfather's cooling body to her chest, so compounded in her grief that she didn't even see her Father's immediate kneel of surrender.
**
The Asgardians, savage as they may be, had at least allowed them the opportunity to perform their traditional funeral rites for the dead. Still, regardless the former King's had been an uncharacteristically sombre affair.
With their lives being as long as they are, the death of a monarch was an uncommon event. As such, the Laws of Death ruled that their internment be a festival of their triumphs rather than despair at their passing. There, however, could be nothing triumphant about Idien's passing.
Instead of millions of celebrators singing and dancing to songs of the monarchs' most significant victories, Idien's procession consisted of the pitiful gaggle of surviving soldiers, all of whom were bound to ensure they didn't attempt a doomed uprising. Instead of Etrix, Qaelia performed the rites with a clumsy hand, armour still upon her and stained in the blood of soldiers whose comrades now stood close by laughing at her grief. Much of Qaelia's knowledge in this matter was purely hypothetical, and she cursed her naivety and expectation of her people's victory. How she wished Etrix was here, Luxton, Beltraine and especially her Grandfather, they knew their ways so much better than she ever could and with their passing much of their culture's teachings were now lost to time.
Singing softly under her breath as her comrades watched gaunt, she smoothed back what remained of her Grandfather's hair and washed as much blood as possible from it. She chose a melancholy song for the sombre mood, dispelling with all tradition and allowing the tears to fall as she did so. In her song, she mourned for her people. All of those who had passed into Enia's arms in the heat of the battle. Those would never be identified nor recovered from their final resting places. Those who would never again see home. Moving from his hair onto his face, she began uncharacteristically openly weeping, attracting the attention of the battalion of Asgardians who had been assigned to their watch. Laughter crept across the field to her, and the anger deep inside burst forward.
Despite their blatant worship of Enia as their patron, it was a frequent revelation that it was within the females of their realm wherein true power would lie. Magic was an erratic business, and the high priestesses took it upon themselves to master this dark utter and rain vengeance and destruction on all who misjudged them.
The soldiers continued to laugh, and Qaelia, the new High Priestess, Heir of Enia, felt something akin to bile rise in her throat. These brutes were amusing themselves in the aftermath of genocide, destroying both the culture and people of her realm in one swoop. Idien had never once revelled in victory in the centuries she had known him as both leader and Grandfather; he had remained poised and respectful, delivering rites to even his deepest enemies. And these savages dared to revel in his departure; they wouldn't have even deserved to be crushed under her King's foot.
"Qaelia"
The rage quelled in her stomach, saving the soldiers' lives for another day as she rose delicately rose from her knees to stand and stride past their laughing figures towards her Father's voice. The soldiers surveyed her as she walked, the struck metal of her silver iron encasing her short and robust body coiled as tight as a spring in both warning and fear.
"Where's your precious Goddess now?" the younger of the soldiers called. Qaelia ignored the rage bubbling inside her, setting her face towards the direction from which her Father's voice had come from.
"Looks like the slut has abandoned you." he continued. The priestess stopped in her tracks. An unearthly wind whipped around her, causing her brown curls to rise into the air hear rising around her, warming her blood and causing her magic to sing through her veins.
"Qaelia", her Father warned, appearing at the mouth of his tent, once again saving the soldiers from a grizzly fate.
The heat faded at his words, her fingers flexing, desperate to punish them. Qaelia turned, fixing the men with a glowering stare.
"It would do you well to remember to whom you speak. Do not forget whose blood it is that decorates my sword," she said, simply turning on her heel. The soldiers exploded into a round of expletives calling after her as she sauntered towards her Father.
The new King of Isocia has already claimed her Grandfather's fine ceremonial armour and stood in the mud of what had been the battlefield clad in the emblem of Isocia's royal family. The eye of the Crene glittered from the chest plate, the yellow jewel that represented its eye boring into her as she walked towards him.
Many times, it had been suggested that Rennyn could not have possibly been Idien's biological son and clad in what had been his attire; their differences had never been more apparent. Thin and skinny where Idien had been broad, holding himself unnaturally in his new role of power, her Father regarded her with his golden eyes, the sole feature he shared with both his Father and daughter.
"You always did have a knack for making friends, Qaelia", he retorted, opening the lip of the tent to allow his daughter access. There was no warmth in his voice for his only child, knowing she represented all that his Father had wished him to be and only functioned as a reminder of her mother's death. Warmth had never been shared between them, their opportunity to bond taken away when she was removed to be raised at her Grandfather's court when her magical potential began to show at a young age. Upon her return, in her Middling Years, the damage was already irreversible; only now Qaelia served as the mirror image of his older brother's warm bombastic personality, the one person Rennyn had hated above all else.
The memory of Luxton's passing seized in her chest, and from there, she remembered the souls lost in that last obliterating attack. Her mind wracked over their final moments, trying to understand how the Asgardian attack had punctured their defences so quickly, allowing Odin's ferocious attack to deliver that had slaughtered their troops in one fell blow.
Her train of thought stopped dead as she entered her Gra- now her Father's wartime "throne room". Upon the wooden stool that served as his chair where Idien had sat delivering his military strategy a few hours prior sat the man who had struck him down.
"Odin", Qaelia breathed. The Norse King regarded her from where he sat, watching her with that one unnaturally blue eye. Up close, he appeared no more impressive than one of Idien's lesser lords, with trailing white hair mixing with his beard, which, Qaelia had already been washed and brushed to remove all trace of her people's blood from it.
Her thoughts rushed to her Grandfather's tattered remains lying in the dirt, and with a shriek, her hand flew to the sword that still rested in the sheath around her waist.
"Daughter. Stop"
Her Father's voice stopped her in her tracks, and she turned to face him.
"How dare he. Upon Grandfather's seat, where- he" her voice broke as furious tears threatened to fall again. Pulling herself together, she fixed her Father with a stare who returned it emotionless.
"Kneel before our new King, Qaelia", he said simply. Qaelia stared back at him, speechless, remembering her Father sinking to his knee's moments after Idien's defeat. What she had initially regarded as a motion of surrender was now becoming a much darker reality.
She said nothing but her accusing gaze told him all he would ever need to know about her thoughts on being ruled by Asgard.
"I said, kneel before our new King", he hissed.
"Never", she spat back. His hand shot out and grabbed her throat in a gesture that was not uncommon from her Father. He squeezed coldly from his position beside her blocking off her airway with his thumb, finding the same spot he had left bruises on time and time again, and as he did, she tasted the acrid smell of her Father's magic.
As with anyone in the royal family, Rennyn's magic was not to trifle with, though his fire presented itself differently to Idien's or Luxton's had. Instead of flames licking through his eyes and hands, her Father burnt the very air in his victims' lungs as he choked them from within until they begged for death as a release. With Qaelia, he had, of course, never used his magic against her to this extent, but he utilised it to a lesser degree to callously punish whenever he saw fit.
His magic leaving her weakened and lightheaded, he forced her to her knees to kneel in the mud that had been churned by the afternoon's battle. Odin watched at this unfolded, something crossing his face that was akin to pity.
"These are the terms of Isocia's surrender." the Norse King began. He was more softly spoken than she expected, and in a heart-rendering moment, she realised how much he sounded like her Grandfather.
"Isocia will now be ruled as a principality of Asgard," he said as if addressing a child.
White noise settled in Qaelia's vision, becoming fuzzy as the information came to her thick and fast.
Her Father was to remain on the throne as regent with all actual authority, for their realm would lie in Asgards hands.
The Old Religion of Isocia was no longer to be worshipped.
The Sisterhood of Enia is to be disbanded and every member slaughtered. Her heart pounded in her chest at this revelation. Images sprang forward of the Fledgling Priestesses in their principal temple, some no more than a year into their service giggling as they ran barefoot through the violet fields of flowers that bloomed in honour of the Goddess. Their sparkling silver robes, echoing the same colours that shone from the main building that shadowed them, threw light as they ran together in the few moments they were allowed to take and still behave like the children they were. The image morphed. Those same young women were clutching the robes of older sisters, terrified and confused as the soldiers pilfered the temple, sacrificially slitting their throats or piled onto unnatural pyres to burn in unholy fire. Her premonition of their screams echoed in her mind.
"This is barbaric. Even by Asgardian standar-"the slap that silenced her came not from Odin but from her Father beside her, the pain emphasised by the string of his magic once again pressing down upon her. That same pitiful look crossed Odin's features for a moment, disappearing as her fierce eyes met his.
"My sisters and I will not go down easily, Allfather", she continued to spit, fighting through the pain that her Father inflicted upon her.
"My Father may have agreed upon these terms of our surrender, but my Sisterhood will never agree to it. They will fight back, to the death if it comes to it", she gasped. The air in her lungs boiled, blood sputtering through them and threatening to escape her lips.
"There is one alternative, Daughter of Isocia," the Norse King said slowly. Qaelia thought she imagined the slight incline of his head as he said this, his eye lowering in what one could consider a sign of respect.
"If you surrender on behalf of your Sisterhood, I will spare their lives under the condition that the worship of Enia ceases immediately", he concluded, fixing the kneeling woman in the spot with his words.
"My King, the Sisterhood will never agree to your terms. They will fight back in their name of their false Goddess," Rennyn began, sinking to his knees before Odin as his daughter turned upon him incredulously.
"You will never speak for Enia's Daughters father. It is clear that a cowards blood runs through your veins in a way which is not becoming of one of her true believers," Qaelia said shakily, rising from the mud to her feet. Her Father glowered at her from his stooped position, and it took all of her self-control not to strike him face-first to the ground.
The truth, however, despite their magical intuition was that the Sisterhood could not survive Asgard's attack without the support of the Royal Military. Their order consisted of little over 200 women, a little under a quarter of which were children and had not come into their powers to their proper extent, and it was clear her Father had now abandoned them as a term of his grovelling surrender. Whilst her Sisters would put up a ferocious fight and would take down as many Asgardian's as possible, they would inevitably perish.
"As the High Priestess of The Daughters of Enia, on their behalf, I accept your terms, All-Father", Qaelia agreed, still fixed on the crouched form of her Father. A smug look crossed her Father's features, and her brow furrowed in confusion at his expression.
"There is one final term of your surrender. As a representative of the Icosian Royal Family and the symbol of our new alliance, you are to marry my son". Odin finished. This statement tore her gaze away from her Father.
"Your son. I would never marry that lighting wielding fool". Thor's reputation as a drinker, womaniser and general debauchery transcended the realms. He was in no way what she foresaw as her future spouse.
"You would do well to speak less loosely of your future King Child", Odin said sharply. All gentleness that he had displayed faded at that moment, and Qaelia found herself staring down the full height of the King of Asgard.
"I do, however, not refer to my son Thor. I refer to my second son Loki" he finished.
Perhaps the only thing worse than marrying Thor was the insult of being offered the hand of the lesser son, the so-called God of Mischief. Less spoken of than his rambunctious brother, Loki was spoken about in perplexed whispers, often conflicting reports of his sickly pallid demeanour but also the underhanded and ruinous form that he took within a battle, disappearing at will and reappearing behind his victims to slay them with a soundless stab.
Her thoughts crossed once more to her Sisters, no longer able to worship Enia and their temple condemned but most importantly safe. She took a breath, steadying herself.
"I accept' she agreed.