[northern territories, 16th century.]

[changeinasnap]

This far north, hang around long enough and your chances of survival dwindle their way down to zero pretty fast. Nomads wander through every so often, but they're gone quick enough, hastened along by awful dreams and shadows in the dark.

It suits his mood. He dresses up the shadows with sharper teeth than he'd normally allow and lets them do their work, for little reason other than spite and staking his territory. Eventually, travelers learn to avoid his circle of land, and the frozen earth grows silent except for his own breath.

It's perfect, as far as he's concerned.

Comments

[old_gods]

"I remember." Steadily said. "You worked my death once before. A clever trick. But there's this about it: you can only do it once."

[changeinasnap]

"You sure about that?"

Another bite of his food.

[old_gods]

Cold, for the first time: "I don't intend to stand and let people hurl things at me again."

[changeinasnap]

"...Huh."

He studies Baldur with newfound appreciation -- though how much of that is affected as well, it's hard to discern.

(Less so if you look around his eyes, though. He may be able to hide when it suits him, but his weariness is proving a whole lot more difficult to conceal than he hoped.)

"Looks like somebody's got a chance of making it to Valhalla after all."

[old_gods]

"Perhaps. But not anytime soon."

He eyes the fire.

"Is this the best you can do now?"

[changeinasnap]

"Nah. Best I feel like doing, sure."

He polishes off the rest of the apple and tosses the core aside. Before it can hit the ground, it fizzles out of existence.

"Best I want to do if it means I don't get a crowd of party crashers coming my way."

Hint. Hint.

[old_gods]

Baldur's never been good with hints.

"None of the other Aesir will seek you out. They think we're well rid of you."

[changeinasnap]

He snorts. "Yeah. I thought I was rid of them too -- way before now -- until your daddy dearest ran into me a couple months back."

The fact that Odin hadn't been actively looking for him at the time? Pfft. Details.

"I'm not taking any chances."

[old_gods]

He shakes his head.

"Very well. I'll leave you to it, then."

[changeinasnap]

"And good riddance to you too, nephew mine." Cheerful, as he tosses the spit back onto the fire; it catches on nothing and settles perfectly horizontal over the flames.

[old_gods]

A long beat.

"You're no kin of mine," says Baldur softly, and turns to go.

[changeinasnap]

Of course I'm not.

Homesickness isn't what drove him to the mountains, all those months past. He knows what true homesickness feels like.

Folding his arms, he keeps his gaze resolutely anywhere but the on the stone-gray sky overhead. Baldur's the closest, and so within a matter of moments, his attention lands on him.





"How's Hel?"

[old_gods]

Baldur pauses, and looks back.



"Sad." Quiet, and straightforward.

[changeinasnap]

One corner of his mouth twists, humorless. He nods and looks away.

"Too bad some of us can't pick open the lock for our kids with a couple tears, huh?" No louder than Baldur.

[old_gods]

Maybe it's the weariness in his voice; maybe it's something else.

"I did what I could for her." Baldur says, still quiet. "I'm afraid it wasn't much."

[changeinasnap]

"Yeah, well." A loose shrug; his arms stay folded tight as, with effort, he raises his eyes back to Baldur. "Better than nothing."

Better than Odin, but Baldur always was the kindhearted one -- to the point of idiocy, sometimes.

[old_gods]

"I won't tell my father where you are." Baldur tugs his hood back up. "Or any of the others."

(Speaking of kindhearted.)

[changeinasnap]

Another nod -- could be acknowledgment, could be thanks, he's the only one who knows and he's not telling -- before the other side of his mouth quirks up, too, wry and crooked.

"But the kill me on sight threat still stands?"

[old_gods]

"Oh yes." Quite calm. "If you trouble them again."

[changeinasnap]

The grin sharpens back into its perpetual amused smirk. "Just making sure we're on the same page."

He unfolds his arms, making a shooing gesture.

"Okay. Scram. Do something good with your second time around, I don't know."

[old_gods]

"Mock all you wish, Loki," he says resignedly. "But I will."

He turns, leaving pale new grass spreading where his boots rested, and makes his way back up the rise.

[changeinasnap]

Who said I was mocking that time? he almost asks -- but by then, Baldur's halfway up the hill, and it's probably better for them both if he keeps his mouth shut anyway. He looks down at the grass; crouches, after a moment, to rest his fingertips on the thin patch of green. The blades don't crinkle with frost when he touches them.

He probably ought to move back down south pretty soon.

Not now, though. Give it a little longer.

Not yet.