milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Three roots there are | that three ways run
'Neath the ash-tree Yggdrasil;
'Neath the first lives Hel, | 'neath the second the frost-giants,
'Neath the last are the lands of men.

Long it has been since Hel found a door to Milliways; and even now the one she opens leads not inside but out to the forest. She'll take what she can get - full grown the half-dead goddess is far too large to fit inside Milliways. The compression field that affects the robots does not so much affect her.

She doesn't know how long it has been for the people here. It doesn't really matter. She's seeing the grass, the trees, the green and growing things.

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"You are a Man." Hel says, and her voice makes it quite clear that she means species, not gender, "There is no drop of Man in my veins; my mother was a giant, and my father a god. I am Hel; and I too am a god."

Her adolescence took geologic ages.

Max considers this for a moment, "Something like one of the Great Spirits of home, perhaps?" Then he shakes his head, "Silly question, you probably don't know what I mean."

"In my universe," Hel says, "the souls of those deemed unworthy to the gods of Men are sent to me. In their terms, unworthy means any who does not die in battle. I take care of them, until the mists of my kingdom remove their minds. It is my exile, it is their doom."

"You sound less than pleased with your position," Max offers off-handedly, but deep conversation isn't really his forte so he shifts topics slightly. "And it sounds like if you were of my world I would not be seeing you after death." He looks like what he is, after all: a warrior.

Hel shrugs with her right arm, "I am what I am; someone must care for the damned. That I hate those who placed me there changes nothing." then continues in agreement; "Not unless you died of illness, or accident."

"Always possible," Max agrees, thoughts flashing to his mother and her 'accidents', "But my experience so far suggests that that is not precisely likely."

"Then rejoice." Hel says dryly, "Should you follow them, an eternity of waiting for the last battle lies before you."

"Oh, yeah, that sounds great," Max sighs sarcastically. "What sort of death do I need if I want to spend all eternity in bars drinking and spending time with beautiful women such as yourself?"

"I would judge better what you see, if you would call Hel beautiful." says the goddess, the visible side of her mouth pulling out into a smile, "You have only viewed my good side."

"Maybe," Max smirks, "But it is a very good side, I have to say." He wonders for a moment what she's worried about. A scar or something? Like he'd care.

He brushes the thought away.

"And that would be my bane." Hel says simply, turning so that he will see the other side of her form.

Max is a fully-trained Cursor. That means he's used to keeping his reactions under control. So he does.

Er... mostly. He doesn't even take a full step back, it's just a shift of the weight, really. But it's noticeable. In fact, given his sudden stiffness, it's obvious.

He's not sure what to say.

"Yes." Hel says without heat, "Quite. For this I was exiled to Nifhleim, called most monstrous of all of my father's children. Do you fear me now, Man? You should not; this is the only place where I can ever see the sun. I would not risk it, even if I was the sort to take offense at such a reaction."

"Fear?" Max finally manages to find his voice. "Perhaps a bit." But his tone makes it clear, whether he intends it or not, that his chief emotion is pity more than anything else. Some of it for her, and some for himself.

Hel accepts the pity as she accepts the fear; with stoic acknowledgment. He doesn't need to pity her, she is what she was born to be.
"Rare is the Man who does not." Hel says with a nod - indeed there is no innocence here.

"Forgive me if the question is impertinent," the teasing tone is gone, Max is all serious respect now, "But are you alive or are you dead?" What he really wants to know is whether it hurts or whether it is numb, but that's a bit forward.

"Both." Hel says gently, having answered that question in many forms for many, many centuries, "My heart has never beat, my left lung has never drawn breath, but my right side is as alive as any woman of Man. I feel warmth, and it is good. I feel cold, and it makes my left side lock up. I feel pain."

Not pleasure. It has been too long, far and far again too long, since she was last touched by a friend.

"So you feel nothing on one side, but feel everything normally on the other?" That doesn't sound too bad.

Considering.

She shakes her head and asks, in a voice full of pity for him (and none for herself), "Did you think that the dead feel nothing?"

"Hadn't really given it much thought," Max admits with forced lightness. "I suppose I've always thought so, yeah."

"I hurt." Hel says quietly, "I have hurt for longer than I remember. I have hurt since before your grandparents grandparents were dreams of their own grandparents. I will hurt long after your body has turned to the memory of dust; and I will spend all those long centuries hidden from sun and moon except on the rare occasion where I find a door here."

"That," Max swallows, "Seems a cruel life to live."

"What in life is kind?" Hel asks, curious to know what he will answer, "Moments, and only moments. People may be kind, but life? Life is harsher than death, and even those who come to Niflheim agree."

Eventually they do cease to hurt.

But Hel does not get that escape.

"I wish..." Max trails off before trying again. "I wish I could show you that it can be otherwise, my lady."

But that's beyond him, and he knows it.

"You are a warrior, a Man, and handsome." Hel says quietly, "We have nothing in common."