milliways_bar | (no subject)

The player has absolutely no idea why these two should speak, but hates to see an empty thread. Thus.

"What a lovely wolf."

The girl, tall but by the visible side of her face no older than fifteen, smiles down at Serri.

Then again, no mun likes an empty thread, and all company is well come. Especially anyone who likes wolves.

Serri stirrs for a moment, hearing a female voice addressing Niall, but referring to him.

"Aye. He is my lir. At long last I have found my lir," he says with not inconsiderable pride, dropping a hand to ruffle the pelt of Serri, who's gotten up slightly to afford Niall a place to scratch his rough fur.

"And a lovely lir at that."

"He is lovely. He looks a bit like one of my brothers."

She looks up, keeping her face half turned away from Niall, and smiles;

"I am afraid I don't know what lir means."

And she offers her un-gloved right hand to Serri to smell. Serri may react oddly; Hel's left side is dead.

That's a strange comment. Serri looks like this girl's brother?

A metaphor perhaps?

Perhaps.

But right now it's a history lesson on the Cheysuli.

"I am sorry. I am Niall. And this is my lir Serri." He motions his hand down at the wolf at his feet.

"A lir is something all Cheysuli men get when they come of age. It varies from warrior to warrior, but eventually we all get one. I just happened to be the one to set the record for the longest any warrior has gone before receiving a lir."

He waits, wondering if this strange girl wants to know more about the lir.

You should tell her anyways, lir; she doesn't know of our world.

"I am Hel."

She offers her gloved hand, but keeps the face averted.

"Are all lir wolves? And how long would that have been, if I may ask?"

Niall's not sure what to make of the offered hand, but he figures he should take it in his own.

And he notices that it feels ... odd to him.

Nevermind that.

"No. Not all lir are wolves, though many warriors have wolves as their lir. Some warriors have foxes, others mountain cats or bears. Sometimes boar. Others have bird lir, like owls, hawks, falcons or eagles. Ravens are quite rare, but occasionally someone will bond with one."

He smiles at Hel.

"I'm nineteen, and I've only just received my lir. No warrior has ever gone past his seventeenth birthday without receiving a lir."

She removes it after its obvious that he doesn't know about shaking hands, and rolls her shoulders in the way of flustered teenage girls everywhere. Half apology, half nerves. Hel doesn't get out much.

"Why would anyone want a raven? Really. Nasty little things, they are."

She shakes her head, and looks down at Serri;

"Wolves are much better. I have no opinion on the other animals. Do any people end up with cold-blooded lir?"

She's just curious. Niall is the only person she's gotten to speak with about other worlds.

"I am pleased for you that you found him, then. As I said, he is very beautiful."

Niall smiles despite Hel's reactions. It's almost ... charming the way she rolls her shoulders just so.

"Well, it's not really a matter of choice what a warrior receives as his lir. That choice is made by the gods, and they send us whatever they feel best suits us."

If it were as simple as that lir, you would've received me sooner, the wolf comments dryly, but Niall ignores.

Niall is very tempted to say "Yes; Ceinn - especially after his attempt to have me kill myself," to Hel's comments about cold-blooded lir, but he shakes his head "no".

"Leijhana tu'sai," he says. "Thank you," he repeats, this time in that strange tongue that allows everyone to understand each other here in the bar.

She acts exactly like what she almost is; a teenage girl with almost no social graces. Her face still half averted she listens avidly.

"Ah, well. Like to like, I suppose."

She puts her hands behind her back, and looks between Niall and Serri,

"Is it specifically him for you and you for him, or...no, if it were any wolf you wouldn't have had to wait so long, would you?"

"Very. It's often said that the lir reflects the warrior it bonds with. And many times, it turns out to be true."

He waits for her to ask her next question before answering.

"Specifically. I'm not sure how it works, but perhaps the gods choose that animal that works best with a warrior."

He thinks about the question a little more.

"It's also specific with regards to the bond. I'm only bonded with Serri; there are no other bonds for me or anyone else even though there are many lir."

"That makes sense. It wouldn't be as...special...if it were any wolf, would it?"

If she had a "thinking" gesture she'd be doing it. However, the danger of causing her socially-acceptable half to be scarred is enough to keep her from biting her lip. She also refrains from making sarcastic comments about gods. He may come from a place with less...well, with gods less like her family.

"What, and please tell me if I shouldn't ask, but what do lir do? Are they simply your friends, or are they more?"

"No it wouldn't," Niall agrees readily, as Serri murmurs something aloud into Niall's hand. Serri seems to appreciate the comment and is making sure everyone knows it. "Serri is my life now; I have no idea how I ever got on without him."

Again Niall waits for Hel to finish what she's doing before the next question is asked.

Ah, he knew eventually they'd get around to that one, and it's an obvious easy answer for him.

"More. A lir's job is to protect its warrior from danger and harm, as well as to provide companionship and someone to confide in.

But most importantly they are the source of our magic.

Without the lir there is no magic, but most importantly there is no shapechange, which is what makes the Cheysuli race what it is: a race of shapechangers.

Without the lir we are as the unblessed races of our world."

"Oh! That's wonderful for you, then. My father is a shape-changer, I think that's why my brothers look how they do."

She smiles at him again, still only showing the right half of her face;

"Do all Cheysuli have lir, or only your warriors?"

Definitely a metaphor then, Niall thinks, unaware of the significance of the comment. Others have - in the past - identified us as the animals we keep, saying that someone "lived with a fox"; another "lived with a hawk", but it always meant that that was a euphemism for the shape a warrior wears when he doesn't wear his own.

"Only the warriors. At one time, the lir served all Cheysuli, and all Cheysuli could assume whatever lir-shape they wished. Both men and women knew the shapechange. And they all could speak with the lir. But over time this was lost - first in the men; who could only shapechange once bonded with a lir, and then only into a like shape - and then the women, who, not needing a specific lir to shapechange, lost all their gifts: both lir-shape and the ability to converse with all lir."

He fingers his left earlobe in thought.

"But already these gifts are starting to return. My rujholla - my sister - and my cheysula - wife - can both shapechange and both can talk to the lir.

And one day all will be able to do this, when the prophecy of the Firstborn is filfilled."

She nods, touching her hair in habitual self-reassurance;

"That sounds like a much nicer prophecy than the ones in my world. I hope it happens soon for all of you."

And then she looks down at Serri again, changing the somewhat lost tone of voice she had when speaking of prophecy;

"But even if it doesn't, well, you have a lovely partner."

"We all hope it happens soon," Niall agrees. "All Cheysuli want to see this prophecy fulled, for only then will we truly know the peace our ancestors knew."

Again Serri murmurs his feelings aloud. Obviously this girl knows how to flatter a lir, and for a moment Niall's expression becomes distracted as he converses with Serri.

"Serri thanks you for your kind words, but he says I should not worry about whether our prophecy will be fulfilled, as we are already close to fruition."

Flatter a lir nothing. One of her brothers is a giant wolf. She's got a healthy respect for canine teeth.

"Is your world at war?"

The question is blurted, and then she shakes her head;

"Of course it is, you just said so. I'm sorry that you don't know peace either. Most of those where I am from would say that it is better to be warriors, because they go on to Valhalla when they die."

With a measured tone, she keeps the bitterness out of her voice,

"But if you are coming close, well, that proves that it is a different world."

"It is, sadly. Right now my home Homana has to deal with an old enemy, Solinde. It seems our two kingdoms are forever at war.

It is the same too with Erinn and Atvia," he says, his face beginning to show signs of grief. The loss of Deirdre is still fresh in his mind.

"But there's nothing for them when they die. Nothing like a 'Valhalla' for them; just an ordinary afterlife for those that die."

He doesn't want to think about what happens to warriors who lose their lir, as he's already experienced that before - thanks to Ceinn and his a'saii - and he fervently hopes that he and his lir will both grow old together, only seperating at death, and perhaps, only temporarily.

No one has ever said if lir and warrior reunite in the afterworld, but Niall hopes they do.

"It is, though it seems as though it has things in common with yours, if we both know war and both know shapechangers, both personally and indirectly."

"It isn't the same, not at all. My father is a shape changer, but he doesn't need anyone's help."

She shrugs, and laughs softly,

"He might even get offended if you suggested he would. He's not the most comfortable of gods. And Valhalla is where the heroes go, the rest come to Niflheim. I don't think I'd be comfortable in Valhalla, but I'd rather not be in Niflheim either. Then, of course, there are all the other worlds along Yggdrasil. Midgard, the land of men, is always at war."

She looks wry when she says it, shaking her head at the waste of it all,

"The other races, except for the giants who fight with the gods, don't war nearly so often. I can't think of the last time any of the elves left their lands, and the dwarves mostly just want to be left alone to create."

Niall is, for the first time tonight, stunned.

And looks it too.

Okay... Things have officially taken a new turn tonight, he notes to himself.

But it should not be a surprise. This girl has her fair share of magic. Can you not tell?

Yes, he should, but his mind wasn't on the magic of others, but his own.

Your fault lir...

"I wonder if my world is somewhere near this Midgard place..," he asks himself idly. "But, what is this Yggdrasil? Is that a world too?

And Elves and Dwarves?"

Looks like it's Niall's turn for a history lesson.

Cileann? he wonders. Are Elves and Dwarves the name the Cileann go by in this girl's world?

"Yggdrasil is the World Tree. I'm told most universes are not built along the same lines as mine.

An ash I know stands,
Its name is Yggdrasil,
An immense tree, covered over
By the white sand.
Thence come the dew
That falls in the valleys,
It stands ever-green
Above the well of Urdal."

She chants the bit of poetry, then settles into a teaching tone;

"There are nine worlds, divided into 3 layers, and they are all connected by the World Tree, Yggdrasil. The upper level of Yggdrasil holds Asgard, the home of two races of Gods, the Aesir and the Vanir. All of the Gods in Asgard have their own great halls. The greatest of them is Valhalla, the hall for slain heroes."

She doesn't care for the gods, it seems. No disbelief, she just doesn't like them.

"Also on the upper level is Vanaheim where the Vanir lived in this realm they made peace with the gods, and Alfheim which is the land of the light elves. Then there is the middle level, with Midgard where Men live. There is a bridge of a rainbow between Midgard and Asgard, called Bifrost. Jotenheim, home of the frost giants, Nidavellir the realm of the dwarves, and Svartalfheim, the land of dark elves are on Midgard. So is Muspelheim of the fire giants. One of these giants that will set the world ablaze at Ragnarok."

Then she seems to both straighten and shrink at the same time, keeping the left side of her face hidden.

"And on the lowest level is Niflheim. It is down in this land of cold and dark that the roots of Yggdrasil emerge. The only hall in Niflheim is Eljudnir. And that is mine."

An enormous tree that spans many worlds... It's something Niall is having trouble comprehending. Nothing he's ever been told or learned could possibly compare to this.

But with effort, he takes it all in. The gods have their own land, and their own halls - kingdoms Niall supposes - and the mortals have a land of their own, as do the Elves and Dwarves and other such creatures.

And Midgard was the name of the mortal realm.

"What is this 'Ragnarok'?" he asks, his curiosity overwhelming his bewilderment. "Another land? Or is it a time and place?"

He'll get to Hel's comments about being relegated to what amounts to the basement apartment on the World Tree, but Ragnarok is somewhat more intriguing to Niall.

"The twilight of the gods. We're all going to die then."

She's very matter of fact about this. She's also staring at the ground, and has closed her visible eye;

"Everyone but the Men. I think most of them will die, too. First three years of winter, and then things will get bad."

Cheerful sounding prediction isn't it?

But from the sounds of it, he can understand that, to at least one race back home, Ragnarok isn't just a prediction but a certainty.

"The Men will survive...," he repeats, wondering if the fulfillment of the prophecy for his people will be their salvation or their "Ragnarok".

Lir? Will it all end for us?

Uncharacteristically, the wolf called Serri is silent, offering no word at all to Niall.

Serri? Will it?

"But the gods will die."

She nods, and then shakes her head. She doesn't really want to get into the hows and specifics of the deaths.

"It won't be until I am old, however. There are things still to happen."

"The gods...," he repeats, now feeling even more dread for his own people.

The Cheysuli have many gods; the Ihlini only the one.

It's not a comforting thought, but the fact that for Hel, the prophesy regarding her world is a long way off is.

Still, Niall wonders: will the prophecy of the Firstborn mean the end for his people, or the beginning.

And still Serri remains silent, unwilling or unable to answer Niall's silent pleas.

She looks up at him again, and offers a slight half-smile,

"If it helps at all, I really don't think you're from my world. And I only know of two that have Ragnarok. The other one is almost mine, but not quite. I have to admit I'm a little...obsessed...but that's because there isn't much to do in Niflheim except brood."

And she looks very young for a moment, touching the hidden side of her face,

"And I miss my family a lot."

Ah, a pleasant change of subject. Niall grabs it, not wanting to think of the death of one race or another.

"Tell me about your family," he asks with genuine interest. "Especially your father the shapechanger. How can he shapechange without a lir's aide?"

"My father? My father is Loki. He's not the Loki who is here....either of them, really. The one who looks like a child is almost my father, but from a different reality. Loki, my father, is known as the trickster god, the mischief maker, the father of lies and deceit."

She laughs a bit,

"But he is a good father, really! He has always been able to change his shape, it is part of his magic. The only other shape changers I can think of are the Valkyrie, and they don't have lir either, actually."

It's all rather confusing, as Niall hasn't met anyone who calls himself "Loki" yet, but he commits all this to memory.

You never know when you might need it.

"Really? Can he become an animal at will, or can he become something other than animal when he changes shape?"

No idea why he asked about being able to turn oneself into inanimate objects - all the shapechanging Niall knows about is from human to animal.

"And what are the Valkyrie?" he asks. "Are they like the Cheysuli, but with no need of lir to help them with shapechanging?"

"He can be anything he wants."

Definate pride, there, even if it is tinged with the thought that, maybe, if he hadn't been a shape-shifter Hel wouldn't be what she is.

"The Valkyrie are Odin's handmaids. They decide which of the dead go to Valhalla, and which come to Niflheim and me. They can be swan, raven, wolf, and horse."

She doesn't like them. Not even a little bit.

Anything he wants to be.., Niall repeats in his mind. Only his sister Isolde and wife Gisella could possibly come this close.

To become what you want to be, is that the true power of the Firstborn?

You can always ask your rujholla when you return about it lir; see what she has to say about the ability to be any animal she chooses to be.

"Is that why you don't like ravens? Because the Valkyrie can be ravens and they send those warriors who are unwelcome in this Valhalla to you?"

"No, I don't like ravens because Odin has a pair of them. Odin is...sort of my uncle. The father of the gods. He...doesn't...like me."

The spaces where she doesn't speak are as eloquently pained as an entire book. Her gloved hand has creeped up under her hair, and she's resting her face in it.

"The Valkyrie just didn't...say anything. Nobody did. Father didn't know, but...nobody spoke for us."

"And what do these ravens that your uncle has do?" he asks. There are lir that some warriors find unlikeable, but they're something of a rarity.

But that's not on his mind. Hel is clearly upset; most likely from talking about her uncle.

I don't like Ceinn, but not like this...

"And why doesn't he like you? Why didn't the Valkyrie say anything in your favour. Do they not like you either?"

"Hugin and Munnin. Thought and memory. They find things out, and tell him, and go and find more things."

She shakes her head a little;

"He doesn't like me...they don't like me...because I'm one of 'Loki's Monstrous Children'. That's what they call us."

And her father who is not quite her father says that she is not a monster. Her father who is her father always loved her. She and her brothers never thought of themselves as monsters....

But what can you think when the gods look at you in horror and then cast you out? All for the crime of being who you are?

"Spies," he says. It's rather obvious what Hugin and Munnin are to this Odin god. They go find things to observe and report back to their master.

And chances are, Hel was the subject of a report or two, and that didn't go down well. Not at all.

"But you're just a girl," Niall says, unable to understand why Odin would call her a "monster". "You don't look anything like a monster to me..."

She lifts her face, to look Niall full on.

And she's waiting for him to recoil.

NOW he's stunned. Up till now he'd only thought it shyness that kept her left half hidden from his view.

That she was merely uncertain of her self-worth that she remained partially obscurred.

"By the gods...," he says on a whisper.

"What happened to you to make you look like that? What manner of accident or illness did that?!"

She turns her face away from him again, and closes her eyes; the blue and the blind, and in a soft whisper she speaks,

All along he's been talking to a goddess... Till now he'd only taken her for a girl not that much younger than he himself was.

Gods...

And brother to a wolf and a snake too... Is that why Odin hated her this much? Did he have something against wolves and snakes?

I should hope not lir; I would not like to meet a man - or a god - who hates wolves so much.

"But if that's the way you look, and there's nothing you can do about it, why should he cast you out? What possible threat could you pose, even as a goddess?"

It is the same anywhere lir. There will always be those willing to shun those who are different, Serri said pointedly. Even Gisella cannot help her own defects, yet too many cast her aside.

Are you trying to tell me something?

More like hoping you'll take valuable lessons away from all this when we return to our world.

"I don't know. I only ever saw him when he told me that I was a monster. He threw Jormundgan into the ocean, they took Fenrir away, and then he threw me down."

Years are twisty things. Developmentally, she is a little bit younger than he is. As far as years? She doesn't really know. Immortals don't age normally.

"I'm sorry."

She's not sure why she's apologizing, 'though she's got something of the idea that it is for making him see her.

"That's cruel," Niall says with sincerity. "To throw out one's own kin like that. And you can't do anything about the way you look either..."

I hope you will be as kind to Gisella as you are to this goddess when we return.., Serri interjects, intending to make his point heard.

"You've got nothing to be sorry for Hel; it's how you were born. There's nothing to be sorry about."

"Thank you."

She murmurs it, with a flicker of smile. That's what her father and brother keep saying. Hel isn't quite sure, but she's trying to believe the people who speak to her.

"I am trying to keep from being bitter."

And she's a little awkward, not knowing how to change the subject away from the topic of herself.

"As long as you have friends, you'll find it easy to keep from being bitter about how Odin has treated you."

Niall doesn't know how to change the subject either, but Serri decides to take a little initiative of his own.

He gets up and nudges Hel's left hand, trying to give her comfort even though he can't speak with her at all.

But then, Hel is a goddess. She might yet find a way to bridge the gap...

"That is true."

She smiles a little, which becomes a larger one when Serri nudges her hand. One of her brothers is a wolf, and she sinks gracefully to the ground in order to give him the scratching and petting that such a noble animal deserves;

"He really is beautiful. How did he find you? I know your gods send him to you, but there must be a story behind it."

She's mostly a goddess of dead things. And very young. If she may, someday, be able to speak with animals...now isn't the day.

Serri murmurs louder, appreciating the good petting he's getting. This woman - no, goddess definitely has a way with animals. Especially wolves.

"I'm not sure how he found me, but I know how I found him."

He pauses for a moment; the story is long and complicated. And thus in need of considerable truncation.

"Well, what I know is that one night I felt empty - beyond empty - and I left the castle I lived in. I had to get out; I had to. I couldn't stay inside any more. And I stayed outside, in the forests surrounding my home.

"Out there I ran into someone who I knew meant me nothing but trouble. Ceinn. He and his friends used the Cheysuli gift of coercion on me, and they made me think I had a lir and that my lir was dead."

He shudders; the memories are fresh and painful.

"Well, when a warrior's lir dies before he does, he becomes an empty, soulless shell of a man, and as life as such a man is unthinkable, he instead performs the death ritual by going out amongst the beasts unarmed to meet his fate.

That's what Ceinn did to me."

Serri stops murmuring, but he remains to be scratched, ready to offer his input if needed.

"But it was then that Serri had found me. He found me and he helped to break Ceinn's spell on me. I owe him much; I'd be dead if Ceinn had succeeded."

Again a pause. And a drink from the now-cold cup of honey brew. He's a bit thirsty from talking as much as he has.

"In some ways, that's how a warrior finds his lir. He suddenly feels himself empty yet full of a great need to go outside, to find that which will make him whole; body, mind and spirit. And he stays out there until he finds his lir.

Lir-sickness they call it. When a man becomes so consumed with emptiness he has no choice but to go out in the forest and find his lir."

She listens quietly, scratching and petting Serri.

"They must have feared you very much, to pervert something as important as this bond you and Serri share."

The balanced words are measured out carefully as she thinks about the story,

"If they just hated you, I think, they would have found something else. May I ask what became of Ceinn?"

She would never admit it, but she's hoping that Serri killed him. Growing up with Fenrir left some probably indelible marks with regards to Hel's understanding of lupine reactions, and she has never liked the thought of injustice.