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Outside of the Bellator, in the rear grounds, Aerik Halgrimson stands in the snow, a heavy wooden staff in his hands to replace the more powerful artifact he carries into battle, and he appears to be moving through a training routine; does this area get used for anything else, ever? The cold doesn't seem to bother him, even dressed in only light clothing as he is. Though the direct conflicts between the Asgardians and the beings which invaded Midgard weeks ago have seemingly come to an end by now, Aerik has remained behind rather than return home. He's spent years mourning his father's passing, having laid down his arms until recently, and now looks for purpose again. Fighting is all he has known, and so what better place to find that purpose than the House of the Warrior?
*
It had been a long battle, a small trivial one on top of a big one. While Sif was not present for the throws here where the Bellator lay, she was out there elsewhere in the world lending aid. She was a one woman army, often times carrying two or three into battle, but giants were felled all the world over. There was no where for Sif to hide, no where for her to keep her mortal seeming safe. They were out. The job was done. The movie that she planned to make that would put women on the map fell through with the destruction of some parts of New York.
But they were gods among men, she more so, settling within the barn of the two horses she covets, still unable to give them a name, but yet they were beloved. Frick and Frack had their feeding before departure to tend to their Master, and as the final brush combs through the hair of the last mare she gives her a smack upon her hind quarters and leaves the animals to their nap.
The chill was met with a cloak tugged tight against her, her eyes opening, hand over the sky as she offers out a little frown.
"The sun is high in the sky, old friend. The animals are tended and the servants continue their duties. Lay down your weapons and share mead with me."
*
Aerik ceases his activity, letting the quarterstaff come to rest its tip against the ground. "As you command, my Lady," he says, giving the woman, his Goddess of War, a curt nod of deference. The weapon is replaced on the rack, and he moves to join the Lady Sif. The two are not strangers, that much is certain; she will have known his father first, but Aerik and Sif have fought alongside one another in the past, on more than one occasion. Though the son of Halgrim is still a young man, by Asgardian standards, there are centuries of war behind both, and plenty of opportunities for their paths to cross, even form a friendship. "Mead. And stories of your victories, Lady Sif. I am eager for both."
*
There was a slight sorrowful grin as she watches Aerik, there was a memory of his father right on the tips of her psyche, much which has her head shaking as she approaches the work table which was already laden with a tankard and spigot for their use. Mead was poured for herself, filled to the brim as she leans to the side, her gaze falling upon him with a shake of her head and a press of her lips to the side of the tankard to take a full sip.
"I am afraid that I am not the storyteller that your father was. The man could have the halls on Asgard up in an uproar and even draw Odin from his private quarters in attendance." But, her gaze falls towards the barn, it was rare to see the warrior woman so down, perhaps the idleness of it all after Loki's demise.. "How have you faired? I imagine that Midgard could be a rough transition, have you made plans to settle in the city? Or has another unguarded place of our own caught your eye?"
*
Aerik follows suit, filling a tankard of his own and drinking heartily even before he speaks. The comment about his father gains a nod, but no comment. The man was loved, but his relationship with his son was forever strained, and never reconciled. It is a sore point, even now after the years spent mourning the man, that he could never hope for a settling of accounts, or the hope of an eventual sign of approval from the man. Aerik had tried to do his father proud, and had the man been anyone but himself no doubt would have acknowledged it, but it seemed a fruitless endeavour. "I will admit to feeling rather lost now, my Lady. I would go wherever you, the Princes, or the Allfather himself willed it.. there are battles to be fought throughout the Realms. But I should stay here in Midgard, if it pleases you. The death of our Prince weighs heavily on my mind, and I will not lie to you and claim that vengeance is not a consideration.. once the truth of things is known."
*
"We all are lost." Sif quietly admits, one arm draped over her middle as she continues to stare into the distance. "The world has not seen what our beloved Prince has done for them, and yet they persecuted him, which led to his death even though he was a willing party in order to prove his innocence." She drinks again, this time draining the rest of her mead, the tankard set down in order for her to pour another ounce.
"But vengeance.." She rumbles quietly, her eyes closing. "..are strange bedfellows. There were nights since his death that I had means to draw my sword, to tear this world asunder, to show them the true might of the Gods for bringing sorrow to my beloved. To the All-Father and Frigga. There is no doubt in my mind that when the sky opens and thunder scatters across the horizon, and rain falls, his family cries." She draws in a breath. "But that is not to be." She takes a sip, then sets her half-empty tankard down. "Stay in Midgard, yes. But protect their name. Honor us in doing so. The best vengeance is to hold thine own head high and be proud."
*
Aerik lets out a humourless laugh at the last. "I would say that the best vengeance is to see the head of the transgressor crushed beneath the boot of the just, my Lady, but I would never claim to be the wiser of us," he says. His own tankard of mead is drained, and he moves to refill it. "Your cause and right of vengeance is greater than mine, certainly, and I would not dare to act without your approval, my Lady. Or if I knew doing so went against the will of the All-Father." The mead is once again drawn toward him, but not put to his lips just yet. "We have pledged to defend Midgard, and I will honour that promise, until we are released of it. But if the laws of mortals will not bring justice to those who have slain our Prince.." He trails off, and shakes his head lightly. No, he won't go off half-cocked, but he also will not abide the murder of his Prince to go unpunished. Eventually, there will be a reckoning over that fact.
*
"Aye, it would be the best vengeance, if we knew who that transgressor exactly was." Sif points out. "To cull a nation is what I meant. To see them all bow and cower, is what I meant. To remake their world that would gain Odin's approval and a further eye.." She steps away from the table then, drawing towards the other where the wooden weaponry were set out, two tonfas taken up within her hands which were twirled and soon set down.
"I am no General, Aerik. And with the Lord Protector of Midgard gone, I believe that duty falls now upon Thor, like so many other things that have been left behind.." She shakes her head, almost as if she were giving up the good fight, the good fight that kept most of the Asgardian's together. But her faith was clearly shaken. "Speak to my beloved of your station upon this land. I myself may return to Asgard to tend to Frigga and her needs.. I am unsure."
*
"If only we knew the truth," Aerik mutters, echoing the sentiment. He drinks, a long sip taken before the tankard is set down again. The warrior watches the Lady Sif closely, her mannerisms and behaviour. He is no scholar, or expert on such matters, but even he can see that she is indeed lost, the weight of recent events having made all of the places in this world uncertain. Perhaps a return to Asgard would be best for all of them. "The Goddess of War, returning to Asgard to be a handmaiden.." He allows the briefest of laughs, as the very thought is ridiculous, to say the least. "I do not require a general, my Lady. Only a warrior to lead me, and there are none I would follow more willingly than you. But if you wish it, I will avail myself to the Thunderer, and be put to use as he sees fit."
*
A tonfa was picked from the pile again, tossed within her hand, which soon snaps out as the blunt edge of the tonfa whirs through the air at a breakneck speed that soon pelts itself into the barrell of mead. Surely the handmaidens, Amora, and Thor himself would give her a verbal thrashing at wasting such a treat, but a point needed to be made if he were to live within the same vicinity of Sif.
"It is spoken." Sif says, her thumb outstretched to draw a line upon her forehead so that the braid itself is removed from her forehead. "Report to the Thunderer post haste. Should you wish, the servants will prepare the Ward's room for you to stay the fortnight. It appears my student has a little issue of his own that needs taken care of, and will not return soon." She turns then, dusting her hands off, satisfied with her decree.
"And when that fortnight is done, I expect you'll find another domicile to lay your sword." With a toss of her head upright, she marches right back into the Bellator with a slam of the door that breaks the glass and rocks the hinges.
*