Chapter Text
There wasn’t much Astrid remembered of her father’s home. She remembered tall apple trees in the garden, a woman’s voice as she sang of long winters and beautiful springs, the smell of freshly baked bread. And then, of course, how it all burnt down.
She had been five when her parents had been killed. Later, when she had been old enough to ask questions, Kára had told her that her father had betrayed the Allfather and rebelled over a senseless claim for lands and titles he thought he was supposed to hold. Astrid’s family could have been royalty, some of her ancestors even had been and after marrying her mother, her father had believed they could be royalty once again. A foolish thought, Kára explained with a sigh, and one that cost him his life and most of his family with him. Because no matter his fantasies and dreams of power, there was no way to win this fight. Because rebelling against Asgard meant rebelling against Odin and the Allfather, always swift and unforgiving in his anger, answered. Eirik Gunnarsson died in a bloody defeat, leaving not pain and uncertainty to his wife and daughter but also a war that had been lost from the start to his brother.
The Queen would later tell Astrid that, for a brief moment, she had hoped that the new Duke, Astrid’s uncle, would simply surrender and use the opportunity to denounce his brother and save what was left of his name and family. But Gunnar was just as proud as Eirik had been and after watching his brother die, he refused to give up even now. Instead, he drew back his forces to his family’s estate, barricading himself in some desperate attempt to regroup and win this war after all. But then again, there is no way to question Asgard’s power and its hierarchies without paying a price. And Gunnar would pay this price in blood.
Later, Astrid sometimes asked herself what her mother must have thought during that time, but while everyone seemed to have opinions about what her husband or brother-in-law thought during this foolish rebellion, nobody could remember what Brynja’s opinion had been. Apparently, she had remained loyal to Eirik even after his death, although Astrid couldn’t remember much about her parents’ relationship herself. Maybe she just had no choice, just as many women in a position like hers, but in the end, neither of it truly mattered. Because when Gunnar didn’t surrender, Asgard’s warriors came after him.
They flooded the land around the estate, cutting down everyone and everything down trying to get in their way and setting fire to every field and every building. A destruction so cruel and thorough that no noble of Vanaheim would ever dare to rebel against the Allfather again.
Somewhere amidst the chaos of the burning estate, Kára, one of the few mages among the warriors, had felt a shift in the magic around them. Immediately on guard, they had started to search the room, expecting to fight a new attacker, but when they finally opened the door to the closet Astrid’s mother had shoved her daughter into, they found nothing but a little girl. Crying, afraid. Innocent. So innocent that first Kára and then the warriors she was commanding had pity with that child had no fault in her father’s wrongdoings. That little girl, she would later say, did not know why her home was burning and she did not know why most of her family was dead. She did not know why her mother had decided to die in battle, defending the door of that room where she had hidden her daughter with her last breath. She did not know how her father and uncle had failed her by bringing war to her home. Instead, she was nothing but confused and scared. And she did not deserve anymore pain thrust upon her.
At first, the warriors brought Astrid to her father’s sister, Dagmar, as her only surviving relative after this last battle. She was the youngest of the three siblings and, as people would later say, the smartest. Because while her brothers had clung to a senseless war, Dagmar surrendered. She knew that if she wanted to save anything left of her family’s wealth and power, she would have to do so through negotiations and by convincing the Allfather that no threat would come from their family ever again. Because after all the blood that had been shed in crushing this rebellion, Odin was not willing to take any risks anymore. There would be no new rebellions springing up right under his nose because there would be no one foolish enough to risk Asgard’s wrath again. And Dagmar, mourning the loss of two brothers over a cause she knew very well had been lost from the start, offered the last thing her family could offer: The traitor’s only child.
To Astrid, these details didn’t matter back then. She only realized that her parents and her uncle were dead now and that her aunt wanted to send her away. Years later, as an adult, she would understand that the trade Dagmar made had been more symbolic than anything else. A sign of surrender from a once powerful family who now bowed before the Allfather and reminded their friends and enemies alike that there always was a horrible price to pay if one dared to cross Odin himself. But as a child, Astrid only felt alone. She was scared.
Astrid vaguely remembered clinging to her aunt’s skirts as if they could protect her when Odin’s warriors came to take her to Asgard. She remembered crying again while Dagmar couldn’t bear even looking at her. Her face was nothing but a stern, cold mask as she stood there and stared at the men and women in glittering armors in front of her instead of the crying child at her side.
“Are you content now?” she asked when a woman stepped forward, her expression calm, but distant. Dagmar’s voice on the other hand was dripping with bitterness and hatred, at least it did in Astrid’s memory of that day even years and centuries later. But Kára, dressed in the glittering gold and deep blues of her armor, only ignored the Duchess and her bitterness and lowered herself until she was crouching before Astrid.
“Hello, little one. I think we met before.” She tilted her head a little and with a gentle smile, she raised one hand to a small wave. “My name is Kára. I will be looking out for you from now on. What’s your name?”
For a moment, Astrid only stared at that tall woman who had seemed so scary only a moment ago but now looked at her with nothing but friendly kindness. Her armor was different from the ones the other warriors were wearing, lighter, the one of a battlemage and a general, as she would later learn. Scars covered her body, and one even ran from the bridge of her nose to her jaw, but still, the friendliness in her dark eyes calmed Astrid.
Slowly, she let go of the fabric of her aunt’s dress and took a step aside to get a better look at the woman before her. “Astrid,” she then said quietly before throwing a panicked glance towards Dagmar again. “And I want to stay here!”
“I know, but I’m afraid that’s not possible, little one.” Kára held out her hand to her. “But I promise you will like where we’re going. Asgard is beautiful this time of the year. And you’ll even live at the palace with lots of toys to play and other children to meet. Everything will be alright.”
“Go.” Dagmar gently nudged her niece towards Kára, still not looking at the girl but shooting daggers at the other woman. “She’s right. And I’m sure she will take good care of you.”
For a moment, Kára looked up at the other woman again and a smirk crossed her face. “Is that a threat, Duchess?”
“I’m threatening no one.” Dagmar straightened her back, her chin raised high as she met Kára’s gaze. “I’m only stating a fact according to my contract with the Allfather. And an obligation you agreed on.”
“Of course, you are.” For a moment, Kára held eye contact to Dagmar, but then, she finally shook her head and turned her attention to Astrid again. “So, what do you say? Can you trust me, little one?”
Astrid did like Asgard, just like Kára had promised. She rode there on the mage’s horse, her little hands gripping the hem of the saddle tightly as if she could fall off any second, no matter that Kára behind her had wrapped an arm around her middle and held her safe in place. In the care of the scarred mage, Astrid left Vanaheim and came to Asgard. With wide eyes, she stared at the enormous buildings they passed and when they finally reached the palace, Kára chuckled softly at how much the little girl was in awe at the sight of the fine architecture.
Astrid didn’t think about it at the time, but she had been lucky to have caught Kára’s attention back then. She had been one of Odin’s warriors for centuries, a trusted general, and maybe would have been for many more, but when she returned from Vanaheim after that journey, she stayed. Instead of going to another war for the Allfather, she took a position in the palace and became a guard to the Queen. And with that position, she also volunteered to care for Astrid.
Astrid grew up how most children of high-ranking warriors or lower nobles would have grown up within the walls of Asgard’s royal palace. She got an extensive education, played with the children of nobles and warriors and with Kára, she had a powerful guardian looking out for her. One that could not only care for her politically, but also taught her what she needed to know to survive. Kára was also the one who started teaching her how to wield her magic.
Magic had always run in Astrid’s family. Her grandfather on her mother’s side had been a decent healer, although he did not make much of it, but her father’s family used to be full of powerful mages. There had been only a few family members with notable talent over the last few generations, but still, magic was in her blood. Her uncle even had been fairly good at wielding lightning, but, of course, that didn’t save him either when it truly mattered. Yet, Astrid’s powers followed in her ancestor’s footsteps, at least more or less. She had a close connection to nature and the elements. Fire and lightning, just like her uncle, although she later would focus on less threatening aspects of that talent to use it for growing plants or watering the flowers in the palace gardens. To her, magic always had felt natural either way. It was everywhere at any time, waiting to be bent by those who could reach it in ways that would direct this energy one way or another. Astrid had been fascinated by that kind of power and the ways it was flowing around her ever since her childhood and so, she not only learned to tap into that energy but also to feel it. She learned how to read the shifts of magic around her, learned to spot the ways it bent differently around different mages and over time, she learned to use that perception for herself in other ways as well. A subtle skill and one only few people in the palace even knew of, but the most important one. Because now Astrid caught the attention of the Queen.
Frigga had kept a careful eye on Astrid ever since the girl arrived in the palace. She was the child of a traitor after all and, even worse, a Vanir from a family with a talent for magic. And one with an aunt who maybe wouldn’t openly rebel against the Allfather again, but surely would use any chance she got to regain her power. Astrid couldn’t have realized it back then, for she was nothing but a child, but even as a hostage, she could have turned into a threat and the Queen was far too smart not to see that possibility. But Frigga also saw the fascination, the curiosity in the eyes of that girl who was only beginning to understand what she might be able to do one day. So, just like Kára back in Vanaheim, she became the second one of the Aesir who did an act of compassion that would eventually lead Astrid on a trail that was bound to change Asgard and the world forever.
From now on, Astrid received not only lessons in history or culture like the other noble children at the palace, but also ones in magic. And those were not like the hours she had spent with Kára in their spare time when the battlemage had taught her a few spells to make at least some use of her talents, those were real magic lessons by the Queen herself. And Frigga was a good teacher.
Within months, Astrid was able to sense another mage approaching from the other end of the royal library. She also got better at summoning and bending nature around her to her will. Once, during the darkest and coldest parts of the winter, she managed to summon a small rose in full bloom, and it didn’t die for a whole day resulting not only in a lot of amazed whispers throughout the palace but also a proud smile from the Queen.
As the months turned into years and decades, Astrid grew to be an unquestioned part of life at the palace. She was skilled, certainly the most talented mage from her family in a while, but she also had made Asgard her home. Occasionally, her aunt would visit and complain about how “the girl” had become “one of them”, but even when Astrid became old enough to understand what Dagmar meant by that, she didn’t care anymore. All she knew was a life under the care of Kára and the Queen. While Dagmar had sent her away, using her as a pawn in a game her brothers had begun, Kára and Frigga had held their hands over Astrid more than once. They had protected her at Asgard’s palace with its ever-spinning rumors and whispers and they had taught her how to survive this place on her own. Astrid had grown up with the children of nobles and warriors of Asgard and had proved her worth as a trusted asset to Frigga’s household, just like Kára before her. One with unusual powers, yes, but still, at the end of the day, she was nothing more than that. Not the daughter of a rebellious Duke, but a Lady who served her Queen well. To Frigga on the other hand, she also became more than just someone who would take care of organizing balls or managing servants, but also a shield. Only few paid attention to a young woman they thought Frigga had taken under her wing solely out of pity, but while they underestimated her and her loyalty to the Queen, Astrid saw and heard a lot more than they realized. Dagmar maybe turned up her nose over what had become of her niece, but Astrid had found a home and a role to fulfill. A role she was playing well and maybe could have played well until the end of her days if the Norns wouldn’t have strange ways of weaving their threads.
Because then, everything changed.