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Cold snow and ice were all that Torunn Thorsdottir felt as she regained consciousness, the demigod daughter of Thor groaned as she pushed away at the snow that covered her body. She looked across the great expanse of snow-covered plains that extended in front of her.
“This doesn’t seem to be Hel, far too warm,” the blonde demigoddess said to herself as she checked herself over. The Asgardian armor pieces she wore over her clothing still shined, though they were partially melted, with her clothing sporting obvious burns from the same source. Which sucked since this was her boyfriend’s hoodie. Her eyes suddenly shot open as she realized James was nowhere in sight, and her memories of the few moments before she passed out came flooding back to her.
Salem, an Immortal Witch from Remnant, attempted to destroy Beacon Academy and the rest of her world with an army of shadow monsters. The Alliance chose to stand against her and launched a force to assist the Huntsman in their fight for survival. James Rogers ended up rallying the students in the academy to hold off the horde the witch summoned, though that was the last she saw of him before she confronted the witch herself, and that massive Grimm dragon that destroyed a mountain. Two other heroes had been shoved into portals by Salem before the Asgardian demigoddess intervened, though not before she killed that same dragon that kept bombarding the school. They battled for several moments before Torunn impaled her and struck her with all the lightning she could summon, using her sword as a makeshift lightning rod through the bitch’s chest. Then Chaos magic flowed through the air and started opening interdimensional portals across the entire school.
“Now I’m stuck in some kind of wasteland,” the Half-Asgardian muttered to herself as she jumped into the air, gaining dozens of feet in height before falling to the ground. “I’m also far weaker than I should be.”
Torunn took a few steps to reorient herself before realizing her sword was nowhere to be seen. The last place she left it was in Salem’s chest, but if she found herself here…
Reaching out with one of her hands, Torunn felt for her blade, hoping the binding magic would kick in as it had before. The ground nearby began to rumble before exploding with a burst of dirt, rocks, and snow as her sword flew into her hand. It was a long blade that sparked with energy, and the golden symbol that resembled Mjolnir shined on the crossguard and grip. It was a beautiful blade, possibly one of her favorite things in the world. Knowing she had this and James’ jacket brought her some amount of comfort despite her circumstances.
Once more she jumped into the air as she attempted to find any semblance of life across the wasteland when she noticed a forest far in the distance. While she was hesitant to enter unfamiliar territory, it was the only thing that stood out among the rolling hills and empty expanse. Plus, as she heard her stomach growl, it would probably be the best place to find food. Which is the first thing she did once she passed beneath the branches of the large trees.
“Doreen can never find out about this,” Torunn muttered as she tore into a squirrel kabob she had made, enjoying the taste of the cooked meat. She set up a fire in a clearing after jumping from tree to tree, catching the little demons wherever she could. A dozen of them now hung above the fire. “I don’t know why she likes you guys so much, you’re pure evil.”
Deciding that speaking to dead squirrels wasn’t good for her mental health, Torunn fished her phone from her pocket and pressed it against her blade, charging it to a hundred percent in a matter of moments. The lock screen featured a picture of the Young Avengers, the newest generation, at least.
It was two years ago, but it was just after their first mission to clear out a forest fire. Hanging from some trees were the Spider Triplets, the Spectacular Spider-Man, the second Spider-Woman, and the Scarlet Spider, Peter Parker’s oldest children. There was also Patriot, Marvelous Girl, Squirrel Girl, X-23, Prowling-Spider, Cloak and Dagger, and Valeria Richards, to name a few. She hoped her friends were doing okay.
When Torunn unlocked her phone, she was greeted by the sight of her and James posed back-to-back. He had his shield out while she held her sword with both hands in front of her. It may have been a pose they both did for fun, but it became a reality more than a few times. Especially at Beacon for the short time, they fought together before she went after the witch. She was the sword to his shield, they protected each other.
‘I should have brought him with me,’ The eighteen-year-old demigoddess thought bitterly as she ate another cooked squirrel. ‘He was needed on the ground, but if I had my shield with me while I fought that witch…he’d probably be dead. At least there’s a small hope he’s safe, where ever he is.’
Torunn then leaned back against the tree as snow began to fall once again. A storm was approaching from the North, a big one if her senses could be trusted. A wind was picking up and would soon be howling through the trees, but it carried something else with it. The Half-Asgardian’s eyes widened as she heard the sound of screaming from somewhere nearby. She shot up and grabbed her sword as she ran through the woods to the source of the screaming. She found a family of four running through the woods from a pair of polar bears. The two ursine were gaining on their prey quickly, so she needed to act.
A small family of four was rushing through the woods, a father and son trailing behind twin girls, though the sound of roaring ice bears was easy to hear as they got much closer. They had hoped to make it South after their village was wiped out by something during a storm, barely escaping while the others screamed, and then fell silent, but their luck didn’t hold. Gornell’s hand gripped his spear tightly, knowing that he and his father would likely have to hold back the bears so his sisters could escape. He made up his mind when the roaring was only a dozen feet behind him and turned with his spear raised, his father doing the same thing. Both of the snarling beasts were ready to devour their next meal, only to be thrown as a blonde woman slammed into the side of one and launched both through the air before landing in a heap. The pair of bears growled as they sat up, eyes focused completely on Torunn as they stood to their full height and roared. The blonde woman cracked her neck and drew her sword, not at all intimidated by the sight.
"I've fought bigger," Torunn grinned as she prepared to fight the two polar bears when the sound of something enormous started crashing through the trees. The woods behind the bears exploded in a slew of splinters as a massive, brown bear that was the size of a house, with white markings on its abdomen, slammed into a smaller bear, tearing it apart with ease. The other polar bear growled, only to fly through the air with the swipe of a claw from its far larger cousin. The monster then looked down at Torunn and the family she was protecting. "Okay...you're bigger than I fought before. Run!"
The massive bear roared and swung at her, causing Torunn to lift her blade to block the blow. She caught the massive paw and then found herself lifted into the air by the momentum of the swing. The demigoddess was shocked as she found herself thrown by the giant animal and slammed into a tree, groaning as she slid to the ground. The large bear then turned back to the family and got ready to pounce when a sword flew through the air, stabbing into its arm. It roared in pain as it turned to face Torunn, who jumped through the air and punched the beast across the face. The bear’s jaw snapped out of place as several teeth fell out, though one embedded itself in a nearby tree.
Torunn used the distraction to grip her sword and yanked it downward, slicing open its arm as she reached the ground. She then yanked the blade free and jumped back as the other paw crushed the ground where she stood. The blonde warrior then stepped back again to dodge another swing, swinging her blade as the paw in response. The bear roared as several claws fell to the ground, severed from its paw and leaving another bloody wound on its body. In a complete fury, it reared up its entire body and slammed down, attempting to crush Torunn under its weight. The blonde warrior rolled out of the way as the bear attacked before leaping into the air once again. With a mighty roar of her own and summoning the power of her blade, she plunged it deep into its back, causing electricity to surge through its body.
The bear let out one last growl as it passed on, its massive body laying still as Torunn pulled her sword free. “Is everyone okay?”
The family said nothing as they stared at her in shock, especially as their savior began to wobble before collapsing to her knees with a groan as she grabbed her side. Torunn ground her teeth as she breathed in, fighting the hiss of pain as the family continued to stare at her. Eventually, the young man stepped forward, his hands wrapped tightly around his sharpened stick. “Thank you for saving us. Did the Gods send you to answer our prayers?”
Torunn’s briefly shot up to the dark sky, waiting for a possible lightning strike by some kind of divine entity that didn’t like interlopers, though nothing seemed to occur. “More than likely not, but I couldn’t sit back when people were in danger. I am Torunn Thorsdottir.”
“Thank you, Torunn, I am Varamir,” the older man said as he stepped forward, his hand still holding his sword tightly. “This is my son, Gornell, and my daughters, Briya and Cliar. We’re in your debt for saving us, Storm Bringer.”
“I’m just helping out people in need, it’s what a hero does,” Torunn said with a forced smile, her ribs hurt like heck. “Can you tell me where I am? I kind of just dropped into the middle of nowhere and would like some directions on where I can go to rest.”
The family gave each other looks as they suddenly noticed the odd clothing Torunn was wearing. Briya, the twin with short, brown braids compared to her sister’s long, blonde ones, decided to speak up. “Are you a Kneeler?”
“A ‘Kneeler’? I don’t know this term, but I’m not one who typically kneels for anyone besides my grandfather, Odin,” Torunn declared, searching for any expressions of familiarity among the gathered locals. Not seeing one, she decided to not drop the whole Norse god thing out of fear of likely starting a cult, like what happened when Asgard returned to Midgar. Frick those cultists are a mixed bag. “He’s a powerful man back home, but that’s not important. I was battling a powerful when her magic sent me here, hence why I am lost. So, if you would be so kind as to tell me where I am…”
“You’re in the lands of the Freefolk, far beyond the Wall to our South. That is the land of Kneelers, though it’s supposedly much warmer with more food,” Varamir answered as he leaned against a tree. “I had a brother go South to raid over the Wall years back as many others have before. He never returned, but that hadn’t stopped others in our village from going. At least, that was before…”
Torunn’s attention was momentarily drawn away from her mending ribs as she looked over the small family. They had no supplies aside from small bags that couldn’t hold nearly enough food, not to mention no other survival gear. A group like this would make sense for a hunting party if there were more, but that wouldn’t make sense with young children at their side. Not to mention the past tense, which typically meant nothing good for the subject.
“You’re out here because your home was destroyed by something. Something far worse than bears of any size if you don’t have more people or supplies,” Torunn reasoned as her eyes shot around the tree line, but nothing stood out. This did not ease her nerves in the slightest. “I want to know what you’re running from, but it can wait for when we’re someplace safer. I’ve got a camp not far in that direction, and we’ll head there shortly. Agreed?”
Varamir looked to his children, his spear still tight in his grip, but he nodded. “We’ll join you, but we’d like you to join us on our journey South. It’s safer in numbers with those…things out there ready to kill us, and I’ve heard more people are grouping up to flee South under a new King.”
“Sounds like a plan then,” Torunn said as she gave them a grin while lopping off the runebear’s head. “Just a trophy since this might be the biggest thing I’ve killed that I can make a trophy out of. So, what are the “things” that you’re so worried about?”
“We call them the Others,” Gornell chimed in, though he looked around as if he were afraid of summoning them by simply uttering their name. “They’re horrible monsters that are said to raise the dead, and have worse things at their service.”
Torunn listened to the tales of the family as they walked to her camp, with little doubt as to what kind of horrors might be hiding in the snow if even a quarter of what they said is true. She pushed those thoughts away, focusing on the present and what she could do to help these people. It’s what an Avenger does, even while trapped in another world.
Not far from where the blood of the dead bears pooled into the snow, something stirred beneath the ground. Drawn to the smell of fresh blood, and a hint of magic, the ancient being stirred awake, slowly. It grabbed its weapon, a massive mace carved from an old pillar and coated in old blood, ready to kill this new foe with glee.
XXX
In Winterfell, Ned had felt the surge of power from beyond the Wall in the far North, though it had vanished as fast as it had appeared. It threw him off for the rest of the day, even while he performed his duties as Lord and took care of his family. There was something about the magic that felt both ancient, and incredibly dark, like nothing he had felt before, even after discovering his true heritage all those years ago.
“I see you’ve noticed it as well, Nedry,” the familiar voice of his mother, Angela Stark, said as she walked onto the balcony beside him. “I felt it as well, my young pup, and it wasn’t anything as I had faced before. Though, things have changed because of it, since the path is open. Which means we must prepare even more for what’s to come.”
“I don’t doubt that, even with the things far to the North already making moves South, if the messages the Ravens carry South are true,” Ned muttered as he left the balcony, his mother close behind, using her cane to move forward. He reached to assist her, but she smacked his hand away as they wandered the halls, stopping at the sound of a soft growl as a familiar shape of a direwolf bounded up to Eddard’s side. “I don’t know who will believe us, but with the treasure, goods, and people being brought in by our Varangians, we should be more than ready to survive whatever the Norns have planned.”
“True, but even with me coming here, they have little sway on what happens to this world,” Angela said as she reached over to scratch Lagertha, the direwolf, behind her ear. It was truly a beautiful creature, larger and seemingly smarter than a wolf, and a sign of what was to come if even these monsters were fleeing South. “I’m willing to bet my arrival has already changed plenty since your father was set to marry his cousin before he met me, and now the North is sending out mercenaries regularly to get stronger and wealthier. Still, we can’t grow arrogant in our strength, because that’s how the mighty fall.”
Ned said nothing for a moment before his eyes drifted back to his mother. Even with the gray in her hair and the cane she walked with, she still resembled the shield maiden who stole his father’s heart and rode to war alongside him to avenge their family. “Will you be attempting to head home to meet your family again? I know you’re not as strong as you used to-”
Angela bonked him on the head with her cane at the insinuation that she was old, but she smiled. “No, I had little power left before my exile, and I gave up the rest to those who could do a much better job at gathering warriors for Valhalla. Besides, I want to see my grandchildren grow up and have children of their own. It wouldn’t be proper for me to just abandon you all so I can live in Asgard, much like how I know I can’t convince you to leave the North and join me. We have our duties, and what we want will follow later, but the present awaits.”
“Very true,” Ned said as they continued their stroll through the halls of Winterfell. “Our warriors in the Stepstones have had great success in clearing out the pirate enclaves, and the Company of the Rose have agreed to return to the North with the promise of land to settle.”
“Good, it has been too long since they’ve left, and the warriors in their company will be a boon in the battles to come. I’m also glad to hear of our expedition’s success, the boys and their companions need to practice fighting in battle, so this is perfect!” Angela said before a familiar grey-robed man rounded the corner in a hurry. “Maester Luwin, what do you seem to be so worried about?”
“Lord Stark, Lady Angela,” Luwin bowed as one hand clasped his chain. “I saw something enter the crypt, and thought you should be made aware of it. It was…them.”
Angela gravely chuckled at how pale the Maester was, especially with how tightly his hand wrapped around the Valyrian steel link on his chain. “Then the path was truly opened. Thank you for the information, Luwin.”
“Don’t tell Catelyn about this,” Ned said quietly as he pulled the old man closer. “You know how she gets whenever magic is involved.”
“I wouldn’t dream of doing so, my Lord,” Luwin said with another bow. “I just never expected to see them in person, or at all. I assumed they were a Northern myth.”
“Myth can sometimes be a reality, Maester, but I may explain things further later on,” Angela said as she walked past him and went straight for the crypt, with Ned keeping pace with her. They received a few bows from the servants who were performing their duties, but no one stood in their way as mother and son finally reached the entrance to the crypts, and journeyed below. Everything was silent, until the sound of footsteps approached the pair from the surrounding darkness, eventually revealing five figures.
Each figure had its face hidden by golden masks with wings stretching from their backs, but all had distinguishing features that differentiated them. As one, each Valkyrie bowed before the Starks, their features revealed by the torch in Ned’s hand.
The first Valkyrie had braided, silver-blonde hair, though bright purple eyes seemed to glow beneath her helm. A pair of bronze, reptilian wings were folded to her back while a hand was wrapped around the sword at her hip. “We came as soon as we felt the surge of power, my Lady.”
The next Valkyrie had long red hair that couldn’t be contained beneath her helm, a fanged mask that was eternally stained with blood, and a pair of bat wings that flapped freely in the cold air. She pulled her knives free with great enthusiasm if one were to guess. “Would you like us to kill the one who summoned it?”
The third Valkyrie had long, dark hair and olive skin, with a shield that resembled a turtle shell strapped to her arm, and a pair of vulture wings with purple-tinged feathers on her back. “The power was very old, is it perhaps the one who banished you?”
The fourth, dark-haired Valkyrie had a pair of raven wings folded to her back with a bow in hand. “I can scout it out if you wish, my Lady.”
The last Valkyrie had golden wings but a dark aura around her as she gripped her sword, ready to fight for the one that gave her new life. “I will be at your side if they’re a threat!”
“Most of you need not worry about whatever that power was, because the way to Valhalla has been opened! Most of you will go about your duties and collect the souls that are worthy to enter those halls, but feel free to find whatever loophole you can to collect them! Most may accept the offer, but tell the warriors who may refuse what we’re gathering them for. That may sway a few of them to take the offer if they don’t initially. Visenya, Nymeria, Jonquil, and Danelle will go out into the world to perform their duty!” Angela ordered, and all but one of the Valkyries vanished from sight. “Alysanne, you will first collect the warriors that lie in these crypts, then you will scour Beyond the Wall. Beware whatever that power was, but let me know what you find.”
“Of course, my Lady,” Alysanne Blackwood said as she stood and approached two of the tombs. Ned was shocked as Valkyrie seemed to glow as she stood before the graves of his father and brother.
Rickard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North. You chose to face the Mad King to protect your children, and when you were tricked, you did not make a sound as you were burned alive. Arise to Valhalla!
Brandon Stark, Son of Rickard, Eldest of his children. When your sister was taken, you charged straight to King’s Landing to get her back, heedless of the danger. While your father burned, you reached for a blade just out of reach, ignoring the noose that tightened around your neck while you struggled to save Rickard. Arise to Valhalla!
As one, the souls of Father and Son rose from their graves, with Alysanne grabbing each around the arm before disappearing in a flash of light. Ned blinked, his eyes felt dry since he couldn’t look away from the sight for a moment as all his mother’s old stories came flooding back to him. Did he have an uncle who couldn’t be killed by any means but a small, insignificant plant?
“It’s something to see from an outside perspective, I will admit,” Angela said with a grin as she looked at her son, both hands grasped around her cane, though she seemed younger. Ned’s memory flashed to his mother when they charged into battle at the Trident, her red hair only streaked with gray back then. That was the battle where she was forced to retire after her injury from Ser Barristan.
Ned shook those thoughts of the past away as his eyes fell on the last visible grave he could see in the crypts, her statue seemed so lonely now. He turned to his mother, a question on his tongue, ready to be asked, but it wouldn’t come as they departed the crypts.
XXX
In a great sea of grass, he awoke with a groan from the tall grass, his vision blurring as he sat up. A labored breath escaped from him as he felt the hot sun beating into his skin. Looking around, he appeared to be alone… wait, where the fuck was his brother?! He wasn’t even supposed to have a physical body unless he was summoned, thanks for that, Dad! So why the Tartarus was he in the prairie alone?! He let out a snort as he looked around, only to feel a familiar, hated weight on his back.
He was wearing a saddle, the one thing his brother promised he’d never force on him under any circumstance, and now he was alone wearing this fucking thing! He could see the golden gleam coming from the reigns at his side, likely the ring that he was held in so often, which also didn’t bode well. Heck, not even the Amazons were able to separate him from his little, half-breed brother, so how did this happen?!
Wait, did this mean his bitchy sisters were also out there somewhere…
Eh, not his problem, but he needed to find Percy, wherever he was, hopefully, he had Roman Queen with him. He liked her, she was much nicer than Olive Bitch.
Forcing his thoughts away from the nicer of the two girls, even if she refused to let him eat those metal dogs of hers, he started running South to find anything he could. So far, it seemed to only be an empty expanse of grass and rolling hills, until he caught a whiff of something. It was a horrific, rotting smell that could only mean one thing, a corpse was nearby. It didn’t take him long to find what he was looking for, but he felt rage bubble in his body as he discovered the body of a deceased horse. There wasn’t much left, and the wounds made it clear that something using tools carved it up. He whispered a small prayer to his father in hopes that the creature may rest in peace, only to see marks in the ground leading away, more hoof prints.
He took off at a sprint, following the tracks the entire time, stopping only occasionally to drink and eat, but he never gave up his hunt. It was by nightfall that he found them, a small group of a dozen men, clad in leather with long, dark hair. They had curved swords at their sides and didn’t seem to notice him as they sat around their fire, laughing with one another in their unfamiliar language. One of them sat further away from the rest, keeping watch for potential enemies, not random horses. It was to his detriment, as Arion, the Storm Horse son of Poseidon, knocked him down and crushed his skull beneath his hoof.
Arion then rushed the remaining warriors, bowling over two in his stampede, their bones breaking beneath his stomping hooves, with one unfortunate fool rolling out of the way; right into the campfire. His screams chorused the battle as the remaining men drew their weapons and rushed the mad horse. Arion then reared and kicked out, caving in the skulls of two more warriors with ease. One rushed him from behind, but Arion let out a back kick that shattered the warrior’s jaw. With half of their fellows dealt with, the survivors were quite a bit hesitant to fight this very dangerous creature. One, thinking a bit, grabbed a spear and threw it into Arion’s side striking true. The immortal steed roared in pain as he closed his teeth around the weapon and pulled it free, the wound closing as he shattered the wood in his jaws.
One of them, an older man with grey streaked hair, barked orders to his fellows as he drew another curved blade. He stared Arion down, unflinching as the rest of his compatriots grabbed horses and ran as fast as they could. Arion paid them no mind, for there was nowhere they could run that he wouldn’t catch them, eventually. The old warrior circled the fire opposite the demonic horse. Arion continued to glare back at him as he trotted, each sizing the other up, before they charged each other.
The old warrior skirted the open flame, letting his blades run through the fire before slicing them along Arion’s side. The horse grunted as he slid, letting his wound heal, slower than he would have liked, though he healed nonetheless. Once more they circled, the warrior who fell into the flames finally quieting down when they rushed each other again. This time, Arion pivoted on his front hooves, letting his flank spin and slam into a warrior, knocking the wind out of him. The old warrior lay on the ground as he tried to regain his breath, his grip on his weapons strong as Arion stopped above him.
“The Great Stallion walks-” was all the old warrior said as a single stomp silenced him forever. Arion snorted, though he felt a strange sensation rush over him, one that felt oddly pleasant. He gave it no mind as he lay next to the fire, the remaining horses crowding around him for protection. He did nothing as an armored, winged woman landed in the camp, her presence reeking of the Aesir, and picked up the old warrior. With little regard to Arion besides a side glance, she carried her chosen into the sky.
“Fuck, those cold bastards are here too,” Arion huffed as he took in his new herd. “Alright you idiots, have a rest, more of them will be here tomorrow.”
The horses did as he commanded, for even in a new world, he was a Lord of Horses, like all children of the sea.
By the time day broke, the surviving Dothraki had rejoined the Khalasar, where they told of the demonic horse that could not be wounded. No one took them seriously, but their Khal saw the fear in their eyes and heard them mumble about it being the Great Stallion reborn. Drogo smiled as he called upon his Bloodriders and mounted his steed, making sure he had plenty of ropes and nets because this beast would make for a fine prize.