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They found an overhang that barely shielded two small pups from the frigid cold.
“Atreus.“ Kratos called to him sharply. “Remember these creatures are wild.”
They didn’t speak to him, not literally, wolves obviously don’t talk like people do. Although, he could understand them with ease. Atreus could tell, as he lowered himself to his knees, the wolves were frightened.
They were young, probably had not seen their second Winter yet, if Atreus had to guess. The wolf closest to him growled, baring her teeth in an intimidating display, while the smaller one curled herself into a trembling ball. His father whispered his name again, as he tentatively reached out his fisted hand, and was unsurprisingly bitten.
“What in great Hel are you doing, lad!” Mimir cried.
Atreus however, did not react, he knew she would be defensive. He kept his face still, avoiding eye contact with the wolf to show submission. The pup’s small jaw couldn’t accommodate the width of his fist. She continued to growl, trying her best to attack what she perceived to be a threat.
“I promise we won’t hurt you.” Atreus assured the creature. “See? I’m nothing to fear.”
Slowly her rumbling subsided, and she began to huff and snort. Then sniff at the knuckles extended to her. She gave a chortle, signaling her aggression had been discarded.
Slowly, he opened his palm for her to smell. After their rocky introduction, she allowed him to pet along her jaw, ever so slightly. Atreus brought his eyes up to meet hers and something between them was understood.
Behind him, Mimir softly exclaimed something of wonderment, while his father merely grumbled at the scene.
Funny, Atreus thought. The wolves were more open with their emotions than his own dad.
“Hey there,” He cooed gently at the smaller pup. She shook with tremors, her big submissive eyes staring up at him. She whined when his hand made contact with her fur, but after a few gentle strokes, she leaned her snout up into the touch.
“We have to help them.” Atreus insisted. He didn’t plan to accept no for an answer, this wasn’t up for discussion.
The dogs ruffled at Kratos’ approach, watching him as he lowered himself next to his son. “You speak to them?”
Atreus nodded.
“And what do they say?” His father prompted.
Atreus turned to the creatures in front of him, and opened his heart to the emotions drifting off of them, like smoke from a fire. They weren’t helpless, they were not weak, but they were disadvantaged.
Afraid, abandoned, and in need of help, these young wolves yearned for a pack to call their own. Their hearts were wounded, bleeding for a family they could rely on and service in return.
Atreus felt a bit awkward trying to say all that out loud though.
“They trust us.” He settled. “And they’re stronger than they look. Really!”
“Oh, I believe it.” Mimir spoke up, “That little scruff went in teeth first, the moment you got too close!”
Atreus giggled, though Kratos didn’t bother responding to Mimir’s comment. He brought a hand to Atreus’ shoulder to address him, “An animal is more than a tool or a weapon.” He said. “They are living, breathing. Just as much as you or I-”
“I know!” Atreus defended, he cringed at how desperate he sounded, his father continued.
“You do, I am certain.” His eyes bore deeply into those of his son, “You are in tune with them. I can see that.” less than a moment later, Kratos stood. “Have them follow.”
Atreus felt a bright smile take over his face.
“Yes, sir!” he beckoned the wolves as he stood, “Come on, now. We have a stave not far from here!”
Despite their earlier connection, the wolves hesitated.
“Yeesh. Are they rejecting us on the offer?” Mimir inquired.
“No.” Atreus listened to them. “There’s someone else here.”
“Atreus!”
Atreus ignored the stern voice of his father as he trailed behind the wolves, following them into the cluster of earth they’ve used as a makeshift den. The rocks are claustrophobic, thankfully he’s still small enough to fit. Both wolves come to circle a lump of fur ahead, whimpering quietly to itself.
Atreus clicks his tongue, hoping to get its attention, thankfully it works.
As soon as the little one looked up, Atreus was immediately overwhelmed. The runt of the litter, cold and hungry. This small creature was the weakest link of the pack, and now only two other pups remained by his side.
Before touching her delicate sibling, Atreus asked the most assertive wolf for permission. “Can I?” When the wolf snorted her approval, he scooped up the runt, then exited the cave like den, returning to his family.
Kratos stood at the opening, Mimir in his hand, their silhouette dark. Wind whistled against the sharp edges of his fathers frame, and the temperature dropped.
“What have ye got there, laddie?” Mimir called from Kratos’ grip.
Atreus approached his father, his eyes pleading as he cradled the weak creature against his chest.
His father was not an expressive man, but looking at the same deep scowl for years has made Atreus pretty intune to any slight changes. His father’s eyes softened, just barely, at the sight of the little wolf.
To Atreus’ shock, he reached out his big hand, capable of such violence but only ever gentle in the vicinity of his son. With just a finger, he stroked softly along the spine of the young wolf.
Looking at his father, Atreus smiled. Kratos did not smile back, but his eyes softened a bit more.
“Come then.” His father beckoned, and the same large hand rested at Atreus back for a moment as they headed in the direction of their stave.
_
His father stirred a pot by the fire the following evening, and Atreus saw his shoulders stiffen when he absentmindedly asked, “Mimir, do you speak any Greek?”
“As a matter of fact I do!” Mimir recalled, “Only a few conversational phrases I’m afraid. And it’s been ages since I’ve had any sort of practice. Hardly holds a candlelight to yer Da’s speaking abilities, I’m certain.”
“Oh?” Atreus prompted the room.
“I have not spoken my native tongue in many years.” Kratos admitted without turning to face them. “But yes, I remember it clearly.”
Atreus hummed, a request on his lips. “I wish I could read it, or speak it. Would you teach me one day?”
An apprehensive aura radiated from his father, muddied by a fog of nostalgia. Emotions Atreus could barely distinguish reside behind a blunt wall, but sadness is one of them.
Though it was far more complex than sadness alone.
“Perhaps.” His father settled.
Atreus half smiled at the prospect of connecting with his dad, over something they have in common. He wanted to fuss about his father’s delivery, or his clear lack of commitment. But both arguments would go nowhere, and only serve to drive them further apart.
“Okay.” Atreus said instead, and hoped it was enough. He supposed it would have to be, since he’s often the judge of what is, and what isn’t.
_
The temperature in Midgard dropped rapidly. Bodies of water froze, and fauna took shelter for hibernation. The only vegetation left were naked trees with peeling bark.
Storms came and went, with unpredictable patterns and changing intensity. After a bit of sweet talking, Kratos was convinced to allow the wolves inside on stormy nights. Atreus smiled to himself at the accomplishment, a bit smug at how easy it was.
Nightfall already painted the sky in darkness, while clouds blocked any light the moon or stars had to spare. Inside the cabin, only the fire pit burned. Winds rattled the walls while embers flickered in the air. The dying hearth emit a smell of ash, doing nothing to warm the house any further.
“Be careful.” Atreus warned. His dad intended to brave the cold to gather more kindling.
“We have plenty of wood prepared.” Kratos said, unbothered, a heavy fur draped across his shoulders. “I will only be in the yard, no further than the gate.”
“Still.” Atreus insisted. He meant to sound serious, but to his own ears it just sounded petulant.
Kratos only nodded once before the door shut behind him. Hardly a moment later, Atreus nudged past their curtains to peek through the cracks of the window shutters.
“Yer father can handle himself, Atreus.” Mimir called from deeper inside the cabin, his voice comforting. “No need for a fuss.”
“I know.” Atreus mumbled. “But it’s really bad out there. I can’t help but worry about him sometimes.”
“He’ll only be a moment, laddie.”
Atreus supposed that Mimir was right, he couldn’t see anything anyway. He pulled away from the window, letting the curtain fall, and his eyes drew up the wall, falling upon a pair of blades that hang on there.
They propose a familiar question, but only offer uncertain answers.
“Do not touch them.” His father told him once. But Father has told him a lot of shit, without actually saying much of anything.
Atreus wasn’t allowed to touch them, he wasn’t allowed to ask about them either. Well, technically he could, but he would never get an answer. Plus if it was so important he stay away, why would Father leave them in the house unattended like this?
Maybe, Atreus thought, he could answer his own questions about his father, if he only understood his past.
He wasn’t completely oblivious, he had a vague idea of what these blades symbolized. The Pantheon of Greece was no more, and it was partially his father’s doing. All would suggest these blades had something to do with that.
Centuries worth of grime was caked into the teeth of the blades. A conglomeration of blood splattered across the handles in a way that became disturbing if Atreus thought too hard about it.
If he were to neglect his own weapons to this degree, his father would not be happy.
Atreus couldn’t help but speculate their potential, ponder just how dangerous the blades could be if they were actually taken care of. His hands reached out to trace the familiar grooves worn into the handles, deep in the shape of his fathers fingers. Atreus’ own hands looked so small in comparison.
Somehow, despite the offensive layers of texture, the evidence of overuse, the metallic surface still displayed a vague shadow of a reflection.
It made Atreus feel uneasy.
“What’re ye doin’ lad?” Mimir’s voice penetrated the silence.
“Nothin’.” Atreus lied. He felt strange, like Mimir had broken him out of a trance.
“Step away from the big, scary blades, would you?” The head requested. “Yer Da’ doesn’t want you goin’ near those, ya hear?”
Atreus nodded with a slight hum. The boy turned away from where the blades hung on the wall, to sit at the fire where Mimir observed three sleeping wolves.
“Mimir. Will you tell me a story?”
Mimir’s tattooed lip curved into a grin, his voice hushed across the carpeted floors as Atreus curled up beside the pack. “What kind of tale are you in the mood for this stormy night, young lad?”
“Anything.” Atreus mumbled as he folded his arms to rest his head down.
Mimir told him of the poet, Edda, and a story titled Grimnismal, before he delved into tales of far away Gods, a being known as El and his consort Asherah. He seemed to find their tumultuous affairs far more entertaining to discuss. His voice soothed a restless impulse that itched beneath Atreus’ skin.
The boy laid on his side with his back to the fire. He felt bad. He’d asked Mimir for this story but he could hardly follow along. Atreus was getting too old for bedtime stories.
His father had not gone too far, and would come back in only a moment, then he could relax. Atreus’ vision blurred, but he kept his eyes open until his fathers smudged figure appeared in the doorway.
“There you are…” He mumbled. His eyes fell closed as the two adult voices exchanged words.
It should be hard to fall asleep on the floor, but slowly, his brain registered the bite of cold leaving his skin. Blinking his eyes open, he saw the shape of his father standing above while a heavy fur blanket was tossed over him.
The tolerable chill soon rose to actual warmth, and a comforting heat bloomed from a nearby source. Despite the safe feeling that enveloped him, a flash of panic sparked in his chest.
He was too tired to ponder what it meant.
-
Lacking a body must be a difficult way to exist, but Mimir took on everyday with excitement and joy. Atreus admired that. He wondered though, if Mimir always felt secure in their return, or if he had days where he feared being left behind.
Hopefully not, Mimir was like a second father, one that actually spoke and valued conversation. He brought balance to their family, and softened Kratos a bit. Also, Atreus did not want to imagine losing another emotionally available parent.
Maybe Mimir was thankful to be alone sometimes, seeing as his only way of mobility was strapped to somebody’s hip.
Atreus’ line of thought was interrupted as the wind got knocked out of him. His frame slammed against the ground. He was slightly peeved at the grunt he made, the dirt is cold and unforgiving, but the impact didn’t hurt that bad.
“Are you injured?” His father calls to him, but he did not sound exceedingly worried.
“I’m fine.” Atreus managed, as he forced himself to a stand. “Let’s go again?” He asked while he caught his breath.
To his surprise Kratos came to rise as well, and all he said was, “No.”
“What? Why not?” Atreus pressed his father for a reason.
Admittedly, they had been at this for a while; Kratos crouched in a parry position while Atreus tried repeatedly to land an attack. This was an all too familiar format, but Atreus found some gratification from it, even if his attempts to land a hit were not successful.
Getting caught by the ankle mid air and tossed around isn’t exactly fun. His lungs burned, his face was probably red, and his ribs were starting to hurt, but Atreus can feel his endurance improving. He’s taken a beating, but he could keep going.
“We have done enough for today, you have reached your limit.” Kratos said, calm but matter of fact.
“Oh, come on! I have another go in me.”
His father scrutinized him, eyes narrowed and jaw set. “It is not wise to train past exhaustion.”
“I know that.” Atreus argued defiantly, “But I think I can judge my own stamina, I got back up didn’t I?”
“Hm.” His father hummed, different from a grunt. Less argumentative usually. He turned to reequip his gear. “Excessive strain on the mind or body is detrimental to overall development. You have shown great improvement already, do not be your own undoing.”
Atreus gave a huff in response. If he wasn’t training there was little else to do, because unlike before, his father was now very particular about keeping Atreus in his sight at most times. If they weren’t together, Atreus was to stay at the house. He knew it made sense, with Freya lingering on the outskirts, and Ragnarok impending eventually. Looking on the bright side, at least his dad wasn’t so avoidant anymore.
“What now then?”
“You are to return home,” His father instructed. “Do not stray outside the path.”
Atreus squinted in confusion. “Huh? Well, what are you gonna do?”
“I must check the stave.”
Atreus squinted further, now in suspicion. “Why?”
“It is a necessary precaution.” His father insisted, but to Atreus it sounded like an excuse of some kind.
“Then I’ll just come with you,”
“You will not.” Kratos interjected. “If we are to commit to your current training regimen, recovery is important.”
“I can handle myself," Atreus said before he could catch it. He knew that kind of comment would backfire, and it did.
“That is exactly why you are to return home, alone.”
Atreus forced down his agitation, because in honesty, he can’t think of a good enough reason for it.
“Okay,” He said instead, “when will you be back?”
“Later.”
Atreus scoffed. There was simply nothing else to do with his discontent but laugh.
“Looking for Freya?” He spoke roughly.
Kratos did not flinch nor falter, “Only signs of her.” He admitted with resignation, “Now. Home, Atreus.”
“Got nowhere else to go.” He called back over his shoulder as he gathered his quiver and bow, and made his way down the path.
-
I’m starting to feel a bit strapped to the hip myself, Atreus thought, despite his current lack of company. Somehow, his father managed to be too close and too far at the same time, it was almost impressive.
Once he passed the gate, Atreus threw himself down in the yard. Speki, Svanna and Fenrir gathered around him.
Svanna rested her head on his stomach, while Speki draped herself across his feet. Fenrir curled into Atreus’ shoulder, so he had perfect access to lick at the boy’s face. Atreus raked his hands across the wolves on either side of his torso. Svanna mumbled affectionately and Fenrir kept kissing him with no sign of stopping.
“I know Fen, I told you I was coming back!” He comforted his friend. He loved all three wolves fiercely, but he couldn’t deny the connection he felt with Fenrir.
Atreus recalled being lonely as a boy, much like Fenrir. In his own childhood, which was a large chunk of his life, his parents were the only people he ever knew. Even now, he wondered what other kids his age must be like, for he has only ever encountered other adults.
One of which was no longer their friend.
The isolation wasn’t so bad when mother was around, but at that time Atreus hardly knew his own father. There was a sense of foreboding surrounding the tall, scowling man, who was rarely home and rarely spoke. When Atreus was little, he’d cling to his father’s legs on the days he came home, which typically got little reaction from Kratos.
Though, he also remembered the times his father showed his care, by bringing home toys carved out of wood, whittled down small enough to fit into his son’s tiny hands.
Familiar guilt washed over Atreus as he recalled the way he wished Faye lived and Kratos died instead. It’s followed by a less familiar sense of panic.
He went inside once he began to shiver.
_
Atreus used to read books that told stories of sickly children being left at the foot of mountains to die. Whether they’d succumb to their illness, or became food for the wild, the end result was always the same. He used to have nightmares about that, but his mother would assure him he was safe and loved.
To say Atreus lacked any fear of abandonment after his mother’s death would be a lie.
Whilst on their journey to Jotunheim his father kept a distance that felt like a festering wound, impossible to stitch closed, and any effort on Atreus’ part only infected it further. The surrounding of cold rock bore similarity to the tales of sick children left behind, and when his own illness returned, he allowed delusions of power to mask his fears of inadequacy.
Things were better now of course, and Atreus would never fear his own dad, he only ever feared being unwanted. Atreus would ruminate on that pretty often.
Perhaps he had to earn his father’s love, because he simply was not the child his father wanted. Perhaps there was a child his father desired, but it was someone Atreus could never be.
Atreus blinked. That was a sudden and pervasive thought. He doesn’t even know where his mind got such an idea, or who would even fit the placement. He couldn’t even retrace his own thoughts, or figure out how he came to such speculation.
“Atreus!”
“Huh?”
The sudden yell broke him out of a spiraling haze. A Vignette faded and his vision cleared. Atreus had the embarrassing realization he wasn’t aware of his surroundings, or who had just spoken his name.
“Said you were awfully quiet there, lad.” Mimir spoke. His voice was thick with concern, his position at Kratos’ flank allowed him sight of Atreus.
The boy broke eye contact, in a way he hoped was not suspicious. Instead of meeting Mimir’s eyes, Atreus found himself entranced by the blades at his father’s back.
“Oh. I am?” He asked in bewilderment as he followed the gate of his father with blind trust.
“Yes.” Kratos confirmed. “Are you troubled?” he asked.
The area was familiar, and not far from home. What they’re actually doing out here is a mystery, Atreus’ best guess was that they were hunting. They carefully traversed a wide body of frozen water, Kratos’ confident stride suggested it was frozen down to the earth.
“Uh, I don’t think so.” Atreus tried to convince himself. “Where are we going again?”
Mimir gave a distinct hum that usually served as a signal between himself and Kratos. “Hear that, Brother?”
His father’s grumble was quiet, but also served as a signal between the two adults.
Atreus rolled his eyes, which Mimir made a face at.
Whatever. Atreus ignored the poor attempts at secrecy. He stared straight ahead, finding himself eye level with his father’s weapons yet again.
Abruptly his heart began racing, but a quick scan of the environment didn’t reveal any threat.
The trees looked different. Winter storms wrecked havoc among the area. The terrain is mostly recognizable though, which kept Atreus tethered to reality. Everything would be so much easier if they could just talk, but talking was ineffective if you were only one person.
Their relationship felt like an unmanageable flame. One minute it burned hot with rage and tension, and the next, it was damp with unease and disapproval. While the warmth of a fire is welcome, it brought an abnormal sense of dread.
Embers flickered in the air in a way that seemed too uniform. The light reflecting in a mimicry of the runic patterns on Father’s blades.
“Boy!”
“What?” Atreus snapped at the moniker, but reeled back sharply as he nearly collided into his father’s chest.
“Look at me.” Kratos imposed. His father’s eyes were firm, and a cacophony of sensations overwhelmed Atreus at the sight. “This distraction is dangerous when exposed in the open like this.”
Atreus knew that. To be alert and aware is the first basic rule of survival. Terror gripped him by the jaw as his father forced his face straight ahead. “Look. At. Me. What is it that plagues your mind?”
“Let me go!”
His breathing became ragged and he fought away big hands that came towards him. Voices argued back and forth but he couldn’t focus on them enough to comprehend what they’re saying.
Suddenly the hands grabbed his wrists, preventing him from fighting back. Fear startled his system, but when his father’s voice burst through the mental fog he was struck with clarity.
“Stop this.” Kratos said firmly, but there is security in his command. “You must calm yourself. Look at me.”
Atreus took in his father’s features and the confusion that wafted off of him.
“Oi, I can’t see shite!”
Mimir’s yell hurt Atreus’ ears, but the pain reconnected him with his body, helping him ground.
“What’s wrong? Has he gone mad?”
“Quiet.” Kratos commanded, fierce but not unkind. He studied his son with intensity. “What just happened?” he asked.
“I…” Atreus searched the perimeter to try and find the source of his panic. The horizon changed as they’d moved along steadily, he still had no idea where they were going. Fear buzzed beneath his skin with an unknown source, but he’s left with the realization this was entirely unfounded and internal. “I dunno…”
“Hmm.” Kratos’ expression scrunched minutely, and mild frustration bled off of him in waves. Atreus felt his breath quicken again, as Kratos held his arms tightly. He maintained composure despite it. “We will go home.” His father decided.
“Perhaps that is for the best.” Mimir agreed.
Atreus wanted to apologize, but he was sure to be scolded for it. His breath evened the moment Kratos let him go.
“Walk ahead.” Father told him.
Atreus lead the way back.
_
“Do you think he’s mad at me?”
“Oh, not at all, Little Brother!”
Atreus chuckled at the shock in Mimir’s voice. “He’s not mad. Just worried, y’see? I know I’ve never seen you quite so upset before.” Mimir reflected from his position nearby.
Atreus could tell Mimir was prompting him, providing an opportunity. He was encouraging Atreus to open up. To expand on what had happened.
Atreus wasn’t being stubborn on purpose, he just didn’t know what to say. He focused on his hands as he ran a brush through Fenrir’s fur.
“I think he’s mad.” Atreus continued his previous point. “He’s never gonna let me do anything. It’s back to being ‘boy’ now isn’t it?”
“You two just need to talk, is all, he’s a stubborn old grumbler but he’s gotten better at listening!” Mimir attested.
“Eh,” Atreus muttered. “I guess.”
He couldn’t think of anything he had to talk about, necessarily. Not with his dad.
Atreus had been responsible for most of the talking, for as long as he could remember. Father had gotten better, significantly, but the only thing that could possibly get a real reaction out of his dad was confessing the truth.
Atreus wasn’t oblivious, he knew that his fathers blades were the likely cause of his recent mental spiral, but he couldn’t imagine that conversation going very well. Plus, if Father could keep secrets, why shouldn’t Atreus? It’s not like it was a big deal, Atreus just needed to get a grip on reality.
“You know,” Mimir continued in response to Atreus’ silence. “You and yer Da’ are awfully similar in a few ways, but usually you pave your own path. Your own perspective.”
Atreus’ hand stilled as he looked up to Mimir, where he rested upon a nearby tree stump. His expression was difficult to read.
“I can’t help but notice,” Mimir said, “You’ve begun to mirror him recently, and it makes me wonder if you are okay?”
Atreus was taken aback momentarily, as he realized the question, its implications, along with the evidence being proposed.
“I’m fine!” He said suddenly
Mimir stayed quiet. The way he looked for trouble was different compared to his father. Mimir’s eyes didn’t sharpen or scrutinize, but softened and observed. His compassion remained present in his actions, and his questions. Atreus’ admiration for Mimir as a parental figure was diluted by anxiety, a prickling the back of his neck.
He could not tell whether it was his own emotions or not.
“Are you sure, Little Brother?”
“Yes.” Atreus said.
He knew it was a lie.
_
The unfortunate thing about dreams is; They are inconsistent.
Sometimes they act like a window into the unknown, and they show you something important. Premonitions, things like that. Other times, dreams can be a little crazy. It’s up to the dreamer themself to distinguish whether it’s a message sent from beyond, or just the messy ordeal of having a mind.
It’s all entirely subjective!
Atreus is asleep. He isn’t fully aware of himself or his existence, given that he’s unconscious.
There is a melody, a song. It starts out familiar, feminine. The music is tangible as though it carries in the air with weight, before flowing into Atreus’ ears. The song is laced with love and comfort, but haunted with feelings of grief. Atreus can’t see anything, his vision is black, but he can sense the presence of eyes watching him.
Blue irises that radiate love, when suddenly they shift to something deep of the earth, and any familiarity is lost.
The song morphs into something unrecognizable, but haunted all the same. The ghostly sensation of phantom emotions overwhelms him as the song ricochets off the walls of his skull.
His panic has built steadily over the past few nights in succession, but still there is no threat, only the unknown.
He doesn’t know these eyes or this song, who she is or why she hurts. He doesn’t know why so many sensations torture him.
His eyes snap open, and he can only hear the wind.
_
Atreus is cold. Painfully cold, as the wind rattles the walls and whistles through the crevices of the house. His chest aches at the insurmountable guilt he feels. Shame makes him want to sob and grovel and beg, but confusion wobbles the wheels of his train of thought.
He’s lost in a sea of vague sentiments without proper foundations; Anger and loss, intensity and warmth, guilt and pride, vengeance and shame.
It’s too much.
Atreus tries to stand, only for his limited vision to blur. He really shouldn’t make so much noise in the middle of the night like this, he considers as he hears a thunk.
“Great Hel! Lad are you alright, what’s gotten into you?”
Atreus takes several moments to comprehend his hands trembling on the cabin floor. It takes him another generous moment to comprehend he fell. Another to realize Mimir spoke to him.
It’s fine, he’s fine. Everything is under control. He can’t talk when he tries to say that. Instead a pitiful whine escapes his chest. Mimir’s voice picks back up, louder than before, but Atreus can’t hear it over the sound of his own pulse in his ears.
Voices muddle, he doesn’t know how many there are or how many are even real. He can’t breathe.
He knows what is causing this, he can feel the tug from across the floor, like a chains bound to his wrists.
They hang boldly on the wall, but they don’t symbolize pride, they only represent pain.
Atreus has to get rid of them.
There’s a battle against his body, and a war against his own mind. He struggles against the fog, and he faces the cold bite of isolation to do what must be done.
The last thing he hears is the call of his name.
Looking around he’s unable to spot his father, and a sob breaks through his throat.
It’s burning, blazing so hot, or maybe it’s so freezing cold, his nerves can no longer tell.
The temperature bites at his skin, and his fingertips have gone numb. There’s blood, but he’s not certain whose it is. It’s likely his own, seeing as it runs from a steady stream at the palm of his hand.
What happened? He’s not sure.
He recognizes his own reflection, it’s blurry and dull, then he realizes there are multiples of himself staring back at him. His hands can barely keep the blades stable, they’re too heavy, plus his palms are wet and slippery. He’d need both hands to hold just one blade properly.
There’s a clank and clatter when he throws one blade off to the side. It has to be done, the fire needs to be put out. He doesn’t want anyone to get hurt.
He can’t lose them, they can’t leave him.
He doesn’t want to be alone.
He feels ice beneath him, it expands far outward. He grips the handle firm with two hands, thrusting his arms down, again, again, until his reflection shatters as he plunges into the ice.
cracks spider out to his knees.
He’s gonna be so mad at me. Atreus thinks. But I have to protect him.
He hears a voice, someone he’s unsure if he truly knows or not. The pain of another’s memory stains the present, and distorts his reality. Strong hands grip him by the shoulders and refuse to let go.
The pressure on his arms makes him feel safe, but the emotions they bring make him feel scared.
“Let me go! Let go of me!”
“Look at me, Atreus!”
Atreus’ breath is labored, but the fog dissipates, and he returns to his body.
His hand hurts.
“Do not let it take hold of you! You are strong, you are resilient!” Atreus focuses on the pain in his palm, his vision steadies, centering in on his Father’s wide eyes. His hands grip Atreus’ shoulders, unrelenting in their grasp. “Come back, Atreus…” Father squeezes him tighter. “You are here, you are safe.”
Atreus feels himself nod as he questions where ‘here’ is. It is dark, cold and frosty. He recognizes the area, but his inspection is interrupted by hands that come to hold his face.
Atreus’ lip trembles, big thumbs wipe away his tears. He messed up again. He feels terrible. At least now he is safe in his father’s arms.
“Where,” His voice cracks. “Where did I go?”
Father was not an expressive man, but looking at the same scowl has made Atreus very intune to any slight changes.
“It is alright.” Kratos’ eyes softened, his hands cradled Atreus’ face firmly, but remained gentle and tender in their hold. “Wherever you go I will always find you. I am here now, child.” Atreus feels an aura encase him, the air potent with love, devotion and protection.
He is okay, his father is okay. Everything is okay.
“And I will protect you.” Kratos’ voice secures him before his hands move back to Atreus’ shoulders.
His vision goes spotty as he is lifted off the ground, and guided somewhere.
He’s only vaguely aware of what’s going on. He feels something soft beneath his fingers and a sense of comfort keeping him still. He flinches at the sound of a bang. He realizes soon after, it was only his father closing the gate.
He flexes his hand and grimaces at the resulting sting. He looks down and see’s a loose rag was wrapped around his sliced palm. Atreus is torn, between rambling a stream of apologies and bursting into tears.
The sun rises over the horizon, illuminating the trees and casting warm shadows across the snow.
Fenrir presses himself under Atreus’ neck, while Speki and Svanna bark at his father’s approach.
“It’s okay.” He whispers to them when Kratos comes to a stop in front of him.
“You are troubled.” Father’s voice comes, and Kratos lowers to his knees, and reaches towards his face. Atreus twitches away at first, fighting to keep his expression still, until the residual anger fades from the air, replaced by a blocked off sense of trepidation. Kratos’ large hand gently caresses the side of his short hair. “You will tell me what happened.”
“I dunno.” He admits.
He leans into his father’s hand like a lifeline, and pretends his voice didn’t break.
His father’s eyes have never been so openly aching. Atreus feels his own eyes burn in frustration. He can’t articulate his reasoning, not even inside his own head.
“I touched your blades.” it comes out casual, despite it being a rather criminal offense he’s confessing.
Kratos’ jaw sets, resigned.
“I was only curious about them, I didn’t know…” The boy tries to explain. “I didn’t think something bad would happen. Or anything would happen at all.” He mumbles. “I can only ever feel people. Not things.”
A contemplative hum belonging to neither of them breaks through the tension. Despite the thick emotions tainting the air, Atreus feels himself smile. Kratos’ face pulls in annoyance, and he brings the culprit to eye level between father and son.
Atreus can tell, it takes great restraint for his dad not to scold Mimir, right then.
“You have something to say?” Kratos implores.
“Oh don’t mind me, just thinking is all.”
“Think more quietly.”
“Hang on!” Atreus calls their bickering to a stop, “Do you have, like, a theory? ‘Cause I'd like to hear it.”
Mimir’s hums again, his forehead scrunched in deep thought. The two adults share a look that Atreus has witnessed between them many times.
Another unspoken signal.
When Kratos nods, Mimir voices his thoughts with great sensitivity; “Yer father’s blades serve as a sort of contract. Tangible proof of an agreement. That being, a pledge of servitude.”
Atreus nods along as Mimir explains. The head noticeably spared glances at Kratos while he spoke.
“This… Dynamic. The relationship yer father had with this individual, it brought him unfathomable trauma.”
There was a pregnant pause following that.
Atreus became suddenly aware of the vulnerable nature of the moment. Mimir had never been so serious before, and this was the deepest they’ve ever gone into his fathers traumatic past.
“It’s possible some of that trauma is stored into the objects representing that exploitation.” Mimir’s expression steels. “And possibly, all the pain the blades left in their wake.”
Ah. The blades act as an emotional conduit.
“So by touching the blades…” Atreus begins, “I’ve essentially opened myself to all of Father’s pain?”
Mimir looks disturbed yet satisfied. “That is my interpretation of the circumstances, yes.”
“I’m sorry.” Atreus whispers before he can think twice about it.
Fingers dip under Atreus’ chin to bring his shameful eyes up. He relents, and meets his father’s gaze, despite the intensity.
“You have no obligation to be sorry.” Kratos spoke in a whisper. “Not for this.”
A breeze wafted through Atreus’ hair, and his spine rattled in a chill. His father’s hand radiated warmth, the same warmth that Atreus always sought.
“I raised you knowing what I was and what I had done. I raised you knowing I wanted you to be better. I expected better from you, whilst refusing to be better in myself.” Kratos paused, his eyes glistening. “But a father should face such things, for his child.”
It was always difficult to witness his father’s resolve break, and this instance was no different. Apologetic guilt permeates the air, it makes Atreus’ stomach hurt.
Tearfully, he croaks, “You did the best you could.”
“No.” Kratos’ voice trembles. “You don’t have to be sorry. Nor do you have to be better. You are my son, and I will accept you however you are.”
Atreus doesn’t realize he is crying again, until big thumbs swipe under his eyes. The tears leave damp tracks that chill in the Winter’s air.
“Okay.” Atreus says.
For once, it feels like he is enough.
_