Frigga is waiting for Fandral in the clearing of the Green so that they can talk. Fandral has a lot of feelings that he doesn't know how to deal with. But hey, at least he finds out he's been in
Valhalla.
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Discussion of character deaths, general angst cause Fandral is sad.
For such a strange, unwelcoming place (literally teeming with ghosts), the Green was actually a rather nice pocket to spend time in - the weather, Frigga didn’t quite understand that, however. In this void there was no sun, no light of the moon, no stars to resemble spilled milk upon a black velvet sky. She expected to see dewdrops, shining pearls upon the leaves, but didn’t find that either - instead she just came across silence. Stillness.
A stable, in the distance. That was interesting too.
Regardless, she enjoyed the fresh air - such as it was. It was easy enough to sit upon one of the tree trunk benches and wait. Whom was she waiting for, you ask? Well, she had promised Fandral she would make time for him and she had every intention of keeping that promise. She knew he ventured out here often - and that when he did, today, he’d be alone. He’d been alone quite frequently as of late, she knew that too - and perhaps she could venture a guess as to why.
It was difficult to pull the wool over Frigga’s eyes. She had a way of sussing out information. But she was here, and the warrior who put Asgard above all else deserved a chance to speak his peace and find a little peace too. If she could help with that, she would.
And thus she waited.
It wasn’t exactly uncommon for those of Asgard -- at least as far as he could ever tell -- to not necessarily face their emotions head on, and Fandral was no different. In fact, most who had known him back in their home realm would have likely considered him the consummate Asgardian. At least next to the likes of Thor, Sif, Volstagg, etcetera.
His days during the weeks they found themselves in this void of nothingness had started to grow more and more tiresome. At least the weeks they were in other realms allowed for the chance to explore or put his mind to something else, but when they were stuck on the campus with nowhere else to go, Fandral’s thoughts always drifted inward and he didn’t care for it.
But it also gave him ample opportunity to try and get Firehooves a bit of exercise, thankfully. He’d raced the horse back and forth across the grounds several times before deciding to gallop toward the horizon. Not that they’d find their way off of the grounds -- no, the steed ran toward literally nothing, but it at least felt like there was a bit of freedom to be had. After a long while, he led the horse over toward the trees of the Green, letting him loose to graze on the grass before he decided to take a moment to himself in the clearing he’d made one week out of anger. The memories of its creation were not dear to him, but he’d tried to atone for his sins against the earth by creating a space that others might have enjoyed.
What he hadn’t anticipated was Frigga enjoying it. There was absolutely no hesitation as soon as his eyes fell on her, with his all-too-natural instinct as a warrior of Asgard kicking in. Fandral fell to one knee and brought his right arm across his chest, hand clenched in a fist to press against his heart, head bowed.
“My Queen. I did not expect you.”
Ah, there he was. She knew he'd be along to join her eventually. Frigga was gentle when she touched the warrior's shoulder, indicating that he may rise. "Join me, Fandral," she encouraged. "It's actually pleasant out this way. You worked to create the comforts of the clearing?"
He seemed - stoic. Different, somehow. There was a hurt echoed, almost as if it was unremembered - something there, but not necessarily dealt with or acknowledged, at least not anything that could be parsed out in such a way to get to the bottom, not without some kind of archeological dig.
But he was still quite handsome. He'd been a young warrior in training and handsome then too - one of the most beautiful in Asgard's court; many young maidens had been trying to catch his eye. The ones that laughed at the right jokes, fanning themselves when he said something witty. It was a simpler time then.
He’d grown relatively accustomed to Derleth’s tendency to bring and take others on a fairly regular basis and he supposed this was no different. When Sif had arrived, though her stay in this realm was brief, he’d been overjoyed to have her companionship again. With Frigga it was different. She’d perished on Asgard long before he and others of their realm had at the hands of Dark Elves, watched as her funeral pyre was set ablaze on the waters of their home and her very essence taken to the stars. To Valhalla.
She was his Queen. While Loki would forever be a Prince of Asgard and Thor’s brother to Fandral, despite his own commentary that the royal title meant nothing when there was no Asgard to speak of, he could only look at this woman with respect, honor, and obedience.
The gentle weight of her hand on his shoulder forced an exhale from his chest, as if her hand had pushed the breath out of him instead of simply resting in a friendly touch. “I did,” he remarked quietly in response, moving slowly to stand back to his full height. Fandral’s eyes fell on her though it was only a moment later that he lowered them again. “The circumstances of its creation were not favorable, but the wood was put to good use and I believe others of this realm have enjoyed the space that was left behind.”
“You have always been noble, Fandral,” Frigga replied. She slid down on the bench to make room for him, if he wished to sit beside her. “It reminds me of parts of Asgard, in some places.” The greenery, yes - there were lush parts to her home as well, it wasn’t entirely a tangle of those golden spires. She had a cabin, tucked away in the mountains too - lots of plants and pink flowers that grew along the sides. And, of course, her gardens at the actual palace.
Frigga appreciated nature. She could easily sync up with its breaths, its birdsong, its tranquility - a little different out here in what was a Void, but it was at least something. “Now - “ Time to get down to business, yes? The Queen would not be here indefinitely. There was no key, no room for her to call her own - she was no fool and realized her stay would not be permanent.
It was best to do what she could for her people, while she was here. She could see that Fandral was twisted up in knots - if she was able to loosen some, she’d be grateful. “Tell me what troubles you?”
Frigga had always treated he and the other warriors with such grace and kindness, but even still, having her offer him a seat beside her felt… wrong. Strange, at the very least. They were not equals, why should he be allowed to take a seat beside her? He hesitated, weighing the silent invitation, before carefully lowering himself to the log bench beside her.
“It has its moments, mostly here on the Green. Other parts of this place do not resemble Asgard in the slightest, but at least out here among the trees, I can pretend.” Which he did quite often.
Fandral fell quiet for a moment when she inquired about what it is that troubles him. He folded his hands together and let his head lower, eyes on the ground, at his feet. “At this point it is more accurate to ask what does not trouble me, I think, my Queen.” His voice was quieter and the words weighed heavy as he spoke them. “I am weary and tire of this place.”
There was personal turmoil, relationship turmoil - it felt like a storm that ravaged a city, a great flood, a mass of water that just kept coming and coming. Frigga made a contemplative sound, and she sat straight with nary a slouch to the pearly notches of her spine - a queenly pose, very regal and as finely polished as an expertly crafted arrow.
“Feeling tired of this place is inherently a part of being here in this place, it seems,” she said. “Feeling tired of life in general is also a part of life. But you are still here - and there is still a spark in you. When the time is right, you will move on.”
She paused, wondering how much Fandral knew of what lay beyond - of what truly was in store for those who went to Valhalla, heroes and the honored dead crammed into the long dining halls that seemed to stretch on and on and on, where they would feast upon incredible food and an abundance of ale. Liquid sloshing in golden mugs, falling off their intricately scrolled golden chairs, because everything was made of gold in Valhalla too.
“I have seen you in paradise. Peace awaits you - a peace well-earned.”
He wasn’t sure what to say in response to the first part -- moving on. Ha. That didn’t seem likely the longer he stayed in Derleth. It just felt more like he was doomed to repeat his mistakes, to cause others and himself unnecessary pain, and for what? Because he thought somehow it was the kind thing to do?
Fandral’s mind was reeling a little until he heard her words. I have seen you in paradise. A numbness washed over him, her voice echoing throughout his thoughts until finally the emotion of it sank in. His blue eyes welled and he felt a hint of a smile pull at one corner of his mouth. It was utter disbelief; if he’d found his place in Valhalla, wouldn’t he have memories of it before his arrival in Derleth? How could he be both there and here?
There was a pause, a silence. Did he dare look at her? What if she was merely telling him something he needed to hear in order to help him and not the truth? Would he be able to see if she were spinning a tale?
He blinked, the tears falling onto his cheeks and into the stubble he hadn’t shaved down that day. “Perhaps you have me mistaken for another. What of Volstagg and Hogun?”
Frigga looked a bit amused at the idea she could mistake Fandral for someone else - there was certainly no doing that. He was one of a kind. “The Warriors Three, and you the perfect person to balance Hogun’s grim way of looking at the world and Volstagg’s own cheerful heroics. Of course you are together. Of course you are with them.”
She reached over and placed her hand over one of his, a comforting touch. “You gave your life protecting Asgard. I know it feels dark and dreary now, that you cannot escape the pain of this world - but just know it’s only one stop on the way. Why you are still here, what you are meant to do - well, I suppose only you will uncover those answers. In times of pain, there is one good thing about it - it helps us learn to care for ourselves, so that we may better care for others. But please be assured - this too shall pass. Do not give up hope.”
Like anything terrible in life, anything that hurt - the crushing sensation of a figurative knife to the heart, that passed too. Resilience was also a beautiful thing.
He’d had no expectation of ever hearing those words from anyone that had been a part of his home world, let alone the Queen Mother. But between her soft voice and the touch of her hand, Fandral’s resolve was crumbling too quickly, the emotion hitting him like a fist to the chest. He sat there, the tears welling fast and falling hard against his cheeks. Fandral hunched a little, hiding his face against a hand as he cried, but made no move to pull his other hand away from her touch. Something that was more comfort than he’d had in a long time, if not since his arrival.
His place was in Valhalla, with his friends and brothers in arms, and yet...
“I should have been able to protect it better,” he finally said, his voice gruff with emotion. Fandral inhaled sharply, though it was wet and he used his other hand to wipe his face. Not that it did any good, the tears still fell freely. “I should not have been felled so easily.” There was obvious frustration and embarrassment there, something he’d been dealing with ever since he found himself in Derleth, and something he had to face week after week at each reset.
“It was disgraceful, my Queen, and I am deeply sorry to have let our people down. I was meant to protect our home and I failed them. I failed you, I failed Odin. And I continue to fail, over and over. I cannot seem to do anything right here.” Fandral’s face twisted in pain and he bowed his head again, falling silent aside from a few quiet sniffles.
Frigga loved her husband - truly, she did. But Odin was a philanderer, and Hela the product of one of his many affairs. The fact that he had affairs wasn’t necessarily what bothered Frigga (they spoke about it, they had an arrangement - it wasn’t as if she was waiting for him to revive from Odinsleep for all that time when he was under). But Odin also didn’t make the best parenting decisions when it came to her either - she was his right hand woman in conquering the realms until she wasn’t; Odin became a man of peace. Hela did not agree. Therein was the problem.
“You did not fail,” she insisted, squeezing Fandral’s hand - her voice was firm, conviction in her tone. “Hela was a storm that could not be contained, not by one person. The fall of Asgard was always prophesied, Fandral. There was no stopping Ragnarök.”
And it had been necessary, in order to prevent Hela from causing more damage and killing more people. “Do not let these chains keep holding you back here,” she added. “It will get better, I promise you - but that comes with acceptance of the fact that there are some things that cannot be changed.”
It was more than evident that Fandral felt a great deal of shame about his final moments on Asgard and over the past several weeks, it was something he continued to bury under the facade of something more cheerful. Something that he hoped passed for anything other than how he’d actually been feeling. A suave sort of happiness was something he’d been so well known for in their homeland. He wasn’t called Fandral the Dashing for nothing, but he was no good at dealing with his own emotions -- he never had been, except for his time living on Midgard with the one woman he’d ever truly fallen in love with and he suspected, the only woman who had ever truly fallen in love with him: Marion. She’d coaxed it out of him, understood him in a way no one had before or after, and he’d somehow, miraculously, managed to spend seventy incredible -- and fleeting -- years by her side.
But furthermore, he felt shame for his actions in Derleth. His lack of acceptance of his current situation had led to inner turmoil that seemed to come out in unhealthy ways, though he didn’t know how to manage it other than isolating himself. Was it a kindness? He couldn’t say. All he knew was that he deeply regretted the way he continued to hurt Loki, and others by proxy.
He regretted the way he hurt himself, too.
After a few moments, Fandral nodded slightly, wiping his face again and sitting up a bit straighter. “I suspect there are many things I cannot change that I wish I could,” he confessed quietly, eyes still on the ground. He felt small and helpless. “I just wish to be happy. I have only felt truly happy briefly since being here and I fear it will drive me mad.”
“It is hard to be happy,” Frigga agreed. Especially here, when everything was purposely designed to feel hopeless - it spread like a wildfire and consumed every bit of joy, or at least, it certainly seemed that way. Living in what was essentially a void didn’t help either - nor was being yanked to and fro to various locations, experimented on for an unknown purpose.
No one dealt well with the unknown. Not even her.
“I wish I could give you a checklist, things you could tick off that would ensure you are happy. But I can’t. I can only tell you to keep trying - if you give up, that’s the only way you won’t achieve happiness at all.” Otherwise, there were possibilities. And happiness was often more about the process than the outcome anyway - that’s why it was important to keep trying, even when the results didn’t seem to appear right away.
“I know that I am not the only one struggling, it would be incredibly selfish of me to assume otherwise, but gods, I am homesick. I have no place here.”
Perhaps it was more than a little dramatic to claim such a thing, but Fandral truly felt, deep within himself, that he didn’t belong. He tried, or he thought that he did, but it never seemed to work the way that he thought that it might. “I am sorry to air such feelings of sadness to you, my Queen. I cannot imagine what it is you think of me now, seeing me like this.”
He missed Thor. He missed Sif. He missed all of his friends, his home, their realm. Loki was all he had of Asgard here and try as he might, he seemed to continue putting whatever relationship there was in ruins. Even maintaining a friendship seemed unattainable, and he knew it was his own fault.
Ugh. He disgusted himself.
Fandral ran a hand back through his hair and carefully pulled his hand away from Frigga’s, his focus still on the ground. He knew he was closing himself off, but he also didn’t feel worthy of the kindness she was showing him.
Frigga wouldn’t push him. A person, even a powerful one, couldn’t (or shouldn’t) force someone to feel a certain way - not about them, or anyone else, or a situation. Fandral was caught in the trap of self-loathing and while she knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that he had died honorably and deserved to go on for an eternity in paradise - that wasn’t something he believed for himself right now, and he had to be the one to get there.
“Please be assured there is a place for you with me, with your fallen comrades, an honored place - there will always be a place for you, whether or not you see it right now. I will not be here long,” she added after a moment, watching the stillness of the green - there were animals that skittered about, crunching twigs and whatnot; squirrels, perhaps? She also heard the gentle neigh in the distance - perhaps there were other mounts too, companions brought for a stay in this world. “However, I will check on you again. I doubt this is the last you will see of me. First, I will give you time - not too much of it. But a little.”
She could do that, at the very least - he needed to reflect on what she said, and maybe draw his own conclusions. Frigga then stood from the bench, smoothing down her skirt. “Will you at least let me say hello to Firehooves?”
Fandral sniffed again quietly, turning his head away from her to brush his cheek against the fabric of the shirt he was wearing. The tears didn’t seem to want to stop.
He did need to let her words settle over him; to take time with them and process everything that it meant. How long that would take, he couldn’t say, but it was necessary for any progress he wished to make. A quiet, short laugh escaped him and he finally lifted his head enough to glance over at her. “I should hope this is not the last that I see of you, my Queen. You have been greatly missed and I would be grateful to spend as much time with you as you are able to give.”
He’d left a brief note for Loki on the first day of the week advising that he do the same -- spend time with her while you can.
“I believe Firehooves would never forgive me if I did not bring you to see him.” That seemed to be enough of a subject change that he was able to shake off the fog of sadness long enough to push himself to his feet before offering his arm to her.