Latest update:COMPLETE
Summary:In antiquity, he was known as the Thrall-Born: The scourge of the Anglo-Saxons and the Bjornar Clan's last hope to maintain their foothold in England. In the modern day, he is the last line of defense between Olympus and a threat unlike anything the gods have faced before. The son of Aegir has arrived, and his axe thirsts for blood. Post HoO/No ToA
Link:https://m.fanfiction.net/s/13863142/1/Perseus-Thrall-Born-A-Viking-s-Tale
Word count:130k
Chapters:14
Prologue
Anna Collins - Southern Alaska, 1963 CE
The legion feared the distant north, and for good reason. Alaska was a staggeringly peculiar place, filled with stunning vistas and fierce wilderness alike. For every beautiful sight you stumbled across, there were three monsters and a deadly storm hoping to make it the last thing you saw. The place was so primal, so untarnished by the callous touch of mankind, that even the gods themselves feared to tread the frigid lands.
To most demigods, traveling to such a place of your own volition bordered on lunacy. To Anna, there was no better place to be than the land beyond the gods. Up in Alaska, there were no senate meetings. No drilling on the Field of Mars from dawn till dusk. No self-indulgent gods descending from the sky, demanding their whims be met even at the cost of their childrens' lives. And perhaps the best part? Anyone who gave a faun's ass about her desertion would be too damn terrified to come chasing after her. It was the perfect getaway destination… Almost.
As with all good things in life, the wonderous benefits of her fresh start did not come without their own drawbacks. Adjusting from the bustling city-life of New Rome to the rural backwaters of Cordova had been difficult enough, not to mention adapting to the increased presence of monsters both mortal and mythological. And yet, even though there seemed to be as many bears as people and she was pretty sure her nearest neighbor was a hyperborean giant, Anna's problem was actually simpler than even the wild creatures roaming the snowy hills. In fact, her issue was perhaps the oldest that humans and demigods alike had ever faced; the brutality of mother nature herself.
The locals had of course warned her about the coming storm, worried about losing another newcomer to the harsh winter of their rugged home. Anna, new to this whole "Alaska" thing, had been blinded by her pride. Believing her demigod nature to put her above the dangers of the frozen tundra, she had gone out in search of wild game, even as the winds had begun to bluster, and the snows had grown as heavy as flakes of lead. And of course, like all people controlled by their hubris, it wasn't long before she found herself at the tail end of a bad decision; stranded gods-know where, with nothing but white on all sides, and with the suffocating cold of the night closing in fast.
"Chione you frigid bitch." Anna mumbled to herself.
She tugged at the hood of her fur-lined parka, wishing it were possible to add another layer to her already ridiculously cumbersome ensemble. As she trudged through the rising snows, chilled to the bone and lost beyond belief, she came to the stark realization that this would likely be her end. Not killed by some fearsome monster or slain on a legendary quest for the gods. No, her tombstone would read, 'Here lies Anna Collins, too stupid to stay inside.' The thought, grim as it was, was still able to garner a chuckle from her.
"And maybe," she said to nobody in particular, a bit delirious from the cold, "They'll bury me in a freezer instead of a coffin. I wouldn't want to be thawing out mid-service."
She thought the idea humorous, and for a moment winter's howling gales almost seemed like laughter. When the small bit of merriment faded, she was again left with the morbid truth. Her body was tired, her fingers starting to numb, and each footstep was as likely to be heading towards her grave as it was to be heading home. Still, there was little left to do but take another step forward. And another. And another. And another. Until…
Her foot slipped out from under her. Only it wasn't snow sliding underfoot, it was hard, unforgivingly slick, cold as medusa's stare ice. She teetered backward, and for a blink it seemed she was going to regain her balance. With desperate arms she grasped for something, anything to steady herself with, but nature wasn't so kind. The only purchase she found were loose flakes of snow, taunting her as they fell alongside her. Her backside collided with the ice below, filling the air with a nasty crack that was audible even above the screeching winds. She turned as still as stone, terrified that a single move would shatter the ice and plunge her into the watery grave waiting just beneath her.
There was a tiny moment, just the smallest breath between seconds, where it seems like all was fine. Where it seemed that all her fears were for naught. That belief was smashed as quickly as it was born though. The nerve-shattering crackles returned, sending waves of alarm shooting up her spine. Suddenly, her deathly still was replaced by a wild panic. She scratched and clawed at snow and ice, desperately trying to scrabble away from the widening hole in the ice.
She got away from the initial opening, but that wasn't enough. The spreading crevasse seemed to follow her every move. It was almost as if the ice was a sentient being actively aiming to swallow her whole. Try as she might, she couldn't escape its rapid spread. Like it was destiny, she felt herself start to teeter backwards once more, this time hovering over an inky abyss. She lost her balance, and then she started to fall. There was time for a single short prayer to gods who weren't listening, and then she braced herself for the icy kiss of death.
She plummeted backward with a shout, tumbling into the gaping maw of the broken ice sheet. Her eyes clenched shut as she prepared herself for the shock, only it never came. Rather than a massive splash and a deadly chill, she only experienced a slight oomph as she collided with something… Soft? Daring to open her eyes, she found herself not at the bottom of a lake, but atop a pile of powdery snow, as soft as it was sterling white. Thanking whatever deities held sway over the frozen Alaskan woods, she heaved herself to her feet. Then, with wonder in her eyes, Anna scanned her surroundings, almost unable to believe what she was seeing.
She was trapped in a cavern of some sort, only it was no natural ice cave. It seemed perfectly shaped, as if a giant sculptor had carved it out himself. Pillars of ice and stone extended toward the ceiling overhead, bearing the weight of the ice sheet she'd plunged through. At the opposite end of the cavern, a tiny stairwell was carved into the ice. It descended ominously into darkness; a sight so foreboding it was almost comical. A message was etched into the ice surrounding the stairs, written in a few different languages.
The first appeared to be some weird set of hieroglyphics that seemed laughably out of place in the chilly cavern. The second looked like some sort of ancient runes but were about as recognizable as chicken scratch. The third language she did recognize, though she couldn't read it herself. It was ancient Greek. The language of Roman demigods' most hated enemy. The fourth language she could read, and the message was loud and clear. Mors exspectat. Death awaits.
For the millionth time that night a shiver wracked her body, only this one had nothing to do with the cold. Whatever was lurking at the bottom of the stairwell was dangerous. So dangerous that the builders of this gods-damned place had gone to the trouble of writing a warning in four separate languages. To descend into whatever hell awaited her would be suicide, and yet…
Anna glanced to the hole in the ice above, where the winds were still raging with the ferocity of a rabid hellhound. Returning to try her luck on the surface would've been a fool's game. With conditions as they were, she would freeze to death in just a few minutes. If she stayed put, she would avoid the biting winds, but likely only buy herself a few extra hours. At best, she somehow outlasts the storm and might have enough time to get help. At worst…
"Well…" she muttered to herself, "If I'm going to die anyways, I might as well die doing something interesting."
She wasn't sure why she made the decision. Perhaps she was going insane from the cold, or perhaps her curiosity simply outweighed her basic survival instincts. Or maybe, just maybe, there was something greater, something more important than her or anyone else that was pulling her in. Call it fate, call it idiocy. Whatever the feeling, whatever the reason, her decision was made, and before she could even process what she was doing, her legs were moving, and she was descending into darkness.
As she delved deeper, two things quickly became apparent. First, the air was rapidly warming, going from a bone-chilling sub-zero to a manageable barely freezing in just a few steps. Second, and the odder of the two realizations, was that the violent howling of the winds had disappeared entirely, despite how close she still was to the surface. The only noise in the stairwell other than her footfalls was a faint, dull thrum. It was as if the ice were humming its approval. Beckoning her to head deeper. Just the idea was unnerving.
"Living walls." She grumbled. "You're losing it, Anna."
The ice only hummed louder in response.
As disconcerting as that was, Anna forced herself to march onward. The deeper she got, the stronger the pull became. The louder the humming grew. Then, when the ominous thrum had evolved into a deafening growl and the pull had reached irresistible strength, she saw light down below. With newfound energy, she bolted down the final steps, into the light, and met a sight unlike anything she, or perhaps anyone, had ever seen before.
It was an open cavern, carved out of thick ice that glowed a brilliant cobalt blue. Every square inch of the room was decorated with the same four languages she'd seen before. This time, the Latin translation was even more troubling. Cave fagello. Beware the scourge. A chilling message, and one befitting the impossible sight before her.
At the end of the cavern, locked deep within the ice, a frozen figure loomed. He was a tall man, with a lithe build that hinted at hidden strength. He was dressed in lightweight leather armor, with a bearskin draped overtop of his form. In one hand he held a small axe that looked both functional and ornate. In the other, a round shield of shimmering wood that bore the visage of a roaring bear. A broken off arrow was lodged in his shoulder, and his unclad arms were decorated in odd tattoos. In totality, he looked eerily similar to the Viking warriors she remembered seeing in a film at Camp Jupiter a few years back.
"Just who the hell are you?" Anna whispered, stepping closer to the warrior encased in ice.
She lifted a trembling hand, laying it hesitantly on the wall of ice. The ice was warm to the touch, something that confounded her to no end. She wasn't given much time to ponder the oddity though, because not long after she made contact the ice started to melt. It began slowly, but faster than she knew it there was a pool of water at her ankles and a man torn from time laying before her. She stalked closer warily, eyeing him all the way. The man's chest rose as he took a shuddering breath and… wait… a breath?
"How in Jupiter's name is he alive?" she murmured.
Whoever he was, one thing was certain. To survive gods only know how long lodged in a prison of ice, this man had to be a demigod at the very least. Whoever and whatever he was, Anna decided it was best to be on his good side. People dangerous enough to be locked away in secluded tombs were usually not ones you wanted as enemies. So, with that decided, she stuck a hand in her bag and rummaged around for the phial of nectar she knew she had stored away somewhere. Eventually, her hands wrapped around something cool and delicate, and she knew she had it. Anna withdrew the godly liquid with a squeal of delight, savoring her tiny victory.
She opted to treat the wound before trying to wake him up, figuring it would be easier to help him while he was unconscious. First, she pushed the arrow all the way through his shoulder, deciding it better to carve a few extra inches of flesh than yanking the potentially barbed arrowhead back through his shoulder. Fresh blood – how the hell was that, or any of this, possible? – poured from the wound, but a quick dash of nectar slowed the waterfall to a trickle. With the immediate threat to his life taken care of, she went to pour the nectar in his mouth, hoping the godly liquid would be the key to waking her new cavern-mate.
Before she could administer the medicine, a hand reached up and stopped her. A large, viking-y hand with a grip of iron. So he was already awake then… Shit. With fear setting off alarm bells in the back of her head, she raised her gaze from his mouth to his eyes. Eyes that were such a dark blue they were almost black. Eyes that made her think of the deepest, darkest recesses of the ocean where strange sea creatures, bloodthirsty monsters, and worse, prowled.
His eyes were filled with anger. An ocean of hate and rage that was threatening to boil over. And yet, as she peered into them, she thought she could see the slightest hint of something else lurking beneath that tumultuous surface. Relief, maybe? Or perhaps it was just confusion? She wasn't entirely sure. Either way, the emotions in his eyes were hardly as relevant as the impossibly strong grip on her wrist or the steel axe-head she'd only just noticed hovering threateningly close to her neck. Her eyes flickered between his face, his hands, and his weapon a few times, hoping that this wouldn't be her last memory. When a few seconds had passed, and she realized she wasn't dead, she did the only thing she could do. She swallowed her fear, and with a weak smile that she desperately hoped looked friendly, she introduced herself to the scourge from the ice.
"My name is Anna," she started, voice wobbly. "And I'd very much appreciate it if you didn't kill me."
Link:https://m.fanfiction.net/s/13863142/2/Perseus-Thrall-Born-A-Viking-s-Tale