The training field buzzed with youthful energy as the children swung their swords under the golden Asgardian sky. Haraldr stood at the center of the group, his movements fluid and precise. His blade flashed in the sunlight, every swing a testament to the natural grace and strength that came from his unique heritage. He twirled his sword with an effortless confidence that made it clear why he was the leader of their group.
"Come on, Neville!" Haraldr called out, his voice carrying over the clang of steel. "You're getting better, but don't let your stance drop! That's how you'll get knocked flat on your—"
"Watch it!" Neville interrupted with a grin, his face flushed but determined. He adjusted his footing and brought his sword up, his strikes becoming more deliberate. "I've got this, Haraldr. Just you wait."
"That's the spirit!" shouted Tonks, her electric-blue hair a vivid contrast to her dark Asgardian armor. She twirled her own blade like it was an extension of herself, then clapped her hands to get their attention. "Neville, keep your guard up, yeah? And Draco, stop showing off and focus on your form. You're swinging that sword like you're posing for a portrait."
Draco scowled but couldn't suppress a smirk. His blond hair glinted in the sunlight, and he rolled his eyes with theatrical annoyance. "I can't help it if I look this good," he quipped, spinning his blade in an almost showy flourish.
Tonks groaned. "Pretty boy, I swear to Odin—"
Sif's commanding voice cut through their banter. "Malfoy. Form over flair. Again."
Draco froze at Sif's icy tone. The warrior goddess, clad in her shining silver armor, strode across the field with the confidence of someone who had faced—and defeated—giants. Her raven-black hair was tied back, her piercing eyes scanning each child like a hawk.
Draco swallowed and nodded, straightening his stance. "Yes, ma'am."
"Good," Sif said firmly, turning her attention to the others. "This isn't just sparring practice. It's preparation. If you fight like fools, you'll die like fools. Now, show me what you're capable of."
Susan Bones, her fiery red hair catching the light, squared her shoulders and stepped forward. There was a quiet determination in her freckled face, a steeliness that belied her normally cheerful demeanor. She adjusted her grip on her sword, glancing at Sif.
"Lady Sif," she said with a polite nod, her voice steady but resolute. "Would you spar with me?"
Sif raised an eyebrow, impressed by the young girl's boldness. "Are you sure, Susan? Sparring with me isn't a game."
"I know," Susan replied, her green eyes unwavering. "But I want to learn from the best."
A small smile tugged at the corner of Sif's lips. "Very well. Show me what you've got."
The rest of the group paused their practice to watch as Susan faced off against the legendary warrior. Susan's movements were precise and deliberate, her strikes calculated. Though Sif easily countered each attack, there was a glimmer of approval in her expression.
"Good form," Sif said, parrying another strike. "But don't hesitate. Commit to your attacks."
Susan nodded, her jaw tightening as she pressed forward, each swing of her blade more confident than the last.
Nearby, Luna Lovegood observed the match with a dreamy smile, her pale blond hair braided loosely over her shoulder. She wasn't sparring at the moment, instead twirling her sword in lazy circles as though she were conducting an invisible orchestra.
"Luna, you're supposed to be practicing, not daydreaming," Hannah Abbott said, adjusting her grip on her sword. Her light brown hair was tied back in a practical braid, and her soft features were set with determination.
"I am practicing," Luna replied serenely, her wide blue eyes sparkling with mischief. "I'm just practicing the rhythm of the fight. Swords have songs, you know. If you listen closely, you can hear them sing."
Hannah blinked. "Swords…sing?"
"Of course," Luna said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. She swung her blade in an elegant arc, humming softly to herself.
Hannah shook her head with a bemused smile. "Only you, Luna."
Neville, meanwhile, was sparring with Haraldr again, his confidence steadily growing. His strikes were stronger now, his movements less hesitant. He blocked one of Haraldr's attacks with surprising ease, his expression lighting up with pride.
"Not bad, Longbottom," Haraldr said with a grin. "You've got a strong arm. Now let's see if you can—"
Before he could finish, Neville lunged forward with a bold strike that caught Haraldr off guard, forcing him to step back.
"Whoa!" Haraldr laughed, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright, you win this round."
Neville beamed, his face red but triumphant.
Tonks clapped her hands again, her grin wide. "That's what I'm talking about, Nev! Now, keep that momentum going. No slacking just because you got one good hit in."
As the training session continued, Sif and Tonks moved among the group, offering guidance and corrections. Sif's stern but fair demeanor balanced Tonks's more playful encouragement, creating a dynamic that kept the children motivated and focused.
By the end of the session, the children were tired but exhilarated, their laughter mingling with the lingering echoes of clashing steel. Haraldr sheathed his sword and looked around at his friends, pride evident in his expression.
"Good work, everyone," he said, his voice warm. "We're getting stronger every day."
Susan wiped the sweat from her brow, her cheeks flushed but her eyes shining. "Thanks, Haraldr. But we've got a long way to go before we're ready for anything serious."
"Maybe," Draco said, smirking as he leaned on his sword. "But at least I make it look good."
Neville rolled his eyes. "We get it, Draco. You're pretty."
Luna tilted her head, her expression thoughtful. "Pretty doesn't win battles, though. Songs do."
Everyone stared at her for a moment before bursting into laughter.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, the children gathered their swords and made their way back to the hall, their spirits high. Sif and Tonks followed, exchanging a glance of shared pride.
"They've got potential," Tonks said, her voice soft but confident.
Sif nodded, her gaze lingering on the children. "Yes. And they'll need it. The battles ahead won't be easy."
Tonks grinned, nudging her lightly. "Don't worry, Lady Sif. With mentors like us, they'll be unstoppable."
Sif allowed herself a small smile. "Let's hope you're right."
—
Draco Malfoy dramatically flopped onto the soft grass, letting his sword fall with a metallic clatter. He threw his arms over his head like a tragic hero meeting his doom.
"This is torture," he groaned, his drawl thick with exaggerated suffering. "Do you know how much better I could be spending my time? Maybe lounging in the Great Hall, enjoying pastries, or practicing actual magic instead of hacking away at a glorified piece of metal."
Susan Bones, perched primly on a nearby rock, rolled her eyes. With her vibrant red hair catching the evening light, she looked every bit the picture of both patience and exasperation. "Honestly, Draco," she said in her clear, melodic voice, "you complain so much, you'd think someone forced you to pick up a sword in the first place. Oh, wait—they didn't." She quirked an eyebrow and tilted her head, the corners of her lips twitching.
Draco shot her a glare, though there wasn't much heat behind it. "Easy for you to say, Bones. You make swinging that thing around look graceful. I just end up with blisters."
Neville Longbottom, wiping sweat off his brow with his sleeve, gave Draco a lopsided grin. His broad shoulders and earnest expression made him look more like a knight-in-training than he probably realized. "Blisters build character, mate. Besides, if we're going to survive Asgard's...er, more explosive challenges, we might need to do more than twiddle our wands."
"Twiddling my wand has always worked just fine for me, thank you very much," Draco shot back, smirking.
Hannah Abbott giggled softly from where she sat cross-legged on the ground, tying her shoelaces. With her blonde hair falling messily into her face, she looked both perpetually frazzled and oddly serene—like she'd stumbled out of a whirlwind but wasn't particularly bothered by it. "Draco, you're the only person I know who can make whining sound posh," she teased, her voice lilting with amusement.
Before Draco could muster a snarky retort, Luna Lovegood spoke up, her silvery voice cutting through the playful bickering. She was leaning against a tree, her long blonde hair catching the breeze, her eyes distant yet sparkling with that unmistakable Luna-like curiosity. "Draco, perhaps the sword feels neglected. Have you tried speaking to it? Weapons like to feel appreciated."
The group fell silent for a moment, trying to gauge whether Luna was joking or not.
Susan finally broke the silence, her tone dry. "Yes, Draco. Apologize to your sword. Maybe it'll stop giving you blisters."
Draco let out an exasperated sigh but couldn't help the small smile tugging at his lips. "Remind me why I'm friends with any of you?"
"Because you secretly like us," Hannah said with a grin, throwing a pebble in his direction.
"I tolerate you," Draco corrected, though his tone lacked any real bite.
Haraldr, who had been observing the exchange with a fond grin, stepped forward, his sword resting casually on his shoulder. "Enough complaining," he said with a chuckle, his voice full of easy confidence. "How about we do something useful with our time?"
Draco perked up slightly. "Finally, someone with a good idea."
"Actually," Luna began, her voice dreamy yet determined, "I was thinking we could convince your grandfather to host a tournament. A real one, for kids our age. Imagine the friendships we could forge and the lessons we could learn. It would be quite...magical."
Neville's face lit up, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "That's brilliant! It'd be great to see how we measure up against others—and maybe even pick up a few new tricks."
Susan, always pragmatic, nodded thoughtfully. "It could also help us see where our weaknesses are. Plus, it sounds like fun."
Haraldr grinned. "And I can't think of a better way to bring the realms together. I'll talk to my grandfather—he'll love the idea."
Draco arched an eyebrow, skeptical but intrigued. "A tournament, huh? Fine. But only if I get to wear something more stylish than these training rags. If I'm going to duel someone, I'd prefer to do it looking fabulous."
"Of course, Draco," Susan said, smirking. "We wouldn't dream of letting you fight in anything less than the height of Asgardian fashion."
As the group dissolved into laughter, Sif and Tonks approached from the sidelines, their boots crunching softly against the dirt.
"Not a bad idea," Sif remarked, her arms crossed, a proud gleam in her dark eyes. "A tournament would test your mettle—and your ability to strategize under pressure."
Tonks, her short hair shifting from lavender to teal as she grinned, added, "And it'll be fun watching you lot try not to trip over yourselves. Count me in as a referee!"
"You'd probably trip over your own feet, Tonks," Draco quipped, earning a mock glare from the metamorphmagus.
"Careful, Malfoy," Tonks shot back, her grin widening. "I might just 'accidentally' declare you the loser."
With the promise of a grand tournament ahead, the group's earlier exhaustion was forgotten. They hurried off, chattering excitedly about what was to come, their laughter ringing out across the training grounds like music.
—
The grand hall of the Asgardian palace buzzed with conversation as the adults gathered to discuss the children's ambitious proposal for a tournament. The air was thick with a mixture of excitement and apprehension, the grand golden walls reverberating with voices both young and wise.
Eirlys, seated beside Frigga at the head of the table, pursed her lips as she carefully considered the idea. Her fiery red hair, pinned elegantly, gleamed in the warm light of the golden chandeliers, and her emerald-green eyes darted to Odin, who looked every bit the imposing All-Father, though his muscular frame now resembled a younger warrior's—his silver beard framing a rugged face that resembled Kevin Nash's chiseled visage.
"I understand the value of competition and growth," Eirlys began, her tone measured yet tinged with concern. "But they are children. We cannot risk their safety, Odin." She cast a worried glance at the others seated around the table. "Especially not Haraldr."
Odin, seated like a mountain at the other end of the table, leaned back in his chair and regarded her with calm authority. His piercing blue eyes softened slightly as he replied, his voice deep and deliberate. "Eirlys, I understand your concern. But we are not speaking of an unsupervised free-for-all. The children will be under strict watch, and I will personally oversee the rules to ensure their safety."
Frigga, serene and graceful as ever, placed a hand on Eirlys' arm. "You know as well as I do, Eirlys," she said gently, her voice warm like a summer breeze, "that they will face challenges far greater than this as they grow. Better that they learn now, in a controlled environment, surrounded by those who love and protect them."
Thor, perched on the edge of his seat, leaned forward eagerly. His golden hair shone as brightly as his enthusiasm. "This is a brilliant idea!" he exclaimed, slamming a fist onto the table with such vigor that a goblet tipped over. "A tournament to test their mettle, foster camaraderie, and sharpen their skills? I wish we'd had something like this when Loki and I were their age!"
Loki, lounging casually in his seat with a goblet of mead in hand, smirked. "Yes, brother, because nothing says camaraderie like smashing each other into the ground." His tone was dripping with mockery, but his eyes glinted with mischief. "Still," he added, swirling his drink, "it could be... entertaining. And profitable, if one were to, say, place a few strategic bets."
Sirius Black, leaning against a column with his arms crossed and an easy grin playing on his lips, chuckled. His dark hair fell artfully into his eyes, making him look every bit the roguish troublemaker. "I like this one," he said, nodding toward Loki. "Knows how to keep things interesting."
"Not surprising, coming from you, Padfoot," Remus Lupin quipped from his seat, his boyish charm softened by a touch of weariness. His sharp brown eyes crinkled as he added, "But I have to agree with Eirlys. We need to be absolutely certain this is safe before we proceed."
Amelia Bones, composed and authoritative, chimed in next. Her striking blue eyes, framed by her sharp features, carried the weight of her position as a voice of reason. "Safety is non-negotiable," she declared firmly. "If we do this, there must be medics on standby, rules to prevent excessive harm, and a clear structure to the events."
Bellatrix Lestrange, seated opposite Amelia, twirled a lock of her dark, glossy hair between her fingers. Her eyes, laced with mischief, gleamed as she drawled, "Oh, don't be so dull, Amelia. A little danger never hurt anyone. Besides," she added, smirking at Sirius, "a bit of friendly competition might bring out the best in them."
Narcissa Malfoy shot Bellatrix a pointed look, her icy blue eyes narrowing. "This isn't about danger, Bella," she said coolly, her elegant tone cutting through the chatter. "It's about fostering their growth—not turning it into a spectacle."
Hagrid, towering over everyone even as he sat, cleared his throat. "I reckon it's a grand idea," he rumbled, his beetle-black eyes twinkling with excitement. "Kids need a chance to show what they're made of, and a tournament's just the thing. 'Course," he added, scratching his beard thoughtfully, "we'll need ter keep an eye on the creatures they might run into…"
Volstagg, ever the jovial warrior, slapped his knee and roared with laughter. "Aye, Hagrid! Perhaps we should have an eating contest as well. Now that's a competition I'd win!"
Fandral leaned back in his chair with a charming grin. "Careful, Volstagg. You wouldn't want to intimidate the children with your legendary appetite."
Hogun, silent as ever, gave a small nod of agreement, his stoic expression betraying the faintest hint of amusement.
Sif, her dark hair falling in sleek waves over her armor, leaned forward. "If we are to do this," she said firmly, her voice strong and commanding, "then it must challenge them in all aspects—strength, skill, agility, and strategy. An archery competition, an obstacle course, hand-to-hand combat, and a mêlée would provide a balanced test."
The room fell silent for a moment as everyone mulled over her words. Finally, Odin spoke, his voice resolute. "It is decided. The tournament will proceed, with these events and under these conditions. The children will be tested but protected. And perhaps," he added with a glimmer of pride in his eye, "we will all witness something extraordinary."
Eirlys sighed but nodded reluctantly. "Very well," she said. "But I want to be involved in every step of the planning. If anything seems too dangerous, I'll call it off."
Frigga smiled warmly. "Of course, Eirlys. Together, we'll ensure it is both safe and unforgettable."
As the adults dispersed to begin preparations, Thor clapped Loki on the back. "Brother, care to wager who will win?"
Loki smirked. "Oh, I'm already several steps ahead of you, Thor. Let the games begin."
—
The golden rays of the Asgardian sun poured through the windows of the modest orphanage nestled within the bustling city, casting warm light onto two figures seated on a weathered bench overlooking the training grounds. Leif, tall and broad-shouldered, with an almost boyish enthusiasm radiating from his features, leaned forward, gripping the edge of the bench as though the excitement bubbling within him might burst forth at any moment. His tousled blond hair gleamed in the sunlight, and his striking blue eyes were alive with anticipation.
Astrid, her delicate features framed by waves of golden hair, sat beside him, her expression a mixture of hesitation and intrigue. She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, her soft green eyes scanning the training grounds below, where warriors sparred and practiced with purpose. The faintest hint of a smile tugged at her lips, though she quickly masked it with a sigh, leaning back against the bench.
"Come on, Astrid, you have to participate!" Leif's voice was a mixture of excitement and pleading, as though he couldn't fathom the idea of her sitting this one out. "This isn't just some ordinary training session; it's the tournament! Think about it—what better way to prove we're more than just two orphans living in the shadow of Asgard's nobility?"
Astrid glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, her skepticism evident. "And what exactly do you think we're proving, Leif? That we can get trounced by the sons and daughters of warriors while everyone watches?" Her tone was wry, but there was no venom in her words.
Leif straightened, turning to face her fully. His broad grin softened into something more sincere. "That's not what I'm saying, Astrid. I'm saying we've spent years learning to hold our own. All those mornings sparring with sticks in the forest? All those times you hit me square in the jaw because I underestimated you?" He chuckled, rubbing his chin as if recalling a particularly painful memory. "You're stronger than you give yourself credit for."
Astrid rolled her eyes but couldn't suppress a small laugh. "Those sticks were hardly swords, Leif. And you're just easy to hit because you're predictable."
"Predictable?" Leif's brows shot up in mock offense, though his grin returned in full force. "I prefer consistent. But seriously, Astrid, this is our chance. We may not have the lineage of the nobles or the resources of the royals, but we've got grit. And trust me, grit counts for something."
Astrid's gaze softened as she looked at him, his earnestness breaking through her walls of doubt. She folded her arms across her chest, tilting her head as though weighing his words. "It's easy for you to say that. You thrive on challenges. I'm not like you, Leif. I think things through. I plan."
"And that's exactly why we'd make a great team," Leif countered, his grin unwavering. "You're the brains, I'm the brawn. Together, we're unstoppable."
Astrid let out a small snort of laughter, shaking her head. "You're insufferable, you know that?"
"Only because I care," he shot back, nudging her shoulder playfully. Then his tone turned serious, his voice dropping slightly. "Look, I get it. The idea of standing out there in front of everyone is... daunting. But it's also a chance to show them who we are. To show ourselves who we are. Don't you want that?"
Astrid was quiet for a moment, her gaze dropping to the hands folded in her lap. She thought of the stories she'd read about Asgardian heroes, of warriors rising from obscurity to become legends. The idea scared her, but it also sparked something deep within her—a longing for more than what their current life offered.
Finally, she lifted her head, meeting his gaze with a hint of determination in her green eyes. "Fine," she said, her voice steady despite the fluttering in her chest. "I'll do it. But if we end up making fools of ourselves, I'm blaming you."
Leif whooped in triumph, leaping to his feet and pumping a fist into the air. "That's the spirit, Astrid! I knew you'd come around!"
"Don't make me regret this," she muttered, though her lips curled into a reluctant smile. She stood as well, brushing off her tunic. "If we're doing this, we'd better start preparing. I refuse to lose to some pampered noble who's never had to fight for their supper."
Leif grinned, clapping her on the shoulder. "Now that's the Astrid I know. Let's show them what we're made of."
As they walked toward the training grounds, their banter continued, the spark of determination in their hearts growing brighter with each step. Together, they would face whatever challenges the tournament held—and maybe, just maybe, come out stronger than they ever imagined.
—
The cold, crushing silence of the deep ocean prison was broken by the reverberating voice of Cul Borson, the Serpent, Asgardian God of Fear. His voice was like ice cracking beneath unbearable pressure—sharp, commanding, and filled with malice. Shackled to the seabed by ancient chains forged by Odin himself, his golden eyes glowed faintly in the darkness as he called out to his daughter.
"Skadi," Cul's voice boomed, his words carrying through the icy currents like a dark tide. "My blood, my child. Hear me."
Far above, in her frostbound sanctum surrounded by jagged peaks and snow-laden forests, Skadi felt the pull of her father's voice as though it had seized her heart and squeezed. She stood by an open balcony, the icy winds whipping through her dark, braided hair. Her pale skin glowed faintly in the moonlight, her piercing eyes narrowing as she clenched the frost-tipped railing.
"Yes, Father," she whispered, though her voice trembled ever so slightly. "I am here."
Cul's laughter rumbled like a storm beneath the waves, his delight in her unwavering connection palpable. "Good," he said, his tone dripping with both pride and menace. "The time has come for you to act. Odin, that self-righteous fool, dares to host a tournament that will draw eyes from all corners of the Nine Realms. A pathetic attempt to bolster his image, to parade his bloodline as superior to ours."
Skadi inhaled deeply, her fingers tightening against the icy railing until the frost beneath her palms cracked. "And you wish for me to… participate?" she asked, though she already knew the answer.
"Participate?" Cul sneered, his tone mocking. "No, my child. You will dominate. You will crush the heirs and allies of Odin, shatter their fragile pride, and remind them of the fear that the name Cul Borson commands. You will proclaim my name as the true All-Father to all who will hear, and even those who dare not listen."
Skadi turned away from the railing, pacing the length of her chamber as her father's words echoed in her mind. Her boots left a trail of frost with each step. "You ask much, Father," she said cautiously, her voice steady but laced with hesitation. "To enter such an event openly… I risk exposing myself and drawing the wrath of the entire realm."
"You speak of risk?" Cul's voice hardened, his words dripping with disdain. "You are Skadi, the Goddess of Winter! You are my daughter—born of frost and fury, the heir to power that Odin and his children could only dream of! Or have you grown soft, as cold as the snow that melts beneath the weak sun?"
The jab stung, though Skadi's expression betrayed nothing. She stopped pacing and turned her gaze toward the frozen mirror in the corner of her chamber. Her reflection stared back at her—strong, beautiful, and fierce, though her eyes betrayed the conflict within.
"You know I am loyal to you, Father," she said quietly, her voice barely louder than the whisper of the winter wind. "But I cannot help but question whether this is the path to true strength. Must fear always be our weapon? Can power not be wielded with purpose rather than destruction?"
Cul's laughter rang out again, colder and more cutting this time. "Ah, my naïve daughter. Power without fear is nothing but an illusion. A gilded blade without an edge. You will learn this in time. For now, you will obey." His tone shifted, a sharp edge of finality creeping in. "You will enter the tournament, and you will do as I command. Or shall I remind you of what happens to those who defy me?"
A chill ran down Skadi's spine that had nothing to do with the frost in the air. Her jaw tightened as memories of her father's wrath resurfaced—moments she had buried deep, but never forgotten. She forced herself to stand tall, her head held high.
"I will do as you command, Father," she said, her voice steady despite the turmoil within. "But know this—I will act with honor, even if the path you demand of me lacks it."
"Honor is a crutch for the weak," Cul spat, his golden eyes narrowing even through the darkness of his prison. "But I will allow you your delusions, so long as you remember your purpose. Do not fail me, Skadi. Prove the strength of our bloodline and strike fear into the heart of Asgard."
The connection faded, leaving Skadi standing alone in the silence of her chamber. For a long moment, she remained still, her hands clenched into fists at her sides.
"Honor is not a crutch," she muttered under her breath, her voice fierce with determination. "It is a choice. A choice you'll never understand, Father."
With a heavy sigh, she stepped out onto the balcony, the cold wind whipping her cloak around her. She stared out at the distant horizon, where the lights of Asgard glimmered faintly against the night sky. Though her path was chosen for her, Skadi resolved that her actions in the tournament would be her own. She would prove her strength—not just to her father, but to herself.
Turning on her heel, she strode back into her chamber, her breath visible in the frosty air. "If I am to do this," she murmured, "then I will do it my way."
—
The sun hung low on the Asgardian horizon, casting long, golden rays over the modest, yet warm, home of Volstagg the Valiant. As the wooden door creaked open, it framed the immense figure of its owner, whose very presence seemed to brighten the room even further. Volstagg, his red-gold beard brimming with crumbs from a snack he'd finished on the way home, spread his arms wide, letting out a booming laugh that carried the warmth of hearthfires.
"By Odin's beard! What is this joyous chaos I return to? Is this my home or an Asgardian mead hall?" he bellowed, his deep voice rich with humor.
From the heart of the room, Gudrun turned, wiping her flour-dusted hands on her apron. Her auburn hair, streaked with strands of silver, caught the light as she smiled—a smile that could calm storms. "Welcome home, my love," she said, her voice a soothing melody in the din of children's laughter and shouts. She crossed the room, pulling him into a tight embrace. Despite his enormous frame, she held him with a strength born of love. "You're late again."
Volstagg chuckled, kissing the top of her head. "The realm is full of troubles, my dearest Gudrun, but none so worthy of my time as this—our home, our family, and you." He looked down at her with such sincerity that Gudrun could only shake her head fondly.
"Go on, then," she said, swatting him playfully. "Your little warriors have been waiting all day to ambush you."
The words barely left her mouth before Bjorn and Sigrun charged toward him from the adjoining room, their red hair flying as they whooped with excitement. Bjorn, broad-shouldered and already showing signs of his father's strength despite his youth, tackled Volstagg's leg, while Sigrun darted around to tug on his tunic with surprising ferocity.
"Father!" Bjorn exclaimed, his voice a mixture of boyish enthusiasm and the deep timbre it was beginning to develop. "Did you hear about the tournament? Tell us it's true!"
"It's true, isn't it?" Sigrun chimed in, her green eyes wide with excitement. She was slight but quick, her movements sharp and purposeful, as though she'd already begun strategizing.
Volstagg let out a thunderous laugh, scooping both of them into his arms with ease. "A tournament, you say? Of course, it's true! And what better place to display the might and skill of the house of Volstagg than in such an arena?"
Bjorn's face lit up as he wiggled free, his determination already burning bright. "Then we'll compete, won't we, Father? Sigrun and I—we'll train harder than ever! We'll make you proud!"
"Proud?" Volstagg boomed, setting Sigrun gently on the ground as he placed his hands on his hips. "Bjorn, my boy, I am already proud. But if it is glory you seek, then know this—you carry the blood of warriors in your veins. But it will take more than that. Strength, skill, and above all—heart!" He thumped his chest for emphasis.
"I have plenty of heart!" Bjorn declared, puffing out his chest.
"And I have plenty of skill!" Sigrun added with a smirk, flipping her braid over her shoulder. "Bjorn just has muscle."
"Muscle is skill!" Bjorn shot back, crossing his arms defensively.
"Enough bickering," Volstagg said, his voice stern but playful. "The tournament is no place for half-measures. If you are to compete, you'll need to prepare. And not alone."
Bjorn turned toward the other room, cupping his hands around his mouth. "Gunnar! Ragnar! Get out here! We need you in the yard!"
From the next room, Gunnar groaned audibly. He was tall and lean, his sharp features suggesting he spent more time plotting pranks than wielding a blade. "Bjorn, we're not your warriors!" he called back, his voice filled with mock annoyance.
"Yeah, we're not your sparring dummies," Ragnar added, lounging against the doorway with a lazy grin. He had the quiet confidence of someone who didn't need to boast to show his skill.
"Lazy oafs!" Sigrun taunted, planting her hands on her hips. "You'll both regret it when we're crowned champions, and you're left watching from the stands!"
That seemed to do the trick. Ragnar straightened up, cracking his knuckles. "Oh, is that so, little sister? Fine. Let's see what you've got."
"And you'll need to earn our help," Gunnar added, already heading toward the door with an amused smirk.
"Mother, may I take my bow to practice with Hildegrund?" Sigrun asked, turning to Gudrun with a spark of excitement.
Gudrun nodded, though a flicker of worry crossed her face. "Yes, but be careful, my dear. The tournament is no place for recklessness."
Hildegrund, the eldest and most composed of Volstagg's children, stepped forward with a serene smile. Her own red hair was tied in a crown-like braid, and her presence exuded calm strength. "I'll make sure she's ready, Mother," she said, placing a reassuring hand on Sigrun's shoulder.
As the children dispersed to the yard, Gudrun lingered beside Volstagg, her brows knit with concern. "Volstagg," she said softly, drawing his attention. "They're so eager, so full of fire. But what if they're not ready? What if—"
Volstagg placed a massive hand over hers, his voice softening. "Gudrun, they are our children. Their fire comes from you, their strength from me, and their courage from the love we share. Whatever happens, they will be stronger for this experience. Trust them, as I trust you."
Gudrun sighed, leaning into him. "I hope you're right."
Volstagg looked out at his children sparring in the yard, his heart swelling with pride. "Right or not, they will make us proud, Gudrun. That much, I know."
---
Hey fellow fanfic enthusiasts!
I hope you're enjoying the fanfiction so far! I'd love to hear your thoughts on it. Whether you loved it, hated it, or have some constructive criticism, your feedback is super important to me. Feel free to drop a comment or send me a message with your thoughts. Can't wait to hear from you!
If you're passionate about fanfiction and love discussing stories, characters, and plot twists, then you're in the right place! I've created a Discord server dedicated to diving deep into the world of fanfiction, especially my own stories. Whether you're a reader, a writer, or just someone who enjoys a good tale, I welcome you to join us for lively discussions, feedback sessions, and maybe even some sneak peeks into upcoming chapters, along with artwork related to the stories. Let's nerd out together over our favorite fandoms and explore the endless possibilities of storytelling!
Click the link below to join the conversation:
https://discord.com/invite/HHHwRsB6wd
Can't wait to see you there!
If you appreciate my work and want to support me, consider buying me a cup of coffee. Your support helps me keep writing and bringing more stories to you. You can do so via PayPal here:
https://www.paypal.me/VikrantUtekar007
Or through my Buy Me a Coffee page:
https://www.buymeacoffee.com/vikired001s
Thank you for your support!