Rebirth 4

“You had an eventful afternoon, I take it,” Loki’s voice broke him out of his thoughts, and Harry looked over his shoulder at the approaching God of Mischief. Before he could reply, the hissing of a blade being quenched echoed in the silence around them, and his eyes returned to Orik for the moment, the dwarf holding up the smoking, darkening blade in his hands with a large pair of tongs.

“Prince Loki,” the dwarf bowed. Harry’s jaw dropped at the sudden shift—from the rough brogue he’d heard all day to this courteous tone. Giving him a nasty grin as if knowing his thoughts, the dwarf jumped down from the vat’s ledge and deposited the blade on the rack to cool down. “Are you here to pick up the consignment?”

“Tis not my job to ferry weapons, dwarf,” the god rolled his eyes, his hands crossed behind his back as he gave him a glance, before walking towards the displays to inspect the daggers showcased. “I am just here for the young Midgardian the Allfather has saddled me with. But…this dagger, with the topaz hilt, what metal have you made it of?”

“Eh…that one?” he asked, ambling forwards before pointing a stubby finger at the dagger Loki was looking at, and even Harry was impressed by the craftsmanship on the weapon—especially since he could also sense the magic crafted into it. “It was made of a meteor ore…which one was it? I think it was Brightsteel or Nullsteel.”

“You do not know the metals with which you craft?” Loki gave Orik a look, skepticism and judgement both heavy in his words. “Why should I buy from your shop.”

“Cause I am the best there is on Svartalfheim,” Orik laughed, crossing his arms and looking up at Loki. “Apprentice to the Great Gunera, and one of the makers of Gungnir itself.”

“You are the dwarf who rejected working on Niðavellir,” Loki’s eyes widened, interest and admiration both glinting in his eyes as he looked at the dwarf with renewed focus. “To think you would live,” his eyes shifted to the shop, and as if on cue, one of the furnaces belched out a large burst of fire, “like this.”

“Think what you want, Odinson,” Orik responded evenly, rapping a knuckle against the dagger, “It will be worth a hundred gold coins.”

“Why did you reject Niðavellir, dwarf?” Loki asked, summoning a silken pouch to his hand before he floated over neatly, ordered stacks of gold coins to Orik’s counter, and even Harry looked at the blacksmith with curiosity. Niðavellir, from what had gathered from the tome on the Nine Realms, was the ultimate destination for any being wishing to be a blacksmith. Tools and materials of the highest order, along with the best commissions came to the Ringed forge, and only the highest of masters were allowed to work there. It was unheard of for someone to reject the opportunity to work there.

“You will understand one day, Loki of Asgard,” he shook his head, “When you have lived for as long as I have, posts and titles become meaningless to you. Only the love for your craft, your passion remains. Now, I hear you are to go to Niðavellir for some weapon you commissioned?"

“The Queen did,” Loki corrected, taking the dagger from the rack and raising it up to his eyes, “Perhaps if you were on Niðavellir, you would have known of it.”

“Perhaps if you were the Heir to Asgard’s throne, you would have known of me before today, aye?” Orik bit back, and Harry’s eyes widened as he felt Loki’s perfect, ironclad control over his emotions as well as his magic slip. It was a small change, not even lasting a moment, but it was enough.

Orik’s words had stabbed deep enough for Loki’s mastery over his emotions to slip.

His hair stood on the end, and Harry had a brief glimpse into the depth of Loki’s powers as the world in front of him distorted for just a moment. Loki’s power brushed against reality, warping it—and sending illusions dancing across his mind and eyes both. 

For just an infinitesimally small moment, the world was not right.

And then, it snapped back as the God of Mischief reasserted his control over his powers, and his placid, ever present smile returned on his face.

“Know your limits, Odinson,” Orik continued, unbothered in the face of what had just happened—or maybe it was just him who had experienced the side effects of the god’s wrath, being human and all. Turning around to walk back into his shop, the dwarf continued as he picked up another sword from the furnace. “Not everyone appreciates your barbed words. Learn that before someone teaches it to you. Niðavellir lies that way, do not lose yourself.”

“Hn,” he grunted, stashing the dagger into the belt at his waist, before it shimmered out of view and his senses both. Turning towards him, Loki gave him a glance, before snorting to himself and walking towards the platform. “Come Midgardian. I’d rather get this over with quickly.”

Nodding at the words—which felt more like a command than he would care to admit, Harry frowned at Loki’s back and turned towards Orik, an uncomfortable expression on his face.

“Oh piss off,” the dwarf grunted as he saw his face, quenching the white hot blade in the vat of acid and oil, rolling his eyes at him. “I dealt with Odin and his brothers before they met Surtur. I can deal with his brat any day of the week. ‘Sides, I got him better than anything he could have said to me.”

“Still…take care Orik,” he sighed after a moment, standing up the chair and vanishing it. Nodding at the dwarf, Harry looked around himself, committing the sights to his memory as he met Orik's eyes and raised his hand. “I shall be back for that weapon one day, don't croak off until then.”

“My hair lives longer than you humans do,” he drawled out, dropping the smoking blade onto the rack and walking towards him, his arm clasping his. “But I think you might just surprise me, runt.”

“Odinson,” a heavy, much more polished voice than Orik’s greeted them as soon as the Bifrost dropped them onto Niðavellir. Looking at the considerably bigger dwarf standing at nearly level with them, Harry watched the being remove his gloves and dust his hands on the leather apron he was wearing. “We have been waiting for you. The daggers await you, this way.”

“I am surprised you acquiesced to let me set the enchantments this time, Eitri,” Loki commented, following after the King of Dwarves and leaving him on the platform once again, “I was under the impression you abhor any kind of tampering with your creations.”

“It requires skill to set enchantments on weapons created by our hammers and magic,” the dwarf king answered as they both turned around a corner, vanishing past a giant bubbling cauldron of molten metal, “Skill that you no-”

Their voices vanished in the clanging and shifting of metal around him, and Harry found himself appreciating the rig the dwarves had set up. Especially that focus they had created around the Neutron Star. and on that note, just how in the name of Merlin were they resisting the gravity of the collapsed star. He could not feel any magical barriers or enchantments that were helping the ring stay stable.

It was just a purely mechanical feat of cosmic scale. The metal supports and bondings had been so precisely calculated and forged with such precision, that the gravitational pull of the star was exactly the same at every point, rendering the centrifugal force effectively null and void. Of course, the durability of the metal used was also responsible for it, he observed, laying his palm flat against one of the support columns, and feeling the smooth, warm surface beneath his hand.

No magic was being used to augment the strength or prevent structural collapse like back on Earth. Niðavellir might have been a forge for the dwarves to create unmatched relics, but it was just as impressive in its own right, probably even more.

But why was everything much bigger in scal-

“Who are you?”

Morgana’s Tits, he was tired of this question.

Turning around with a smile plastered to his face, Harry looked up at another giant dwarf, this one even bigger than Eitri and standing a head taller than him. A chisel and a hammer swung at his belt. Confusion rose in his mind, one that he could keep from his face as he remembered Orik, who had been a dwarf dwarf.

Not whatever these misnomers were.

“Harry Potter, Midgardian…currently guest of Asgard,” he answered quickly, a flush of embarrassment rising through him as he realised he had just been staring at the dwarf-giant-whatever for the past few moments.

“You look like you haven’t seen a dwarf before,” the decidedly not-dwarf commented, huffing out a laugh, “You here with Prince Loki?”

“Aye,” he nodded, and unable to contain his curiosity as he saw another similarly sized blacksmith on the platform above them, Harry asked, “Can I know something? I met Orik in Svartalfheim and you guys ar-”

“Not as small as him? Or why are we not dwarves as the name implies?” he laughed, a hearty chuckle that invertebrates through his bones like the sound of falling boulders. Giving him a grin, the bearded dwarf pulled over a block of metal and sat on it, pushing another, smaller one towards him. “Sit, Harry Potter. My name is Ingvild, Son of Berna. I serve as the Envoy here—well, when I am not working on something.”

“Well met, Ingvild,” he nodded, wincing as he felt the heat of the metal against his ass. Right, there was a neutron star at a stone throw’s distance.

“Now, this,” Ingvild waved at himself, “this is the size for dwarves throughout Svartalfheim. What you are seeing is how the dwarves have looked like for as long as Svartalfheim has stood.”

“Then why the name ‘dwarves’?”

“Oh well, it was the Jötnar who found us first, the original ones,” Ingvild laughed, raising a palm high above his head. “Some of them were as big as mountains ye know? What were they going to call us but dwarves? Now Orik…well he is half-giant. His mother was a Jötnar, and his father was Eitri’s sire.”

“Orik is a prince? And a half–giant?!” his jaw dropped for the second time in the day, before he remembered just how the blacksmith had behaved with Loki. “Nevermind. I get that now…but Merlin’s balls…wait, not that I mind, but why are you here?”

“Eitri told me to keep an eye on you,” the dwarf tilted his head towards where his King and Loki had disappeared off to. “Humans are pretty fragile, and this station is not a forgiving palace even if you are careful. Plus, for all we knew, you would have not been able to survive in this gravity or radiation.”

“I am not like the rest of humani- er Midgaridans,” he shook his head, almost snorting aloud at the very thought, before he sighed and pushed back his feelings. “Thanks for checking up on me, Ingvild,” he smiled at the dwarf, before he caught sight of Loki returning to the platform, Eitri just a step behind him, “but it looks like I need to get back to my chaperone.”

“Come visit when you can Midgardian,” Ingivild nodded, standing up and clasping forearms with him. “Tis a rare sight to see a Midgardian wander out of your realm. I would like to know more about what has happened on your planet since the Allfather took down Laufey.”

“I will try to get back when I can,” he nodded, looking around at the giant yet seamlessly working machinery and rig, “It has been a long time since I have seen an engineering marvel like this.”

“Oh wait, wait right here!” Ingvild’s eyes lit up as the dwarf turned around and rushed towards the racks on their right, barely swerving out of the way of another dwarf carrying giant metal sheets.

“Watch it Ingvild, or I will tan your wee hide into Ragnarök!” the dwarf shouted as he almost fell over, only saving himself by pushing against a support pillar with his leg. Furiously whipping his head around, he looked back at Ingvild’s wildly muttering, oblivious form before turning around, “EITRI! I will shove this wrinkled arse into the ether if you don’t tell him to walk around properly!”

“Oh go and bathe in a pool of magma, you dumb shite,” Ingvild called out, and Harry watched the fuming dwarf before him bristle, before his eyes swept over him contemptuously and he moved off, muttering to himself about something.

“Not a very friendly one, is he?” he mused as Ingvild returned to him, cradling a small necklace in his hands.

“Eh, he has his moments,” he snorted in return, before dangling the necklace before him, the string of interconnected metal pieces looking comically small in the hands of the dwarf “Since this is your first time here, you can have this as a gift from the Dwarves of Niðavellir. It was meant for a mortal chieftain who had saved one of our own on Midgard centuries ago…but well, before it could be sent to him, he fell in battle.”

“What does it do?” he asked, taking the necklace and watching the ripples on the metal’s surface, the interlocked pieces looking beautiful in the soft, yellow light from the star. “I can feel some sort of enchantment on it.”

“It's a warding enchantment, meant to protect against arrows and swords of that era,” Ingvild shrugged, before his eyes looked him over once. “I wager you have that well in hand however. Use it as you see fit, it was meant for a Midgardian, and now it has reached its destination. Forged in the fires of this star and made from the purest of alloys of Uru and Svatarfiem slag, It can handle an impressive amount of magic, and nothing short of Brightsteel or Uru will break it. May it serve you well, Harry, Son of Potter.”

“I am honored, Ingvild, but are you sure I should be taking this?” he asked, looking at the dwarf as he raised the necklace higher, caution and doubt in his tone, “I have barely been here five minutes, and this was not even meant for me.”

“Don’t think about it, Harry,” the dwarf shook his head, gently pushing his hand down as he shrugged, “This necklace was meant for a friend of dwarves. Considering you survived a full day with Orik, and I am the envoy of Niðavellir, I hereby declare you to be a dwarf friend. You shall always find mead and meat at my table, and those of any dwarf from Niðavellir—There, I made it official, that soothes your sensitive arse?”

“It does not, but I will accept the gift and the honor both,” he sighed, lowering his head in respect, before he put on the necklace. Its weight was comforting against his neck, and Harry felt the necklace begin to draw on his power, turning active from the inert state it had been in. 

‘Daphne would have loved this,’ he mentally sighed to himself. His wife had possessed a skill for enchantment that had far surpassed his own, a large room in their manor dedicated to nothing but her ongoing projects and Mastery studies. Taking a deep breath, Harry clenched his eyes and shut and shook his head, knowing now was not the time to fall apart in the rush of memories she evoked.

“Thanks, Ingvild,” he nodded once again, before turning towards where Loki stood, an irritated frown on his face. “I better get back before he goes off without me, eh?”

“You should, Prince Loki’s wrath is most unpleasant,” Ingvild laughed, patting him on his shoulder, and he nearly buckled underneath the force as he stumbled forwards.

“Prince Loki, Greetings,” he lowered his head as they neared the platform, before turning towards his king. “Eitri, the consignment from Alfheim has arrived. The contract has been renewed for another ten cycles.”

“Greetings, Envoy Ingvild, “ Loki nodded pleasantly, his frown disappearing as a smile took its place, and Harry mentally snorted as he remembered both Dumbledore and Voldemort from that one action.

Aside from the unparalleled power and knowledge, their charisma, and their ability to fake pleasantry had been the one thing that had drawn the masses to them. Voldemort especially, as even in his days as Tom Riddle, he had always been successful in smooth–talking his way through everyone. Well, everyone but Dumbledore that is.

“-n Potter, I haven’t got all day,” Loki’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts, and Harry’s eyes found the god of mischief looking at him, a displeased expression once again on his face. “What are you spacing out about? Come, Heimdall awaits.”

As the shimmering light of the Bifrost gathered around them, Harry took one last look at Niðavellir. The forge blazed on in the distance, its fire casting long shadows across the metal platforms, while dwarves moved with practiced purpose through heat and steel. Ingvild stood at the edge, one hand lifted in farewell, the other already reaching for a hammer—the Envoy returning to his craft as if nothing had changed.

The necklace at Harry’s throat pulsed with quiet magic, the metal warm against his skin. It hummed in time with his heartbeat, a steady reminder of the wondrous place he had been to, and what had been given to him.

Beside him, Loki shifted impatiently, his gaze flicking toward the gathering light. “Try not to stare your way through Vanaheim too,” he said, dry as ever. “And I hope you do not embarrass yourself in front of mother. For your own sake.”

Harry smiled faintly, reminiscing about the days when Daphne and Andromeda had hammered social etiquette into his head. “Lead the way, Your Grace.”

The light closed in, wrapping around them like a blanket of untamed, yet precise celestial energy, and with a flash of color and heat, they vanished from Niðavellir.

“It's beautiful.”

“It is,” Loki nodded at his words, before taking a deep breath walking down the stairs towards the beaten path, a hand reaching out pluck a tulip, and his eyes lingered on the way the pink color bled into the soft, deep blue color at the tips of the petals, “Come. Mother’s village lies this way. Do not wander off, as the depths of these primaeval forests are home to many creatures. I would not be responsible if you run befoul of something you can’t handle.”

“Yes, My Prince,” he nodded, knowing that Loki knew he was rolling his eyes behind the god’s back. To be honest, he was far too embroiled in the sights and wonders he was being treated to to care about Loki’s arrogant demeanour. And frankly, after a lifetime of dealing with Malfoy and Snape, Loki almost seemed tame by comparison.

At least the guy was a god, and a Prince of Asgard at that.

Arrogance was a little deserved at that point, he reckoned. Welcomed even.

“So the marriage between King Odin and Queen Freyja was to bring peace between the realms of Asgard and Vanaheim, right?”

“Correct.”

“How long after that were you guys born?” he hummed, before a question wormed its way into his  mind, and he turned towards Loki, “Hey, does this mean you and Thor are going to inherit Asgard and Vanaheim?”

“No, Mother abandoned her claim to Vanaheim, and thus, any children born of her blood cannot claim the throne,” Loki shook his head, flicking a hand out to send a sharp icicle into the bushes to their right, and Harry watched a large cat run away, one of its legs bleeding as it disappeared into the foliage. Uninterrupted, Loki continued as if nothing had happened, catching his attention once again, “Well, not until the previous monarch declares it acceptable. Besides, the Vanir are not that big for rules and regulations. Their society is much different than the Asgardians.”

“Ah.”

“What of your parents, which faith did they follow?” Loki asked after a moment, surprising him with the question. And more with the talking itself, he realised as he met Loki’s slightly bored, slightly inquisitive gaze.

“Uh…well I never knew them,” he muttered, raising his eyes towards the canopy above as a crimson-yellow parrot caught his interest, and he remembered the sparse few things he knew about James Potter and Lily Evans. In the rush of survival that had claimed his days from his first halloween, faith of all things had never even been a topic of discussion, “They were killed when I was very young. I think my mum was a Christian? At least she would have been one before going to Hogwarts. Dad’s family was Roman in origin, but the Potters followed Celtic customs. I guess Celtic-Roman would be the closest thing to an answer.”

“Killed?” 

“There was a wizard hunting them down…well hunting everybody down,” he snorted after a moment, shaking his head as the memories of that night rose up, a curse that the Dementors had left him with, “Dark Lord, tyrant situation. I was eighteen months old.”

“Rough.”

“It was,” he sighed, and not for the hundredth time, Harry wondered what life would have been like without the prophecy. Or even without Voldemort. Or without Merope Riddle dying in a ditch…or Dumbledore being an attentive adult.

“When are you going to leave for Midgard?” Loki asked, and Harry watched him wave his hands over a tree, the giant trunk parting down the middle with a  groan of shifting, ancient wood.the two halves bent to the side, and the forest ahead of them disappeared like a parchment being burned, golden magic unraveling to reveal a giant, rushing river, as well as the bridge suspended over it. 

It was only then, that the sound of the water made its way to his ears, and the illusion fell away completely.

“Woah,” he blinked, realising that even the rush of cold air that was now striking across his front had been absent before, along with the smell of wet earth and water, “beautiful,” he whispered, at the sights and the magicks both, wonder once more shining in his eyes as he followed Loki over the bridge, “Such intricacy…a masterful illusion. Even the best illusions of my kind fall far, far short of what this is.”

“Vanir specialise in communing with the nature and affecting the senses,” Loki proudly spread his arms open as he turned around, emerald eyes glittering with cockiness as wisps of golden energy formed around his fingers, and Harry blinked at the river beneath him was replaced with a stream of molten magma, slugging through the space where water had been rushing through a moment ago. Even the cool, pleasant atmosphere vanished in a second, heat and sulphur taking its place rapidly as sparks and plumes of gases erupted from the charred surface, “It is considered a mark of adulthood to commune with Vanaheim’s nature, and craft an illusion to mask some structure crafted without harming the biomes. This,” he waved a hand, and the illusion vanished as it was never there, the crystalline waters and softly blowing winds once again resuming their presence, “as you can guess, was mine. Mother was impressed, mind you.”

“Damn,” he muttered, looking back the tree they had passed, before looking at the swaying planks beneath his feet, “Why teh fuck did I have to get chased by a Horntail and survive deathtraps every fucking year for the same? I would have happily given a Patronus demonstration to anyone.”

“You escaped a dragon before reaching adulthood?” a skeptical eyebrow was raised, and Harry rolled his eyes as he saw a disbelieving quirk of Loki’s lips. A flick of his hand—much like what the Trickster had done—and a life size Hungarian Horntail appeared by them. The conjuration was accurate down to the last scale, and as the large reptile spread its amber wings wide to let out a roar that shook the forest around them, he turned towards Loki with a  smug smirk.

“When I was fourteen,” he continued as the dragon growled, rearing on its paws and hunching its back, as despite being a conjuration, his magic had given it enough instincts for it to know it was not the predator here.

Far from it.

“Impressive…does this creature maintain its own lifeforce and living functions?” he whispered, watching the dragon churn up the riverbed as it backed away, head low and tail lashing against the stones on the shore, before with a weak roar it turned around and jumped into the air, powerful wings flapping and raising it above the treeline in a single burst of air.

“If I want it to,” he shrugged, watching it quickly gain altitude as it roared again, banking to their right sharply and as the sunset glinted off its golden–brown scales, “I can create anything and everything inside its body. But lifeforce? I don’t know. I never worked on creating a fully functional life form, but I don’t think I could. Artificial creations could never fully realise life like their natural counterparts, at least not if an arcane ritual and a source of life or sacrifice was not involved. It will eat, it will hunt, but as soon as I stop my magic, it will slowly wither away.”

“You would be intruding on the cycle of creation,” he observed, and Harry hummed at that, having heard of a similar concept back in his world, “something only the forces connected to Life and Death can do.”

“Precisely” Harry observed as they finally crossed the bridge, passing over another parted tree trunk, and he saw the illusion being cast this time, Loki’s presence floating through the air as he flicked the switch, “Something I’d rather avoid, especially since I am in a new Universe and all.”

“Hn,” his guide grunted, “Well, that dragon won’t be a problem for long. There are much stronger creatures in the food chain here. So you won’t end up on the chopping block of the Vanir today. They are very picky about their forest, you know?”

“You are just messing with me,” he snorted, before looking at the god’s back, “you are right?”

“Who knows?”

“Just great,” he sighed, before his eyes caught the smoke rising behind the small hill a little ways ahead, “That the village you spoke of?”

“Aye, Freyndalr.”

“Valley…of Freyr?” he asked, pushing a leaf out of his face and ducking underneath a  branch as he followed after Loki, his eyes catching the torches that now bordered the path, as well as a smattering of stone steps.

“Indeed,” he nodded, pausing before a stone wall, before looking over his shoulder with a grin that matched his tales, “You might just raise my opinions of Midgardians, Potter.”

“An opinion that should not be subjected to evaluation over a species' gifts and evolution, Loki,” a chiding, yet affectionate voice interrupted them, and Harry watched the giant sandstone before them fall apart into golden particles, revealing a woman standing behind it.

Hands clasped together gently, Freya’s appearance changed the atmosphere around them instantly. For him, getting hit by her presence was hard. It was as if he had been viewing the world through a murky fog, and Freya was the first clear sight in it. Her wild, yet perfectly framed hair, her sharp, piercing eyes that spoke of love and passion, and that angelic, yet regal, proud face. Fleur paled in front of her beauty, Daphne would have been envious of the presence the Vanir goddess held.

Clad in a flowing gown of a simple, silken fabric that clung to her curves yet suited her station as the Queen of the Nine realms perfectly, Freya carried a slim, sheathed sword at her hip, as well as a dagger strapped to her leather sandals. Warrior and Goddess at once, ethereally graceful and enchantingly deadly.

Her skin was a touch darker than Odin’s, suited a lifetime spent in a tropical forest, and as Harry took a breath to clear his mind of the thoughts her presence and sight both evoked in his mind, the smell of sandalwood and wild flowers entered his nose.

Clarity snapped into focus with a forceful tug on his barriers, and Harry exhaled as he could finally think without focusing on the curve of Freya’s exposed neck or the flare of her hips as she stepped forwards.

“You are late,” she continued easily, pools of honey staring at her son with disappointment—and by Merlin did he wish to remove that look from her face. It simply felt wrong, not aesthetically…but somehow. The whole forest around them seemed to darken just a shade, leaves wilting just a bit as if echoing their mistress’ displeasure. If Harry had had his way, he would have whacked Loki upside his head for doing this.

“There was a hindrance to my early departure from Asgard, Mother,” Loki replied easily, bowing perfectly before flourishing his hand to the side, and summoning the packaged box from Svartalfheim, “A thousand apologies, and a gift.”

“You wish to bribe me Loki?” Freya raised an immaculate eyebrow, and despite his barriers. Despite all of his rather limited, but thorough experiences, Harry could not help but balk at the treacherous flutter his heart gave.

‘Merlin help me, I better not have a crush on my host’s wife. She is THE QUEEN. OF THE NINE REALMS! NINE FUCKING REALMS! Married to Odin. Allfather himself,’ he screamed to himself, bemoaning his fate, ‘Odin is going to skewer me with Gungnir!’

As the thoughts of doom crossed his mind, Harry kept himself still and watched Loki straighten up, the Asgardian brushing imaginary lint off his shoulder. “I could never, my dearest mother,” he continued, smooth and confident with just a hint of playfulness, before he tilted his head, “an offering to soothe a goddess’ wronged feelings and present her with her favourite dish, now that sounds more..savory.”

“Your words do not work on me, Loki Odinson,” she rolled her eyes, before her eyes flicked to the box in his hand, “But I do accept an offering when it's made, even though I might not reward everyone. You are forgiven, dear son, but do not make a habit of it. Now,” his breath stilled for a moment as her eyes turned to him. Deep. Incomprehensible. Beautiful. Inviting. Her presence pressed down upon him once again, fleeting and not at all intentional, and dimly, Harry was aware of the forest returning to its vibrancy. Yet his eyes couldn't move from Freya’s inquisitive gaze as she gave him a once over, a smile that could have kickstarted a star coming over her face, “Who are you Midgardian? To venture so far out from your civilization into Vanaheim?”

Thankfully, her presence eased off along with her question, and Harry had the sense to bow before the Queen of the Nine Realms, his hand by his chest as etiquette demanded—or at least, demanded in his old Universe. “Greeting, Queen Mother,” he spoke, respectful, but not subservient. Confident, but not cocky, just like Andromeda had taught him. Raising his eyes to meet Freya as he slowly stood straight, he continued, “I am Harry Jamesson. I am currently stranded on Asgard as a result of an accident in my Universe, and thus, Allfather Odin has granted me guest rights so that I have a place to think about my future plans.”

“Universe, you say?” her eyes gleamed with curiosity, and Harry felt her power reach out, lightly touching against his own energy before retracting, “How fascinating. Then, as the Queen of the Nine Realms and the Princess of Vanaheim, I welcome you to our home, Harry Jamesson. I must admit, now that I have met you, I am most impressed with the gift you sent ahead of your arrival.”

“Gift, mother?” Loki intervened, and better him than his confused ass, Harry thought privately as the god of mischief took a step towards them, emerald eyes meeting for a moment, “What offering do you speak of? The Midgardian certainly didn’t venture out alone for any article throughout our time outside Asgard.”

 “Why, I felt him create one,” Freya smiled, lighting up the whole day as she raised a single palm towards the sky, long fingers slowly uncurling to point upwards, and Harry blinked as he felt something at the edge of his senses, a tether on his magic? But that was imp—a roar cut him off as the sunlight was blocked for a moment, and his jaw dropped at the dragon that passed over them, “A most appreciated and beautiful gift for one such as me. Tis a rare sight to see a new creature come to our forests, and for you to have created one right in Vanaheim, I am most pleased.”

“Uh—the honor is mine?” he hedged, Loki’s unimpressed eyes and Freya’s delighted, serene ones looking into his equally bewildered ones, “Your Majesty.”

“Freya will do fine,” she laughed. A rich, vibrant sound that instantly brought a smile to his face. Freya, he realised, was much more lax with her control on her domains than Loki and Odin. Or maybe it was just her being at ease in her home. Turning around—and by Merlin did Harry try his best not to flick his eyes down at her hips, or the hint of leg that her dress showed, she looked at them both and beckoned them with a wave of her hand, “Come now, the hour is late, and dinner awaits. I must admit, I am most curious about your tales, traveller. I hope you don’t mind if I disturb your quiet with a few questions.”

“…It would be my pleasure, Milady,” he lowered his head, mentally feeling both Daphne and Fleur chuckle at him as he felt nervous in a way he had not felt in months.

“Excellent,” Freya beamed, turning with a flourish as sunlight caught in her golden braid. “Then let us walk and talk, Harry Jamesson, and perhaps, by the end of the meal, I’ll know whether you’re a stray piece of fate…or a whisper sent by the Norns themselves.”

As she strode forward, her footsteps seeming to coax the forest into bloom with each light step, Harry moved to follow, only to be waylaid by Loki’s hand on his shoulder.

“Careful,” the Trickster murmured lowly, his smirk mocking, yet his tone was warnful, “She likes stories and storytellers. But she’s been around since before the stars knew their names, try not to bore her.”

“Really?”,Harry gave him a dry look. “Thanks for the timely advice, Prince.”

“You’re welcome,” Loki grinned, and with a quick tap of his fingers, adjusted the lay of Harry’s robe with a minor spell. “Try not to embarrass Midgard too much.”

With a sigh and a glance at the dragon fading into the evening sky—the lingering traces of the tethered conjuration still standing strong despite no input from him, Harry stepped forward into Freyndalr. Somewhere deep in the woods behind them, the echo of dragon wings faded, the forest returned to stillness, and above them?

The stars began to blink into view, as if settling in for the next great story to unfold.