#I drew free hand so that's why the symbols look wack and it's that big caus emy cellphone screen is that big 😭

[forasofterme]

Got bored of my previous lockscreen and made this based on some kpop ones I had and decided to share with yall cause why not?

If I didn't mess anything up, the time should be the moment the Bucks did the Golden Trigger on Kenny.

[tilltheendwilliwrite]

Rise Up

Chapter Twenty Five

Previous Chapter

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader  |  Word Count: 4436 Warnings: Swearing, fighting

Song: Certain Things by James Arthur, Chasing Grace

“Oh, Steven. One minute,” Mardöll spoke, materializing beside him. “You are going to need this.”

A puff of gold magic hit him in the face making Steve snort, “The hell was that?” while rubbing his nose to stave off the desire to sneeze.

She spoke to him in a spate of words, the kind his girl lobed at him to drive him wild, until slowly the words gradually morphed into ones he could understand. “Ah, there it has taken effect. Good. You will understand now. Anything you read, anything you hear, now it will not be foreign to you.”

Before he could ask if it would be permanent because he liked listening to (Y/N) murmur dirty things to him in a language he didn’t fully understand, Mardöll was gone back to the trees in her feathered skin. Huffing out a sigh of exasperation, Steve stepped up to the opening. It appeared one of the side supports for the lintel stone had eroded away causing the thing to collapse down into a tight ‘v’ shaped doorway.

It gave him pause for if this was the tomb of the family of Sváfaland, the once kings and queens, why wasn’t it better-taken care of? He glanced again at the castle across the valley and up at the woman who’d led him here, but she remained stoic, watching him with unblinking eyes.

“This is so not how I imagined my wedding day going,” he muttered as he ducked beneath the stone and squeezed through the entrance, trying not to scrape his chest on the rock. The cave opened up on the other side, but he still had to hunch slightly to keep from smacking his head on the ceiling. Cobwebs coated everything, and for the first time in his entire life, Steve wished he was shorter.

Still, he had a job to do, one he had very little information on and took a hard look around. A tunnel led deeper into the earth, and he sighed. “Of course it does. Can’t just have the sword sitting out where I can collect it and go home.”

He knew by the heart beating beside his own (Y/N) was worried. It beat fast, too fast, and her emotions were a wild mix of things too hard to distinguish between. Steve pressed the heel of his hand to his chest and rubbed it there. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll be back soon.” Or he was going to take the sword Mardöll had sent him after and use it on her.

To the right of the opening, he found a torch and dug his lighter from his pocket. No, he didn’t smoke. No, he didn’t know anyone who did, but it had been a habit back in the day to carry one especially during the war. You never knew when it might come in handy. Now it was merely a reminder of simpler times and something he could use to fidget with when bored.

The torch was old and well used, impossible to light, causing Steve to grit his teeth in frustration before tearing the bottom few inches from his button-down shirt and wrap the fabric around the wood. He’d liked that shirt and was even more annoyed for having to destroy it, but at least he had light to wander into the dark as well as a way of removing the majority of the hanging cobwebs from his path.

He had a flash of memory to a movie (Y/N), and the others had convinced him to watch. A classic they’d said. Steve smirked a little, wondering if he could pull off a fedora like Dr. Jones or if he’d look stupid trying. Still, he felt the part today with his burning branch and leather jacket, delving deeper into the mysteries of this long forgotten tomb.

The path led him into the mountain. The space narrowed and grew tighter, beginning to brush the shoulders of his jacket as he ducked lower. Finally, when it was so tight he had to turn sideways, Steve wondered if he was going to get stuck before he ever found what he was looking for.

He came to a wall with an incredibly skinny crack in it, one he wasn’t sure he could even fit through, but when he reached inside, he found free space beyond. Enough to wave his hand around without wacking it into anything. Throwing the torch through first, he wedged himself into the narrow fissure, swore viciously when the stone raked open his chest, breathed out hard to make himself as thin as possible, and heaved through the crack with all his might.

He stumbled when his boot caught and nearly fell on his torch when he landed in a room with a wooden door.

Steve stared at it a little dumbfounded for the door was pristine, as if it had only been erected the day before. The wood was glossy and smooth, the handle appeared to be gold and shone in the dying light of his torch, but it was the light which came from around the edge of the door which had him reaching forward with caution.

“Should’a known,” he muttered as he pulled it open. “When is anything related to Asgard easy.”

He opened the door far enough that he could peer around it, finding it led to some kind of hallway, dimly lit and made of stone. A burst of laughter came from further down, and he slipped inside, closing the door carefully at his back. More laughter and boisterous shouting came from the other end, and Steve started slowly forward, careful not to make a sound.

When he reached the end of the hallway, he peered out into what looked to be a gathering room of some kind. Long tables lined the floor. A mighty fire burned in an open hearth in the center. Enormous beams, carved with all manner of symbols held up the roof.

Men were gathered around all of the tables, but it was the people seated at the table furthest from him that drew Steve’s attention. A man and woman together in the center, holding hands and laughing as they feasted. The woman was lovely in a dark red dress, like something out of medieval times. Blonde with hazel eyes, she laughed at the burly man next to her when he lifted her hand and kissed the back of it. To her left was another large man, his clothing all leather and covered in food stains for he ate with enthusiasm. He had her eyes, but he matched his father for hair colour. It was a rusty red as if it couldn’t decide whether it wished to be red or blonde, and had been braided back, revealing his heavily tattooed skull.

The man who could only be king if the woman was queen, had the same unfortunate mop of unruly red hair, but when he gazed out on the crowd of gathered warriors, his eyes were vibrant, bright blue. They were Steve’s eyes, and he stared at the man in shock before taking in the breadth of his shoulders beneath the same style of tunic Steve had seen Loki wear. A wide flat torque sat against his chest, and a crown of spires and stones wrapped his brow.

Steve had to grab the railing which led down the stairs into the room. He knew them in the same way he knew the valley and the tomb. He knew them. “Mother… father… brother…” he whispered, awed.

Then, his eyes darted to the man who sat next to what had once been his father and Steve inhaled sharply. “Helgi.”

The big warrior looked up, almost as if he’d heard the whisper of his name from Steve’s lips, and pressed slowly to his feet. (Y/N) had said he’d worn his hair long and had a beard, but Steve was stunned by just how long and how much beard. Leather-wrapped braids, metal cuffs, feathers, and beads all adorned his hair. A heavy cloak complete with thick black fur fell from his shoulders, revealing a multitude of dark blue tattoos and heavily muscled arms. A metal band hung on his forearm, a ring of some kind which sat just above the metal and leather bracers, while a torque similar to the one on their father rested against his chest.

“Who hides in the shadows of the hall?” Helgi called out, bringing many a warrior to their feet.

Steve walked cautiously down the stairs. “Wasn’t hiding. Didn’t want to interrupt.”

Everyone at the table joined Helgi on their feet, but it was the woman who gasped softly, “How? It is like… a mirror.”

“Ma’am.” Steve nodded.

“How are you here? And how do you look like the twin of my son?” the king demanded.

Steve flicked his gaze to Helgi who stared at him hard. “He knows.”

“You have come for the ritual sword,” Helgi murmured. “Sváfa has returned to the world. Finally, after all this time.”

“I have,” Steve nodded. “She has.”

His eyes narrowed. “Who are you to be worthy to walk at her side? Who are you to be able to protect her? You come here unarmed and unarmored seeking the ritual sword when it would be simpler for me to take your place and return to my love!” He hurdled the table and charged across the room, brandishing an axe drawn from his hip.

Steve kicked up a shield leaning against the back of a bench and kicked out at it, sending it straight into Helgi’s chest. The big man went sailing backward and to the ground at the foot of the table. “I’m Steve. People call me Captain.”

***

Bucky had just dipped you back over his arm when the door to your suite swung open.

“Darling, your sjelevenn is missing, and you are spending your time… dancing?” Loki asked.

“Don’t get snippy. I need something to keep my mind off things, and Bucky agreed to help by teaching me to dance like Steve dances,” you muttered. “If I keep planning like there is going to be a wedding, I figure there may actually be a wedding.”

“Your hopes are justified, Sváfa dear.”

“You found him?” Bucky asked, lifting your with a flourish.

“Not yet, but I think I know who took him. Or, at least I have an idea.”

“Who?” you asked well aware it was nearly a snarl.

“Someone who uses seiðr as easily as I. Someone who knows me well enough to impersonate me without suspicion. Someone who would be as invested in your future as Odin is.”

“No…” you whispered. “It can’t be.”

“Who?” Bucky asked.

You shook your head in denial. “She’s been gone for ages!”

“For fuck sake who!” Bucky snapped, shaking you by the shoulders.

“Freyja…”

“But I thought… she left?” Bucky muttered, clearly confused.

“She did.” You scrubbed your hands down your face. “Are you sure, Loki?”

Loki sighed. “I cannot fathom it being another. Few could pull off the spell used to take him from the jet. Fewer still who could slip past Strange’s notice.”

“Someone want to clarify this whole mess?” Bucky grumbled.

You made your way over to the sofa Bucky had pushed out of the way and sat down with a thump. “Freyja was the goddess who ruled us, the Valkyrjur. She was our Queen and the goddess of love and beauty as well as war and death. By the time I was born, she had already left us, but Tove told stories, ones passed down to her by her mother and so on, back through the ages. She left because of her husband, Óðr.”

Bucky settled on the couch at your side, while Loki perched on the arm behind you, his hand slipping beneath your hair to rub the back of your neck.

“What happened with the husband?” Bucky asked.

“Freyja… has a necklace, Brísingamen. It is said she betrayed him for it. That she saw and lusted so badly for the necklace, she broke her bonds and slept with the ones who created it. She sold her body for the chance to own it. Óðr was so heartbroken, and he fled from her. Left her without a word and without a chance to voice her side of the story. She would never have…” You shook her head. “It wasn’t possible.”

“Why?” Bucky asked.

“Because Aunt Freyja’s bond with Óðr was the first sjelevenn bond. There’s was a love meant to be,” Loki murmured. “To betray one’s sjelevenn… it is not done.”

“You’re so sure?”

“Bucky.” You looked up at him in exasperation. “If she felt one-tenth of what I feel for Steve, she never would have looked twice at another. Not for anything.”

“My mother always said Aunt Freyja proposed the dwarves a wager, one for which she won, and spent the nights away from her sjelevenn drinking them under the table. If she managed to out drink them all in a single sitting, she would take the Brísingamen. She succeeded, embarrassing them, and they started the rumour as revenge.”

“And this Óðr guy just fucked off without waiting to hear her side of things?” Bucky snorted. “Some husband.”

“I have never understood that part myself,” Loki agreed. “But then Óðr was, apparently, never the most… stable of minds. He was a minor god, one associated with madness and poetry. If he thought she’d betrayed him…” Loki shrugged.

You relaxed against Loki’s leg. “Freyja left after she found out Óðr had run away and spends her time searching for him throughout the realms. She left Asgard centuries ago, millennium ago, and hasn’t been back. I don’t understand why she would appear now and take Steve?”

“She didn’t just appear.”

You looked toward the door and smiled. “Dr. Strange.”

“What am I? Chopped liver?” Tony grumbled.

“I see you all the time. Strange not so much,” you teased, getting to your feet.

Stephen chuckled softly as he made his way over and took your hands. “I have heard of your... change of title, your majesty,” he murmured and kissed your knuckles, his cloak brushing gently against your shin.

“Cut it out, doc or I’ll kick your ass,” you quipped, rolling your eyes.

“Still as testy as ever,” he snickered. “You are doing well? Your eyes and senses have steadied?”

You smiled and nodded. “Yes, very well. If people would stop messing up my wedding day, I’d be even better.”

“Perhaps I can assist with that?” Stephen said as he peered around your room. “There is much magic in this place.”

“Mm. Sword, gauntlet, me.” You shrugged. “Him.” You smacked a hand into Loki’s stomach.

“And him.” Strange nodded toward Bucky.

“Me?” Bucky frowned.

“Something you’re carrying…” Strange cocked his head. “Ah, I see.”

“See what?” you asked.

“Nothing. It can wait. As for this woman… Freyja, she has been here off and on for many years. The Ancient One had documented her comings and goings but she never caused trouble, and they got together once in a while to share tea. She was searching for her lover.”

“So we have just explained to Sergeant Barnes,” Loki quipped.

Strange glanced his way but ignore Loki’s sharp tongue, the two of them had never gotten on. “The Ancient One expressed her trust in the woman, so I have never bothered to interfere with her actions. Unlike some.” He threw a condescending sniff Loki’s direction.

“She’s been here all along?” you asked, changing the subject before the two of them deteriorated into a round of trite and cutting remarks.

“Off and on.”

It made you curious. “Doing… what? I mean, other than looking for Óðr.”

“Apparently,” Stephen’s attention flicked to Bucky and then back to you. “She’s been making jewelry.”

***

Helgi picked himself off the ground gingerly. “Perhaps… I have misjudged you.”

“Perhaps you have,” Steve grumbled, eyeing the others warily when they shifted uncomfortably around him.

“You are strangely dressed for a warrior,” Helgi muttered, holding his chest.

“I could say the same of you.” Steve looked him over.

Helgi laughed, and what tension had been in the room waned. “Come, friend Steve. Sit. Eat at my table. You must tell me what battle you lost to have shorn off your hair. It must have been an epic one for someone so strong to lose.”

Steve knew enough from what little (Y/N) had related, the bits and pieces they’d had time to discuss, to know an offer of hospitality was a way of saying he would not be harmed. But he was still wary as he made his way forward to sit in the offered seat at the end of the table next to the man who could be his hairy twin.

“I do not understand, Helgi,” the woman stated, peering between the two of them.

“It is the sjelevenn bond, mother. He is me reborn.” Sharp, assessing blue eyes stared at Steve. “Though… you are missing your mark.”

Steve arched a brow when Helgi turned his head and pulled back his hair to reveal the tattoo. “She wishes to wait until after the wedding.”

“Bah! She is stubborn as a Bilgesnipe,” he huffed and poured a cup of mead before shoving it at Steve.

“She’s feisty alright,” Steve murmured into his glass, careful to sniff it first, knowing just how strong Asgardian liquor could be.

“Feisty… yes, that is a good word for Sváfa.”

“She goes by (Y/N) in this life.”

Helgi drained his cup and slammed it on the table. “If you are here than she is Queen once more and her name, outsider, is Sváfa!”

Steve set his cup down gently. “She wasn’t meant to be Queen, not this life, but someone keeps messing with our journey. Our souls are out of sync, and she hasn’t been back to Asgard as a Valkyrie in over a thousand years. So you call her what you like, but I fell in love with (Y/N), and that’s who I’ll be marrying today once I get this sword Mardöll said I need, so I’d be much obliged if you’d hand it over so I can get back to my girl.”

“He is strong of will, as you are, my son,” the man beside Helgi chuckled.

“Tell me, brother reborn,” called the man at the other end of the table. “Does the lovely Sváfa remember me fondly?”

Steve glanced his way and scowled at the lecherous grin. “She’s never spoken of you.” A roar went up from the listening hall at Steve’s unintentional burn of the man.

He thrust himself to his feet. “You insult me, stranger, in my own house at my own table?”

“My table,” growled their father.

“Sit down, Heðinn. You exchanged nothing more than a kiss at a time of great turmoil for our Sváfa.” Their mother waved a dismissive hand.

“Why was your brother kissing our sjelevenn?” Steve asked, glaring at Helgi.

The hairy blond shrugged. “It was our way. She wed him before his avenging me, but the bond would not allow her to outlive me for long. Still, it was how things were done. Is it not so where you are from?”

“No.” Steve didn’t bother to elaborate. It would have been fast, her second marriage, as he knew she had died of a broken heart shortly after Helgi.

“So… tell me of yourself, Steve for whom they call Captain. What battle did you lose for that to occur.” He waved his hand at Steve’s head.

“This is how it’s worn now. It has nothing to do with battles won or lost.”

“Yet they call you Captain? Is this not a military title? A rank of a warrior?” the woman asked.

“In a way. Mine is more… honorary, though I’ve earned it over the years.” Steve smiled at her, finding her pretty in the same way he remembered his own mother being beautiful.

“But certainly you’re some kind of warrior?” Helgi asked. “You are as strong as the Berserkers.”

“I assure you, I’m not of (Y/N)’s descendants. I’m just a kid from Brooklyn who got lucky. I work with a group of other warriors. Powerful people. Enhanced people. We’re tasked with saving the world and getting rid of the bad guys. That’s where (Y/N) and I met.”

“You are of Midgard?” Helgi asked, his eyes widening. “How is that possible? Sváfa is returned, but you are not of Asgard?”

“I told you. Someone here is messing with our lives. We’re going to find out who and stop them, but I can’t help her until I get this sword I came for and go home.”

“Well, if you want the sword… take it,” Heðinn said, waving at the sword hung on the wall behind their father and mother’s thrones. “But it won’t be easy for you.”

Steve pushed to his feet but stopped when Helgi grabbed his wrist.

“One must be worthy to take that sword. No other before you has succeeded. Not even I succeeded when I came for it.”

“I thought this was some symbolic ritual. Something done for the wedding.”

“On Midgard, maybe.” He looked up at Steve gravely. “But this is Asgard.”

Steve sat back down. “Explain.”

Helgi’s brow arched in the same manner as Steve’s. “That was the sword of Hurgid, the first of our line. He was the strongest of us. The best and bravest of warriors born in the time of the god's beginnings. It was said he rode with Freyja and at the side of Odin in a time of great upheaval. The sword remembers its first handler. It will accept no one less than Hurgid as its wielder.”

It made Steve frown as he peered at the sword with the golden hilt and bright amber stone set in the pommel. “I already have a sword. Your sword. Rettferdighet.”

He stiffened. “How is that… you should not have that sword.”

“Why?”

“It was taken from me when I died. Lost to my family. How did you come to possess it?” he asked, leaning forward.

“Odin. Odin sent it when he returned (Y/N)’s armour.”

Helgi sat back and scrubbed his hand over his mouth. “I don’t know what this means. I don’t know how he came by it. Álfr, he would never give it up. Not even to Odin.”

“He didn’t.” Everyone in the hall jumped to their feet at the sound of Mardöll’s voice. She only scowled at Steve. “You are wasting time. Collect your sword and let us go.”

“What’s the rush?” Steve asked, rising from his chair.

“Your… people grow anxious. The Sorcerer Supreme seeks my presence.”

“Who is she?” Heðinn demanded.

She glared at him. “One who placed you here when you failed.”

Steve watched the brute of a man pale before he bowed his head. “Lady.”

“Why are they all here?” Steve asked. “Aren’t you all supposed to go to Valhalla when you die?”

Mardöll turned her harsh glare Steve’s direction. “Only those who are worthy find Valhalla, and I told you, Steven. Beware the ghosts. Too long have you allowed them to hold your attention.”

He looked around at all the bowed heads, the shame coating their faces, and frowned when he looked at Helgi. “But why are you here?”

“Why indeed?” Helgi murmured. “I have often wondered the same.”

“What is this place really?” Steve asked, turning toward Mardöll.

“Your people would call it purgatory.”

Steve stared at her in horror. “What?”

She only shrugged. “It is where they belong for what was done.”

“And him?” He motioned toward Helgi. “(Y/N) said we didn’t go to Valhalla, but why is he here? Why did you call them ghosts?” Steve demanded. 

Mardöll waved her hand, and everything disappeared, leaving behind Helgi, Heðinn, and a host of tombs. “Ask your brother why you are here.”

“He ain’t my brother,” Steve growled.

She narrowed her ocean eyes. “Ask… him… Steven.”

He looked to Helgi who would not meet his eyes and shifted his gaze to Heðinn. “Why are you here?”

Heðinn wouldn’t look at Steve but turned to face the grave nearest him. “Father always preferred you. The eldest. His heir. The nameless son. The one who barely spoke but was given… everything. What I wouldn’t have given to be in your shoes.” He laughed softly, and it was raw with anger and hate. “And then one day you came home with a name and a sword and a Valkyrie and not just any Valkyrie but the Valkyrie. The damn Queen!” he bellowed, slamming his fist down on the stones.

“So what? Were you jealous? What did you do that would put you in this place?” Steve asked.

He turned and the sword he’d pulled from somewhere scraped along the stones before he lifted it and pointed it at Helgi. “I killed you,” he sneered. “Helgi killed King Hróðmar in battle with Sváfa at his side. He did so in honourable combat, but Álfr wanted revenge. He challenged Helgi to a holmgang. It was the perfect time to take everything I wanted. The throne, Sváfa, Rettferdighet! It was all mine for the taking!”

“And you took it, didn’t you?” Steve muttered, moving cautiously to circle as Heðinn swung the sword his way.

“I did,” he chuckled gleefully. “I was better than you. Stronger than you. Smarter than you! I deserved it all! Me, not you! So I paid the witch woman to slice him with a poisoned blade during his fight with Álfr, and she did an excellent job.”

He lunged, and Steve leaped back, the tip of the blade swinging through the space his stomach had just occupied. “So out jealousy, you murder your brother?”

“I murdered him for everything!” he screamed.

“And it got you what, Heðinn? Nothing!” Helgi bellowed. “And took everything instead.”

“I didn’t know it would kill her! How was I?” he snarled.

“She was my sjelevenn! Her soul, tied to mine for eternity! Of course, she would die when I did!” Helgi lunged but went right through Heðinn, his body nothing more than spirit.

“You haven’t been able to touch me in hundreds of years! Did you think you could now?” He shouted out a bark of laughter.

Steve stepped in and plowed his fist into Heðinn’s face. “He may not be able to, but I apparently can!”

Next Chapter