#borr borrison

[ton-e]

Darkdove + Parallels

[ton-e]

Ooo small worldbuilding detail But!! On earth 513, on Asgard, it's not an uncommon reacurance for royalborns to be illiterate while the normal class receives mandatory education;

They, specifically princesses or general female personel, are thought general politics and basic history, yet the male population isn't educated in forms of writing and reading as they're just not seen as important. At best, they're thought at least high vocabulary but that's about it, because most of them end up involved or ruling over a heavily warfare influenced field.

"Our boys are going on a battlefield," Borr huffs mockingly as he drowns perhaps his 5th goblet of wine. The purple rain drips down from his frizzy beard and sticks long after he slams the gold down. "What are they going to do? Stab the enemy with a quill?"

Bestla sighs, resigned a close familiarity on her tongue, knowing it's a battle lost. Her eyes send a mute apology to three heads watching longingly from the tall windows of their chambers down at the chain of little feet thumping happily towards the schooling grounds, laughter walking closely in their step.

She teaches them in private, secretly away from cunning eyes and ears with more love for money than for their life. Bestla knows her husband well, better than he knows her, or else he'd know she doesn't leave any battle on her knees.

Hel and Allfather harbour a love for books and pretty words, pudgy little fingers following every line of charchol ink as if to gobble the world hiding in every letter, making her heart warm. Balder interests himself in academics, everything from the history of the titans to Njords first touch of water, he's knowledge about, and Bestla bursts with a pride as big as the staff for seeing them starving for a knowledge young and innocent.

Its a nice escape from a harsh reality.

Then, Balder finds his Godhood, and Borr ceases to care what he does.

The distaste is not spoken directly, but the angry screams bleeding from the marital chambers tell him enough. He's not permitted on any battleground touching even the tightest corner of their Kingdom and no one feels brave enough to point his absence out.

'It's because he cares, ' Allfather tries to convince himself, ignoring the presence of a hand, heavy and cruel, squeezing his heart when no celebration is in order for his brother. Balder was devious, harsh, and fickle, but he was his brother all the same. ' Father would hate for him to get hurt.' Even if he knows Balder doesn't hurt easily.

There was a knowledge of what Hel was, when he was born, the nothingness of sound as the cold body of a cryless infant was carried ringing like a death bell above everyone. Hel is born more ghost than boy. Many thought him death. Many think he still is

. But when the proof of his Godhood manifested in the form of a crow dusting in the wind for stealing Bestlas necklace, rumors become information. He holds his baby brother during the long cry of a sleepless bed like a man going to beheading for a terrible cry.

Borr, like countless others, lacks the courage to deny him anything after that.

The poetry slowly stops. What's the meaning of beauty if you can't share it with anyone?

Allfather and Bestla keep them the stash still.

Allfather dreads the day he will have to stop being a mortal, praying to the Norns to grant him as much time as possible. Blessings are granted to the needy, however, and without much surprise soon he presents too.

The greatest feast of all 9 Kingdoms is raised for his Godsake day, and all he wants is to hide. Hide from the tales of old soldiers wishing him good fortune, for the weaponsmaster pushing swords, daggers, axes and spears into his arms, from the young lords, too young and too naive for what awaits them, boosting about the terror they'll unleash in battle, and from his father's mead flavored breath .

" You're my last hope, my one true son," the King slurs, hand cradling Allfathers face in his gloved hand with an affection the blonde lad knows not what to do with it. "Your mother, she thinks I don't know those two aren't my blood. She doesn't know me, just as much as I don't her. But I trust that you will become the King this country needs, won't you? You'll be strong, and true, and worthy. "

He gulps his uncertinity as much as his fear. "... Yes."

"Good lad," Borr beams, eyes hunting for the maiden behind him. "I love you most, Odin."

Allfather locks his books away. He learns to handle a sword sooner than a pencil.

With times, his beloved stories lose their shine to the grime of battle, of war, of what he can't forget, can't give back. His mothers soft lullaby fades to the the screams of widowed women, mothers without husabnds or sons. He wonders, would the knights in his books look at him a hero, or slay him with the sharpest sword? Both possibilities make his chest ache.

But not every region is like that!! Nidavellier prizes wisdom best, tailored their legacy onto paper rather than in battleground; Therefore education is extremely important to them, knowledge crowned the true King among them. It makes no difference to them weather they teach a Prince or princess, stable boy or lord, squire or knight; Everyone is seen the same.

In Jotunheim, they can be considered brightest as they're the main providers if that makes sense! Even if they prefer the shred of reclusiceness in their own territory, a cinsierdable present of the country is seen as a merchant state; They supply almost all of Asgard with plenty of materials, foods, fabrics, you name it they got it, which indicates most of their educational system is a blend of everything.

But it's really important to keep in mind what regions values as "Education" to them! On Asgard it's politics, teaching them their roles as leaders and how to twist the coin so it lands in your favor; On Nidavellier, they encourage each person to aim for blacksmithing, therefore chemistry, physics, mathematics and the such is the most prominent pattern!

Jotunheim, in the same as many Northern regions that differentiate the North and South, possesses a knitclose kinship with spirituality and the unknown old practices, therefore their knowledge holds very close to nature and it's branches; Animals, biology, travelling, everything is an ecosisyetm of subjects but it boils down to being able to shape expert craftiness in wildlife!! Not only do their raise scholars, but also survivors.

The idea came from imagining Allfather being embarssed and feeling unworthy of being in the presence of two of the brightest minds in this generation; Frigg is a ball of energy with a mouth and brain that spills the most interesting sounding things. He doesn't understand them, but she could make floor scrubbing seem captivating if she really tried.

Farbauti has an elegant way with his words, carefully hand picked, complex sentences hosting even more complex thoughts that he can't feel are dumped down for him. They can hold lengthy conversations between the two of them, until the sun raises and falls, trading ideas that sound brilliant. He can't bear the humiliation when they turn to him for his piece and he stays silent, so most of the time, he just agrees without his own addition.

But it's not only that, it's him being very eager to listen to them reading, content to let his hair be played and caressed while resting On a comfortable lap of either harsh leather or soft silk. But he never reads with them. Everytime he tries letter blend into the other or mangle themselves to take form of either other dialect or even numbers.

They take note, because unlike him, they use their heads for something other than holding the rest of his body together.

Farbauti is a gentle man, mirroring the fierce beast in so many ballads and whispers about him. " If you... If you'd fancy some aid with reading, I'd be happy to help you. I know the hardness of being introduced to concepts that, perhaps, you weren't made familiar with. Really, I thought Shaggy dog would skin me for always forgetting a certain sign, he's been looking for a motive for a time, and,-" He stops, words halted and eyes wide when Allfather refuses to meet his gaze, hand wiping away shameful tears.

He's pulled to a strong chest, having to lean down due to their considerable size imbalance. "There is no shame in not knowing," he hums, lips moving gentle and loving in the crown of gold hair. "There is no shame around me, understand?"

The same story happens with Frigg, who brings him great comfort when her small figure sits on his knees and her autumn burned hair tickles the bridge of his nose as they read a book together, out loud, one gentle voice coaxing the other to say every line.

He didn't use to write much, not as much as he read, before. He was content with only drowning in a world far away from the one he couldn't escape, that he didn't dare to create something else.

He writes their names first and the envelope securing well wishes is salted with tears of happiness.

[ton-e]

Bottoms boutta BOUNCE