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heimdallsbraids · 2 years ago

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Blood of Mine | Ch. 4 (Heimdall x fem!reader)

Summary: Life is pretty simple. Survive the harsh conditions of Fimbulwinter in Midgard, trade with your dwarven friends in Svartalfheim and – avoid the shit out of Odin’s most loyal lapdog? If word reaches the All-Father about your blood-bending origins, you’re doomed… (Hints of Avatar: TLA, but not a crossover)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Profanity, descriptions of violence

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Chapter Four: Blunder

Early morning sunlight filtered through the windows, your eyes languidly following the little streams of dust particles that would glint and catch in the rays. The soft furs on your bed served as a nice warm layer to fend off the cool air that threatened to raise goosebumps over your skin, the motivation to get your ass out of bed wavering with each breath you took.

Eventually, you yawned and sat up, the furs drooping down to your waist as you stretched your arms high above your head. You were set to work with the cooks of The Great Lodge today, having already gotten a feel for the local markets over the past week. It would be your first time working in such a large kitchen, but you found yourself looking forward to it either way. The merchants had been plenty accommodating to you, and you’d even made some new friends to catch up with at the Black Thunder tavern sometime down the track.

Things were going surprisingly well.

Several timid knocks at the door startled you, and you hurriedly hopped around to tug your pants on.

“One second!” You called, taking a quick moment to brush your bed hair with your fingers. You’d just washed it last night, so thankfully, it sat pretty nicely in a low ponytail.

Upon opening the door, you were pleased to see a middle-aged servant carrying the last of your order from the tailor shop. Excited, you ushered her inside and helped organise them into your wardrobe. She seemed to find it odd that you were assisting her, but she offered you a small smile nonetheless before ducking out to continue with her chores.

You had to admit, you were pretty giddy with the new wardrobe you’d received, even if it was from a man like Odin. Now, you were happily set with several new tunics, pants, belts, boots and even a couple of dresses – the latter being a luxury you haven’t had the chance to wear in a while. The only downfall was that you now had much to pay him back for, despite his saying otherwise. It was a little too friendly, you thought; there had to be a catch.

Jörgen – the head cook – promptly greeted you as soon as you entered the busy kitchen. “Come, come,” he said, the ageing wrinkles on his forehead creasing as he fussed. “Let’s get you into an apron, and I’ll show you what to do.”

It wasn’t long before you were put to work alongside a few other kitchenhands chopping up and organising a plethora of fruits, meats, and vegetables. Just like the merchants, they were welcoming and had you included in their conversations in no time. After a few hours, however, your hands grew sore from the repetitive slicing motions, and you placed your knife down to massage your aching palms.

A young man with brown hair and hazel eyes, Amir, was quick to notice and sidled up to you, taking your remaining vegetables with a charming grin. “Thought you could use the assistance.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” you told him, a tad sheepish.

He winked. “You can thank me later.”

Stunned, you glanced around at the other servants as he prepped the food with the kind of speed only an experienced cook would have. Two girls were giggling with each other, one slapping the other’s arm and coughing once they saw you’d noticed. Was this guy… flirting with you?

Jörgen approached upon noticing the commotion and whisked you away to his station. He wanted you to prepare a small snack of your choice for Odin himself – under his inspection, of course. With no indication of the esteemed All-Father’s food preferences, you quickly caught on that it was a test of sorts and immediately set to work making a personal favourite of yours. Within the hour, you were ready to present your dish.

“Frida!” The cook beckoned forward a female servant passing by in the halls. “If you would please take this to the All-Father’s study. Hurry now. He’ll be waiting.”

Your mouth opened in protest as the servant hurriedly removed the dish from your hands, but she was already out the door before you even produced a sound. Wow, they really don’t mess around…

Unsure, you asked, “What if he doesn’t like it?”

“Then we’ll be in the shit,” Jörgen deadpanned, throwing a kitchen rag over his shoulder. At your horrified expression, he chortled, “Just joking! It’ll probably wind up on the dinner table for everyone else to eat tonight, though I doubt that will happen. You did good, kid.”

“Don’t do that! The last thing I want is to get anyone in trouble…” You groaned, dragging a hand down your face.

The remainder of your shift went smoothly, and by mid-afternoon, you raced back to your room to change into some fresh clothes for your outing with Thrúd. Over the past week, the two of you bonded over your shared fascination with the Valkyries and planned to visit the training grounds together so you could watch them for the rest of the day. It would be your first time seeing them this close, so it’s safe to say you were pretty ecstatic.

Just like Mum, you reminisced, virtually skipping your way to the grounds.

The sounds of clanging steel and loud shouting greeted you first, then came the view of dozens of Einherjar spread out in groups of two. Thrúd spotted you and waved you over to where she sat on the high deck just above the fighting, and you joined her, dangling your legs over the edge. She filled you in on the two Valkyries leading today’s session, Hrist and Mist. Both were formidable warriors unmatched in their synchronised combat skills, bringing Asgard countless victories in battle.

“You’ll see Gnà around sometime,” Thrúd grinned, looking the most enthusiastic you’ve ever seen her. “She’s the new Queen of the Valkyries, and, boy, does she put on a good fight!”

You chewed on your bottom lip at the news, inwardly hoping that Freya was okay, wherever she was. You didn’t know her personally, but your mother worked very closely with her. Was she even alive? If so, where was she?

Your eyes followed Hrist as she slowly wandered around the field, monitoring the soldiers’ movements, razor-sharp wings glinting green in the afternoon sun. It was hard not to admire her. When you were younger, you dreamed of becoming one yourself, but your hopes were dashed once your true powers came to light. Your mother was absolutely adamant about your blood-bending remaining a secret to keep you safe from those who would dare use it against you.

“I’ve been meaning to ask-” the teen beside you began after a moment. “Where do you actually come from? I mean, you don’t exactly strike me as a full-Midgardian.”

“What gives you that idea?” You asked.

“I dunno, you just seem… different, I guess? I can’t quite put my finger on it.”

You quirked a brow. “A mortal who’s different. I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Hah, you know what I mean!” She chortled, nudging you in the side with her elbow. “I’m just saying, a lot of the Midgardians I’ve met are weird!”

“Sure, sure.” You laughed, mirroring her actions. You paused when she suddenly grasped your hand. “What?”

“You wanna go train for a bit?”

“What, in there? With them?” You jabbed an incredulous thumb towards Hrist and Mist.

She shook her head, standing up. “Nah, there’s another spot around the block. Come on!”

You jogged along with her as she led you to another training area. This one, though significantly smaller, was equipped with more practical equipment. Archery targets lined the back fence with countless markings and indents, while wooden training dummies were scattered throughout the area. A few were in dire need of replacement – some missing an arm while others didn’t even have a head.

“Is this where you usually come to train?” You asked, plucking a piece of hay stuck to one of the dummies.

She nodded her head. “Gotta put in the hard yards if I wanna become a Valkyrie!”

You stood back as she unsheathed her large blade from her hip, taking a swing at the dummy. The sword lodged into its’ side with a thwack before she withdrew it and widened her stance, ready for another shot. Slow clapping sounds approached from the entrance gate. There Heimdall stood, leaning his elbows over the top of the hardwood as he addressed you both with a shit-eating grin.

“Amateur hour, is it?” He sighed, folding his hands together with one final clap. “Figures you two would be the stars of the show.”

Thrúd instantly took the bait, storming toward her kin with a snarl. “I don’t see you training for anything these days. Getting too comfortable on the wall, huh?”

He snickered under his breath and extended to his full height with a tilt of his head. You were quickly learning that that was his non-verbal way of saying, ‘I’m gonna fuck around with you for a minute’. Thankfully, most of those cues hadn’t been aimed at you over the past week, which was surprising considering your last encounter. But, of course, that didn’t exempt you from a scathing remark every time he moseyed past you in the dining hall.

He entered the area deliberately, calculative – as if daring her to take a swipe. “Unlike you, I have actual responsibilities. Adult responsibilities, you see. You may find it hard to fathom since the All-Father hasn’t and – let’s be honest here – probably never will consider taking you on after your drunken failure of a father-”

It was as if an invisible string snapped, and suddenly, Thrúd was throwing punch after punch, missing every single one as Heimdall dodged side to side with ease, her blade long forgotten on the ground. You winced as he delivered a rough shove to the side of her head, throwing her off balance. She let out a frustrated growl as she clambered to the side, just barely catching herself before she tumbled to the ground. It didn’t take her long to correct herself, though, and she gained on him once more, this time aiming a boot towards his shin.

“Nope!” He taunted, using the hilt of his sword to ram against her knee.

A punch. Dodged. A kick. Deflected. A swing. Shoved.

You’d never seen Heimdall in combat before, but it was easy to see how infuriating he would be to go up against. His gift of foresight made it impossible for the girl to land a hit, let alone get close enough. He was clearly finding this fun, too, the ruthless sneer only growing on his face with each attack he evaded.

If it were anyone else, you would’ve found it amusing – Hel, attractive even – but with each second that went past, with each cuss word that flew from the teen’s mouth, you only found yourself growing more aggravated. Before you even realised what you were doing, your fingers twitched, and warmth flowed down your arms as you glared at the arrogant God taunting your friend.

Silence overcame the three of you as Thrúd finally managed to clip the side of his bicep with her enclosed fist. It wasn’t a particularly hard hit, as most of the momentum was lost already, but it was enough. Heimdall had faltered, unable to lean back far enough as you, for the slightest second, controlled the warm blood flowing through his lithe form.

Thrúd was practically gawking at her still-closed fist, holding it up in the air as if it would disappear at any moment. “What the fuck?”

Heimdall was livid, his glowing eyes sliding past his niece and straight over to you. He knew.

You gulped, pointing a finger to the entrance. “U-uh, I’m just gonna-”

It all happened so fast. The arrogant God was before you in a flash, his hand clamping over the sensitive junction between your neck and shoulders in a bruising grip. All of a sudden, you were being pushed forward, forced out of the training area, onto the main street and into what looked like an empty storage building.

He flung you to the side, slamming you into a stack of wooden boxes. You whimpered in pain as a sharp corner dug into your hip, your hands flying up in an attempt to hold the infuriated Aesir back. Fortunately, he halted, face close enough to feel his warm breath puff down your neck.

“You know, I couldn’t figure it out the first time I met you. Why I couldn’t see anything in that stupid little head of yours!” He yelled, eyes ablaze with fury. “And now, hah… you just gave yourself away, scum.”

You were frozen, mortified that you let your powers slip, that you used them on him, of all people, and that he caught on so damn fast. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you stuttered, shaking your head.

He slammed a fist into the box beside your head. “Don’t! Lie. To me.”

You twisted your neck to the side, clenching your mouth shut as he bore down on you, those bifröst eyes of his burning into your soul. What have I done?

“What, pray tell, is a blood-bender doing here in Asgard, hm? Enlighten me,” he spat, gripping your chin and forcing you to look up at him.

“F-fuck, I’m just working, I swear!”

A scoff. “Was that supposed to be convincing?”

“It’s true!” You implored, muscles shaking from the strain of holding yourself up. “I own a small business with my Dad in Midgard; ask Odin!”

He looked thoughtful for a moment, his irises jumping between each of yours, searching. He pulled away suddenly, and you collapsed to the ground, your hands flying to nurse your aching hip. You watched as he dragged a heavy-looking desk across the floor with ease and perched himself upon it.

“The All-Father,” he shot you a pointed look, “-would never waste his time on a poor, useless excuse for a merchant for no reason.”

You swallowed.

The vicious smirk returned. “My guess is he probably already knows – or has an inkling, at least.”

“What does it matter anyway?” You deflected, using the boxes as a crutch to stand up on shaky legs. “You probably felt how weak I am. I can’t even control my own powers!”

He waggled a finger at you as if talking down to a child. “Ah, ah, ah! See, that’s where you’re wrong.” He pat his hand to his chest, “I believe you have complete control of your powers – my unable to see into your mind tells me that much. And yet, here you are, hiding in plain sight, no different to a common thief. Why is that?”

“I…”

“I know why!” He piped up loudly, making you jump. “You’re afraid of it, aren’t you? Terrified to utilise your own powers. Tch, pathetic.”

Silence enveloped the room. Even with his foresight denied by your powers, he was awfully perceptive, and it worried you. Were you really that easy to read?

One thing was running through your mind now, which you voiced instantly. “You can’t tell him…”

He actually laughed at that, but there was nothing joyful about it as he drummed his fingers against the edge of the table – as if itching to take you by the throat this time. “What makes you think I’d listen to the likes of you?”

Your shoulders drooped in defeat as you looked down. “I’ll do whatever you want. Just, please, don’t tell him.” You pleaded.

“Is that so?” He’d pulled away from the table now, approaching you with slow, calculating footsteps. “Do you even understand what you’re offering?”

You bit the inside of your cheek as you stared at his boots, deciding to try again. “I’ll do anything, just don’t tell him…”

Your chin was snatched up once again, though much calmer this time, but it was his eyes that had you shivering with hesitation as you gazed up at him. “You have no idea what you’ve signed yourself up for, sunshine.”