8201/In times long past...

In times long past...
Date of Scene:	11 October 2021
Location:	Palace - Asgard
Synopsis:	No description
Cast of Characters:	Sif, Balder

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Sif has posed:
The raid-in-force of Muspelheim was a success by all standards except by those of its commander. As the surviving raiders return, weary, burned, and yet still singing and in high morale, Sif, among them, face plastered with that empty smile she uses when at Court, eyes still burning with the madness that overtakes her when bloodlust overtakes her, rendering her the most fearsome warrior on the field ... to both friend and foe.

There's a reason she leads the army, instead of following it.

Bare skin at the left side of neck and face is charred. Half her hair burned off with ugly second degree blistering on the surrounding skin. A hole penetrates her right shoulder, crimson tide having stained her battle garb ... and makes clear why she uses crimson as her signature colour.

Bifrost is littered with the victors, the walking wounded, and the stretchers carrying the badly wounded and dead. As one of the leeches approaches Sif, she snarls and gestures behind her.

"Tend to them. When all have been tended, then come to me."

That madness in her eyes brooks no argument, no matter how sensible. The medic obeys.

As the force enters the city, Sifs eyes fall upon Balder, waiting for the return. Obviously wearied, and in obvious pain, she separates from the war band and approaches Balder, saluting upon arrival (and unable to conceal the wince as the torn shoulder protests).

"The mission was a success, your Highness." Then, more darkly, she adds, "The Valkyrior had their work cut out for them. There are many new Einherjar this day. It was a glorious battle."

It's almost impossible to tell if that's sarcasm or her true feelings.

That madness hides all.

Balder has posed:
The Warriors of Old.

The armies of Asgard are the defenders of the Nine Realms and occasionally the conquerors. When worlds cannot defend themselves, Asgard raises their shields...but when one of them steps out of line? They draw their sword and send in the greatest warriors ever assembled.

Today was one such day.

Surtur had betrayed his promises of peace and submission, Asgard having given the realm the space and freedom to manage its own. As such, Odin and Asgard were slighted by an attack on Asgard's shores. Angered, Balder made the decision. Yet rumor has it that Balder was heartbroken to unleash Asgard's armies. Yet, he donned his armor and cloak, and approached Sif.

Long time an admirer, she was the one he trusted to lead the raid party while he took a portion of their forces elsewhere. She was his swift and terrible fury, the result of the hand that was bitten. Balder left soon after, and upon his return was scorched, but largely unharmed, his axe slick with the blood of fire demons.

Yet at the Bifrost, he awaited report as his allies were mended, the Bright Prince looking relieved when Sif returned with the battle party. "Lady Sif." He notices her since when she salutes, but he dares not take her pride as a warrior from her.

"It is a great sadness that we must March at all." Balder says in reply in a quiet voice. Of Odin's blood, Balder possessed the biggest heart. He would rather lower his weapon and never raise it again than March to war..but such is the way of things. "You were valiant in battle. I was right to trust my General. The fallen will be honored and welcomed into Valhalla."

Sif has posed:
"Yes. There will be much commemoration of great deeds in Valhalla, with the newcomers mercilessly taunted as is tradition," Sif says, her face still with the empty smile.

The madness in the eyes is leeching away, return to her home pulling out of her the lust for blood that the threat of looming battle brings upon her. Left in their wake is a profound ... it's hard to tell. Pain is visible, but whose?

"Surtur will not quickly forget the lesson taught today. The price has been high, but ignoring his betrayal would cost us more. The dwarves considering alliance with him will come to heel rapidly and peace can be restored."

Quite out of character for her, Sif reaches out to a nearby pillar for support, her pallor setting off the black and the red in a way that makes her look like one of Hela's dark servants.

"I will need to ..." She pauses, trying to pick the right word to navigate this situation. "... clean. If I'm to be at Court and later in the welcoming feast in Valhalla." She snorts dryly. "Look upon me and you could be forgiven thinking I was an Einherjar who'd been too foolish to lie down and leave her fleshy shell."

Of course the wounds are already beginning to close over. Slowly. She will cause quite the stir in Court, however, even after a half-day of healing. This is the worst she's been since awarded generalship.

Balder has posed:
"As is tradition."

Says mighty Balder, who may not be the God of War but powerful in his own right. We're he not the one whom Odin demanded survival? He'd probably be worse than Sif at this moment. But that doesn't stop him at all in this moment. When Sif moves to rest her arm against the column, she may be shocked to find Balder's strength around her if she permits him this.

His cloak is removed and set around her for twofold reasons. One was to keep her comfortable and absorb any wet blood from her body. The other was to declare her champion of this battle and most - praised in this victory.

"Come - I will watch over you and cleanse you. I will not have you suffering on the way to court."

It was just as it was since they were children. Balder always wiping blood from her eyes, always being her shoulder, her shield. Balder's one wish was simple...that she be okay and happy. Even if she never notices his heart.

Nonetheless, he'll guide her if she permits. "Call the healers, the best of the kingdom! I will fall before any more do!" Balder states his commands and his soldiers heed him without a moments pause. "a truly, you have never once looked this injured...a hellish battle indeed."

Sif has posed:
That stubborn backbone of hers. Sif accepts the cover. And the accolades that go with it. But she raises her arm against the call for healers.

"They get it first. I am last. It is my way." Her head makes a weary gesture in the direction of the troops still pouring over Bifrost.

There's a reason why she commands the respect and loyalty she does, and this is it right here.

"I..." Welcome your aid? Graciously accept? Thankfully and humbly accept? "...will let you tend me, Your Highness."

Well, it's a start. Right?

"It was a hard-fought battle. They were worthy foes." She looks down at the hole in her shoulder with annoyance, like it was a personal affront. "This one was close."

And that's all she says about the horrors of the battle as she wends her way, with the prince's assistance, to her quarters in the palace. The facade of the aloof, untouched general lasts until she's there, the servants have been sent scurrying, and Balder is left outside the door of her bath. Only then, when looking into the mirror, staring at the wounds. The injuries. And flashing back to companions lost in her stead does the facade crack.

Or, rather, crumble, as she tries to stifle a sob. And fails.

Balder has posed:
"Of course."

Balder agrees with her wishes easily and without fanfare or resistance. He understands full well the burden of command and the heavy price it exacts on the mind. She gives him permission to tend to her, and Balder nods in his agreement, walking her away to a place more private than this.

He must ensure her wounds are closing normally and he must guide her to the baths. Yet even as they walk, it's revealed that not even Sif was unbeatable. Asgard was not unbeatable. This is the reality of the universe. Even as they walk and her mighty walls of steel crack.

They crumble. They shatter. All is ruin. Balder steps aside then and waits outside the door as he delivers Sif to her silence. He turns his back, that is, until he hears her sob. His steps fall short. They stiffen and solidify.

The door opens and Balder walks through until he rests in a standing position, a gentle hand resting on her shoulders. If she believes her dignity disrupted, she may notice that Balder had blindfolded himself with cloth from his own armor. He's here.

Sif has posed:
The blindfold is a good idea. Not because of any particular bodily shame. Sif has been on campaign too often to have that any longer. In Court she's dressed to the height of propriety and her behaviour is unassailable. (Well, at least in that regard.) In the field, however, there's not a lot of room for modesty and it's been centuries since the gaze of one of the band of brothers falling on her causes shame.

No, what needs to be unseen is the trembling, felt in the shoulders but not seen. The horror on her face as memories of fallen brothers from centuries of blood flash before her while she stares at the grim, bloodstained body before her.

In Midgard--modern Migard--they'd call it PTSD. In the past they'd call it soldier's heart, or battle fatigue, or even just plain old stress trauma. And the one thing that's needed, absolutely needed, to deal with it is the one thing prohibited her by virtue of her sex and her position: talk.

Balder's hand on her shoulder pulls her back from the brink of madness. (This mirror won't be shattered.) One of her hands rests on Balder's ... clutches at, in point of fact. Her breathing steadies. Her trembling reduces.

Then a deep breath.

"You didn't need to see that, my Prince," she says in a quiet voice. Translation: Please don't remember it.