tragic_mask | (no subject)

"What kind of expectations would you have had?" he asks, eyebrow raised. "Some particular to Norsemen, or to forge workers, or some combination of the two?"

"Oh, both." She nods, sagely. "Of course, my image of forge gods comes from Hephaestus. But he's a lot less formidable than I imagined the Norse gods to be. He's a big hunchbacked softy, when it comes right down to it."

She quirks a brow. "So, my expectations were of someone like Hephaestus, only... dangerous."

He chuckles quietly.

"The Norse types are outright bastards, and you'd do well to be wary if you meet any. Even I am, and I grew up among them."

"Oh?" she says, eyebrow lifted. "What sorts of things I be wary of?"

"That you might be killed--even if it wouldn't work, not completely, it wouldn't be a pleasant experience. Taken prisoner, held for ransom, used as a concubine... being disfigured for sport, that's another one. Being sent to very unpleasant realms and held there."

She makes a face.

"Not that my people aren't cruel, in their own Mediterranean way, but... yours sound ghastly."

"I think that yours... being immortal, and being among immortals, and knowing that they would always have to put up with these same people, there's a certain amount of forced civility. We never had that. Sure, as long as the apples held out... but after that?"

She nods. "You're right... there's a certain sense of required social interaction... and besides, it's impossible to kill us, so most of us don't try."

After a moment, she adds, "That's not to say that life can't still be torturous, if Hera wants it to be."

"Give someone a little power and it makes them want more," he says. "Give them a lot, and they are insufferable. It's always the way."

"Oh, yes," she says. "One way you can tell that gods were made for humans."

"It makes the humans feel less inferior to have their flaws--'Oh, if the gods were lying, murderous, adulterous bastards then I can point to their example!'--but it's really nothing to aspire to."

She shakes her head. "I certainly wouldn't aspire to be one. At least I was never on Olympus."

"We were lucky, at least, in that there were different realms and different halls, and if one wanted to avoid particular gods it could be done easily."

Avoiding all of them, that was harder.

She tilts her head. "So for you, there weren't? I find there can't ever be enough miles between me and the gods, sometimes."

"We had some... difficulties, between my family and some of the gods," he says. "We had been close before, but after that we kept our distance. I still do, though I think I'm the only one left."

"Difficulties?" she repeats. "Like what?"

"There was..."

He shakes his head. "A competition, you know. A rigged competition. And we lost, and we should not have lost, and it was an insult."

"That is insulting. Stupid,even. To rig a competition, when everyone knows how it's meant to turn out?"

"Loki had his reasons."

He doesn't want to remember.

"But the sword I made was, without any doubt, the finest weapon ever made."

"I don't doubt that," she says, looking at him. "Where is it now?"

"I don't know," he says quietly, looking away. "I lost track of it, while I was imprisoned."

"Oh," she says. "So it's still out there, then. Being wielded?"

"If it is still out there--and it would have been very hard to destroy--it must be hidden. There is no one else left who could wield it."

"I see."

She walks along in silence after that. Not much else to add.

"Do you think I should look for it?" he asks softly. "Would it be worth the trouble, to have an unstoppable weapon once more at my disposal? It can kill gods."