Chapter 8:
“Mr. Stark, are you certain you should be moving? You’re still hurt.”
“I’m ok Fern, really.”
Atreus half listened to the conversation with one ear. The rest of his attention however, was taking in everything else around him.
The inn had been… large, but recognizable: tables, sturdy chairs, drinks, food.
Sure, a lot of it seemed to be of better craftsmanship than you’d find in either his father’s hut, or in other homes around Midgard. It was still, at the end of the day, recognizable.
This place though… he’d heard the others call it “The Graf’s Palace”, and it felt like he’d stepped into another world.
The floors gleamed like polished stone. There were marble archways, statues, and paintings. Portraits of men, which Atreus assumed were of the previous Grafs; they dressed like this one. Some were of what he thought were landscapes, but one of them had to be an exaggeration: so much sand couldn’t exist in one place; others were even of animals.
He wondered what the one with the long nose and ears was; he’d never seen anything like it.
The beds were unlike anything he’d ever seen: large and plush. There were lanterns with pins that burned brighter or softer depending on how they were turned, and the windows that let them see to the outside world were taller than people, and were as crystal clear as clean water.
He didn’t know people could even build places like this.
They’d been invited by the Graf - the Jarl of this place - after the battle, and it was so incredible.
“Be still, boy.”
“Yes father-” He reflexively answered his father’s command, but even so he couldn’t help but continue to look around.
He dared a look outside of the window. Through it, he could see dozens, maybe hundreds of people gathered in the courtyard. The injured, as well as those helping to treat them.
Most were townsfolk helping other townsfolk: old and middle aged women carrying buckets of water, fresh linen, or bandages. Armored men helped carry the wounded on stretchers, while others were clearing out nearby buildings to let them be used as makeshift hospitals.
It was the ones in robes that caught his eye, however. They were praying and chanting over the hurt people, their strange magic flowing out of them and into the injured.
“Father…” He felt, more than saw, his father paying attention. “Their ummm… Priests.” The word was unfamiliar; mostly because he’d never needed to use it before.
When his father answered, he sounded irritated. He never did like the subject of priests… or worshipers… or subjects related to Godhood of any kind. “What of them?”
“They’re healing the injured.” His father didn’t say anything, letting Atreus continue. “I’m just… well, can gods do that? Give humans the power to heal?” Healing was rare, even among gods or magic users; the only person who used any kind of healing as far as he knew was… well… Freja.
Some of his own animal spirits could heal too, but he didn’t really understand healing, not in a way he could do it independently.
His father held his silence for a long time. So long, Atreus wondered if he’d speak at all, until- “No. Gods do not heal. It is just magic.”
…
It was probably a subject he should drop.
Actually, he was likely better off asking Mimir, at least when they got back to the inn. Speaking of, one of them should head back soon, it was getting a little late.
“Curious about them, are you?”
The voice startled him a bit, turning to see Frieren marching up to his side, staring down at the courtyard below.
“Their Magic is different from ours, just as yours is different,” the elf observed. “It comes from faith; or the Goddess, or so they believe.”
“Did you sense Mr. Atreus’ mana from your battle, Mistress?” Fern asked from beside Stark.
“I did. I imagine you got a better feel for it, though.”
It was odd being talked about when he was standing right there, but the more he listened, the more he understood: both their language, and the curiosity.
Fern frowned. “I did. It was… odd. While it was his mana, it also felt… more natural, I suppose. Like the world itself was helping.”
Wait; but Mimir and the Giant carvings told him that magic came from the earth. Was it different here, somehow?
“Honestly, what was odd was Mr. Kratos. He’s at least as strong as my Master,” Stark chimed in.
“Stronger,” Frieren stated with calm factualness. And Atreus wasn’t sure who Stark’s Master was, but he couldn’t help but puff up with pride a little bit; even by proxy. Yeah. His Dad was strong.
Fern looked astonished. “Really? But Master Eisen is the strongest warrior the world has known for the past eighty years, at least.”
“There’s always someone stronger,” Frieren answered, and Stark nodded. Then she turned towards Atreus again. “Still, I wonder. Can you show me your magic? So I might see it for myself?”
Atreus smiled, happy to satisfy their curiosity. “Ratatöskr!”
Ghostly white and ethereal, the squirrel spirit emerged from seemingly nowhere. It crawled up Atreus’ leg, backside, back, and shoulders to finally sit on his arm.
“Really?” The embittered aspect scoffed. “You call me for this? He’s barely even scratched!”
With an annoyed hiss, the phantom squirrel hurled a golden acorn straight at Stark's cranium. It hit the boy with enough force to snap his head back, which then led to him stumbling backwards, only barely able to keep from falling on his ass.
Atreus winced as Stark yelped. “OW! WHY?!”
“Mr. Sta-Oh! Your injuries!”
“Huh?” Fern’s startled declaration distracted Stark from the pain in his head as he looked at his previously injured shoulder and myriad of scratches, now gone as though they never existed.
“Fascinating.” Frieren leaned closer towards the squirrel, wide eyed and seemingly drinking in the sight.
Atreus had a thought at that moment. “Oh, Ratatöskr, you’re an expert on Ygdrassil, right?”
“Oh no. I’ve just lived and kept the blasted thing since before you were even a concept! How would I ever be an expert?” The rodent spirit was almost visibly rolling its eyes.
“Any idea where we are?” He asked it. “We… kinda got lost.”
The squirrel stared at him for a long moment. “You three suck at this job.”
“It’s even sentient, it seems,” Frieren noted.
Before the three could continue examining and indulging their interest in either Stark’s now healed injuries or the aspect of Ratatöskr, there was a sudden knock on the chamber door, and the Rodent took the moment to dispel itself without answering his question.
When the door opened, it revealed the Graf, bandaged and escorted by four armed men, each of whom wore plate armor and broad swords.
“Good evening,” the man said. “First, let me once more offer my thanks for your actions tonight.” The Graf bowed at the waist. “Truly, we are in your debt.”
Miss Frieren’s voice was as calm as ever; Atreus kept listening, the meanings of the words becoming ever more clear with each syllable that passed between their lips. “It was no trouble”
The Graf nodded. “I don't believe it's too early to speak on a reward; so please, speak- if it’s within my power, I will grant it.”
Atreus could only imagine what might be within his power if his home was as grand as all this.
Even Frieren seemed to perk up at the thought of a reward. “Hmm? What Grimoires might be-”
“Mistress-” Fern suddenly cut in, leaning close to whisper something unintelligible into the elf’s ear.
And the elf looked a little sheepish now. “Well, some supplies for the journey might be nice, and whatever finances you can provide or donate would be appreciated.”
Oh. Maybe Mimmir had been right, and they weren’t extremely wealthy.
Again the Graf nodded. “Of course.” But then, his own countenance took on a slightly hesitant turn. “However, the events of the night do require me to make another request of you.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, you see-” Now, he looked towards Atreus’ father; and Atreus got a somewhat sinking feeling in his gut.
His father, of course, met the stare with dead silence, almost daring the Graf to say anything bad, even though he couldn’t understand a word.
The Graf turned back towards Frieren. “Your… companion, in defeating the Demon Lügner, damaged a part of the city’s wall. The city’s wall whose construction housed the barrier matrix set up by Flamme.”
Atreus winced. That sounded… fairly important. He didn’t dare chide his father though.
If his father wanted to punch a demon through an important wall… well… they shouldn’t have put anything important in that wall.
That's just how it worked.
Frieren nodded. “Oh… I see. I suppose you need someone to repair it.”
“Can you?” Fern asked.
The Graf again bowed slightly at the waist. “You are the only mage even remotely qualified to do so.”
The elven woman sighed. “Well, we can hardly leave this place without its protective barrier.”
“So you can fix it, then,” Fern nodded, looking at the back of her Mistress’ head. “How long would it take you to recreate it?”
The elf shrugged. “Not very long. I’m familiar with Flamme’s magic. A month at most.”
The Graf looked immensely relieved. “I would be willing to provide compensation, lodging, and anything else you need for this,” he declared eagerly.
As the group continued to talk and start delving into specifics, Stark suddenly chimed in, hesitantly bringing all eyes to him. “Hey; if we are gonna be staying for a month, then it might be a good idea to get a tutor. You know, for Atreus and M-Kratos. You know, to help them learn the language.”
“Actually, now that you mention it; we might be able to use the time to get him registered with the magic association, at least as an entry level mage,” Fern added.
It took a second for the meaning of what the two said to really percolate through his mind, but when it did, Atreus couldn’t hide his excitement. He knew it was showing all over his features.
Frieren, too, looked excited. And it would give us more time to study Atreus’ magic without interruption.
Again, the Graf showed his relief; sighing, shoulders sagging, like a weight had been lifted off of them. “I’m pleased to hear you’re amenable to helping us once again. We truly do owe you a debt. I took the liberty of sending my men to gather your belongings from the inn ahead of time, so you might get a good night’s rest in the palace.”
Again, it took a second to really get what he was saying, but when he did, Atreus couldn’t help but feel his stomach drop.
Stark, it seemed, had the same reaction. “Wait, you did what now?”
Sitting stiffly on her chair now, Fern shook her head. “Oh dear-”
As if on que, there came at that moment an uncertain knock on the door.
“Enter.”
The door opened, revealing a fairly anxious Monica. “Ummm, Graf Granat sir-”
“Yes, Guardsman?”
Maybe she was just reporting from somewhere else. Maybe they still had time for him to send a crow spirit or something, or even to have Ratatöskr to go hide Mimir under the bed.
And maybe he’d one day have luck that was that good.
When Monica winced; he knew. “Uhhh… well… we found something in lady Frieren’s room that’s a little… uhh… well…”
She stepped inside, and right behind her, another guard was holding the happily smiling head.
“Hallo!” If Mimir could give a little jaunty wave, Atreus had no doubt he’d be doing exactly that.
The Graf paused, staring, and then turned back to the now nervous group.
“...Would you mind… explaining?”
A moment of silence.
“...It followed us home?”
“A head followed you home?”
“...We were walking slowly?”
In spite of himself, Atreus couldn’t help the sharp bark of laughter at Stark's hesitant voice.
(X)(X)(X)
Graf Granat isn't giving Mimir enough credit. Man's a natural sprinter; very dangerous over short distances :p
Either way now we have our first little butterfly beginning to flap its wings :)
Honestly I wanted to give props to the eagle eyed viewer that caught the fact that Flamme's barrier was damaged by Kratos 2 chaps ago, but I didn't wanna spoil things. So; kudos to you friend, you deduced it :)
For those of you following three houses, it should be the next update barring anything unexpected.