Hel was straightening him when Kali came in -- she is laying her father out for his pyre. The least Kali can do is help, so she kneels down to do so.
"How may I help?" she asks, and at Hel's raised brows, explains, "He was my friend, and he died because he wanted to help me."
"Thank you, Great Kali," Hel says, and puts her hand to the sword. Kali holds the body down as Hel pulls the archangel sword from Gabriel's chest. The cold goddess looks at it for a moment, her face unreadable.
[That is an unlucky weapon, great lady,] the ghost says.[It killed its master.]
Hel smiles at the dead man. "Unlucky or not, I need it. If it can kill one archangel, it can kill another."
The ghost snorts, and pulls his wolfskin cloak around his insubstantial shoulders. [It is treacherous and dishonorable. It will turn in your hand.]
"Do not worry yourself, Þórólfur Shield-biter. I know how to handle the treacherous. After all, my kin are Jotuns. This sword will serve me," she says, and tucks it into her belt.
The ghost frowns again, unconvinced.
Hel turns her attention back to the corpse, and begins peeling Gabriel's other wing off the floor to arrange properly -- though it is more difficult because it fell on floor and table, and seems shattered. Kali busies herself with smoothing down Gabriel's hair; she can do so very little for him now, but making him presentable is something.
His hair is fine and soft under her fingers, and Kali remembers other times, happier times, when she had her hands in his hair, her hands on his shoulders and around his waist. He had laughed for her, in days long past, and brought her ghee and paneer and skyr from his northern lands and they both ate the dairy offered by devoted humans in joy.
The little dog barks suddenly, shaking Kali from her introspection with a sharp challenge that descends into growls.
Kali whips her head around to see what has upset the dog. There at the door, two wolves stand, heads down and whining in distress. "Garm!" Hel chides the little dog. "It is only Geri and Freki. You are not afraid of Odin's wolves, are you, my pet?"
The dog tilts its head and then snorts, holding its head high. The wolves whine again, and slink in like chastened puppies. They sniff around Baldur's wrapped corpse, snuffling unhappily, and then over to Gabriel, where they cringe away the fading remnants of his Grace.
[It's all right, pups,] the ghost says, and crouches down to stroke their ears as if they were hounds. The divine wolves allow this, one going even so far as to lick the dead man's cheek, which makes him laugh.
"Thank you, Þórólfur." Hel says.
The ghost nods to her, [They're just worried, lady. Everything is unsettled, and the eagle-chieftain's death was strange.]
"I do not think one of the archangels had ever died before," Hel admits.
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Date: 2012-08-25 08:34 am (UTC)"How may I help?" she asks, and at Hel's raised brows, explains, "He was my friend, and he died because he wanted to help me."
"Thank you, Great Kali," Hel says, and puts her hand to the sword.
Kali holds the body down as Hel pulls the archangel sword from Gabriel's chest. The cold goddess looks at it for a moment, her face unreadable.
[That is an unlucky weapon, great lady,] the ghost says.[It killed its master.]
Hel smiles at the dead man. "Unlucky or not, I need it. If it can kill one archangel, it can kill another."
The ghost snorts, and pulls his wolfskin cloak around his insubstantial shoulders. [It is treacherous and dishonorable. It will turn in your hand.]
"Do not worry yourself, Þórólfur Shield-biter. I know how to handle the treacherous. After all, my kin are Jotuns. This sword will serve me," she says, and tucks it into her belt.
The ghost frowns again, unconvinced.
Hel turns her attention back to the corpse, and begins peeling Gabriel's other wing off the floor to arrange properly -- though it is more difficult because it fell on floor and table, and seems shattered. Kali busies herself with smoothing down Gabriel's hair; she can do so very little for him now, but making him presentable is something.
His hair is fine and soft under her fingers, and Kali remembers other times, happier times, when she had her hands in his hair, her hands on his shoulders and around his waist. He had laughed for her, in days long past, and brought her ghee and paneer and skyr from his northern lands and they both ate the dairy offered by devoted humans in joy.
The little dog barks suddenly, shaking Kali from her introspection with a sharp challenge that descends into growls.
Kali whips her head around to see what has upset the dog. There at the door, two wolves stand, heads down and whining in distress.
"Garm!" Hel chides the little dog. "It is only Geri and Freki. You are not afraid of Odin's wolves, are you, my pet?"
The dog tilts its head and then snorts, holding its head high. The wolves whine again, and slink in like chastened puppies. They sniff around Baldur's wrapped corpse, snuffling unhappily, and then over to Gabriel, where they cringe away the fading remnants of his Grace.
[It's all right, pups,] the ghost says, and crouches down to stroke their ears as if they were hounds. The divine wolves allow this, one going even so far as to lick the dead man's cheek, which makes him laugh.
"Thank you, Þórólfur." Hel says.
The ghost nods to her, [They're just worried, lady. Everything is unsettled, and the eagle-chieftain's death was strange.]
"I do not think one of the archangels had ever died before," Hel admits.