2The Mighty Bonnie—Chapter 2
The chirping of a bird drew Bonnie from her exhausted slumber. Yawning as she stretched. The customary pops and crackles sounded as bones, muscles, and tendons left to sit too long moved for the first time that morning. Wincing as something in her shoulder shifted wrong, her other hand automatically came to massage it. Another, larger yawn nearly cracked her jaw. Though not fully awake yet, she could tell she was sitting up. She was also sore. Had she fallen asleep in a chair?
One of her eyelids lazily, reluctantly pealed back revealing a copse of trees and a sward of grass. Amidst the grass were the smoking remains of a giant robot. Her other eye flew open, and she sprang to her feet. This was not the hostel! Putting her back to the tree she had been laying against, her head whipping this way and that, searching for a threat—any threat at all. Shocked to full consciousness by the jolt of adrenalin flooding her system, her memories of yesterday slammed home.
She remembered being drawn to the cave not a hundred yards distant; the alien stone-men who had attacked her; striking her father's cane against a boulder. More importantly, she remembered who she truly was—Thor! In that instant, the wild panic that had filled her became the calm clarity of a seasoned warrior, confident in her skill. The familiar drum of blood in her ears slowed. Reaching down she took hold of the gnarled piece of wood that was Mjolnir's guise, and struck the butt of the cane on the ground.
"By the power of Asgard!" godly might surged from the heavens through her, "I feel as mighty as Odin!" In place of a mortal cheerleader, there stood the Goddess of Thunder! Her cape and skirt fluttered in the light breeze. Loosing her grip on her enchanted hammer, it dropped from her fingers, only the thong wrapped around her wrist kept it from falling completely beyond her reach. With her godly powers restored, her banishment from Asgard was over. Yet she paused. It was a hesitation borne not of fear, but of uncertainty. Would the other gods accept her now as she was? Would they exile her from the Realm Eternal for all time?
The answer came to her from her mortal memories. For the longest time Liz had been terrified of what would happen when the squad found out she was a lesbian. That is until Bonnie had told her the squad already knew—that little white lie had given the redhead the courage to come out of the closet. The same principle applied her; if her friends truly loved her they would accept her!—no matter what! And if they did not, they were never truly her friends.
Raising her arm, her mighty sledge whirling overhead, she prepared to breach the dimensional gulfs separating Asgard from Midgard. Colored mist in the shining hues of the rainbow rose around her feet. Higher the mists climbed. Higher and higher still, beginning to swirl as the North Winds caught them up. Fully engulfed by the rainbow mists, a bolt of lightning streaked towards her. In a crash of thunder, she vanished into the mist as it dissipated.
"Hold steady the lines!" bellowed a heavily bearded man in ornate armor, a gilded pauldron of rank resting upon his right shoulder. "Hold," he shouted the command again, a touch of desperation creeping into his voice. His left flank was crumbling! Even augmented as it was by the prowess of the Warriors Three, his men continued to fall back. It was through no fault of their own, but a year of near constant battles had made his men weary.
The crash of sword on shield, and clangor of blade meeting blade was near deafening. Yet still his ox-like hollers sounded, giving orders to his men. "In the name of omnipotent Odin; in the name of Asgard—hold!" The ground under his feet, slicked with the blood of his enemies, leaped from under his feet as a boulder hurled from a catapult smashed into the great wall behind him. Massive slabs of stone rained down, shards the size of men pummeled the backside of his ranks. Slightly dazed, he climbed to his feet; the din of the battle was replaced by an empty, hollow ringing. The world seemed to tilt violently one way then another, but for all its rapid jarring, everything was slow and washed in a blur. His sword came up and he knew not why, even as an axe bore down on it, driving it to careen off his helmet. He could not parry the strike that parted his head from his body.
Balder, the son of Frigga—Balder the Brave, ran his sword through the dark elf that had just taken the head of one of his captains. Pulling the blade free in a spray of blood, he sought his next foe. Rushing forward, a mighty battle cry springing from his throat, he ducked under the clumsily swung axe of a fire giant. Again, his sword was sheathed in flesh, and bit bone. His continued charge tore free the weapon, and opening a ghastly wound though which the giant's entrails began to spill.
Scalding blood spilled over the giant's hand that now held the torn flesh of his side. A mighty swing brought his axe down, burying deep the head. But Balder darted aside near the last moment, and striking with all his might, severed the giant's arm at the wrist. The giant roared in pain, and the Asgardian ran behind it, drawing his blade across the calf, hamstringing and toppling the giant.
A cheer rose from the ranks of Asgardians, and they fought with a renewed fervor. And Balder lead the charge into an assemblage of trolls. One of the brutes wielded a cudgel of immense size, raking across a file of Asgardians, sending them flying. Managing to dodge the mighty weapon, the God of Beauty closed and rammed his sword though the belly of the troll. Bringing his boot up, he planted his foot to gain the leverage he needed to free his trapped blade from the creature's innards.
As he did so, the swipe of another troll's brawny arm batted him aside. The Asgardian felt the air driven from his lungs before being launched away by the power of the swing. Crashing down near the gate leading to Asgard, he coughed and gasped for air. Climbing to his feet his helmet toppled from his head. He breathed deeply despite the pain of doing so. He was Balder the Brave and he would not yield. He could not yield, not with the charge he held.
Rushing once more into battle, he saw only the Warriors Three holding the left against the onslaught. Hogun was dispatching his foes one after the other in his grim methodical fashion. Fandral, as ever, made a childish mockery of those he faced. Volstagg lounged against the corpse of a giant, breathing heavily as he did so, yet still deftly dodging the slashes and thrusts of the dark elf who assailed him.
Balder's blade met that of a dwarf's, and the two locked in contest, the compact creature pressing his attack, forced the Asgardian back, before overextending himself and finding the god's sword transfixed through his heart. Thereafter, yet another fiend beset him. The frost giant's hammer pounded the ground, a ring of frost racing outward from it. The hammer rose, and Balder shot between the giant's legs. He turned and ran his blade deep into his foe's thigh. A biting cold shot through him, forcing him to relinquish his weapon.
He stared at his palms. Patches of skin had torn from them, frozen to the pommel of his sword. He reached for a downed solder's sword, and it nearly fell from his blood-slicked, benumbed hands. Gritting his teeth, he wrapped fingers tightly around the hilt 'til his knuckles shown white, and cracked under the strain.
Screaming his fury, he charged a troll. Its colossal fist collided with his face. Again, he flew back, and again he rose. The force of the blow had rattled his teeth. Looking up, the troll leaped mightily and landed in front of him, its ham-fisted punch crashed into his chest, driving him to the ground.
Coughing, Balder rose again, sword in one hand, the other clutching his broken ribs. "You will have to slay me, Troll! For I shall not yield!" Yet as he spoke, the sky darkened, and lightning flared from the sky. Thunder echoed over the battlefield, and the hoards halted in their tracks. A bolt of lightning struck in front of the troll, and from that blinding flash leapt another bolt, catching the troll in the chest, to hurl it back into the roiling mass of Asgard's enemies.
Balder fell to his knees, his strength failing him. Strong arms wrapped him, gently leaning him back. He could only make out blonde hair and a familiar winged helm. "Thor…?"
She lay him back, shushing him softly, "Rest, Balder. Rest. Long hath thou held my charge in thine stead. This day Thor returns to Asgard. This day, Thor takes up her charge once more. This day the Thunderess does battle unto the enemies of Asgard." She stood, and then marched forward, Mjolnir in hand. Her face was a thunderhead, teal eyes fixed on her target. A troll hastening towards her, its immense axe raised high, a guttural, bloodthirsty roar, escaping its lips. Closing fast, the troll would reach her in two strides… one stride…
Ckllrraaannkk! Thunder pealed as the great sledge struck the troll in the jaw. The troll collapsed limply as a boned fish, its head cocked at an unnatural angle. Picking up the axe, she threw herself into the battle. Bringing the axe to bear on a dark elf, the jagged blade clove the elf, raking across his body, and leaving horrific wounds.
With all her might, she hurled the axe at a frost giant. The wicked blade blurred as it somersaulted through the air, end over end over end, before lodging fully in the giant's chest. She then swung Mjolnir in an overhand arc, smashing the skull of a dwarf. Running forward she twisted sideways, whirling her hammer around to smash another foe in the back, before launching herself into a cartwheel. Pivoting as she landed, she pushed off ground with both hands, sailing over a troll leaning in to snatch her up in its massive arms, and bludgeoning it in the face with her mighty hammer as she did so.
Whipping around as she landed, a sonorous clangor resounded as Mjolnir collided with a sword. The force reverberated up her arm, jarring her to the bone. The weapons disengaged and met again. Blood drummed in her ears. Her other hand clenched and the fist caught her foe in the face, sending him staggering. Mjolnir whirled around, at speeds nearly impossible to see, slamming into one enemy then the next as the hoard surrounded her weakened foe. Again and again, the enchanted sledge brought ruination upon those who ventured too near the Thunderess.
At last spotting her quarry, she flung the great hammer at him. The mighty sledge caught him in the gut, driving him into the ground, furrowing it. Holding out her hand hammer flew back to her. The intensity of the battle was waning. The hoards of trolls and giants, of dark elves and dwarves were in retreat, the tide of the battle having shifted in favor of the Agardians.
A cheer rose; a cry of victory. The hosts of Asgard had prevailed.
The wounded were borne away on stretchers, and the valkyries tended to the dead. Balder was one of those carried by stretcher. She watched, dispassionately gazing over the battlefield, learning the faces of the dead and dying. As a mortal, she had gained a new perspective. Abhorring the carnage wrought by the battle, no longer did she wish to court war—yet ever would she defend those in need. Resolved to this course, she looked upon the gates of Asgard, anguish in her heart, a heart torn by divided loyalties.
One to her life of old among the gods of Asgard. Loyalty and obedience to her father and king, Odin, dedication to her home, to her friends and love. Another to her life on Midgard, to Tara, and the others. She would need to choose—how could she? What loyalties held precedence? Oh, what curse was this to lament her so? Yet a great many answers were within her grasp, the conjecture of their origin at last understood. Why, even as a mortal, she had placed such value on loyalty; her near instinctive love for Viking Rock; and the source of her temper.
All of these were trivialities as a god, yet so vital to the understanding of her mortal self. The answers that she had fought for all her life, and could never know. Answers she no longer needed or wished to bear the burdened of. Answers she—
Her musings were interrupted.
"Verily, we are indebted to thee, for thy timely intervention. Wouldst thou not tell us thy name, fair maiden? So as we mayest bestow 'pon thee graciousness befitting thine act of valor."
"Wherefore," she replied, rounding on her heel to face her old friends for the first time, "Good Fandral, thou saucy fellow, shouldst I do thee a disservice unto thy pride? When thou hath but to look upon Mighty Mjolnir to know who I am."
"Thor?" the blond man gasped, dumbstruck. The shock of such a revelation clearly writ on his face; Volstagg and Hogun, likewise gazed in wonderment upon the maiden before them. It was but a grand jest, surly she could not be Thor—could she? Yet the power she displayed; the manner with which she spoke. It must be.
"Ho, Volstagg, Hogun, I am rejoiced to see thou still in confederacy with this merry rouge." She addressed the remainder of the Warriors Three.
"By Odin's beard," swore Volstagg, laughter creeping into his voice, "It can't be. It cannot be… Thor, but…" Hogun merely stood in silence, ever grim, awaiting answers.
"How, come I unto this form—a woman's body?" she supplied, the question the big man could not voice. "This, I know not, and must beset Odin for the answer. Come, friends, let us away to the Great Hall, to await Odin's awakening." She reached out snaring the reins of a rider-less horse, and placing foot to stirrup, when a gloom-ridden silence overtook them. The Thunderess hoisted herself into the saddle, and the mount sensing her tension, frisked. Once her new mount was thoroughly under control, she turned her gaze to her friends. Their sorrowed countenances, the broodful cast of their eyes… "What vexes thee?"
A clap of thunder her only answer.
"Out with it, lest I be out with thee!" she shouted, her own face a malevolent thunderhead.
"The Odinsleep came upon him yesteryear, and he has yet to wake. For some time omnipotent Odin hath been wearied and grief-stricken, at learning of the death of thy mortal vessel—thy own entry into oblivion, coinciding. All believed thee lost."
"Lost," she repeated in a whisper, before continuing loud enough for them to hear, "Indeed, lost! Lost in another's soul; but found now I am. But now thine banishment is lifted, and to my father's side must I attend. Mayhap he shalt now awaken that I am returned."
"Indeed," said Hogun, his measured timbre betrayed of any attitude, as he climbed into a saddle, "with Thor returned unto us, Asgard once more hath hope."
"Come, friends," Fandral called, as he and Volstagg likewise followed suite, placing backside to saddle, "we've much to celebrate—much drinking and feasting to partake of." He turned his attention to her, flashing a crooked grin that set off his eyes in a most dazzling fashion. Set on his face with his handsome features, it was a smile to make maidens swoon. It was as much a weapon as the blade at his hip, and he wielded both with equal skill. "Mayhap, when all hath had their fill of mead and food, we can celebrate thy return in a more intimate manner late of this eventide."
The Thunderess knew well his game, as she had learned it in her mortal life. He was not the only one who could cut quick the heart with a smile—set blood to racing with a glance. She turned on him a smile of her own, marching her steed next to his. She placed her hand upon the blond warrior's shoulder, schooling her features to those of a vulnerable young maiden in need, her eyes twin pools of teal, innocent and beseeching, deeper than the seas drawing him in. Leaning into his ear, and in a voice of honeyed steel, she whispered loud enough for the others to hear, "Have a care, Fandral, of whence you cast thy charms, for I am no mere maiden to besot for a trifle dalliance, for were we not friends, I wouldst rend thee of them on the instant."
His face grew long, as she pulled away, a worried frown replacing his smile. Hogun and Volstagg roared in ruckus laughter at his misfortune. "Yes, well," he recovered himself; "Your time away hath not slowed thy wit, or dulled the fires of thy temper. Are we to squander our (time?), in needless debate, when we canst proceed unto omnipotent Odin's side?"
"Verily," Volstagg exclaimed, "I athirst! All this yammering doth make dry the throat."
