Chapter Text
Seeing Freya and Mimir again was pretty awkward, but no one mentioned Atreus’ outburst, thankfully. Before leaving the hut, Freya hugged Atreus again, and if she squeezed him a little tighter than usual, he didn’t think too much of it. Bitterness still rankled in his chest, but its edges were now dull.
“I’ll see you around,” Freya said. “Alright?”
“Yeah.” Atreus couldn’t quite bring himself to meet her eyes. “Take care, Freya.”
Then he and his father were off, heading to the nearest gateway and arriving in their front yard within the Wildwoods. “Ah, home again,” Mimir sighed, once again hanging from the back of Kratos’ belt. Then, at the sound of barking, “Och, are those the girls?”
Speki and Svanna dashed over to them, leaping up to lick Atreus’ face, and, surprisingly, Kratos’. Pack-father is back! Brother-cub is back!
“Hey, girls,” Atreus laughed, rubbing their heads and floppy ears. “Did you miss us?”
Sister-cub? Where is Sister-cub? Speki asked, sniffing at Atreus.
“I’ll help prepare something to eat,” Atreus said. “Sorry, Speki, I don’t have any treats right now.”
Treats? No treats. Where is Sister-cub?
Atreus huffed. Damn it, Speki. “Oh, Angrboda? She’s in Ironwood. Ironwood, girl. You’ll see her next time.”
“Come, Atreus,” Kratos said, a faint gleam of amusem*nt in his eye. The wolves ended up following them into the cabin; Atreus lit a fire in the hearth, and its heat soon warmed the air inside.
After that, he easily fell back into his old routine of gathering the preserved meat and letting Kratos cook it over a fire. He could almost imagine he was eleven years old again, watching his father go about his duties and wondering what he was thinking about.
“You know,” Atreus ventured, “I didn’t really go into detail about Rome. I arrived there during a festival.”
“Indeed?” Mimir said, intrigued. “Would you tell us more about it?”
“Sure, if you want.” Good thing he got some practice in when he told the Giants. “I left Greece by boat and arrived in Sipontum …”
While he told his tale, going so far as to mention Portunus and Janus, and the help they gave him along the way to Rome, he noted how his father listened closely, even if he didn’t look at Atreus while the meat cooked. Atreus spoke of passing through the Gate of Donkeys, going to the Baths of Titus, and visiting the Roman Forum. And even though he already knew the answer, he just had to ask, “Father, have you ever been to a public bathhouse before?”
Kratos grunted. “Yes. With my soldiers in Sparta.”
“Really?”
“It was a common occurrence when we were away from home. Good hygiene was critical, not just in Sparta, but everywhere in Greece.”
“I think it still is,” Atreus said. “Rome must’ve taken some inspiration from Greece. Though, I think the bathhouses could use some better hygiene practices, too.”
Kratos’ grunt sounded more like a chuckle this time.
Atreus then spoke of the temples and the Circus Maximus between Aventine and Palatine Hill. He got a little heated while describing the chariot race, which was probably why Kratos chose that moment to push a plate of food into his hands. “Eat, Atreus.”
Atreus wharfed it down, suddenly realizing just how hungry he was. “Thanks, Father. But – there aren’t any rules in the games! Anybody can be killed, even the horses! One of them got stuck on a Greek chariot –”
“With spiked wheels?” Kratos said.
“Yeah, that! So I healed the horse and dipped. I couldn’t just leave it there.”
“I would’ve been vastly surprised if you did leave it, lad!” Mimir said.
Atreus then mentioned the Quinquatria festival. He hesitated, at first; how would Kratos react to hearing about the Roman gods of war? So he evaded that for now and instead focused on Vesta. That seemed like a safer god from Kratos’ past to talk about. “She’s the Roman goddess of the hearth. She was really kind to me, Father. She let me stay in her house and concealed me from the other gods.”
“The hearth,” Kratos murmured.
“Her past self was Hestia,” Atreus said carefully. “She had a few memories of you from Greece, and not all of them bad.”
Kratos grunted, but he didn’t look unhappy. That was good. “Hestia … She was the one Olympian that I felt I could trust. She did not lie; she spoke plain.”
“She said she offered you food by the hearth, and you ate together. And that you protected her from Poseidon.”
For a heartbeat, Kratos looked surprised. The firelight danced over his face, but not in a frightening way. Rather, it seemed to soften his features.
“I did,” he said. “She often stayed by the hearth on Olympus. It was her duty and one that she enjoyed. But she was also left alone by the gods. I did not like to see her unguarded. Nor did I care if I angered Poseidon, or Apollo, or any who sought to harm her.” Kratos met Atreus’ eye. “In my war against the Olympians, Poseidon was one of my first victims. But if he has been reborn …”
“Vesta left the other gods,” Atreus said. “She lives in her house in the Forum now. She said she still loves her family, but I think she also wanted to get away from them, given how mean they are to her.”
“Hm. That is good,” Kratos said, more to himself than to Atreus.
“She also doesn’t hate you for what happened, Father,” Atreus added. “I think she still cares about you. She said you were like a brother in her past life.”
Kratos sighed. “Hestia has always been … generous. I would tell this Vesta what I would tell Hestia: that it is unwise to be generous without caution.”
“I think she’s gotten pretty cautious since then,” Atreus said with a slight grin.
“Hrn. I will trust your judgement, then.”
Atreus was still describing his journey after lunch ended. He got so far as his trip to Danmǫrk, seeing Skjöldr and Thrúd, and helping to deal with the dragon that locked realm travel.
“Ah, so it was you!” Mimir exclaimed. “Sif told us that Thrúd returned to Vanaheim – we’d gone off to check on the wolves, see – but there wasn’t any mention of you!”
“I told Thrúd not to say anything,” Atreus laughed. “I wanted to keep it a surprise!”
“Ach, well, you sure got us, Little Brother,” Mimir chuckled. Even Kratos smiled, just a little bit.
Once the tale was over, Kratos surprised them both by asking Atreus to play the lyre. “I do not see yours,” he said, bringing his instrument out. “So you may use mine.”
“I left it back in Ironwood,” Atreus said ruefully.
“Did you learn any new songs?” Mimir asked. “I hear Rome’s language is Latin. Does it sound as stuffy as people say it is?”
“Heh. No, not really,” Atreus said. “It’s pretty formal, but also … Uh, it sounds better when you sing it.”
“Can you?” Kratos asked, surprised.
“Yep. I usually sing on the street to make money.”
“I have not heard you sing before.”
“Shy, are you?” Mimir teased.
Atreus’ face heated up. “I, um, don’t often sing when I’m here. Sometimes I sing for the Giants in Ironwood, but only after they ask. It’s a little embarrassing. I’m not that good.”
“Then you will improve,” Kratos said simply. “Will you sing tonight?”
Atreus didn’t want to turn him down, especially with that hopeful look on his face. He took Kratos’ lyre and sat on the edge of his own bed, then searched his memory for a Roman song. The prayers to Vesta seemed like a good start; Atreus recalled listening to them in the early mornings when the priestesses began their day in Vesta’s temple. He plucked at the strings to warm up his fingers, drew in a deep breath, and began to sing.
The hearth seemed to glow brighter as the song went on. Atreus gradually relaxed, settling into the rhythm, and sang on into the afternoon. Once it was done, Kratos remained silent for a moment, then nodded. “Very good, son.”
Atreus brightened. “Really?”
“You have the voice of a siren, lad!” Mimir exclaimed. “Er, not in a bad way, of course. Sorry, Brother.”
Kratos grunted. “Faye often sang, too. You share her skill.”
That warmed Atreus up more than the fire. “Thanks, Father.”
As the afternoon passed into evening, Kratos shared his own tales in turn, recounting his work in Vanaheim and helping Freya, and regularly checking on the human villages to see if any more berserkers had come near. All the pieces of Asgard had been cleaned up long ago, as were the einherjar still loyal to Odin. Týr remained a beloved figure of peace and negotiation, and still as humble as the legends described him to be. He visited the Giants more often than anybody else while Atreus was away, mostly to see his mother and foster-father.
By the time night came around, Atreus was exhausted. He didn’t even do a lot today, though it was probably from the reunion and the whole emotional debacle of bringing up Kratos’ past. They ate dinner in comfortable silence, and afterward, Kratos played the lyre for him. Atreus didn’t recognize the song, but the melody was reminiscent of what he’d learned in Greece. Despite being a large, grim figure, Kratos was excellent at the lyre, plucking the strings with deft, nimble fingers and making it look super easy.
Atreus ended up falling asleep to his father’s music. He didn’t quite remember lying down on his bed (and damn it did he miss his bed!), but he did remember Kratos coming over and shifting the blanket a little higher over his chest. Last was the gentle brush of his beard against Atreus’ cheek as Kratos lightly kissed his forehead.
Atreus woke up deep in the night. The fire had burned low to almost nothing, leaving a few glowing coals to give off a feeble warmth. Despite the spring season, the nights were still cold in Midgard. With a quiet sigh, he slipped out of bed and built up the fire again.
Kratos was still asleep, lying on his side with his back to the hearth. As Atreus fed another log to the flames, he glanced at the table where Mimir was perched on his cushions. He didn’t sleep, claiming to meditate through the night instead, but Atreus was still startled to see his bifrost eyes wide open.
Atreus crept over to the table and shifted it a little closer to the hearth. Mimir hummed with satisfaction. “Thanks, Little Brother,” he whispered, so as to not wake Kratos. “That feels a lot better.”
“Good.” Now that they were here, Atreus’ old bitterness scratched against his side. This wasn’t the right time or place to talk about it, but … Screw it.
“Mimir?” he said, as quietly as he could. “Did Father tell you anything else about his family?”
Mimir sighed quietly. “Atreus, I can’t –”
“I just want to know how much he told you. You don’t have to share the details.”
“Did he tell you how I found out?”
“Yeah. Said you heard stories, and that he spoke to you about them.”
Mimir sighed. “That’s about it. I only know as much as Freya does, nothing else. That I swear.”
Atreus glanced over his shoulder at Kratos’ slumbering form. “Okay. I believe you.”
“Good. And … I know you already understand this, Little Brother, but some people do value their privacy,” Mimir whispered. “It might’ve been better for you to bring it up in private rather than having me and Freya near.”
“If you hadn’t given yourselves away, I never would’ve known that he told you two first.” Atreus rubbed his temple wearily. “I didn’t mean to get upset about it. It just happened. I got angry.”
“You don’t distrust your father now, do you?”
“No, I trust him. I just wish that he told me. That I didn’t have to hear about it from other people. It feels wrong not to know.”
“I’m sorry, Atreus,” Mimir said softly. “Though, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that you’d feel so strongly about this.”
“No?” Atreus said wryly. “Did you think I wouldn’t care about extended family?”
“Not at all, lad. I had a feeling you’d care, just not this much.”
No doubt he was on to something. Would Atreus care so much if he hadn’t met Calliope? She’d simply be a name to him, someone as distant as Kratos’ homeland was. Atreus shifted uneasily. “Do you think Father knows that I’d care?”
“I’m sure he does. Maybe part of the reason why he didn’t tell you is because you’d hate to hear how they died. Overall, it’s just a tough topic. They’re his wife and daughter, lad.”
“She’s my sister too, Mimir. Her mother is my mother.”
Mimir raised both eyebrows.
“Okay, not literally,” Atreus amended. “But you get what I mean.”
“Oh, aye. You’ve a good heart, Little Brother.”
“Thanks, Mimir.” Atreus sighed. “I ought to get back to bed. See you tomorrow.”
“Sleep well, Atreus.”
Atreus silently got back into bed. He was still wide awake, but he shut his eyes and tried to drift off. It didn’t help that he kept thinking about Calliope and how she was doing.
When he finally fell asleep, he dreamed of the sound of her flute.
