Work Text:
Deep in the furthest reaches of the underworld, within the bowels of Hel’s accursed domain, in the place where light died and screams were snuffed out, Laegjarn was having a fairly bad day.
Being dead had, on the whole, been less horrid than she had expected, breathing her last on the flame-scorched floors of Muspell’s palace. True, most of her skin and internal organs had been converted into a bizarre gelatinous substance, but she was really feeling the increased flexibility, and her chronic stomach-aches were a thing of the past. The nigh-lightless domain of the undead wasn’t a very cheery place to live, but for a Muspellian who’d lost a toe as a child thanks to a surprise lava flow, it wasn’t exactly all downgrade. And being cursed to walk among the endless ranks of the dead had really bolstered her social circle! King Gustav made for a formidable chess opponent, and the late Princess Gunnthra was a lovely conversationalist whose gentle tones and cheerful giggles made Laegjarn’s heart skip a beat.
Or, rather, they would have, if she had...well, you know.
Regardless, she had begun to get used to her circumstances in the time since she had first met her end. This morning, however, something...unexpected had occurred.
As if she had lost all control of her legs, Laegjarn had found herself suddenly marching out of her bed and towards Skulsaeti. The accursed palace of the Queen of the Dead was not one of her favorite places, so the sudden compulsion was both unwelcome and very confusing. She could deduce immediately, however, that somehow, Hel was certainly involved.
It was the other participant who had really soured her mood.
As another day in the land of the dead drew to a close, the lights of Skulsaeti’s “Lightless Cathedral” made the name of the place seem a bit of a silly mistake.
Blue torches, stoked with ectoplasmic matter, hummed with an ominous glow as they shone upon an assembly of ghastly skeletons. The creatures sat in rows of carefully arranged stone benches, their teeth chattering as they made only the spookiest of conversations. A deep red carpet, said to be stained with the blood of a thousand innocents (but actually simply a plant-based dye) extended through the middle of the room, leading up to an ebony stone stage.
Upon it, their face concealed by the shadowy garb they wore, stood an undead priest, a mysterious tome resting in their skeletal hands. As they approached the podium (made of skulls, of course), a hissing sound brought the room to a silent hush.
“Denizens of the dark domain…” it began, addressing the gathering. “We have gathered here today to celebrate...a most momentous occasion!”
The skeletons broke out into applause. In the front row, with a groan, Laegjarn held her hastily made sign higher.
“I Was Compelled By The God Of Death To Come Here, And Do Not Approve!", it read.
“Today…” the priest hissed, in endless screaming voices, “We shall all bear witness to the day that Queen Hel, Goddess Of Decay, Master Of Mortality, Stopper Of Breath and Ender Of Joy, takes a lawfully wedded husband!”
As the skeletons broke out into raucous applause, Laegjarn turned to the man next to her, the only other audience member as sentient (and jelly-filled) as she was.
“What are you doing here, Lif?” she asked. The revenant shrugged his shoulders in response.
“Free food.” he replied.
As the priest raised their hands towards the ceiling, the room was hushed into silence once more. Entering from the marble gates, the looming figure that could only belong to Hel began her journey down the blood-red carpet.
She wore a luxurious gray gown, its train made of an ethereal fabric that dragged along the ground as she floated slowly through the crowd. Though her wedding veil was still down, it was difficult to mistake the Queen of Death’s striking violet eyes behind it as they scanned the room. She wore a subdued smirk, though one that widened slightly upon seeing Laegjarn’s ramshackle signage of protest.
As Hel took her place on stage, attention fell once more on the rear of the room, and Laegjarn felt a feeling of utter dread creep through her entire body.
Much like Hel herself, the Goddess’s suitor wore clothes of a tombstone grey shade, though they clashed quite horribly with his red gelatinous body. Every step the dread groom took seemed to shake the very foundations of the land, tiny spurts of lava charring the fringes of the carpet as he lumbered across the room.
When Surtr reached his daughter’s side, she flipped the sign around.
”Fuck You, Dad.” was emblazoned in a much larger font.
Seemingly undeterred, the former King of Muspell took his place across from his bride-to-be, and the ceremony (much to Laegjarn’s chagrin) continued.
“I would invite the groom to say a few words…” the priest began.
“I shall speak of my own accord, whelp!” Surtr barked, an indignant look on his face. He changed it to a rather uncharacteristic smile as he turned to Hel.
“My lady of Death, I spent many years on the surface world, surrounded by incompetent and unworthy mortals, in search of nothing more than power, carnage, and the answer to a simple question!”
He leaned in, speaking in a slight whisper.
“Does a woman exist who could kick even my ass? Because that would be extremely hot.”
The skeletons burst into dry laughs as Hel rolled her eyes and put her hands on her hips. Laegjarn was relieved to find Lif silently passing her a bottle of “Dead Man’s Daquiri”, which she immediately began to down in sheer horror.
“And I would know, folks...I was the King of Flames!”
The wheezing laughter of the undead hordes continued, until a sudden glare from Surtr silenced the crowd once more.
“My dear Hel, you have shown me such incredible things. The beauty of the violence your accursed scythe can sew on the battlefield is equaled only by that of your smile. If death shall mean an eternity of such sumptuous delights, I fear that I was a fool to seek immortality.”
“Awwww….” sighed the skeletons in unison, signalled by a floating apparition holding a cue card.
“And does our illustrious, most dreaded, indefatigable Lady of Last Breaths have her own vows to make?” hissed the priest. Floating slightly forward, Hel cleared her throat.
“I had thought myself immune to mortal weaknesses. Compassion...hope...love...but even I must confess, upon reaping the sheer volume of souls sent to me via your axe and flames, I found myself wondering...could he be...the one?”
A single luminescent purple tear dripped onto the stage as Hel continued her speech.
“With you by my side, most honored member of my undying legions, I shall fear no threat, be it monster, spirit, or upstart mortal princeling.”
Laegjarn considered shouting out that they had both been bested by the same “upstart mortal princeling”, but chose instead to avert her gaze for what was surely upcoming.
“Surtr of Muspell…” the priest murmured, “Queen Hel, it is my great pleasure to bind you together in eternal and most sinister matrimony. You may now kiss the undead queen!”
Laegjarn’s eyes remained on the ground.
“Wow. They’re...really going at it.” Lif muttered.
She began to wish death had taken her hearing, but took solace in the fact that at least she and Lif were the only non-skeletal guests present.
A few days earlier, in the postal department of Castle Askr…
Sharena considered herself a rather alert woman, but she still leapt with surprise when a pale hand landed on her shoulder.
“Oh. I am sorry.”
Eir’s tone was breathy and quiet, even mere inches from Sharena’s face.
“Don’t worry about it!” Sharena replied, regathering her wits and putting on a wide smile. “Can I help you this morning, Princess Eir?”
“I was told...that a letter arrived for me…”
“Wow!” Turning on her heels, Sharena began to browse through the recently delivered messages. There, among the shelves, was an odd envelope that glowed with an eerie blue tint. Deciding that, as Princess of Askr, it was her duty to investigate such perplexing sights (and not at all because she was a little bit nosy), she surreptitiously cracked it open and began to read the invitation inside.
“...Princess Sharena?”
After a few moments, Sharena turned once more, her expression changed into a suspiciously forced looking grin.
“Oh...uh….no letters, Eir! Must have been, umm, a false alarm! So sorry. Nothing at all. Nope.”
Perplexed but satisfied, Eir nodded in response and returned to her usual morning duties.
A few days earlier than that, upon the drawbridge of Castle Muspell...
Laevatein tossed a letter into the lava.