may the gods of asgard guide

in the distance, thunder cracks, gradually creeping further away as it's passed over the shrouded vale where he, as asriel awakens. it's with a crack of thunder and a burst of lightening that splits the darkening sky that his eyes open; at first unable to make sense of the grey, shadow painted landscape. his head lifts; heavy, and he looks around, finding that nothing is familiar to him. not the jagged peaks that rise 'round the vale like a protective cradle; nor the foliage crushed beneath the weight of his body, damp with the recent rainfall ( he and the grasses around him ).

he draws in a breath, and the another, trying to calm the rapid fury thrum of his heart within his chest; the lingering taste of ichor and something else he could not place fading from his mouth.

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bluebell?

a nickname that resonates within the very marrow of his bones; as familiar to him as the ever-present wardrum beat of his heart. though the nickname within itself was flowering; soft and delicate while the foreshadowing of the kind of man asriel'd become felt starkly different in contrast, he relishes in it all the same. he is awash with comfort; with silken down of fur and warm, ambrosia-sweet mothers' milk. though circumstances of how he came to be in this place, this other world leaves him with a threading mystery that he suspects he will never solve he knows her.

sweet moonbeam gaze, frostbound pelage. he is her bluebell and she is his äiti; his mother. “äiti? — mama” he rasps; blinking lingering droplets from the rain out of his eyes ( or perhaps those were tears ). “äiti! — mama” and he rushes toward her, seeking her familiar embrace.

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within her silent embrace, asriel feels the confusion of his not-birth into this strange land ebb. in the sea of his tears that blur even with his eyes closed as he presses the crown of his head against her chest, he watches it draw away like a conquered sea. he is part of her and part of the would-be, should've-been father of a different land; a titan that remained ever faceless to him as well ...but known in the language they shared; a firmly rooted knowledge.

silence cannot hold asriel for long; not as curiosity began its bid for attention. endless questions all coming to the forefront of his mind; demanding answers that asriel didn't have but thought that his mother might.

“missä tämä on, äiti? — where is this, mom?” he asks first, attempting to sort the questions buzzing around his mind like a nest of unsettled bees into some sort of priority list.

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she tells him that she knows not where this place is, either. though the lack of answers initially fills asriel with a soft wave of disappointment, he is quick to chase it away. regardless of how or why or where they have ended up: they are here and they are together. there are parts of them still missing ...but perhaps they would wake to find themselves here, as well. knowing that it is a mystery he is not meant to solve, asriel tries his best to let it go and be carried away by the soft breeze that is everpresent this high up.

she speaks of followers and that she has created a pack called frostchant, and details out her plans to him. as she speaks, asriel is silent but nevertheless contemplative... feeling a familiar warmth and want to support and help in any and every way that he was capable of take root within his broadening chest. everything about it sounds and feels right; and like some unseen magick he can feel himself tethering here. this was where he is meant to be.

thus, his brow furrows in unbridled confusion as she stutters over herself, speaking of others and if he'd rather home elsewhere she would not stop him. her words sound absurd to him and he tries his very best not to scoff and earn a chiding. the idea that he'd want to make a home somewhere she wasn't was ...was ... silly. quick, asriel speaks, hoping to set her fears? worries? to rest. “äiti, minä jään tänne. kanssasi. pakkaslaululla. — mama, i'm staying here. with you. with frostchant”

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and so, asriel would stay. he would train and help her build the kingdom she desired and deserved brick by brick. though he still has not entirely shaken off the thick fog of disorientation at waking up in this strange land ...his roots already run as deep as yggdrasil's; tethering him to frostchant, to her. and if those missing pieces of him and her and ...of the every mysterious him whose seed bore him into fruition ...found their way to frostchant then all the better.

but for now, he is content having his aïtï, selfishly, all to himself.

he preens beneath her words, offering her an affectionate lick under her chin. “anna minulle kiertue? — give me the tour?” he asks; beseeching. though his limbs still feel stiff with slumber and uncertain beneath him, he does not want to waste any time. first, before he can set his sights on border patrols or anything of that sort he had to become familiar with frostchant's claim.

asriel would keep his steps slow; giving her berth to lead the way, eager eyes taking in the sights and places of particular note on the tour, providing his mother agrees to giving him a tour.

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