Poppies

Sigurd stuck his head out of a window in this odd conveyance and smiled. He liked this, the wind in his fur, all the scents, going fast. The way the wind made his ears flap. He was a little disappointed when they slowed, and stopped. This world was oddly geometric, he thought. The streets were mostly grids, the houses plentiful, squarish. But there were many new forms of life to investigate.

He'd been dubious when offered this opportunity. It would be his first bonding, and Baldr, the master of the Asgardian hounds wasn't sure it would take, he said, with a Midgardian. Sigurd didn't know what that was, but Baldr could be a bit of a shit sometimes, so he didn't take him too seriously. But the prince had said that there was a woman with enemies, an odd sort of warrior, who needed protection, someone she could trust. Sigurd had listened and agreed; a chance to live on his own was appealing. He had accompanied the prince through the Bifrost (not his favorite experience ever) and resolved in a place where all the smells were new. The pace of movement here was startlingly quick, but it didn't take him long to get used to it, and once the one called Nick opened the window for him, he found the quickness positively appealing.

"Bide a moment," the prince told him, and he sat with his forelegs draped over the windowsill of what the Nick person had called an Essyouvee. He watched as they opened a ridiculously puny gate and walked into a yard that Sigurd longed to explore, perhaps roll around in the grass. Maybe even dig a little, get his paws in the dirt. The door to the dwelling opened, although he could not see who the two men spoke with. He waited patiently until the prince turned, smiling, and whistled to Sigurd. He squoze himself through the window and trotted up the brick path, pleased with this world, and saw a female person in the doorway. She looked frazzled and her eyes opened wide.

"Motherfucker," she said, and stepped back in alarm. Sigurd couldn't help it, his feelings were hurt. He knew he was handsome, and his preferred mate Siglinde said he was kind and a good father.

"This is Sigurd," the prince said, introducing him . "His name means victory and guardian, and this is why he is here. He is from Asgard and will protect you against all threats."Sigurd sat down and wagged his tail, looking trustworthy and friendly. My word, she was a small thing.

"Nice doggy,"she said, tentatively extending her hand, which looked miniscule. He nudged her with his cold wet nose, inviting her to pet, which she did. Her face brightened as she dug through his soft plush fur. The prince laughed again and thumped Sigurd's shoulder. Sigurd grasped his wrist in his immense jaws and issued a mild warning.

"See?" the prince said. "He will keep you from harm." Sigurd kept his wrist between his teeth until the nice lady said to let go.

The humans continued to speak a bit, but Sigurd was impressed with the way she kept skritching That Place behind his ear. It felt so good. He followed the lady--the prince had said her name was Emma, odd but ok--into the house, which seemed small but interesting. She said she'd never had a dog before, and Sigurd felt sorry for her, for her deprivation. But she took him to a 'pet store' and he overlooked the obvious insult. He was no pet. He maintained his dignity as a clerk justly admired his physical perfection, then bounded happily over to a soft bed. And there were huge quantities of food here. There was quite a lot that she deemed necessary for his health and comfort, and he was not disposed to argue with her. Even when it was a tight fit in the 'car' on the way home. She put his new bed in the chamber with her own, which pleased him. He would be able to protect her better. He ate some interesting new food, drank a lot of water to rehydrate, and they went for a walk. He'd worried that Bifrost travel would make him constipated, but he seemed to have avoided this. He went to go test his new bed, but paused, considering the lady's own resting place. It was quite large. And she was quite small. He tested it for himself. Oh, so nice. He woke when she came in and observed him.

"Naughty dog," she said, sounding resigned. But she didn't order him off the bed. He closed his eyes quickly when he saw her looking at him. And it was surprisingly pleasant to sleep back-to-back with her.

The next few days were a flurry of activity. There was a meeting, where he got to play with the prince; he'd shocked and appalled the lady Emma with the dirt he managed to accumulate, but he was a wild creature who needed to run. And then she cleaned him so he was a handsome boy again. Then next day they encountered many other Midgardians, some of them puppy sized, and he preened as they admired his beauty. Then they went 'shopping'; he didn't know what to do, really, so he simply trailed after Emma. He paused in one place to sit on a thing she called a 'sofa' but some impolite man yelled at him. Emma's face grew tight and she ignored him to work with another individual. Then she obtained a larger conveyance. Much, much nicer. His mellow mood continued until they returned home, when some persons unknown attempted to abduct her. Sigurd knew his duty and ripped them away from his Midgardian. He was enraged at the nerve, with him right by! It was endearing, however, that she sought to protect him by getting him into the house. Let them try again, and he'd rip the flesh from their bones and poop on the skeletons. People he recognized from the meeting showed up and whisked him and his Emma away, back to the place with the really big yard, and he and she settled in there. The days blended into one another; there were no new threats and much to explore. He trained his Emma to groom him properly, and she was very good about keeping him supplied with treats and toys of her own volition. Then the Allfather's crows showed up and on the heels of that, the disgraced prince was brought down. The king spoke with him, and he was amazed and proud of how his Emma spoke to him, not quite as equals, as would have been unseemly, but forthright and frank, an insightful advisor. And then the prince showed up with his son, a gift from Odin himself. He was surprise that Siglinde had agreed to part with her favorite son, but took it as a mark of confidence. He hoped he was up to guiding the little pup appropriately, but felt certain that their Emma would be up to the challenge.

His Emma befriended the dark prince, and they ended up spending time together. It was nice, Sigurd thought, to have an Asgardian close to hand. It was a little piece of home, but in a nice, contained dose. He got to do a lot more on Midgard and wasn't so constrained by the way of life. Plus the food was much better; he quickly acquired followers on the kitchen staff who pampered him delightfully. So delightfully that he turned a little stout and had to watch his diet.

To balance out these delights, his Emma had a habit of attracting trouble. Not one but two situations where the air conveyance they were riding in crashed, and Bad People showed up. And he and his son, whom she had named Torburn, were not always in a position to help, as when she went to a city to stop people who were named after snakes, of all the dumb things. She came back from that injured.

He sat back and watched the people around his Emma. The one called Fury, he understood immediately and kept an eye on. Morally flexible to an extent his Emma did not fully comprehend, he could be dangerous. He approved of his Emma's attachment to the lonely spiderling child; he reciprocated her affection and caring, and Sigurd was pleased that the young one had such a guardian. She attracted suitors like moths to light although she failed to see them for what they truly wanted. Finally one of them moved, kissing her in public, causing a little scandal, which Sigurd did not understand. His kind did not kiss, but the humans also didn't sniff the undertail region, possibly because they had no tails, and perhaps this was an analog? But he was worried about his Emma; mating was good for mind and body, and the Midgardians didn't have mating seasons, so there was no reason for her to deny herself, but she did. He was taken aback when she made her choice, however, at the frequency and duration of the matings. He learned quickly to absent himself when she was with the one called Steve in private. The Steve seemed a good sort, although not truly the equal of his Emma; he could have ripped out his throat when he pushed her away, refusing her help and her love. And his son had to go see to his mother, the lovely and fearsome Siglinde, and he could not help. After that, he could not truly accept the one called Steve although his Emma eventually allowed him to work to regain his place in her heart, and they were married. After a significant adventure during which he and Torburn were not allowed to assist. Still, it had been an honor to be assigned to guard the king. It was just unfortunate that his considerable prowess as a warrior was not needed, and he learned later that she had been in grave danger indeed. He did not truly understand how the one called Steve could die and come back without the permission of Hela, but he had seen it--and the consequences it had for his beloved Emma--for his own eyes. He and Torburn had been confused, frightened and angry; it was as if their Emma had taken a mortal blow but there was no blood. They stayed with her, steadfast, undemanding protectors.

He knew something horrible was happening when Baldur showed up unheralded, unannounced, and reclaimed them. They could not refuse, and their Emma could not make him relent. They were returned to Asgard and Baldur sought to break the bond they had with their Emma; he felt that it was a waste of his hounds to be matched with an insignificant Midgardian--and a woman! whose warrior credentials he had always questioned.

But the bond would not be broken. And the hounds had had enough. Baldur had permitted them to bond to their Emma, which was was for the life of either of the participants. And he had broken faith with them, with the purpose for which he had developed their kind, and interfered with the bond that the hounds had with their mistress. So they did the only thing they could. They lay down and refused to move and refused sustenance. Without their Emma, they did not have a purpose. And the other hounds were upset, suspicious about Baldur, and fretted over their declining state. It was a fearsome thing to have a hunger strike laid against one; it indicated that the grievance was so serious that death was preferable to submission. Sigurd lay on his side, too weak to move, when the prince hunted down Baldur and roared at him, but Baldur refused to yield. It took the king himself, arriving at the kennels, observing the state of him, his son, and the rest of the highly agitated hounds, to reverse Baldur's decision.

"You would make my son a liar, Baldur?" the king asked, voice rising, the spear Gungnar sparking with his ire. "The Lady Emma was assured by Thor that the dogs were hers for her lifetime, as is proper and fitting for their kind. You have been unable to break their devotion to her, and now look at what you have done. Two of our finest lie near death. Because of your pride, your conceit, your unwillingness to admit the worth of a woman."

"A woman!" Baldur snorted. "A frail Midgardian female, too small and feeble even to mate with a proper warrior!"

The temperature in the kennel dropped a good fifty degrees, or seemed to. Sigurd shivered, his emaciated body wracked with the chill. "And yet this woman cares not for the consequences but advises me wisely, even if it does not suit my ego to hear it. She was willing to sacrifice herself to restore me to my throne, her and her companions, taking risks that you, o warrior, were unwilling to hazard." Scorn dripped from the Allfather's voice, and Sigurd began to hope. "Speak not about what you fail to comprehend. She is a fitting companion to my son and his lady wife, a champion to my other son. Her grace and compassion you cannot understand. Your arrogance has cost her and these her hounds much. By my word as king, they are to be returned to her for her life. The hounds are not yours in service of your vanity. You were meant to develop their kind and care for them, gifting them to the worthy. And you have failed, most abjectly, in the second and third of these responsibilities. I relieve you of your charge. The hounds will have a new master. You will depart these kennels and not return." The king waited, and when compliance was not immediate, shouted "Begone!" The very stones of the kennels shifted with the might of the Allfather's decree, and Baldur stormed out. The prince and the king bent over Sigurd and his son, Siglinde fairly dancing in her agitation. "It will be well," the king said firmly to her, and picked up Torburn carefully. The prince picked up Sigurd and followed to the healers. "The Lady Emma has cause to think ill of those of us outside the halls of healing," the king said to the head of those halls. "You must restore these, her hounds, to health before they can be returned to her."

It had taken a week, even with the work of the healers, for Sigurd and Torburn, to be strengthened enough to withstand the force of travel by the Bifrost. They were still too thin, their coats dull with the strain of their sacrifice, but they went with the prince eagerly. They were confused to find themselves in the middle of a busy city rather than the small mountain town, but the prince assured them that their Emma was here. He and the one called Bucky--one who had loved their Emma from afar, too humble to see his worth, a fine warrior--returned them to their Emma, and there had been a fitting reunion. The one called Bucky went further in Sigurd's estimation by bringing them food as they became reacquainted with their Emma, checking to see that she had not worsened in their absence, and greeting the tiny creatures she had attempted to soothe herself with. They were cute, and loyal to her, and Torburn, ever the champion of the small and those weaker than himself, was immediately captivated. Sigurd sighed. It all seemed likely to disturb the peace he enjoyed with his Emma. And they settled into this new house, with a new routine, but always with their Emma. He was not best pleased when the one known as Steve weaseled himself back into her affection, but this time he seemed more sensible of her true worth, and Sigurd tolerated his presence for his Emma. At least she had not selected the one called Tony, who inflicted more pain from his own insecurity than could be accepted. Sigurd snorted. These humans. Most of them could use a good hound to model themselves upon.

But the reunion was short lived as the Steve fell in battle before he could truly make amends for his conduct. And she grieved, but this time healed and moved on; there was no way they could trick her this time with any sort of resurrection. And when she found love with the one known as Bucky, Sigurd and Torburn relaxed their vigilance. The Bucky was a strong protector who knew her worth to the last measure, and would treat her properly. And their Emma could heal the wounds to his soul.

They were happy together for many years; the little dogs were mortals and gone too fast, but the Bucky always made sure that Torburn had his small companions to look after until close to his end. And when their Emma passed from her physical shell, their bond splintered, but when it did not break entirely, he knew that she had accepted a place in a realm to which he might have admittance one day.

He and Torburn were returned to Asgard and immediately made a fuss; the Lady Sif, chosen by the hounds to give them her care, could not comfort them, and petitioned the king to grant them passage to Folkvangr. It was a sore spot with the Allfather that his favorite Emma had not chosen Valhalla, but the prince tactfully pointed out the easier nature of his lady mother's realm and suggested that Valhalla would have been a trial to her compassionate nature. It was an excuse that Odin could accept, and he liberated Sigurd and Torburn before their times, granting passage to Folkvangr. Bright was the day that they were reunited with their Emma, who was in the company of her warrior husbands, still leading them by example and strength while caring for them and acknowledging their worth. Time had eased Sigurd's feelings for the Steve, and he was ready to accept his devotion to his Emma. They had a nice dwelling with many good places for a hound to rest, leisure to attend to him and Torburn with play and skritches, places for hounds to explore, and more of their kind as well in the realm of Frigga.

The afterlife was nice, and quite a lot of fun, actually. The goddess Frigga had his Emma engaged in improving the landscape, so there was much digging to be done where they could help, and battles where he and Torburn could finally show their worth as warrior's companions, as his Emma's fears for their wellbeing were eased. You could only die permanently once, after all, and one's presence in Folkvangr indicated a final destination reached. The ranks of those in Valhalla soon learned to fear them, justly so. The Tony in particular got twitchy whenever he saw them, for although he never sought to harm their Emma, he sought to outclass her with his machines, which could not be permitted all the time. Sigurd knew his Emma wasn't terribly upset when the Tony 'died' in the occasional battles with the ranks of Folkvangr; it was only a little moment of blankness before a return to consciousness, after all. She minded much more then it was the Bucky, the Steve, or Sigurd or Torburn, even though she knew they would return to her, and of course, they were unhappy during the infrequent times when she 'died'. Torburn found a mate for himself from the ranks of those hounds who had perished in glorious battle, but Sigurd was content to await his Siglinde. It was as well that there was so much to interest a hound in the realm of the goddess, as their Emma's husbands had relaxed their human 'morals' regarding mating in their afterlife and his Emma spent a good portion of her leisure time satisfying them with this activity, anywhere in their dwelling, her workshop, and in secluded places outside as well. It seemed excessive, the amount of time she spent coupling, but perhaps he was just feeling deprived. Siglinde was a formidable hound and Death would not take her easily. Fortunately, his Emma had other responsibilities as well which allowed him to accompany her. Especially when a battle with Valhalla was planned or in the aftermath of their many defeats, occasionally Valhalla warriors would seek an advantage or revenge by attempting to 'kill' her, and Sigurd was not to be deprived of his Emma even for the brief period it took for her to return to sense. Those who dwelled in Valhalla were slow learners and it took time for them to realize that the satisfaction they gained was brief and not worth pursuing, as she, her hounds and her husbands made them regret their attacks each and every time.

The spiderling known as Peter, his Emma's son, joined them, and his Emma's contentment--and therefore that of Sigurd and Torburn--was complete. Eternity was shaping up to be a paradise after all.