The Weight of Immortality - CH - 21 (Patreon)

Hela sat at the long, polished dining table, her eyes scanning the food laid before her. It was a spread fit for royalty—roasted meats, golden bread, fruits, and delicacies that would impress most—but to her, it paled in comparison to the meals Harry had prepared over the years. Even amidst the tension of this reunion, she couldn’t help but think how much better Harry’s cooking was, with its warmth and personal touch. Here, everything felt… cold.

She glanced across the table. Odin sat at the head, stoic as ever, his one eye occasionally flicking toward her as if he were studying a foreign object. Her mother, Frigga, sat gracefully, her smile warm, though her eyes carried a certain sadness. The awkwardness between them was thick, almost suffocating.

Hela reached for a piece of bread, slowly breaking it apart with her fingers. The silence in the room was unbearable, filled only by the soft clinking of silverware on plates. She could feel the tension, the unspoken words that lingered just beneath the surface.

Her mind drifted back to the last time they had been in a room together, centuries ago. Back then, she had been a weapon—a force of destruction—and Odin had been her commander, her strategist. They hadn’t been a family then, and the awkwardness now only underscored the fact that they didn’t know how to be one now.

What are we supposed to talk about? she wondered. The good old days when I led your armies in conquest? Or the part where you locked me away because I enjoyed it too much?

She chewed slowly, her eyes moving from her father to her mother. Frigga, for her part, was trying. Her smile was kind, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. Frigga had always been somewhat absent during Hela’s youth, more involved in matters of the realm or her own magical studies. Hela couldn’t remember a time when her mother had truly been present in her life, not in the way a mother should be.

"So," Hela began, her voice breaking the silence like a knife through the tension. "Centuries apart, and now here we are. Breaking bread." Her tone was dry, almost sarcastic.

Odin cleared his throat, still avoiding direct eye contact. "It was… necessary. Back then," he said, his voice as deep as ever but lacking the confidence it once held. "You were dangerous."

Hela smirked, raising her goblet to her lips. "Dangerous to whom, Father? Our enemies? Or you?"

Odin’s eye met hers, and for a brief moment, there was a flicker of something—remorse, perhaps? But it was gone as quickly as it came. "You sought power for its own sake, Hela. You forgot why we fought."

"Did I?" she asked, her voice softer now. "Or did you just decide you no longer needed me?"

Frigga, sensing the rising tension, reached out and placed a gentle hand on Hela’s arm. "This isn’t the time for old wounds," she said softly. "We’ve been given a chance, Hela. A chance to rebuild… whatever this is."

Hela looked at her mother, noting the sincerity in her eyes, but the bitterness inside her wouldn’t be quelled so easily. “It’s easy for you to say,” she muttered, pulling her arm away. “You weren’t there. You weren’t the one betrayed.”

Frigga’s face fell slightly, but she didn’t argue. She knew the truth of Hela’s words.

Odin took a deep breath, setting down his goblet. “I did what I thought was best for Asgard.”

Hela let out a dry laugh. “For Asgard. Of course.”

They lapsed into silence once more, the weight of centuries of conflict and unresolved emotions sitting between them like a chasm too wide to cross. They weren’t just a father, a mother, and a daughter. They were broken pieces of a past that none of them truly knew how to fix.

Hela’s eyes wandered back to her plate, but she had lost her appetite. This is pointless, she thought. They weren’t a family. They were relics, each of them clinging to an idea of what they once were or could have been. And now, they were just… awkward strangers sitting in the same room, pretending that time could heal something it had shattered long ago.

She thought of Harry, out there hovering above Asgard, waiting for her to signal him. The thought of him, so steady and sure, brought her a small measure of comfort. At least with him, there were no pretenses.

For now, all she could do was endure this dinner, try to get through it without tearing the palace apart. Maybe, she thought, maybe there’s still a chance to fix this. But not tonight.

With that, she picked up her goblet again and took a long drink, letting the silence settle once more.

As the heavy silence continued, Odin’s voice cut through it like a blade, his gaze sharp as he looked across the table at Hela. "How did you escape, my champion?" he asked, his tone calm but edged with tension. He used her old name, the name she hadn’t heard in centuries, a name that reminded her of the days when she had been his trusted weapon.

Hela’s lips curled into a slow, knowing smile. "Ah, Champion. You still call me that," she mused, leaning back in her chair as she studied her father’s expression. "But you know me, Father. You always did. I wouldn’t have told you about my powers when I was your most loyal servant. Do you really think I’d give you that satisfaction now?"

Odin’s face remained impassive, but his one eye gleamed with something darker, something troubled. It was clear that this question had been weighing on him, haunting him since the moment he realized she had escaped the prison he had designed to hold her—her power, her connection to Asgard, severed in a way he couldn’t control.

"I bound you myself," Odin said, his voice low but filled with the weight of ages. "Your powers were tied to Asgard, and I ensured they could not be used against it. Yet, you are free now... and stronger than before."

Hela shrugged, her smile unchanging. "Time has changed, Father. So have I. You didn’t think I’d rot in that prison forever, did you? Even with the connection broken, I found ways. I always do."

Frigga, sensing the tension rising again, interjected, her voice softer, gentler than Odin’s. "This isn’t the time for threats or questions of power, Odin," she said, turning to Hela with a warm, but slightly strained smile. "How have you been, my daughter? What are your plans now?"

It was a diversion, but a necessary one. Frigga didn’t want to see this dinner devolve into a confrontation that could tear their already fragile reunion apart. She was trying to steer the conversation away from conflict, but her question wasn’t just an attempt to maintain peace—it was genuine. She wanted to know her daughter, to understand what Hela had become after all these centuries.

Hela glanced at her mother, a flicker of something unreadable passing through her eyes. For a moment, she considered Frigga’s question. What were her plans? In truth, even she didn’t know. The Hela of old would have wanted nothing more than to conquer the realms again, to reclaim the glory she believed was rightfully hers. But now... things were different. She was different.

"I haven’t decided yet," Hela said finally, her voice cool but honest. "The realms aren’t what they used to be. And neither am I."

Odin, however, wasn’t satisfied. He leaned forward, his expression hardening. "If your plans involve conquest, Hela—if you intend to raise armies and strike at the realms again—I will not imprison you this time. I will kill you."

The words hung in the air, a direct threat from a father to his daughter, and Hela’s eyes flashed with a dangerous light. She laughed, a soft, chilling sound that echoed through the hall. "You’ve always been dramatic, Father," she said, her smile turning sharp. "Do you think I’m afraid of you?"

Odin didn’t respond immediately, but his silence spoke volumes. He didn’t want another war with his daughter, but he also wasn’t willing to allow her to return to the path of destruction she had once walked.

Frigga’s face grew paler, her eyes flicking between her husband and daughter. "We don’t need to speak of war or death," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "This is a time for reunion, not threats."

Hela’s gaze shifted back to her mother, and for a moment, her hardened expression softened just slightly. "I don’t want war," she said, surprising even herself with the admission. "At least... not right now."

Odin’s eye narrowed, but he said nothing, clearly unconvinced.

Frigga, however, seized the opportunity to change the subject again. "Then tell us more about where you’ve been, Hela," she said, leaning forward with a hopeful smile. "Surely there’s more to your story than escaping your prison. What have you seen? What have you learned?"

Hela’s eyes darkened slightly, but she obliged her mother’s request. "I’ve seen realms you couldn’t imagine, mother. I’ve walked in the shadow of death and power beyond anything Asgard has ever known. I’ve learned that the universe is vast, and the nine realms we once sought to conquer are but a drop in an ocean of possibilities."

Frigga nodded, absorbing her daughter’s words with care, while Odin remained silent, watching, calculating. The tension in the room had eased slightly, but it was clear that the old wounds between them would take much more than a single meal to heal.

Hela glanced at the door, then back at her parents. "I’m not the same person you locked away, Father," she said softly, though her voice still carried the edge of danger. "But I’m not here to fight. Not yet, anyway."

Odin said nothing, but his eye held hers for a long moment. There was a mutual understanding between them, an unspoken truce—fragile, but there.

Odin’s gaze sharpened at Hela’s response, a flicker of suspicion crossing his features. "So, you’ve been free for quite some time, then," he observed, his tone laced with curiosity and a hint of accusation. "At first, I thought you had just escaped and come straight to Asgard. But it seems you’ve traveled far and wide. How did you manage to escape Heimdall’s notice? He never once mentioned my daughter secretly roaming the Nine Realms."

Hela chuckled, leaning back in her chair, her eyes gleaming with amusement. "Father, you always did think too highly of yourself and your gatekeeper," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Heimdall is nothing. If I had wanted to come straight to your throne room, I could have. He wouldn’t have seen it coming."

Odin’s eye narrowed, the tension rising again. But before he could respond, Hela continued, her voice dropping to a lower, more dangerous tone. "I’ve learned many things in my time away. Not just about power or war... but magic. Magic far beyond what you ever teach me."

With a flick of her wrist, Hela demonstrated her newfound abilities. A silvery, ethereal form began to shimmer into existence before her. A wolf, majestic and fierce, materialized in the air—a Patronus, the very embodiment of light and protection. The translucent creature padded gracefully beside her, its ghostly presence filling the room with an aura of peace and strength. Its silver glow contrasted sharply with Hela’s usually dark, menacing presence.

Frigga gasped softly, her eyes widening in awe. She had never seen such magic before, not even from the most gifted sorcerers in Asgard. "A soul guardian," she whispered. "Where did you learn this?"

Odin, too, was taken aback, though he kept his expression stern. The wolf radiated an unmistakable energy of warmth and safety—a magic foreign to Asgard, yet potent and ancient.

Hela smiled, not the cruel smirk she often wore, but something softer, more genuine. "This is a Patronus," she said, her voice quieter now, as if the magic itself demanded reverence. "A protective spell from a world beyond the Nine Realms. It guards the soul, made from one's happiest memories."

She let her hand rest near the Patronus, the wolf’s silvery eyes glowing as it stood beside her, unwavering in its protective stance. "My Patronus... is Fenrir," she said, a hint of pride in her voice. "I thought it fitting, given the bond I share with my great wolf. But it is not his presence that fuels it."

Odin’s brow furrowed. "Then what does fuel it?"

Hela’s eyes softened, just for a moment, as she thought of Harry. "Memories of peace," she said quietly. "Memories of love." She didn’t need to say his name; it was enough that she thought of him, of the way he made her feel—safe, understood, accepted.

The room fell silent as the wolf’s glowing form filled the air with its comforting presence, an undeniable reminder of the changes Hela had undergone since her time in Odin’s prison. She wasn’t the same ruthless warlord she had once been. She was something more, something deeper.

Odin, for once, had no immediate response. He could feel the power of the Patronus, but more than that, he could sense the profound change in his daughter. He had always known her to be a force of destruction, a being of raw power and conquest. But this magic—this soul-bound wolf, born from love—was something else entirely.

Frigga, her eyes still wide with wonder, smiled gently at her daughter. "You’ve truly come far, Hela," she said softly. "This magic... it’s beautiful."

Hela looked at her mother, her face unreadable. "It is what it is," she said, dismissing the praise, but a flicker of emotion passed through her eyes before she dispelled the wolf, letting it fade into nothingness.

Odin leaned back in his chair, clearly unsettled by the display. "Just remember, daughter," he said, his voice low and warning, "no matter what magic you have learned, Asgard will not bow to you again."

Hela’s gaze turned cold once more, but she didn’t respond with the usual venom. Instead, she gave him a long, measured look. "I have no need for Asgard’s throne, Father," she said softly. "I am my own force now."

With that, the conversation fell into silence once more, the weight of her words hanging heavy in the air.