God of War: Ashes of the Aesir

"A long time ago, when I was just a boy, I knew a grumpy man who took care of some goats," he began, without taking his eyes off the downcast warrior. "He loved his work and he loved the village where he lived, although he didn't show it much. But the people around him noticed it through his actions — in the way he lowered the prices of his goods when difficult times came, or when he went to the tavern just to share and hear about other people's days over a few mugs of ale... In short, he was loved by everyone. A good man. Some would say his only flaw, aside from his constant rudeness, was that he didn't show much faith. But those who said that didn't know him like I did."

Rist did not move. She only whispered, "Stop..."

They both knew how his story would end. They both knew it was cruel. Tryg felt it in the immense weight falling upon him with every word he forced out. But he believed it was necessary. So he continued, even as he heard her ceaseless pleas for him to stop.

"Make no mistake, though. Compared to most, he truly was far from a model devotee. He didn't try to spread the word of how grand the gods were or anything similar. But he still believed in them, at least a little. I saw it when a storm seemed to be approaching and he prayed for the safety of the fishermen; or when one of his goats became too old and he sacrificed it in the name of the All-Father."

"Stop..."

"In all, I saw him sacrifice twelve goats in Odin's name... Twelve precious animals he worked every day to care for, but which already deserved their eternal rest."

"Stop... Stop..."

"One day, Fimbulwinter began, bringing, over the weeks, a brutal cold upon Midgard that worried everyone. It was difficult to plant anything, almost impossible, and raising animals was no easier. The grumpy man grew worried for his goats and, even he, who did not believe as much as the others, knelt, placed his forehead against the snowy earth, and prayed for the gods to help his village.

"Then, months later, two Valkyries landed upon his village and announced the salvation the All-Father brought. The man did not show it, but he was happy to know his animals and his neighbors would live in a better place... that his prayers had been answered."

Rist leapt up and grabbed Tryg by the leather of his armor.

"Stop! You've already told me this!"

Tryg looked deep into her wavering yellow eyes.

"Then you know what happens next..." She pressed her eyes shut. "That man died one month later at the foot of Hrimthur's Wall, alone, beneath the rubble of the war that came to Asgard's doorstep... a war Odin knew would happen... that burned the pasture where he cared for his goats... that slaughtered every one of those animals and several of the people he had cared for in his own way throughout his entire life. Odin rained shit and misery upon the life of the man who begged for his help until life left his body, while he was trying to save at least some of those he loved so much—"

"Shut up!"

Rist punched Tryg. He fell onto his back in the snow, groaning in pain, feeling his cheek burn and a metallic taste fill his mouth. The Valkyrie climbed over him, pressing her knee against his stomach and raising her fist.

"Shut the fuck up!" she screamed, rivers running down her filthy face as it twisted with despair.

Tryg did not react; he only lay there. For a moment, he thought a rain of brutal punches would fall upon him, that her hatred would prevail. But Rist's hand remained frozen in the air, her pained gaze fixed on his. Then she collapsed and let her arms fall over him, crying and growling at the same time.

"I hate you... I hate you so much..." she said.

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"...I know... but I'm not going to apologize. I don't want to keep blaming myself for doing what I thought was right and fair, for you and for myself."

"Fair...? How can this be fair to me? Do you even understand what you're doing?"

Tryg's eyelids grew heavy.

"No, you don't understand..." Rist gripped the leather covering her thighs, glittering tears dripping onto the fabric. "How could you understand? You're not the one who spent her childhood dreaming of serving him beside her sisters... You're not the one who gave him sweat and blood and skin without ever complaining, because you always trusted him... because you believed that, in the end, despite all the suffering, it was the right thing to do..."

Tryg opened his mouth, but no words came. It was difficult not to punish himself in the face of the suffering he had caused, much less answer with anything at all. For a few instants, all he could do was stare at her, feeling the freezing snow against his back and the dull throb in the place where she had struck him. Yet eventually, his courage and will rose above it once more.

"You asked before why you couldn't kill me... I think you hesitate because part of you knows I didn't lie. I think that, after everything you saw during Ragnarök, and after everything you heard from me, part of you at least suspects Odin was never the god he claimed to be.

"But you're right. I don't understand what you're going through. I don't know you. So, please, tell me, Lady Rist... am I wrong?"

Her face twisted, not with rage this time, but with something more fragile. For an instant, Rist seemed about to deny it. The answer seemed to be on the tip of her tongue. But what came next was not a denial.

"That's the problem... My uncertainty. My weakness. I swore to watch over the peace of the nine realms and fight for it in his name. I swore to be a guardian who would not waver before death or doubt. To fulfill one's duty is to sacrifice..."

Slowly, Rist's hand moved toward a final, terrible answer. She drew one of her daggers and stared at the dark blade, glinting with golden specks.

"I have a duty. And I still have my honor. But if I can't sacrifice what I feel for the sake of what I must do... then there's only one thing left for me..."

Tryg understood at once the cruel fate she wanted to impose on herself. But he also saw that she would not act yet. Rist, even though she believed it was the right thing to do, hesitated. The chaotic battle between her desires and values had not yet reached a conclusion.

In the end, perhaps she would manage it. Perhaps not. Either way, Tryg would not wait for the result. He respected her choice. But he could never accept the terrible fate she wanted to impose on herself.

Calmly, Tryg caught her hand before she could follow through and straightened himself, moving Rist off his abdomen and bringing their faces closer, silently asking her to focus on him, and nothing else. She seemed to understand his silent request, and her irises met his. There was hopelessness and helplessness there. But what drew Tryg's attention most were the yellow flames burning within them. A plea for... something... anything.

"Let me go..." she said, her voice weak.

"I can't let you do this."

She frowned. "After everything you've done, you think you have the right to interfere with what I can or cannot do?"

"I don't have the right, and I don't care."

"I deserve this..."

"No, you don't. No one deserves this, especially not someone like you."

"Stop talking like you know me," she snapped, raising her voice. Their faces were so close that Tryg could feel the heat of her sharp breaths.

"You're right... I don't. But I know goodness when I see it. I've met several good people during my life. I don't need to know you in detail to know you're as strong and good as they were."

"Don't use that word with me. I'm not strong. I'm weak, I've always been..." She lowered her gaze. "My sisters always told me that. They said I didn't have what it took to stand beside them as a Valkyrie. Not out of cruelty, I knew that; they only wanted to protect me." A humorless chuckle. "Now I understand why..."

"I'm sorry, but they're wrong."

Rist lifted her head. "Don't you ever get tired of being so arrogant?"

"I'm not," he replied with confidence, gradually guiding her hand down, away. She did not resist. "I just know I'm right. You think strength lies in being ruthless and indifferent toward an enemy, but I was taught otherwise. To me, living and fighting in indifference is far easier than having compassion. Forgiving... saving someone you hate with all your heart... takes far more strength than condemning them."

Rist remained still, staring at him. A moment later, her heavy gaze turned to their joined hands and stayed there for a long time. They both let silence reign between them, broken only by their uneven breaths.

Worried, Tryg waited for the slightest reaction from her or from her shadow, hoping he would not need to act and, at the same time, prepared in case she tried to force her hand. But Rist did not try. And then, at last, he saw the future silhouette of her mouth moving.

"I..." She took a deep breath. "I don't know what I am anymore... or what I'm supposed to be..."

Tryg smiled. For the first time since he had found her again, he knew she was being sincere. Glad and hopeful, he released her hand.

"I think that's the beginning of every journey, Lady Rist," he said. "Not knowing."