Chapter Text
Kratos had grown accustomed to seeing reminders of his loved ones in odd, unassuming things.
He saw his first wife, Lysandra, in the gentle breeze that willed him out of a distant glance.
He saw his daughter, Calliope, in the bittersweet melody of an orchestra that drew his attention.
He saw his second wife, Faye, in the strong and ancient trees that grew in Midgard and provided cool from the sun.
Lately, he’d been seeing his son Atreus in everything. The comforting nights under the stars after a hard day of work, the roar of cheers from a battle in the swift recovering Asgard, the herd of deer he’d see prance about the snowy forests.
It’d been 4 years since Kratos last saw Atreus, since he’d left to find himself and the marbles of the rest of his people. His 18th birthday had passed a month ago, something that Kratos, Mimir, and Freya had quietly celebrated with a bonfire. No longer was Atreus a child, but a man.
Mimir often teased the poor father, wistfully reciting old adventures with Atreus, hoping to tug on his heartstrings. Kratos knew his son had to be on his own, and he wouldn’t have dreamt of taking away that chance. But, he soon realized that over the years, he had underestimated how much time and thought Atreus took up. He no doubt knew child care was hard work, but it was with such ease that it took part of his mind, always, and now there was no child in need of care.
The first year without Atreus was tough. He had to regulate himself to life without the boy, and he had to settle into his newly found position as God of War. Luckily, he buried himself into his duties, which kept his mind from wandering too far into his concerns. He held confidence in his son, but his worries plagued him where sleep should’ve taken place.
What if he wasn’t safe? What if something had happened? What if he couldn’t be there to protect or assist?
While he held all of these questions close, he knew Atreus would show up when he was ready. His son was nothing if not reliable, and through the years of experience, he should only have improved. He trusted his son, and respected his choices.
Today had been one of the calmer days since he took up the job. He’d woken up, made himself a breakfast of some cooked deer, before heading out to comb Speki and Svanna. He’d taken Freya’s advice to heart, ‘take care of your wolves and they’d take care of you.’ It seemed like a job his son would’ve enjoyed, as he always did have a knack for taking care of animals. He did not push away the memory, however, but welcomed it.
He’d spent his afternoon fighting a few undead Hel-Walkers from the outskirts of Midgard. They had been coming back over the past couple of weeks, though he was swift to take care of it. After that, he had chopped down a few trees for firewood, carrying them back home. It was cold, it always was, but it’d never bothered him. It was a reminder of his mortality, or what little he had left. He was oddly content with that.
Currently, it was late evening, and he was sitting in the cabin. Mimir was on the doorside table, a book resting its designated holder as he read deeply in thought with a spoon in his mouth to turn the pages. Kratos was sitting at the table, his extra armor and axe tucked away for the time being. His journal was sitting on the table in front of him, leather clad and open. Mimir had suggested that journaling was a good way to articulate some of his thoughts, put words to emotions. While reluctant, Kratos decided to try regardless of his hesitancy.
It had been proving useful, thus far. Kratos found himself reading back on previous entries and reliving the different experiences. While he was worried it would become another chore on the already lengthy list of his responsibilities, he enjoyed it more than he thought he would. If he didn’t feel the need to write a certain day, he simply wouldn’t. Writing every few days seemed to work best for him and his schedule, and he enjoyed the practice of calligraphy even if he considered it a bit pointless.
He was in the middle of scribbling down his personal notes for the day, something about a rare artifact he had found in a chest, when he heard a low whine from outside. It sounded like one of the wolves, crying out quietly from their designated resting area. Kratos’ brows furrowed, his guard raising. He stood from his seat, hands on the table as he looked out of the door.
Mimir sputtered a bit, spitting the spoon out from his mouth as he looked to the side. “You hear that, brother?” He asked, voice lowered to match the new tense atmosphere.
They held the silence, before another wolf cry. “Yes,” Kratos confirmed gruffly, stepping out from the table and grabbing his axe which was hanging on the wall. He made his way towards the door, grabbing Mimir’s head by the rope and tying it to his hip before opening the door and making his way outside.
Trudging through the light snow and ice, he drew closer down the hill. The wolves still cried– though it did not sound of pain or fear. Perhaps excitement? He reached the bottom of the slope, turning to look at the wolves. Their eyes were trained on the fence, and as his eyes followed, the grip on his axe loosened.
He was taller, a bit more muscular though not by much. Stronger arms than legs, tousled and overgrown ginger hair. He still wore animal fur, and a bow was tied around his back with a stocked quiver across his hip. Those same turquoise eyes. Atreus stood there, a hesitant smile across his face with his hands folded neatly on the fence.
“Hey. Didn’t want to just barge in,” he explained with a crooked smile. Goodness, he sounded different. Older. With that same gentle tone Faye had.
Kratos eyes’ softened inexplicably, and he hung his axe on his back as he stepped forward. The tension in the air wasn’t of threat or danger any more, but of eagerness and hesitation. With a ginger hand, he opened the gate and allowed Atreus in.
Once he had stepped past the gate, Atreus wrapped his arms around Kratos’ waist and hugged tight. The man could not stop himself from reciprocating, two large palms on Atreus’ back. It was a warm hug, despite the chilly air.
Neither wanted to let go, until Mimir spoke up. “Is that the lad? Is it really him?”
Kratos pulled away from the hug slowly, grabbing Mimir from his hip and bringing him around so he could see Atreus, in his grown glory.
“Aye, it is him! How are you, lad?” Mimir exclaimed, the smile growing on his face.
Atreus shrugged, a little giddy and maybe in disbelief. “I’m good! Really good.”
They held the silence for a moment, even Mimir and his typical conversationalist was pardoned for a moment as they all sat in quiet question. However, it was short lived as another loud whine came from the wolves den.
In what went by as a flash, Atreus greeted the wolves with glee, before the three went inside the cabin to catch up. They all were seated at the table, Kratos’ journal folded and pushed to the side while Mimir’s head was placed on the wood surface.
“You’d been gone so long, you had us all worried half to death!” Mimir said with a hearty laugh.
“Well, I thought I’d stop by. I’ve been busy, and now that I’m starting to pick up the last of the marbles, I wanted to see you guys again. I missed you,” Atreus admitted, looking between the two.
“How has your journey treated you?” Kratos asked, not managing to completely hide the worry and apprehension from his voice.
“Good! Good, it’s been good,” He replied, reaching back to remove his bow and set it down on the table. It had new words carved into it, Kratos noted. “I’ve been traveling all across the realms, collecting marbles, y’know, the works.”
Mimir, who had a foolishly wide grin across his lips, was quick to laugh loudly. “You’ve been on a journey for 4 straight years, lad, and all you have to say is it’s the ‘works?’ That’s completely your father, right there,” He commented, receiving a small huff from the god beside him.
Atreus gave his own small chuckle, running a hand through his hair. “Well, what do I say? I’ve found most of the marbles, I’ve had a few battles with a couple of creatures, I’ve helped some of the Aesir rebuild. I’m a little sure Sif doesn’t hate me anymore! Or at least as much. I’ve made some friends, and I’ve gotten better control of my powers with Angrboda's help.”
The head raised a brow, grin turning sly. “Angrboda, huh? Our dear old Giantess of Iron Wood. You two getting along well?”
“Mimir,” Kratos gave a low warning, voice a grumble at Mimir’s far from subtle connotations.
“What? Isn’t it bloody obvious? Let me have this one, brother, I’m dying to know!”
Atreus let out a bashful snicker. “Me and Angrboda are getting along. In a, uh- romantic way,” He explained, avoiding their gazes.
Kratos’ eyebrows raised subtly, while Mimir let out a small whistle. “You’re getting too big, Atreus. First your powers, then your first girlfriend? Slow down!”
The ginger boy sighed quietly, his smile widening. “Atreus. It’s great to hear that name again. Pretty much everywhere I go it's all ‘Loki.’ I’m not complaining, but it’s nice to change pace.” He hummed softly.
“I’m grateful you’ve come back so soon,” Kratos admitted with a gentle tone. “I was… concerned I wouldn’t see you for longer.”
Atreus gave a crooked smile and a dismissive wave. “I can’t stay away from home for too long, can I? Never thought I’d miss the Midgard chill this much.” Atreus looked about the cabin, soaking it all in. It hadn’t changed much, save for a few animal furs.
“So. What have you guys been up to since I’ve been gone? I heard in the wind that Valhalla had a new burly fighter, and I wondered if you had anything to do with that, father,” Atreus teased with a small smile.
”Yes. I visited Valhalla upon an invitation from Týr,” Kratos explained, arms resting along the table.
”Týr? Like- Týr, God of War, the dead one?” Atreus exclaimed, disbelief lacing his tone.
“Precisely, lad!” Mimir replied, clearly enjoying Atreus’ bewilderment. “We went exploring in Niflheim, and found the man trapped in a prison Odin had locked him in.”
“I think I might’ve heard something about that, but I didn’t really believe anything. It’s crazy to think that was real… Why didn’t Odin just kill Týr? Wouldn’t that have made things easier for him?”
”That’s what we were wondering, too! After searching the prison, we found all sorts of people, including random elves and travelers that hadn’t the significance to be worthy of Odin's prison. We think that Odin needed the people he would shapeshift into to be alive, or he couldn’t use their forms anymore.”
”Oh,” Atreus replied. “That makes sense! How is the real Týr?”
“Better than the fake,” Kratos chimed in, if the chime in question was a deep grumbling voice. “He still speaks in riddles, though not with malicious intent.”
”Aye! He helped your da work though some old past stuff. He’s even taken up the position of God of War.”
Kratos noticed the twitch of his son’s fingers, the pursing of his lips with the weight of unasked questions. Still, Atreus held those for later. “Position of God of War? Wow, Týr must’ve done some good work. You confident you’re okay with this?”
Kratos gave a hum, nodding his head. “It is time for me to gain new focus, especially for something good. With you being gone, the new position has kept my attention,”
Atreus beamed a little, absentmindedly picking at the wooden table. “Good! I’m glad you’re not bored.”
“Your fathers been near miserable without you! He missed you lots, lad.” Mimir spoke, laughing along. He was clearly egging on, hoping to draw a reaction from Kratos.
“I don’t deny that I’ve missed my son,” Kratos hummed. “Make no mistake.”
A small laugh bubbled in the back of Atreus’ throat. “It’s great to be home.”
”It’s great to have you back, laddie.”