Of Greater Sires

Right after she locked herself in her quarters, JARVIS told her that Loki had left Stark Tower, and judging the amount of Chitauri with him, it could be presumed that he would be gone for a substantial amount of time.

“Could you get rid of this for me?” she asked wearily, lifting the old dress up.

“Of course,” JARVIS replied, and once again the tiny door opened up once more. Raeyn had to stuff a bit, but it finally fit and was flown away.

“So what were you saying about an autumn soup? I’m famished.”

“Well before we were rather rudely interrupted, I was saying that I noticed that you had everything you needed for an autumn soup Ms. Potts programmed. Would you like me to give you the recipe?"

Raeyn stood and stretched. "Yes, please!" she chirped as she made her way to the kitchen. As JARVIS had promised, Loki was long gone and their domestic floor was completely vacant.

"You will need to get out the following ingredients..." JARVIS said in his always pleasant tone, and Raeyn had a nice time swinging around the kitchen, trying to keep up with his quick reciting.

After all the soup had been eaten, the dishes cleaned, and placed back in their respective places, Raeyn curled up on the couch with a blanket and some popcorn. She had meant to ask JARVIS to start playing a movie of some sort (she particularly enjoyed The Deep Blue Sea) but she was yawning and stretching out on the suddenly comfortable furniture before the sentence finished gracing her lips.

JARVIS turned off after he realized she was fast asleep and let her be. He considered waking her up to ask if she would like more pillows or another blanket, but her muscles were perfectly relaxed (compared to how tense they were whenever Loki popped up or the subject of Loki popped up or anything reminded her of Loki popped up) and he remained silent.

At first Raeyn was perfectly comfortable on the couch -- the kitchen still smelled of cooking vegetables, the blanket was soft as ever, and she breeze from the opened window was refreshing. However, she quickly became restless.

In her mind, the world had rewound eight hundred some odd years. She was still a young child, and living with her parents in Norway. A fire crackled in the huge fireplace, illuminating the large cabin in which the family resided. Young Raeyn was fast asleep, her head resting on her mother’s lap and her father tended to the fire to keep them warm. Outside, a blizzard had been blowing for days. Though it hardly affected the Asgardians, the nearby tribes were suffering. Raeyn's father claimed to have seen the community fire burning nearly constantly, signaling the tribal funerals and honoring their dead. They must have been starving or freezing to death -- or possibly a combination of both.

Of course, none of this had been mentioned in front of Raeyn, who was completely oblivious to the tension between the mortals and the gods. She knew not that some of the new chiefs of the tribes -- younger than her, even, and quite a bit less intelligent -- blamed the Asgardians for their troubles. She knew not that their faith in the gods faltered, and almost believed them to be demons now, cursing the land around them. So it came to be quite a surprise when there was a loud banging on the door in the middle of the night, and fire blazing around their house.

Her mother scrambled up, first clutching Raeyn to her and then pushing her away, telling her in rapid Norwegian to hide. Not thinking twice, Raeyn dashed to the rafters and watched from the shadows as her father and mother opened the door to a mob of tribesmen, all wielding their spears and flames. In the front stood the highly decorated chief, his glare said to menacing, but did not evoke fear in the gods.

"Hvorfor er du kommet hit? Sikkert dette er ikke noe vi kunne løse diplomatisk," her father said lightly, but under his tone lay a fearsome threat. (Why have you come here? Surely this is not for something we could solve diplomatically.)

“Sikkert vet du hvorfor vi er her, “gud.” Våre folk har møtt problemer forårsaket av deg og dine onde veier,” the chief spat, yet there was a bit of nervousness to him that even Raeyn detected from her perch. (Surely you know why we are here, “god.” Our people have faced problems caused by you and your evil ways.)

“Er det slik?” her father asked, brandishing his sword as the armed people edged forward. “Vi har aldri ment deg noe vondt, og likevel er du her.” (Is that so? ...We have never meant you any harm, and yet here you are.)

“Ja. Her er vi.” (Yes. Here we are.)

The next moments blurred in Raeyn’s mind, quite like they did in her nightmare. The house had been set on fire, and her father had already killed the chief and half a dozen men as her mother tried to use her powers to lift the snow onto the flames in an attempt to douse them. However, they burned the drying wood persistently and were constantly being encouraged by the tribesmen’s torches. Every so often, Raeyn would try to help her mother, but each time her mother threw her such a glare that she would drop her arms to her sides obediently. More and more of the men came, all carrying an assortment of weapons to be used against her father. And fire. They all carried fire, always more and more of the flames that would soon encase them all and burn the house to the ground.

It was when Raeyn had finally curled into a ball to try and drown out the screams of dying men and her house crackling away in the fire that the distinct sound of a bow and arrow tightening could be heard. Never before had Raeyn seen an indigenous mortal wield one, only her father. When she looked up fearfully, scared that the weapon was trained on her, she noted how much more primitive than the one her father owned, and a sense of pride overcame her.

That was, until the bow was pulled tight and then released, puncturing an arrow into her mother's stomach. Although her mother could easily live through the wound with the proper care, the shock of seeing her mother gushing blood as she tried to pull the arrow out of herself, and the horrified roar from her father nearly sent Raeyn into shock. She could no longer blink. It was as her father tried to move to his wife, trying to shield her that he then was stabbed through the chest with one of the tribesmen's spears. Raeyn immediately covered her ears, cowering between her knees, and began to scream at the top of her lungs. Fear took over as her parents looked up at her sitting the in rafters, her screams not reaching their ears over the cries of dying mortals and the all-consuming fire. They waved to her, yelling at her to run. There was a gap in the flames from the rafters and the snow, and for any mortal it would have been a stretch, but for the Asgardian child it would be perfect. With the little remaining strength her mother possessed, she meekly raised and lowered her arms so the snow kept the fire down.

Raeyn glanced at where her father was pointing, and then her head whipped back to her parents. A few of the mortals had noticed her sitting there, and were preparing the bow and arrow once more for the child. Her parents pleaded, and with tears streaming down her dirtied face, Raeyn tore her gaze from her wounded parents to the gap, and leapt out into a cold. She ran, knowing full well that her parents had just died to make certain that she lived. She ran until her feet bled, her throat was empty of screams, and her tears dried out.