Name: Untitled (Suggestions would be welcome, ask for more info if you want!)
Pairing/Fandom: Buliwyf/OC (Own Character)
Rating: G (this chapter is light, nothing much to worry about)
Notes: There are several supernatural elements in this fanfic. Many of them are not mentioned in the movie, so I've used my creative lisence. You will probably have many questions by the time you finish reading this, I can think of a few that I am expecting. Don't worry, hopefully you'll understand by the time I've gotten some more up. If you must know, or just want to clear anything up, leave me a comment or email me (LJ Info). This is cross-posted to my fanfiction account, which is below if any of you want to check it out.
I’m walking down the street, right now. The sky is bluer than I have ever seen it, like someone just took a bucket of paint and let it run slowly across the heavens. The sun came down in thick shafts that caught the dust. The rays flirted with the golden leaves as the wind ran about, rounding the corners of buildings with a howl. Slowly, I unzipped the dark blue hoodie I wore and slipped it down, so that my arms were bare to the crisp air of 7:30 in the morning. It was cold, but the sunlight was warm on my skin—a feeling I had come to relish, much like a child who meets success at the cookie jar. I put my headphones in my ears and pressed play, slipping my iPod into my pocket once I set it on repeat. The Sound of Swing by Fragment Eight began to play. I walked a little faster now, the music giving me energy. There weren’t many people around at this hour. Those that were rode in cars—going to work, the lucky ducks. I was unemployed, and had been for almost a year. Much too long, even for a person like me, who preferred solitude. I was even finding it difficult to enjoy my hobby: writing. It was something that, until recently, I had loved to do. Now, I was lucky if I could even think about going out to get some inspiration. I hadn’t put words to paper in at least ten months. It was depressing, but I didn’t have much time to dwell on it.
The Starbucks in front of me was warm as I stepped inside, quiet conversation and acoustic guitar greeting my ears once I had removed my headphones. Coffee mingled with pastries and my favorite scent: wood smoke. Someone must have brought it in from outside. I walked up to the counter and smiled at the pretty girl with blonde hair, who couldn’t have been more than eighteen. Not that I was old—my twenty-third birthday had just come and went last week.
“Morning,” I said to her. The nametag said Venora…she must have been new; I didn’t recognize her.
“What can I get for you?” She asked, her voice reminding me of gulls on a beach.
“Just a café mocha and a slice of pumpkin bread,” I told her, sticking again with my usual order.
“And you?” She spoke to someone behind me.
“We’re separate,” A smooth, low voice said. “But I’ll have the same, it sounds good.”
I inclined my head towards him with a smile, but didn’t turn.
“Is that to go?” Venora asked me.
I thought for half a second. “Yeah, it’s to go.”
She nodded. I paid her and waited for a minute, taking this chance to look at the fellow who’d spoken earlier. The first thing I noticed was his size. He was easily six foot four, if not more. He had fine blonde hair that looked almost like white gold near his face. His eyes were alert, the same blue as the sky, set into a face that was ruggedly handsome, with a bit of stubble on his jaw and upper lip. What I did not expect was the pair of silver spectacles that sat on the bridge of his straight nose. They looked like reading glasses; not something he wore all the time. They brought a scholarly feel to his character, and it seemed strange. After a moment, I looked away, my order ready. He cast his gaze on me, the faintest of smiles on his lovely mouth.
“Enjoy that,” He said.
“Same to you,” I replied.
With that, I left, back out into the cold, unsure of my next destination.
I spent the better part of the day wandering. I found myself at the beach, a couple of miles from the center of town. It was always so nice here—far enough away to be quiet, but close enough to be convenient. The beach itself was lonely this time of year, with only a few dog-walkers and sea-glass hunters. My favorite spot was beneath a tree that grew out of a sandstone ridge, forming a grass-covered hill between me and the rest of the world. I sat here and watched the waves for a while. It was about five PM when my cell phone shook in my pocket, my mom on the other line.
“How was your day?” She asked me.
“Just fine, Mom,” I said, missing her song-like voice. “I’ll be heading home soon—“
There was a beep, and I pulled the phone from my ear. The screen flashed, an empty battery on the front. Then, all was dark.
I shoved it back into my purse, where it fell between my journal, a pen, some Kleenex, my wallet. I looked around and noticed that I was the only one here. One glance up told me why. The sky was black, clouds roiling above me like a swarm of angry wasps. The next set of events happened in a span of about three seconds.
Lightning struck the tree I sat under; I could feel the ground shake. I was thrown backwards by the force of it, my spine slamming into the sandstone wall behind me…and yet, for some reason, I hadn’t landed yet. It was a full two seconds before I hit solid ground, but blackness overcame me a moment later.
When next I woke, I realized what had happened. I hit the sandstone, but it had broken. Behind the impact and about five feet down, I had landed in a cave of sorts. It looked like it had been dug—the decayed, splintered remains of what I assumed was a ladder lay near my feet. No doubt it was once used to climb in and out. Someone had obviously, however, closed up the entrance long ago. I saw only what the light in the entrance revealed, which wasn’t much. The air in here was musty, but at least it was dry. There didn’t seem to be any life in here, not even an insect, which I was grateful for. I remembered with a sinking feeling that my cell phone was dead, and as I looked down at my purse I saw blood running down my arm and my left leg.
“Think, Laur,” I said to myself, my voice echoing against the cave walls. “You were in Girl Scouts for a long time, what did they tell you to do?”
Of course, survival skills came second or third to selling cookies and helping your neighbors, if they came at all. My mind was racing, and so was my adrenaline, which probably contributed to the lack of pain. Option two, what did they do in the movies? I took off my hoodie and t-shirt, examining my arms. The gash was about halfway up my left arm, near my shoulder. All the blood, I realized with a wave of relief, was coming from there. At least my leg was fine. I tore a section of my shirt and tied it around my arm. Bleeding contained: check.
“Hello!” I called. “Is anyone up there! I need help!”
No answer. I called until my lungs were burning, until my voice was hoarse.
“Come on!” I said, more to the heavens, now. “Give me a sign, or something!”
There was a loud crack, and the tree above me was struck again. I heard a slow, bending sound as the wood splintered. The trunk fell over the entrance, shielding it with leaves and branches. Now, I was lucky if anyone would even see the hole.
“I hate you!” I cried to the sky. “You hear me? I hate you!”
Thunder crashed, but that was all. With no other choice, I replaced my shirt and hoodie, and, using my purse as a pillow, lay down for a night of very uncomfortable sleep.
With the arrival of morning, I could see to the back of the cave. The whole thing was about twenty feet long, and sparse in content. What I deemed to be a bed was in one corner, the wooden supports broken and sagging. A mattress of hay wrapped in linen was barely held together, the seams frayed and split. There were a couple of crude stools and a round table, along with what looked like a fire pit near the entrance, no doubt so the smoke could filter out. What caught my attention was the shelves. They lined the walls, and, while mostly empty, what was there couldn’t have been anything recent. I realized with awe that the cave I was now stuck in must have been at least a thousand years old, if not more. How had it survived? I rolled my eyes. Of course! If it had been walled up all this time, no wonder it was preserved. No animals or insects could get in, no fresh air to speed up decay, no weather to ruin the many pages that were left on the shelves. I walked over to a chest—a simple wooden square with four legs, metal slats over its front—and lifted the latch. If I was stuck here, why not look around, right?
My breath caught in my throat. The chest was filled with papers, covered everywhere with runes. On top of these was an amulet on a thick leather cord. I knew it to be a unicursal Valknut—though, how I knew this was a mystery to me. I had never studied anything having to do with the Vikings. I moved the amulet and gently picked up one of the papers. I expected the document to crumble in my hand, but it did not. I looked at the runes for a long moment, and then something strange happened. They shifted, right before my eyes, and formed English words. What I was now reading was a story—or was it an autobiography? The severity of my situation—my hunger, my pain, my loneliness—all went away as I began to read, immersing myself in someone else’s world so as not to confront the darkness in my own.
I will die here; I know that now. Having lived a good life, it does not concern me over-much. The All-Father wove the skein of our lives a long time ago; our fates are fixed. This is what Herger said to the Arab that night in the Hall, which seems so long ago. How I ended up here after what we went through, I cannot say. The only certainty is that I must leave my tale so that others will know it. Only then can I go to Valhalla and be with those I love. Still, in order to tell a good story, it is essential to start at the beginning…