“And how do you propose to do that?” Thrym asked.

“Not by cowering behind false walls that repair themselves after fruitless wars are fought for no purpose,” I said brazenly.

Maybe it was suicidal of me to taunt Thrym, but they were so used to actions without consequence that I felt I could get away with it. Why bother having me killed if I was just going to come back?

“I would harry the denizens of Asgard City. Employ sneak attacks and hit-and-run tactics that exist outside the framework of attack and retreat. I would change the rules that have entrenched the Jotunn and Asgardian in a stalemate. I would hold Asgardians hostage and use attrition to change the methodology so that a war of little consequence suddenly meant something.

“I would raid their city, steal, and loot their homes. I would concentrate on artifacts of power but would include everything I could, no matter how insignificant. I would poison their wells, salt their crops, and lay waste to their herds.

Finally, I would make a deal with Hel to accept the Asgardians captured and imprison them in her realm.

“I would set God against God, maneuverer Loki and Thor to escalate the rivalry that exists between them. And I would use feints and misdirection to forestall any counter-attack, to leave the Asgardians confused and searching for answers. I would have them questioning who was responsible and sow seeds of discord amongst them, hoping they turn on each other.”

“Boastful claims,” Bergfinnr sneered, “easily made within the protection of this place and the eyes of King Thrym.”

“Better to make boastful claims than to cower from the side,” I replied scornfully. “Better to speak plainly, than hide among the masses shouting out words of contempt safe in anonymity.

“If you had not been recognized, your name echoed across the room by the person who identified you, would you have continued hiding in the shadows? Taunting and challenging my words without the risk of repercussions, any provocation you make made safely hidden from retaliation.

“I wonder how many sorties you have led, how many tactics you have suggested, how much loot you have plundered over the eons?

“I see you, Bergfinnr, Son of Thrym, and I wonder why you would slight another’s words, words that might see at least some change in this unending ennui that exists between your people and Asgard?”

What did it say that a God and King of Jotunn could blush with embarrassment? The effect was even more pronounced when his blue skin refracted that blush across a face faceted like crystals. But Thrym did blush at my words, my suggestion that Bergfinnr was a coward and an idiot sending whispers across the room.

Bergfinnr’s face flushed in anger. The sculpted crystal perfection of Thrym’s features was missing in the putrid colors that morphed his expression from one of disdain and indifference to one of unbridled fury.

“You would dare?” He raged. “You who stand there hidden behind a false face. I may have spoken safely within the anonymity of the crowd, but once identified, I didn’t continue to hide.

“Can you say the same? Why should we not kill you where you stand?” He demanded.

“You are not your father, nor King,” I replied, my tone dismissive and filled with the disdain and indifference he had hid behind when confronting me.

“And I am not Jotunn,” I said as I began changing shape and finally settling into the seeming of Beowulf. “I will return slight with slight, insult with insult, and attack with attack, for there is no onus on me to reveal myself.

“Be careful, Bergfinnr,” I warned, “ a battle between the two of us might result in true death because we are not protected by chains of continuity that protect the Jotunn and Asgardians from real consequence.”

“Enough,” roared Thrym, his shout accompanied by an oppressive burst of power. An aura fueled with the total weight of his authority. An aura that forced everyone in the room to their knees, including Krampus, including me.

Thrym Image:

Even though I was not strong enough to stand before his power, I was smart enough to create an [Illusion] of me standing, appearing to be unaffected. The transition between illusion and reality was flawless. And confusion was sown for those who saw me standing, seeming to ignore Thrym’s oppression.

I saw the flickers of disbelief across their faces, the glances between them as they wondered again at my identity. Bergfinnr could barely refrain from prostrating himself before his father’s power and might, but I stood there, a look of boredom and contempt directed at him.

The illusion became a reality. I was able to stand before Thrym withdrew his aura before any of the Jotunn in attendance could fight their way to their feet. Even before Krampus. I wasn’t foolish enough to believe that meant I was stronger. My ability to ignore and shrug off the effects of his aura was because of what I was.

And what I was, was a child of the Tuatha de Danann, and that heritage gave me some immunity to the divine energies of Asgard. Perhaps not enough on its own to see me completely ignore Thrym’s aura. Still, the connection I had with Draioct, the small glimmer of Asgardian energy that he could share, added to the immunity that my ties to the Tuatha de Danann offered.

“Clear the room,” Thrym ordered.

“But father,” Bergfinnr replied, coming close to whining. For what? I wasn’t sure.

“Out,” Thrym confirmed his command, canceling his aura so his people could move. “Krampus, you stay.”

Krampus Image:

Krampus had made no move to leave, Thrym’s words anticipated. It explained and expanded on the relationship the two Jotunn shared. Their actions were ones of acceptance and expectation. Thrym had known Krampus would stay, and Krampus had known Thrym would want him to.

There was a strange dynamic between the two of them, an act of deceit, the signs that suggested some of what had just occurred was performance. The Sidhe were experts at deception, and my domain of [Illusion and Glamour], my ability to see through falsity, to detect the lie and see what was hidden, had elevated my ability to recognize falsehood and ascertain the truth.

Krampus was more than an adjutant, more than an adviser. He, for some reason, held Thrym’s ear. He seemed to exude as much authority as Thrym. At some point, Thrym had invested him with a portion of his own authority, enough that Krampus had grown that spark of control and claimed enough power to establish a position that came very close to one of co-ruler to the Jotunn.

He was the master behind the puppet—the person pulling the strings that shaped and decided how the court of Thrym would respond.

Maybe if I hadn’t encountered the Yeti, I wouldn’t have seen their silent communication, but it was there. Subtle changes in air movement and temperatures allowed Thrym and Krampus to communicate publicly without any of their people noticing.

The nuance of their private discussion was infantile when compared to the Yeti. They had barely progressed from the first words any toddler might learn. But Thrym took comfort in the gentle ministrations offered as air and cold caressed his arms and face.

Krampus’s actions were the comfort a parent might give a child, a lover might offer his partner, or a friend of such unwavering devotion might offer a friend that had developed a bond of trust that had been tested and survived those tests.

Krampus was more than he had seemed. My ability to part the veil of falsehood, to see the truth before me, made that clear. Parent, lover, or friend, the exact relationship between them was still unclear. What wasn’t was my new understanding. I had to deal with that relationship if I wanted to find a way forward.