So I was doing Norse terminology research and at some point I realized a lot of the words weren't translated. And I could understand them. Not just the meaning from context, but the etymology. And I am like "Shit! I speak Old Norse!" And then I realize what I'm speaking is Tolkien languages, particularly Black Speech. And then I feel the strange need to tell Helge Fauskanger, prominent Tolkien linguist of
Ardalambion that he's cheating because he's Norwegian.
Inspired/taken horribly by
ciceqi Title: Mead
Author/Artist:
purplekittePairing: Odin/Tyr/Frigga/Skadi, Thor (for Cloud/Zack/Sephiroth/Aeris claim)
Fandom: Final Fantasy VII
Theme: Jamie's list, 26 Sweet like honey
Ratings/Warnings: PG
Sleipnir snorted and shook his head to go forward, but his dark-haired rider soothed him. The blond at his side shifted his sword to dismount his steed.
“The Franks were here.”
“Shinra company?”
“By their tracks, yes.” The blond set his one hand on the edge of his saddled and vaulted into place.
“Great.” The dark-haired man looked like a fop more than a warrior with the dirty bandages over his missing eye obscured by spikes of his wild mane and his smile wide and crooked. “I was almost worried we were tracking the Byzantine brigade, cuz then we’d never find them.”
He shook his head. “Soldiers, followed by a contingent of priests.”
One of the crook-eyed ravens on the straggly trees around them took wing toward the center of the dark clouds a mountain away.
There was a crack of thunder.
“Yeah, yeah, you’ll hit them from the side while we attack from behind and your sister’s wild hunt from ahead,” he told another raven. “How is your sister, by the way?”
A long rumble of thunder.
“She’ll be patient.”
A quick lightning bolt.
“I don’t like it either, but we had to lure them near Yggdrasil to draw them out. And they are not getting past the World Tree’s guardian.”
He turned to his blond companion. “Ready to ride like dark elves out of Svartálfaheim, Spike?”
He nodded.
“Poor Skadi, having to stay with the Tree the whole time and not getting revenge on those turning Valknut into crosses with a sword. There will be need for comforting.” His wagging of his one eyebrow was energetic enough for two.
“The battle first,” the warrior told the other.
“Yeah,” he perked up. “Thor will get impatient if we take too long. And Frigga definitely will.”
“Then let’s ride to battle.”
“And drink mead in Valhalla tonight!”