Marvel: Sævor of Wisdom

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The carriage rolls through the palace gates in silence. I lean my head back, watching the golden archways pass overhead, letting the hum of runes beneath the wheels vibrate through my bones.

Home, finally.

All I want now is sleep. Maybe food. Maybe collapsing into a thousand-year coma.

We stop in the royal courtyard. I push open the door and slide out stiffly, Geri mumbling something about getting the chef to decipher what a "cheeseburger" is.

I wave him off and trudge toward the central hall.

Almost to my room. Almost.

But as I turn the corner near the high corridor that leads toward the Allfather's command chamber, I see a tiny shape curled up against the marble wall.

A girl in a deep violet dress. Shoulders hunched. Head buried in her knees.

"…Hela?"

She jolts up with a sniffle, quickly wiping her face with her sleeve. Her braid is a little crooked, and her cheeks are blotchy.

"Brother!" she tries to smile, but it cracks halfway. "You're back!"

I walk over, crouch down beside her. "What's wrong, little star?"

She shakes her head. "N-Nothing... It's nothing."

I don't press. I just wait.

A few seconds pass.

Then—

"I made presents… for everyone," she mumbles, pulling out two small wrapped bundles from behind her. "I gave one to you earlier... and I was gonna give these to Mother and Father."

She clutches the packages tight like they might disappear.

"I gave it to Father first, but… he's busy. He didn't even open the door. He said—he said later."

Her voice trembles.

"And I… I worked really hard. The runes were hard, but I wanted to make something strong. Something he'd like. Something that would protect him."

She trails off. Then:

"I waited outside his door for so long…"

Her words crack, and finally, the dam breaks. Hot, messy sobs come pouring out as she hides her face in my chest.

I wrap my arms around her small frame, holding her tight.

"It's okay, Hela. I'm so proud of you. You made something wonderful. Father's just… overwhelmed. You know how he gets."

"I know!" she wails. "But it still hurts…"

I nod slowly, letting her cry. 

After a while, the sobs slow, tapering into hiccups.

"Come with me to Mother's," I whisper. "Let's give it to her together."

She lifts her head, eyes red. "Will she be mad… if I look like this?"

"She'll be proud you made something with your own hands," I say, brushing her hair back gently. "And you know what? She's the best person to hug when the world feels awful."

She sniffles again… then nods.

"Okay… Okay."

I take her hand, and we walk side by side down the corridor, the sun filtering through the crystal ceiling above us.

The palace is so big, and Hela is still so small.

But her heart?

That's what makes her the strongest of us.

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Frigga's private garden was quiet this time of day. The air shimmered faintly with floating pollen lights, and the roses had begun to bloom in slow, glowing spirals.

I always forgot how peaceful it was here. How soft.

We step into the inner circle where she usually reads alone — her throne is more of a woven seat under a great flowering tree, with blankets and cushions and carved stone tables filled with scrolls, warm tea, and starlit wine.

She's already there, eyes closed, breathing deeply. Meditating, maybe.

"Mother?" I say gently.

She opens her eyes slowly. Smiles — warm.

"Sævor. And… Hela?"

I feel Hela tense beside me. She's been holding the little package behind her back the entire walk, fidgeting nervously.

Frigga's eyes sharpen. Not harsh — never harsh. But she sees everything.

She rises from her seat and kneels to Hela's level, brushing a few messy strands from her daughter's face.

"What happened, my moon?" she asks softly.

"I… made something…" Hela murmurs. "For you. And Father. And Sævor. But Father didn't… he didn't want it."

There's no bitterness in her voice. Only quiet heartbreak, like it's her fault somehow.

I see Frigga's expression flicker — just a second. A wrinkle of sadness. A flicker of something colder. But it vanishes.

She gently takes the package from Hela's hand and unwraps it without a word.

Inside is a small charm — a protective ward engraved with her own wobbly script. The lines of the rune glimmer faintly, the magic soft but present. It must've taken her days.

Frigga stares at it like it's the most precious treasure in the Nine Realms.

"Oh, my brave girl," she says, voice thick. "You made this for me?"

Hela nods, lips pressed tight.

Frigga clasps the charm to her heart. "Then I shall wear it. Always. From now on, no blade shall touch me — not because I'm a queen, but because my daughter's love shields me."

Hela lets out a hiccup of a laugh. Her lip trembles.

Frigga pulls her close, wrapping her in both arms, whispering something I don't quite catch — something soft and old and motherly.

I stand back and let them have their moment.

Frigga glances up at me eventually, her voice carrying just to my ears:

"Did you say anything to Odin?"

I shake my head.

Frigga's gaze lingers a moment. "I will."

She pulls Hela to sit on her lap beneath the flowering tree, stroking her hair.

"Tell me everything about the rune," she says gently. "Every single stroke. I want to know how it was made."

And so, Hela begins to explain, cheeks flushed, voice growing brighter by the second.

And the sun in the garden, somehow, feels just a little warmer.