This instalment is early, but pretty short. I just felt like it was a good place to leave the chapter.

Also, I'm going to start doing a 'story so far' at the beginning of each chapter, considering how complex things are getting! Hopefully it'll make things a little easier…

Poll shows people want more Ayra/Nico. Which makes me very happy. Your wish is my command! There is now a new poll up, asking which character you'd like to see more of.

One more notice: if any of you are interested in doing some cover art for this fic, please PM me! You'll get credits in the summary, and it would just be generally awesome. So… yeah.

Reviews are so great
that I will write a haiku
asking you for them

The story so far:

A girl, Ayra, arrives at camp, claiming to have lost her memory. Her story is bought by most, but one Nico di Angelo pieces together enough facts (most notably, that she is a Norse demigod) to be confronted by her and nearly killed. However, the escaped wolf Fenrir saves him, and the three embark on a journey to Asgard, with the knowledge of a prophecy predicting them engineering the fall of Hades guiding their every move.

At Asgard they meet Loki and the rest of the Norse and learn of a great war centuries ago that left Ayra's people defeated. Nico agrees to help them rise up again in the knowledge that it may be the only way to prevent another, bloodier battle.

Ayra and Nico travel back to camp only to find that the Olympians have discovered who she is. They flee to Asgard, but see Valhalla destroyed and the Gods missing. Ayra realises the Norse are on their way to Niflheim, an abandoned ice world found beyond Hel. They decide to get there via the dwarf world, but get side tracked when Nico accidentally sells his shadow. In their efforts to get it back, they visit the Elvish lawyer Motor-Oil.

Meanwhile, the Norse bump into the spirits of two dead demigods while walking through Hel; and in the sea above them, an ancient sea serpent named Jormungand struggles in his bonds, starving and furious…

The moment he touches the water Percy knows something is wrong.

The ocean feels afraid. It's as if the waves are on edge, somehow; at first he thinks it's him, stressed and exhausted by days of wondering how things turned out like this, with one of his closest friends deserting him–

He won't think about that now. Instead he'll try to figure out why the fish circle nervously around his ankles, or why the sand rumbles gently beneath his toes. The restlessness of the sea is nothing new, but this; this is something else, like it's preparing for something big.

And then he hears it.

LITTLE OLYMPIAN, ARE YOU THERE?!

He gasps and moves to step onto the beach, but the current tugs him further in, encouraging him to listen.

"I… yes, I'm here…" he says, tentatively. "Who are you?"

I AM THE MIDGARD SERPENT!

"I'm Percy Jackson," he replies, in what he hopes is a soothing tone. "Do you need help? Where are you?"

I AM EVERYWHERE, PERCY JACKSON! AND I AM HUNGRY!

"Hungry?"

I HAVE AWOKEN! it screams. AND I HAVE GONE SO LONG WITHOUT FOOD, PERCY JACKSON! TELL YOUR PEOPLE, LITTLE OLYMPIAN, THAT I AM WAITING! THAT THE NORSE ARE WAITING! THAT JORMUNGAND WILL NEVER SLEEP AGAIN!

The voice cuts off as abruptly as it had begun.

The Norse? thinks Percy, and then his eyes widen in realisation.

Nico manages to explain the entire story of how he sold his shadow without laughing, but honestly he finds it nearly impossible. There's something about Motor-Oil the elf that he finds absolutely hilarious; probably the ridiculous name, or the way he looks like a short, sparkly alien, what with the missing nose, spiky ears and silver skin.

When he finishes the lawyer sighs. "This is a difficult case," he murmurs. "I need to–"

An object perching on the desk begins to emit a high ringing sound, flashing frantically. Motor-Oil scrambles for the device, stares at the screen, and shoots off something unthinkingly in Old Norse, tearing out of the room.

Ayra giggles, and Nico turns to her questioningly. "He said 'excuse me, I think my ex-girlfriend might take me back,'" she explains. "Poor guy."

He smiles, and an awkward silence fills the room. A glance at Fenrir reveals the wolf is asleep, which explains why he is being so quiet. Ayra sighs.

Nico coughs and shifts a little. "Um… I'm sorry for selling my shadow and shouting at you."

"It's okay," she replies. "I can't help but notice that all we ever do is apologise to each other. Not exactly a healthy relationship."

"Relationship?" he raises an eyebrow.

"N– no, I mean, I just–" she turns bright red. "I always say the wrong thing around you, don't I?"

"Of course you don't."

"Ugh."

"You don't!"

She rolls her eyes. "Anyway, I shouted, too."

"Yeah, but for a good reason," he says. "I was kind of an idiot."

"Kind of," she sniggers. "Murderousness beats idiocy, though."

"You'll never get over that, will you?"

"What, that I went temporarily insane and tried to kill you? No, probably not."

"I've told you I'm not angry."

"Yes, but I can't help but feel guilty for involving you in all of this," she groans. "I am an awful, awful person."

He shakes his head. "You're unbelievable, you know that? Absolutely, bat-shit insane. Either you're extremely hormonal or you suffer from multiple personality disorder; but whatever it is, stop beating yourself up about the way you are. I don't think it's going to change any time soon. You might as well enjoy being able to change your mood fifteen times per minute and making me frustrated."

"I think you frustrate me more than I frustrate you."

"No way."

"Trust me," she laughs nervously. "I can't believe that I'm actually asking this, but– would– would you consider us friends?"

"Well, yeah… Wait, why are you looking at me like that?"

"Because," Ayra smiles beatifically, "you're the first friend I've ever had."

He stares at her, slack-jawed. "Are you serious?"

"Of course. Now if I die, I'll know there's at least one person my age who cares."

"That's so sad," Nico blurts out, unthinkingly. "… Sorry."

"It is sad, isn't it?" she says, perturbed.

"I didn't mean that–"

"No, it really is."

"Okay, a bit, but–"

"I'm such a freak."

"You aren't a–"

"I think I should go write a slow-tempo pop song about my pain."

"Wait, what?"

Ayra laughs. "Got you."

"Oh, very funny."

The Norse stand frozen in front of the two spirits.

"We can only stay for a few minutes, I'm afraid," says Eric. "We just came to warn you–"

"My son…" whispers Heimdall. "My son…"

"Yes, yes, that's me."

"Il faut être rapide," Madeline looks behind her into the gaping vastness of Hel.

"Why is she talking in French?" asks Sif. "Can't she use Old Norse like the rest of us?"

He shrugs. "She won't speak anything else. It's bloody annoying, actually."

"Connard," mutters the young girl.

"Fine, fine," snaps Eric. "I assume you're trying to get to Niflheim?"

"Yes," says Loki. "Why, is there a problem?"

"All I know is I have to relay a message. I have a talent for prophecy, you see. It's not as strong as your seer over there–" he gestures to Mímir, "but apparently what I get is more important, so I have to break out of Hades with the help of a melodramatic French child and come and give it to you, which is a bloody pain in the ass. Anyway, here's the message…"

His eyes glaze over and he somehow becomes paler than he was before. "There is no sky to hold this place," he drones, "look above and Hel will break. Make your journey, but do not cast your eyes too high. Heed this warning or face a shattered world."

"So basically," asks Freyr, "don't look directly up at the sky? Haven't any of us done that already?"

After questioning, it is astonishingly revealed that no one has. They chalk this down to the fact that Idun was being distracting and that a landscape so bland simply forces you to look at someone else or your own feet.

Tyr sighs. "Well, now it's going to be really hard not to, isn't it?"

Loki nods. "I, for one, am extremely curious as to what's up there. But we'll have to wait. On we go!" he shouts merrily.

"Loki," hisses Freyja, "have some tact."

Heimdall is quietly conversing with Eric. After a minute or so they step away from each other, both parties looking considerably less troubled.

Meanwhile Thor has decided to dispense with pleasantries and is clutching his daughter in his arms, crying what he will later refer to as 'manly tears'. Madeline pats her father uncomfortably on the back. "Tout va bien, papa."

"No," he sobs, "everything will not be okay."

"Madeline," says Eric softly in a rare moment of gentleness, "we need to leave. Hades will notice we're gone."

"Je suis désolée, papa," she pulls herself out of her fathers arms. "Adieu."

The two spirits slowly fade from view.

"She looked just like her mother," mutters Thor. "The same eyes."

Motor-Oil walks back into his office, carrying a large book.

"How'd it go?" asks Ayra. "Did she take you back?"

"Ah… she said she will take legal action if I ring her again," he plops back into the chair and drops the book on the table. "But I have better news. I know how we can win your case."

"That's great!" Nico sighs, relieved. "What's the plan?"

The elf flips through the book until he arrives at the appropriate page. "You mentioned that the dwarf claimed that no blade can scratch the surface of the shield?" They nod. "Here are the definitions for the word 'scratch'. And definition five is 'to make a harsh noise'. You see?"

"I don't understand," she says.

"May I have your sword, sir?" Nico hands him Epilasis. Motor-Oil drags the blade across the shield; the high, piercing sound makes them all wince, but the metal comes away without a scrape. "It made a harsh noise on the surface. It scratched it."

Ayra splutters. "That has to be the weakest base for a legal case ever."

"Actually, for Alfheim, it is quite strong."

"You really think we can get the shadow back like this?"

"If we can get the dwarf to admit to making the claim, then yes. He lied about his product."

"That's ridiculous," she says. "It relies entirely on an arbitrary technicality."

"I think we should give it a shot."

"Not you too, Nico! We'll just end up wasting time on a pointless, unwinnable legal case. We're in a rush as it is."

"Well, do you have any better ideas?"

Ayra huffs and folds her arms.

"So we are in agreement, then," Motor-Oil closes the dictionary. "It will be easy enough to find out which is the dwarf we are looking for, since he will be the previous lease holder for the stall."

Nico smiles. "I'm excited. I've never been to court before."