She remembered blood.

The copper taste of it. The sting in her side, hot and sharp. Her shoulder dislocated from the blow that sent her crashing through the dimensional rift. She hit the ground on Midgard with the force of a meteor, armor cracked, vision blurred. Somewhere behind her, Malekith’s laughter echoed in her skull like a curse that wouldn’t die.

She had been ready to crawl to her death in the mud, proud and alone, a Valkyrie to the end.

And then... he found her.

She never saw him coming. Just warmth. Hands, steady and urgent. The rustle of fabric. The shift from cold stone to cotton sheets. Pain, yes, but gentler now. Slower.

Then came a voice she didn’t recognize. Soft, annoyed. Real.

“Are you always this stubborn?”

That had made her open her eyes.

And there he was. Smudged in oil, half-dressed, brow furrowed like she was an equation he couldn’t solve and refused to give up on. She was a goddess of war. He was... mortal. Or so she thought.

But she saw it right away — something in his eyes. That spark of bloodline. Not full human. Not full anything. A storm in still water.

He nursed her back with a care that was not soft, but relentless. He didn’t ask for anything. Didn’t flinch when she cursed. Didn’t blink when she bled.

And the first time she stood on shaking legs in his kitchen and barked, “Where’s the damn mead?”, he only raised a brow and said, “Cabinet above the fridge, your highness.”

She never left.

And now, years later, she stood in the doorway of their bedroom, hair damp from the shower, a faint scar still visible on her collarbone — the one he stitched, cursing under his breath with every pull of the needle.

She watched him asleep, one arm flung over their youngest daughter, the oldest curled under the pillow.

The morning light seeped through the curtains, soft and accusing. She stood by the window, looking out at the world she had fought so hard to belong to — the streets alive with noise, life, and a quiet peace she hadn’t expected to find.

Her hands clenched the letter in her lap — a summons from Asgard. Duty called again.

She turned away from the view, footsteps silent on the wooden floor.

“Leaving soon,” she said softly, almost to herself.

She found him still asleep, that peaceful innocence she never thought she’d see in herself mirrored in his face.

“Don’t think I’m ready for this,” she admitted, voice cracking just a little.

She slid beside him, tracing the curve of his jaw with a finger.

“But I can’t run from who I am. From what I owe.”

Her eyes met his, fierce and vulnerable.

“I’m a Valkyrie. Protector of realms.”

She swallowed, steadying herself.

“But this,” she gestured to the home, the family sleeping around them, “this is my heart.”

A slow breath.

“I won’t forget. I won’t leave without a promise.”

She brushed a stray hair from his forehead.

“You wait for me.”

A soft smile, bitter and sweet.

“And I’ll come back. Because no matter where Asgard calls, no matter how far the battles rage — you’re the peace I fight for.”

She stood, the weight of armor invisible but heavy on her shoulders again.

“Until then, protect our world.”

And with that, she left — not just a warrior returning to war, but a wife, a mother, a soul tethered to Earth by love deeper than any battle.