Author's Note: I own nothing, except OC's.

So sorry for the hiatus, I'm horrible at updating.

Also, thanks to all my fav/follows/reviewers, you guys are my rock.

My story takes place after the events of the Dark World, where Loki did not kidnap Odin, but instead tried to redeem himself.

Hunny

Niflheim is not a kind realm. There are no rolling hills of green like Vanaheim and it's certainly not as kingly as Asgard. It is a dead, rocky landscape with volcanic air thick with sulfur and the pungent smell of rot. One could easily find themselves lost in the misted mazes leading to cliffs, with the teeth of unfriendly creatures or jagged rocks waiting bellow. The light is sallow and tart winds roll the desolate landscape, ever scraping away at the obsidian plates of long solidified molten rock. Its misty top layer tall enough to swallow a man; it's a deadly smog, thick and choking. The swelling gales carry the moans and cries of the dead who find themselves here, as well as the rumbling of Nidhug, the Dragon, residing in the underbelly of the realm. You can smell the dead in the stale air; a musky, rotten smell that pinches in Amora's nose and brings her eyes to sting. This place is a a sarcophagus.

This is a realm not meant for the living.

The great hall of the Goddess Hel, Queen of the Dead, is a vast blackened chasm. Clacking steps echo through its pillared emptiness, the sickly light illuminating two visitors.

Amora's hips sway with lush rolls. The beat in her step is a rhythmic dance and her honeyed hair falls in fat curls framed around her sharp-edged face. Her abundant lips pucker into a grimace. It's the smell this place she hates the most.

She approaches the Shadow Throne, a black mist clouding the deity. Amora can hear the deep, rasping breaths of Hel.

Amora's companion, a tall cloaked fellow, shifts uneasily at her side. His meaty grasp tightening on his battle axe. In the low light, Amora's ivory skin glows like a candle, a silky and soft aura about her. Her seaweed green eyes flash to her companion, flicking her head away from the throne. The man hesitates, earning a wicked glare from Amora, so he backs away, his battle axe still tight in his grip.

Amora approaches the goddess, her steps echoing through the great hall. She steps slowly with measured poise and her chin held high. Amora centers herself before the mist, dipping her head into a bow, the rest of her body following in a smooth crouch. She plants her splayed fingertips into the dusty floor and opens her sweet mouth to speak.

"Daughter of Asgard," A whispered voice speaks over Amora's gathering speech. Amora closes her lips tightly, pressing them into a thin line.

"I smelt your sweet stench since the moment you entered my realm. Your presence here has made my subjects restless…" The misty veil quivers with spite, and rolls from the throne like an onyx blanket. Amora watches from the corner of her shifting eyes as the deep smoke pools around her. Her companion shifts with a fortified stance, raising his axe.

"I do not take kindly to intruders, soft one," the mystified voice teases, the pooling darkness around Amora glittering as if in laughter.

"Queen Hel, you're greatness precedes you," Amora addresses the smoke, a defiant stain in her creamy voice. The smoke spirals in a wrathful twisting, coiling before Amora in a column of ebony waves. The smoke trembles with a rolling growl. The mist rolls downward, unveiling a gaunt figure. A glittering midnight cloak veils her thin form, a pale face underneath, lit ablaze with lime green gaze.

"I find your Asgardian tongue distasteful in my halls, I am half tempted to rip it from your arrogant skull." the Queen of the Dead's voice is cool, flicking like the tongue of a serpent. "Rise fool, and be judged."

Amora stands, rolling upward vertebrae by vertebrae, like a rising cobra. She keeps her head bent down, her gaze downcast at the dusty stone floor.

"Your highness, I come to you in great need-"

"Need?" Hel's serpent voice laughs and the whole ground shudders beneath Amora. "What could Asgardian swine possible need from me?" The cloak moves with ghost-like speed to Amora's side. Hel's sharpened teeth click inches away from Amora's neck. From the corner of her eye, Amora can catch a glimpse of the Hel's skeletal left half. Amora keeps her head hung low, gaze downward.

"I am no Asgardian."

"O, traitorous swine," Hel muses, her cold breath as foul as the dead. "Do not think I have not heard of your treachery Asgard."

"It is I who has been betrayed!" Amora protests, her voice faltering with a clenching in her chest.

"Speak, woman."

Amora takes a shaking breath, a tear threatening to roll down her perfect face.

"While I stood a loyal watch at the side of Odin Allfather, among the Valkyries, my brother Balder the Fair was brutally slain while a prisoner sprung from his captivity by help of Thor Odinson,"

The smoke quivers with interest, Amora continues.

"And they did nothing."

"As is the way of Odin Allfather to sweep misdeeds under his tyrant rug. Since the death of Frigga he had become unstable, and his sons?" The deity chuckles. "The Nine Realms would be much better without them. What is it that you seek?"

"Vengeance," Amora wields the word as a splitting knife. Hel laughs.

"I take no part in silly, childish games such as vengeance." Hel half turns away from Amora. Amora straightens and looks the Queen dead on, frightened to her core by the sight of the diety.

"It's more than that your highness," Hel turns back to Amora.

"I wish to wage war on Asgard and cleanse the Nine Realms of it's existence." Amora quivers, feeling the Queen's glare boring through her face. The Queen moves in wisp-like tendrils, coming to stand before Amora. Full on, Amora can see the whole split of Queen Hel's body: one side living and terrifyingly beautiful, the other side an ivory skeleton. With a twist in her gut, Amora speaks.

"I seek your alliance, Queen Hel," and the queen giggles like a naughty child.

"My, my. You are serious," Amora raises her chin, looking down her proud nose to Hel. "You shall have it." Amora's full crimson lips curl upward into an amused sneer.

"Gracious Queen, you will be most awarded for your aid," Amora promises, crossing a clenched fist over her heart in allegiance. Hel steps back and flicks her skeletal fingers to her left. From the shadows, a deep thundering of footsteps emerges. From behind the throne walks a giant figure, at least the height of two men, with a wide girth around a well-muscled form. The giant moves, and with it, the grasp of an icy chill.

Frost giant. The brute is particularly ugly, a hooked nose with a deep set brow with tribal scars running hither and tither down its sickly blue form.

Amora grins with a small curtsey.

"This is Hrym. Since Laufey's demise, Hrym has become chieftain of the Frost Griants. He is my most trusted ally. You shall have his army," Hel introduces, guiding the giant before Amora. It falls to a knee, bowing its head before the seductress.

"It would be an honor to spill Asgardian blood at your side," His deep voice booms. Amora smiles with her lovely mouth, a twinkle in her emerald eyes.

"And you shall have Fenris, most feared beast in all the realms." Hel motions with her lovely, right-side, and from behind the throne emerges a great bristled, growling, wolf. Its thick greasy fur ripples over powerful muscles. The beast standing far larger than even the Frost Giant. It's beady black eyes furrow upon Amora with a pleased snarl on its lips.

"Go now and seek your war." Hel whispers sweetly, the skeletal side of her form clicking and clacking. Amora bows and steps back with a pivot of her heel. Her back now to the queen, she motions with a flick of her neck to her companion. He glares at the queen silently, who returns him a gruesome smile. He shivers slightly and goes to Amora's side. Before the party can depart, a wisp of smoke appears before Amora, the Queen unveiling herself once more.

"On one condition, that is," she quips with a clicking smile. Amora stops and raises her chin with a thin-lipped glare. "You will take a shipment to Asgard."

"Explain." Amora's voice empty of its previous sweetness. Hel smiles.

"When the time comes, I shall open the realms and extend my empire with my legions of the dead upon Asgardian soil." These terms are pleasing to Amora, the more destruction and violence, the better. Amora nods.

"It shall be done."

The Dead Queen steps forward, beholding her skeletal fingers just above Amora's honey-suckle skin, mocking a caress down her cheek.

"Should you fail, you shall meet a most unsavory penalty," The queen promises, and Fenris snaps his jaws at Amora's side. Amora deepens her glare into the queen's serpent-eyes.

"I will not fail you my liege."

Amora and Party exit, a cool grin on Amora's face as she wipes a tear from her cheek.

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