Come with me a while, mortal, let me show you my realm. As you have told me about your history and world, so I feel it my duty to tell you about mine. It will pass the time as I take you to your new home.

You are still not happy to be here. It confuses you, yes?

Ah, you did not believe. Well, here is the proof for you here. The Nine Realms, the World Tree, all of it is real, since time immemorial.

And this...this you can tell is Niflheim before you.

I do not blame you for your mood at hearing the name. I care not for this place myself, but it is not my fate to be anywhere but here. Nor is it yours, I'm sorry to say.

See that damn gate over there, the one so solid and true? It keeps us all here.

Nothing can leave, not you or I, not anyone. And that is the way the others want it.

And the rest of it...my 'lands'. Mist that robs one of heat and life, a sky the color of raw steel, ground that barely ekes out a living for anyone...

Not the fabled halls of Valhalla is this place; I hear the sun shines brightly there and the land is fruitful, not unlike Midgard.

Oh, so you know something of the Realms after all?

Yes, you're right, at least we need not worry about giants here, whether from Muspell or Jotun.

All we have instead is this endless gray-

No, don't touch me! A momentary stumble, I will be fine! My body is not entirely destroyed.

My apologies, but I doubt you wish to contract...I believe your people call it 'leprosy'?

That is why I am here now, isolated from...'decent people'.

It is why many of us are here, when we haven't been sent here for starving to death, or being taken by accident, or any of a thousand things beyond our ken that deny us an 'honorable death'.

Just like you.

You, a warrior of uncounted victories, should have been taken by Odin's valkyries, or perhaps by Freya herself to Folkvangr. You should have been treated to feasting and fighting and...whatever else they do there that I only hear about second- and third-hand. The skalds should have fought each other to write sagas worthy of your adventures.

And yet here you are in this blasted wasteland. Simply because you died in your bed, because the only thing that could kill you was time itself.

You deserve better...but this is what you have been given. Being sent to this leper colony they call Niflheim.

At least we have made something of a 'life' here, such as it is.

You see the halls; stone they may be, not timber, but they suffice to keep out much of the chill. And the fields...they may not have the bounty of Vanaheim, or even your own Midgard, but we have enough men and women of skill to keep ourselves fed.

We do the best with what we have. It is all we can do and it is all I'm afraid you will be able to do.

Ah, here we are. You will be living here from this point on and-

Yes, this is my home, my hall. Do not worry, I personally occupy that wing over there, separate from the others so you need not fear becoming like me. You will live here, with the others warriors who have come to this place.

It is why I brought you here. I would ask that you be one of my einherjar, one of my chosen, an enforcer of my will in this place. Order must be kept here, and I would have the best at my side.

I know it is not much, ruling over what Odin and the others would probably call peasants in some mockery of their halls, but it is the best I can offer you.

You accept?

Are you sure of this? I will not force you.

Good. You have my gratitude, mortal.

I, Hela, mistress of Niflheim, welcome you to this place as one of my own.