87 Ceremony

When Natasha regained consciousness, the first thing she noticed was the silence.

The healers’ room was far quieter than she remembered. The last time she had been here, Jane had spent hours being examined by Asgardian healers. Now, the only sounds were the distant crackle of enchanted lanterns and the rhythmic cadence of her own breathing.

But she didn’t panic.

She knew she was safe.

Slowly, Natasha turned her head, taking in her surroundings. The air smelled of herbs and fresh flowers from Frigga’s garden. Everything was as she remembered it to be, except for the man who sat by the window, bathed in the ethereal glow of Asgard’s endless skyline, his eyes lost in the vast ocean of stars and swirling cosmic nebulae above. He seemed deep in thought, his expression unreadable as his fingers absently toyed with the fabric of his robe.

Natasha watched him for a moment, taking in the rare sight of him completely unguarded.

“Hey, handsome,” Natasha drawled mischievously, but her voice was still hoarse. “I didn’t know magical healers were this diligent with their patients.”

Harry snapped out of his trance, his head whipping toward her in an instant as his face displayed a myriad of expressions, including relief, concern, and a hint of exasperation.

Without a word, he was at her side.

Natasha barely had time to react before he placed a gentle kiss against her forehead. Then, just as quickly, he pulled away and began inspecting her, his hand moving already as he cast diagnostic spells over her body.

Natasha sighed, watching him with an amused smirk. She’d been through this routine too many times before. Fighting him on it was pointless. He wouldn’t listen to any reassurances, never did. It was always better to just let him fuss over her until he was satisfied.

So she sat back, letting him do his thing.

By the time he finally seemed convinced that she wasn’t at death’s door, Natasha had already swung her legs off the bed and started stretching, working out the stiffness in her limbs. She spotted a set of green Asgardian robes folded neatly on a nearby table and, without hesitation, slipped into them.

“See?” she teased, tying the sash around her waist. “Still in one piece.”

Harry exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “You scared me.”

Her smirk softened, just a little. “Yeah, well… I knew you would be there if it got too much for me.”

Harry smiled without arguing against Natasha's claim.

“How long was I out?” Natasha asked casually as she finished getting dressed.

The benefit of letting Harry run his diagnostic tests without complaint was that he wouldn’t nag her about resting unless it was absolutely necessary. If her body was in good shape, he typically let her do whatever she wanted. Or else he wouldn’t even let her get out of bed, but she had ways around that.

“A whole Asgardian day,” Harry replied, his eyes flicking over the glowing runes still floating in the air, analysing the results one last time.

Natasha hummed, adjusting the sash around her waist. “I’m guessing the invasion’s over, then? Or do I need to get back out there and finish the job?”

Harry gave her a reassuring nod. “We got them all. You took down their leader, I took down their muscle, and Thor, Sif, the Warriors Three, and the rest of Asgard’s forces handled their fleet.” His expression darkened slightly. “Odin made sure the Dark Elves are actually extinct this time.”

The two left the healers’ quarters, making their way through the golden halls of Asgard. The palace was quieter than usual as a solemn air hung over the place in the aftermath of the battle.

“Good,” she replied, walking through the halls. “But I got to say, that leader of theirs was really weak. I was expecting some kind of magical retaliation. Instead, nothing. And his swordplay? Terrible at best.” She shook her head in disappointment. “For a guy hyped up in Asgardian fairy tales as some great conqueror, he went down way too easily.”

Harry chuckled at her comment. “They just woke up from a 5,000-year hibernation,” he pointed out. “They weren’t exactly at their strongest. Plus, it was a relatively small force compared to what they probably had back in their prime.”

Natasha mulled that over. “True,” she admitted. “Maybe if they’d had time to regroup, they’d have been more of a threat. But still…” She glanced at Harry, lips curling into a smirk. “Kind of a letdown, honestly. I was expecting a real fight.”

Harry snorted. “You did almost die, Nat.”

“Yeah, but not because he was a good fighter,” she countered. “If anything, I should’ve been embarrassed if I had lost to him.”

Harry chuckled, shaking his head. “I don’t know if I should be impressed by your confidence or worried about your need for better near-death experiences.”

Natasha grinned. “A little of both?”

Harry rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. “So, aside from being unimpressed by your would-be murderer, anything else on your mind?”

“So now that this is done, we go back home?” she asked, stretching out her sore muscles as they walked.

Harry glanced at her. “Not quite. We still have some work to do here.”

Natasha let out a sigh. “Of course we do.”

“We have a ceremony tonight,” Harry continued. “Odin wants to honour your valour.”

Natasha made a face. “Ugh.”

Harry smirked. “Try to contain your excitement.”

“I don’t do ceremonies,” she said, rolling her shoulders. “Or awards. Or speeches. Can’t we just skip to the part where we quietly leave?”

“Nope,” Harry said, popping the ‘p’ at the end. “And after that, we still have Jane to deal with.”

Natasha frowned. “The Aether’s still inside her?”

“Yeah,” Harry admitted. “The invasion shifted Asgard’s priorities. Plus, it’s only been a day.”

Natasha scoffed. “These healers are slower than the ones on Earth.”

Harry shot her an amused look. “You were unconscious for a full day, and they patched you up perfectly. I think they’re doing fine.”

Natasha made a vague, unimpressed gesture but let it go.

“And after Jane,” Harry continued, “I want to talk to Loki. Now that we’re here.”

Natasha arched a brow. “Ah.” A beat of silence passed before she added, “Okay, cool.”

Harry side-eyed her. “That’s it? No questions?”

Natasha shrugged. “You clearly want to talk to him, and I know you well enough to guess why. You think he knows something.”

Harry nodded.

Natasha hummed thoughtfully. “You think he’ll actually tell you anything?”

Harry gave a half-smile. “He’ll try to manipulate the conversation, but I know how to play that game too.”

Natasha smirked. “That’s why I like you.”

Harry chuckled. “Only reason?”

She nudged him with her shoulder. “Top five, at least.”

With that, they turned a corner, the scent of freshly baked bread and roasted meat wafting through the halls as they neared the kitchens.

When they reached the kitchens, the aroma of roasting meats, fresh-baked bread, and exotic Asgardian spices filled the air. Long wooden tables were lined with overflowing platters of raw ingredients as kitchen staff moved about preparing for the feast.

Natasha’s stomach rumbled in anticipation. She was starving.

A healer had already left instructions for her meal, and within moments, a steaming bowl of thick, nutrient-rich soup was placed before her.

She stared at it. Then she stared at Harry. Then back at the soup.

Harry smirked. “Doctor’s orders.”

Natasha exhaled sharply through her nose. “I fought an alien warlord yesterday, and they’re giving me soup?”

“It’s a very nutritious soup,” Harry said, barely holding back a laugh.

She picked up the ornate golden spoon and stirred the thick broth, watching the way the ingredients lazily swirled together. “Let me guess, it’s ‘to help me regain my strength’?”

Harry nodded in agreement.

Natasha gave him an unimpressed look before taking a cautious sip. She chewed thoughtfully. It wasn’t bad, per se. The broth was rich, the vegetables were perfectly cooked, and there were hints of something mildly sweet, like honeyed roots. But still.

She placed the spoon down with an exaggerated sigh. “I’m a warrior, Harry. I should be eating something grilled, something that once had the ability to run.”

Harry chuckled. “You can have all the grilled food you want at the banquet tonight.”

Natasha narrowed her eyes. “And you? What are you eating?”

Harry lifted a piece of warm, spiced bread to his mouth and took a slow, deliberate bite. “Not soup,” he said with a grin.

Natasha swiped at the bread. Harry smoothly leaned back, dodging her hand.

“Give it.”

“Nope.”

She lunged again. This time, he vanished with a flicker of magic, reappearing on the opposite side of the table.

Natasha groaned. “You are the worst.”

“You do need to recover,” he reminded her, tearing off another piece and popping it into his mouth.

“I need real food,” she countered.

Harry tilted his head as if considering it. Then, with a smirk, he summoned a second bowl of soup and set it in front of himself.

Natasha raised a brow. “You wouldn’t.”

He grabbed the spoon.

“Harry—”

Maintaining eye contact, he took a slow, smug sip.

Natasha’s jaw dropped. “Betrayal.”

Harry grinned, clearly enjoying himself. “I’m just showing my support for your recovery.”

Rolling her eyes, Natasha resigned herself to the bowl in front of her. At least she could look forward to the feast tonight. For now, though, she’d just have to suffer through the nutritious soup.

After their meal, the two headed back to their chambers, only to find a small army of Asgardian fitters already waiting for them.

Natasha barely had time to process what was happening before they descended on her like a well-trained unit, efficiently assessing her measurements, debating fabrics in hushed yet urgent tones, and draping luxurious Asgardian silks and woven metals across her frame.

"Should I be concerned?" she muttered to Harry as one of the attendants examined her wrist like she was a priceless relic in need of restoration.

"Probably," he replied, looking far too amused.

Natasha shot him a glare, but she had little time to dwell on it as they whisked her away behind an ornate screen.

What followed was a seemingly endless process of fittings, adjustments, and what felt suspiciously like tactical discussions about which embroidery patterns best reflected her valour.

She stood still through it all, mostly because she had no choice, while the artisans worked, pinning, stitching, and sculpting the fabric into something fit for an Asgardian ceremony. The dress itself was deep emerald, its material shimmering subtly under the golden torchlight. Delicate Asgardian runes were embroidered along the hem and neckline.

The final touch was a wide, ornate belt of silver, engraved with an intricate battle scene, cinched snugly around her waist. It was heavier than expected, but not uncomfortable.

When she finally emerged, Harry was waiting for her, already dressed in his own ceremonial attire. A dark tunic with silver embroidery that reflected the constellations above Asgard. He glanced up as his eyes lingered on her for a second longer than necessary.

"Well?" Natasha asked, arching a brow.

Harry smirked. "Beautiful"

Natasha grinned. By the time both of them were ready, the last of the sunlight was already extinguished.

They made their way toward the riverbank overlooking the Bifrost Bridge, where the ceremony would take place. As they approached, they saw the Royal Family standing at the front, clad in mourning attire befitting Asgardian tradition. Jane was nearby, standing alongside Sif and the Warriors Three, all waiting in solemn silence as the final preparations were made.

Harry and Natasha exchanged a glance before taking their positions beside Thor and Jane.

The procession started when Odin stepped forward, gripping Gungnir tightly in his grasp. With a slow, deliberate motion, he struck the golden tip of his spear against the ground.

Boom.

The sound echoed like rolling thunder, reverberating across the land, as if Asgard itself were calling for silence. Every voice hushed, every movement stilled. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath in reverence.

From the canal connected to the sea, the first of the longboats appeared, gliding forward. Each vessel bore the fallen warriors, their bodies adorned in the armour they had died in, weapons laid carefully at their sides. Some clutched swords, others bore spears across their chests. Their shields were placed upon them as a final protection as they journeyed beyond.

One by one, more longboats emerged.

Once the last of the longboats drifted past the canal and into the open sea, Odin gave a solemn nod to one of his generals. Without hesitation, the warrior stepped forward, drawing an arrow from his quiver and holding it over a torch. The flames licked at the tip until it ignited. With steady hands, he pulled back the string and he let the arrow fly.

The burning streak soared through the air, arching high before striking the lead longboat. Within seconds, the flames spread across the wooden vessel, consuming the fallen warriors in a golden blaze.

As if answering a silent command, the warriors of Asgard followed suit. Hundreds of fiery arrows shot into the sky, their glowing trails reflected in the rippling waters below. One by one, the remaining longboats caught fire, the flames roaring as they carried the honoured dead toward the horizon.

As the longboats drifted toward the horizon, the citizens of Asgard stepped forward, each cradling a softly glowing orb of silver light in their palms. Jane and Natasha were given their own, and Thor leaned in, his voice gentle.

"Release them when the others do," he instructed.

Harry too silently summoned the Elder Wand to pay his tribute.

A hush fell over the gathered crowd as the first of the burning longboats reached the distant edge of the sea. Odin raised Gungnir and struck its base against the stone once more. A deep, resonant hum spread through the air as the pyres flickered, then flared with an ethereal silver light.

Then, the impossible happened.

The flames did not simply burn away, instead, the light lifted, shimmering like mist before coalescing into glowing figures. Wisps of energy rose from the longboats, shaped like the fallen warriors, their spirits ascending toward the stars. One by one, the boats themselves, now empty, began to sink into the endless void of space beyond the horizon.

The citizens of Asgard raised their hands in unison, releasing their orbs into the night. The glowing spheres floated upward, like lanterns in the wind, rising higher and higher, illuminating the path for the departed souls.

Harry lifted his wand and moved it in a slow, deliberate circle. Then, in a voice laced with deep reverence, he whispered:

"Expecto Patronum."

From the tip of the Elder Wand, four luminous figures burst forth—a stag, a doe, a large black dog, and a wolf. They bounded across the riverbank, their spectral forms weaving between the gathered mourners, spreading warmth and comfort in their wake. The Asgardians watched in awe as the creatures of light raced toward the sea, leaping into the air and following the spirits into the constellations.

The silver orbs, the Patroni, and the souls of the fallen all rose together, guiding lights leading Asgard’s bravest warriors to their eternal rest in Valhalla.

As the last of the longboats vanished beyond the horizon, a solemn hush fell over Asgard. For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of the wind and the faint crackling of the lingering embers upon the water. Every soul stood in reverent silence, heads bowed in remembrance of the fallen.

Then, as if on cue, Odin struck Gungnir against the stone one final time. The sound echoed across the land, signalling the transition from mourning to remembrance.

Slowly, the gathered Asgardians turned and made their way toward the grand halls of the palace, where a feast awaited them. The procession moved through the golden streets as the soft glow of lanterns lighting their path.

As the feast began, Odin rose from his seat. The torches lining the golden walls flickered solemnly, their glow reflecting off the polished banquet tables laden with food and drink.

“Tonight, we honor not only our victory,” Odin declared, his voice carrying through the hall, “but the warriors who gave their lives so that Asgard may endure. Their names will be sung in the halls of Valhalla, their deeds remembered for all time.”

A murmur of agreement swept through the gathered Asgardians. Odin turned slightly, his gaze shifting toward Frigga.

The queen rose to add to Odin's. “The cost of battle is always heavy,” she said. “Tonight, we grieve for our fallen, but we also celebrate the strength they showed in their final moments. Asgard does not forget.”

Silence followed. Then Odin stepped forward once more, his one eye locking onto Natasha.

“Natasha Romanoff,” he called, his tone shifting. “You have proven yourself not only as a warrior but as a defender of Asgard. You stood against the leader of our enemy and emerged victorious.”

A warrior approached, carrying a long, ornate weapon draped in fine Asgardian cloth. Odin took it and pulled the cloth away, revealing a gleaming spear, its shaft wrapped in black and gold metal, the tip etched with ancient runes that shimmered faintly in the firelight.

“This weapon was forged for you, by Asgard’s finest smiths,” Odin continued. “It is bound to you and attuned to your skill and strength. Wield it with the same resolve you have shown in battle.”

Natasha stepped forward, taking the spear. The moment her fingers wrapped around it, she felt a pulse of energy as a recognition of its new master. She gave a small, respectful nod.

“Thank you,” she said simply.

A ripple of approval passed through the hall. Warriors nodded, and even Sif, standing among the crowd, watched with admiration rather than her previous scepticism.

With the formalities complete, Odin raised his goblet. “To our fallen warriors,” he said.

“To our fallen warriors,” the hall echoed as every goblet was lifted in unison.

And with that, the feast began.

Though the tables were filled with food and drink, the usual revelry was absent. There were no boisterous songs, no rowdy laughter. Instead, quiet conversations and solemn toasts filled the air.

Natasha sat beside Harry, turning her new weapon in her hands, feeling its weight. When

Natasha noticed Sif approaching her table. Natasha placed the spear down, meeting Sif’s gaze evenly.

“Mind if I join you?” Sif asked politely.

Natasha gestured to the seat beside her. “Be my guest.”

Sif sat, taking a moment to pour herself some wine before speaking. “I owe you an apology,” she said, glancing at Natasha. “When we first met, I underestimated you. I judged you as a mortal first, not as a warrior.” She exhaled, shaking her head slightly. “That was a mistake.”

Natasha smirked slightly, swirling her own drink. “To be fair, it’s not the first time I’ve been underestimated,” she replied. “Usually works to my advantage.”

Sif gave a small chuckle at that before nodding. “You proved yourself in battle. What you did against Malekith…” She hesitated, searching for the right words. “Few warriors of Asgard could have accomplished the same. And your victory saved many lives.”

Natasha tilted her head. “Are you saying I finally earned your respect?”

Sif smirked. “You earned it the moment you stepped onto the battlefield and fought as one of us, Lady Potter. And if you ever need an ally, in battle or otherwise, know that you have one in me.”

Natasha raised her goblet slightly in a silent toast. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Sif clinked her goblet against Natasha’s before taking a sip. “Then let’s drink to it.”

As the feast carried on, Natasha found herself receiving nods of approval, respectful glances, and even the occasional toast from the Asgardian warriors. It was subtle at first, an acknowledgement here, a murmured word there. But after Sif’s open apology, it became clear. She was no longer just an outsider or Thor’s mortal guest. She was one of them.

At one point, Volstagg clapped her on the shoulder with a laugh. “A warrior who drinks like an Asgardian and fights like one too! Harry is a lucky man.”

Fandral smirked. “Indeed. Lady Potter has quite the ring to it, doesn’t it?”

Natasha rolled her eyes at the teasing, but Harry simply took her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “They’re not wrong,” he murmured with a grin, causing Natasha to nudge him playfully.

Even Odin, who had mostly remained reserved throughout the night, gave her a slow, approving nod from his place at the head of the hall. Frigga smiled warmly at her, and Thor raised his goblet in her direction.

Sif, now seated beside her, leaned in slightly. “The Valkyries of old would have been proud to fight alongside you.”

Natasha, caught off guard by the sincerity, simply raised her goblet in return. “I’ll take that as the highest compliment.”

The warmth of camaraderie filled the hall, and for the first time, Natasha didn’t feel like an outsider on Asgard. She wasn’t just the spy from Midgard. She wasn’t just Harry’s partner.

She was Natasha Romanoff, a warrior of Asgard in her own right.

And as laughter, music, and toasts carried on into the night, she let herself enjoy that feeling.