The Ballad of Valentine

"Shut your mouth and wave goodbye
Tonight, I ain't gonna let you rain on this parade."
The Killers, The Ballad of Michael Valentine

So, we got our stuff from baggage, I hung back and left my dad a quick message saying we needed to talk, I had just hung up with Susan and then we were dealing with vehicles when a big black bird that was not my big black bird showed up.
Nevermore later informed me, and Nate's hair, and Nate, and a lamppost, and everything that couldn't run away that this bird was Muninn and that Muninn was awesome. Huginn, the salt to Muninn's pepper, showed up promptly as well.
They addressed Gunnar, and I realized I need to work on my pronunciation if I'm ever going to get this Norse stuff right, but I can't really ask Gunnar for any help without ruining the surprise. It's kinda hard to learn a new language when I'm trying to do so without really drawing the attention of the one person who would be the most helpful.
Stealth linguistics. I could probably pioneer a new field.
Anyway. They eventually switched to English. I guess Gunnar had said to his father that he needed to tell him something, but Asgard's under attack and Heimdall couldn't talk so he sent the birds instead. The good news is it's not Ragnarok. The bad news is that makes another overworld under siege.
But um, I guess that wasn't why Gunnar asked to talk to his dad. He made the announcement nonchalantly and moved on to another subject kinda quickly, so I'm not completely surprised that Never kinda missed the news at first. Plus he was busy trying to start a feathered bromance with Huginn. He was so seriously starstruck that he didn't even blink when they called him a fledgling.

Huginn and Muninn were rather gracious, congratulating us before flying off. They seemed convinced Heimdall would be pleased with the news.
When it sank in though, my own raven wasn't quite in such a celebratory mood.
"Laurel!" Nevermore had warbled as he perched on my shoulder, probably so he could more effectively yell in my ear. Crap. He almost never actually called me by my name. "Laurel... Angela... Kladakos," double crap. "What... the HELL??" Ok, he was yelling in Greek at least. I wasn't immediately sure whether that was a good thing, but I took his lead.
"Just get it off your chest so I can go back to ignoring the fact that you talk, Never. I-"
"Yeah, ok, just shut up and listen, kid." He sighed the best a bird can manage. "You need to hit the pause button on those plans right fucking now and you need to have a sitdown with the boss." I rolled my eyes. "I'm serious. You need to talk to your father, Laurel."
"Nevermore, I respect and love my father but I'm a soldier in his war, not Daddy's little princess. I feel no need to ask his permission, if that's what you mean. But," I added, trying to be at least a little conciliatory, "I did drop him a line before we grabbed you that I thought he and I should talk."
"Kid, I'm not telling you to ask permission, I'm telling you to ask advice. I don't think you've really thought about this. And if I don't get you to think about this, your father is going to pluck me, then tar me, then refeather me so he can start all over like some torture loop." He shifted from foot to foot on my shoulder, digging in with his talons a little. Probably on purpose. Jerk. "Shit, Laurel. I like the viking, I really do. So don't think it's about me not liking him. I'd even drink with the guy, y'know, except that it'd probably kill my liver, which would then come back as a ghost and kill me for revenge. And he's a great guy, gets major points in my book for listening to you scream and cry and whine all those nights. Better his eardrums than mine," he made a face. "And he likes you, that much is obvious from the way he went after Caleb like he did. Or he's fucking crazy. Either way he's fuckin' perfect for you," he cocked his head and cackled a little before getting serious.
"But," I prompted, grinning a little myself. Gunnar probably is just a little crazy.
"Dating him is one thing, Laurel. Hell, dating anyone is one thing. But he's Aesir," he pointed a wing in Gunnar's direction, and pointed the other wing at me. "And you're not. He's got an engraved invitation to this big apocalypse party, wherein everyone involved could save themselves a lot of fucking time and effort by just drinking the Kool-Aid beforehand."
"Ragnarok is not a suicide party," I countered.
"I'm Brad Pitt," he responded in a deadpan manner. "Oh, we're not playing the 'blurt out statements which are ridiculously untrue' game?"
I piqued an eyebrow and waited for him to say more. He always seems to have more to say, but this time he was silent. "So, is that it? Your only objection is Ragnarok? I mean, I'm not trying to say that Ragnarok isn't a big deal. It just isn't a big enough deal to stop me from marrying him."
"No, I've got plenty of others but this is the first. Laurel," his voice softened a smidgen. "Everyone," he started, then whispered it again for emphasis, "everyone who fights in Ragnarok is supposed to die."
"Not everyone," I shook my head stubbornly. "There's a whole list of survivors."
"Uh," Nevermore peered at me, "is his name on the list?"
"No, but it's not like it's on the impending obituaries page either, Nevermore. He might die in Ragnarok, exactly like we all might die facing Caleb. I'm not worrying about that shit, I'm leaving it up to the Fates." I figured it was smart not to mention the fact that when and where Gunnar went to fight, I planned on being next to him. Just in case the Fates needed a hand in ensuring his survival. Cuz knowing him, he'll probably jump on top of Jormungandr just before it explodes.
"Dude, fighting Caleb is one thing, something I think you kids can handle if you plan it right and nobody acts like an idiot," he glanced in Brendan's direction. "But Ragnarok is supposed to be like a legion of Calebs who've all set themselves on fire and brought steroid-crazed half-shark quarterbacks as their wingmen. I don't know why you're setting yourself up for such heart-"
"Anyways," I cut him off. I knew where that sentence was going and I don't need to be reminded that I don't handle it gracefully when people die on me. "Tell me your other objections so I can get on with ignoring those too."
His feathers ruffled but he nodded in assent. "Alright. Time, kiddo. Even if you weren't signing your own death certificate," I guess he'd already figured out my plan, "You've known this kid like, two blinks."
"Three months and we are both older than you; stop calling us kids."
"Beg pardon, my venerable liege," he placed his wings on his chest, splaying his feathers ceremoniously and bowing his head down low. "You've known him for three blinks." He kept his head bowed and blinked thrice to illustrate before straightening up.
"Hey, you didn't object in Vegas," I pointed out quietly, referring to the Band's cover for the Canopus incident.
"Cos' I didn't bloody know you were stupid enough to do it!!!" He had suddenly switched, maybe on accident, to English. Very British English. "Pardon my error, for I did not realize that I had been tasked with the supervision of such a sodding imbecile. Never, in my wildest dreams, did I envision it might be necessary for me to actually speak the words, 'Laurel, love, do not marry that...'" At this point he realized he was speaking English and eyed Gunnar nervously. "'That very nice, very intimidating looking, very, uh... loyal..." he gulped and proceeded slowly. "Very strong mexican viking chap..." And he picked up speed again. "Whom you just met in a diner in Vegas wif' a transvestite a handful of nights ago, for this is not the behavior of a sane person.'"
He spread his wings in frustration, continuing in English. "Your father is going to kill me. I will apologize in advance for my absence. I will miss the ceremony because I will be dead. He is going to stuff me down the gullet of some mythical beast. 'Protect my daughter, bird. That's all you gotta do,' he said. 'Keep her outta trouble,' he said. 'It'll be easy,' he said. 'She is strong and level-headed.' Your father is misinformed. For what do you do? You dive, head-fucking-first, right into trouble!"
"Nevermore," I said and he snapped his gaze back to me. "Let me worry about Dad. Just... be happy for me," I pleaded, grinning broadly. "And if you can't, then just shut up, cuz you're a huge buzzkill." He chose the latter, which worked for me.
Maybe Nevermore'll be happier if I can talk Gunnar into letting Never be the ring-bearer bird. That wouldn't be too weird, right?