First Watch: The Woods - Kennedy and Skjoldr

Posted on Mon Aug 3rd, 2026 @ 8:22am by Kennedy Kelly & Skjoldr Jórundsson (Hrimstrand)

4,923 words; about a 25 minute read

Mission: Episode 8: Shadows Over Avalon
Location: Avalon
Timeline: March 26, 1992

Taking a few measured steps beyond the campsite, Kennedy and Skjoldr began the first watch of the surrounding woods. The warm glow of the campfire and the murmur of their teammates' voices remained within sight and earshot, a comforting reminder that they were not alone. Yet the farther their patrol carried them from the firelight, the more the ancient forest reclaimed its oppressive presence. Towering trees swallowed the light, and the darkness between them seemed to watch in silence, as though the woods themselves were waiting for an opportunity to close in.

"Here." Kennedy offered as the started to walk together. Bending down and picking up a small rock she charged it with enough kinetic energy that it glowed and simmered in the dusk's light serving as a small but radiant light source for the pair.

They drifted a little farther from the campsite, and Kennedy felt the subtle change in Skjoldr as he scanned the forest around them. His stride became quieter, more calculated. Every shadow, every rustling branch, every whisper of wind through the canopy held his attention. He was as vigilant as ever, the steadfast protector she had come to know, but here it seemed less like a role he had chosen and more like the person he had always been.

"You were meant for this," Kennedy said softly as they walked. "Out here, in these unforgiving woods... you look like you belong. Like this is the type of world that shaped you."

Skjoldr watched the light gather inside the stone before accepting it from her. It rested strangely in his palm, warm and glowing without flame, but he had learned not to question every impossible thing Kennedy did.

“It is kinder than the world that shaped me,” he said, looking out between the trees. “My home was snow, hard sea and long dark. The land could kill a careless man before any beast or enemy found him. There were rival clans, old things in the storms, and magic our elders knew well enough to fear.”

Varo moved ahead of them, pale bulk threading between the ancient trunks. Here in Avalon, there was little mist left around him. Branches pressed into thick fur and sprang back in his wake; his paws sank heavily into the damp earth.

“The cold taught us to watch.”

“The cold taught us everything watches back,” Skjoldr replied.

His gaze travelled through the forest once more before settling briefly on Kennedy.

“You are not wrong. I was raised to guard the people beside me. To stand where the line was weakest and make certain it held.” His voice softened, though his attention never left the shadows for long. “For a time, I thought that part of me had no purpose left.”

He adjusted the glowing stone in his hand, casting its light over a tangle of roots ahead.

“But a tribe is not only the people who share your blood or your birthplace. It is those whose call you answer. Those you would cross a strange sea or a false door to reach.”

His eyes met hers then.

“The X-Men have become that.” A faint warmth touched his expression. “You have become that.”

Varo glanced back at them, his pale eyes catching the little stone’s light.

“Ours.”

Skjoldr gave the bear a quiet look, then turned his attention back to Kennedy.

“A blunt way of saying it,” he murmured. “But true.”

“I’m glad you feel that way,” Kennedy admitted, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. It was a nervous habit of hers, that always seemed to surface whenever the two of them were left alone together.

“I worry that you’ll see me differently one day… or at least when I’m like this.” She gestured down at the sleek green lines of her uniform. “I know I’m not always the nicest person. It’s like something just clicks in my head, and suddenly I see things differently, and I become someone I don’t always recognize.”

He finally understood why she seemed so nervous. Kennedy wasn’t worried about the dangers of Avalon or what they might encounter in the forest. She was worried about him and what he thought of her now that he had seen the person beneath the carefully crafted image.

Skjoldr stopped walking.

Kennedy took another half-step before his hand settled on her shoulder, gentle but firm enough to turn her back towards him. The strange green light from the stone caught along the edges of her uniform and the worry she had tried to hide.

“I already see you differently,” he said.

There was no accusation in it. His thumb moved once against her shoulder.

“I saw the woman with the horse. The woman in the library. The one who followed me into the cold with food she feared I would hate.” A faint warmth touched his eyes. “And I have seen the huntress.”

He glanced down at the sleek green armour, then back to her face.

“They are all you, Kennedy. None of them cancels the others.”

His expression grew more serious.

“Sometimes fear, anger, or duty puts a different hand on the tiller. We do things we would not choose in quieter moments.” He paused. “What matters is whether we recognise ourselves afterwards. Whether we learn. Whether we try to steer better the next time.”

His hand slid from her shoulder to the side of her arm, lingering there.

“I do not think your soul changes because your voice becomes sharper.”

Varo had stopped several paces ahead, waiting in the dark between the trees.

Skjoldr held Kennedy’s gaze.

“I see you, Ljósmær. Not only the parts you make easy to love.”

Skjoldr watched as something inside Kennedy gave way. Her composure faltered, and her lower lip trembled as the weight of his words settled over her.

For as long as she could remember, she had lived beneath the burden of other people's expectations. Her parents had shaped her into the perfect daughter. Her friends had expected the flawless socialite. Even kindhearted Kurt, who had only ever wanted the best for her, believed she could become something better than she was.

Yet no matter how hard she tried to live up to those expectations, a quiet voice always lingered in the back of her mind, asking the same impossible questions.

Am I really like my father?
Am I destined to become the ruthless queen Shinobi believes I am?
Or have I simply become cold and cruel because that's what the world has taught me to be?

Those doubts haunted her in the quiet hours of the night when she feared she wasn't really a good person, merely a wolf desperately trying to pass itself off as a lamb.

Yet Skjoldr hadn't recoiled from her jagged edges. He had seen them, acknowledged them, and accepted that they were there. He hadn't tried to fix her. He hadn't judged her. He hadn't looked at her with disappointment. He had simply chosen to stay.

“Thank you,” Kennedy whispered, her voice trembling as she fought back tears. “That means more to me than you realize.”

Skjoldr’s hand remained on her arm.

“Among my people, we say, ‘Maðr er margt, en heill er hann allr.’” His voice softened. “A person is many things, and whole only with all of them.”

His thumb moved gently against her sleeve.

“Take away every sharp edge, every mistake, every part you fear others might dislike, and you would not become a better Kennedy. You would become someone else.” His grey eyes held hers. “Not the woman I have fallen for.”

The faintest sound came from the trees.

A dry thwack through the leaves.

Skjoldr moved before thought caught up. He turned, sweeping Kennedy behind him as something struck his chestplate with a hard metallic crack. The impact drove him back half a step, but Hrímjárn held. A narrow bolt stood embedded in the armour, its shaft still trembling.

Varo wheeled towards the darkness, lips drawing back from heavy teeth as a growl rolled through the forest.

Skjoldr broke the bolt away, leaving its point lodged harmlessly in the plate. His body remained between Kennedy and the trees.

“Stay behind me,” he said, all warmth gone from his voice now. His eyes searched the shadows where the shot had come from. “They may still be watching.”

“How about I watch your back?” Kennedy replied while turning to face the opposite direction. With a sharp flick of her wrist, her golden bow materialized in her hand, its ethereal glow casting long, restless shadows through the trees. She drew an arrow from her quiver, nocked it with practiced ease, and slowly swept her gaze across the darkened treeline, searching for any sign of movement.

“Give me the candle!” The demand came from somewhere in the woods in a high, squeaky voice that seemed far too close.

Skjoldr shifted until Kennedy was at his back, trusting her to hold the opposite line while he faced the voice. His hand rested near Hreggbrot at his belt, but he did not draw it.

Varo moved silently to one side, head low as he searched the undergrowth. In Avalon’s magic, there was no mist to soften him now. He was fur, muscle and pale teeth beneath the trees.

Skjoldr glanced once at the glowing stone in Kennedy’s hand.

“The light is hers,” he called into the darkness. “You fired on us. Now come where we can see you.”

Silence pressed between the trees.

His voice hardened without rising.

“Slowly. Empty hands.”

Varo’s ears turned towards a patch of brush several yards ahead.

“There.”

Skjoldr fixed his gaze upon it.

“We know where you are,” he said. “Show yourself.”

The underbrush rustled, and a small humanoid creature emerged from the foliage. It was an odd fusion of rat and lizard, standing upright on two digitigrade legs. Enormous eyes that shown dull blue in the dim light dominated its narrow face. A worn tunic, cinched at the waist with a frayed leather belt, hung from its wiry frame and a pickaxe rested at its hip, while a surprisingly large crossbow remained trained squarely on Skjoldr in its clawed hands.

“You give candle. Need for mines,” it demanded again, its strange little voice carrying an unmistakable note of impatience.

Skjoldr regarded the creature for a moment, taking in the worn clothes, the pickaxe and the crossbow held by hands that looked more accustomed to stone than war.

He stepped closer and placed one finger against the weapon’s stock, guiding its aim away from his chest with slow, deliberate pressure.

“You’ve already tested the armour,” he said. “There’s no need to test it twice.”

Varo remained beside him, solid and silent, his great head level with the creature’s own. Skjoldr glanced back towards Kennedy and the glowing stone.

“Perhaps we can spare a few candles,” he said. “Light for its mines may buy us more than another quarrel.”

His attention returned to the little miner.

“You lower the bow. We give you light.” He paused, grey eyes steady. “Then you tell us what lives in that cave, and who else walks these woods.”

“That would be like giving him a bag of nitroglycerin.” Kennedy murmured to Skjoldr, the kinetic energy in the rock she held was mastered and managed by her alone, anyone else who touched it was susceptible to setting it off in a dangerous or deadly manner. Then she realized the Skjoldr probably had no idea about industrial level explosives either and her stomach turned a little.

The small creature’s ears twitched as it listened and they eventually pinned down flat to its head when examining Varo. Even though he was outmatched, the tiny miner remained stupidly brave.

“Trade?” The lizard-rat cocked its head to the side while trying to interpret what Skjoldr was offering. “Trade candles for cave?”

“I have a lighter in my bag.” Kennedy remembered what she had packed for the trip, while she hated roughing it she wasn’t completely ignorant to what would be useful. She paused for a moment to consider how to phrase it for the creature. “Trade magic fire for cave?”

“Magic?!” The lizard-rat bristled with excitement over the word but then attempted to collect itself in hopes of getting an even better deal, “What else? Food?”

Skjoldr’s brow furrowed at the unfamiliar word.

“Ni-tro… gly…” He gave up halfway through and looked at Kennedy instead. “That word has too many teeth. But I understand your face well enough. We do not give it the stones.”

His gaze shifted briefly towards her pack.

“And this lighter? It makes fire without wood?” A faint crease appeared between his brows. “Is it safe in another person’s hand, or is it another small thing from your world that becomes deadly when touched wrongly?”

He trusted Kennedy’s judgement, but not modern objects merely because they fitted inside a pocket.

The creature’s request for food drew his attention back. Skjoldr lowered himself slightly, bringing his eyes closer to its level without making himself smaller than he was.

“Magic fire and food,” he said. “But not only for the cave.”

He gestured towards the darkness beyond the clearing.

“You tell us what lives below. You tell us who rules these woods, and whether you have seen children brought through them.” His voice remained calm, though the last question carried more weight. “If your answers are true, you eat.”

Varo sniffed towards the creature, his solid bulk looming beside Skjoldr.

“Hungry things bargain honestly. Sometimes.”

Skjoldr glanced at him. “That last word is why we ask before feeding it.”

Then he looked back to Kennedy, leaving the final choice of her strange fire-making device with her.

“Does that sound safe, Ljósmær?”

"It's as good a lead as any, and at least he's not shooting at us anymore," Kennedy said with a shrug.

She eased out of her archer's stance and crouched down in front of the tiny creature. Opening the pouch strapped to her thigh, she retrieved a cheap gas station lighter. With a flick of the flint, a small yellow flame sprang to life between them.

The creature's enormous blue eyes widened. It stared at the tiny flame in utter wonder, looking as though it might burst into tears from sheer joy.

"Vorathra in cave," the lizard-rat squeaked impatiently, unable to tear its gaze from the dancing flame. "With family."

Skjoldr watched the creature’s expression transform at the sight of the flame, and some of the tension left his shoulders.

He glanced towards Kennedy. “A fearsome little raider,” he murmured. “Shot me, demanded tribute, and now looks ready to weep over fire small enough to hide in your hand.”

Varo stepped forward until his broad head hovered above the creature’s shoulder. He drew in a long, deliberate breath, close enough that the lizard-rat could feel it along the collar of its worn tunic.

“Still armed.”

“Then it would be wise to remember whose armour stopped the first bolt.”

There was humour in Skjoldr’s voice now, but the warning beneath it remained clear enough. His gaze returned to the creature.

“Vorathra,” he repeated. “Is that your name, or what waits inside the cave?”

He looked to Kennedy again, a faint smile breaking through.

“Either way, Ljósmær, I think your magic fire has bought us an introduction.”

Kennedy looked up at Skjoldr and offered him a brief, satisfied smile, their gamble had paid off. Between his imposing presence and her careful diplomacy, they'd managed to avoid bloodshed.

"We make a good team," she said softly, pitching her voice low enough that the words were meant for him alone.

The small creature glanced up at Varo and let out a sharp hiss. Its whiskers flared as its lips peeled back, exposing rows of tiny, needle-like teeth in a clear warning that the white bear was far too close for its comfort.

"Hey now," Kennedy said, her attention snapping back to the little lizard-rat. She gave the lighter a gentle flick of her wrist, making the tiny flame dance.

The creature’s eyes immediately locked onto it, all irritation forgotten as the warm glow reclaimed its full attention.

"Me not Vorathra," the creature replied with a raspy chuckle, as though the very idea was absurd. "Me Skethkack. Me kobold."

Kennedy exchanged a quick glance with Skjoldr before returning her attention to the creature. "So... what is Vorathra?"

Skethkack tilted its head, its brow furrowing. The kobold struggled to find the proper word in the shared tongue, his long ears twitching with concentration.

"Vorathra is..." It paused, searching. "...is this..."

He raised his free hand and wiggled his clawed fingers through the air, miming something vague and impossible to describe, hoping the gesture would succeed where words had failed.

Skjoldr’s eyes met Kennedy’s.

“We do,” he said quietly, the answer carrying more warmth than the few words should have managed.

Skethkack’s hiss drew Varo’s head back a fraction. The bear was not frightened, but his pale eyes narrowed with something close to offended interest.

“Small teeth.”

“Enough,” Skjoldr murmured. “Give him room.”

Varo stepped back, though only by one heavy pace.

Skjoldr crouched beside Kennedy and watched the kobold’s claws weave through the air. Whatever Skethkack meant, the shape of it seemed larger than the words he possessed.

“Is Vorathra a beast?” Skjoldr asked. He held one hand low, then raised it higher. “Small, or large?”

He spread his fingers, copying the creature’s gesture.

“Does it crawl? Fly? Walk on two legs?” His gaze shifted briefly towards the cave. “And does it eat kobolds?”

That, he thought, might be the most useful word they shared.

“Vorathra is large, and her family less large, they eat all... even kobolds, if they are stupid,” Skethkack explained, reaching toward the lighter in Kennedy’s hand.

Judging by its size, everything was probably considered large by Skethkack. Even now, the kobold had been forced to set down its crossbow so it could properly handle the lighter with both hands.

After a moment’s hesitation, Kennedy surrendered the lighter. The kobold immediately began examining its new possession, turning it over in its small hands before testing the plastic corner with its teeth.

“Vorathra crawls and climbs… and she waits,” Skethkack continued, its attention fixed on the strange new tool as it caressed and examined the object.

“Is Vorathra bigger than the bear?” Kennedy asked, glancing over at Varo.

“Much,” Skethkack replied as the kobold turned the lighter over once more before attempting to strike the flint with its own claw. "Food now?"

Skjoldr’s expression tightened.

Crawled. Climbed. Waited.

He had known beasts like that in the north, things that survived not through strength alone but patience. A creature that hunted from concealment was dangerous. A mother guarding smaller young was worse.

“We watch above us as closely as ahead,” he said quietly to Kennedy. “And we assume the smaller ones hunt with her.”

At Skethkack’s answer, Skjoldr looked across at Varo. The bear stood taller than any natural polar bear, broad-backed and heavy with Avalon-given flesh. He appeared entirely unmoved by the comparison.

“Then there is more of her to bite.”

A faint smile touched Skjoldr’s mouth. “Size tells us where to look. Not who wins.”

His gaze met Kennedy’s, and the meaning passed easily between them. Skethkack had given what he could. Pushing harder would likely earn them more claw-waving and fewer answers.

Skjoldr reached into his pack and drew out a portion of dried meat, holding it towards the kobold.

“Food,” he said. “Trade kept.”

He waited until Skethkack took it before adding, “You have been useful. Stay away from the cave tonight, and keep your little teeth away from that magic fire.”

“Gimme!” Skethkack snatched the jerky from Skjoldr’s hand, then turned toward the darkness and let out a sharp chirp.

Five more kobolds emerged from different points around the trio. The moment they spotted Skethkack and its newfound treasures, they raced toward it.

“Mine!”

“Me take!”

“Gimme!”

The kobolds immediately began fighting over the dried meat, their frantic movements and desperate cries making it clear just how hungry and greedy they were.

Kennedy noticed that two of them were much smaller than the others. Their size and childlike features softened her heart. She reached into her bag and offered the group something else.

“Here. It’s candy.” She pulled out a Snickers bar and unwrapped it. At this rate, she would have very little left of her personal items.

The kobold children had no idea what candy was, but that did not stop them from eagerly accepting the chocolate. They each took a bite and a moment later, they both squealed with delight.

Even while Skethkack was distracted trying to keep the other kobolds from stealing its lighter, it noticed the kindness Kennedy had shown the children.

“No touch Vorathra’s strings,” Skethkack warned them. “She will find you.”

With that, the kobold gathered the squeaking, squabbling group and herded them back toward the woods. Their chirps and sharp little arguments quickly faded into the darkness, leaving Kennedy and Skjoldr alone in the silence of the ancient forest.

“Well, that was something.” Kennedy stood and brushed her hands clean before turning her attention to the place on Skjoldr’s chest where the crossbow bolt had struck him. “Are you okay?”

Skjoldr watched the last of the kobolds disappear into the trees.

“Strange little creatures,” he said. “Brave when they should run. Greedy when they should hide.”

His eyes lingered on the darkness after them.

“Strings,” he repeated quietly. Crawling. Climbing. Waiting above prey. A mother with smaller young gathered around her. His mouth tightened. “That sounds too much like a web.”

When Kennedy stepped closer, he let her examine the place where the bolt had struck. Her fingers brushed over the cold metal of his chestplate, and he made no move to stop her.

“I’m well,” he assured her. “It struck Hrímjárn, not me.”

He touched the shallow mark left in the armour.

“My father and I shaped this plate together. Glacier ore, sky-stone, old runes. It spreads the force instead of letting it bite straight through.” A faint smile touched his mouth as he looked down at her. “The little raider wounded my pride more than my chest.”

His hand settled lightly over hers where it rested against the armour.

“Though I won’t object if you mean to keep checking.”

Her hand came to rest against his breastplate, her fingertips tracing the scarred metal with tentative reverence. She needed to feel it for herself, to reassure herself that the bolt had truly done no harm.

As Skjoldr spoke of the armor's forging, of the sacred rites and devotion poured into its creation, something in her expression softened and her touch changed.

Her palm settled fully against the cool steel, gliding over its polished surface with slow, deliberate care. It was no longer the cautious inspection for consolation, it was the touch of someone who wished to know the man beneath the armor as much as the armor itself. It was a gentle caress filled with quiet affection and unspoken curiosity, a lover’s touch.

In the dim light, her eyes found his and refused to look away as that silent electricity stirred inside of her that always made her pulse quicken. Her heart beat harder against her ribs, and every instinct urged her to be closer to him.

"I'll keep checking," she murmured softly, her hand still lingering against his chest. "Not because you need me to..." Her thumb brushed lightly across the metal in a silent plea to touch more of him. "Because I want to."

Skjoldr watched her hand move across the armour.

Others had looked at Hrímjárn with suspicion, curiosity, sometimes envy. Kennedy touched it as though she understood that it was more than metal. His father’s hands remained in every hammered curve, his people in the old marks cut beneath the polished surface. She did not treat it as a costume or a shield between them.

She treated it as part of him.

His hand covered hers, broad and warm against the cold plate.

“I know,” he said quietly.

He stepped nearer, closing the small distance she had left between them. The forest’s darkness pressed around the glow of her stone, catching pale light along the edge of his armour and in the grey of his eyes.

“You don’t touch it like someone checking for a wound.”

His thumb moved slowly across the back of her hand.

“My armour has carried blows meant for me. My father’s work. My people’s runes.” His gaze stayed on hers. “I would not let just anyone put their hands on it as you do.”

Varo’s head turned sharply towards the trees. His solid shoulders rose beneath the thick white fur, attention fixed somewhere beyond the reach of their light.

“The woods have not stopped watching.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” Skjoldr replied, though he did not release Kennedy’s hand. “Keep your ears on them. I have mine here.”

The bear gave him a long, unimpressed look before facing the darkness again.

Skjoldr’s mouth shifted at one corner. He lifted Kennedy’s hand from the breastplate, pressing his lips briefly to her knuckles before lowering it between them.

“When we are somewhere safer,” he murmured, “you may continue your inspection without the metal in the way.”

Then he turned them back towards the path, remaining close enough that their shoulders brushed as they walked.

“But for now, Ljósmær, we should finish our watch before Varo decides he is the only responsible one among us.”

As if they didn't already have enough reasons to find the missing children and escape Avalon, this made succeeding all the more important. Whatever lay between them deserved the chance to exist somewhere beyond a land that seemed determined to swallow people whole.

Kennedy nodded her head in agreement with his words, but found herself unable to step away. With danger stalking every shadow and ruin waiting beyond every bend in the forest, moments of peace were painfully precious. The constant pulse of adrenaline only sharpened them, making each stolen heartbeat together feel like something rare and worth protecting.

So, she leaned in and kissed him. It was only a single kiss but she poured everything she could not yet say into it. Weariness, relief, longing, and the quiet promise that she intended there to be a future waiting for them beyond these cursed woods. When she finally drew back, she remained close enough that her breath still mingled with his.

"I may do more than just inspect," she whispered, a teasing smile turned up the corners of her mouth.

It took more willpower than she cared to admit to step away. And even when she finally did, her heart refused to settle as it fluttered wildy in her chest. Every part of her wanted to stay in his embrace, to forget the forest, the missing children, and the dangers closing in around them. But Avalon probably had a cruel way of punishing such reckless behavior. Drawing a slow breath, she forced her attention back to the dark forest surrounding them.

"Let's keep going." Her gaze shifted toward Varo, whose perpetually grumpy expression had only deepened during their brief distraction. She wasn’t sure how to get on the bear’s good side but she would try.

"We're close to the western side of the cave and the clearing.” Kennedy said while lifting the charged stone in her hand, she was starting to feel the fatigue that converting prolonged energy created. “We'll reach that first, then double back and leave a clear perimeter trail for the other teams to follow."

Skjoldr watched her step away, the warmth of her mouth lingering long after the forest reclaimed the space between them.

Her teasing earned a slow smile.

“Then I’ll make certain the armour comes off properly,” he said, low enough that the words belonged only to her. “Wouldn’t want it hindering your work.”

Varo looked back at them from several paces ahead.

“Finished?”

“For now.”

The bear’s answering huff stirred the damp leaves around his muzzle.

Skjoldr fell into step beside Kennedy as they moved west, close without crowding her. He noticed the faint strain in the way she held the glowing stone, the brightness no longer seeming quite so effortless.

“Don’t spend all your strength on light,” he said. “We know the way back, and I can see well enough once our eyes settle.”

His hand brushed briefly against hers, a quiet reminder rather than another distraction.

“We’ll finish the perimeter,” he added, gaze returning to the trees. “Then we go back together.”

Ahead, Varo moved through the darkness with his head low and his ears turning towards every sound. Skjoldr followed, one hand near Hreggbrot at his belt, Kennedy’s promise carried warm beneath the armour the kobold’s bolt had failed to pierce.

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