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Chapter Text

“…when were you planning to tell me?”

Silence

“Never? Someday? Perhaps after Thor was crowned, and I forever left in his shadow?”

“We never intended for any of this to happen…”

“But it did. And now I can’t help but wonder; why?”

“We only meant to protect you.”

“From what? The fact that I will always be second to Thor? The fact that, no matter how much I try, I can never measure up to Odin’s expectations? Or is it the fact that, despite you knowing what I was, why I was so different, you somehow could not understand why I was always in such pain on a daily basis?”

No answer.

“Well? Tell me!”

“We made a mistake…”

“Yes, you did,” Loki said, “You the made the mistake of lying to the God of Lies…”

~s~s~S~s~s~

When Thor had returned to Asgard, he had anticipated a hearty welcome from the Warriors Three and Sif, a warm hug from his mother, a stoic yet proud greeting from his father, and a sarcastic greeting from his prickly brother.

But this was not to be.

For although he had returned with a clearer mind, and an even calmer sense of resolve, Thor was greeted by no one but the Gatekeeper, Heimdall, and a horse.

“Heimdall!” Thor greeted the Gatekeeper as the Bifrost vortex slowly settled to a stop. “It is good to be back! Where are mother and father?”

“My prince,” Heimdall greeted in his usual detached tone. “The king and queen are waiting for you in the throne room.”

“I see,” Thor said thoughtfully. “And what of everyone else? The Warriors Three, Sif, and Loki?”

Heimdall seemed to pause briefly, a not uncommon habit for the all-seeing Gatekeeper. He often fell into the various visions of the many realms, sometimes pausing in the middle of a conversation. Though it was unintentional, and he by no means meant to ignore whoever he was talking to, no one could say whether he was in control of this ability or not.

But this pause was different. Thor somehow seemed to just barely catch the ever so slightly visible twitch of the Gatekeeper’s brow. He frowned, suspicious. But he no sooner dismissed the odd feeling; Heimdall was loyal to the royal family. He had no reason to hide anything from Thor, or anyone for that matter.

“Heimdall?” He probed.

Heimdall blinked his golden eyes slowly. And as if broken from a trance, he spoke once more. Yet his monotonous voice seemed colder, stonier.

“The king and queen wish to speak with you, my Prince,” he said.

Thor was very well aware that Heimdall had neglected to answer his question. But with how things had gone, and how things were now, he suspected much needed to be discussed before pleasantries could be exchanged. He knew he very much deserved the scolding he would no doubt get from his mother, and the stoic ‘I told you so’ from his father. It did not deter the feeling of being brushed off so easily, but Thor made due with what he was given. Perhaps his parents could explain what had been going on during his impromptu banishment.

“I see…” he said evenly. “Then I bid you farewell, Gatekeeper.”

Nodding to the dark-skinned man, he trudged for the horse – obviously meant for his transport. He swiftly mounted the large animal, turning it and getting ready to urge it into a gallop. But he was stopped.

“My prince…” Thor turned his head to look at Heimdall, a brow raised.

The Gatekeeper did not look at Thor. Instead, his ever watchful gaze was locked onto the impenetrable abyss of the void. His eyes, while looking forward, were not truly looking into the deep abyss. His sight was elsewhere. Just where he was peering into on a daily basis, Thor did not know. He could vaguely recall a time in his younger, more curious years trying to wheedle Heimdall into telling him what he saw. But the Gatekeeper never once relented, and would only chuckle lowly and shake his head.

“Yes, Heimdall?” Thor asked.

There was a brief pause before the Gatekeeper spoke.

“Always remember who you and those around you are,” he said.

Blinking owlishly, Thor did not even try to fully comprehend what it was Heimdall had just told him. He has more than once spewed off riddle-like pieces of advice and droll. And it never made sense to him until a specific situation came up. He often wondered if Heimdall could see the future…

“Thank you, Heimdall.” He said, before he kicked his horse into a gallop for the palace.

Once he was far out of range, galloping over the Rainbow Bridge, Heimdall spoke once more.

“Remember this, or the young prince of ice shall be lost to us…” he said softly.

~s~s~S~s~s~

“Father! Mother! I have returned!” Thor bellowed as he entered the golden haven that was the throne room.

He grinned widely as his mother made a beeline for him, engulfing him in her long, warm arms. He eagerly returned her embrace, nearly crushing the slender woman to his chest.

“Oh my boy…” Frigga rasped, “I have missed you. I thought I had lost both of you…”

“Tis good to be home, I-” Thor paused, pulling out of his mother’s embrace to frown at her questioningly. “Both of us? What do you speak of?”

Frigga’s lips tightened, and Thor looked up from hearing his father sigh upon his grand throne.

“Thor,” Odin said. He sounded so tired, like the old man he represented. “We must talk…”

The Thunder God frowned, not fully comprehending just how grave this unknown matter was. He could only think that it was about his actions against Jotunheim and his banishment, and so he moved to speak his case.

“Father, I know my actions were deplorable, but my banishment has-”

“This is not about your banishment…” Odin said, startling Thor. Odin gazed down at Thor with his single eye, Gungnir clutched tightly in one hand.

“It is about Loki,” he said.

Thor stiffened, suddenly alert. Loki? What about him? Had he caused trouble while he was away? Did something happen to him?

He looked around the room, searching. He could not see Loki anywhere within the golden hall. In fact, he could not even see any guards or servants. The throne room usually boasted a large number of capable guards to stand watch over Odin and his throne. And yet, it seemed the only people within the room was himself, his mother, and father.

“…what has happened?” He asked.

He did not notice how Frigga’s stance stiffened, her hands clutching together tightly in front of her dress. It was as if she was restraining herself from blurting out a string of words that could crumble Asgard itself. Odin was as stoic as ever, his expression unchanging. He looked tired though, but Thor chalked that up to his recently waking from the Odin Sleep. And yet…

“Father, please,” Thor implored, “What has happened to my brother? Was he hurt? Did he do something?”

A hush once more fell over the room, and somehow it seemed colder, darker. Thor could feel a sense of unease and anxiety creeping up his spine.

He felt a chunk of ice drop into his gut, and he looked imploringly, almost begging, to Odin.

“Father…where is Loki?” He asked breathlessly.

“Thor…Loki is…” Odin held a hand up, stopping Frigga from saying anymore. The All-Mother was shaking, her face pale, and it terrified Thor.

“Thor…” Odin started calmly. “Your brother, Loki…”

A tired sigh, and for the first time in his whole long life, he turned his gaze away from Thor.

“He is gone.”

~s~s~S~s~s~

Far away from the golden realm of Asgard, a single figure trudged the pure white snow of the realm’s icy terrain. To anyone else, the terrain would prove to be a hindrance, and the weather a devilish force working against them. They would say the wind itself was like the monsters that inhabited the ruined world; cold, vicious, merciless, and out for their warm blood.

And yet to him…it was no bother. And it infuriated him just how comforting this cold felt to him. How familiar it felt…

His cape and hood billowed in the harsh winds, but he paid it no mind. Instead, he pushed forward, until he had reached his destination. The decimated remains of what was once Jotunheim’s grand palace. And in no time, he stood before the throne room.

The jagged, frozen throne of ice and stone was unsurprisingly occupied. Garnet eyes – the color of heat, of fire, yet they were so cold – gazed at him. And although it seemed they were alone, he knew that other Jotnar lay in wait within the ice itself.

He did not even so much as flinch as a dozen or so Jotun guards emerged from the ice and surrounded him. His hidden eyes were only for Laufey.

“Tell me why I shouldn't kill you.” Was the hushed hiss from the Jotun King.

“I've come alone and unarmed,” the stranger replied, oddly subdued.

“To what end?” Laufey drawled.

A heavy pause. At any other time, Laufey may have already ordered his guards to kill the stranger. But something nagged at him. The stranger – obviously Aesir – intrigued him. And his voice, it sounded familiar. He would swear he heard that voice very recently…

The man tilted his head to look up at Laufey, his hood slightly obscured – his eyes were green.

“To make you another proposition,” he said.

Realization dawned on Laufey, and a cold smirk stretched his blue lips.

“So you're the one who let us into Asgard…” he drawled.

“Perhaps,” the man said, “But that is not important. I come for only one thing, and one thing only.”

Laufey’s eyes narrowed, and he held a hand up to an aggravated guard; a survivor from Thor’s rampage. No doubt he was itching for retaliation, and was quite outraged an Aesir would come to demand something from their king. But as before, he was intrigued. He would play along…for now.

“And what would that be?” He asked.

The man said nothing at first, and Laufey could feel his patience waning.

Back straightening, the man reached out a pale, bare hand from his tightly closed cloak, and pushed his hood back. Vicious snarls and growls erupted from the Jotnar around him, but he paid them no mind – not even as many readied their weapons and had them poised for every vital point on his body.

Laufey himself was stone-faced as usual, but internally, he was both fuming and becoming increasingly anxious.

“So…” he drawled, resting a cheek on a palm. “To what do I owe the second prince of Asgard? Surely what you seek is not on my realm.”

Loki, expressionless, shook his head.

“That title has long since been nothing but a running joke,” he said. “And it is only you who can give me what it is I seek.”

Laufey quirked a brow, eyes narrowing further. “And what is it you seek?”

Loki seemed to try and compose himself, drawing in a long, deep breath of the cold air. He shuddered as the sub-zero air filled his lungs. He imagined he looked quite uncomfortable to the onlookers and Laufey. But truly, Loki had never felt such rapture from truly breathing…

Fiery emeralds locked with icy garnets. And in a single puff of breath, he said,

“The truth.”

To be continued…

Chapter Text

Thor could remember a time, long ago, when things were at the very least moderately normal. Or perhaps ‘normal’ was too strong a word. Normalcy was a concept best known in places like Midgard, not Asgard; and certainly not in relation to his family and friends.

When you are a prince of a high realm, things like normalcy and consistency were not a privilege, but a rare gift. Some days garnered for some chaos and overall stupidity, and others were just too dull to even recall. Those were the days Thor hated most.

Or at least, he used to hate them.

The green, black, and gold gilded door he stood before remained unopened. This, as much as Thor could see, was the only consistency left in his life. Because the more he thought about it, the more he pondered it, the more he seemed to realize what normalcy and consistency yielded to him in the past.

Normalcy meant waking up every morning and knowing your family was still whole. Normalcy was walking into the dining hall in the morning, noon, and evening and seeing his younger brother there earlier than him. Sanity meant that Loki was still alive and behind that damn door!

…but it was no longer meant to be.

It has been this way for the past fifty years, and still Thor could not wrap his head around it.

Loki was gone - dead.

Just the thought of it sent nausea and frigid cold through Thor’s body, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. And yet for all the confusion, rage, and overall disbelief, Thor could never bring himself to open Loki’s chamber door. He’d been coming to his brother’s rooms almost every day since he had died, though for what reason, even he could not be sure.

All he knew was that this was not right. Nothing, from Loki’s passing, to the disconcerting reaction of Asgard was right.

He could see people’s faces – some familiar, others not – and their expressions. Thor hadn’t been to many funerals in his life, and the few he has attended were for his friends’ relatives or family companions. He had never been to a funeral for his own family.

Thor could still remember the funeral, and whenever the memory surfaced, he would feel a wave of shock and disgust wash over him as he witnessed the spectators…

Everyone had attended. Court members, Councilmen, royal ladies and promising warriors. Food was in abundance, a banquet of sizzling meats, steaming breads, and tooth-rotting sweets. The mead was flowing, and everyone was in high spirits, mingling and chattering amongst themselves.

It was as if he wasn’t even at a funeral. It was like he was attending a quiet party.

Odin had announced Loki’s death to Asgard a day or so after Thor’s return – both to give his son time to readjust to his life, and to let him make peace with the news. And like any funeral for royalty, it was opulent and full of grandeur. Royals and other wealthy Aesir attended the funeral in throngs. Even a few representatives from other realms had come to pay their respects. And at the time, Thor had thought it nice that so many people had come to attend his brother’s funeral.

Now, he knew it had been for appearance’s sake – and likely to gauge whether or not the announcement had been true, or a bad joke on someone’s part. Perhaps the second prince had finally lost his marbles and proclaimed his own death?

Thor greeted many of the guests, eyes shadowed and bleary from his night of sleeplessness and tears. The sky had been painted with dark, turbulent shades of grey and white, with thunder rumbling every now and again in the distance. But not a single drop of rain fell.

And as he continued to wander the packed hall of mourners and guests, Thor could not help but notice something…

They were smiling. Everyone was smiling, joking, laughing, and conversing animatedly with one another. At first, he had been so stunned and believed he had stepped into a whole other room hosting a party. But upon looking at the high table, seeing his father and mother seated, eyes staring straight ahead in unblinking reservation, he knew he was wrong.

A few Councilmen he knew were sitting together near the high table, laughing uproariously at some joke or comment one made. A few noble ladies were huddled together in one corner, not so discreetly eying one of the many warriors attending the funeral. Many, once seeing Thor, giggled and twittered away to one another like mad hens. Overall, everyone was in such a light mood – there was none of that dark, oppressive feeling Thor only ever felt at funerals.

He was so confused, he had looked up at his mother with concerned eyes, as if lost. When she locked eyes with him, her shoulders fell and she could only shake her head.

It cannot be helped…

So even she had noticed. Of course she noticed, this was her youngest son’s funeral! How could she not notice? The people were just lucky they were staying a good distance away from the high table. If someone was within hearing range of his mother, and they decided to crack some joke or continue on as if they were at a ball, Thor would throw his hammer through their heads. Consequences be damned.

“Truly, Thor, do you solve all of your problems with nothing but brute force?”

Thor almost dropped his cup of mead at hearing his brother’s voice in his head. And he truly would have said those words, or something similar, if he were around.

But then again, if he were around, they wouldn’t be attending his funeral.

Not even Sif or the Warriors Three mourned. Loki's own friends…or were they his friends at all? Fandral was his usual flirtatious self, a whole crowd of women around him as he boasted about his latest venture. Volstagg stuffed himself with gusto as usual, laughing and drinking heartily with some other warriors. Hogun was…well, Hogun, so Thor wasn't too sure how to take his attitude. And Sif was sharing a few pints with some other warriors, laughing and exchanging stories of adventures and battles.

The only one who had wept at Loki's funeral had been Frigga.

'Not even I can shed a tear for my brother...' he thought ruefully.

As for Odin, Thor could not say whether he was saddened or not. Odin had always been a stony man, his expressions usually impossible to read. He could only guess he mourned for his youngest son in private with Frigga, having to maintain an image for Asgard. Asgard's king could not weep - not even when one of his own children dies.

To Thor, it left a bitter mixture of disgust, disbelief, and shock in his mouth. Odin he could understand; he was the king after all, and image had to be maintained no matter what. But his own friends…people he thought were Loki’s friends as well.

“They were never my friends, Thor. They are yours.”

Loki had often said these words whenever Sif or the Warriors Three would poke fun at him and his ‘womanly’ ways. But that was all it was; just jokes!

…right?

Thor did not know, and the entire evening he actively avoided his companions, much to their confusion. But they let him be, suspecting he was just mourning and that he would be over it eventually.

And when the second prince’s body was taken out to sea, clad in his best garb, Thor could not help but notice how peaceful his brother looked. He looked like he was at ease, his usually flat or scowling face relaxed. He was so pale though – paler than he usually was. And it only served to remind Thor of why he was on that boat, being pushed out towards the edge of their waters.

He had almost flown after his brother’s body when the flaming arrows rained down upon it, as if he expected to save Loki from being burned. But a hand on his shoulder, courtesy of Frigga, stopped him from taking any rash actions – compulsive or otherwise.

Thor swallowed dryly, finally sighing and turning away from his brother’s door. He made his way back to his own chambers, unsure as to what he was going to do there. Most days he seemed very lost, as if unsure of what he should – or could – be doing.

His head was too full of unanswered questions, memories, and whys. Thor could remember the day they told him Loki had died. But it was not a full memory; rather, it was like that one dream you mostly recall but cannot fully put your finger on. It had been surreal, dreamlike - or perhaps more like a nightmare...

~s~s~S~s~s~

“G…gone…?” Thor stumbled over his own words in stunned bewilderment. “What do you mean gone?!”

“Thor…” Frigga chided, though it was a weak and barely noticeable reprimand.

“It is fine, Frigga,” Odin sighed, turning his attention back to Thor. “Thor, your brother…while you were gone, a prison riot broke out. We suspect they were riled by the presence of the Jotnar, and I sent Loki and other Einharjar to stop it.

“However, we misjudged the severity of the situation, and many prisoners had broken out. One such prisoner was a Dark Elf…and he was unknowingly armed.”

Odin paused, as if to let his words sink in. Thor was too stunned for words, and only looked on with wide, terrified eyes at his father. The old king was almost reminded of his days of telling war stories to Thor and Loki as children. Both wide eyed, excited yet terrified of knowing what happened next.

Now that he thought about it, almost all of the stories he told them were wartime events from the Asgard-Jotunheim war.

Odin wanted to laugh at the cruel irony.

“He was armed with a knife. And while Loki was distracted with using his magic to corral the prisoners back into their cells and protect the Einharjar from attacks…the Elf stabbed him from behind.”

Frigga flinched, as if she were reliving a memory not her own. Thor blinked owlishly. But then his ire rose up, and he shook his head.

“No…a knife? A petty knife would not kill Loki so easily!” He snapped.

“You are right, a regular knife would not,” Odin confirmed gravely, “But it was not the knife itself that killed him, but the poison we were unaware of coating the blade.”

Poison…the word ran through Thor’s head over and over again like a possessed mantra. He felt like he was listening to one of those older Midgardian music players; a broken record player.

“D…didn’t the healers do anything…?!” He rasped.

Frigga spoke before Odin could, her voice tired and thin.

“They tried. Loki had killed the Elf after he was stabbed, but no one, not even Loki, knew of the poison before it was too late…” she said.

“At first we thought he was just ill. He’s always been a bit frail of health, and we assumed your banishment had affected him greatly,” Odin said wearily.

“And by the third day of your banishment…he didn’t come to breakfast,” Frigga said, her voice tightening. “So we sent a guard to go fetch him. We thought he was perhaps caught up in his Seidr books again…

“But he did not answer the door, and when the guard looked inside…” She paused, unable to continue.

“He was lying on the floor of his room, motionless,” Odin said wearily, “The guard checked for signs of life, but found none.

“We suspect he died sometime in the early morning…”

~s~s~S~s~s~

That had been fifty years ago…

And still to this day, Thor could not actively recall the next couple hours after those words left his parents’ mouths. He could recall very vague snippets of scattered memories he could not seem to put in order. It was mostly words and broken sentences, with very few images that lasted perhaps a second in his mind if he tried to focus on them.

And as much as he tried, he could not piece them together.

“Loki…funeral will be held…tomorrow…” his father.

“He…not suffer much…said nothing…” his mother.

“Not long after…Sleipnr…away…connection to Loki…”

“He’s dead? Wow…” was that Fandral?

“Can’t say I’m surprised…” Hogun?

“At least…warrior’s death…did not expect…poison…” Sif?

“Will be there…support you…” Volstagg?

Too many voices, too many scrambled memories, and far too many blank gaps in his mind to form a coherent memory. Thor shook his head, as if trying to shake away the memories and voices, to no avail.

Entering his own room, Thor slumped heavily into an armchair in his sitting room. He pinched the bridge of his nose, a throb resonating behind his forehead. He supposed he should be doing something productive today instead of moping about like a floating dust mote. Actually, now that he thought about it, wasn’t he actually supposed to do something today?

A firm knock at his door startled Thor from his thoughts, his head turning to face his door.

“Enter!” He called.

The large double doors opened slightly, and a guard poked his head in.

“Your highness, Queen Frigga requests your attention in the war room,” he said.

Oh, Thor thought dumbly. That’s right, he was supposed to attend a council meeting today. Odin saw fit to reintroduce him to his duties as future king of Asgard, and the best way to start was to become familiar with the political goings-on in the realms. And not just the weapons and war stories…

Though to be honest, Thor found the meetings boring and a waste of time.

A scoff in his head. “Dear brother, being king is not all about swinging your hammer like a primitive Midgardian.”

He needed to stop doing that.

Thor nodded, pushing himself out of his chair and fixing his attire.

“Aye, thank you,” he said.

The guard nodded and disappeared outside Thor’s door, shutting it with a quiet click behind him. Once he was gone, Thor sighed and raked a large hand through his hair, catching on a few tangles and a small braid. He imagined he must look a sight, and resolved to quickly clean up before heading into a council room full of elderly advisors that would scrutinize him if he so much as blinked wrong.

~s~s~S~s~s~

“The trade routes from Vanaheim and Alfheim remain well-guarded, but both realms request some extra security…”

Thor would admit, he wasn’t exactly that great a listener when it came to meetings about politics, or anything that had to do with serious matters. The best way to get his attention was to talk about weapons, war strategies, or really any form of violence.

When they were younger, brasher, Loki had called him a brutish ape for such thoughts. Thor retaliated by calling the Trickster a womanly magic user. Loki didn’t speak to him for a week afterwards, and until Frigga made Thor apologize.

‘Thank the Norns it is almost over…’ Thor thought with a slump of his shoulders. He did not dare slouch or lean on his elbows – such actions would make Odin look bad, and he did not feel like having his side pinched by his mother for such sloppy behavior.

So Thor resolved to try his own patience, stretching it as thin as it could go before the final Councilman called the meeting of the realms to a close.

Odin was about to dismiss everyone, but was stopped by Frigga.

“What of Jotunheim?” She asked.

The Councilmen and Thor looked at Frigga in confusion and surprise. Odin’s eye narrowed, his hands tightening around the arms of his chair. But he said nothing.

“Uh…what of it, your Majesty?” The head Councilman, one of Odin’s oldest advisors, asked.

“We are here on a monthly basis to discuss the matters, treaties, and overall happenings of the nine realms, including our own,” Frigga said calmly, “And yet, it seems we only discuss eight of the realms each time.”

The various Councilmen looked at one another uneasily, as if unsure as to how to respond to the queen’s inquiry. Thor himself was staring at his mother in surprise, not understanding.

Why in Hel’s name would they discuss anything having to do with Jotunheim? The realm was a dead – or at least dying – wasteland of ice and snow. The Jotnar themselves were of no concern, as they were virtually cut off from all other realms. Supposedly no one even traded with them anymore. But then again, with how little attention Thor paid to these meetings, he could be wrong. And although there were Hidden Paths to the icy realm, no one dared to enter it. The Frost Giants may be a fallen people, but they were anything but helpless or weak.

Thor has more than once overheard young warriors’ enthusiasm for war, wanting to find a path and bring back the head of a Jotun to make a name for themselves. Shockingly, it was Thor himself who dissuaded these youthful notions – his lesson in his banishment all those years ago had done him more than a world of good, calming the raging storm of bloodlust in his heart and head.

Though that didn’t mean he held the Jotnar in high regard. They still had yet to figure out how they had gotten into Asgard and past Heimdall, and Odin had called off the investigation quite early. Many speculated who – or what – had let them into the Vault. But no one was able to prove anything.

“Well, what is there to discuss of Jotunheim?” A second Councilman inquired, “No one goes there, and the Frost Giants don’t exactly have many ways of communicating outside their own realm.”

“Not that they could. I hear the newer generations can’t even read or write,” an apprentice advisor chortled.

Frigga’s voice steeled. “And why do you think that is?”

The advisor stuttered at the queen’s steely gaze. “Well…they are not like us, I am sure it is because-”

“They are monsters? Barbarians?” Frigga suggested flatly, “Or perhaps it is because they do not have the proper resources to teach their children? I imagine their days are focused solely on survival and teaching their children, few as they are, how to survive. Things like books and schooling cannot be given because we have cut them off from the needed resources.”

The chamber fell silent, the Councilmen refusing to look their queen in the eye. The advisor that had spoken out flushed a few dozen shades of red, stuttering out an apology before shuffling behind a few of his scowling seniors.

Frigga turned her attention back to the room at large.

“Heimdall has reported a sudden spike in Seidr that surrounds Utgard, hiding the Jotnar from his sight,” she said.

“What are you suggesting, your Majesty?” A Councilman asked hesitantly.

“I am suggesting that perhaps Jotunheim was not as it once was,” she said, “We may have the Casket, but they are a resourceful, proud people. It would not surprise me if they were rebuilding and prospering of their own power.”

“That cannot be possible, my queen,” the eldest Councilman said, “We took the Heart of Jotunheim itself, and it remains locked in the Vaults. The land there is dead and barren. This spike in magic could just be nothing, or perhaps one of their own has gained a bit of personal power.”

“I agree, and Heimdall would warn us if anything seemed out of the ordinary,” another added.

Murmurs of agreement went about the room. Odin had still said nothing, but he was giving his queen a very odd look. Frigga shrugged delicately.

“Perhaps, but I should not like to disregard one realm out of the nine,” she said, “Each realm is important to us, and plays a role in Yggdrasil’s survival. If one realm dies, we all die.”

“Not that it would be much of a loss…” the young advisor muttered. He no sooner flinched at the scowls his seniors gave him, and the stony look Frigga shot him.

“I am only saying that perhaps now is the time to end Jotunheim’s desolation,” Frigga said, casting her gaze to Odin. “They have suffered enough, and Midgard has long since forgotten its own history. There is nothing to forgive if there is nothing to remember.”

The sound of a chair being swiftly pushed back caught everyone’s attention. Odin stood before them all, large hands planted on the table, his sole eye focused on Frigga.

“This meeting is adjourned, we will discuss more next month,” he said. “Frigga, I would like to speak with you in our chambers. Now.”

The hard tone of his voice had everyone quickly packing their things and leaving. Frigga was as serene as ever though as she gracefully rose from her seat. She cast Thor a small smile and laid a hand on his shoulder.

“Go on and relax the rest of the day, darling,” she said.

Thor nodded dumbly, unable to say anything as Frigga laid a kiss on his forehead, and turned to follow her husband out the door.

He was the only one left in the council chambers now, somehow unable to process what he had heard. For once, he had actually paid rapt attention to his mother and her words – perhaps it was the shock-factor that had him captivated. He honestly wasn’t too sure. But something was nagging at him, as if something had unknowingly clicked in place, but he could not place just what it was or what it meant.

He shook his head with a frown. This was defiantly a most confusing day. Perhaps some sparring in the yard will clear his head…

But try as he might, he could not ignore the chilling, sultry chuckle in his head.

“Oh Thor, as if you don’t know…”

To be continued…

Chapter Text

They watched their prince from across the training field. His movements were inept, not fully focused, not fully into the fight itself. It was such a strange, maddening sight to behold. Thor, the mighty God of Thunder, not fully focused on a fight? Even if it was just a friendly sparring match, it was still baffling!

Thor was never not fully into a fight. It was so strange; he lived for the rush and adrenaline. Battles and sparring were what he looked forward to, the reason he even got up in the morning. Yet here and now, after fifty years, he was still going on as if possessed by a ghost.

A ghost the Warriors Three and Sif wished would just cross over into Hel already.

“I thought the grieving period had already passed…” Fandral sighed, seated upon a bench. The others shook their heads.

“These things take time, Fandral.” Volstagg said, though he didn’t sound as confident in his own words as he should.

Sif scowled, crossing her arms. “Even in death, that Trickster is still a hindrance to Thor.”

“Mind your tongue, Sif,” Volstagg rumbled warningly. “Our king and queen do not need to hear us speaking ill of their son.”

Sif rolled her eyes, but relented in controlling herself. Regardless, she could not fully understand why Thor was still so listless and lost. His grief should have passed thirty years ago – if not quicker! This was a good thing; Loki had only ever held Thor back from his true potential. But no matter how much they sparred, went on adventures, or tried to lift his spirits with a trip to the local taverns, Thor simply could not see that he had not lost a brother, but a burden tied to his ankle.

She had never liked Loki. Even before he cut her hair off after a heated argument, thus changing her once golden hair into the stained darkness not unlike his own, she never liked him. And she never fully understood why Thor always had to bring him along on their quests and travels. If anything, he only ever got in the way. The only times he came in handy was when they needed his Seidr to start a fire quickly, or to purify questionable water. And even then, they had to keep their guard up in case the fire spontaneously blew up, or the water would turn to snakes.

Thor said he found it in good humor, with very little protest. Sif and the Warriors Three, not so much. Loki’s childish antics and his cowardly ways were unwanted. Yet none of them ever had the heart to fully voice this to Thor. They have dropped subtle hints and have voiced mild concerns about Loki, but Thor was nothing if not thick-headed at times.

“He merely jests! You are his friends, you simply must find the humor in his actions,” he’d say.

They, Loki’s friends…

Loki was rarely right in their eyes. But he was damn spot on whenever he told Thor they were not his friends, but Thor’s. He said it in stark hearing range of them on numerous occasions. And yet Thor never seemed to notice how they would not move to correct Loki in his cold assumption.

They didn’t even blink as Thor effortlessly threw his sparring opponent into a bench just a few yards to their left. The opponent – a younger warrior just starting out – called his surrender, to which Thor answered with his usual encouragements to keep training; maybe one day he could at least land a blow on Thor.

“Perhaps we should take him to the taverns again?” Volstagg suggested. “He always seems to be a bit looser of the tongue right after a spar and a few pints.”

Sig nodded her agreement. “Yes, perhaps that would be best. Maybe we can figure out a way for him to finally move on.”

Hogun had not said much, but he nodded all the same at the suggestion.

“Well then, now that everyone is on board, perhaps a change in scenery is in order!” Fandral said with a conspiring grin. “They just opened up this new tavern just at the edge of town. If the mead doesn’t have Thor relaxing, the lovely women who work there will.”

Sif scoffed, but in a way had to agree. As far as they knew, Thor had not been on his usual tavern ventures since Loki died. He’s barely so much as glanced at the most indecently dressed woman in years!

“Now that that’s decided, let’s round up the old goat.” Fandral proceeded to strut towards Thor, quickly catching his attention at the water barrels.

If this didn’t get Thor back to his usual self, Sif didn’t know what she would do…

~s~s~S~s~s~

“Another pint!”

“Fandral, he hasn’t even finished his first one…”

“So what? Another!”

Thor rolled his eyes, but did not object as yet another pint of mead was shoved in front of him. Fandral was exceptionally drunk now and working on his eighth pint, laughing uproariously between two tavern wenches.

The prince sipped at his drink, vaguely noting that it was rather good. But he wasn’t paying attention to the taste, or the slight buzz it was instigating. He hadn’t drunk in so long, he was almost mortified to realize he was becoming a lightweight.

Across from him, Sif was working on her third pint and casting him glances every now and again. Thor had half a mind to ask her what she wanted. She obviously wanted to say something, but judging by the slight scowl creasing her brow, he didn’t feel like pushing his luck. He was in no mood for any arguments or heated debates.

“Come now, Thor! Wipe that look from your face, be merry!” Volstagg bellowed.

“Yes, be merry and stupid, brother. Come midnight, you will have consumed the entire tavern’s stores of mead. You should be so proud…”

“Guh…!” Thor choked slightly on his drink, pushing it aside as he coughed into his hand.

Fandral laughed obnoxiously. “What’s the matter, Thor? Can’t hold your drink anymore? I bet even a lightweight like Loki could drink you under the table now!”

Though it was too late, the damage having already been done, Hogun still slapped a hand over Fandral’s mouth with a deadpan frown. Sif visibly scowled at the blond warrior, Volstagg palming his forehead in exasperation.

Looking to Thor, the Warriors and Sif could very visibly see as the Thunderer’s eyes sharpen, his entire expression closing off completely.

"Have a care with the words you speak, my friend," Thor warned in a low, rumbling tone. "It would be wise not to speak of my brother in such a tone or manner."

Looking around the table at his friends, Thor decided it would be best to return to the palace before things escalated into the very thing he was trying to avoid.

"I bid you a good eve. I fear that I am not the best of company at present." The God of Thunder stood and inclined his head to the group, expression still closed off.

He was in the act of turning around when Frandal managed to free himself from Hogun. "What has happened to you, Thor? Why do you continue to mourn Loki? The bastard only ever caused problems for us."

Thor froze for a second, shoulders stiffening and tight fists forming, before he continued on his path away from the Warriors Three and Sif. He was near the tavern doors when Fandral gave a slurred shout,

"When did you become a coward to run away from mere words?"

At this, the entire tavern fell silent and began to move away from the prince's friends. Even Frandal's two arm-hangers fled the scene. The tavern owner was beginning to worry that his new establishment was not going to survive the night.

A crackle of thunder pierced the sounds of the night. Thor turned back, lightning seemingly dancing within the iris of his eyes, and he pinned Frandal with a glare. His gaze then shifted to the others, and they flinched back slightly. But he noted that their stances showed their own frustration with Thor's continued grief. Aside from Hogun’s single interference, neither of them had made any move to shut Fandral up or defend his late brother.

"You seem to agree with Frandal's words…" Thor's words sounded more like a statement than a question. Sif glared at Frandal, who had returned to his cups, before giving an apologetic look towards Thor.

"We are only concerned with your continuing grief over…Loki's death.” She tried not to spit the Trickster's name, not wanting to increase Thor's ire. "He has been gone for some time now, Thor, and you need to let him go so you can live your own life once more. You are not yourself anymore, and we are not the only ones that worry for your wellbeing. All of Asgard are concerned.

"Your lack of focus when training with the troops is very noticeable. Your participation in the planning the defense and guarding of our borders is almost nonexistent. If this continues, we worry that word of your inattentiveness will get to those that wish harm on our realm."

Sif moved around the table to stand before the Thunderer, placing a hand on his bicep.

"We only want what is in yours, and the realm's, best interest. And the Tric-…Loki is no longer a part of this. And we do not think you are a coward." Frandal snorted into his drink, earning a thump from Volstagg.

Thor wrenched himself away from her touch, the rumbling outside growing in intensity and frequency. He had also noted Hogun and Volstagg's nodding to Sif's words in the background. Loki would probably be proud that he had actually picked up on their actions.

"My period of banishment from Asgard has taught me many things, one of which was that one should walk away when the words trying to provoke someone are of little value. This is not an action of cowardice, but strength of one’s resolve.” He said. He suddenly seemed to address not just his companions, but the whole tavern in general.

"My continued mourning of my little brother, Loki, who died while I was banished, has had little impact on Asgard's protections - which are as strong as ever. It is also not up to you or the people of Asgard to tell me to forget my brother, their prince. If you were truly my friends, you would respect this."

Without even giving his companions another word or glance, Thor stormed out of the tavern before he lost all control over himself.

The Thunder God was seething, his very body humming with raging energy. Truly, Thor wanted nothing more than to find the nearest potential enemy and smash their heads in, just to release some of the crackling ire. Perhaps a Dark Elf, or better yet, a Jotun-

‘Stop!’ He growled, stopping in the near-empty streets. He rubbed at his forehead, a headache setting in.

He had never felt so angry. Not since before his banishment has he felt such wrath and ire. And at his own companions no less! But then again, they had never expressed such blatant disrespect for Loki, nor had they ever so offhandedly disregarded his grief. And their disregard of Loki himself…

“They were never my friends, Thor. They are yours.”

Thor felt his jaw tighten, his fists clenching. That voice, his brother – it mocks him so readily and easily. A part of Thor was comforted by the silvery voice. Yet another part was disturbed by it. The voice was his brother’s, but it held far too much venom. Loki was not incapable of a kind word or two, and was often fairly docile when unprovoked. He was the calm to Thor’s storm, the silver to his gold.

And yet, this voice was more likened to Loki’s Trickster persona. And that’s all it was to Thor; a persona. Loki was not truly a trickster or a liar. Loki was his brother, an Asgardian warrior and prince. He was…

He was dead.

The thunder calmed, the sky clearing of the grey clouds that seemed to gather out of nowhere. What was Thor doing anymore? If it had been one of his companions or Sif who had died, he was sure he would be just as listless. And Loki, what would he say? What would he tell Thor? Would he even seek the Silvertongue’s council in such a situation?

‘Brother, tell me…what do I do? How do I…not forget you, but move on? How can I go on without my brother by my side?’ he wondered.

No answer was forthcoming. An odd, yet unsettling thing. Loki’s voice only ever reached out to him to mock or ridicule him. And Thor couldn’t even find it in himself to be mad at it. Hel, he didn’t even have the will to wonder just why he was hearing his brother’s voice so much!

He sighed, approaching the gates to the palace. The Einharjar guards saluted him, their armor shining in the low light of the street lights and torches. Thor took note of their entirely gold attire, and mentally recalled a time in which Loki called them ‘tacky’. Thor had disagreed, claiming their abundance of gold showed their status and prosperity.

Loki had only shaken his head, calling Thor a fool.

Thor never understood why Loki was in such a prickly mood that day; perhaps he and their father had gotten into another argument. They seemed to do that a lot…

“My prince?”

Thor startled, veering around just as he entered the palace halls to find a female servant behind him.

“Yes?” he inquired.

“Forgive me, sir, but Queen Frigga requests your presence in her chambers,” she said.

Thor turned fully to her curiously. “Did she say what for?”

The servant girl shook her head. “No, sir. She only said to find you and make sure you came to her chambers.”

Thor frowned, before he shrugged and nodded. The servant girl gave a short bow before falling into step beside her prince. Frigga’s chambers were on the far west side of the palace, so it would take them a few minutes to reach her.

In the meantime, Thor took a moment to observe the servant girl from the corner of his eye. She was a pretty little thing, with long, dark blonde hair and hazel eyes. She wore typical servant clothing – a simple beige dress and cream bodice with a white apron. Her slippers shuffled silently against the opulent floor, her steps discreet and quiet.

“What is your name, my lady?” Thor suddenly asked.

“What? Oh! U-um, Sigyn, my lord.” The girl, Sigyn, said with a slight flush.

Sigyn…why did that name sound so familiar?

“My apologies, but…have we met before? You seem very familiar,” Thor said.

“I do not think so, my lord,” Sigyn said thoughtfully. “I work in the north wing of the palace…I was actually a maid for your late brother…”

Thor blinked as it seemed to click in his head. That was where he had heard her name! Sigyn – she was a maid to Loki. He had spoken highly of her a handful of times in the past. He had called her intelligent and witty, a promising youth in minor Seidr abilities. That in itself was very startling; Loki, complimenting a servant? Thor supposed he talked to her frequently when he was in his rooms. Were they friends…?

“Were…were you and my brother close?” he asked.

Sigyn smiled sadly. “We talked a lot. I am not sure if you could call us friends, but we shared a lot in common. He was a wonderful man to serve under…”

Thor took note of the slight blush marring the young woman’s cheeks. Hm, did she perhaps hold an infatuation for his late brother? Not that he would blame her; Loki was quite an attractive man. Although most of Asgard considered blonde hair, bright blue eyes, bronze skin, and rippling muscles to be a quality of beauty in men. Regardless, he did not understand how no one could admire Loki’s fair skin, green eyes, slight form, and rich dark hair.

Thor nodded, smiling slightly. “Yes, he was a wonderful brother as well…”

Sigyn’s smile grew slightly. “He spoke very highly of you.”

‘He did?’ Thor wanted to ask. But he held his tongue, not wanting to disturb the small bubble of ease he and Sigyn had managed to conjure. So instead he nodded as they continued on, passing many doors, halls, and guards along the way.

He suddenly looked back at her curiously. “If you were one of his maids, what do you do now?”

“Queen Frigga made me one of her handmaids when Prince Loki…passed…” Sigyn said, before adding hesitantly, “I still go back to his rooms though, dust a little bit. It just seems so odd for me not to anymore.”

Thor felt a small well of shame creep into his heart. He did not have the courage to enter his brother’s rooms, and yet this slight young woman did. Then again, perhaps they were not as close as he perceived. She obviously felt something for Loki, but he could not be too sure on their relationship.

Though he had to admit, it took courage for her to admit she still entered the rooms of a deceased prince. Many would see it as disrespectful, especially if she was doing so without others knowing. But Thor found it admirable – she was keeping a small part of Loki alive. His rooms were his domain, his sanctuary. And she made sure they stayed as pristine and untouched as Loki left them. Without using any form of magic, she was freezing his brother’s room in time itself, keeping it as it was the day he left.

“My lord?”

Thor startled from his thoughts, turning to look at Sigyn. She stood before the double doors leading to his mother’s chambers, one hand gripping the handle to one of the doors.

“We have arrived, my lord,” she said, pulling the door open. “The queen awaits you in the sitting room.”

“Ah, thank you, Sigyn…” he said, but stopped in the door’s threshold and looked back at her. “And thank you, for speaking of my brother fondly.”

Sigyn blushed, stuttering out her own gratitude with a low bow. She excused herself then, shuffling away hastily. Thor chuckled; she was cute, it was a shame she and his brother never progressed past the point of mere conversation companions.

Sighing, he turned back into his mother’s rooms, shutting the door behind himself. He quickly located the door leading to his mother’s sitting room, and upon entering, spotted the regal queen sitting patiently on a lounge by the fire. A set of tea and snacks was spread out on the table before her, the chair across from it empty.

She looked up upon hearing the door open, and smiled at Thor as he approached her.

“You wished to see me, mother?” he inquired.

“Oh don’t be so formal, Thor,” Frigga chuckled, gesturing to the seat across from her. “Come, relax. I wish to speak with you my son.”

Thor smiled slightly, taking his seat across from his mother. She swiftly poured him a cup of tea, pushing it in front of him along with a few cookies. Thor took a sip of the tea, resisting the urge to cringe slightly at the taste. He never much liked tea, preferring the sweet taste of mead or a spicy wine. Loki, however, liked tea, and was often invited to Frigga’s rooms or the gardens to sit and talk with her over a few cups.

Clearing his throat, he set the cup aside and regarded his mother. “What did you wish to speak with me about?”

“A mother cannot simply chat with her own son?” Frigga grinned.

“N-not at all! I was just wondering, I suppose…?” Thor raked a hand through his hair meekly, suddenly uncertain.

Frigga chuckled. “I am only teasing, Thor. There is actually something I wish to speak with you about…”

Setting her own cup aside, she folded her hands neatly in her lap and regarded Thor compassionately.

“How are you feeling lately?” she asked.

Thor quirked a brow. “I feel fine, I suppose. I do not feel sick…”

Frigga shook her head. “Not physically my dear, but emotionally.”

“I do not understand…”

“Not just moments ago, the sky looked close to breaking into a storm,” she said softly, and Thor had the graces to look abashed. “I am concerned for you, Thor. It has been many years since your brother’s passing, and yet it is as if you just heard it yesterday.”

Thor frowned, lowering his eyes to the table’s edge. So she wanted to talk about that. Well, he could at least count on the fact that she would not be like the Warriors Three and Sif. She would never ridicule her own son. Perhaps her council would be helpful. She and Loki shared that in common – they both knew how to talk, but they also knew how to listen.

“I…suppose I just do not fully believe it yet.” Thor sighed. “I do not understand why either. He is not here, and yet I sometimes expect him to be at breakfast before me in the mornings, or holed up in the library with some dusty old books…”

Frigga smiled sadly. “We both seem to share that in common, my son. I too often feel as if he is just away somewhere, and I expect him to be home the next day.”

“But he isn’t…and he won’t be.” Thor said.

Frigga shook her head. “No, he won’t. The dead do not come back. That is something not even we can do. Nor should we even consider such an act.”

Thor looked sharply at his mother. “But surely…if given the chance, wouldn’t you want Loki back?”

“Of course I would want him back,” Frigga said, “But Thor, you must remember. We are only gods in the eyes of long gone Midgardians; we are not true gods. We do not bring birth and new life as a true god would. We do not open the gates of Valhalla and welcome those who have died. And we do not get to choose who will die or live…”

Thor frowned, fingers curling against his thighs. He knew she was right, but he simply could not accept such a thing so easily. If he was given the chance to bring his brother back, then he would take it.

“Thor, think my child,” Frigga continued, seeing the storming conflict in his eyes. “If Loki was truly some place where he was happy, where he was free to be who his is, where he was truly at peace…would you take him away from that?”

Thor stared with wide eyes at his mother, his lips thinning. Would he take Loki away with him – away from a place where he could be who he is without ridicule, a place where he could laugh, live, and breathe? A place where he was not the Trickster, the Liesmith, but Loki? Would Thor take him away from that? Just so he could have a brother again…?

He did not have an answer…he couldn’t answer those questions. Not right now. Probably not ever.

Frigga sighed, looking over into her lit fireplace distantly. “Your brother was a wonderful man, Thor. But not everyone could see that. He had no choice but to hide that goodness, to wrap it in lies and trickery to protect that wondrous light in his heart…and no one could see how painful it was, to hide himself like a frightened animal.”

The fire crackled and popped, the orange, yellow, and red colors dancing in Frigga’s blue eyes. The autumn colors did not seem to belong in her pale blue eyes. A raging, fiery storm trying to intrude upon a soothing winter snowfall. But that snowfall was not at peace. Her eyes read like an open book, her irises the color not of ice, but sapphire tears.

“Loki was not at peace here, Thor. He may have been happy at times, but not nearly as much as he should have been,” she said, “I blame myself for not realizing sooner. Or perhaps I did, but thought things would change. I expected Loki to change. Something no mother should ever expect of her own child.”

The tears froze suddenly, turning to ice. And her eyes narrowed.

“We were unfair to Loki, and we have paid the price we deserve,” she said, “But he did not deserve the pain we bestowed upon him. We can only hope, wherever he may be, that he has forgiven us.”

“Loki could never hold a grudge against you, mother,” Thor proclaimed firmly. “He could never even raise his voice to you. He loved us.”

“Perhaps…” Frigga said slowly, sipping from her tea. “I do not doubt his love. But nor do I doubt his anger.”

“Anger?” Thor asked, not understanding.

Frigga turned to look at her son, blinking away the spots in her vision from staring at the fire for so long. She set her cup aside and cleared her throat.

“There is something else I wish to ask you,” she said.

“What is it?” Thor asked.

“Have you heard of a mysterious sorcerer known as The Sky Traveler?” Frigga asked.

Thor frowned, shaking his head. “I have never heard of such a person.”

“He has become quite famous as of late,” Frigga said, “He wears a black and emerald cloak, concealing his face from all who meet him. He travels the realms through the Paths and other unknown means, and his abilities in Seidr are incredible, unmatched by any known Seidr user.”

“And he is…causing trouble?” Thor asked uncertainly.

“Not at all. In fact, he seems to be a wayward traveler. He travels atop a dark horse that can run at a speed like no other,” Frigga said, “He heals those who need it, performing acts or duties someone may hire him for. And in exchange, he collects the strangest of things.”

“Strange how?” Thor asked. Did the traveler not exchange his services for money?

“Usually it is seeds or bulbs. Sometimes it is herbs and other plants, even bags of soil and fruits and vegetables,” Frigga answered.

Thor blinked, dumbfounded. Why in the Nine Realms would anyone perform any services for such meager things? If it was produce he wanted, he could demand money and buy just as much, if not more, items at a market for his services. And why would he need herbs if he knew healing?

“And any money he does collect, he usually spends on basic educational books of various levels. Sometimes he will even buy or trade basic tools for things like fabric or weaving materials.” Frigga added.

Thor frowned, suddenly suspicious. This…made no sense whatsoever. This strange traveler was becoming more and more enigmatic by the second. His interest was piqued.

“And his items of trade…they are quite a rarity, and he has been trading them for such meager things.”

“What does he trade?” Thor asked.

“Pearls.”

“…pearls?” Thor repeated. Frigga nodded.

“Pearls of all shapes and sizes, all the colors of the Rainbow Bridge. No one knows where he gets them, as pearls are a rarity among the realms.” Frigga noted.

Thor nodded dazedly. He did not know much in the ways of jewels and fares like a woman would, but even he knew how rare pearls were. As far as he knew, there were only three realms you could get them from – Midgard, Vanaheim, and Jotunheim. But only one of those realms had large enough seas to use pearls in trade, and harvest in abundance…

“Jotunheim, in its prime, was the only realm you could get so many pearls of such value from,” Frigga said, “But their seas have long since frozen, their aquatic life scarce. It makes me wonder how they are doing now.”

Thor frowned, hands resting on his lap to prevent him from fidgeting. His mother was trying to tell him something. But what, and how it was associated with this ‘Sky Traveler’, he did not know.

She suddenly looked Thor in the eye, her expression almost pleading.

“I worry for you, Thor. All of Asgard worries for their remaining prince,” she said, “You have not been yourself these past fifty years. And I think perhaps it is time for you to start a new journey.”

Thor was stunned. A journey? Did she mean she wanted him to go out on his old adventures like he used to with the Warriors Three and Lady Sif? He almost cringed. As of now, he was not thinking too highly of his companions at the moment. And was now really a time to be traveling again?

“Mother, I am not sure if now is a good time…” he said weakly.

“Thor, my darling, when will it ever be the right time for you?” Frigga asked gently. “It has been fifty years. And although even I still mourn my son, I know he would not want us to wallow in our grief. He would want us to continue as we were – not to forget him, but to remember him with a smile.”

Remember him with a smile…Thor chortled ruefully, placing his face in his hands. Of course, why would his brother wish such misery on his family? Loki did not hate them, he would never approve of his family suffering for so long. So why was he incapable of fulfilling his brother’s wishes?

“You are right as always, mother,” he said, looking up at her with a weary smile. “Thank you. Truly.”

Frigga smiled brightly. “I figured it was what you needed, my son. Now, I don’t want you dallying for too long. The realms await you, and you have missed much.”

Thor laughed. “I shall leave within the week, after I speak with the Warriors Three and Sif.”

“Good,” Frigga said pleasantly, before she sobered. “I am glad you hold your brother in such high regards. Perhaps you can show them how wonderful a man Loki was, and what they have missed in him.”

“I certainly hope so…” Thor said with a rueful smile before he stood. “I should prepare for departure, and speak to father about my leave and-”

“No need,” Frigga said, “I have spoken with Odin, and he understands and has given his blessing. All you need to do is pack and tell me when you leave.”

Thor quirked a brow, but smiled nonetheless. Truly, he often wondered what he would do without his mother. Probably drown in his own bath.

“Thank you, mother,” he said, leaning down to kiss her cheek.

They bade each other a good night, Thor departing almost immediately to get a good night’s rest before he confronted his companions the next day.

But once he was gone, and her door closed, Frigga’s smile fell into a despaired frown. She sighed, swirling the remains of her tea in her cup.

“Do not thank me just yet, my son…”

~s~s~S~s~s~

Across the realms, in a secluded forest in the thick woods of Alfheim, a weary traveler wearing a cloak of emerald and obsidian led his dark horse down a path. The horse was unsaddled and unbridled; one would assume it was wild, or perhaps its rider rode it bareback. The only thing that adorned the horse was a long green cord around its neck acting as makeshift reins, and bearing a dark blue gem. They stopped at the edge of a small pond, nothing but the sounds of night animals and insects ringing through the air.

The horse nickered to his rider, bobbing his head slightly. The traveler chuckled.

“Yes, this is quite cliché, isn’t it?” he said.

Patting the horse’s flank, he sent it off to nibble on some grass. Once the horse was occupied, he turned back to the pond and kneeled at its edge. His gloved hands touched the water’s surface, as if testing it. A couple tiny fish swam just under the still water, the high moon reflecting off its surface.

Looking around once, the traveler reached into the satchel at his hip and took out a small vial. Uncorking it, he carefully dribbled a single drop onto the water’s surface. The dark blue liquid clouded a small section of the water briefly, before it seemed to swirl like a whirlpool.

A bright glow overtook the pond’s surface as a face began to appear at its edge. At first it was nothing but a foggy mess of blue, red, and white. But after a moment, the image cleared.

And revealed the face of a Jotun.

The blue face smiled, garnet eyes creasing ever so slightly.

“You are late,” he said.

The traveler smiled under his cloak hood, reaching up to push it back. The face under the hood was an icy blue, hair as black as night cascading down his back. Matching garnet eyes gazed down at the larger Jotun in the water.

“Fashionably so…” he said, “My Dam.”

Laufey chuckled.

To be continued…

Chapter Text

The early morning of the beginning of Thor’s new adventure saw the Thunder God and his companions in the stables. His horse was loaded up with all the necessities he would need, as well as a few extra things he simply could not live without – mostly clothing and weapons, some food, water, and a trinket or two he did not want to part with.

Urging the horse to take its bit, he looked over at his companions, all saddling up their own horses and packing up their supplies. The Thunder God swallowed dryly, lips tightening. He wasn’t too sure how he was feeling about everything at the moment, or how he felt about the trip in general. The morning after his mother suggested he go out and seek this Sky Traveler, he had met up with the Warriors Three and Sif in the training yards.

At first, he wasn’t too sure what he was going to say. He certainly was not going to apologize – he was not in the wrong. And judging by the obviously hung-over Fandral moping by the water barrels, neither was he. He likely didn’t even remember anything he said the night prior. And when Thor had approached his companions, fully intending to gauge their reactions before speaking, it seemed no one was going to speak of the night before.

He was greeted with their usual ‘good morning’s and shoulder pats. At first, Thor was quite confused; had he dreamed of the whole argument in the taverns? Or had he become so much of a lightweight that only a few drinks had planted a false memory in his head? He honestly did not know, but he could recall how he had convinced them to accompany him on a new adventure…

~s~s~S~s~s~

“Care to wage a spar against me, Thor?” Sif asked with a cocky grin. Though much to her disappointment, Thor shook his head.

“Not today, Sif, I actually came to speak with you all about a…proposition,” he said evenly.

Their interest suddenly piqued, the Warriors Three and Sif gave Thor their full attention. Even Fandral seemed to take interest despite his post-drunken headache.

Thor cleared his throat, leaning his weight onto one foot. He suddenly felt…uncertain, put on the spot if you will. It has been some time since he last proclaimed an adventure with his companions, and it certainly felt like it. A part of him was slightly insulted though; why did he have to be at center stage when the Warriors and Sif have yet to truly bring up the happenings of last night, and apologize for slandering his brother’s name?

He shook his head, sighing. There was no helping it, it seemed. Another thing he learned in his time on Midgard that he found coming in handy at this moment; sometimes it was best to just let things go. Not an easy feat all things considered, but it seemed necessary. Plus, in his current state, he wasn’t sure if he could really muster up an argument, let alone a speech on how terribly they – or more Fandral – had spoken of his late brother.

Coughing into his hand, Thor finally mustered up some form of courage, and spoke.

“Though I do not agree with the…tact…of the prior night’s discussion…” Thor almost smirked at the downcast looks his companions now wore, but reined in his smug amusement. “But after some thought, I must agree with you all. It is time I try and lay my grief to rest, and start anew.”

The Warriors Three and Sif seemed to perk up, now completely focused on Thor. They seemed eager – Fandral’s hangover seemed to suddenly recede as he was staring up at Thor with wide eyed anticipation.

“That…that’s great, Thor!” Sif said, smiling. “What did you have in mind?”

“I was thinking a bit of a traveling would be a good start,” Thor said, “My mother actually recommended it for us. She says there has been a mysterious sorcerer going about the realms. They call him the Sky Traveler.”

“The Issveðr?” Volstagg asked in surprise.

Thor blinked. “Issveðr?” he asked.

“Well, that is one of his names,” Volstagg said, the others nodding. “We have heard of this Sky Traveler, but never much outside the usual drunken tales in the taverns.”

“Supposedly he traverses the Nine Realms, a cold wind following him everywhere he goes – hence the name,” Sif said.

“Aye, quite a mysterious fellow, though he only gained attention about ten years ago,” Fandral added, “Supposedly he’s been traveling for much longer. No one truly knows.”

Volstagg nodded. “Did Queen Frigga give any information on him?”

Thor shook his head. “No, even she is not privy to his intentions or reasons for traversing the realms.”

“I hear he’s been literally everywhere, even Helheim and Jotunheim.” Sif suddenly frowned. “However, he has never entered Asgard.”

“Why is that?” Thor asked. His friends shrugged.

“No one knows. Some say he was banished from Asgard, others say there is a power in Asgard that keeps him out,” Volstagg said, “Some even say he’s cursed, that he cannot enter our realm for fear of tainting it.”

“And his horse – a dark stallion – supposedly, from what people say, is even faster than Sleipnr,” Sif said seriously.

Thor frowned, perplexed. He had to wonder if this horse was a child of Sleipnr. But then again, perhaps it was a coincidence. From what Odin had told him, Sleipnr had vanished when Loki had died. His father had said that it was perhaps the horse’s connection to Loki that prompted him into leaving. He may have been a horse, but he was still a child born of Loki’s own body and flesh.

They had been so close, too. Thor could not count how many times Loki would disappear into the royal stables just to talk to Sleipnr. He often read to him or simply talked to the eight legged horse. Thor had once asked if Sleipnr could understand Loki. Loki had only smirked and said that that information was a secret between he and Sleipnr.

Thor still often wondered what had become of the stallion. It wasn’t exactly hard to spot an eight legged horse as large as Sleipnr. Many thought he was dead, others saying his body just vanished into nothingness after Loki’s death. Odin didn’t even put out a search for the horse…

“Mother says his Seidr is not to be trifled with,” he said absently, “I know not what he has used it for, but if she knows enough to warn me of it, we should be cautious.”

“Bah, magic cannot stop warriors like us,” Volstagg grunted. “Even a user as powerful as the Issveðr cannot stifle us. He is but a prodigal traveler.”

“People even say it’s not even a he sometimes,” Fandral broke in with his lecherous grin. “No man would ever want to practice such Ergi arts. I believe it is a woman.”

Thor frowned, actively trying and barely succeeding in not correcting Fandral. Loki was a master in the art of Seidr, and he had been a powerful man. He’s downed Thor in sparing matches more times than the Thunderer could count with a simple flick of his wrists and a flash of green energy. Granted, they usually had those sessions in private; many watching warriors had called Loki a cheater and a coward when he used his magic in the arena. Most times, Loki ignored them. But sometimes he would get angry enough to set someone’s trousers on fire; literally.

Thor may not have fully understood why he chose spell books over true weapons, but he nonetheless did not question the other. Or at least, not intentionally. He had asked Loki once why he chose magic when he could easily pick up a sword without having to spend hours upon hours cooped up in a library studying of all things. Loki had only shook his head, saying Thor wouldn’t understand even if he tried to explain it.

“Surely no one knows,” Volstagg said, “No one has seen his – or her – face. He does not speak, or interact with others outside business affairs and trade for services.”

“Strange things he asks for…” Hogun, surprisingly, broke in. “Seeds, bulbs, herbs, even dirt…”

“What would he need with dirt?” Fandral questioned. “It’s dirt. He can get his own without having to do anything.”

“Mother says it is not dirt he trades for, but soil. Planting soil,” Thor corrected, before turning to Sif. “Outside his Seidr abilities, does he use any weapons?”

She shrugged. “As far as I have heard, not much. Witnesses have said he uses knives and a staff. That’s it though.”

Thor blinked in surprise. Loki had used daggers and a staff – had mastered them quite quickly as well. But like his magic, his weapon choices were seen as cowardly and ineffective. Why hit something over the head with a staff when you can cut their heads off with a sword, was their logic. He was also quite skilled with the whip, and had discovered an innate fascination with it in their teen years – much to Thor’s chagrin. He hadn’t been able to sit properly for weeks before Loki calmed down enough to quit testing his whip out on Thor.

“Even still! This Issveðr sounds interesting,” Fandral said, getting up and grinning at Thor conspiringly. “So, will we be seeking him out?”

“Yes my friends, we shall indeed!” Thor bellowed, grinning back widely. He was finally starting to feel like his old self again, and it felt amazing.

And judging by the wide and relieved smiles on his friends’ faces, they were just as excited…

~s~s~S~s~s~

After they had agreed to take a week or so off to go adventuring, they holed up in an empty meeting room in the palace to plan out their trip. They decided to take two days to prepare themselves and tell their families and friends where they were going. Packing was the easy part – mostly camping supplies and such things they would need. Thor did not even bother to bring it up to his father, as he was assured Frigga had informed Odin of his trip.

He was, however, a bit surprised Odin brought it up at dinner the night before he was to leave…

~ s~s~S~s~s ~

“Frigga tells me you, the Warriors Three, and Sif will be taking a trip to seek out the sorcerer known as the Sky Traveler,” Odin suddenly said.

“Aye! He seems like an interesting fellow, and the others and I feel it is time I got out and about again,” Thor said, though he shot Frigga a conspiring wink, which she returned with a smile.

Odin nodded, sipping his wine. “And how do you plan to seek this sorcerer out?”

Thor shrugged. “He is rather nomadic, never stays in one place too long from what I gather. We will likely just go on sources or rumors we might hear.”

“How long do you plan to stay away from Asgard?”

“A week, perhaps two,” Thor said, stabbing his fork into a potato. “Worry not father, I will be back before long. I will not shirk off my duties as future king.”

Another nod curt not. “Good.”

Odin seemed to close the conversation then, and Thor and Frigga turned back to their meals. He paused from taking a bite from his boar though and looked up at Thor again, his one eye narrowed.

“One more thing, Thor,” he said.

“Yes?” Thor inquired curiously.

“Stay out of Jotunheim,” Odin said seriously.

Thor blinked, before he deflated slightly. He felt slightly abashed at his father’s demand. Of course, he could understand why Odin did not want him in Jotunheim – he had nearly razed it to the ground the last time he was there. And it was likely the Jotnar wouldn’t be very welcoming of someone who slaughtered many of their already scarce people. Still, he thought Odin would have forgotten, or at least forgiven him by now.

But he simply nodded and went back to his meal.

Beside Odin, Frigga shot her husband a sharp look. He ignored her, and the Queen of Asgard only sighed quietly and sipped her water…

~s~s~S~s~s~

Thor tightened the bridle on his horse, testing the straps and buckles keeping his cargo held to the large equine. Once satisfied nothing would come flying off, he turned to his friends to see they too had just finished saddling up.

“Are we ready?” he asked.

He received an eager affirmative from his companions, urging a wide grin from the Thunderer.

“Let us be off then! To the BiFrost!” he bellowed.

Bellowing their war cries, they all mounted their saddles and rode off for the Rainbow Bridge.

The loud clicking and clopping of their horse’s hooves was drowned out only by their laughter and bellowing words. Conversation more fit for a noisy tavern were shouted between them, Thor only joining in when spoken to. He was slightly disconcerted to find he could not fully settle into a simple – though loud – conversation among his friends. Though he had to wonder; was this how Loki felt? Whenever they all rode off for some new adventure or jaunt, Loki rarely joined in on their shared conversations. A strange thing, considering how well versed he was with words. Perhaps Thor was mistaking intellect with chattiness – Loki was an overall quiet man really; you just had to be careful when he did start talking.

He and his companions passed through the town and roads, their horses landing upon the iridescent road of the BiFrost. They could see Heimdall’s observatory just a ways off, sitting just at the edge of the abyss of which their sea tumbled into.

‘I wonder where it goes…’ Thor thought, the roar of the waterfalls gaining volume as they neared.

Indeed, where did those who fall into the abyss go?

A flash of gold then, and Thor looked ahead to see Heimdall at the BiFrost entrance, waiting for them. And someone else…

“Mother!” Thor bellowed, slowing his horse to a stop before the observatory. He and the Warriors and Sif dismounted, all quickly bowing to their queen.

“Oh please, no need to be so formal.” Frigga laughed, the others straightening with lopsided smiles.

Thor laughed and embraced his mother, his large form nearly swallowing the woman’s petite frame.

“Why have you come here?” Thor asked as he released her. “Not that I am not happy to see you. I am surprised though.”

“I simply wished to see you off, and to wish you luck in your travels,” Frigga said, straightening her skirts. “But I also wanted to give you something.”

“Give me something?” Thor parroted, curious.

Frigga nodded, reaching into a hidden pocket in the folds of her skirt. She took out something wrapped in a blue silk cloth, holding it out to Thor. Perplexed, Thor took the wrapped cloth from his mother, carefully unfolding it with his companions hovering over his shoulders. Pushing the last fold away, he stared down at what was in his hand.

The first thing that caught Thor’s eye was the startling green gem. The pendent was almond-shaped and silver, Celtic knots etched into the silver, and a round emerald set into its center. It startled Thor so much, the shade of green the emerald boasted; it was the same color as Loki’s eyes…

“It is called Augunaðr,” Frigga said, catching Thor’s stunned eyes. “For luck, you see.”

Thor turned the pendant over in his hands, the chain glistening in the light of the morning. On the back of the setting were carefully scrawled words. He could not make out what it said though, as the language was one he did not recognize. And there was a seam in the pendant’s side; like that of a locket…

He looked up at Frigga and grinned broadly. “Thank you, mother. Though I hardly think we will need much luck in our journey.”

“Even still, you never know,” Frigga said with a smile. “It might come in handy, and reveal things you are unaware of to you.”

“It is magic?” Sif asked. Frigga shrugged.

“It is but an ancient gem, I merely thought it fitting for Thor’s journey,” she said, before looking to Thor with a gentle gaze. “It seemed fitting for you to take it. The emerald reminded me of your brother’s eyes…”

Thor flinched, swallowing dryly. Yes…yes, it was just as he thought. Loki was not with them anymore, and therefore could not accompany Thor on this new adventure. But if he could not be with them in body, perhaps he could be in spirit.

Thor clenched his hand around the pendant, his grip firm yet yielding so as not to crush the precious stone. Frigga’s smile widened as she watched her son regard his clenched fist fondly, and reached out to uncurl his fingers. Carefully, she took the cloth and the pendant. She tucked the cloth in his belt, and then unclasped the necklace. She had to stand on the tips of her toes to get her arms around Thor’s neck, and she carefully clasped it closed just at the nape of his neck, brushing away any hair from under it.

“There, it is perfect my son,” she said.

Thor looked down at his chest, the emerald gleaming with what Thor would swear was pride. Much like Loki’s eyes, the emerald seemed to display faux emotions. Loki’s eyes would always gleam when he was complimented or praised.

Odd, Thor thought, as he could only remember a handful of times Loki was ever praised…

Thor smiled and embraced his mother once more, looking down at her in gratitude.

“Thank you, mother. Truly,” he said, his voice strained slightly.

Frigga kissed his cheek, her hands resting on his shoulders.

“Keep it with you at all times, and be careful out in the realms,” she said, “And if you do encounter the Sky Traveler, be kind to him.”

“I shall, mother,” Thor swore, gently squeezing his mother’s wrist.

The Queen of Asgard nodded and stepped aside, allowing Thor, the Warriors Three, and Sif to enter the observatory. Heimdall awaited them on the central platform, his large, golden sword gripped between both hands. He nodded to his prince and his companions.

“My prince,” he greeted, bowing his head respectfully. “To where do you wish to go?”

“Can you see the Sky Traveler?” Thor asked.

Heimdall’s eyes grew distant, his mind’s eye searching out the realms. A moment passed before he blinked slowly, cat-like, and focused back on Thor.

“I cannot see him, but I hear rumors of him passing through Vanaheim,” he said.

“Then to Vanaheim we shall go,” Thor proclaimed.

Heimdall nodded and started up the BiFrost, the observatory seeming to come alive with loud whirs and whines, a vortex spinning to life in its back. Thor stood before the vortex with his friends, looking over his shoulder and tossing a smile his mother’s way. Frigga smiled back and waved delicately.

A moment later, Thor and his friends were sucked into the vortex, their forms vanishing in swirls of light and color as they were taken to a whole new world. Heimdall lifted his sword from the platform, the BiFrost slowing to a complete stop.

A beat passed before Frigga approached him, her expression blank.

They said nothing to one another for a long moment, their gazes locked onto the abyss that now lay before them. Mere seconds ago, Asgard’s prince and his companions had stood before that darkly painted canvas. But now they were gone, swept away into a new adventure.

Frigga folded her hands in front of herself, her gaze never leaving the abyss.

“You will keep an eye on them?” she inquired, more as a command than a question.

“Aye, my queen,” Heimdall said.

“And you will continue to keep track of the Sky Traveler?”

“Aye, my queen.”

“Good.” Frigga said, before she turned to leave.

She stopped though when Heimdall turned and called her back.

“My queen,” he said, catching her attention, “I am loyal to the royal family of Asgard. Yet I cannot say for certain if my oath will come into question should King Odin discover your plans.”

Frigga smiled sadly, turning fully to face Heimdall. “I am sorry, Heimdall, for burdening you with this. But rest assured, Odin will not punish you for my orders. I will make sure of it.”

“You speak as though he will find out…” Heimdall said.

Frigga’s eyes hooded slightly, her lips tightening.

“My husband has his ways…” she said seriously.

Just outside the observatory, a pair of ravens crowed over the doorway before they took flight, flying straight for Asgard’s palace.

To be continued…

Chapter Text

“Thor…”

The Thunderer groaned, turning over onto his other side.

“Thor~”

Growling, Thor opened his eyes the scantest bit. At first he saw nothing, the inky black of Vanaheim’s night disorienting him. He squeezed his eyes shut, his brain finally waking up as it seemed to register the voice in his ears.

“Thor, wake up.”

“Mm…?” Thor blinked his eyes open again, frowning into the darkness. “What…?”

A breathy chuckle, full of mischief and knowing. The Thunder God felt his heart skip a beat. That voice, that laugh…

Slowly, Thor pushed himself up from his sleeping mat, the blankets falling off of him with a quiet rasp. He blinked into the blackness of the dark night, squinting as a shape shrouded in the darkness caught his eyes.

“Thor…”

Thor gasped, instantly reaching for his hammer. His eyes widened and he looked down, finding Mjolnir no longer strapped to his belt. A soft, focused light emerged from the darkness, green in color, and he looked up at the figure producing the light.

The figure was mostly indistinguishable, as he wore a green and black cloak, the hood up and concealing the person’s face. His black gloved hands were held out, cupped in front of him and holding a glowing green flame. Thor frowned, slowly pushing his blankets fully off himself as he shuffled into a crouch, fists curling into the dirt.

“Who goes there?” he called.

The figure said nothing. Thor scowled.

“I am Thor Odinson, first Prince of Asgard, and I demand you state your bus-”

“Shh…” the figure held one finger up to where his mouth would be, startling Thor. But then he frowned; how dare this peasant shush him!

Thor got up on his feet, gritting his teeth as he pointed a finger at the cloaked man.

“Tell me what it is you come for, peasant!” he snapped.

But the man only chuckled, the timbre low and lilting. Thor felt his face slacken slightly, his eyes widening. He knew that laugh; he’s heard it many times before a prank was pulled, or a disaster struck. He’s heard it when Thor himself screwed something up, and whenever the Warriors Three or Sif received a scolding when they were younger.

Thor swallowed, the blood draining from his face. His hands shook, and his knees suddenly felt like they had spontaneously turned to rubber. His mouth turned to sandpaper, and he swallowed dryly around the thick lump in his throat.

“L-…Loki…?” he rasped.

A white toothed smile seemed to glow like a crescent moon under the hood, a single gloved hand reaching out to Thor.

"Will you listen this time, Thor?” he asked, “Or will you continue to happily consume the rats bred by the All-Father?" Came the beloved and familiar, mocking voice that pulled at the lingering pain brought by his brother's absence.

"B-…Brother…?” Thor rasped, unable to comprehend what he was seeing and hearing.

The man – supposedly Loki – said nothing, and only held his hand out further. The sound of running water suddenly caught Thor’s attention, and he looked down at feeling a strange sensation around his legs. He gasped, startled and backed up slightly.

‘Where did all this water come from?!’ he thought.

The water was freezing cold, and had a strange blue glow to it. Thor was oddly reminded of Jotun blood; thick and pungent like his own. The oddest thing though, was that it was only about a foot deep, yet he could not see his feet through the water. Like it wasn’t clear at all.

Thor looked up at Loki, eyes wide and confused.

“Loki, what-”

“Thor,” Loki interrupted, “Do you want to know?”

Thor blinked, gob smacked. “K-know what?”

“The truth.”

Thor was still lost, his eyes betraying nothing of his confusion and uncertainty. Loki only sighed, the fingers of his outstretched hand curling slightly.

“Do you want to know what really happened to me?” he asked.

Something in Thor froze, and his heart throbbed. The truth…of what happened to Loki? What did that mean? He was killed in a prison riot during his banishment.

Loki suddenly chuckled, startling Thor.

“You truly believe that?” he asked humorously. “You truly believe mere poison could take my life?”

‘No…’ Was what Thor wanted to say. But no words left his lips, his brain working at a mile a minute. His body felt numb, and he halfheartedly wondered if it was the cold water numbing his nerves. And as if he was on autopilot, his body possessed by some cruel spirit, he shook his head.

Thor could swear he felt Loki smile – or rather smirk. His gloved fingers uncurled towards Thor.

“Then let me show you.”

Thor nodded numbly, and reached out to take Loki’s hand. His fingers brushed against the gloved palm, and through the material he could feel how cold Loki’s hand was. Like the skin of a Frost Giant, he radiated cold like winter incarnate. Thor’s world tipped, and he abruptly found himself under the water. Thor startled, automatically stopping his breathing. Loki floated beneath him, his cloak fluttering in the current.

Thor heard him chuckle, his hood moving slightly away from his head.

“Let me show you…”

SPLASH!

“AH!”

Panting, Thor sat bolt upright in his sleeping bag, panting shakily with wide, startled eyes. He swallowed thickly, water dripping from his hair and face. He blinked, staring up at his equally stunned looking companions, Fandral looking triumphant and holding an empty bucket.

“See? I told you it would work!” he said.

Sif was the first to react, blinking dumbly before she scowled. Fandral yelped and dropped his bucket as the female warrior slapped him upside the head.

“What in Hel’s name was that?!” she snapped.

“It woke him, didn’t it?!”

“You didn’t need to throw water on him to wake him!”

Behind the two arguing warriors, Volstagg and Hogun sighed, regarding the confused and damp Thor with sympathetic looks.

“Sorry about that, Thor. Fandral couldn’t wait for you to wake up,” Volstagg said, “You looked like you were having a nightmare too.”

“You were muttering about your brother…” Hogun added.

Thor blinked, flabbergasted. He had been dreaming?

‘Yes…yes, I remember now!’ he thought.

He had dreamt of Loki. Or he thought it was Loki – the man he had spoken to in his dream had certainly sounded and behaved like him. It was so odd though. It seemed every time he had some kind of a dream, he forgot about it within the first five seconds of waking up. But this time…what had that dream been about? He had only ever dreamed of Loki a handful of times, and that was during his first year without his little brother. Usually they were true nightmares, of Loki about to be killed in some horrendous manner, and Thor could only watch on in helpless horror.

“Do you want to know?”

Thor shuddered, that low, sultry voice nearly reeling him. He swallowed dryly as his two friends watched on in concern.

“Are you alright, Thor?” Volstagg asked.

“The truth.”

Thor nodded numbly – though what he was saying yes to was a mystery even to him. But despite his rather lost expression, the others seemed satisfied with his answer – well, most of them. It became apparent to Thor very quickly that Fandral and Sif were still arguing over why pouring a bucket of water on him to wake him up was a stupid and disrespectful idea.

“-and what gives you the right to do that to a prince of Asgard?!”

“He’s not complaining! If anything, it was quite funny.”

“Fun-?!”

“My friends!” Thor bellowed, kicking his damp blankets off and getting to his feet. He quickly wiped some of the water off his face, approaching the two arguing warriors with ease.

Placing heavy hands on their shoulders, he looked at each of them with an easy smile.

“Sif, I appreciate your defense, but I have to admit it was a humorous wake up call.” He turned to Fandral with a smirk. “And just so you know, the next time you are late for waking up, I’ll pour hot coffee on you.”

Fandral laughed. “Just try it my prince! But what is coffee?”

“A wonderful Midgardian drink I had during my-…” Thor paused at the uneasy looks he gained from his friends. He cleared his throat. “Yes, anyway. Have we decided on our destination yet?”

“Yes!” Volstagg said in his usual jolly bellow. He pulled out a map from his bag and laid it out on a large flat stone that dominated their camp.

“We camped here for the night, and Hogun informs me that the closest village is here.” The large man pointed to a small red dot marked on the map, about a half mile from where they currently were.

“We’re going to be more or less going on the Norn’s favor in our search, as the Sky Traveler is constantly on the move,” he added.

Thor nodded, humming thoughtfully as he surveyed the map of northern Vanaheim. The realm was a peaceful, agricultural island – an island that could be more described as a continent if Thor were honest. Hills, fields and patches of lush forests dominated the fertile lands, dozens upon dozens of villages dotting the land.

And that’s all there was to Vanaheim that showed any form of large settlements. Vanaheim had no capitals, grand halls, or castles of any kind. Thor had found it strange, if not confusing, when he learned that Vanaheim had no king or queen, or really any form of monarchy. But it was an overall calm land with even calmer people, with a handful of village representatives to speak for and create laws for their individual settlements.

Thor had once asked Hogun, a Vanir, what he thought of the differences between Asgard and Vanaheim. The warrior had not said much, merely that the two realms were rightfully different and boasted their own pros and cons. Though he did make an off-handed comment about the Vanir-Asgard war, not so subtly stating that both realms held hard heads and prideful resolves.

And right now, Hogun was their best bet in locating the Sky Traveler. He knew Vanaheim like the back of his hand, despite being away from his homeland so frequently.

“This village, will they give information freely?” Sif asked.

“Freely enough,” Hogun said, “We may need to work for more detailed information…”

“But surely to Thor they won’t demand anything,” Sif argued, “He is Asgard’s prince, what right do they have to demand payment for a few words?”

Hogun fixed Sif a sharp look. “Vanaheim is a community based solely on farm work and equality. You don’t work, you don’t eat. You don’t give something for what you desire, you don’t get it.”

“As it is, this is not our realm. The Vanir are a free people, and they have no obligation towards Asgard,” Volstagg added.

Sif flushed slightly at the reprimand, but held her tongue as they poured over the map. They decided to saddle up and pack up the minute they decided on a route to take, and would head straight for Frodi’s dwelling.

“He is a good friend of my father’s,” Hogun said, securing his bags to his horse. “The most he would ask for is a strong back and sturdy hands for his gardens.”

Thor nodded absently, tightening some straps on his own bags. He paused though, looking down at his hand – the hand that had touched the Loki in his dream. He could still feel the cold his brother radiated in his fingertips, creating a stiff, tingling sensation in his fingers. He swallowed, hand shaking slightly. The dream had been so real, could it have been…?

“Thor?”

The Thunderer looked up, startled to see his companions mounting their horses. Sif, who had called out to Thor, gave him a concerned look.

“Are you alright? You seem a bit pale,” she said.

Thor blinked, looking back at his hand again. He frowned, shaking his head, as if to rid himself of his thoughts. He grinned up at Sif.

“I am fine, Sif. Simply lost in thought,” he said.

Though still a bit worried, Sif let Thor be, and he mounted up his horse. Once sure they had packed everything, they all rode off for the village.

Though during the entire trip, Thor could not shake the unease of his dream, especially when he had caught a glimpse of Loki’s face. It had not truly been his little brother’s face…

It had been a Jotun’s.

~s~s~S~s~s~

As a land mostly home to farmlands and agricultural plantations, the average village of Vanaheim could not be considered a calm place, but nor was it like a bustling city of noise and activity. Rather, the village Thor and his companions had entered was more like a large market with a few houses here and there. Stalls and stands selling various goods dominated the roads and sidewalks, many Vanir – and even many foreign visitors – nearly congested the narrow streets.

In the end, Thor and his companions had to leave their horses at a guard station, as when combined they were too large to fit through the streets. On foot, with single bags of essentials they did not want to risk being stolen thrown over their shoulders, they trekked through the market for Frodi’s hall.

Their eyes skimmed over the various stands of food and other goods, even a few jewelry and trinket stands. Most of the stalls consisted of food and other farm grown produce, but the few that did sell other things were nothing to sniff at.

Thor absently wondered at some of the gold and emerald jewelry they passed. Loki was a rather flashy man, and enjoyed some of the simpler jewelry most men would not even dream of wearing. Thor could easily recall his brother’s favorite gold torque necklace, a gift from their mother for his birthday when they were only teenagers. He had worn that necklace every day until the day he died, the gold having accumulated a charming tarnish from its centuries of wear. He had loved that old torque, no matter the ridicule he got for wearing something so ‘womanly’.

It was one of the few things Thor had gotten from Loki before his funeral, Frigga bringing it to him under the assurance that Loki would have wanted him to have it. The torque currently sat in the bag over his shoulders, the Thunder God not being able to part with it for his trip.

“I will trade one pearl for a satchel.”

“Nay, I will only accept three for the lot.”

Thor turned, catching sight of two men bartering at a stand. One was clearly a Dwarf, the other the stand owner. The Vanir was scowling at the Dwarf, clutching something in one of his hands as he regarded the shorter man in disdain.

“Come now, what will you do with such trinkets? Plant them and hope to grow a pearl tree?” The Dwarf mocked.

Thor paused, causing his companions to stop. Pearls…

“I believe they would hold more value around my dear wife’s neck than in your greedy hands,” the Vanir growled.

“Feh! With these dragon scales, you could buy her something prettier!” the Dwarf argued.

“Odd you would say that, considering you are so adamant in having them all.”

“Pardon me.”

Both the Vanir and Dwarf turned, eyes widening at Thor as he approached them. He surveyed each of the men before him, crossing his arms as he regarded the Vanir man curiously.

“May I ask where it is you got those pearls?” he asked.

“He obviously stole them from Jotuneim, or perhaps got them of the black market.” The Dwarf sneered.

“How dare you?! I did no such thing!” The Vanir snapped, clutching his hand over what Thor assumed was the pearls.

He frowned at the Dwarf. “What makes you think they are from Jotunheim?”

The Dwarf scoffed. “They are blue, and of a large size. Only Jotunheim has colored pearls, and in such a size. No other realm has seas like theirs, and the strange ore in the bottom of their seas produces a curious kind of sand that results in such pearls. One of them is even almond-shaped!”

Thor hummed thoughtfully, his companions looking to one another conspiringly. He looked to the Vanir salesman.

“May I see them for a moment?” he asked.

The Vanir hesitated, obviously not keen on having such valuable items in another’s hands. Hogun suddenly stepped forward, nodding respectfully to the older Vanir.

“We only wish to look, they do not need to leave your hand,” he said.

This seemed to calm the man, and he partly held out his hand for the Aesir and Hogun to see. Their brows arched in surprise. The pearls, three in all, were indeed of a large size. Not that they all had much experience with looking at pearls, but even they knew these were not standard sizes – or shapes. The one the Dwarf had mentioned was, in fact, almond-shaped, a near perfect imitation of an actual almond. They were all a deep, rich blue – not unlike a Jotun’s skin color. Raw and untouched, it was little wonder why the Vanir did not wish to part with them.

They only had but a few seconds to look at them before the Vanir’s hand closed, and he pulled his fist back to his chest.

“The Dwarf is right if only in one sense,” he said, “They are of Jotunheim – my grandmother owned such pearls before she passed, and I refuse to part with them all.”

“Such greed, Vanir.” The Dwarf sneered. The Vanir scowled.

“Enough, Dwarf,” Thor said firmly, startling the short man. “If it dragon scales you are wanting to trade, a single bag for one pearl is fair. If anything, you would be getting more out of it than the salesman if what you say about the pearls’ rarity is true.”

The Dwarf stuttered. “B-but your highness-”

“Do not question me, Dwarf. Either trade fairly with the man or leave,” Thor rumbled, eyes narrowing on the Dwarf.

Face reddening, the Dwarf shook with repressed rage. But nonetheless, he was not willing to be killed for arguing with Asgard’s crown prince. He merely gave the Vanir a hard scowl, tossing one of the three bags – about the size of the Dwarf’s head – of dragon scales onto the stand counter. Grinning, the Vanir tossed a single round pearl to the Dwarf, who swiftly caught it and stomped away with his things.

The Vanir sighed, looking to Thor gratefully. “I thank you, Prince Thor, for helping me to settle the debate.”

“It is no trouble,” Thor said, before he became more serious. “Though I still wish to know how you came across such rare things.”

The Vanir’s smile dropped, and he sighed. He tucked the pearls into the inner pocket of his tunic, and stashed the bag of dragon scales away under the counter. He leaned over the stand’s counter and spoke with a quiet voice.

“Have you heard of the one known as the Sky Traveler?” he asked.

Thor nodded. “We actually have come to seek him out. He is the one who gave the pearls to you?”

“He traded them actually,” the Vanir said, “My farm is famous for its fruit trees, and he asked for some seeds and soil from my farm in exchange for five pearls. I traded in two to pay off a couple debts, and these last ones I was saving for my wife.”

Thor nodded, the others intrigued. “Do you know anything of the Sky Traveler? Who he is, where he is from?”

The Vanir shook his head. “Not a thing. He didn’t even stay for dinner when my wife offered, said he had much ground to cover with little time to spare. He worked over at my brother’s farm for a couple days for some herbs, but he still didn’t speak much.”

Thor frowned, slightly put out by the lack of information. But they seemed to be on the right track, and he wasn’t about to lose hope.

The salesman went on to say he had met the Sky Traveler last week, and had worked on his brother’s farm just three days ago. Unlike traditional means, the traveler used powerful Seidr to complete chores and field work – not that the Vanir cared much. As long as the work got done, it mattered not how to them. And it wasn’t like his payment demands were hard to meet. Everyone he ever worked for was always surprised he asked for such menial things instead of money or something more valuable. But they didn’t complain; the work was quick and effective, and the payment was no loss to them whatsoever.

“His horse is quite interesting as well,” the Vanir said thoughtfully. “A massive, majestic creature, works very well in plowing the fields.”

Thor nodded, mentally jotting down the information. So far, nothing was really standing out, other than the fact that the Sky Traveler seemed to have a large abundance of pearls. Such rare things they were, even those as unmaterialistic as the Vanir valued them.

“And he says nothing?” Fandral asked.

“Well, he speaks, but only when spoken to.” The Vanir shrugged. “Other than that, he is rather quiet. Never removes his cloak either, and stayed out in the barn during his stay at my farm. He never took any room we offered him for the work.”

Stranger and stranger still, Thor noted.

“Any reason why?” he asked.

“My wife asked, wondering if he was sick and needed the warmth. But it was not so, as he claims our sun was quite harsh on his skin.”

A plausible answer, but even the Vanir didn’t seem to fully believe his own words. Though it is not unheard of for people to have sensitive skin – Dark Elves were actually very sensitive to bright and warm light, particularly sunlight. Perhaps he was a Dark Elf?

“A Dark Elf, perhaps?” Volstagg suggested, seemingly reading Thor’s thoughts.

But the Vanir shook his head. “We asked where he was from, but he gave a strange answer…”

“How so?” Thor asked.

“He said, ‘I come from winter’s cradle’. That is all,” The Vanir said, frowning slightly at the odd words.

The others were just as baffled. What a strange answer. The only place they could think of to fit such a description would be Jotunheim, but there was no way he could be from there. He obviously wasn’t a Frost Giant, as they could not leave their own realm. He was Aesir-sized from what they heard, so unless he was a Jotun runt that somehow got out of the icy realm, there simply was no way to decipher the odd words. And Jotnar could not use any magic outside of their usual ice magic as far as they knew.

The Vanir suddenly perked, gesturing down the street.

“Frodi would know more I think,” he said, “The Sky Traveler worked for him the longest – about five days. Perhaps he will know more?”

Thor nodded. “Yes, we were actually on our way to see him. Do you know if he is in?”

“He should be. His gardens are in full bloom now, he will likely be home harvesting fruits and herbs.”

“Thank you my friend, for being of such great help in our search,” Thor said with a smile.

The Vanir smiled back, nodding respectfully.

Saying their goodbyes, Thor and his companions trekked for Frodi’s home – a large wooden house that seemed more like a modest mansion than anything else. Apparently more than a third of the wooden structure was a greenhouse though, the rest being quaint living quarters for its single resident.

“I shall tell him of our arrival, and our business with him,” Hogun said.

No one argued, and they all simply watched as the Vanir warrior approached the wooden door of the large building. Knocking thrice, the door opened but a moment later to reveal an old Vanir man.

“Hogun? Dear boy, is that you?” Frodi chortled, squinting his aging eyes.

Hogun inclined his head respectfully. “Aye, indeed Sir Frodi. I have come with Prince Thor and our companions.”

“Wonderful! Please, do come in, I wish to hear of your adventurous tales.” The elder Vanir ushered everyone inside with the warm, dusty vigor only someone his age could give.

Thor smiled as the old man grinned a gap-toothed grin at him, missing a couple teeth from age. He paused however as his hand seemed to throb, a chill overtaking his fingers.

“Is something wrong?” Volstagg asked, now stuck behind Thor and unable to get through the door.

Thor looked at his hand, frowning. He shook his head suddenly, moving aside to allow his friend inside.

“Nothing, nothing. The fragrance of Sir Frodi’s home merely stunned me,” he said.

Frodi chuckled. “Ah yes, no one can match my flowers’ perfumes. Now come, into the living room while I make us some tea.”

Everyone shuffled into the cozy, round room that served as the living room. Though it was small, it was comfortable, and boasted a soothing fragrance that seemed to originate from a large potted plant in the corner. There were no real couches or chairs, but rather a few rows of thick cushions and mats. Hogun, being their wordlessly proclaimed guide and ambassador, instructed everyone to kneel on the mats in front of the larger cushion in front of them, dictating their place as guests in Frodi’s home.

And while everyone arranged themselves into not the most comfortable of positions, Frodi took a quick look into the living room, surveying his guests, particularly Thor.

Or perhaps it was the emerald pendant he wore…

To be continued…

Chapter Text

At first, there was nothing but darkness.

Drip!

Thor would think he was in some cavern deep inside the ground or a mountain. It was frigid, and had he been able to see in such darkness, he would be able to see his own breath. The only sound he could pick up on was that of water dripping steadily onto stone, each drop echoing eerily.

Drip!

He breathed out heavily, eyes wide open yet sightless in the blackness. He turned his head this way and that, hands reaching out for some form of anchor; he felt like he was floating in space!

Drip!

And then, a sound.

Drip!

He paused, ears straining against the deafening silence. There was not a sound to be heard – even the dripping of water seemed to spontaneously freeze and silence itself. Thor held his breath, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. Someone was in the darkness with him…

Drip…

A rustling sound then, and a high pitched, serpentine hiss. Thor froze as what sounded like an animal’s groan was heard, and he turned his head to what he believed to be the direction it came from.

He at first saw nothing. He frowned, the darkness receding slightly as a shape began to appear before him.

“Thor…”

The Thunderer gasped, veering around completely towards the sound of the whisper. But no one was there – or at least, no one he could see. There was a slight cracking noise, like stone finally giving way after centuries of weathering. Thor startled as a low burst of light fell against his back, and his darkness adjusted eyes squinted shut as he turned around to face it.

The sight that greeted him had the scream rising through his throat abruptly stuck in his chest. Eyes wide in horror, Thor could only gape in disbelief.

Loki stared back with empty eye sockets, blood and green venom dripping from the empty holes. His emaciated, battered body was tied in a painful arch to a large boulder in the center of the cavern. A large snake hung over him as it steadily dripped acidic venom onto his mutilated face.

Eyeless sockets stared at Thor, and as much as he wished to, the Thunderer was unable to take his gaze off of the gaping black holes. Remains of burned and melted eyes dripped and lay in gelatinous pools in the sockets, more of the noxious fluids having also settled into the prominent dips of Loki’s ribs and hollow belly.

His naked body scarred, bruised, and abused, Loki stared at Thor with hollow resolve. And yet, despite his lack of eyes, the Thunderer could swear he saw a raging fire within the soulless pits.

Loki suddenly leaned forward on his knees, sightless gaze never leaving Thor. The snake above him hissed and closed its mouth, turning to stare at Thor as well. And in a clear, angered voice, Loki said,

“You’re a liar.”

The snake hissed, lunging from its perch towards Thor.

Thor screamed.

~s~s~S~s~s~

And awoke with said scream stuck in his throat, blocked off by his erratic panting.

Thor sat up in his bed panting, eyes wide and unseeing, his entire body soaked in a cold sweat. He swallowed dryly as his vision seemed to clear, the vision of the vicious snake and Loki’s battered body slowly vanishing from his sight. He looked down at the thick white sheets over his lap, now partly soaked with his sweat, his night shirt and pants sticking uncomfortably to his torso.

Breath shaky, he turned to look at his roommate, and was relieved to see Fandral – in the second bed across the room – still asleep and undisturbed. The swordsman was snoring away loudly in his bed, not the least bit bothered by Thor’s intense nightmare.

The Thunderer sighed, swiping an arm across his brow as he fell back into his bed, kicking his sheets off. He shuddered at the cool air over his damp skin, but willed himself to lay still as his body dried and cooled.

Thor stared up at the wooden ceiling of the guest room, trying valiantly to forget the awful nightmare he had experienced. Why would he dream of such a thing? How could he even unconsciously come up with such a horrid way of torture, and to Loki no less?

Turning his head to the window over his bed, Thor stared out into Vanaheim’s night sky. It was quite late, the skies of Vanaheim now painted an almost pitch black color, dotted with glistening stars and a waning moon. Though what time it was, he could not be sure – each realm had its own time-zone, and Thor did not have the mental strength to try and work out what time it could be at the moment. Nor did he really care for that matter.

Thor licked his dry lips, his mouth feeling like sandpaper. He groaned and scrubbed the heels of his hands over his eyes. There was no way he was going to get back to sleep now, or at least not anytime soon. He felt sticky and gross, like he had gone straight to bed after a wrestling match in the mud.

He reached down to his chest suddenly, his fingers brushing against the pendent his mother had given him. It seemed to throb under his fingers, the gem and metal warm from his heated body. He sighed.

Resolving to not even try and attempt going back to sleep, Thor pushed himself up and swung his legs over the bedside. Rubbing his face, he stood up and shuffled for the bathroom just across from his and Fandral’s room.

He briefly cast a glance at the room shared by Hogun and Volstagg, Sif having got her own room. Bypassing the guestrooms, he entered the bathroom, closing the door carefully behind him.

Ten minutes later, his face and body damp from the warm water of a quick pat-down, Thor meandered downstairs into the living area. He sighed, seeing the fire in the fireplace still going weakly, the various seating cushions scattered about. Absently, he threw a couple more logs onto the fire, almost instantly bringing the embers back to life. The smell of burning wood and fragrant orchids wafted through the air, relaxing Thor slightly. Deeply inhaling the floral scent, the Thunderer slumped down onto a cushion to stare tiredly into the flames.

He rubbed at his face, eyes still bleary. But he refused to shut his eyes, let alone go back to bed. It seemed like every time he so much as blinked, the image of his beaten and blinded brother invaded his vision.

Thor shuddered, gripping his biceps and biting his lip. Something was nagging at him, like a little alarm was going off in his head. The dream, while horrendous, seemed to click with something in his head. It was like he was experiencing déjà vu.

But no, when had Loki ever been bound to a rock and made blind by a snake? It made no sense.

So why couldn’t he forget about it…?

“Can’t sleep?”

Thor startled, veering his head around with wide eyes. He relaxed minutely at seeing the elder Vanir, Frodi, standing in the doorway of the living room. The old man smiled, tightening the knot of his robe around his waist.

Thor cleared his throat. “I, ah…no, I cannot. It seems as if I have forgotten what it is like to sleep elsewhere besides my home.”

Frodi chuckled, shuffling in to take a seat beside Thor. “It is not surprising. It has been quite some time since Asgard’s prince has been out and about, or so I hear.”

Thor had the good grace to flush slightly in embarrassment. As much as he wished to avoid it, he knew very well that his image within the Nine Realms had greatly deteriorated over the years. Where once he was the Giant Slayer, the Great Thor of Asgard, he was now simple Thor. It’s been over fifty years since he did anything to uphold his former reputation after all. But at the same time, Thor was somewhat glad to have his slate wiped clean; perhaps now he could build a better reputation for himself that wasn’t just about warring and slaying beasts.

“It has…been a rough few years,” he said. Frodi nodded.

“Losing a loved one is painful,” he said understandingly. “It haunts us, much like a scar earned in battle. The smallest things can remind us of the one we lost. And like a deep scar, it will always be there to remind us that we still hurt.”

Thor blinked in surprise, slightly in awe of the old Vanir. The dark eyes of the elder were slightly glazed, misty even; like he was reliving a painful memory. Thor had to wonder, for how old Frodi was, how many loved ones has he lost in his lifetime?

“Does it ever go away?” he asked, his voice hopeful.

Frodi smiled sadly. “It never fully goes away. The pain will always be with us. But we learn to bear and accept it in time.”

The Thunderer nodded slowly, turning back to look at the fire. In a way, he already knew these things. But he supposed another part of himself hoped that the pain of losing his brother would go away completely. He hoped it would heal like magic and not scar, as if his own brother could heal the wounds left on his heart from his passing.

“Dear brother, there is no such thing as a perfect healing. Every living thing scars; humans, plants, animals, and yes, even us.”

Thor shuddered. Loki had said those words many years ago, when they had been mere teenagers and Thor had been dumb enough to go toe to toe with an adult Bilgesnipe. He was nearly gored by the beast, but escaped with his life with a long gash across his back. He had asked Loki to heal it before their parents found out, but found the wound had been bad enough to leave a scar, even with healing Seidr.

Every living thing scars…

We are not true gods…

‘So what are we…?’ he thought.

Beside him, Frodi blinked slowly and observed Thor, a bony hand coming up to point at the prince’s chest.

“That pendent you wear…” he started.

“Hm?” Thor looked down, before he clutched at the pendent and turned back to Fodi. “Oh, this. Mother gave it to me for luck in my journey.”

“And do you know what it is?” Frodi asked.

“Mother called it ‘Augunaðr’, I believe,” Thor said curiously.

“Yes, that is correct,” Frodi said with a nod. “Its name means ‘serpent eye’.”

Thor blinked. “It does?”

“Indeed,” Frodi said, “The gem is magic, and is often used to help those who possess it see the truth in lies, to help one see what is truly there and what is not. Snakes do not blink, therefore they cannot miss the slightest moment it can take for one to lie.”

“Mother said something similar…” Thor said uncertainly.

“I should hope so…” Frodi muttered, before he seemed to brighten. “But it is merely legend. Such gems are very rare, and many are skeptical of their abilities.”

Thor nodded slowly, looking back down at the emerald pendent. Whatever the case, and whatever it may be, he could not find himself parting with such a gem. It reminded him too much of Loki, and there was just something about it that pulled him in. Snakes do not blink, therefore they are not blind to lies. And if they do not blink, they can forever hold one’s attention without falter. Loki had been much the same.

Thor turned to look out the window beside them, the sky still dark and inky. He had to wonder just how much time had passed during their arrival at Frodi’s domain. It had been close to noon when they arrived, and during that time and until they went to bed, they had not heard a single thing from Frodi about the Sky Traveler.

Instead, somehow the conversation had started and ended with tales of their old adventures back before Loki had died. Frodi seemed quite entertained by all the antics and shenanigans they all got into. And as much as Thor hated to admit it, they had virtually spent their entire day rattling off tales of adventure and folly instead of trying to glean any information on the Sky Traveler.

Although, he had been a bit surprised as well. Frodi had been deeply fascinated with their stories, but particularly of those involving his late little brother. He particularly asked about Loki’s tricks, laughing heartily at the tales of pranks he had pulled on them and quite a few others.

Perhaps it had been Thor’s fault they had wasted the day away. Once Frodi had expressed interest in Loki, Thor could not stop talking about him. He prattled on and on about his little brother, as if he were possessed by some overly talkative spirit. It had concerned the Warriors Three and Sif how much he was speaking, especially after fifty years of almost complete silence from him. It was little wonder how Thor had winded himself from talking so much, and by the time he realized he could barely draw another breath, Frodi suggested they eat and get some rest; it was late evening after all, and he had plenty of rooms.

Thor hadn’t even noticed so much time had passed – and an entire day at that. He often forgot that each realm had its own time-zone, as the Midgardians would call it. And apparently Vanaheim had days slightly shorter than Asgard’s…

“He was quite a Trickster I hear,” he recalled Frodi saying, “Must have been a handful to be around!”

Indeed, Loki had been a handful. Loki was like the fire he conjured; untamable, fierce and wild. On one hand, he could be as warm and welcoming as a home hearth be. But if you got too close to him, aggravated or added onto the fire, he would burn and consume your very being. And whatever, or whoever, he touched, he affected in some way. During their younger years, it could be in a positive way. But after they became adults, it seemed like he literally became the fire he represented; everything he touched or came into contact with went up in flames.

It made Thor wonder; when did Loki become such a dangerous being? When had Loki suddenly become not just Loki, but the Liesmith, Silvertongue, the God of Mischief? When had he changed so…?

Thor could not recall a single moment in their past that would prompt such a change in his brother.

In fact…

He frowned. ‘I cannot recall much of my years as a teenager either…’

How odd…

Frodi suddenly turned to Thor, a knowing grin on his face. “Thor, have you ever heard of the tale of the Vetsgipt?”

Thor turned to Frodi in confusion. “Vetsgipt?” he repeated.

The old Vanir nodded. “Yes. It is the story of the birth of the Jotnar’s True God.”

The Jotnar had a god? A True God?

Frodi chuckled, easilyreading the surprise in Thor’s face. “It is a rather interesting tale, if you would humor an old man and hear it?”

“I – of course, Sir Frodi.” Thor said, his full attention now on Frodi.

“Wonderful! Now then, how to start…” Frodi took a moment to gather his thoughts, before he crossed his arms and began,

“Long ago, when the realms were still young, the first king of Jotunheim found himself with child.”

“The king was with child?” Thor asked dubiously. Frogi chuckled.

“The Jotnar are intersexed, dear boy. You did not know this?” Frodi teased.

Thor blushed, but said nothing as Frodi continued.

“The king, Nal, and his mate, Ymir, rejoiced at the news of an heir, as did the whole of Jotunheim. However, that joy was not to last. A Civil War had broken out in the frozen land, led by Nal’s younger, jealous brother; Thiazi. Spited by his elder brother’s recent crowning, Thiazi started a rebellion large enough to match that of the Jotun capital’s army.

“Sickened with sadness and grief for his beloved brother’s betrayal, Nal tried to reason with Thiazi. But it was for naught, and a war was to rage between the people of Jotunheim. Thiazi’s army was vast, and the two kings knew much blood would be spilled. Nal’s sadness for his brother and his people was so great, his unborn child felt it while still cradled in the womb.

“And in sensing its Dam’s grief, the child, still in the womb, turned to the Norns for help. Since he was still cradled in the flesh, he was as close as one could get to such true Gods. To them, he begged for a way to stop this war, to make his dear Dam and Sire’s sadness vanish.

“The Norns agreed to hear him out, but warned him they could not simply give the power to stop a war for nothing. The child must exchange something for what he wishes. The child agreed, and offered three things in exchange for the power to stop a war.”

‘What in the Nine Realms could an unborn Jotun offer to the Norns…?’ Thor thought skeptically.

“He offered to them his size for knowledge. He offered his physical strength for the power of unmatched Seidr. And he offered his horns for the gift of bringing life,” Frodi told mysteriously.

Thor frowned. “How can any of that stop a war? Why did he not simply ask for more strength and greater size to overpower Thiazi’s army?”

“Ah, but those things could not stop a war quickly and as painlessly as possible. Now then…” Frodi continued.

“The Norns agreed, and bestowed the child the gifts of unmatched knowledge, powerful Seidr, and the ability to bring forth new life in body and touch.

“Bestowed with these new gifts, the child slept within his Dam’s belly as he grew and awaited his birth. And when the time came, and the babe was placed in Nal’s arms, he knew his child would stop the war.

“The child, Loptr, was small – smaller than any Jotun to have ever been born. At first, people viewed his size as a bad omen, believing his birth was a sign of their coming loses and decline in power. But even still, Ymir and Nal loved their child, and did everything within their power to ensure he lived a prosperous life…”

Jotnar, loving their children. It was hard for Thor to believe; he had grown up with stories of the Jotnar viewed as nothing but monsters. He had even heard a few stories of desperate Jotnar eating their own children!

“The war progressed in the meantime, and the child grew not in size, but in wisdom and power. And at a tender young age, Loptr mastered his Seidr and utilized his power to stop the war and defeat Thiazi. And this is where his gifts came to fruition…”

Thor leaned forward in anticipation, suddenly engrossed in the story. Truly, how could knowledge, Seidr, and the ability to bring life stop a war?

“With his knowledge, he reasoned with those who could be saved from the war. With his Seidr, he conquered those who did not wish to be saved. And with his touch of life, he restored what was destroyed within Jotunheim.

“Thiazi defeated, and his armies decimated, Jotunheim soon settled into a period of peace and prosperity. Loptr was worshiped and revered, called a True God for his power and life giving touch. Jotunheim prospered and lived happily under his rule, even after he passed they prospered. They called him Vetsgipt; Winter’s Gift.”

Frodi suddenly leaned in closer to Thor conspiringly, lowering his voice.

“And it is said, in times of coming hardship and pain, another Vetsgipt will be born to the royal family. It is said, that during the Asgard-Jotunheim war, that one was born to Laufey and Fárbauti. But no child was ever presented between the two, and so Jotunheim fell without its Vetsgipt. Many say the child was killed during the war. Others say he just disappeared. And only a select few believe he will return to Jotunheim and restore it to its former glory and save the Jotun race from extinction.”

The tale ended, Frodi sat back in his seat with an easy grin, seemingly oblivious to Thor’s dumbfounded expression.

“But this is just legend, perhaps as a way to explain why Jotun runts are born every now and again,” the Vanir suddenly said, startling Thor.

Thor blinked slowly, shaking his head.

“Forgive me, but this sounds very much like a myth. I cannot honestly see the Jotnar as worshiping a runt for any given powers,” he said.

Frodi shrugged. “Perhaps, but then again, we all misjudge one another. Have you truly met a Jotun, Prince Thor?”

“Yes, I-”

“No, no, not in combat or battle. I mean have you spoken to one, civilly.” Frodi emphasized.

Though a bit stunned, Thor shook his head. Frodi sighed.

“Call me a Jotun sympathizer, but when you are my age, you quickly grow weary of hatred and past squabbles,” he said, “Every one of the Nine Realms was affected by the Asgard-Jotunheim war, and I was fortunate – or unfortunate – enough to be around to see it and its devastations.

“I have even met Jotnar before the war, spoken with and befriended a few. They are a deeply intelligent, resourceful people. Proud, willful, as foul and fair as nature herself. None can truly tame the storm or the sea; and the Jotnar are the embodiments of these things.”

Hardly sure if he was truly listening, Thor only nodded along with Frodi’s words. Though if he were honest with himself, he wasn’t truly paying attention. He was hearing what Frodi was saying, but it wasn’t processing or computing with his brain. If he had to compare it to anything, it was like he was listening to Frodi saying the sky was purple, fire extinguished water, and rain spouted up from the ground. There was no understanding it no matter wat he said to back it up.

Everything Frodi just described was everything Thor thought the Jotnar were not. The concept of them even having children dropped a ball of nausea into his gut. He did not want to think such primitive beings could even have children. To say a species had children was to imply they were once innocent, that they were people. And people weren’t monsters. People were men and women who could not be monsters – it was to imply that they were like Thor himself, like his fellow Aesir.

And that was the number one taboo in his realm; to see the Jotnar as people, as equals.

“And if I were anything but Aesir, Thor? Would you still see me as your brother?”

Bile rose up into Thor’s throat, and the Thunderer abruptly stood from his seat.

“I…think I should try and go back to sleep now,” he said, his voice tight. “Thank you, for the story. And for speaking with me. Good night, Sir Frodi.”

“And to you as well, Prince Thor…” Frodi said with an incline of his head.

Thor nodded, before he stiffly turned on his heels and retreated back to his and Fandral’s room.

Frodi watched as Thor vanished back down the hall and into his room. Humming to himself, he turned to look back at the dying fire in contemplation.

“I must be sure to write to Frigga in the morn…” he muttered.

~s~s~S~s~s~

“You betrayed me.” An almost growled accusation.

“I did no such thing, husband.” A calm reply.

“But you did!” Odin snapped, pacing the length of the sitting area.

Frigga did not even so much as flinch at the All-Father’s raised tone. She simply sat by primly, hands folded neatly in her lap as she stared ahead, her husband passing by her vision every now and again.

“Odin, you know Thor was bound to find out eventually,” she said calmly.

“Not like this!” Odin snapped, turning to look at his wife with a single narrowed eye. “These things take time, preparation! He would have found out when he was crowned, if not afterwards!”

Frigga scowled. “Like we did with Loki?”

Odin stiffened, staring his wife down with a fiery, yet freezing, gaze. Frigga did not back down.

“We never discussed when we were going to tell Loki of who and what he was, and I don’t think we wanted to for two different reasons,” Frigga said, “I did not want to tell him because I feared losing him and his love. You did not want to tell him because you didn’t want any possible future plans for him ruined.”

“He is a man, he would not have thrown a tantrum like a child,” Odin argued.

“How do you know, Odin? How do you know he would not have been hurt? How do you know if he would not have lashed out, that that last thread of hope and respect he may have for us would snap?”

Odin gritted his teeth, fists clenching. “Loki was the second prince, it would not be his place or his right to-”

“To what, Odin?!” Frigga snapped, rising to her feet. “Would it not be his right to resent us for virtually locking away who he was like a relic in the vault? Would it not be his right to feel such pain, such anguish, for his last few confidants to finally admit to betraying him? Would it not be his right, as your Hel damned given title as God of Lies, to know that we, his own parents, lied to him?!”

“He is not our child!”

Silence.

Frigga said and did nothing, her angered scowl unreeling. She did not react to Odin’s words, nor did she make to respond to them.

A beat passed between them before anything happened. And it had happened so swiftly, one might think it hadn’t happened at all.

Slap!

Not even looking at her husband – she didn’t even think she could anymore – Frigga turned for the door.

“I will have a few servants come by to move my things to a different room,” she said flatly, “You will not seek me out.”

The doors to the room closed behind her, leaving Odin with a stinging cheek and a stunned expression. Another beat passed in the room, before Odin suddenly roared in a battle cry and flipped the couch Frigga had previously been sitting on. Snarling, the All-Father paced the room like a caged animal, nostrils flaring and teeth gritting.

It took him ten minutes to calm down enough to take a seat in an armchair, placing his face in his hands.

Where in Hel’s name did he go wrong in all of this, he wondered.

Knock, knock, knock!

Odin growled, looking up.

“What?” he snapped.

“Uh, my King? I have an urgent letter from King Malekith of Svartalfheim,” a servant called from behind the door.

“It can wait.” Odin growled.

“Um…my King, his messenger made it clear that King Malekith wished you to read it as soon as possible. It is most urgent.”

Growling, Odin stood form his seat and marched for the door. Throwing it open, and nearly knocking the poor messenger boy over, he glowered down at him.

“Well?” he snarled.

The page swallowed, lowering his head and presenting the letter to the All-Father, sealed with the customary black wax insignia of Malekith’s house.

Odin took the letter roughly. “Dismissed.” He grunted.

The page wasted no time in making a break for the exit, leaving Odin to slam the door to his quarters shut and bring the letter to his desk. He didn’t even bother with the envelope opener, and instead tore the envelope open. Roughly pulling the letter out, his single eye skimmed over the neatly written cursive.

He paused at some point, frowning as he went back to read over the letter again, more slowly this time.

By the time he had finished the letter, his hands were white-knuckled, and his single eye was wide in disbelief.

Dearest All-Father, King Odin,

I write to you with saddening news. As of now, and due to more reliable and flexible resources, Svartalfheim shall hereby revoke all matter of trade and treaty with Asgard in favor of Jotunheim. I sincerely apologize for the abrupt cease in our alliance, but a King’s duty is to his people, as you should understand. Jotunheim has proven to be the better trade partner, and treaties and alliance contracts shall be drawn in the morn.

With best regards,

King Malekith of Svartalfheim.

To be continued…

Chapter Text

“The Sky Traveler is a pure mystery, an enigma. But he is also a good man, with a heart of ice and fire. Though what his goals and intentions are, it is unclear. I cannot say where he is from, as he does not show himself, nor does he speak of his home.”

“Where can we find him though?”

“As of now, he is likely at the edge of Vanaheim. He stays in one realm for a limited amount of time, a week at best, and then he will move on. I recall him speaking to his horse, saying that he would enjoy running through the surf and nipping at the seaweed of our coasts. And the only coast worth visiting is to the west, where a fishing town lies.”

“Then we shall head to the west coast.”

“Aye, and I wish you luck. But be warned, the Sky Traveler is not to be trifled with. Though he is peaceful, he is not harmless. If he feels threatened, he will not hesitate to fight you. And he will defeat you…”

These words had been said by Frodi that morning over breakfast, Thor and his fellow companions gathering as much information as they could on the Sky Traveler. Morning itself had been four hours ago, and it was now early afternoon. And once they had cleaned up and eaten, repaying Frodi with a bit of housework, they found themselves on the road once more.

Their horses trotted at a steady pace towards the next village, following a beaten dirt trail through meadows and forests. The smell of seawater and surf was steadily becoming more potent, and if they strained their ears, they could hear sea birds in the distance.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Fandral, unusually nervous, questioned.

“What? Are you scared of a Seidr user?” Sif teased.

“Of course not! I am merely uncertain as to whether we are wasting our time or not,” Fandral defended. “Lord Frodi said that the Sky Traveler was nomadic, so for all we know, he’s on the other side of Yggdrasil by now!”

Thor rolled his eyes, “Calm yourself, Fandral. If he is not here on Vanaheim, we will simply contact Heimdall and ask if he can see him elsewhere.”

“Heimdall said he cannot see the Sky Traveler…”

“Why are you suddenly so apprehensive, my friend?” Volstagg inquired curiously. “You’re not seriously intimidated by him, are you?”

Fandral sighed in frustration. “I just think that maybe we...need to rethink how we are going about this.”

Everyone stopped their horses abruptly, four heads veering around to face Fandral with wide, stunned eyes. They all blinked dumbly at the blond swordsman, and Sif moved her horse closer to Fandral’s. She reached up and felt his forehead.

“He is not feverish…” she said.

Fandral scowled, swatting her hand away. “I am serious! I have just been thinking-”

“A dangerous venture…” Sif droned.

“-that perhaps we are being too hasty.” Fandral ignored Sif’s remark. “What do we even know of the Sky Traveler? Sir Frodi is obviously no fool, and if he felt it right to warn us of just how powerful the Sky Traveler was, perhaps we just need to rethink how we are going to approach him.”

Sif scoffed, expression darkening. “You sound just like Lok-”

She paused, catching her words quickly in her mouth with a swift click of her teeth. The Warriors Three seemed to cringe, lowering their gazes. No one dared to look at Thor. Sif herself absolutely refused to look at the Aesir prince, her hands tightening around the reins. Tension was thick around them, not unlike an invasive fog. Even the horses seemed uncomfortable, shifting anxiously in place, small nickers escaping their velvety lips.

The warriors and Sif startled, thunder rumbling in the distance. The sky had gotten significantly darker, and if they looked up, they would see clouds rolling in from seemingly nowhere. They chanced a glance at Thor.

Thor was not looking at them, but rather at the back of his horse’s neck. His knuckles were white, tight as they were around his reins. His poor horse, Lightning, was fidgeting in place with the ticking time-bomb on his back. The stormy expression he likely wore was unseen by the Warriors Three and Sif, as he was looking straight ahead and not at them.

But if they could see his expression, they would not see a face of rage, but of conflict. Thor was not so much enraged at Sif’s tactless statement, but thoughtful. In a way, he felt a sense of the Midgardian term of déjà vu. He blinked slowly, his jaw tightening in memory.

“Thor, you are being stupid, walking into what is obviously a trap.”

“You cannot just go swinging your hammer about and expect to get out without a mess!”

“You need to THINK Thor.”

“For ONCE in your life, LISTEN TO ME…!”

“LISTEN TO ME!”

Thor shuddered, feeling something clench in his chest. How long…had it been since he actually listened to his brother’s advice? His brother, who was to be his right hand, his advisor when Thor was crowned? When had he ever actually listened when he was trying to do his job?

“Never, because you never cared for my opinion…”

Thor startled, tugging Lightning’s reins and causing the horse to nicker anxiously. That voice again, mocking, cold as ice, and as sharp as the daggers the voice’s owner wielded. It never seemed to really occur to Thor, his various ways of brushing his brother off. How Loki’s suggestions for a safer or even quicker way to solve something were always shoved aside in favor of ‘honor’ or ‘courage’. The warrior’s way – it overshadowed Loki.

“Or perhaps it is YOU who has always overshadowed me…”

“Thor…?”

He heard one of his companions – Volstagg – tentatively call his name. He did not respond, but he felt his once tightly wound resolve loosen slightly. The sky still remained overcast though, and the slight rumble of thunder in the distance was still present.

The burly, red bearded man cleared his throat, shifting uneasily on his horse. “I am sure Sif meant no ill will towards-”

“We should keep going,” Thor cut in suddenly, startling everyone.

The Warriors Three and Sif looked to one another uncertainly, before Fandral spoke up once more.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

Thor finally turned to them, causing their jaws to tighten and their nerves to prickle. But his expression was purely blank, not a single emotion or otherwise present on his face. But his eyes were clear and icy, almost frigid.

“Yes.” Was the stony response.

And no sooner did he say that single word, did Thor gently kick his horse back into a gallop. The others soon followed without pause, though the tension followed them like a ghost throughout the trip. Silence reigned between them all, thick and heavy. The smell of the sea was growing stronger, and even the sound of crashing waves could be heard more clearly. Grass was fast becoming overwhelmed by rocks and sand, their trail obscured by the soft grains.

“Fandral…”

The mentioned warrior startled, the others visibly tensing and moving away from him. And as if sensing his rider was being called to, the horse Fandral rode galloped closer to Thor’s, bringing the two men at near perfect eye level. Fandral almost cursed at his horse, but nonetheless acknowledged his prince.

“Yes?” he inquired uncertainly.

At first Thor said nothing. But after a brief pause, he soon turned to Fandral with a very strange look in his eyes. The blond warrior was hard pressed to compare it to anything other than…possibly remorse? Regret?

“Your council is much appreciated.” Thor said suddenly. “Perhaps you are right. Perhaps we can take a day to think things over and then see where our decisions take us on our journey.”

Behind the two, the remaining warriors gaped and stared at the two blond men’s backs. Sif seemed especially stunned, her brows high and eyes wide. Hogun’s mildly stunned expression was quickly wiped out and replaced with his usual blank stare. Volstagg seemed to eventually grin with a sense of pride. Though why, no one would really ever know.

Fandral though seemed the most surprised, blinking owlishly at Thor. The Aesir prince smiled slightly, before redirecting his gaze forward once more.

“We are here.” He said suddenly.

Looking ahead, the Warriors Three and Sif finally laid eyes on the fishing village they were to seek. With the strong wind of the sea, the crashing waves brought on by the overcast sky, and the rumbling thunder, it did not make for the most pleasant image. They could see many Vanir packing up their shops, and shoppers and farmers gathering their families to no doubt find shelter from the coming storm.

It was a bit eerie, this grey, gloomy village. But either he ignored it, or simply did not acknowledge it, as Thor slowed his horse into an easy canter as they neared the village.

They followed without protest – at least, not any vocal protest – as they searched out the village for a place to stay. It was Fandral who eventually found a small tavern and inn near the docks. They all quickly holed up inside after securing their horses to a few posts under the inn’s awning to be taken to the guest stables. And just as the last of them entered the inn, it began to rain.

Unsurprisingly, the inn was packed, mostly with trading Vanir and a few off-realm visitors. Among such a crowd, it was easy for Thor and his companions to become a bit scattered. Everyone seemed to find their own little niche in the inn. After securing a few rooms for themselves, everyone was either off drinking, engaging in a few gambling games, eating, wooing a few tavern wenches, or in Thor’s case, feeling a bit lost.

The Thunderer shifted from foot to foot in the middle of the tavern, uncertain as to what he should be doing. He contemplated possibly just going to bed early – but it was a bit too early, not even five yet. In the end, the Thunder God simply gave up on trying to sort his thoughts, and approached the bar.

He took a seat on one of the bar stools, hunched over ever so slightly in thought. He scrubbed a hand over his face wearily.

Norns, he felt exhausted. Though why, he was not sure. He hadn’t done anything today other than ride his horse for most of the day. His head seemed to throb in perfect time with his pulse, and he had the unsightly urge to introduce his forehead to the damp bar top. A part of him contemplated ordering a drink. But looking back on his past history of drinking while under stress, he decided against it.

Odd, he had never really given much thought to his more unpleasant antics until Loki died…

A heavy clunk was heard, and Thor looked up in surprise. He stared at the frosty looking tankard of mead placed before him, almost in accusation. Looking up higher, he met the eyes of the aged Vanir bartender, who was giving him a wry look.

“…I did not order this,” Thor said.

“Aye, you did not. That is courtesy of the gentleman at the end of the bar,” the Vanir said, before adding a bit humorously. “You look like you could use it anyways.”

A call from the other side of the bar prompted the bartender into leaving Thor to stare dumbly at his drink. He blinked, before he turned his gaze upwards to look up at the end of the bar.

The bar itself was mostly empty, and he could easily see someone sitting at the very end near the wall. It was darker in that little corner of the bar, and all Thor could make out was a stranger wearing a cloak with the hood up, a small glass of amber liquid before him. Thor quirked a brow, watching the stranger lift the glass with gloved hands to his hidden mouth.

This wasn’t the first time someone in a bar or tavern sent him a drink – usually it was women trying to gain his attention. This was the first time a man had sent him a drink, and his intentions were at the moment a mystery. He did not seem interested in gaining Thor’s attention like most women were. He wasn’t staring at Thor or gesturing him over conspiringly, and nor was he giving any sign of wanting to even really gain the Thunderer’s attention – not counting the drink.

Suspicious, Thor frowned and turned to look at the bartender, who was now cleaning a few tankards.

“Did he say anything?” he asked.

The bartender shook his head. “Nay, only to get you the drink, and that it was on him.”

Very suspicious. But then again, for all he knew, he was just a kind bystander noticing the Asgardian prince was just having a rough day. It wasn’t exactly hard to miss; your first clue would be the rather violent downpour going on outside. And if that wasn’t his first hint, his rather telling countenance was. The typical position of a man hunched over a bar, head in his hands and not drinking a thing was a well-known sign of a man in a possible depression.

“He said nothing else?” he asked. The bartender shrugged.

“Nothing much else, other than the, ah…off-handed comment he made about you…” The bartender became uneasy, and Thor quirked a brow.

“What did he say about me?” he asked.

Lips thinning, the Vanir cleared his throat discreetly and looked away. “He…may have called you something…”

Thor sighed, tired of this game. “Please just tell me what he said exactly, I will fault you not for someone else’s impertinence.”

The bartender sighed, setting his rag and tankard aside. “He said, and I quote, ‘get that hammer-swinging oaf a drink, on me’…”

Thor blinked, feeling a sense of déjà vu. Hammer-swinging oaf…that had been one of Loki’s favorite insults to Thor. He hadn’t heard that phrase in over fifty years. And to hear it being said by a stranger…

“Excuse me,” Thor said, standing from his seat. He ignored the startled jump from the bartender and gathered his tankard, moving down the bar counter towards the stranger.

He passed many others on his way, a few women shooting him coy and telling looks. He ignored them though, and strode towards the cloaked man. Now behind the other, he cleared his throat to make his presence known. The stranger at first did and said nothing to Thor, as if he were unaware of the Thunderer’s presence. Or he was ignoring him…

He cleared his throat once more, but again, yielded no response. Now nearly scowling, Thor reached out to touch the other man’s shoulder.

“I heard you quite clearly, Aesir prince.” Thor startled from the low, almost sneering tone. “If you would refrain from touching me, I would be most grateful.”

Thor blinked, dumbfounded. How…how dare he-?!

“And if you have come to thank me for the free drink, you need not bother,” the man said offhandedly. “Had I had known it would prompt you into seeking me out, I would not have bothered…”

…it was odd, how despite the plethora of disrespect and outright insults, Thor could not find it in himself to be angry at the impudent stranger. For some reason, the outright scathing tone did not arise anger within him but…familiarity?

He almost wanted to laugh. The stranger almost spoke exactly like his late brother. He certainly sounded like Loki…

“And had I had known you were so disrespectful, I would have made a better effort to annoy you,” Thor suddenly said.

The stranger seemed shocked, and Thor himself was also quite surprised at himself. It had just come out as if by reflex. Thor could feel a strange sensation arising in his gut, and anticipation welled up inside of him.

And without another word, he took the spare barstool by the stranger. Setting his tankard on the bar counter, Thor simply looked on ahead of the bar and sipped his drink at leisure. The hooded man regarded Thor coolly.

“Can I help you, Aesir?” he almost hissed.

Thor shrugged. “Perhaps. You have the option of watching me drown my sorrows in mead, or we can discuss my reasons for leaving Asgard to chase a prodigal traveler.”

The stranger seemed to cock his head, as if curious. He swirled his drink elegantly, his gloved, slender fingers contrasting against the clear glass of amber liquid.

“As much as I would enjoy watching you in a drunken stupor,” he started slowly, “I believe I have better things to do than play nursemaid to your, Aesir.”

“I happen to have a name,” Thor said flatly. “It is-”

“I know who you are, Thor Odinson,” the man interrupted sharply. “But that does not mean you have earned the honor of me calling you by your name.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” Thor asked sharply; the stranger’s arrogance seemed to grow by the minute it seemed.

“You know nothing of me, nor I you. What gives you the idea that we are suddenly on a first name basis baffles me.” The stranger scoffed. “And besides, you are not my Prince, nor my King or companion. If you wish to have a mindless conversation, go back to your Idiots Three and Sif.”

Thor made as if to reprimand the stranger and his insults, but he paused. Confusion fell over him suddenly, and he did not understand why at first. It was as if something had flown right over his head, and he only just now noticed but completely missed just what it was. Moments ticked by, before it suddenly seemed to hit him.

“…that is a rather degrading name you have given to my companions,” he said carefully.

Pausing from taking a sip of his drink, the stranger seemed to contemplate the prince’s words. He muttered something too quietly for Thor to hear, but it sounded like he was quietly berating himself. He set his drink down with a sharp click, tightening his cloak around himself.

“Not everyone regards you lot as the oh so resilient warriors of Asgard,” he said sharply.

Thor frowned. “But why do you look down upon us so harshly? Surely we have not met, let alone done you any wrong.”

Another pause settled over them. And in that moment, the tavern grew cold for no apparent reason. At first Thor thought it was just him, but after catching a few other residents demanding the bartender close the windows and light the fires, he knew it was not so. Many of the men and women in the tavern were moving away from him and the stranger, as if the cold was at its most potent in their little corner.

The air was frigid – just like the man who sat next to him.

“…sometimes, the most painful of things can come from not a weapon, but from words sharper than any knife or sword,” the stranger said softly, calmly. “Tell me, Aesir. Have you ever scarred anyone with your words and actions?”

Thor’s frown deepened. “Of course not. Words are not my strongest attribute, I could never hurt anyone unintentionally with them. Nor are my actions so careless that I could injure someone on accident.”

The stranger seemed thoughtful, but did not look at Thor. Rather, he seemed to regard the back of the bar with an intensity that would cow anything living. The room seemed to grow colder still, and Thor felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

“You truly are a gifted liar,” the stranger said, “You even lie to yourself and fully believe it. I am impressed.”

Thor stared in wide eyed bewilderment as the stranger stood abruptly. He downed the rest of his drink, before tossing his payment for his and Thor’s drink on the bar.

“I thank you for your company, Aesir,” he said tersely, “And I wish you a good eve.”

And with that, the stranger turned with a swish of his cloak, and vanished into the throng of people. And the moment he stepped out the door and into the heavy rainfall, the tavern seemed to warm and lose that frigid atmosphere. It was no longer cold, and new complaints of it now being too warm arose from the many drunk men and women.

Thor was left momentarily stunned, if not insulted. He scowled, but he was not about to let some random stranger get to him. He raised a good point; they did not know each other. And if it was one thing he learned from his days on Midgard, and his years without his brother, it was that some confrontations simply were not worth undertaking.

He sighed, turning to regard his mead, but found his desire for the drink stifled. A glint to his right caught his attention, and he turned to look at the small leather bag the stranger left with his payment. Mostly silver coins with one or two gold pieces, and what appeared to be-

Pearls.

Thor gaped, stunned into silence. That man…no, he could not have been…

He looked up as the bartender came over to collect his payment, and he too paused at what was in the bag.

“Did he leave this?” he asked, referring to the cloaked man.

Thor did not answer. Instead, he abruptly rose from his seat and bolted for the door, ignoring the startled protests of the people he virtually bowled over in his sprint.

Bursting through the swinging double doors, Thor looked around through the heavy rain. The sky had dimmed significantly from both the clouds and coming dusk, and he could see virtually nothing through the gloom.

A horse…people said the Sky Traveler rode a black horse!

Thor rushed for the holding stables where his and his companion’s horses waited. He startled the large equines with his sudden appearance, but he pushed past them as he looked around.

Nothing. There were horses present, but none of them were black or of the statue described by Frodi or other witnesses. Swallowing thickly, Thor looked over at his own horse. But the stallion only fixed his rider a look of confusion, a bundle of hay hanging from his mouth.

He was gone. Thor had completely missed his chance to…

To what?

Why was he suddenly so desperate to speak with the Sky Traveler? He had wished to seek him out, but never had he felt such desperation to meet another person, let alone someone he literally had never met up until now.

So why…?

“Thor?”

The Thunderer turned, catching sight of Volstagg standing in the entryway of the stable. The large bearded man wore an expression of concern as he approached Thor.

“Are you alright?” he asked. “You ran out of there as if the Norns themselves were after your head.”

Thor opened and closed his mouth, speechless. He really was unsure as to what he should – or could – say to the warrior. So instead of going into a detailed explanation, he went with his more customary, blunt approach.

“The Sky Traveler was here,” he blurted.

Volstagg blinked. “What?”

Thor went on to explain what he had seen, and who he had met. He at first did not realize who he was talking to, and it only now seemed to occur to him just how much he had missed. The stranger wore a cloak of emerald and black, exactly as described by many others. He did not lower his hood, and he paid the bartender almost in a gross amount with a large colored pearl.

Volstagg took in the new information in stride, as was the customary way to men his age. Thor could admire his calm and focused composure, and could only hope he would one day be as composed as his friend.

When he was finished explaining, Volstagg became contemplative, stroking his beard.

“And you are sure it was him? The Sky Traveler?” he asked. Thor nodded.

“I am certain,” he said, “I cannot explain it, but I just know it was him.”

“I understand,” Volstagg reassured. “But now the question remains; where did he go?”

Thor could not answer. He only shook his head.

Volstagg laid a beefy hand on his Prince’s shoulder, giving the blond an encouraging grin.

“Come, let us go inside and speak this with the others,” he said, “Perhaps they have heard or seen something from the people of the tavern. People like the Sky Traveler are hard to miss, and even harder to not talk about.”

Thor smiled weakly, nodding. He allowed the larger man to lead him back into the tavern. Around them, the rain continued to fall heavily. But the air had become colder, and by the time they had entered the tavern, the brutal rainfall had turned into a tranquil snowfall.

~s~s~S~s~s~

In another realm far from Vanaheim, an equally peaceful snow was falling over a towering palace of ice and frost. Within its depths, a family was quietly passing the time in a large sitting room.

The Jotnar, all in varying heights and sizes, sat by quietly in the stillness of the icy palace. One of them, the smallest yet broadest of the three, was lying in a state of boredom on his stomach on the floor, scrutinizing the book in front of him. His elder and larger brother sat on an armchair, regarding a few reports placed before him from their General. The third, the eldest and barely surpassing his children’s height, sat primly on a loveseat, flipping through a novel, every now and again sipping from the cold drink at his tableside.

The silence was comforting, only ever broken by flipping papers or turning pages. But like all forms of silence, it was destined to be broken.

The youngest of the giants groaned, planting his face into his unread book.

“I’m so bored…!” he groaned.

“That’s nice…” the older Jotun said flatly, barely paying his brother any mind.

His sibling scowled up at his elder brother.

“I mean it, Helblindi. I’m dying of boredom,” he snapped.

“And what do you expect me to do, Byleistr?” Helblindi inquired without looking up from his work.

Byleistr growled, considering the cup sitting beside him. It was only half drunk, but the bone it was made from would make it a decent projectile…

“Do not even think about it, child.” Came the low, rumbling tone of the eldest Jotun.

Byleistr pouted, but conceded.

You do not disobey your Dam when he was using that tone.

Byleistr sighed, kicking his feet lazily in the air.

“I miss our brother…” he muttered, “He’s not boring like you, Helblindi.”

Helblindi fixed his youngest brother a flat look, but did not comment. Their Dam, Laufey, only chuckled, flipping the page of his book.

“That is enough you two,” he said calmly. “Your brother tells me he shall return within a few days. You must be patient.”

“I hate waiting…” Byleistr muttered, before he grinned widely. “You think he’ll bring us presents this time?”

“For us? Yes. For you? No.” Helblindi scoffed.

Byleistr made to retaliate, but stopped when their Dam closed his book with a quiet snap.

“Honestly, your brother leaves for but a week, and you two bicker and squabble without his influence…” He sighed.

The two brothers had the graces to seem embarrassed. Laufey shook his head, reaching a hand out to his youngest. Eagerly, Byleistr scrambled to his feet and took the offered hand, allowing himself to settle against his Dam’s side. A large hand carded through his white hair, stroking the base of his curved horns.

“Be patient my heart, and he shall return in no time,” Laufey rumbled. “And who knows, perhaps he shall bring you a new weapon to swing about.”

Byleistr grinned widely, snuggling into his Dam’s side. Helblindi rolled his eyes, but was smiling fondly at his parent and sibling. He suddenly frowned though, regarding his Dam.

“You told us he was in Vanaheim at this time, yes?” he asked.

Jotunheim’s monarch nodded, and Helblindi’s frown deepened.

“Aesir Prince Thor and his Warriors and Lady Sif are there…” he said, “Rumor has it they are seeking out the Sky Traveler.”

Laufey felt Byleistr tense at his side, and he curled an arm around his shoulders to hold his wayward child in place.

“Is that so?” he inquired. Helblindi nodded.

“Rumors of Prince Thor leaving Asgard have spread quickly,” he said, “Though there are many speculations as to why. But many say he is seeking the Sky Traveler…”

He scowled suddenly, hands crinkling around some papers.

“Some even say he is seeking the Sky Traveler to see if he can revive his lost brother.”

Laufey’s eyes narrowed, and he felt more than heard Byleistr growl at his side. He stroked his head soothingly, earning a low whine from his youngest.

“Tis a shame that they shall not find him…” he said evenly.

“But if they do…?” Helblindi urged.

Laufey sighed softly, turning to look out a window and into the lightly falling snow. He did not outwardly show it, but he so missed his dear little giant. They barely had any time together these days, what with him running off to find answers to everything that was wrong in their realm. The ventures were admirable, and Laufey could feel his heart swell with pride for his child.

But even still, he was a Dam, a mother, and he worried all the same. And to hear that someone who hurt him so terribly in the past was seeking him out…

Ice grew and collected around his clenched fist, his drink freezing on the side table.

“Hel hath no fury like that of a mother’s scorn…” he growled.

Message received, Helblindi went back to his work, and Byleistr worked to fight off sleep against his Dam’s side. Laufey busied himself with playing with his son’s hair, his gaze distant.

It was quite once more.

To be continued…

Chapter Text

When Volstagg had readily implied that he and his fellow warriors would be interrogating the tavern residents, he hadn’t been exaggerating. The poor Innkeeper looked quite distressed as more and more people left his tavern and inn as they were quite abrasively interrogated by the Aesir Prince and his warriors.

Not that Thor could blame the poor man. Perhaps he was being a bit abrasive. Or at least Sif and the Warriors Three were – minus Hogun. He seemed to huddle in the shadows of the tavern, quiet and unobtrusive. Thor could only speculate that the Vanir was somewhat conflicted between his oyalty to his friends, and that of his people.

Thor stood off to the side, a bit lost in what he should do. When he had told his fellow warriors of interrogating the guests of the Inn on the Sky Traveler, he honestly didn’t mean downright ‘interrogate’.

But, his companions were nothing if not blunt and to the point. They didn’t take ‘hints’, let alone hold any experience in the art of subtly. That was Loki’s department.

Hel, he thought with an exasperated sigh. If Loki was still around, they would have gotten the information they needed in no time! Loki always chastised Thor for being too rough on people, that his and his companions’ abrasive ways only make people clam up. He always compared Thor to a child banging a stick on a turtle; the more you hit it, the less likely it’s going to come out.

And Thor had to admit, perhaps a more gentle approach was necessary. If he wanted the proverbial turtle to come out and talk to him, he needed to exercise a more patient resolve.

‘And perhaps I should use that resolve now…’ he thought.

It had finally escalated to a point where the Innkeeper finally flipped the proverbial lid – and an innocent stool – and marched over to the Warriors Three and Sif, of whom Hogun was trying and failing to calm down before they got into trouble. Thor swore as the rather burly Innkeeper went off on his fellow warriors. It was odd, as normally he’d be rather upset that someone was degrading his companions. But right now, he felt that they could use it…

“You’re scaring off all my customers!” the Innkeeper shouted.

“If they would just cooperate, we wouldn’t have to get rough with them!” Sif snapped back.

“Then go interrogate them somewhere else! I have a business to run!” the Innkeeper snarled. “Not all of us rely on our status or parents’ money for a living!”

“What did you say?!”

“Sif!” Thor barked, catching her and the Innkeeper’s attention. “That is enough, we’ve already wasted time with scaring off people who may hold information. You can’t just go around shaking people around and hope something useful falls out of them!”

He seemed to stun himself with his own words, and judging by the looks he was getting from his companions – and the overall remaining occupants of the Inn – he had surprised them as well. It made Thor flush slightly, his jaw tightening. He was actually almost insulted now. Really? Was it such a shock that he of all people could think logically every now and again? Was it honestly such a rarity that even complete strangers would look at him as if he has grown a second head?

…had he truly been so senseless before Loki died?

Shaking his head, Thor straightened and approached the Innkeeper. He seemed intimidated by Thor, but he held his ground. It was his Inn after all, who knew how hard he and his family worked to gain it?

“I am truly sorry for the disruption,” he said, holding a hand up before Sif could protest. “We will leave immediately. But if you hear any word regarding the Sky Traveler, please let us know.”

The Innkeeper said nothing, but nodded curtly, the atmosphere calming. Thor handed over a small payment for any damage caused by his companions, and as a small compensation for scaring off customers – some of whom left without paying for their drinks and food. Once done, he ushered the Warriors Three and Sif outside and into the horse stalls. No one said anything, of which Thor was grateful. He did not acknowledge his companions, and instead went about saddling up his horse to set off, no matter the terrible weather.

But the silence was not to last, as much as Thor wished it would.

“What in the Norns was that?” Fandral blurted.

“Indeed, that was quite…unusual of you, Thor.” Volstagg remarked, though he did not sound nearly as stunned as the others looked.

“We were not getting anywhere in terms of information,” Thor stated without turning to look at his companions. “We’ve wasted time, by now the Sky Traveler could be on a whole other realm entirely.”

“We almost had it though!” Sif exclaimed, clearly upset. “If we had just interrogated a couple more-”

“It would have done us no good,” Hogun said, his tone conveying a very rare annoyance. “We only succeeded in scaring people and wasting time.”

“But we-!”

“Hogun is right,” Thor broke in, startling them all. “It matters not who we are looking for or why, we obviously frightened those people.”

“Well they should be scared! Keeping information in the face of Asgard's prince? Have they no respect?!” Sif snarled.

Hogun’s already narrow eyes became even narrower, and he regarded Sif in obvious distain. He said nothing though, and Fandral took this moment to speak up.

“Sif, you may be right that people should respect Thor, but we do not need to terrorize them…” he said in a placating tone.

“If they would just talk instead of sniveling like cowards…”

“Sif, enough!” Thor bellowed, turning fully to face his companions. “What’s done is done. I have made my decision, and if you cannot respect that, then you are no better than those people.”

Sif veered back as if to avoid a punch to the face, eyes wide and lips thinned. Thor sighed, turning back to slip his horse’s bit into his mouth. Once sure everything was secure and saddled on his horse, he led Lightning out of the stall and hauled himself onto his back.

“We cannot afford anymore lost time,” he said, “We will simply have to search ourselves.”

Mutters of agreement were just scarcely heard over the roar of the freezing wind and slush-like snow. With no other words spoken, the Warriors Three and Sif grudgingly went to saddle their horses. Pulling cloaks and hoods from their packs, they settled upon their horses and rode out into the storm.

They split up into two groups that circled the outskirts of the town from either side. Any Vanir they found still outside, they inquired about the Sky Traveler, or anyone riding a large black horse. So far, no one had seen any black horse or the fabled Sky Traveler – a majority of those they asked had assumed the Sky Traveler to be pure myth, a story passed on and traded with wayward travelers.

Thor rode with Fandral and Hogun, while Sif had gone off with Volstagg. Thor honestly hoped the older warrior was keeping Sif in line and not going off on some poor Vanir. If he were honest with himself, he knew that was how Sif was, and before Loki died, he never would have even considered her to be in the wrong. But looking back at how she virtually tore into one person after the next, like a brutish man lusting for blood, he couldn’t help but wonder just what it was he admired in her so much…

They passed by a small warehouse where a few Vanir were storing wooden crates and tarps, the smell of fish pungent in the air. Thor’s throat tightened at the smell. Though it was not a terribly fishy smell, he had never much been a fan of fish. Pulling his hood further over his head, he stopped by a Vanir rolling up tarps under the warehouse awning.

The Vanir looked up at the approach of horse hooves, and immediately stood when he saw Thor and his companions. He bowed at the waist swiftly.

“Prince Thor,” he greeted, “Can I be of assistance to you?”

“You can actually,” Thor said, halting his horse before the Vanir. “We are looking for the Sky Traveler. Have you by chance seen a man riding a large black stallion come through here?”

The Vanir frowned in thought. “Large black…oh! Yes, we have seen a horse and someone with it.”

Thor seemed to light up in excitement. “Where did he go? Did he say anything to you?”

“Only that he would like to barter some fish from us,” the Vanir said, before he pointed up towards the hill behind the warehouse, leading into a forest at its top. “He paid for some cod, then went up there, into the forest. He didn’t say where he was going though.”

Thor nodded, satisfied with the information. “Thank you, you have been of much help!”

He turned to Fandral and Hogun. “Meet Sif and Volstagg at the edge of town, and then follow me to the forest. I will go on ahead.”

“Are you sure that is wise?” Fandral asked uncertainly.

“I will be fine. Nothing is in there but some birds and a few hares,” Thor assured. “Go on, we shall meet up in the forest! If you cannot find me, I shall create a signal for you to follow.”

Though hesitant, the two nodded and kicked their horses into a steady gallop. Thor turned and thanked the fisherman once more before he urged his own horse into climbing the hill. It was muddy and slippery, plastered with slush and rotted foliage, but Lightning somehow managed to reach the top. They entered the forest, and almost immediately, the frigid rain no longer fell upon them.

Confused, Thor pulled his hood down and looked up. The rain continued to fall, but the canopy of the trees was so thick and clumped together, only a few drops and little showers fell in a few scattered places.

“The Norns hold me in their favor today, it seems…” he muttered, smiling slightly.

Gently kicking his horse, he traveled in a swift gallop through the trees, until he came across a beaten path that headed straight inland. And in the slightly damp dirt, Thor could make out very large horse hoof prints. And they were fresh.

He followed the path and the hoof prints, a drop of water hitting his head every now and again. The further he traveled, the darker it seemed to become. It would have been eerie if it were silent. The rain beat an endless roar into the thick foliage above, the occasional ‘plit-plit’ of raindrops passing the leaves and hitting the ground creating a cadence.

Thor continued on for what seemed like an hour, and yet he drew no closer to the Sky Traveler. He had half a mind to call out and see if he could be heard by him, but thought better of it. More likely than not, the Sky Traveler did not want to be found, let alone pursued. With the kind of riches he carried around, he would likely think Thor was a thief.

Every now and again he’d look behind him for his companions, but so far, no one was coming up behind him. He had to wonder if his friends were lost, or perhaps they found the path but went in the opposite direction. It was hard to say…

Thor scowled, urging Lightning to go faster. “Where is he…?” he wondered aloud.

He looked down at the dirt, and sure enough, the hoof prints continued on. But they seemed to be getting fresher than the others. Thor frowned, then looked up. His breath caught.

Just ahead of him, the horse walking at a leisurely pace, was the emerald and black cloaked man from the Inn.

And before Thor could stop himself, he reacted out of pure instinct.

“Halt!” he called, no sooner regretting the action.

The Sky Traveler did not even look back to see who had called out to him. His horse gave a startled neigh and a stomp, and he kicked the horse into a violent run.

“No, stop!” Thor called, cursing under his breath as he kicked his own horse into a run.

“Stop!” he called again.

But the Sky Traveler did not even look back at him, and only urged his horse on faster. The black stallion seemed to rush through the trees like the wind itself, unstoppable and fluid, the trees themselves unable to catch him. Lightning was already panting and foaming at the mouth from the exertion of trying to keep up with the Sky Traveler.

“Please stop!” Thor called, “I mean you no harm!”

The Sky Traveler did not relent in his sprint. But just before Thor could even think to give up, a whistle through the air caught his attention. An arrow flew out of the foliage to his left, striking the Sky Traveler’s pack and startling the stallion.

Thor veered to his left, and to his surprise, he found Fandral and Hogun riding through the thick trees.

“My friends! What has kept you?” he called.

“Well if someone had given us a bit of direction, we would have caught up sooner!” Fandral called, loading another arrow onto his bow.

Another whistle was heard, and Thor turned to his right. Sif was already loading another arrow onto her own bow, taking aim at the Sky Traveler. The previous arrow had missed, and it only seemed to prompt the stallion into running faster. Just beside her, Volstagg bellowed at Thor,

“My friend! You have not caught him yet?” He laughed.

Thor laughed as well, the rush and the adrenaline of the chase lifting his spirits. “You took your time getting here!”

Just as Volstagg was about to retort, Sif loosed the arrow, but this time it didn’t miss.

Thwack!

“AUGH!” The Sky Traveler lurched, clutching his right shoulder where the arrow protruded.

Thor gasped, turning to Sif. “What are you doing?! We’re trying to catch him, not kill him!”

“I was aiming for his horse!” Sif retorted, loading another arrow.

“Stop! No more shooting, it is too dangerous!” Thor snapped. Sif made as if to argue, but stopped as the Sky Traveler suddenly made a sharp turn into the foliage.

Thor cursed, following after the stallion and his rider. It was harder to keep track of the Sky Traveler, his green and dark cloak blending almost perfectly with the leaves and foliage. He had more than once lost the Sky Traveler in the thicker bushes and trees, but would no sooner find him again by the large mass of black he rode. The extra foliage seemed to slow his horse down, and they were steadily getting closer to him.

“Do not stop! We’re almost alongside him!” Thor called.

An answered bellow from both sides was heard, and they all kicked their horses to their limits. Lightning was audibly panting, huffing and puffing under Thor, but the Thunderer did not allow for him to stop. He looked up ahead, and just through the trees, he could see a clearing with nothing in it up two tall rocks leaning into one another, the gap between them large and black.

And the Sky Traveler was heading right for it, lined up perfectly with the gap between them.

Thor frowned. ‘What is he…?’

They were gaining on him, nearly just alongside the Sky Traveler. But neither party stopped, pushing their horses to their absolute limits as they pushed on to either flee or catch what they wanted. Thor finally rode up just behind and to the side of the black stallion, calling out to its rider,

“Stop! We mean you no harm!” he called.

No response was forth coming, but in a swift act of strength and flailing limbs, Thor ducked as the Sky Traveler leaned forward on his saddle and threw his leg out, his foot coming out and nearly connecting with Thor’s face.

Thor veered back, just barely saving his face form being slammed into a hard boot. The Sky Traveler settled back onto his mount, and suddenly leaned down and pressed into his horse. Thor looked up, and he gasped as the rocky outcrop drew nearer and nearer.

“STOP!” he bellowed, pulling on his reins.

But it was too late.

The Sky Traveler did not stop as Thor and his companions attempted, but instead rode through the rocks, vanishing in a burst of light. And before Thor or his companions could ask themselves how this was possible, they and their horses skidded through as well.

And they all vanished through the Hidden Path.

To be continued…

Chapter Text

Childish laughter.

Pattering of small feet on gold gilded floors.

Thor's attention was captured by these sounds echoing throughout the slightly familiar but strangely empty corridors. Oddly unconcerned with how he came to be in this place, he followed the joyful sounds at a sedate pace. Turning a corner, he came upon a small hall containing three boys and a golden haired girl. The Thunderer stared; he couldn't believe that they had once been that young and small. His brother, all pale skin, dark hair, and vibrant green eyes, he appeared particularly tiny and fragile looking at that age.

All four of the children were out of breath having escaped from their plundering of the kitchens. This particular scene was actually a rather familiar one from Thor's youth, making him grin in fond remembrance. Sif would use her hateful (though its usefulness in this matter could not be denied) skirts to carry most of their plunder. Loki would cause the distractions while Sif, Thor and Fandral would snatch what sweets they could while unseen. This was before Hogun and Volstagg had joined their small group.

Thor laughed as he watched his child self and Fandral tussle on the floor as they argued over who had gathered the most food in their adventure. Sif dumped their spoils onto a table, all the while arguing with the two loud friends that she had been the one to be the most useful in their venture before elbowing Fandral hard in the chest when the boy insisted that this was not the case.

How he missed those days when things were so much simpler, and his brother was never far from his side…

Thor glanced over to his brother, wanting to see Loki's amusement. But he was surprised that he seemed to be struggling for breath instead, simply watching the chaos before him with utter exhaustion. He instinctively took a step towards the black haired child, shooting a bewildered glance to his younger self and their friends. Had they not noticed Loki's distress? His little brother's harsh breathing and hunched posture was rather obvious to any nearby, but still nothing happened. The Thunderer reached out to lay a comforting hand on Loki's back.

But he no sooner pulled it back with a cry when his hand passed right through Loki, as if it belonged to a ghost.

It was a few minutes before Loki's breathing was back under control, though his face was still flushed and sweaty from lack of air. But still, the other three children took no notice; not even Thor’s younger self seemed to notice – or care. By this time, Thor's child self claimed victory over Fandral and Sif. Fandral groaned as he got off the floor and looked over to Loki.

"I see Loki wasn't able to get any food for our feast!" Fandral brought attention onto the youngest prince.

Sif scoffed. “As usual, we do all the work.”

Thor gaped, dumbfounded. He looked to his younger self, his voice lost. He mentally shouted at himself to say something, to defend his obviously exhausted and sickly brother.

But his younger self only laughed and waved a hand.

“Really Loki, you nearly had us all caught with how slow you were running.”

Thor watched on in disbelief, his heart stuttering in his chest. He remembered what had been going on at this time now, though he couldn't remember it clearly. Loki had only just left the Healing Rooms the day before after being struck down by the illness that he always seemed to get during extremely hot summers. That summer had been one of the worst in a long while, and Loki had been so ill…

Or so Thor had been told. He could not recall visiting his brother much while he was bedbound. Was it because it was such an old memory? Or had he truly never taken the time to visit his ailing brother? He knew Frigga had barely left Loki’s side during that time, as he could recall complaining of not seeing his mother often enough.

“I was tired…” Loki rasped.

Thor rolled his eyes. “You’ve been resting for a week. How can you be tired?”

“I don’t feel well…”

Younger Sif suddenly glared, marching over to Loki with crossed arms.

“What kind of warrior is constantly sick?” she snapped, “You’ve been clinging to Thor’s mother for the whole week, how can you expect to be a good warrior if you’re always so weak?”

Thor’s mother…Thor’s mother…Thor’s mother…

When had Sif begun to see Frigga as only Thor’s mother…?

Loki’s hands clenched at his sides weakly, the pale knuckles becoming translucent.

“How do you expect to become a warrior at all if you’re a girl?” he growled.

Fandral and Thor gasped, but Sif became stalk still, eyes fiery and scornful. Thor almost wanted to applaud Loki, but he was no sooner shocked at what happened next.

Smack!

Loki doubled over, clutching his stomach with a high pitched moan as he curled in on himself. Taking advantage of his doubled over position, Sif’s foot came up and connected with his forehead, toppling Loki onto his back with a cry. She loomed over Loki, who was trembling and clutching his quickly bruising injuries.

“Ergi!” she yelled.

Thor gaped, beyond stunned and shocked. Loki lay at his feet, shaking and repressing the tears Thor knew he was unwilling to let fall. He looked at his younger self, expecting him to scold Sif, to do something, anything. But his memory overruled his desire for Loki’s defense. He knew what happened next.

Thor and Fandral’s younger selves laughed.

And Thor could only stare, heartsick and disgusted with himself and his friends. Loki sobbed, and this only seemed to encourage more laughter.

“Suck it up Loki, she barely hit you!”

“Brother, quit being such a baby!”

“STOP IT!” Older Thor shouted, kneeling down by Loki’s sobbing form. But he could do nothing, his hands passing through him as if he were not there.

Helpless, unable to comfort his even littler brother, he could only shout mindlessly at his younger self and his friends. But his words were soundless, mute to the deaf ears of the past.

“It’s painful, isn’t it?”

Thor gasped, veering his head around towards the sound of the voice. He stared in astonishment at the tall, lithe form of his brother. He looked the way he would have been if he had lived to see another fifty years. He was just a scant inch or two taller now, and his hair was long and thick, just passing his shoulder blades. He looked a bit thicker too in terms of muscle mass, the sleeves of his green tunic just a bit tighter around his arms.

His pale skin seemed to shimmer, his eyes vibrant and alive. Thor had never seen his brother more beautiful, so alive. Yet he looked so very disappointed…

“Loki…” he rasped, wanting so badly to rush over and engulf the other in his arms. But he was frozen to the spot, his feet refusing to move.

Loki cocked his head. “What is the matter, Thor? I thought you enjoyed seeing me in pain.”

“What? No! Never, Loki!” Thor argued.

Loki looked towards his younger self with saddened eyes.

“Then what does this look like to you?” he asked softly.

Thor could not answer. The world around him seemed to melt, leaving nothing but blackness in its wake. His and his companion’s younger selves vanished, but their laughter and mocking words remained. They echoed like the cries of thirsty bats, high pitched and almost inhuman. All that was left were Thor, Loki, and his crying and injured younger self.

Loki sighed, brushing past Thor and kneeling by his younger self. Carefully, he scooped up the sobbing child and cradled him close to his chest, brushing away tears from flushed cheeks.

“You always were a mindless, thoughtless child,” he started in a matter of fact tone; no accusation, just stating fact. “It is little wonder why I wanted to leave.”

Thor frowned, confused. “Leave…?”

Loki shook his head. “If you continue to believe everything the All-Father says, you will fail at being a true king.”

Thor swallowed, so very confused and frightened and uncertain as to what to do or say. This made no sense whatsoever to him, but there was an eerie sense of familiarity. It was like he was unconsciously reading a set script, and he could not resist against the instinct to recite it. There was a solid instability; truth, but no logic.

It was almost like he was…

His eyes widened, blinking dumbly. His eyes seemed to become clearer, and the dark void he stood in had somehow become darker and more oppressive. He looked to Loki, who still stood by holding his younger self. His expression was blank, but his eyes told of an almost smug sense of victory.

“This is a dream…” Thor said suddenly, and with a clarity and certainty that he could not deny.

Loki quirked a brow, before he suddenly grinned and chuckled.

“Is it?” he asked.

Thor made as if to respond, but found his voice choked off. He gagged, hands flying to his neck as water flooded his throat and filled his lungs. Bubbles burst from his mouth, his feet scrambling for the floor they once stood on. He screamed for Loki, but the other, floating serenely in this void of water, did nothing.

‘Why?’ Thor wanted to ask, his head pounding.

He blinked, and when he opened his eyes again, he was faced with a younger, childish version of his brother. Pale and sickly, the child was unperturbed by the water surrounding them. His expression was flat, but his eyes read of remorse.

“Lies are like rats. Snakes eat rats,” he said, his childish voice high and calm. “They latch on and coil around your heart, suffocating and compressing the lies from your soul. You cannot lie to a snake, but it can be tied in a knot. Unbind the snake, and you will know the truth.”

Thor felt something against his chest, and he looked down.

The snake protruding from his sternum, right where his pendent would be, hissed and writhed, blood drifting in red tendrils from its mouth as it fought to be free of Thor’s body.

The Thunderer screamed in agony, but no sound escaped as the snake wiggled free and swam to an unseen surface.

“THOR!”

Thor gasped long and loud, sitting bolt upright in a near panic. He clutched at his chest, panting deeply as he stared with wide, sightless eyes into the middle distance. The dream began to fade from his memory, despite how he scrambled to both hold onto and flee from it. He was oddly reminded of grappling for the snake that had escaped his body, its body slippery and slick with his own blood.

His chest ached, and he swallowed thickly as he regained himself.

Cold.

That was the first thing Thor registered as he slowly slipped back into his own body, flooded with awareness. Above him, his companions stood over him in concern, faces etched with caution.

“What…?” Thor rasped, unable to fully finish what he was about to ask.

Thankfully, Volstagg seemed to pick up on what he was asking.

“We were thrown from the path and landed here,” he grunted, his tone cautious and anxious.

He and his companions were thrown from the short Path and into a pile of snow. Sputtering, Thor dug his way out of the snow, having been thrown from his startled horse – of whom seemed to have run off with the other horses. Rubbing his eyes, Thor looked up through squinted eyes at the frozen tundra he and his companions had landed in.

Stark, cold, dark with the endless night it seemed to forever find itself in, towering spires of ice and frost. It was familiar, all too frightfully familiar, and Thor had honestly hoped to never see this realm again if he could help it.

Jotunheim.

“But how…?” he rasped.

“We do not know,” Sif said solemnly, looking around with suspicious eyes. “We were either thrown through another Path, or this is where the Sky Traveler was heading to begin with.”

“We can’t decide which is worse…” Fandral shuddered, teeth chattering with the cold.

“Indeed, and our horses have fled, so we are in a bit of trouble now,” Volstagg said lowly. Hearing no response, the large warrior eyed Thor in concern. “Thor?”

Thor said nothing, not even as the rest of his friends probed for a response, asking if he was alright. He felt…strange. His chest felt light, his lungs expansive. He felt like he was breathing for the first time in ages, his heart thundering that much louder in his chest. But there was an ache, a hollow space between his ribs. As if something had been removed from his body…

“Thor? Are you alright? Your pendent…” Sif started, worried.

Thor blinked. “My what now?”

Sif rolled her eyes, pointing to his chest. “Your pendent had been glowing a minute ago, when you were unconscious. You were moaning as if it were hurting you…”

Thor patted down his chest, cringing as he touched the center of his sternum. Carefully, he undid some of the latches holding his tunic closed, and pulled the collar down. His friends winced and hissed, the Thunderer taking in the round burn mark on his sternum. He winced as he touched it, the flesh charred and burnt raw.

The burn was in the exact same place as his pendent, and it was the exact same shape.

“I think you should get rid of that thing…” Sif said abruptly, causing Thor to look at her.

“Why?” he asked.

“Isn’t it obvious? It had some kind of magical reaction, maybe because we’re on Jotunheim now,” she said, “For all we know, your mother gave it to you to keep track of us.”

Thor made to protest quite angrily – his mother would never give him something that could hurt him – but they were interrupted by, surprisingly, Hogun.

“We should not be here…” he said, “We must leave.”

“Hogun is right,” Volstagg said, “It is too dangerous, and Odin has forbidden us to return here without his express permission.”

“What of our horses?” Fandral asked.

“We have to leave them, we have no time to search for them.” Volstagg shrugged. “By now they’ve been eaten by some giant beast or something.”

“Or worse…” Hogun added. The others looked at him oddly.

“What’s worse than being eaten by some hideous frost beast?” Fandral asked.

“Being found by the Jotnar,” Hogun elaborated. “And alerting them of our presences on their land…”

The warriors all tensed, visibly becoming suspicious of their surroundings. Hogun was right; if their horses were not already killed, they could be found by the Jotnar. And if they were found, the people of this realm would know that someone that was not of their own kind was trespassing on their land. And it wouldn’t be hard to figure out who; Thor’s horse bore his crest on the saddle and his bag…

“What do we do then?” Fandral asked, shivering. “Even if we had our horses, we have no way of getting back. We have no idea where another Path is!”

Thor clenched his jaw, hands tightening into fists. He looked around, taking note of the deep hoof prints in the snow. A herd of these prints led off into the east, while a single set of prints led north – the Sky Traveler.

“Heimdall cannot take us back, can he…” Volstagg asked; though it came out as more a statement than anything.

Thor shook his head. “No, and even if he could, the BiFrost landing here was destroyed.”

“In other words, we’re on our own.” Sif sighed, rubbing her forehead.

Thor bit his lip, trying to think of something, anything that could help them all. On one hand, they could wander aimlessly and try and find another Path. But their chances of finding one were slim to none; they did not have the magic to sense one, nor anything to help them locate one. They could wander for days and eventually die of starvation if they were lucky, or die of the elements if they were not. On the other hand…

“…we need to speak with King Laufey.” Thor suddenly said.

The others gaped at him, flabbergasted.

“Are you mad?” Sif rasped. “We cannot go to the Jotnar! Those beasts will try to kill us!”

“And our weapons were with our horses. We only have a few swords and knives to work with,” Volstagg said, “And your hammer.”

“What choice do we have?” Thor snapped. “Either we stand out here and die, or we go to the King, ask for passage, and see if they can take us to a path.”

“They won’t cooperate! They’re Jotun, what would they know of diplomacy?” Sif snapped.

Thor growled at Sif, becoming increasingly frustrated. But he forced himself to be calm – a feat all its own in his opinion. Odd, he thought. He’s hardly ever acted this reasonable, but with this new sense of freedom in his chest, he felt like he could actually care to put a bit of effort into his case.

“I say we go to the King,” Thor said firmly, “Those of you who wish to follow, go ahead. Those of you who don’t, by all means, stay here and freeze.”

And with that, Thor turned on his heels and started walking in the same direction as the Sky Traveler’s horse. He wasn’t too sure where they were, but he knew the Jotun palace was somewhere up north. If he just went north and followed the tracks, he would likely run into something; or someone. He was also going by the Sky Traveler’s good graces, and the hopeful chance he knew where he was going and would lead Thor in the right direction.

He only hoped that whoever or whatever he met would be at least a little friendly...

~s~s~S~s~s~

Unsurprisingly, Thor’s companions followed the Thunderer, some more grudgingly than the others – namely Sif. She seemed to protest quite loudly not with words, but with her overall body language and facial expressions. She scowled at the ice and snow, as if it were the very same as the Jotnar she hated and wanted to smite. But Thor made no comment on her childish attitude, and instead focused on trying to find anyone that could help them.

“You are learning, dear brother…” Loki’s voice echoed in his head, causing Thor to shudder; he easily blamed it on the cold.

“What exactly are we looking for…?” Fandral suddenly asked.

“Anything,” Thor said, “A settlement, a Jotun, the palace, anything that hints at civilization.”

Sif scoffed. “You give them too much credit, Thor…”

Thor ignored the comment, seemingly stunning the others. Thor never backed out of a challenge, verbal or otherwise, and Sif was obviously trying to goad Thor. But so far, the Thunderer only had his eyes for the ground. Following the large hoof prints as quickly as he could, Thor tried to hasten his pace. The snowfall meant they could disappear if he did not hurry. But it also meant it made walking harder; the snow was almost up to their knees at this point.

“At least it is not a blizzard…” He heard Fandral mutter.

No sooner had the words left his mouth, did a strong, howling gust of wind slam into them, pelting them with hail and snow. The warriors hissed and cringed, screwing their eyes shut from the snow and ice. Arms wrapped around their own bodies, the snow piled higher until it was nearly at mid-thigh.

He spoke too soon it would seem.

The others cursed, some towards Fandral, others towards nature herself. Thor hissed as his skin stung with each pelt of ice that hit it, eyes tightly shut in the instinctual urge to protect them. He managed to pry one open just the slightest bit, swerving around them. But all he could see was white.

“Damn it…!” he growled, holding his hands over his eyes.

He could feel the snow level rising at an alarming rate. The unnatural chill of the snow and ice seemed to seep right into his bones, crushing and sharp as a thousand needles. His skin stung, burning from the subzero temperatures, and he could feel ice starting to crystallize in his beard and hair.

“We must find shelter…!” he heard himself yell, but his face was so numb he wasn’t even sure if it was he who yelled.

“Where?!” he heard Fandral yell back.

“Anywhere!” Thor shouted.

No response was forthcoming, and the Thunderer wondered if they had not heard him. He groaned as the snow piled up around his hips, his feet now completely numb, and his thighs stinging with pin-prick icicles. He turned this way and that with squinted eyes, trying to see the forms of his friends in the drifts. But he saw no one and nothing; nothing but white, ice, and snow.

“Sif! Volstagg!” he shouted, “Fandral! Hogun! Can you hear me?!”

No response. Thor could feel his heart thumping in his chest, anxious and suddenly quite afraid. Grunting, he waded through the snow and towards where he last saw his companions, his movement sluggish and stiff. He reached out blindly, grasping at nothing but the cold air and snow, his fingers stinging as his palms were exposed to the icy realm.

Thor cursed, pushing onwards, and only hoping he wasn’t walking away from his companions. Where did this blizzard even come from? It literally came out of nowhere, with no signs whatsoever of its approach. There had been no stormy clouds or gales of screaming winds.

“Sif! Fandral! Hogun! Volstagg!” he shouted, opening his eyes just a little bit more.

And just past the frozen crystals clinging to his lashes, he saw a shape. He blinked stiffly, ice crackling and falling from his eyelids. His teeth chattered as the cold seeped further into his body, stifling his blood and turning skin blue.

“Hello?” he called.

The form was very close by, tall and broad. Volstagg perhaps? No, he wasn’t that tall, and his remaining friends were shorter than him. So then who…?

Thor grunted, the snow now past his waist.

“S-…Sky Traveler…?” he rasped, his voice just barely above the sound of the wind.

More shapes then, these ones large and tall, moving away from Thor towards his right. They almost looked like people on large beasts, saddles heavy with oddly shaped lumps near their packs.

The shape in front of his drew closer, but the snow distorted his form, and Thor was unable to fully focus on the stranger. Or perhaps there was no stranger. Perhaps he was just hallucinating?

“Who…?” Thor groaned, his entire body numb and stiff; he felt like he was frozen completely.

The figure was now mere feet in front of him, and Thor now just seemed to realize how extremely tall this person was – taller even than a Jotun. He loomed over Thor, staring him down as if he stood atop the snow itself.

Thor panted, his body fighting to stay warm and alive. Groaning, the snow now just under his armpits, Thor reached out a shaky hand towards the figure.

“Please…” he choked, throat dry.

His hand landed in the snow, his head falling forwards in weakness. He was dying. The thought made Thor smile weakly, a soundless chuckle leaving him.

“Loki…” He coughed. “We shall…meet again…”

A shadow fell over him, and the blizzard seemed to suddenly weaken and subside.

The last thing he remembered seeing was the giant form leaning down towards him, and the glow of burning red eyes the color of rubies.

To be continued…

Chapter Text

Warmth and cold; that was the first thing Thor registered in his mind as he slowly, as if at a crawl, drew himself out of the pit of unconsciousness. The Thunderer groaned, struggling under the heavy weight pressed over his entire body. The weight gave him warmth though, something he knew he so desperately needed. Though why he needed it, he wasn’t sure. His whole body felt numb, sensation completely blocked off.

It was dark, wherever this place was – or perhaps his eyes were closed? A slight flex of his brow confirmed that his eyes were indeed closed, and he could not find the strength to open them. He tried to move his hands, wiggle his fingers, but his body simply would not obey him. He was stuck, trapped under this heavy, heated weight and at the mercy of whoever stumbled upon him.

A sound then, just off to his side. A grumbling noise, and then something was pressed to his lips – a bowl of some kind.

“Drink,” commanded a gruff, elderly voice.

Still too disoriented to argue about being ordered around, Thor opened his mouth and let whatever was in the bowl roll down his throat.

Water.

Thor suddenly found strength, and with a great heave, shot his arm out and tipped the bowl further forward, nearly spilling the water all over himself. He had no idea he was so thirsty.

“Bah!” The bowl was suddenly taken away, much to Thor’s dismay. He made a sound of protest, reaching out blindly for the water, but a large – very large – hand around his wrist stopped him.

“Brat Prince, you could have choked yourself!” the voice said, sounding quite a bit irritated.

“Hrff…” Thor groaned, trying to form words, trying to open his eyes.

The man – for it certainly did not sound like a woman – scoffed and released Thor’s wrist. The sound of pouring water was heard, and soon the bowl was pressed back to his lips.

“Drink slowly, or you get none at all.” The man snarled.

Thor made a vague motion of nodding, prompting a satisfied grunt from the man. Forcing himself to not outright chug the water, Thor took deep, long sips from the bowl.

The water now gone, the bowl was pulled away and Thor groaned, head sinking back into the large, soft pillow he was propped against.

“Speak,” the man ordered.

Thor scowled weakly. “I do not take orders, even from people who saved my life…”

A scoff. “I did not save your life, Brat Prince. I merely healed you and kept you from dying of hypothermia.”

“Stop calling me-!”

“It is what you are.” The man growled. “Now, stop your mewling and open your eyes.”

Thor growled, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. His fingers brushed against the bare flesh of his thigh, dearly wishing for his hammer-

He paused.

Touching his thigh again, he found himself a bit perplexed. Something…wasn’t right. The heavy weight of what he could only now assume was a thick blanket felt coarse against his skin…that also didn’t sound right. What was he…?

And then it hit him.

“Where in Hel’s name are my clothes?!” he snapped, sitting bolt upright and eyes wide open.

He finally caught sight of the man who tended to him, and suddenly his lack of clothing was no longer his main concern.

Big, bald, eyes a dark wine-like red, blue skinned and scared, horns cracked and one broken protruding from his forehead, and a scowl that would do any sour old man proud. He towered above Thor over the too large bed, arms crossed and aged faced laden with scars and a few wrinkles. His leathery skin was a shade darker than what Thor remembered, but there was no mistaking what this man was.

He was a Jotun.

Thor blanched, blinking rapidly, as if to make the image of the Jotun disappear.

“Jo-…Jotun…!” he rasped.

The Jotun rolled his eyes, not the least bit impressed. He crossed his arms and loomed over Thor.

“How quaint, the Brat knows I am Jotun,” he grumbled. “He should also know that his clothes had to be torn and cut away because they were frozen to his body.”

Thor blinked, dumbfounded. A large part of his brain was simply not registering where he was, who he was with, or why. He suddenly snarled, hands tightening over the large fur pelt on his lap – and the apparent source of heavy heat he had experienced earlier.

“What have you done with my companions?!” he snapped.

The Jotun blinked slowly, like a very unimpressed cat. He pointed a calloused finger to Thor’s left. The Thunderer turned, and let out a sigh of relief.

His friends were all right there with him, all appearing unconscious and piled over with the same thick pelt as he was. And judging by the slight peek of their bare shoulders, they were also stripped of their clothing.

Confused, Thor looked back at the elderly Jotun.

“Who are you…?” he asked tentatively.

“I am Mengloth,” the Jotun grunted. “The Royal Healer.”

Thor blinked again, slightly taken aback. A healer…? This beast was a healer? He seemed to be more a mockery of the title. Healers were not typically so ill-tempered or rude, especially in the presence of royalty!

Thor scowled, jaw clenching. “What do you want with us?”

“Nothing,” The Jotun, Mengloth, said, “Our scouts found you in the drifts, unconscious and nearly frozen. You should be grateful, Brat Prince. I don’t normally waste my medical tools and elixirs on fools.”

Thor felt his cheeks burn, a rather lovely sensation given his still chilled skin. He made as if to retort, but paused as he finally seemed to take in the Jotun’s appearance. He frowned.

Thor could somewhat recall how the Jotnar dressed when he and his friends first came to Jotunheim. He could only recall short skirts, kilts, and armored pelvic guards, and nothing much else. Yet here, Mengloth was completely and utterly dressed…

He wore a rather traditional Healer’s garb – with just a few ornamental accents, a testament to his status as a Royal Healer. His robes were a light grey color, ending just below his knees, a sash a shade darker than his robes cinched tightly about his waist. The wide sleeves of his robes were rolled up and held up securely to a button on each bicep, probably as a means to keep the sleeves clean and devoid of blood or other fluids from a patient. His exposed arms, while thick, were not overly muscular like a warrior’s, but they did boast various scars and calluses, as well as the more customary Jotun markings.

Save all this, Mengloth only wore a simple jade pendent around his neck. His feet were completely bare, the toenails black and slightly sharpened. His fingernails were also black, but they were blunt and clipped short – the better to make it less likely to accidently cut or scratch a patient.

He glared at Thor.

“I do not appreciate being gawked at, Brat Prince.” He growled.

Thor snarled. “I am not-!”

“I know who you are,” Mengloth interrupted, “You are Prince Thor of Asgard, heir to Odin’s throne.”

Thor was once more taken aback, but he no sooner held his ground. He itched to have a weapon with him, something, anything he could work with. But the closest thing within reach was the empty bowl used to feed him water at his bedside.

So instead, he took a page out of his dead brother's book and tried to figure out just where he was in this situation.

“Why were we taken?” he asked.

“Are you deaf? I told you, you were found in the drifts and rescued,” Mengloth snarled, before he turned towards a worktable near Thor’s bed. “Children. I swear, back in my day, they had more respect for their elders…”

Thor, at any other time, would have made a sarcastic retort, but right now he was so damn confused. Why wasn’t this Jotun trying to kill him? Why had this Jotun saved him and his friends? Why wasn’t anything making sense anymore?!

“I don’t understand…” Thor heard himself saying, rather useless and uncertain.

“I should think not,” Mengloth muttered, washing his hands in a basin of water. “No stupid boy with half a brain would wander into the drifts outside the barrier. Honestly, you young people these days are-”

“No, not that!” Thor snapped. “Why did you heal us? Why would a Jotun save us?”

Mengloth paused, turning his head to look at Thor. His scowl intensified, his sharp canines bared. Thor swallowed, but made no move as Mengloth marched over to him. A large hand reached out and pressed firmly against Thor’s collar, pushing the Aesir back into his pillow until he was nearly swallowed by the plush cushion.

“You Aesir all think alike,” Mengloth snarled, “Us Jotnar are nothing but beasts to you, lower than animals. And yet we took time out of our lives, medicine from out stocks to ensure your survival. And you now have the gall-!”

“Mengloth.”

The two men veered around towards the door, Thor’s eyes wide. They only widened further at the tall, slim Jotun in the doorway.

The Jotun was lithe and tall, though a bit shorter than Mengloth. He was, unlike Mengloth, dressed regally yet sparingly. He wore a long dark red skirt that matched his eyes, a thick white fur belt about his hips and a single sling of fur over one shoulder. A silver and jade jeweled collar, thick and covering most of the top portion of his chest, circled his neck and part of his shoulders. A single sling of red fabric attached to the furred shoulder and ending attached to his wrist by a silver gauntlet completed the outfit. Silver jewelry adorned his arms and bare ankles. His feet, like Mengloth’s, were bare and boasted nails as black as obsidian.

He was slender and tall, yet boasted whipcord muscles and streamlined sinew. An intricate silver diadem boasting brilliant sapphires and jade sat primly just above the Jotun’s long, curved horns, holding back – Thor did a double-take – his waist length, straight white hair.

Thor had a sudden flash of his brother in his mind, adorned with his horned gold helmet. The sharp garnet eyes – so unlike Loki’s yet so similar – the narrow face, the lean build…it all screamed Loki to him.

Mengloth grumbled, standing back and slightly away from Thor. He eyed Thor in distain, his scowl deepening at his obvious gaping at the other Jotun.

“Show some respect, Brat.” He growled.

“Mengloth,” the Jotun said again in warning, crossing his arms elegantly. “That is not how we treat a guest.”

Mengloth snorted something sarcastic, but made no solid reply. The other Jotun sighed, turning to face Thor. And while his expression was blank, Thor felt himself flush slightly. His eyes were intense, fiery and burning with an unknown emotion Thor could not place. It made him uneasy, and he clutched at the furs on his lap anxiously as he regarded the Jotun.

“Prince Thor Odinson…” The Jotun inclined his head, the less than proper way to greet a prince. “May I inquire as to why you have entered my realm?”

Thor swallowed, suddenly wishing for more water. He made as if to speak, but paused with a frown.

“Your realm?” he inquired.

The Jotun quirked a brow, bemusement flashing briefly in his eyes. Mengloth scoffed somewhere off to the side, stomping over to his worktable again.

“Norns, it’s like dealing with a dim child…” he muttered.

The other Jotun sighed. “That will be all, Mengloth…”

His eyes narrowed suddenly, and Thor reeled; this Jotun’s almost-but-not-quite scowl was identical to his brother’s…

“Perhaps you should see to your other patient?” he suggested – or perhaps ‘suggested’ was a rather loose term. Subtly demanded was more accurate.

Mengloth growled lowly, but did not argue. He cast Thor one last scathing look before turning to another door in the back of the room – private healing rooms perhaps?

“You would do well to respect Laufey King,” he growled, before opening and loudly closing the door behind him.

Thor blinked, his brain slowly processing the information he was given. It took a moment for Mengloth’s words to sink in, but when they did, he turned back to the other Jotun with wide, stunned eyes.

This was King Laufey?!

~s~s~S~s~s~

Mengloth, in general, was not a very gentle or sensitive Jotun. Though he was a Healer, he did not tolerate whining, bickering, or truly any nonsense. He was too old for such things. And as a former field Healer during the Asgard-Jotunheim war, he’s seen his fair share of brutality and life’s unkind ways. He was no fool, and perhaps it was this experience that hardened him so much over the centuries.

Regardless, he was still a Healer, and he was damn well good at what he did. He just wasn’t known for being too gentle…

“This will make your tenth injury this month,” he grunted.

“Piss off.”

A rumbling chuckle was heard as large, rough hands diligently working to free the arrow of his rather small patient’s shoulder. The small Jotun hissed as the Healer shifted the arrow, the pointed head digging into torn and injured muscle. It was a bit difficult since the small Jotun’s cloak was in the way, but he blatantly refused to let Mengloth cut it away. It had been made and lovingly embroidered by his Dam after all, and Mengloth was well aware of how serious an offense it was to damage something made by a family member to the small Jotun.

“You are lucky it missed a lung or your heart,” Mengloth muttered.

“And you are lucky I do not take that arrow and shove it up your-”

“Yes, yes…”

The small Jotun growled, but held still as the Healer continued to prolong his discomfort. He could imagine the sick satisfaction Mengloth took from this. Perhaps he was dragging it out to get back at him for that prank he pulled on the old Healer last month. It certainly sounded like something he’d do…

Cruel bastard, he thought. But he respected the gruff Healer, if for no other reason than he was quite a good match to his own sharp tongue and venomous spite.

He sighed, shifting uneasily on the too large cot. “Will you hurry it up? You’ve dragged this out long enou-GAH!”

He missed the rather smug look as Mengloth quite skillfully silenced his patient with a quick tug and a twist of the arrow, removing it cleanly and without a single tear. All that was left was the small – to him – wound left by the arrow, barely any blood surrounding the tiny hole.

The wound was so tiny, the average Jotun could compare it to the rare splinter. Yet Laufey had been so distraught when the small Jotun had ridden up to their gates with an arrow sticking out of his back, even Mengloth had to take a note of concern for the small Jotun.

He sighed, shaking his head fondly. Dams…

“You will live,” he grunted, tossing the arrow into a basin beside the bed. He took out a salve and bandages, prompting the small Jotun to finally remove his cloak and tunic.

Said Jotun growled, but complied all the same. Tossing his hood back and unclasping the cloak, he let the green and black fabric fall away from his shoulders. He unlaced the back of his tunic and slid that off as well, revealing light sapphire blue skin and familiar markings.

The Jotun smoothed a hand down his long black hair as the Healer treated and bound his wound, sighing in exasperation and exhaustion.

“Dam is going to have a few choice words for me…” he muttered.

Mengloth chuckled, tearing off the excess gauze.

“He is only worried for you, do not blame him for being a good Dam.” He said, shuffling back to a cabinet to put away the gauze. His patient rubbed his forehead, fingers grazing short, stunted horns – they could barely be called horns for how small they were, but he felt proud of them all the same.

They symbolized sacrifice after all, and he would hold his head high and carry the stunted horns with pride.

Looking down at his feet, he scowled at the knee-high leather boots on his feet. With a wave of his hand and a pulse of green energy, the offensive footwear vanished, and he grinned at his now bare feet, wiggling his freed toes.

“Much better,” he said.

“You better not have stuck them in my bed again,” Mengloth grunted, “They do not smell like roses, you know.”

“Shut up.” The stunted Jotun flopped back onto the medical cot, fingers running over the soft fur blanket.

He closed his eyes, breathing in the smell of his home. Though it was diluted with the smell of potions, elixirs, and sterile medicines, it was still home. He could not wait to get back into his rooms and sleep in his own bed. To finally enjoy a meal at home, recounting his journey to his eager and attentive brothers. Though he would have to leave out a few of the dangerous parts, lest his Dam ban him from leaving the palace ever again. Though perhaps if he got his Sire on his side, they could actually beat his Dam in an argument. For once.

‘Not likely…’ he reminded himself.

“How has everyone been while I was gone?” he asked.

“The usual,” Mengloth said, rubbing a salve into his aged and callused hands. “Your hellion brother, Byleistr, has been an absolute terror. He mixed up the labels of my potions last week, and I nearly gave a patient a purgative instead of a pain reliever.”

“Pft…!” The small Jotun laughed, trembling on the cot. Oh, he wasn’t going to regret telling his brother of that particular prank idea, but he wasn’t about to tell the Healer it was his idea.

“And Helblindi?” he inquired.

“Restless. He worries for you almost as much as your Dam.” Mengloth shrugged. “Buries himself in work and political papers, assisting your Dam and Sire to the point of collapsing. Honestly, that boy is going to kill himself one day…”

A roll of garnet eyes was Mengloth’s response, but the Healer continued all the same.

“Your Sire has been rather busy patrolling the borders of the barrier, helping supply and trading routes stay open to reach other villages,” he said, “He’s been obsessively checking the barrier pillars as well.”

“He worries too much…”

“Oh, don’t say that just yet.” Mengloth smirked. “Your poor Dam has been quite anxious. I think he’s cleared out a few of the tailor’s fabric stores and made you and your brothers new wardrobes.”

“Norns, Mengloth, break my balls while you’re at it…”

“I gladly will. Now then, Angrboda – the poor lad. Those little students of yours will be eating him alive any day now…”

“Mengloth…”

The Healer laughed, deep and guttural, like the deep bellow of a lion’s roar. He looked back at his prince, crossing his scarred arms as he grinned smugly down at the small Jotun.

“I merely jest, but they all have worried for you,” he said, before he sobered. “Perhaps it is time you took a break from these ridiculous ventures of yours.”

“These ‘ridiculous ventures’ have gotten you dozens of updated medical books and hundreds of new herbs for improved potions and medicines…”

Mengloth sighed, shaking his head.

“You have done more for this realm and her people than anyone could ever give you credit for…” he said evenly. “But it would all be forgotten if our treasured prince was ever lost to us again…”

“Careful, Mengloth,” was the smug reply. “You’re starting to sound like you care.”

“Try not to be too surprised, but I do care,” the Healer deadpanned. “We all do; your family, your friends, your students, that crafty lover of yours; the whole kingdom adores you. And I doubt your Dam’s heart could handle losing you a second time.”

The little prince sighed, sobering. Though Mengloth was right, he knew he could not stop just yet. He was the only one capable of going out into the other realms for the things his people needed. And he was the only one who could blend in. Angrboda was a talented and very elusive Jotun, and his Seidr was growing by the day. But he was not ready to go out into the other realms with him; none of his students were. But they were getting there, and very quickly, and he couldn’t be more proud of them.

Norns, he couldn’t wait to start teaching again. The little Seidr school his parents gifted him with twenty years ago had caught on in popularity in just one night, and he had dozens of students to teach in the art of magic – both children and adults. It was only made more popular since the students didn’t even need to pay to be taught. At the time it first opened, no one had enough for even a basic education, so the school – and many others in Jotunheim – ran on volunteer and charity work; most of which was provided by the royal family.

He sighed, sitting back up on the cot again. He regarded Mengloth seriously.

“I know I have caused much grief,” he said, “But look at all that has been done! If I never went out to bring back food, books, and anything else we needed, we would still be desolate. There would be no schools, no food, no medicine, nothing!”

“While that is true, it is not what you bring back that has saved us,” Mengloth said in a surprisingly gentle yet firm tone. “It is the fact you come back that gives us hope – the fact that you are alive and here to give us hope.”

The prince groaned, rubbing the base of one of his horns. “Nosy old goat…”

“And damn proud to be.” Mengloth snorted in amusement. “At the very least, for your Dam’s sake, take a month off to spend time with your family. It would do all of you a world of good.”

The prince hummed thoughtfully. It couldn’t hurt to take a month or two off; Jotunheim was at the peak of prosperity now, and stability in the economy was at its strongest. Perhaps Mengloth was right; maybe a break wouldn’t be so bad. He’s missed his family too, and a little quality time with them and Angrboda would do him wonders.

“Add to that, I bet your son is getting quite tired of hauling your royal arse around the realms.”

“Do you have to decimate any hope I hold for you having anything but a stone for a heart?”

“I’m old, it’s my job to appear as heartless as possible.”

The prince snorted, but nonetheless smirked at the Healer’s tone. As much as Mengloth made himself out to be a cold, heartless bastard, he truly did care about him and his family. He’s been the Royal Healer even before Laufey had been born, and he had overseen his parents’ birth, and his and his brothers’ births.

‘It’s no wonder babies scream when they are born if their first glimpse of the outside world is Mengloth…’he thought humorously.

Stretching, his wound now numb from the salve used on it, the small Jotun hopped from the bed and onto the cool stone floor. He gathered his things in one arm, turning to Mengloth cheekily.

“Am I free to go now?” he asked.

Mengloth nodded. “Yes, just don’t strain yourself. No heavy lifting for the rest of the day, and eat something hearty. You’re still such a scrawny little mite…”

“Duly noted,” the prince deadpanned, turning for the door. He paused.

“Do they know I am here?” he asked quietly.

Mengloth eyed the small Jotun, lowering his arms to his sides.

“No,” he said, “They likely think the Sky Traveler is somewhere here, but they do not know where you are or who you are.”

The prince nodded, long black hair slightly loosened from its tightly woven braid.

“And Thor?”

“Oblivious.”

“The pendent he wore…”

“All of their possessions are with the guards, including the pendent.”

“Hmm…” He sighed. “Frigga was always too clever…”

Mengloth didn’t comment, instead watching as the Jotun prince turned away from the door and faced the Healer.

“You will see to Sleipnr as well; he is in the west garden.” He said, before in a flicker of green magic, he disappeared.

Mengloth smiled, chuckling lowly to himself.

“Yes, Loki Prince.”

To be continued…

Chapter Text

Thor was confused. Very, very, very confused.

Now, he’s been confused before, mostly during his younger years in sessions with his tutors, or when Loki tried to explain a spell to him. But that was just your typical, I-don’t-get-it confusion. In this moment, however, he literally had no idea how to associate what he was looking at with what he was told. He could look at a piece of Midgardian abstract art and come up with some form of description faster than he could looking at this Jotun – looking at King Laufey.

He certainly did not look as he did when Thor first met him fifty years ago. He wasn’t nearly as gaunt as he used to be, and he had a healthy glow to him. He actually looked like a healthy person – a very tall person, but a person. The hair – white and reaching the Jotun’s lower back – was as much a shock as it was to seeing the Jotun King overall. He didn’t think the Jotnar even had hair!

Laufey seemed to be studying Thor, his intense garnet eyes boring into Thor like bloody icicles. The intense gaze made Thor want to hide, and he found himself oddly comparing the stare to one Frigga would wear when she caught Thor doing something naughty as a child.

He found himself almost cringing, though he did feel his face pull into a half-formed scowl. Comparing Frigga, his mother, to the King of the Jotnar? He almost wanted to slap himself…

Laufey quirked a brow, but made no comment on the Aesir’s strange, if not rather unappealing expression. He honestly looked like he had caught a whiff of something foul.

‘Or perhaps he has seen something foul…’ he thought flatly.

Thor startled, muscles tense as Laufey moved towards him. The Thunderer was about to demand what the Jotun was going to do, but no sooner shut his mouth when the Jotun King shot him a look that clearly told him to keep his big trap shut. Laufey picked up the bowl used to feed water to Thor, and turned towards Mengloth’s work desk. He picked up the pitcher upon its surface, tipping it over the small bowl slightly.

“I will ask once more, Aesir Prince,” he spoke patiently, yet there was an undercurrent of icy steel. “Why have you entered my realm without first seeking my permission?”

Thor reeled back as if struck, lips drawn into a thin line. His fists clenched at his side, unease welling up in his stomach like bile. Part of him – the much younger, petulant part of him from before Loki died, the part of him that had led them all into Jotunheim the first time – wanted to snap at Laufey. But upon reevaluating the rather straightforward question, and nearly wrestling his childish resolve into the back of his mind, Thor seemed to realize that it was an honest question.

There was no scathing mockery, nor sarcasm or spite. Simply a King inquiring to an unexpected guest as to why he and his companions have – quite literally – dropped onto his doorstep.

“We…” Thor cleared his throat, dry and parched. “We did not mean to enter your realm. We were pursuing someone, and we chased him through a Hidden Path that led to here.”

Laufey nodded, setting the pitcher aside. With a regal sense of purpose, he stepped over to Thor, and held out the filled bowl to the Thunderer. Thor eyed the water suspiciously, jaw tight. Laufey said nothing, and patiently waited as Thor seemed to battle with his warrior’s instinct. But if he looked back on the brief past he had with Mengloth, how he willingly took water from the Jotun Healer, he honestly had no inclination to doubt Laufey’s offer of water.

He certainly didn’t feel like he had been poisoned by Mengloth, so what doubt did he truly hold over Laufey doing so?

With a muttered ‘thank you’, Thor took the bowl, taking care not to touch the Jotun’s skin – both as a cautionary instinct in remembrance of their icy touch, and partly out of a vague semblance of respect.

He made a point in trying not to chug the liquid again, despite how blissfully cold and refreshing it was.

Laufey waved a hand, a flat-topped pillar of ice forming at Thor’s bedside. He gracefully settled onto his makeshift seat, folding his hands neatly in his lap as he regarded Thor.

“And who were you pursuing, might I ask?” he inquired.

Thor swallowed another mouthful of water before he responded, clearing the grit and dryness from his throat.

“The fabled Sky Traveler,” he said, before elaborating, “He is a sorcerer who traverses the realms and-”

“Oh, I know who the Sky Traveler is,” Laufey said offhandedly, but there was an almost missed tone of accusation in his voice.

Thor frowned, a bit put off. He had honestly thought Laufey would not know who the Sky Traveler was, considering his realm was cut off completely from other realms…

Right…?

He cleared his throat again, setting the bowl aside – it was still half full, but like a stifled appetite, he couldn’t make himself finish it.

“He is likely still in your realm,” he said evenly, “We would like to continue pursuing him. However, if you wish it, we will leave as soon as we find a means to do so.”

Laufey nodded. “I see. The choice is not entirely up to me, however.”

Thor frowned, looking at Laufey in confusion. “It is not?”

Laufey shook his head. “No. The Sky Traveler is free to seek sanctuary here. Like an animal that does not want to be caught, he will not be caught by you and your companions if he chooses to petition protection.”

Thor’s frown deepened, his hands tightening around the fur blankets. “Sanctuary…”

“Yes. Your realm does not allow asylum for those in need of help?” Laufey inquired, tilting his head slightly.

Thor felt his cheeks heat, but he did not argue. It was true, all but perhaps two or three realms had the right to grant any traveler or foreign visitor asylum so long as the person in question does not cause trouble. The rule was made ages ago, and war could not be instigated because a realm was granting protection for a possible fugitive. Granted, the rule had many holes in it, and it mostly extended to those who have run away from bad situations or poor conditions. Criminals aren’t treated so leniently, and as far as Thor could tell, the Sky Traveler is no criminal. A bit of an enigmatic, rude shrew, but no criminal.

Laufey tucked a stray lock of white hair behind his ear, his fingers lacing together on his lap.

“In any case, I will see about finding another Path for you to take,” he said, “We have a powerful sorcerer who can find them, so you will not be here long.”

In other words, get out of my realm. Or so that’s how Thor saw it. He was actually quite impressed with how calm Laufey was acting around him – the same person who slaughtered dozens of Jotnar in under ten minutes, all for the sake of petty anger and tantrum-like petulance.

Though it still irked Thor to a degree; the investigation as to how the Jotnar got into Asgard had been halted by Odin not even after twenty-four hours. Though after fifty years, Thor was quite capable of seeing the possibilities; like Odin said, it was probably the actions of rogue Jotnar. Laufey gave no inclination of knowing then, and he didn’t now.

He nodded vaguely. “I thank you for your help, King Laufey…”

Laufey only nodded as well, rising from his seat. “New clothing shall be sent to you and your companions within the hour, as well as food and drink.”

Thor coughed into his hand, kneading his chest. His lungs were congested and dry, yet they felt heavy with sand and grit. He paused, looking down at his chest at feeling a rough texture just at his sternum.

Gauze bandages were wrapped snuggly around his chest, a visible pad of more gauze pressed firmly to his sternum – where his pendent used to be.

Thor flushed hotly as Laufey’s words finally sank in. He suddenly seemed to realize that he and his companions had not only been saved by the Jotnar, but he was now in the presence of their King, and he was naked.

Norns above, could this get any worse…?

“JOTUN!”

Judging by Sif’s battle cry, yes, yes it could.

~s~s~S~s~s~

“Brother!”

Loki rolled his eyes. Here he was, shuffling back to his personal chambers to possibly bathe and maybe get an hour or two of sleep, but of course he is going to be postponed. Regardless, he allowed himself to be picked up like a child and squeezed in his youngest brother’s arms. He grunted as his ribs were nearly crushed, the wind squeezed right out of his lungs.

“Welcome home, big brother!” Byleistr crowed, hugging his brother tighter.

“Ugh…! Byleistr, what have we discussed about trying to kill me…?” Loki rasped.

“Not to do it?”

“Exactly, and you are not doing a good job in the ‘not killing’ part.”

Byleistr scoffed, but released his brother all the same. Loki landed easily on his feet, dragging in deep, ragged breaths as he smoothed down his clothing.

By the Norns, he sometimes seemed to forget that Byleistr was the youngest, and yet his strength and size would say otherwise. He was barely into his teen years, still a mere boy compared to Loki, his horns just breaching his forehead a mere twenty years ago. Byleistr was a very large Jotun, even for his age. But considering he took after their Sire in that regard, it was no surprise he towered at least three feet over Loki, and was just catching up with Helblindi. Loki predicted in the next couple years, Byleistr would surpass Helblindi and be able to look at their Sire at almost eye-level.

It was no wonder their Dam hasn’t had any more children; Norns help him if their next sibling take after their Sire and tear him down the middle like Byleistr no doubt did.

Loki gave his brother an appraising look, taking in the familiar leather skirts and knee high black leggings, bare feet, and heavy shoulder armor. His medium length, wavy white hair was done up in low, and quite messy ponytail. He must have just gotten out of training recently to see his brother.

“Well, thank you for not breaking me in half…” he muttered halfheartedly.

Byleistr laughed. “Oh, come on, you missed me and my hugs!”

Loki scoffed, but smiled nonetheless. “Not as much as your humor. How have you been, dear brother? Mengloth tells me you have been causing quite a bit of trouble in my absence.”

“And aren’t you proud of me big brother?” Byleistr asked with an innocent widening of his dark red eyes.

Loki chuckled, swatting the taller Jotun’s arm. “Purgatives for pain relievers, the ideas I plant in your head…”

“Admit it, you’re so proud of me~!”

“Yes, yes, we’re all so proud of you, Byleistr…”

Both turned, matching grins stretching their blue lips as their eldest brother entered the hallway. Helblindi crossed his arms, quirking a brow at his two errant siblings in amusement and exasperation.

Unlike Byleistr, Helblindi was narrower in build, but still strong and the ranks in their warrior class. His horns were longer and curved like their Sire’s, almost ram horn shaped. Though he was still quite young, just entering adulthood, he was excelling in his political studies. His dark hair, much like Loki’s and their Sire’s, was braided loosely, just reaching the bottom of his shoulder blades. His outfit nearly matched Byleistr’s, the exception being he wore furred boots with jagged cleats on their bottoms, and a bow and quiver of arrows hung over his shoulder.

He must have come back from a hunt, Loki thought. Otherwise he wouldn’t be wearing shoes. Shoes were not something the Jotnar appreciated; they cut you off from the earth you were born on, and why would they wish to separate themselves from such a thing? Shoes were only used for hunts in extreme terrain where traversing the snow and ice is difficult without traction.

“’Blindi! Welcome home!” Byleistr repeated the same bone crushing hug on his second elder brother, though Helblindi didn’t seem nearly as pained by the embrace as Loki had been.

“It’s ‘Helblindi’, Byleistr…” Helblindi said in exasperation. “You’re not a child anymore. It’s Hel-blind-i…”

“Whatever you say, ‘Blindi.”

Loki chuckled, grinning further at Helblindi’s annoyed expression. But there was a fondness for the youngest sibling in his eyes, and he sighed and pat the other’s head in defeat.

“Troublemaker…”

“Teacher’s pet.”

“Norns, it’s so good to be home…” Loki muttered in exasperation.

Helblindi pushed Byleistr off himself, straightening his equipment strap and smoothing down his skirts.

“So, how was Vanaheim?” he asked, before his brows creased in concern. “I heard you were injured?”

Loki waved a hand. “Nothing serious, just shot in the back with an arrow-”

“What?!” Both Helblindi and Byleistr growled, eyes narrowing and sharp teeth flashing.

“Who did it?”

“It wasn’t some random Vanir, was it?”

“Let me guess, it was one of those Aesir beasts…”

“It wasn’t Thor was it?”

“If it was, I’ll tear off his head and shove it up his-”

“Brothers!” Loki exclaimed, holding his hands up as the two larger Jotun seemed to unintentionally crowd him into a wall with their questions. “Be calm, I am fine. Mengloth has looked me over-”

“Is that supposed to comfort us?” Helblindi deadpanned.

“-and says I am fine. As for who hit me, well, seeing as your reaction is so sour, I won’t say,” Loki proclaimed firmly.

“Oh come on!” Byleistr whined. Helblindi sighed.

“Really, it’s a wonder how our Dam hasn’t keeled over yet…” he muttered.

“Don’t remind me.” Loki scoffed sourly, before lightening. “On that note, he should be happy to know that I’ll be taking a month off from my travels.”

He paused, ignoring his brother’s approving comments and Byleistr’s rambling of all they could do in such a time. Eyes narrowed, he turned to look down the opposite hall, ears attuned to the sound of what to him could only be described as a rather chaotic construction zone. And there was yelling; lots of yelling.

“Brothers…” he said.

The two larger Jotnar immediately quieted, sensing the severity in their elder sibling’s tone. Their own eyes narrowed as they too seemed to pick up on the sound just a ways off in the north wing. Acute hearing sharpened, the three brothers were able to pick up the minute shouts and screams, and the distant thump of guards racing to the scene.

“What is that?” Loki muttered.

“I don’t know…” Helblindi said, hand going to his bow. “Perhaps we should investigate?”

“…isn’t the healing wing down that way?” Byleistr inquired.

“Yes,” both Helblindi and Loki replied.

“…and isn’t our Dam there to speak with Aesir Prince Thor?”

A pause…

And Loki was suddenly gone in a flash of green energy, leaving his stupefied brothers behind.

“Damn it, Loki!” Helblindi cursed, before making a mad dash for the healing wing on foot, Byleistr right on his heels.

Loki, meanwhile, appeared in a burst of green magic in the private healing room he had previously been in. The sound of fighting was much louder, yet muffled by the door dividing him from the primary healing chambers where his Dam was – along with three Aesir warriors, a Vanir, and a brute of an Aesir prince. Vaguely he could hear Mengloth snapping and roaring his displeasure at having valuable healing equipment destroyed, and guards scuffling about and trying to avoid the Healer’s wrath.

He couldn’t get to the door fast enough.

“Dam?!” He burst through the door, looking around with wide eyes. He no sooner deflated, relieved and exasperated.

“Urgh! Let me go you savage beast!”

Sif, naked and fully exposed to their element, was pinned rather efficiently under Laufey’s foot, a scalpel held away from her in one of his hands.

“By the Norns! Please at least let us up! You’re cold!” Fandral, locked in a chokehold by a guard, rasped as his teeth chattered and his legs flailed.

Vostagg and Hogun were in equally compromising positions, the larger of the two being held pinned to his bed by two guards, and the Vanir held at knife point in his bed by Mengloth, both glaring hell and brimstone at each other.

Thor – Loki almost groaned – he seemed to be trying to make a very pathetic attempt at calming the situation. Or perhaps not; it was hard to tell when the Thunderer was standing stark naked on his bed and waving his arms about as if he were on fire.

“Be calm my friends! They have done nothing to harm us, nor do they have any intention to!” he bellowed.

“Are you mad?! These beasts attacked us!” Sif shouted.

“Only because you attacked our king and started decimating my healing room!” Mengloth snapped back.

“Jotun savages, what do you want with us?!”

“Nothing you insolent female! Of all the arrogant-! You should be grateful to us you brat!”

“Insolent female?!”

“ENOUGH!”

All heads veered towards Loki, and the guards immediately – without relinquishing their hold on the Aesir – bowed at the waist at Loki.

The small Jotun made an ‘at ease’ gesture, before running his eyes around the room at large. His gaze settled on Laufey, and he immediately caught the slight stain of dark blue on the white fur belt around his hips – the source being a small cut on his waist.

Inhaling sharply, Loki bypassed the guards, Aesir, and Mengloth, touching a finger gently to the tiny wound.

“Are you alright?” he asked, hurriedly muttering a healing spell to close the wound.

“I am fine, gem,” Laufey sighed, seemingly just as exasperated as Loki. “This Aesir female awoke in a panic and got ahold of one of Mengloth’s scalpels.”

“How dare you address me as such?!”

“Silence you foolish woman!” Loki snarled, baring his sharp teeth at Sif.

Sif snarled right back, and Loki rolled his eyes, not the least bit impressed by the naked woman – especially pinned under his Dam’s foot. The wound now closed, leaving not even a scar, he turned back to the room and its occupants.

“We could proclaim war over this,” he growled, “We take you all in and save your lives, heal you with our resources, and the moment you see we have blue skin, you attack our king.”

Fandral blinked, looking over at Laufey. “That’s Laufey?”

“Show some respect, whelp!” Mengloth snarled, Fandral shrinking under the elder Jotun’s gaze.

Laufey sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. By the Norns, this was not going as well as he had planned. And he was not going to stand for his son threatening war, no matter how true and justified it was.

“Guards,” he started, catching their attention. “Release them, they are of no threat to us.”

“But my king…” The guard no sooner quieted as Laufey held up a hand.

“Just release them, the situation has calmed, and we can now act like civilized individuals.” He shot a glance at Sif, who only flushed bright red and trembled in rage.

The guards gave each other uncertain looks, but nonetheless obeyed. They released their captives, Mengloth putting away his knife and stepping away from Hogun. Laufey gave Sif a warning look before lifting his foot off and away from her. She scrambled to her feet in an automatic fighting stance.

None of the Jotnar present seemed the least bit impressed.

“Now then, since we are all finished squabbling, perhaps we can-”

“Dam?!”

“JOTUN!”

Laufey sighed, stepping swiftly between his two other sons and Sif as she made ready to leap at them. Though what she expected to do to them without a weapon was a mystery to him. Did she honestly expect to beat his large, warrior-class sons into submission with her fists?

He glared at her briefly, before acknowledging his sons. “I am fine, there was simply a misunderstanding.”

Helblindi and Byleistr, weapons in hand, surveyed the room. It certainly didn’t look like a mere misunderstanding happened; it looked more like a war had started.

Laufey made as if to speak, but was interrupted once more.

“Loki…?”

The named Jotun tensed, as did the guards, Mengloth, and his siblings and Dam. Thor, still standing upon the bed, as naked as the day he was born, stared at Loki in both parts shock and disbelief. Slowly, the Aesir prince climbed off the bed, causing the guards to lift their weapons in preparation for an attack. But he paid them no mind, and shuffled closer to the Jotun prince on unsteady feet.

Loki schooled his features into a blank expression. He did not even meet Thor’s eyes, instead looking down at the Thunderer’s bare feet.

Thor stopped before him, choking on his own words, as if he did not know what to say. He lifted a hand, as if to touch Loki, oblivious to the snarls Loki’s brothers were giving Thor.

“Is…is it really you…?” he rasped, reaching out for the prince.

Loki suddenly scowled, hand shooting up to grasp Thor’s wrist.

“No,” he said firmly. “You have me mistaken, Prince Thor. I am Loptr Laufeyson, heir to Jotunheim’s throne.”

“A runt is the heir?” Fandral blurted.

He was met with deep growls and baleful snarls from the Jotnar, causing the blond warrior to shrink in on himself once more.

Thor blinked, stunned as the Jotun – Loptr – pushed his wrist down and released it, not even leaving a trace of frost burn. He still did not lift his gaze to Thor, and instead turned to look at his Dam.

“I am assuming they wish to leave our realm?” he inquired. Laufey nodded.

“Yes, and as quickly as possible,” he said. Loptr nodded, turning to the guards.

“Have a sleigh ready for them and myself, I will be taking them to the nearest Hidden Path tonight-”

“Tomorrow,” Laufey interrupted, getting a surprised look from his smallest. “A blizzard is on its way tonight, and they would not survive a trek in such weather.”

Loptr sighed in resignation.

“Fine…” he said, before adding with a cringe, “And for Norn’s sake, get them some clothes, this isn’t a whorehouse.”

Thor, Sif, and the Warriors Three had the good graces to flush in embarrassment, quickly trying to cover themselves with their hands. Volstagg and Hogun were lucky to still be in their beds and remained covered below the waist.

Laufey crossed his arms and looked to the guards. “Have the servants prepare rooms for them, and inform the cook of our Aesir guests.”

The guards all bowed with muttered, ‘yes majesty’s before departing, but not after shooting suspicious and angry looks the Aesir’s way. They vanished out of the healing room, closing the door with a quiet snap behind them. All that were left were Laufey, his children, Mengloth, and their ‘guests’.

It was silent for a long, uncomfortable moment. Unable to stand it, Thor cleared his throat, looking to Laufey imploringly while keeping a hand over his crotch.

“Ah…I apologize for my friends’ behavior and-”

“What are you saying?!” Sif snapped, storming over to Thor with an arm over her chest and her free hand at her front. “They could have attacked us!”

“But we didn’t!” Byleistr snarled. Helblindi put a hand on his brother’s shoulder.

“That is enough. We’ve said all we must, and you lot have caused enough trouble,” he said firmly.

“You are lucky our scouting team even found you,” Laufey added, “No one goes outside the barrier, it is far too dangerous.”

“Barrier?” Volstagg inquired uncertainly.

“It is none of your concern…” Loptr said, before he turned and placed a hand over his Dam’s. “I am going to my rooms, but I wish to speak with you when you have a moment.”

“Of course.” Laufey nodded, his hand coming up to shoo a lock of hair out of Loptr’s eyes. He smoothed down the obsidian locks, the smaller Jotun nudging his short horns against his palm. He gave a small bow to his Dam before letting himself out.

Thor followed the Jotun figure as he left, his heart pounding and his ears ringing. Loptr…he looked so much like Loki – he even acted like Loki…

Seeming to sense the Thunderer’s thoughts, Laufey cleared his throat to get his attention.

“Due to the circumstances, you all will be escorted by guards around the clock,” he said, “I apologize for this method, but I must assure my people are safe and out of harm’s way. Tomorrow, you will be led to a Hidden Path by my son, and be on your way. Until then, you are free to join us for dinner once you are clothed and settled into your chambers.”

He looked to his guests, as if to gauge any questions or requests from them. Hearing none, he turned to Mengloth, who was off to the side grumbling about his lost and damaged equipment.

“Mengloth, I ask that you examine them for any injury or sickness,” he said.

“They’re fine…” Mengloth grunted, not even looking at Laufey and instead studying a broken vial of some kind of potion.

“Mengloth…”

“Fine!” Mengloth sighed, before pointing to his patients. “But I want guards here, and should they break any more of my valuable equipment…!”

“I will see they are reprimanded.”

“Punished!”

“Within reason, Mengloth.” Laufey said with an eye roll.

The Healer grumbled, but went about his work as Laufey stepped out and ushered in the guards normally posted outside the door. The Aesir not in their beds soon climbed back in, drawn to the thick furs for decency and to escape the cold of the room. Thor quickly got under the blankets in his own bed, but before Laufey could leave, he called out to him.

“King Laufey,” he said.

Laufey stopped, turning to look over at the Aesir prince. “Yes?”

“I…” Thor swallowed, mentally forcing himself to speak. “You…your son, he is-”

“Loptr is my son,” Laufey said, his voice steeling. He turned fully to face Thor, coming to stop by his bedside, his eyes hard and almost possessive. “As a fellow prince, I implore you to respect him and his wishes. He has had a long journey, and he needs rest and time to recuperate. I ask you leave him be until then.”

“But he-”

“Make no mistake, Odinson.” Laufey almost hissed at Thor. “I am well aware of your brother’s passing fifty years ago. But do not think you can simply replace him with my child, no matter their similarities.

“Prince Loki is dead, my son is alive. Do not forget this,” he said firmly.

He then turned on his heels and made for the door and his two remaining children, but not before adding one last comment.

“I ask that you not enter my realm again unless it is for political purposes, Thor Odinson.” He said, before he vanished behind the door with the other two princes.

Thor blinked, dumbfounded.

And yet again, for what felt like the millionth time in his life without his brother, he felt like he had completely missed something vital…

~s~s~S~s~s~

“Damn it all to high Hel and back!”

Laufey didn’t even flinch as a bottle of some sort of green liquid was thrown at the wall near his head as he opened the door to his son’s rooms. He sighed, taking in the scattered books, trinkets, maps, and various items used for his spell and potions experiments.

Shutting the door behind him, he watched his son pace in the middle of his chambers, bare feet slapping soundlessly on the fur rug.

“I’m so stupid…! I’m so stupid!” he shouted, throwing another potion bottle at the wall. “How could I have done this?! I virtually led them here on a leash!”

“Loki…” Laufey said calmly. Loki either ignored him or did not hear him.

“I never should have used that Path! I knew it led to my home, but I didn’t think! I didn’t think! Instead I ran like a startled rabbit and led the wolves straight here!”

“Loki.”

“And Thor…how dare that bastard?! How dare he look at me and think-?!”

“Loki.”

“I AM NOT LOKI!”

Laufey didn’t outwardly react to Loki’s outburst, simply watching patiently as the small Jotun seethed his rage through clenched teeth. Loki swallowed, hands shaking, teeth grinding.

“Loptr…”

The named Jotun looked up, wide eyed and almost expecting a reprimand. Laufey sighed sadly; even after all this time, his little giant still expected the worst. But he could not blame him. He may be young, but his life had been a long and punishing one.

Slowly approaching his son, the Jotun king kneeled in front of Loki, hands coming up to gently grasp his tense and shaking shoulder.

“I know,” he said patiently, softly. “It is as I said to Prince Thor; Loki is dead, and my son is alive.”

Loki groaned, his head throbbing in stress, anxiety, and no small amount of anger. Weakly, he collapsed into his waiting Dam’s arms, curling up in his lap as Laufey held him tightly to his chest. Loki tucked his head under his Dam’s chin, clutching at his collar like a distressed child.

“It’s not fair…” Loki rasped, eyes screwing shut. “We were getting on just fine these past fifty years, why did he have to come here, and now of all times…?”

Laufey shook his head, stroking his son’s cheek. “We seem to be inherently bound for bad luck it seems.”

“The Norns hate us…”

Laufey chuckled, kissing Loki’s hair. “If they did so hate us, they would not condone you bringing our home back to life, my gem.”

Loki scoffed, but smiled all the same, nosing along Laufey’s throat.

“I want him gone…”

“And he will leave,” Laufey said firmly. “Rest assured, he will not take you away from us – from me.”

Laufey’s arms tightened almost uncomfortably around Loki, but the possessive hold only made his grin widen.

“Possessive Dam…” he muttered.

“Petulant fox…”

They both laughed quietly, enjoying the rare solace and comfort in one another’s presence. It’s been so long since Laufey was able to hold his son so close, and just as long since Loki allowed himself to be held.

But apparently Loki underestimated just how exhausted he was. His breathing soon evened out and deepened, and his body grew slack against Laufey. Soft snores could be heard from the small Jotun, and Laufey chuckled at how quickly and easily his son had succumbed to sleep.

He couldn’t blame him though – coming home had been just as much an adventure as being out in the Nine Realms. He picked up the small Jotun in his arms, marveling at his light weight, and settled him into his luxurious bed. Smoothing his hair back, Laufey bent down and laid a kiss on his forehead.

“I swear this to you my gem, no one will take you away from us – never again.”

He suddenly looked up at the wall, glaring at it – or rather, out into the north wing where the healing rooms were.

“You will not take him from us…” he growled.

To be continued…

Chapter Text

“This is an outrage!”

Thor sighed, exasperated, tired, hungry, and quite fed up with Sif and her senseless ranting. If he were honest with himself, he would actually find the situation quite fair, if not lenient.

Sitting upon a large lounge (Jotun sized), Thor and his other male companions watched in boredom as Sif paced in front of them like a caged lioness. All of them were finally decent, clothed in some rather generic yet warm clothing meant for people their size. Thick fur coats, pants, and fur-lined boots kept them from freezing, and the room provided for them was well insulated and furnished rather pristinely.

If Thor were honest with himself, he would admit to being a bit stunned. Though not as opulent as the guest rooms in Asgard, it could easily rival one with its dignified, silvery tones, jade décor and luxurious furniture. And judging by the looks on the others’ faces when led to the room, he was not alone in his surprise.

As far as they all knew, the Jotnar weren’t exactly known for their… civilized behavior or lifestyles. And seeing so many of them actually dressed in clothing was a bit of a shock to them all.

“Since when have the Jotnar worn anything above a loincloth?” Fandral muttered.

Sif snorted. “Don’t be too impressed, they don’t even wear shoes.”

“That is enough…” Volstagg sighed, exasperation and quite fed up with this mess; he was hungry too. “We are guests here, the least we can do is act like we just as civil as they are.”

“Civil? To those beasts?” Sif spat.

“Sif, enough,” Thor cut in, becoming even more irritated. “We’ve already caused a disturbance, we do not need to give them reason to kill us.”

“As if they even need a reason…”

Thor sighed, completely fed up with the irate woman. Honestly, she was acting like a sulking child throwing a tantrum. All because she just could not process or accept the fact that she and the others had had their lives saved by people not of Asgard. Even better yet, they were saved by Jotnar, and he guessed it was that that was grinding her nerves.

Groaning, Thor pinched the bridge of his nose. He frowned, his hand coming down to pat along his chest. The pendent his mother had given him was gone, likely with the remains of their clothes and other items that were confiscated from their person. He wondered when they would get their things back. He wondered where their horses had run off to. They were probably dead by now, frozen solid if not eaten by some large native beast…

Knocking at the door caught their attention, and suddenly everyone was on the alert. Sif and the Warriors Three made to reach for weapons that were no longer at their belts or backs, no sooner scowling at finding no familiar weight in their hands. Thor just clenched his fists stiffly.

“Enter!” He called.

The door opened cautiously, and in stepped a Jotun guard and what appeared to be a servant. A very nervous servant, and quite small. Not as small as them, but he was short and slim, perhaps standing eight feet tall, while the guard stood perhaps ten or eleven feet tall. The servant was dressed in a long white tunic that ended at his knees and covered his arms, a silvery sash cinched at his waist. His calves were wrapped in furred guards bound with intricately woven cords. The servant had blue tinged white hair braided in a long plait down his back and ended just at mid-thigh, but the guard’s hair was indistinguishable, as he wore a helmet. The guard was armored, boasting an armored skirt and knee high leather leggings. Both of them, like every other Jotun they have seen, were barefoot.

The Jotun servant cleared his throat, speaking in a small, timid voice.

“Dinner shall be ready soon.” He said.

“And?” Sif sneered. The servant flinched, and they did not miss how the guard standing behind him snarled at them, edging closer to the other.

“Laufey King wished to inform you of this. And that we have found your horses…” the servant said.

Thor was shocked. “They are alive?”

“Yes,” the guard picked up for the obviously very uncomfortable servant. “They were nearly frozen when we found them, but they were taken to our stables to rest and recuperate.”

“And our weapons?” Sif growled. The guard shot her a warning look.

“Intact, confiscated,” he said firmly, “You will get them back once you leave.”

Sif scowled, but made no further argument. There was nothing she nor anyone could do about it. Thor spoke up when they all fell silent.

“When does King Laufey expect us?” he asked.

“In a few minutes. Járnsaxa and I shall escort you.” The guard gestured to the meek servant.

The servant, Járnsaxa, did not look the least bit enthusiastic. Nor did Sif or the Warriors Three. Although, Thor was oddly more inclined to feel sorry for Járnsaxa; the look Sif was giving him was making the poor thing fidget.

“If you all are ready, we can escort you to the dining hall now.” The guard said, casting scathing looks back at the warriors and Sif.

Thor nodded stiffly. “Yes, that would be fine…”

Nodding back curtly, Járnsaxa and the guard stepped back out into the hall to make way for Thor and his companions. Though cautious, the Asgardians left their seats and shuffled out of the room, the soles of their boots harshly thumping against the stone floor.

Thor cast a warning look at Sif when she sneered at Járnsaxa, suspicious and angry. The female warrior only turned up her nose at the Jotun, his meek demeanor sickening to her. To her, anyone who could not look her in the eye, especially a Jotun of all people, were lower than dirt to her. He was even lower than a warrior Jotun in her eyes.

The guard held up the rear of the group while Járnsaxa led them to the dining hall. Thor and his companions regarded the long, icy hallways in both parts fascination and leery suspicion. For Thor though, he was more or less a little stunned. The last time they had been to Jotunheim, they had been in the ruins of what he had assumed to be the palace. But looking around, he was starting to wonder if he was wrong.

The halls were pristine and carved of smooth ice and pillars of solid jade and dark stone. Furs and tapestries decorated the walls between windows, of which were surprisingly closed and boasting a crystal clear ice that could easily trick someone into thinking it was glass. Thor only knew it wasn’t glass because of the blizzard outside; glass would freeze and shattered under such brutal conditions, while ice would not. He could vaguely sense a bit of magic coming off the windows as well, confirming his suspicions that they would not break under any sort of stress. There were even ivy-like plants creeping willfully up the walls and pillars in a few places! Thor did not think plants could grow on Jotunheim, let alone such lush looking ones; they were a lush dark green, yet boasted bright blooms and buds. Magic, perhaps?

It all made him a bit uneasy, as his instinctual urges to fight and run were going a bit haywire. He and his companions held no weapons, and therefore no escape. They could not just beat the windows open to make an escape, so in all hindsight, they would have to work their way out of the palace in a more pleasant manner.

Meaning, he had to make sure his companions did not say or do anything to warrant throwing them into a cold cell.

The silence was unnerving Thor, and with a bit of mustered courage, he spoke to the guard. He had a feeling if he spoke to the servant, he would scare him more than anything.

“Do you know what time of day it is?” he inquired a bit lamely.

“It is early morning.” The guard said.

Thor blinked, his friends just as confused.

“But the King said we are joining him for dinner…?” Thor half asked.

“The Jotnar are nocturnal,” the guard said, surprisingly patient. “The light of our sun is a blazing white, and the snow of our land reflects it back in a blinding light.”

Snow blindness…Thor never even thought of such a thing until now. And if the Jotnar were nocturnal, their eyes must be sensitive to light. Throwing in the blazing light reflected off of equally bright white snow, it was little wonder they were nocturnal. It also explained their red eye color.

Sif huffed. “It must make fighting and hunting unsuspecting game easier…” Cowards.

It was Volstagg who shot her a look this time, but the guard shrugged.

“Not necessarily,” he said flatly, “We only allow group hunts monthly for food and pelts. Mostly we rely on our crops and fishing.”

“Crops?” Fandral asked in surprise. “Things grow here?”

Thor groaned, partly embarrassed, but also a bit curious. The guard was not deterred.

“Like us, the land, flora, and fauna have adapted to the climate over the centuries,” he said, “Our plants are hardy, and our seas rich in life. Our mountains boast underground springs as well. They make wonderful greenhouses for growing certain herbs, medical plants, and even fruit trees and plants.”

They had hot springs? In such a cold place? Thor was becoming more baffled by the minute, and judging by his companions’ faces, they were as well.

Ahead of them, Járnsaxa nodded sagely.

“Yes, our prince has done much for us…” he said with hushed reverence.

“Your prince?” Volstagg inquired.

Járnsaxa flinched, suddenly clamming up. The guard cleared his throat to catch their attention.

“Yes. Laufey King’s middle child, Loptr, has revived our realm with his own hands. We owe much to him.” He said.

“Loptr?” Fandral piqued in, “You mean that run-er, I mean, smaller Jotun?”

The guard nodded, and the Asgardians frowned.

“But he said he was the heir,” Volstagg said, “How could he be if he is the middle child? The eldest gets the throne, does he not?”

The guard frowned, while Járnsaxa bit his lip and avoided the Asgardian’s gaze. Adjusting a leather strap on his belt, the guard stared ahead, no longer intent on focusing on the Asgardians.

“We Jotnar do not simply chose the first child to be born of their Dam as heir,” he said, “They have as much a choice in who they want to be as anyone else. We do not force our children into any future, let alone burden one with a throne and a crown the moment they come into the world.”

“So this Loptr decided he wanted the throne before his elder brother?” Sif asked curtly. The guard frowned.

“His siblings did not want the throne, nor did he to a degree,” he said, his tone conveying his growing impatience. “But he was strong enough to accept the burden, and under his and Laufey’s hand, our realm has flourished.”

Sif scoffed, and the guard glared at her.

“Mind yourself, warrior.” He growled. “Our prince is our treasure, and should any harm come to him or his family…”

“We are here.” Járnsaxa said, inevitably cutting into whatever threat the guard had.

They stopped at a large set of double doors – of which were carved from a very dark sort of wood, boasting an intricate tree carved into it and studs of jade in its design. Járnsaxa firmly grasped the wooden handles, pulling them open to the bustling dining hall.

Thor and his companions gaped at the large, winter wonderland-like room. The floor was solid jade, as if a true giant had plucked it from nowhere and flattened it into one solid, deep green floor. Crystalline chandeliers of ice and blue gems hung above them in the high, domed ceiling. Pillars of frosted ice lined the side walls, flanked by floor-to-ceiling windows that gave a lovely view of the raging blizzard outside. Tables carved of the same wood the door was made from flanked each other in rows, not unlike Asgard’s dining hall. While up on a long, raised dais, the royal table sat with a large mural of a winter wonderland painted on the back wall behind it. The table itself was empty at the moment, not counting the glowing centerpieces and vases of flowers.

The side walls boasted little gutters that were filled with crystalline water, little glowing crystals sitting in their bottoms lighting the water up. Water fell to collect in the gutters from small waterfalls seeping in through decorative spouts up the wall where the dome met the intricate molding. Greenish blue vines not unlike the ones out in the hall grew up and around the pillars, seeming to be coming from the water itself. The white blooms they boasted were half opened, signaling their nocturnal nature as they prepared to close for the day, just like their Jotun cohabitants.

Despite the chandeliers, the room would have been dark had it not been for two things. The frosted pillars seemed to glow a soft, ethereal white, like glowing crystals. And all around them, floating in midair just above the tallest Jotun’s head, were clear globes of ice holding little glowing orbs of light. The dome above them was lit up like breaking overcast, white and blue swirling over its surface like storm clouds.

The Asgardians gaped in awe and stunned disbelief. They were oblivious to the various heads turning to look at them, some in trepidation, others in suspicion. Even the children that had been playing with a few caught ice globes stopped their games and shuffled behind the nearest adult.

Hearing the silence, Thor broke away from his stunned resolve and looked around at the assembled Jotnar.

And once more, he was a bit surprised. Unlike the first time he saw Jotnar, these ones had hair and were fully dressed – well, mostly. Some boasted no tops, and all wore no shoes. Though almost off the bat, he could tell which of them held higher status than others. They stared at him and his friends, their red eyes wide in uneasy or narrowed in suspicion.

The guard cleared his throat, catching the large room’s attention.

“I present Prince Thor Odinson of Asgard,” he said, “And his companions; the Warriors Three, Hogun, Volstagg, and Fandral, and the Lady Sif.”

Low mutters were heard, indistinguishable over the various voices. Thor bit his lip, trying to seem as unintimidating as possible. Though his companions were doing little to help the situation, looking every which way and glaring at any Jotun that dared to look at them. Sif was especially nasty, sneering as a child looked over at her and intimidating the poor thing.

Making a noncommittal sound, Járnsaxa gestured forward to the front of the room.

“I shall escort you to your table.” He said, seeming just as uncertain as the Asgardians.

But nonetheless, they followed the servant, the Jotnar parting to make way for their guests. More whispers were spoken, but the Jotnar seemed to be speaking in a completely different language that the Asgardians could not decipher. Shoulders hunched in suspicion, they quickly made it towards the dais, where another table was set apart from the others and held closer to the royal table.

But now that they were closer to the tables, they realized they were very short legged. At first Thor thought it was designed with them in mind, but looking back, he noticed all of the tables were very low – low enough where even they would have to kneel.

Fur cushions were brought over by another servant and placed around their table, and suddenly they understood.

“Please, have a seat and I shall-”

“You would make Asgard’s prince sit on the floor?” Sif snapped.

Járnsaxa flinched, but somehow managed to steel his resolve. He was somewhat grateful their backs were to the rest of the room; otherwise they’d see the nasty scowls and disapproving looks of the other Jotnar. He dismissed the servant placing out the pillows and regarded the Asgardians.

“It is our tradition,” he explained, “Everyone – our kings, princes, warriors, and even the lower class – sit on the floor when eating. It allows us to share our meal with the earth that bore us.”

“We are not of your frigid land.” Sif growled.

“Sif!” Thor snapped, glaring at her. “Mind your tongue. We are guests here, and we will respect their ways.”

“This is no different than sitting at Lord Frodi’s home for a meal…” Hogun said with a shrug.

And he was quite correct; Vanir sat on the floor on plush cushions at low tables when they ate. Though not all Vanir did this; higher tables and chairs were becoming a preferred setting in the homes of younger Vanir. Many elderly or old warriors with long lasting leg or back injuries had to sit at regular tables because they were physically incapable of kneeling and getting up.

Sif flushed red, glaring at Hogun as if he had just betrayed her in the worst way possible. But she no sooner huffed, turning her nose up at the servant. Thor sighed.

“I apologize for my companion.” He said to Járnsaxa. The Jotun only shrugged.

“It is fine,” he said, “Now, please have a seat and I shall bring refreshments. The kings and princes will be here shortly.”

And with that, he gave a curt bow and left to fetch drinks. And suddenly the room was back in motion; servants hustled to and fro to serve and refill drinks, but no food was served yet. Like Asgard, it seemed the masses had to await their king’s arrival before being served.

So they sat on the surprisingly comfortable cushions, hunched over their table like conspiring children.

“This is a mess…” Fandral sighed, somehow exhausted by the mere implications of Jotunheim’s climb in power and resources.

“More like an insult.” Sif growled.

Thor glared at her. “I mean it, Sif, be respectful. They have done nothing to wrong us, and your attitude is not showing them how Asgardians should behave.”

Sif scowled, crossing her arms like a scolded child. The other warriors sighed, just about done with Sif’s acidic tongue and thoughtless resolve. Even the Warriors Three were becoming quite nervous, just waiting for the Jotnar to strike them down because she couldn’t keep her mouth shut. Thor had a point; none of the Jotnar had attacked them or treated them as anything but guests. The only time this could have been called into question was when they woke up in the healing rooms and had to be restrained. But that had been more of a kneejerk reaction of Sif seeing blue skinned giants.

And if their hospitality was anything to go by, their overall environment was another matter entirely. Never had any of them ever thought the Jotnar had such grand halls, or such regal wares and jewels. And the architecture…it was nothing like the stony ruins they had thought the Jotnar lived in when they first came to Jotunheim.

“This is too strange,” Fandral proclaimed.

“Indeed,” Volstagg muttered, “I did not expect Jotunheim to be so…well…hospitable.”

“I did not expect them to be wearing so much clothing…” Fandral added with a teasing grin. Hogun rolled his eyes while Thor pinched the bridge of his nose.

“That is enough,” he said, “We simply must get through tonight – or today – wait for the next nightfall, and then their prince shall escort us to a path.”

He suddenly frowned with a small semblance of what could have been desperation.

“Please try to not cause trouble until then,” he pleaded.

The others muttered their agreement, Sif more grumbling than anything else. Járnsaxa soon returned with a tray of various drinks, setting them out at their table. It appeared to be some kind of juice or wine, a deep purple-red color and held in cups made of ice to keep it cold.

“Have you not any mead?” Fandral asked. Thor shot him a look, and Járnsaxa shook his head.

“We would have to import it, as our own species of bees do not produce the kind of honey to make mead,” he said, “I hope the wine is to your liking though.”

“What is it made from?” Volstagg asked curiously.

“The wine is made from the grapes we grow in our orchards,” Járnsaxa explained, “They are rather large, and give the wine that deep indigo color. It’s quite sweet actually.”

Though still a bit unconvinced, they relented and nodded the servant away. They looked into their drinks suspiciously.

“Fandral, you drink it first.” Volstagg said.

“Like Hel! You drink it!” Fandral snapped.

“Enough you two…” Thor sighed wearily. “It is made just like any other wine from what I gather, it is not going to kill us.”

“Who in their right mind ices wine?” Sif scoffed, leering at her ice cup.

Thor decided to ignore her, and picked up his drink. He sniffed it cautiously and discreetly; it certainly smelled like whine, but sweeter, and there was a chilly, wintery smell not unlike strong mint.

In the end, they decided to hold off on their drinks and settled for the ice glasses of water Járnsaxa brought them a moment later. The water was actually very refreshing, not a single hint of pollution tasted in it. The water was so clear, they at first thought Járnsaxa had brought them empty glasses for something, but quickly found that they were filled with the purest water they had ever tasted.

When Járnsaxa returned to refill their waters, Thor caught the servant’s attention.

“When will King Laufey arrive with the princes?” he asked.

“The kings will be here any minute now,” Járnsaxa said, “Fárbauti King got back here from the army barracks a little late.”

Fandral frowned.

“King Fárbauti?” he inquired, “I thought Laufey was king?”

“Yes, is Fárbauti the queen?” Volstagg asked.

Járnsaxa blinked slowly, owlishly, as if he had been asked to sever his own limb and eat it. He stared at the Asgardians a moment longer, before he spoke uncomfortably.

“I-I…I’m sorry, do you not know?” he asked.

“Know what?” Fandral asked.

Járnsaxa was stunned, but then his entire face shut off from them. His timid expression dropped into an almost deadpan mask of frigid resignation. It startled the Asgardians, seeing his once expressive face freeze so instantaneously.

“They shall be here shortly…” he said flatly.

Without even bowing, he turned on his heels and made to go serve the other guests. Sif scowled.

“Impudent peasant…” she growled.

“Hush, Sif,” Volstagg snapped, “We obviously insulted him, if not their king as well.”

“He did not mean Fárbauti from those war stories, did he?” Fandral asked.

“I doubt it. It could be another Fárbauti.” Volstagg shrugged.

“But who’s the king then?” Fandral asked, “Laufey or this Fárbauti person? You can’t have two kings!”

“Not unless they are Ergi…” Sif scowled in disgust.

“Speaking of, where are all the women?” Fandral wondered aloud. “I see not a single Jotun maiden here. Nor have I seen any our entire stay here.”

“I hear they lock their women up and use them for nothing but pleasure and breeding.” Sif grimaced nastily, nearly spitting venom with her eyes at the various Jotnar.

“I highly doubt that theory holds any truth.” Volstagg said.

“Then where are they? Not once have we heard tales of female Jotnar, nor have any of the warriors from the previous war talked about seeing them during battle,” Sif said.

Volstagg shrugged. “Perhaps they do not fight. Or perhaps they are rare.”

“But there are plenty of children…” Hogun pointed out, eyeing a few of said children as they raced around the tables in a game of tag.

“Perhaps we shall ask later,” Fandral suggested, “After all, the princes must have many maidens longing for them.”

Thor suddenly looked uneasy, recalling Frodi's words about the Jotnar being intersexed. He wasn't too sure just what exactly that meant, but he had a good guess. He was not going to bring it up with his companions though; something told him an explanation would be worse than leaving them in the dark for the moment.

The room suddenly fell into a hush, and everyone paused in their chatter and turned towards the dining hall doors. A couple guards, previously hidden behind the shadows of the pillars flanking the doors, hustled forward and positioned themselves on either side of the double doors.

“All rise for the kings and princes!” one guard shouted.

And right on cue, the Jotnar stood, and out of pure habit and startled resolve, Thor and his companions did the same. They could not see over the tall Jotnar though, but the crowd seemed to part down the middle just as quickly as they stood.

The guards opened the doors, and in stepped five Jotnar.

“Majesties Laufey King and Fárbauti King, Helblindi Prince, Loptr Prince, and Byleistr Prince.” The guards bowed the royals in swiftly and respectfully, the family making their way through the parted crowd and towards their table.

Thor and his companions easily recognized Laufey and his children – though they were dressed a bit more elaborately, boasting many gems and stones. But who they did not recognize was the behemoth Jotun walking with Laufey on his arm towards them.

The Jotun was utterly massive, muscular and easily the tallest Jotun in the room. His eyes were a dark ruby color, his markings sharper than Laufey’s. A large white bearskin cloak hung over his shoulders, straps of black leather crossing over his chest and ending in the thick hide belt at his hips. A kilt and skirt of leather and dark green fabric hung from his hips, ending at his knees yet dragging a bit further down in the back.

His black hair was long and dripped down his back in a sleek cascade, held back from his face by curved, ram-like horns much thicker than Laufey’s. Rings of gold adorned the horns, with matching braces and cuffs on his arms. Scars riddled his body, the most prominent being a long slash across his left breast.

This Jotun was Fárbauti, the same Fárbauti Thor had heard of in war stories; the Cruel Striker, the most feared Jotun warrior ever known.

And yet Laufey held onto his massive arm as if it were nothing, as if he did not hold onto the very Jotun who had slayed a thousand Aesir in one night.

And right behind the royal family, the Asgardians were shocked and startled to see a small pack of white wolves following them, led by a slightly smaller black wolf. They did not attack or pay any of the surrounding Jotnar any mind though, seemingly docile. They even allowed a few bold children to reach out and let their hands pass through their fur as they passed by, not the least bit deterred.

The royals quietly greeted many of the Jotnar they passed, drawing nearer and nearer to the Asgardians’ table. Thor and his companions held their breath, shoulders squared and bodies tense as they were approached.

They stopped before the Asgardians, regarding them with respectful yet curious gazes. Except for Fárbauti and the wolves. The large Jotun seemed to sneer at them all, glaring dangerously at each and every one of them, especially Thor. The wolves gave low growls, lips twitching and hackles raising. The black one seemed especially cautious, ears pinned back as it stared at them.

Though nervous of the very large canines, Thor cast a certain look at his companions, and after a moment of staring at the Jotnar, they grudgingly relented. They all bowed at the waist at the royal family. Wordless, Laufey nodded to them, before they continued up the dais and to their table. The princes followed after them, the youngest – Byleistr – shooting them a disdainful look. Loptr followed up the rear, and spared Thor a glance. They stared at one another briefly, and Thor could not help but note how lovely the small prince looked in his black leathers and soft green fabrics. His small horns were adorned with little gold rings, a thick gold torque similar to the one Loki owned around his neck. An intricate crystalline diadem sat proudly above his horns, a symbol worn by the heir.

He nodded curtly to Thor, before following his family to the table. Hushed murmurs overtook the room as the royal family took their seats at their table, kneeling just as everyone else had been. The wolves sat or lay around the table, a few taking up the front while others sat behind the royals or at the table ends. The black one took up a seat next to Loptr, the small Jotun casually reaching out to pet its neck. But Laufey remained standing.

The guards that had announced them stood at the foot of the dais, tapping the butts of their spears on the floor to hush the room.

Laufey surveyed the room, garnet eyes taking in each individual. Thor was oddly reminded of a mother duck checking her nest to see if all her eggs were present.

Folding his hands neatly behind his back, the Jotun King spoke.

“I would like to thank you all for joining us this evening,” he started, voice soft, yet reaching every nook and cranny of the large room. “It brings myself and my family great joy in seeing so many familiar faces, and even many new ones.

“As you know, this year’s harvest has been the largest and most abundant, we have never had such a wondrous harvest in over five thousand years. It was not luck which brought back our home, but our beloved prince, my son, Loptr.”

The room erupted in a loud applause and cheers, startling and deafening the Asgardians. To Laufey’s right, Loptr smiled easily, inclining his head as the Jotnar praised his name.

A raised hand from Laufey quieted the room, and he continued with a smile that perfectly matched his son’s.

“I have said before in the past few years that I could not be any prouder of my son, and yet, with each year that passes, I am left stunned as my pride continues to grow even still. And tonight, we celebrate him once more for the great gifts he has given us.”

Another roar of applause was heard, nearly sending the Asgardians reeling, their heads spinning. Thor though noted how Loptr flushed at his parent’s words, oddly shy. His youngest brother grinned and elbowed him gently, earning a shove from the small Jotun and an easy smile from his other sibling.

The hall quieted, and Laufey continued.

“I would also like to let it be known that our guests tonight are none other than Thor Odinson, the Warriors Three, and Lady Sif…”

All at once, every eye was on the Asgardians, some respectfully blank, others suspicious. There was no applause, nor roaring or bellowing of Thor’s name. Everyone seemed very uncertain.

It was very, very disconcerting to Thor, almost outrageous.

“I implore you, my people, to treat them well and with respect,” Laufey said, “Their visit was unexpected, and sadly they shall not be here with us for very long. So for the sake of peace, treat them as you would a brother or sister.”

Muted nods and muttered agreements were heard, though not nearly enough to settle anyone into a sense of ease or calm. Seeing this, Loptr suddenly stood, catching the hall’s attention like flies in a spider’s web.

“I know we have all been hurt by opposing realms,” he started, his voice just as soft as Laufey’s, and just as powerful. “But the past cannot, will not, be changed. There is no point in holding onto old grudges over people who may not even be alive anymore. To begrudge the dead is to give it the power to conquer, and we are anything but a conquered people.

“We are all as one here, equals. No one of us is higher, nor lower than the other. Kings and princes some of us may be, but even a poor tailor can best another on equal ground. Aesir or not, Jotun or not, we are all people. There is no need to reopen old wounds to let them fester. I implore everyone here to treat each other as equals.”

Thor watched in awe as the small Jotun spoke, the Jotnar all soon starting to calm and relax, hanging onto each and every word their prince spoke. A smile stretched over Laufey and Fárbauti’s lips, and the Jotun king picked up for his son.

“It is exactly as my son says. Now then…” Laufey gestured grandly to the room. “Let the feast begin!”

To be continued…

Chapter Text

The feast began swiftly. Or so the Asgardians assumed it did. The Jotnar all took their seats, many servants entering through the main doors with trays. A small handful of servants broke off to serve a single table, Járnsaxa making his way to their table.

Thor and his companions sat as well, hunched over their table and muttering lowly and tossing the various Jotnar apprehensive glances.

“What do you suppose they eat?” Fandral inquired as the servant steadily made his way to the Asgardians.

“Besides each other?” Sif smirked.

Thor rolled his eyes. “I do not know, but I am guessing fish if that guard’s words are anything to go by.”

Though apprehensive, the warriors seemed to accept the possibility. They all grew up on stories of the Jotnar being cannibals, even eating Aesir and whatever poor souls that stumbled into their realm if they were desperate. So they waited anxiously as Járnsaxa finally approached them with a glistening silver tray, smaller than the others being used to serve the larger Jotnar.

He placed the tray at the center of their table, and the Asgardians blinked. It appeared to be piled on with some kind of wrap, steam still billowing off of the pile. An appetizer perhaps?

“Well, whatever it is, I don’t care,” Fandral said, reaching over to pick one up – it was about the size of a small brick, but considering how large the Jotnar were, they would be small. “I’m starving!”

He bit right into the wrap, only to find his teeth did not breach the warm roll. He blinked, frowning as he tasted…warm water, a floral fragrance, and…cotton?

Silence fell over the room suddenly, and the Asgardians looked confusedly from Fandral to the Jotnar. They all seemed to stare in stunned shock at the Asgardians, many with various emotive expressions. Some seemed quite baffled, while others seemed stoically amused, and a few were rather disgusted.

Thor blinked owlishly, before sliding his gaze to the royal table. The three princes seemed quite amused, though Loptr was giving Thor a very pointed, very deadpan expression. Fárbauti was only looking at them oddly from the corner of his eyes, while Laufey, prim as always, cleared his throat to catch the Asgardian’s attention. Calmly, he picked up his own wrap, but instead of eating it, he unrolled it and started wiping his hands with it.

And as if on cue, the rest of the Jotnar all followed the king’s lead, tearing their befuddled gazes from the strange Asgardians and cleaning their own hands. Even the children seemed quite baffled, their eyes flickering towards them as parents helped clean their smaller hands. And when they were done, the Jotnar folded their used towels up and placed them back on the tray.

Hand towels…suddenly Thor was more feeling embarrassed for Fandral than anyone else. At least he and the rest of his companions had not been so quick to stick one in their mouths.

He eyed the rather flustered looking Fandral, who had slowly removed the towel from his mouth. Face flushed red, he gave his customary dashing smile – though it was strained – and unrolled the towel.

“Just…cleansing my palate…” he said, before quickly scrubbing his hands and putting the towel back on the tray.

Low snickers were heard from the Jotnar, one of which was coming from Prince Byleistr. Helblindi only rolled his eyes, while Loptr sighed in exasperation. The Asgardians all flushed beet red, discreetly taking their own towels to clean their hands, and then meekly placing them back on the tray.

The little debacle now over, the servants took away the towels quickly, and no sooner returned with trays of actual food and drink. Trays and platters were set along the length of the long tables, chatter soon starting up between friends and family as they were served.

Járnsaxa made it back to their table with a single tray, setting their dishes upon their table between them all.

“We hope the meal is to your liking.” He said, carefully setting out the various plates, glasses, and other necessities. The Asgardians blinked at their food.

Thor had been mostly right. Cooked filets of white and red fish were laid out pristinely upon small plates for them, accompanied by strange, though not unpleasant looking greens that could have been some kind of spinach. There were roasted potatoes – or so they guessed they were potatoes, as they were a very dark, deep blue – and other strange greens, mostly root vegetables. More meats of various kinds were placed on a medium sized platter in orderly rows – a sampler plate, most likely. Fruits were present in whole and in slices, foreign and strange in color and shapes. Sauces and what appeared to be fish roe in a large bowl were also present, and a large platter was set in the middle, holding…was that seaweed?

The Asgardians were more baffled than offended; a feat all its own. Fandral looked to Járnsaxa as the Jotun refilled their drinks and set empty plates for them to fill before them.

“What is all this?” he asked.

“Filet of salmon and sea bass – both smoked. The other meats are of our local livestock,” he said, “The fruits are Snær epli, Sjǫ bjarg vinber, Hellir berries, and Fire Pears. The vegetables are Snjár svampe, various roots, and of course, seaweed from our sea gardens.”

“You actually eat this?” Sif muttered, gesturing to the seaweed.

Járnsaxa didn’t even bat an eyelash. “Yes. It is quite a healthy supplement, and a sought after delicacy. Much like your cabbage or lettuce.”

Sif frowned, but said nothing more. Fandral looked around the table.

“Our utensils?” he inquired.

“Ah, yes.” Járnsaxa reached into a pocket at the side of his tunic, quickly setting out what appeared to be spoons made from bone, and long forks placed near the various platters. Again, confusion sets in.

“I believe we are missing forks and knives…?” Thor inquired. Járnsaxa seemed confused at first, before he finally seemed to understand.

“Ah, my apologies. We do not have forks or knifes for food, let alone in your size,” he said, “We use our hands, ergo the towels.”

Sif snorted, and Thor cast her a warning look. Járnsaxa didn’t even react above a flat expression.

“Most metals shatter in our climate,” he explained, “And the smaller the metal item, the more likely it is to break in a few minutes. Best to avoid putting it in your mouth should that happen.”

Sif scowled, but said nothing. With that logic, it certainly made sense to use a more basic method of eating than to risk choking on a shard of metal. Plus, it was probably best to save metals that could survive their climate for more important things, like weapons or armor.

Bowing once, Járnsaxa left to attend to his other duties, the Asgardians left to do as they please. Thankfully, it seemed most of the meats and other foods were sliced into small bits that could be pulled apart for consumption, so knives were not a necessary thing.

“Well…” Volstagg said, a bit uncertain. “Let’s feast!”

The gluttonous warrior had no problem piling his plate high with a little of everything. The others also served themselves, but much more slowly and with smaller portions. Volstagg dug in, while the others picked one food item up and cautiously tasted it.

They were once more surprised.

“It…it’s good.” Fandral said around his mouthful of fish.

The others nodded rather slowly, trying more of what was offered to them. And like their first bites, the next wasn’t nearly as bad as they expected it to be. Ten minutes into their meal, and they were actually starting to enjoy it.

The meats were juicy and warm, melting like butter on their tongues; knives were not even needed since they were so tender. The fish was also rather good, though something they – sans Hogun – were not overly accustomed to. Hogun seemed to enjoy the fish, a staple he grew up on in Vanaheim, while the others favored the plethora of livestock meats. They could only guess as to what they were, as a few tasted somewhat like beef or lamb, others like chicken or pork. There was one very dark red meat that had them scratching their heads though. It wasn’t unpleasant, but they could not put their finger on what it could possibly be. It was very rich and fatty, so they could only assume it was some kind of pig belly, possibly boar.

Though apprehensive, they also tried the vegetables and fruits – once more, they were surprisingly very good. Many vegetables were steamed or roasted with butter and other herbs, while a fair few were raw. The fruits were raw of course, sweet and juicy with varying textures.

Everything was, they admitted grudgingly, delicious, if a bit strange to them at first. Even the fish roe was good, and the sauces to dip their meats in added a pleasant, spicy flavor.

It soon got to a point where they were comfortable with drinking the wine offered to them. Though oddly, it tasted more like a chilled, refreshing juice than wine – it had little to none of that bitter taste found in dark wines, nor the bite of alcohol.

Although, they never took into account that Jotun wine was a bit more powerful than most. The Jotnar were large people after all, and it took quite a bit to get them even a little buzzed.

Járnsaxa was making his way back to their table with more water when it happened.

“Hic! Who’da thought the Jotuns could make a decent meal?” Fandral slurred.

“Indeed!” Thor, just as drunk, readily agreed and raised his wine glass to his lips. He blinked, looking dumbly into his empty glass. “Bah, they need tankards instead of these tiny glasses.”

Up on the royal table, Loptr cast a glance to the Asgardian guests. But the moment he saw Thor raise his glass up, and noticed how close Járnsaxa was nearing, he stood up.

“Thor, NO!”

“Another!”

Crash!

“AUGH!” In a sudden instant, Thor threw down his glass and smashed it on the floor. Járnsaxa had been mere feet from Thor, and had been greatly startled, jumping and stepping on the shards of ice. The ice had already been a bit melted from the Thor’s warm hands, and the jade floor did nothing to help aid him in his rather dramatic slip.

With a startled shout, Járnsaxa’s feet slip right out from under him, tray flying into the air as he landed with a loud thud on his back. The ice jug of water came down and landed with a crash and a cascade of water on his middle, soaking him.

A collective gasp rose up from the Jotnar, many standing from their seats in surprise. Guards rushed to the scene, along with, surprisingly, Loptr and Helblindi.

Járnsaxa groaned as he was carefully helped to sit up, his head throbbing, his clothes soaked. There was a spattering of blue blood on the floor where the back of his head connected with the floor.

“Damn…” One the guards winced, seeing the bloody gash on the back of the servant’s head.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” Helblindi asked. Járnsaxa groaned, holding his head.

“Just my head, my prince,” he rasped, the wind having been knocked out of him from the fall. “Please, do not fuss, I-I shall clean this up and-”

“Absolutely not,” Loptr said firmly, “You are taking the rest of the day off.”

He turned to the guards, both waiting at attention for his orders.

“Escort Járnsaxa to Mengloth,” he said, “Have him tended to, tell him I sent for him.”

“Yes, your highness,” the guards droned together. They gave a quick bow before carefully hefting the injured Jotun to his unsteady feet, obviously suffering a concussion.

Járnsaxa muttered what could have been an apology, but the princes waved it off as the guards escorted him out. Once the doors shut, silence fell over the room, only broken by the concerned mutters and whispers from the various Jotnar.

The sudden commotion had, miraculously, stunned Thor back into a more sober state, and he stared at the spot where Járnsaxa had fallen and hit his head. The blue blood contrasted rather eerily against the dark green floor. A pair of small blue feet suddenly shuffled into his line of vision, and he looked up at the middle Jotun prince, who was giving Thor a scathing look.

The look, however, was no sooner deepened as laughter erupted from the Asgardian table. Fists banged on the table top, eyes of varying shades of red turning to stare at the guffawing Asgardians.

“Did you see that?!” Fandral guffawed. “He screamed like a maiden!”

The others laughed, though Hogun seemed to be making an honest attempt at keeping a straight face and holding in his own chuckles. Amazing what a few drinks of potent wine could do to people…

Thor, on the other hand, only stared at the Jotun Prince before him, his drunken stupor very quickly leaving him at a frightening speed. He swallowed thickly, a flush having nothing to do with the wine in his systems coloring his cheeks.

“I…I did not-”

“SILENCE.”

Thor shut his mouth. Almost at once, the icy tone quieted the Warriors Three and Sif. Loptr bore his teeth at them, hands clenched into fists at his sides. He was only made more intimidating by his larger brother standing behind him and glaring at the Asgardians.

“I think you’ve had enough to drink…” Loptr said through clenched teeth.

Before Thor could figure out just what to say to the Jotun prince, Sif beat him to the punch with a slurred growl.

“You do not have the authority to order Asgard’s prince around, runt.” She snarled.

Outraged sounds erupted from the Jotnar, and Thor seemed to just then realize how outnumbered they were. Not to mention they lacked any form of weapon. But Loptr did not seem the least bit deterred. Instead, he crossed his arms and cast a patronizing look to Thor.

“Your realm puts men at the top of all regards, and yet here you allow a woman to play hero for you.” He scoffed. “I was not aware a full-grown prince needed a wet nurse.”

Thor blinked dumbly. Sif seemed quite taken aback. Her face flushed ten shades of red, and she openly bore her teeth at the prince, her shoulders shaking in barely repressed rage.

A cough was heard up on the high table, drawing the attention of everyone in the dining room. Laufey regarded the assembled people, eyes narrowed on the Asgardians.

“That is enough, Loptr,” he said calmly, before waving over one of the guards. “Thrym, please escort them to their rooms. My son is correct in that they have had quite enough to drink.”

Stunned as they were by the proclamation, the Asgardians didn’t seem to notice the various expressions of outrage or bitter bemusement from the Jotnar around the room. Although, perhaps they were more amused than anything else; who knew the Asgardians, known for bragging of their drinking prowess, could be rendered into complete drunken morons with just a single cup of Jotun wine?

Though reluctant – and still quite drunk – Thor, Sif, and the Warriors Three were escorted from the dining hall and to their rooms. Once gone, Loptr sighed, rubbing his temples in agitation. He could feel a headache coming on.

Home for not even a full day and he was already cleaning up unnecessary messes – and by guests of all people.

He felt his brother settle a hand on his shoulder, and he forced himself to calm down. One literal slip of a Jotun servant as a result of drunken guests would not be worth ruining the feast.

Although he was mildly smug with the knowledge that the Asgardians were going to be very, very hungover tomorrow…

To be continued…

Chapter Text

Something wasn’t right…

These words kept nagging at the back of Thor’s head, but for the life of him, he could see nothing wrong. If anything, everything was perfect.

The horses were off a few yards nipping at grass and nickering to each other, saddles and harnesses removed so that they may enjoy the warm sunshine on their coats. They didn’t even bother with a blanket, instead opting to sit on the soft, spring grass, their food laid out in soft cloths between them. The bubbling stream of water before them was a calm presence, its rushing water not unlike the adoring babble of a child.

Something wasn’t right…

‘But how can anything be wrong?’ Thor thought.

He looked beside him at his brother. Loki paid Thor no mind, seemingly captivated by the nature surrounding them. Not surprising really – his brother had always had an odd fascination for nature, something Thor never fully understood. True, he had a very intimate connection with storms and lightning, but what Loki had with nature overall was something so much deeper.

Something wasn’t right…

“Brother?” Thor watched as Loki seemed to come back to himself, turning his emerald eyes onto Thor.

“Yes?” he inquired.

Thor made as if to speak, but his words caught in his throat. He frowned. No, this wasn’t right. Something about this situation was wrong. Like something was missing…

Or rather…something that should no longer exist was here.

Thor blinked, staring at Loki oddly. The Trickster God quirked a dark brow at Thor, as if confused. Yet those shrewd eyes held a sense of knowing in them. He blinked once, slowly, cat-like, before averting his gaze to the apple held in his hands.

“You are gaining perspective…” he said, turning the apple this way and that in his hands. Thor blinked dumbly.

“What?” He asked. Loki hummed thoughtfully.

“Tell me, Thor,” he started, “What is wrong here?”

Thor frowned. “Nothing is wrong here. This is a wonderful picture. We have not gone traveling together by ourselves in…”

He paused, brows creasing. How…long had it been, again? Since the two brothers had packed up and gone traveling together? Two years? Five years? Maybe ten?

‘Over fifty years…’ Thor shook his head, startled.

“I believe it has been quite some time.” Loki shrugged. “But you are not answering the question. What is wrong here?”

Thor swallowed, suddenly uneasy. “I…do not understand.”

Again, Loki hums and brings his apple to eye level, staring at its smooth red surface curiously. His eyes narrowed, and a spark of bright green flashed in his eyes. The apple suddenly rippled, its color draining and form wavering grotesquely. And in its place, a black snake was found wound around Loki’s wrist and hand. It hissed, as if agitated. Yet Thor could swear it was laughing.

“What was it you said once, brother?” Loki asked, cocking his head at the snake. “Some do battle, and others do tricks?”

Thor’s eyes widened in both parts shock and bewilderment. When had he ever said that?

‘Wait, no, I DID say that…’ He thought.

But when? When had he…

Thor looked up as Loki chuckled, not even realizing he had averted his gaze to his lap. Thor stared at Loki, not even realizing – or perhaps not caring – that they were no longer in a forest, but in the empty throne room of Asgard.

And Loki sat upon Odin’s throne.

He smiled at Thor, but it was not like his usual smiles. It was not a sneer of disdain, nor a smirk of smug knowing. It wasn’t even a sarcastic quirk of the lips.

This, Thor realized, would be the first time Loki had smiled at him in pity.

“Snakes do not lie,” Loki started, the snake in his hand slithering between his hands. “They do not blink, and so they cannot be lied to. I have often been called a snake…”

He looked down at the snake in his hands, as if studying its black scales and emerald eyes.

“Yet they call me the God of Lies,” he said, “I have to wonder, Thor. Do you see me as a snake? Or a liar?”

“I…” Thor could say nothing, too dazed and baffled to form any coherent thought, let alone a word. Loki sighed.

“I lie, I cheat, I steal, and I bring chaos and unrest in my wake,” he said wearily. “But I am also like a snake. I cannot be lied to. And yet, if I am a snake, I cannot lie…”

He suddenly scowled.

“But I have been lied to,” he said, “A lie is like a rat. It all starts with one, but if given time, that rat will build and breed with another lie. Those two lies will converge into one. Soon they will breed more and more lies…

“And soon enough, you will have an unstoppable infestation. Rats bring disease and famine; they destroy everything in their wake to satisfy their great hunger. You may have started off with one lie to one person, but it will always end with a thousand rats and two thousand people. And it will always end in pain.”

Thor swallowed thickly, his brain slowly putting the pieces together. This wasn’t right, that was obvious by now. But with how slow his thoughts were, his meager logic stifled as if walking through molasses…

It crashed into Thor like a runaway horse.

“This isn’t real…” he breathed in disbelief. “This is a dream…”

“Is it?”

Thor’s eyes focused back on Loki – or rather, the person that had spoken and now sat where Loki once was.

Thor gasped, taking a step back as Odin stared down at him from his throne. But that was not why Thor gaped at Odin.

No, he gaped at his father because of his face. Or rather, his covered eye.

Of which was no longer covered, and boasting the empty, gaping socket of where his eye used to be.

“Fa-…father…” Thor choked out.

Odin seemed to glare, his single remaining eye narrowing, while the gaping hole beside it only warped grotesquely.

“Rats are lies…” Odin suddenly grumbled, his body shuddering briefly.

Thor shouted out in shock, nearly tripping over himself as a rat peered its head out of Odin’s eye socket. It squeaked and hissed, wriggling violently until it fell out of Odin’s head. But it was soon replaced by another rat. Then another. Then another.

“Rats are lies…”

Thor cried out as the whole room seemed to flood with rats – they came from every nook and cranny of the throne room. From under tiles, behind pillars, behind drapes, cracks in the stone, and especially from Odin’s eye socket.

“Rats are lies…”

The rats swarmed Thor, the Thunderer tripping over himself and landing on his back on the floor with a dull thud. They bit and scratched at his body, tearing into his clothes and armor like termites to wood. Thor tried to fight them off, grabbing and tearing them from his person, but there were simply too many.

“Rats are lies…”

Thor gasped as a particularly large rat crawled up to his face and started clawing at his mouth. Terror overtook Thor, and he forced his lips tight and his teeth clenched together.

“Rats are LiEs…”

Thor’s heart pounded in his throat, the rat finally working his lips back, and now trying to force his mouth open. The Thunderer was paralyzed, his senses and control over his own body leaving him. He panted through his nose, eyes screwed shut as his jaw weakened, his mouth opening the tiniest bit.

“RaTs ArE lIeS…!”

The rat reeled back, about to plunge down Thor’s throat. But it stopped, and a startled shriek rose up from the hoard of rats. His eyes snapped open, the only part of himself he had any semblance of control over.

What he saw almost made him wish he never opened them.

The snake protruding from his chest hissed and writhed, snapping at the rats and spewing venom. Lurching from the bloodied gash in the center of Thor’s sternum, it whipped up and clamped its mouth over the rat trying to get into Thor’s mouth. The rat shrieked as it was bitten, the venom within the sharp fangs dissolving its insides into wretched sludge.

The rest of the rats hissed and bristled, backing away slightly from the stunned and paralyzed Thunderer. Thor panted in terror and confusion, hands stiff and shaking against the cold floor.

The snake hissed once at the rats, before turning to look at Thor. The Thunderer could only gape at the snake, once more oblivious to the sudden change in scenery. No longer were they in the cold, gold gilded throne room, nor were they even in Asgard.

Thor now lay in a snowdrift, the sky dark with night, filled to bursting with starts, galaxies, and milky ways. A green moon hung over him, only bright enough to light up the single spot Thor lay in.

Sensation returned to Thor, and he suddenly knew he was no longer paralyzed. But he did not dare move, too stunned and confused to even move a muscle. He was staring up at the snake in an obvious sense of fear, as if he expected it to clamp down on his neck and destroy him from the inside out.

But the snake did not move. It only stared at Thor, unblinking – unable to lie, and unable to be lied to.

“Rats are lies…”

Thor startled, but no sooner calmed as the words were spoken not in Odin’s voice, but in the familiar baritone of his brother. He tipped his head back towards the voice, gasping at the sight of not his brother, but the Sky Traveler.

His hood was still up, his cloak covering his body like a soft shadow. Thor could only stare at the upside-down Sky Traveler, the mysterious man of no face or known origin, the man he had pursued into this icy realm on an adventure Thor could not truly recall.

He spoke again, continuing where he left off. “Snakes do not lie, nor can they be lied to.”

He reached down with a black gloved hand towards Thor’s chest. And Thor watched in amazement as he picked up not the snake from Thor’s chest, but an apple. The snake was no longer in his chest – there was no sign of it ever being there.

“Snakes eat rats…” the Sky Traveler said, cradling the apple in his hands. “Their venom destroys their very essence, and they willingly eat and destroy the rats that embody lies.”

Thor blinked dumbly as the Sky Traveler slid gracefully to his knees, pushing under Thor’s head until the back of his head rested in the strange man’s lap. A crescent flash of white was seen within the hood; the Sky Traveler was smiling.

“We cannot do what snakes do. We cannot destroy lies like they can,” he said softly, “You have been fed lies all your life, Thor. And the snake trapped inside you is now free of its prison. It lay knotted and helpless within your breast, gnawed on by the rats you consumed without question…”

He moved the apple to one hand, holding it within Thor’s line of vision.

“You have a choice now,” he said. “Take it back, let it fight the lies Odin breeds. Or go back to eating rats.”

He presented the apple to Thor, holding the bright fruit – once red, now green – inches from Thor’s mouth.

The Sky Traveler said nothing, and Thor himself could not say anything either. Instead, the Sky Traveler picked up one of Thor’s hands, and placed the apple in it before pressing the hand and the apple to the Thunderer’s chest. His gloved hand squeezed his hand, pressing the apple against his chest. His free hand came up to brush some of the errant strands of blonde hair from Thor’s forehead.

“It is your choice,” he said calmly. “But you will never see me if you do not take it back. You will never regain what you have lost, and what Odin and all of Asgard has driven way.”

“Wha…” Thor finally found his voice then, shocking himself. “I…I don’t…what did I…?”

The Sky Traveler did not reply at first. But after a moment, he seemed to sigh, a puff of white fog leaving his hood.

“I still miss you,” he said, “I still cannot hate you. Yet, I cannot yet forgive what you have done to me, brother.”

Brother…?

Thor blinked, before something in his head seemed to click. He lurched, trying to sit up, but the Sky Traveler - no not the Sky Traveler - held him down with a firm hold.

“You must make your choice, Thor,” he said, “And you must make it soon. Time is running out.”

“Lo-” Thor choked on his own words, trembling, his body once more too heavy to move. The Sky Traveler brushed his hair back once more with a familiar touch Thor had not felt in over fifty years.

“I do not hate you, Thor,” he said, “Remember that. No matter what you choose, I cannot hate you.”

The Sky Traveler - no it’s him it’s him it’s him - stood suddenly, leaving Thor sprawled on the snowy ground and clutching the apple to his chest. The gentle snowfall around them seemed to pick up, waking from its lazy fall and erupting into an irritated howl.

“Make your choice, Thor.” he said, before he turned and started walking away and into the tundra.

“Lo…!” Thor gasped, turning his head to follow the Sky Traveler’s steps, but unable to give chase. His free hand trembled, as if frozen from the cold. He tried to reach out, but his arm simply would not cooperate. Snow piled over him, burying him in the deepfreeze of the tundra.

“Lok…!”

White gathered around his eyes, the snow unrelenting, unforgiving. The Sky Traveler’s form grew smaller and smaller the further he went, until he finally vanished within the frigid cloak of winter.

Thor gasped a sob, his sight finally vanishing as the last bit of snow buried him under its blanket.

~s~s~S~s~s~

Thor lurched with a strangled gasp, flying up and into an upright position. He gasped for only a moment before nausea churned in his gut. He did not have even a moment to feel confused or shocked, as he lurched to one side and emptied his stomach of the previous night’s contents.

He groaned, his vision swimming and his head stuffed full of sludge. His tongue felt dry and swollen, nearly gagging himself. Shuddering, he fell back onto the plush surface of his bed. By the Norns, he was so hungover. He didn’t even remember what he did last night, let alone how he got back to his chambers and into bed. One of his companions must had scraped him off the floor of a tavern and taken him home.

Well, he knew one thing for certain – he was not getting out of bed today. He didn’t care if Odin scolded him or if Frigga tried to use her motherly force. He was just going to lay here in his bed, and slowly die via hangover.

Or just sleep. Yes, sleep sounded nice about now.

“I see the hangover has set in.” A gruff voice grunted.

Thor startled, cringing as his head seemed to throb in adamant protest. That…didn’t sound like anyone from the palace he knew of. It was familiar though, so who…?

Mengloth, his hungover mind supplied.

Thor gasped, sitting back up again and forcing his eyes open. He no sooner yelped and covered his eyes with one hand and held his forehead with the other. He groaned, his head pounding and his gut clenching.

It took all his strength to open his eyes just slightly, and take in the scowling visage of the Jotun healer. Said Jotun seemed to roll his eyes at Thor, grumbling about lightweights and stupid younglings.

“You made quite a fool of yourself at the feast.” Mengloth grunted.

Thor blinked, brows furrowing in a moment of confusion. But the momentary amnesia suddenly seemed to flee from his mind like a startled bird. A wave of hot/cold washed over Thor as mortification and horror came over him in a flush of blood over his face. The sudden rush of the red fluid, laced with the sickness of a hangover, nearly sent Thor to purging again.

Mengloth, who seemed to notice the sudden flood of memories in Thor’s expression, was not the least bit impressed. He only sighed in that way only a man who had been dealing with this his whole life could, and picked up a small cup from the bedside table.

“Drink this.” He grunted.

Thor was in no shape to argue or feel insulted by the healer’s brazen attitude, and took up the small cup with a shaking hand. He sat up slowly and carefully, groaning through the vertigo and the churning of his stomach. He eyed the thick, yellow fluid in the cup and cringed.

“Just drink it, Brat Prince.” Mengloth sighed, waving a hand deftly. The vomit on the floor beside Thor’s bed froze and then seemed to disintegrate into nothingness. Mengloth then turned back to his work table to supposedly mix up more of the strange, and quite frankly disgusting looking concoction. “It will cure your hangover and settle your stomach.”

Thor sighed, withholding a scathing comment on Mengloth’s continued use of ‘Brat Prince’. Trying not to look at the nasty contents of the cup, he quickly tipped it back and swallowed it down. He grimaced; it tasted just as bad as it looked, but the effects were almost immediate. Like a fire extinguished under a boiling pot, Thor felt his stomach cease its nauseous bubbling and churning. His headache also seemed to temper down somewhat, but not completely.

He looked down at the empty cup in surprise, his vision no longer oversensitive.

“This is…effective,” he said in a small amount of awe. Mengloth grunted in a manner all cranky old men seemed to do.

“Of course it is, I’m the one who made it.” He snorted. Thor was almost amused by the mild pride in the other’s voice. “Though I must say, with how much we hear of you Aesir and your overindulgent drinking habits, one would think you could hold Jotun wine better. It’s not even our strongest drink.”

His hangover dissipating, Thor somehow managed the mental strength to feel a tad insulted.

“We are not accustomed to your drinks…” he defended. It was a weak argument, and he knew it, but he felt some form of comeback was needed.

“So I gathered,” Mengloth said, turning back to Thor with a bowl of the same hangover remedy in hand. “Though you seem to have recovered quicker. Your companions have not even awoken yet.”

Thor blinked, before he turned his head. He almost groaned at finding his obviously hungover companions in the same beds in the same medical room as they had woken in before. It wasn’t like they haven’t been to a healer’s numerous times a day, but to be brought in for being so inebriated? That was just embarrassing. Although thankfully this time they were all fully dressed, and only missing their coats and boots.

“Why are we not in our rooms?” He inquired.

“Because I am not a maid and am not going to make a journey out of tending to you and your companions,” Mengloth said with all the finesse of a drunk one-legged bull in a china shop. “As much as I don’t wish to see my healing rooms decimated, I’d rather you lot be here so I can reach you quickly and not make a trek to and from the guest wing.”

It was odd how Thor felt like he should very well feel insulted, but all he could feel at this moment was stunned. He blinked owlishly as Mengloth went over and checked his companions over, filling Aesir sized cups like Thor’s and placing them on their bedside tables. Once done, he went back to his worktable and placed the rest of his remedy in a flask.

“I must store the rest of this for later. If your friends wake up, tell them to drink it or else.” And without another word, the old Jotun marched for the door and closed it firmly behind him. The click of the lock was heard next.

And once more, Thor could only blink dumbly, his head in a strange haze of confusion. Slowly, he turned his head to look down at his hands in his lap. His fingers clenched into the thick fur sheets, and his brows furrowed.

He felt like he was forgetting something. Something about snakes…

~s~s~S~s~s~

Mengloth grumbled to himself as he locked the door behind him, not trusting the Aesir to behave themselves. The Warriors Three and Lady Sif had already shown their thoughtless reactions to waking up in a strange place with their enemy, and he did not want to be found in the crossfires for a second time. Although Thor at least seemed complacent…

He frowned, almost scowling, as he faced the main healing chambers. He growled and crossed his arms.

“Angrboda, I may be old, but I am not senile.” He grunted.

A low, husky chuckle was heard, before the space next to the doorway rippled and shimmered. Out of seemingly nowhere, his cloaking spell now dropped, a young Jotun appeared beside Mengloth.

He was young, perhaps around the same age as Thor, yet he boasted a mature countenance that spoke of a much older soul. Lean yet fit, his skin was a deep blue that was slightly lighter than most Jotnar. His eyes seemed to glow a wine colored red with a few faint dark pink shades in the iris. He wore the traditional Jotun garb of knee high leather leggings, his skirts asymmetrical and composed of supple leather and woven fabric. A green sash was wrapped around his hips and tied off into a flowing knot at his left hip, holding a sharp dagger against the knot. A leather cord was tied to his kilt, and held what appeared to be small potion bottles and flasks. A single black leather pauldron covered his right shoulder, its belt extended to cross over his chest to meet the waistband of his skirts. Matching leather vambraces studded with jade adorned his wrists and forearms. Horns that twisted like curved dragon horns sprouted from his temples, still dark with youth at their bases.

What was odd about this Jotun though was his hair. It was a bright, rich red not unlike the clotted blood of mortal and Aesir. It hung loose over the Jotun’s head and shoulders, a dizzying mess of waves and a few errant curls, and just reaching down between his shoulder blades. A few small plaits were woven into the wild waves, as well as a few green stones. It nearly matched his eyes perfectly, cancelling out the clash it may have had with his blue skin.

His only jeweled adornment was a simple silver ring around his bicep, holding a single light red pearl.

He was a good-looking Jotun, and he carried himself with a hauntingly unbreakable sence of purpose. He was shorter than the Jotnar of Utgard, perhaps standing around ten feet tall, but he was no runt. The Jotnar of the eastern woods, the Ironwood, tended to be shorter than their more rugged cousins, but held equal strength.

He had been one of the few remaining magic users of their realm before their prince had come back. He had also been the strongest, and even now could only be bested by the prince himself.

Angrboda, undeterred by Mengloth’s scowling, crossed his arms and leaned his back against the doorframe.

“How are the Aesir?” He asked. His voice was a bit husky and low, but not as deep as their prince’s.

The healer grunted, brushing past the Seidr-user to make his way to his medical storage.

“Patient confidentiality.” He said simply.

Angrboda followed the irate healer though, his bare feet soundless on the stone floor.

“So they are doing well then?” He asked.

Mengloth almost growled, but had long since learned that giving the youngling any sort of acknowledgment would only encourage him. Angrboda was not a nosy Jotun, but when he wanted to know something, he got the information one way or another.

Though Mengloth suspected he wanted to know about the Aesir more for their princes’ sake than any errant form of curiosity.

The elder Jotun entered his office and pulled out a key from his robes.

“If you simply must know,” he drawled, “They are fine. Hungover, but fine. The Brat Prince is the only one who has woken so far.”

Angrboda hummed as Mengloth approached a narrow door hidden behind a tapestry. Unlocking it, he shuffled in with Angrboda on his heels. Normally he would throw a fit at anyone besides himself setting foot into the room, but for now, the old healer let it slide.

Angrboda wasn’t the only one with questions after all.

Bypassing the numerous shelves of dried plants and other oddities used in healing, Mengloth approached another door which held the elixirs and potions that needed to stay cold. He mumbled a spell to unlock the freezer and opened it, depositing the remedy inside.

“What have you figured out?” He asked.

Angrboda tore his eyes away from what appeared to be some kind of dried up lizard in a jar to look at Mengloth’s back.

“Nothing interesting, sadly.” He sighed. “It has been confirmed by the numerous sources in the rumor mill that Thor and his companions had simply gone on a quest to get the Thunderer out of Asgard and back into the realms. Their coming here was purely accidental, as Loptr can testify.”

Mengloth hummed, rearranging some of the bottles in his freezer. “Anything else?”

“Not much.” Angrboda shrugged. “We’re sending them back tonight anyways, so it’s not like we need to run an investigation. Odin has forbidden all Aesir entry to our realm. He can deal with the Thunderer and his sheep himself.”

Mengloth snorted. “I see someone is in a mood. I take it our dear prince was a bit irate last night?”

Angrboda scowled. “Watch your tongue, healer. And if you must know, he is not so much angry as he is anxious. He wants them gone as soon as possible – not that I can blame him.”

Mengloth sighed, closing his freezer to face the younger Jotun. He could tell Angrboda was just as anxious as their prince, if not more so for his potential mate’s safety. His rigid stance and shifting eyes were a dead giveaway to his true feelings on the matter.

“I do not think they will go home so quickly,” he said.

Angrboda’s eyes narrowed. “Why do you say that?”

“I doubt it was Laufey or Fárbauti’s idea,” Mengloth started, “But I hear talk of using the Aesir to our advantage.”

“What? Laufey King would never keep them prisoner for a ransom. It’s too risky, and we don’t even need or want anything from Odin.” Angrboda said in confusion. But Mengloth shook his head.

“Not as a bargain, he would never risk such a thing,” he said. “I am talking about using them in a more diplomatic sense. They only saw our realm once, during the peak of our famine and decline. Now with our realm in higher spirits than it has been in thousands of years…”

“You honestly think us giving them a tour of our realm is going to change their minds, and therefore be used to educate the rest of Asgard?” Angrboda almost sounded scandalized at such an outlandish idea.

“I never said I agreed or found the idea favorable, but it’s better than simply sending them off,” Mengloth said with a roll of his eyes. “And besides, with the blizzard last night, the nearest Path has been buried and needs to be dug out. It will take all night, and I’d rather they be out of the palace should they get restless enough to start breaking things.”

The redhead sighed, rubbing his forehead. He had to give it to Mengloth, getting the Aesir out of the palace and away from the royal family was better than waiting for the entire palace to collapse under their brutish hands. And from what he had gathered, Thor had at least seemed to take in the new views of the Jotnar a bit more gracefully than his companions. It was honestly better than nothing – best to change a prince’s mind about something than someone with little to no influence on others. It didn’t mean he found the idea any more appealing though.

“Well then, when will they be ready for a tour?” He asked.

“After they have all awoken and eaten,” Mengloth said, eying a jar on a shelf and pushing it slightly back with a finger until it aligned with the others. “Laufey has agreed to this tour and will be assigning a few guards, as well as a couple tour guides.”

“I see,” Angrboda drawled in a bored manner. “And who are the unfortunate souls who get to play tour guide?”

The young Jotun nearly shuddered at the smirk Mengloth gave him. His eyes narrowed as the healer planted his fists on his hips and regarded Angrboda smugly.

“Why, Loptr Prince’s best Seidr student of course.” He said.

His smirk only grew when Angrboda’s entire body locked up in a tight stance, his jaw clenched and his fingers clawing into his palms.

“You would have me alone with those Aesir heathens?” He growled.

“Of course not, I said there would be a couple of guides,” Mengloth said.

“Well who else will have to suffer with me?”

“I said a couple.”

Mengloth’s smirk dropped when a jar of rare dried roots exploded beside the blank faced Angrboda.

Eh, it was worth it…

~s~s~S~s~s~

“If I hadn’t sworn to our Dam to protect you with my own life at all costs, I would kill you.”

“And if I hadn’t sworn to our Dam not to use my own magic against you, I’d freeze you to the spot and make sure you never left…”

Loptr groaned, trying and failing to ignore his larger, looming brothers. He could only roll his eyes and strap his belt to his skirts as he got ready for the day.

“For Norn’s sake you two, it’s only going to be a tour of the city.” He sighed.

“And this is supposed to comfort us, how?” Helblindi asked with crossed arms.

“And why can’t we come with you?” Byleistr almost whined.

“Because, Dam and Sire need you two here in case something comes up,” Loptr said calmly. “And besides, King Malekith will be here this evening, and if I can’t make it back in time, you two will need to welcome him in my stead.”

“But he’s old…”

Loptr scoffed. “Byleistr, Mengloth is old. King Malekith is anything but old.”

“But he treats us like little kids!”

“Considering his age, we are little kids to him,” Helblindi piped in. His youngest brother scowled at him.

“Just please, be on your best behavior.” Loptr imploredwearily. “We need this alliance, and Malekith is a good man and king. There is no reason to make an enemy of him.”

“Easy for you to say…” Byleistr pouted. “Even before you came home, you knew Malekith.”

Loptr nodded slightly without a word. It wasn’t exactly a secret that, before coming to Jotunheim, he had traversed every realm he could through the Hidden Paths. Svartalfheim had been one place he had come to appreciate for its people and its knowledge. Malekith had, of course, been suspicious of him at first. But after a few hundred years of learning darker magic under the Dark Elf, it became apparent that Loptr was not up to spying on them for Odin.

The Dark Elf was quite strange, if slightly unhinged in a less than traditional sense. He was cunning and sly, his strength and prowess in battle belying his true age. He was vicious on the battlefield and firm as a teacher. And when he was not fighting on the battlefield or in the political arena, he was a strange, yet oddly benevolent man with a great weakness for all manner of games.

Loptr, then Loki, never would have guessed that his pre-established history with Malekith would lead to such a great alliance, as well as the freedom of Asgard’s binds on the Dark Elves themselves.

‘Tonight will surely be a grand celebration…’ he thought with a small smile.

“-and why did they pick you? Surely Dam is not alright with leaving you alone with Thor and his ilk.” Loki finally came back to himself and caught the last snippets of Helblindi’s words.

The small Jotun did not turn to face his brothers. “It was not his or Sire’s idea to send me.”

“Then whose idea was it?” Byleistr asked.

Loki sighed. Well, better to be honest now than to have his ears chewed off by his brothers finding out from someone else – namely their Dam or Sire.

“The plan was my idea,” he said, “And it was also my idea to conduct the tour myself.”

He mentally prepared himself for the onslaught of outrage. And he was not disappointed.

“What?!”

“Are you mad?!”

“Why in Hel’s name would you suggest such a thing?!”

“And why would you actually go along with it?! Do you know how much danger you can be in if you are around those heathens?!”

“It’s obvious they dislike us, even hate us! Think what they could do to you if you’re alone with them!”

“Enough!” Loki snapped, whirling around to face his brothers.

The two larger Jotnar did not flinch, but they did quiet down. Loki’s jaw clenched in a scowl, but it soon softened as he took in the concerned expressions of his brothers. He released a calming breath through his nose.

“I know it’s risky,” he said, “But this could help us. It’s a small chance, but if we can at least convince one of them of how twisted their views are on us, it will be worth it. Hel, if we can change just Thor’s mind, and he goes back to Asgard with this new knowledge, things could be better for us in terms of our relationship with Asgard.”

“You are putting much faith into a man who hurt and abandoned you.” Helblindi snarled.

The elder Jotun soon regretted his words as Loki flinched and looked away from him. Beside him, Byleistr fixed him a scowl that could shatter a mountain. Helblindi’s lips tightened, and he slumped in his seat somewhat.

“I’m sorry…” he said softly.

“No,” Loptr said just as softly, turning his head back to look at his brothers forlornly. “You are right. I am putting much faith into Thor now. And quite frankly, he does not deserve it, nor do I expect him to exceed my expectations…”

He paused, fiddling with the decorative leather strips of his skirts.

“But perhaps it is just my selfish hope,” he said with a sigh. “Perhaps…I just want closure. I want to see if he has changed, or if now is the time I can truly let him and all of Asgard go. Perhaps I just want to be proven wrong – that he has not changed, and that it will be easier to let him go.”

The two larger Jotnar across from him shared concerned looks. It was no secret that, while Loptr was beyond happy where he is now, he still could not fully let go of the few ties he had to Asgard. Letting go of people who scorned and hurt him was not easy, but he managed it. He even managed to mostly let go of his anger and bitterness towards Odin, and he even managed to forgive Frigga for going along with his lies. But Thor…he was a contradiction. For most of Loptr’s life, the Thunderer has been both cruel and kind to him. It was beyond confusing for Loptr, for he could not decipher just who Thor was from both sides. One day the Thunderer was protective and kind to him, and the next he is laughing along with his companions as they belittled him for his gift in Seidr.

And of course, there was simply those times where Thor was just not there for him. Those times where it seemed as if Thor did not even recall or hear of the atrocities Loptr was put through. Those days were the worst, as while Loptr went about his day in physical and emotional pain, Thor was oblivious and as merry as ever. All of Asgard could be whispering of the torture and pain Loptr had gone through, and Thor would not hear a thing.

Eyes narrowed, Loki turned towards his vanity, and to the pendent sat upon it in front of his mirror. His hands clenched tightly as he gazed upon it.

That one piece of jewelry had given him a large chunk of closure on numerous things, many concerning Thor himself. But he still he needed more. He needed to see for himself if anything had changed.

He needed to see if Thor was still willingly eating the lies Odin fed them both…

“I won’t be alone,” he said to his brothers. “Angrboda will be with me, and we will be going through the city. If anything happens, thousands of Jotnar will see and likely come to our aid if they even think of trying something.”

“Angrboda…” Helblindi grumbled. Loki smiled.

“Come now, Helblindi, he’s been courting me for nearly a year now,” he said.

“More if you count all that flirting you both did in the past fifty some odd years.” Byleistr smirked cheekily. Loki rolled his eyes.

“Still. I don’t like him, and neither does Sire,” Helblindi said. This time both Loki and Byleistr scoffed.

“Sire hates anyone who shows a remote romantic interest in Loptr. It’s what Sires do, I guess,” Byleistr said.

Helblindi sighed, shaking his head. “Regardless, I don’t trust them.”

“I do not trust them either, but sometimes we must take risks.” Loptr said, braiding some of his hair back from his face.

“…Loptr, you do realize what could happen if Thor finds out, right?” Helblindi asked seriously.

Loki paused in his braiding, eyes narrowing.

“Yes, I know,” he said.

“I’m surprised he hasn’t recognized you yet,” Blyeistr said, reclining in his seat. “I mean, you don’t look much different, except you’re blue. So either he’s that stupid or he’s blind.”

Loptr hummed while Helblindi smacked Byleistr upside his head. He ignored his younger brother’s outraged exclamation, and did not even react when his burly little brother tackled Helblindi to the ground in an impromptu wrestling match.

He sighed, heading for the door to leave.

“Some rats carry diseases that cause blindness…” he said, before he left his room to his brawling brothers.

To be continued…

Chapter Text

Thor was, to most outsiders, not an overly observant man. And granted, he knew he could stand to be a bit more analytical in situations, dire or otherwise. But he wasn’t stupid. If conditions were right, he could easily deduce when something was wrong or if someone was upset or uncertain.

Like right now. Alone with his now awake companions, Thor was able to deduce that his companions were…not in a good mood, for lack of better term. Although, to be fair, it didn’t take a particularly observant person to come to this conclusion.

The Thunderer watched his companions in various stages of stoic thoughtfulness. They had all been escorted back to their rooms after the Warriors Three and Sif had awakened and taken their remedies – with a bit of force. Sif had especially been adamant in denying her medicine, and when Mengloth had returned with a non-too pleased expression, Thor nearly had to force-feed her the draught lest they arouse the healer’s wrath.

Sif had not been happy. None of them were too chipper at the moment. But Thor could only guess they each had their own reasons with similar roots tying into the previous night. Thor highly suspected that they weren’t so much upset with the Jotnar as they were at themselves. Strong as the wine was, Thor had a startling clarity of the previous night’s happenings, and he would be lying if he said he was not at least a tad embarrassed at his own immature idiocy. And it wasn’t like they could blame their sour moods on a hangover; Mengloth’s remedy was something Thor was hoping to weasel out of the healer to bring back to Asgard.

Upon waking, it was discovered that their day was not to be something of a relaxing venture. After a light breakfast – Mengloth advised them not to eat anything heavy lest they upset their stomachs and make a mess – Thor and his companions were informed by a guard of their surprise tour.

When informed of this, Sif became oddly eager, and it was putting Thor on edge. He watched the female warrior lace up her boots with determination, his brows furrowed. His male companions were also getting ready, but at a more sedate pace. Thor noted Hogun eyeing Sif as much as Thor was, and the Thunderer decided to speak on his own, and the Vanir’s, suspicions.

“You are oddly eager, Sif.” He commented offhandedly. The female warrior hummed in acknowledgement, tying her boot laces.

“Of course I am,” she said, “An opportunity like this will never come again.”

“An opportunity?” Hogun inquired quietly. The other males were now cautiously focused on Sif.

Sif glared at them, standing and planting her fists on her hips. “Don’t tell me you haven’t seen the boon in this tour?”

Fandral blinked. “You mean that we are getting a tour instead of an axe for our behavior the night before…?”

Sif scoffed. “No! I mean-…” She paused, glaring suspiciously around the room.

Her eyes swiveled across the room, taking in the furniture, the hearth, sitting area, and perhaps every single dust mote that had the misfortune of drawing her attention. When she finally spoke, her voice was lowered, but no less distinguishable.

“This is our chance to learn our enemy’s weaknesses.” She said.

Thor reeled back as if struck. His companions looked no less stunned.

“Learn of their…Sif, this is a tour, not a spy mission.” Volstagg tried to reason. Sif’s scowl only deepened.

“You cannot honestly mean that,” she said, “How can you be certain this is a tour, and not some ploy to lead us into an isolated area to slaughter us?”

“Sif, I think you are perhaps reading too far into this…” Fandral piped in nervously.

“And I believe you are not reading far enough into it!” Sif snapped. “This is Asgard’s opportunity to learn just what the Jotnar are up to. You have to have noticed it – they are not as they seem before.”

“You are wrong. They are exactly the opposite of what we thought they were…” Hogun shot back calmly. “We have been taught all our lives that the Jotnar are nothing but mindless beasts. All of those stories we have grown up on have been told by the veteran warriors who fought in the war…”

“What is your point?” Sif inquired impatiently.

“I only noticed this recently, but those stories only started up after the war,” Hogun said, “All nine realms have existed for literal ages, long before the war. Do you not find it odd that we were just then hearing about how terrible the Jotnar are?”

“You are saying the animosity was started up as a result of bitter warriors boasting of their conquests and Asgard’s victory?” Volstagg asked. Hogun nodded.

“I never gave it much thought. No one ever wondered why the hatred started up when the Jotnar have been around for millions of years, and no one, until then, had a complaint about them…” he said, his narrow eyes sliding over to Thor meaningfully. The Thunderer felt his hands clench at his sides.

‘Except Loki…’ he thought. He vaguely recalled, when they were children and listening to an old warrior tell a tale of conquering Jotunheim, Loki asked just why the Jotnar were ‘evil’. The warrior had laughed, saying Loki was too young to understand, but that it was simply a fact of life he would one day accept.

But Loki never did accept it. He went on to ask more questions from many other people. He was a child, but he was brilliant beyond his years. He thirsted for knowledge and answers, even to the most mundane questions. He found that the stories of the Jotnar being monsters were relatively new, only starting up when he was just a baby. So he began asking people what they were like before the war. He went looking for answers outside of, ‘they are monsters’. He went looking for reasons and ideas that perhaps the Jotnar were not, in fact, the villains of these tales.

And that search for the truth got him into a lot of trouble.

Thor never realized it before until just now. But whenever Loki tried to tell the truth, or find out the truth, people got angry and punished him. Yet when he lied, people fed off of it, and when they realize just what they had been fed, he was still punished – even when he was just protecting himself or others.

When did Asgard’s sense of integrity become so twisted…?

He shook his head to clear his thoughts. “Sif, please do not make this a suicide mission. We are here as guests, and we have already tarnished our images from last night.”

“Indeed…” said Volstagg with a long sigh. “And not just us either; we have disgraced all of Asgard herself for our less than stellar manners last night. Not to mention Fandral’s overly eager need to stuff his face with cotton.” He smirked teasingly at the swordsman, who shot his companion a scowl.

“You’re one to talk, oh vast Volstagg.” Fandral muttered. Though if he were honest, he was quite sure that in a few days from now, he would be laughing at himself for the slip in the Jotun feasting hall. It was rather humorous.

Sif was not deterred. “You all are honestly going to stand there and not see this as a great opportunity?”

“Yes, we will,” Thor said firmly, his brows creasing at his increasing aggravation towards the female warrior. “We will use this as an opportunity to learn of the Jotnar themselves, not of their weaknesses. We have no reason to want to find weakness in them.”

“And it is not like Odin would want to instigate war now,” Fandral added. “It’s only been fifty years since our…last venture here, and that is not a lot of time to let wounded pride heal.”

“Precisely. Which is why –” Thor gave Sif a pointed looked, “– we will not instigate them, or pry at their personal matters. There is no point, and the sooner we get through this tour without injury or insult, the sooner we can leave.”

Sif seethed, but made no more comments. Instead she went back to tightening the laces of her boots. Thor sighed, eyes sliding to look at his male companions. But they could only shrug and shake their heads. There was nothing to be done about her, and it was best if he just left her be. They all knew a woman’s scorn and pride was not to be trifled with – much less so if that woman in question was a warrior.

So they all laced up and bundled up in silence, awaiting their guard to come pick them up for their tour. When a knock was heard at their door, Thor got up to answer. The Thunderer opened the door and peered out cautiously, but was no sooner stunned by who was at their door.

“Prince Loptr…?” He rasped. Behind him, he could practically feel his companions stiffening.

The small Jotun nodded, crossing his arms loosely as he regarded Thor and his companions.

“Yes. It is my understanding that Angrboda and I shall be conducting this tour.” He said in an oddly flat tone.

Hearing the other name, Thor took note of the Jotun standing to Loptr’s right. He wasn’t as large as most of the other Jotnar, nor as broad. He was perhaps around Laufey’s height, if not slightly shorter due to age. The shock of blood red hair on his head was a startling contrast against his blue skin, the dark pink irises also a trait that would set him apart from other Jotnar.

He did not look particularly happy…

“Prince Thor Odinson…” The Jotun – Angrboda – greeted flatly, almost hissing the name. “It is an…honor to meet you.”

If not for the fact that they were already on thin ice, Thor would have called the Jotun out on his obvious distain. But he held his tongue. And mentally held the tongues of his companions – mostly Sif.

“Aye, yes, I do not believe we have met.” He started, trying to stay friendly without seeming awkward.

Loptr nodded. “Yes, Angrboda is my top Seidr student, and one of our best magic users overall. He is quite possibly our greatest hunter and stealth warrior as well.”

Thor took note of the proud grin on Loptr’s face, and his fingers twitched against the doorframe he held open. A large blue hand suddenly came into his line of vision, and he looked up at Angrboda. Suddenly understanding, he took the offered hand – larger than his own, but had they been equal size it would have been smaller than his – and shook it firmly once.

“Now then, introductions aside, are you all ready?” Loptr asked easily.

Thor looked over his shoulder at his companions. They all nodded a bit uncertainly, but it was the best he was going to get. He looked back to the prince and his companion with a nod.

“Aye, we are.” He said.

“Good. Please, follow us,” Loptr said, gesturing down the hall. “We will be riding into Utgard first, then make our way back here to the palace.”

Thor nodded. And shooting his friends one last look that was both parts warning to behave and pleading, followed the prince out. Their heavy boots thumped disturbingly loud within the icy halls, yet the two Jotnar’s feet never once made a single sound. They walked in a calculated motion, undisturbed and silent. They did not lumber or really walk, but glided over the smooth floor.

Thor startled as Fandral cleared his throat and made to speak.

“Did I hear right that we were riding?” He inquired. “Are our horses fit for such a journey?”

Thor let out a quiet breath of relief, and waited for a reply.

“Sadly no,” Loptr said without a glance at them. “They could make the trek, but the cold would not be merciful on them. We shall be taking a sled and a couple Elk.”

Thor and his friends eyed one another, Fandral shrugging. It made sense overall. Jotunheim’s climate was not to be compared to a bad winter in other realms. It was a true winter wonderland; harsh, frigid, and unforgiving. Their horses would be more than capable of making the trek, and braving the cold, had they been bred for such climate. But as it stood, they were not. They were lucky to have been found before they froze in the blizzard.

They passed various doors, halls, and even a few guards and servants – all of whom threw the prince and his friend jovial greetings and bright smiles. The same could not be said for the Asgardians. Their greetings were quieter, meek in their uncertainty and slightly forced smiles.

They turned down into a corridor that led out into a small courtyard – a personal livestock area of some kind with a few servants, supplies, and numerous stables and keeps for their transportation. There were many livestock animals as well, likely the source of the palace’s fresh food. And as it turned out, the livestock of Jotunheim was just was large and intimidating as the dominant natives. Poor Fandral nearly jumped out of his skin when what appeared to be a chicken approached them. But no one could blame him; the damn bird was four feet tall and squalling at them like they had insulted its mother. A servant quickly snatched the bird up with a frantic apology.

“I…I see the food here is…quite large…” Fandral rasped, still a bit flustered. Loptr chuckled.

“Yes, but think nothing of it. They are not used to strangers,” he said.

“Likely it thought you were lunch.” Angrboda added under his breath. Loptr shot him a look, of which was returned with an innocent smile.

Beside him, Thor felt Sif’s hands clench at her sides, as if to grasp the hilt of her missing sword. But he made no comment, and they continued to follow the Jotun prince to a stable just off to the side of the rest. It actually seemed more to resemble a barn in its size, but inside, they were greeted with the familiar sectioned stalls most other people used for horses. The stable itself was very large, the stalls pushed against the side walls while the center of the stable was dominated by a few sleighs. The back wall hosted a very long bench cluttered with riding equipment, and tools used for the care of the animals. A small storage shack also sat in the corner by the bench, presumably holding saddles and spare items.

A sleigh was already set up, the two Elk being used to pull it being held by a single Jotun. The Elk though were what caught the Asgardian’s attention.

“They’re…big.” Volstagg said a bit dumbly.

As if hearing the rotund warrior, one of the Elk – a dusky grey and white with strange, scale-like blue skin on its legs – snorted loudly at them with a low rumble. Its companion shook its head lazily, its antlers a dark grey-blue that blackened at the base. Their snouts were a greyish blue, and their eyes were a dark, wine colored vermillion. Their intimidating look was completed by a pair of saber-tooth like tusks peering out of their mouths like dripping canines.

They could not be any less than eight feet tall at the shoulders, their cloven hooves thick and an inky black.

They approached the Jotun, the Asgardians giving the hostile looking Elk wide berth. The Jotun did not speak, and once they were closer, Thor and his companions were able to see that this Jotun was…unusual.

He looked normal at first glance; typical blue skin, towering height, and muscular build. But he was still somehow strange.

His hair was black and reached down to his elbows, but it seemed he had shaved most of it off completely, except for the single thick row going from his hairline to the back of his head. It fell over to one side of his head like a straight black veil, partly covering one of his eyes. He wore little, like every Jotun they have seen, but he was oddly mostly covered. A thick cloak of grey leather hung about his shoulders, ending at just mid-thigh, and completely covering his arms and hands – and whatever weapons he may possess. The cloak itself was decorated with some black stitching, and held together with a simple black cord – not elaborate, but not insignificant. A skirt and kilt completed the look, but he seemed to lack the knee high leggings most Jotnar wore underneath.

He wore no visible jewelry, but Thor could just barely make out a thick leather cord around his neck and disappearing into the collar of his cloak. A necklace perhaps?

He was quite muscular and broad, his legs thick with centuries of laboring and toiling at whatever trade he preferred. Thor had no doubt the rest of his body was just as muscular. But what was oddest of all were his eyes. They were greatly unsettling. They were so dark, one would think they were black at a distance. But up close, he could see they were such a dark, muddy red they were almost brown. And while the color was unusual, it was his pupils that had them doing a doubletake.

They were like the strange, horizontal pupils of a goat. Slightly enlarged, contracting slightly in the dim lighting of the stable. They were only made to appear larger with his thick lashes, and the blank stare that was directed at the Asgardians was unsettling.

Uncomfortable simply wasn’t a word they would use to describe how they felt about his stare. Extremely unnerved fit it a bit more.

But the tension was suddenly broken as Loptr suddenly growled something in a strange language – the Jotun dialect, they wondered – and he stormed up to the large Jotun. He grabbed the Jotun’s cloak and tugged him to one side of the stable – a strange feat, considering the Jotun prince was about one-third the other’s size, but they came along regardless. The Asgardians watched in mild confusion as Loptr seemed to speak to the Jotun heatedly, but the Jotun himself only shook his head in reply to whatever he was saying.

“Um, should we be concerned…?” Fandral asked. Angrboda shook his head.

“No, be at ease. Loptr is simply…surprised.” He said with a knowing smirk.

Thor frowned, turning to look back at the two Jotnar. It was a strange sight, watching a tiny Jotun supposedly snap and snarl at a much larger behemoth. Yet all the giant did was shake his head, his eerie eyes focused on Loptr. The Jotun seemed familiar to Thor in some way he could not explain. Perhaps he saw him during his last visit? Or perhaps he was a servant? Then again, Thor was certain he would remember a Jotun with such eerie eyes.

Loptr suddenly sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. The other Jotun reached forward slightly, his hand still covered by his cloak, and touched the other’s shoulder gently, almost shyly. Loptr seemed to calm from the touch, and fixed him a look Thor was oddly familiar with – he had seen his mother wear that same look when she caught Thor and Loki stealing sweets from the kitchens. It was a look of yielding exasperation. Fond, yet a bit annoyed.

He suddenly returned to the group with the towering Jotun in tow. He crossed his arms.

“I apologize for the interruption,” he said primly, “I ask that you allow my companion to join us.”

“Who is he?” Sif blurted. Thor did not even have a moment to shoot her a scowl, let alone scold her.

Loptr cleared his throat almost awkwardly. He glared at the innocently smiling Angrboda next to the Asgardians.

“This…” He gestured with one hand to the Jotun he had been scolding a moment ago. “Is Poikani. My guard.”

The Asgardians startled at the sudden and loud snort Angrboda let loose. The Jotun clapped a hand to his mouth politely, clearing his throat as if to disguise his slip with a cough.

The Jotun, Poikani, only fixed his fellow Jotun a flat look.

“Ahem, yes, he is Poikani.” Angrboda cleared his throat again, dropping his hand to gesture to the sleigh. “He has been a great companion to our prince for much of his life, so he is a bit…protective. Would you allow him and one other to accompany us?”

The Asgardian’s confusion allowed them to completely miss the scathing look Loptr was giving the red-haired Jotun. The Asgardians eyed one another uncertainly, before looking to the three Jotnar.

“That would be fine, yes.” Thor said, before he frowned. “Who is the other?”

Instead of answering, Poikani nodded to the sleigh. Thor and his friends followed the gesture. And perhaps somewhat regretted it.

The behemoth of a wolf growled lowly, head resting on the edge of the sleigh to look down at them. Its lips twitched and its ears pinned back, eyes staring at the Asgardians in distain.

Thor recognized the wolf – it had been at the feast the night before. The slightly smaller black wolf that tailed Prince Loptr like a shadow, snarling at Thor and his friends like they were maggots upon its favorite bone.

Loptr sighed, exasperated. “Honestly…”

The wolf, strangely, seemed to grin at Loptr, its tail thumping loudly in the sleigh. Thor and his friends were a bit disturbed, the wolf’s grin now forever imprinted upon their memories like a stain.

“He will not leave…” Angrboda warned. “Not without a fight anyways.”

Loptr said something that could have been a curse to Angrboda, but the other simply shrugged and smiled. Poikani’s lips twitched ever so slightly.

The Jotun prince suddenly turned to look at the Asgardians with a quirked brow, as if in question. Thor swallowed, eyes flickering from Loptr to the wolf?

Part of him wanted to see if Loptr could usher the wolf away and not accompany them. But an even larger part of him knew it was just not going to happen. Even more than that, he was not going to risk insulting them by asking the prince to get rid of his pet. He would be quite insulted himself if someone asked him to get rid of his goats. As a boy, he had brought his goats everywhere; once even into the feasting hall. His mother and father had not scolded him so hard in years, mostly due to the fact that the goats kept trying to eat the dresses of the many ladies at the feast. Loki had thought it was hilarious though. He didn’t stop laughing about it for a week.

“It is no trouble.” He said a bit stiffly.

His companions nodded in various stages of wariness and uncertainty. Not that Thor could blame them. Goats are one thing. A huge, protective, and potentially aggressive wolf was another…

“Good. Let us depart.” Loptr said abruptly.

And with a bit of urging, and reassurance of their safety, the Asgardians climbed into the sleigh. They all sat as far away from the wolf as possible. Which, considering the sleigh was made to hold perhaps four Jotnar, wasn’t that hard. He also seemed more occupied with the Jotun prince, panting happily and sniffing at Loptr’s clothing. While he sat at one side of the prince, Poikani took the other – the perfect position to stare silently at the Asgardians.

Angrboda took the driver’s seat, quickly picking up the reigns left hooked to the driver’s seat. With a quick snap, the Elk huffed and trotted off over the snow and towards the massive courtyard gates.

On the way to the gates, more wolves seemed to come out of their dens and stables to run alongside the sleigh, as if knowing who was on it. The large white canines howled as they ran, some yipping up at the black wolf onboard happily. The black wolf barked back excitedly, tongue hanging out of his mouth. The Asgardians were less than enthused.

“Well this isn’t ominous…” Fandral muttered, eyeing the wolves tailing them.

“Just…don’t look at them,” Volstagg said stiffly, “And keep your hands inside the sleigh.”

Sound advice, but in no way comforting. Even Thor was a bit on edge. But he forced himself to look away from the wolves, and up towards the front. He watched Angrboda wave to the guards at the gate, and right on cue, the gates creaked open for them.

Once past the ice and stone gates, he snapped the reigns, and the Elk took off at a faster gallop. The Asgardians stiffened as they were thrown back somewhat from the abrupt change in speed, but soon settled as they adjusted. Or settled as much as they could – the wolves continued to follow them like ominous escorts.

They all looked around, a bit stunned. The palace was, unsurprisingly, located in a more isolated area, likely a few miles from the actual city. Mountains surrounded them like guarding sentinels, circling the area and the palace to form a giant basin.

“I did not realize you had such thick forests.” Fandral commented, a bit stunned.

All around them within the mountain ‘basin’ were thousands of trees and thick foliage. The trees reminded them of pine, tall and strong of trunk and root, their conical crowns dusted with thick layers of snow and ice. But their foliage was a curious shade of dark green-blue, their trunks and branches a charred grey color. A few paths coyly revealed themselves as they passed, leading supposedly into other areas or separate parts of the palace. The snow they traversed was flattened and trampled, smoothed like stone beaten by the sea. Yet not a single flake of snow was tainted. All of it was white and pure, the dark of the night painting it with a blue rouge. Icicles glistened eerily from tree branches, their sultry shine only highlighted by their deadly points.

It was a breathtaking sight, one that spoke of silence and calm, of the quiet strength of winter itself. The howls of the wolves completed the picture, their mournful songs now lowered, yet no less sonorous. Like a choir, they sang in their sanctuary of ice and snow, yet their voices were lowered in a sort of reverence that Thor could not quite comprehend. As if they did not want to completely disturb the peaceful silence, to wake the calm land they ran upon.

Thor turned away from the snowy wonderland, and settled his gaze on his fellow prince, of whom sat across from him on the opposite bench. He too was watching the scenery go by, his lips pulled into the tiniest smile of content. His obsidian hair, bound in a thick braid, writhed and swayed like a crashing wave on a stormy beach. Stray tendrils of his inky mane broke away from the confining twist, errant and wild, yet no less beautiful.

Thor swallowed thickly, his mouth opening to speak. But he suddenly paused as the wolf sitting beside Loptr growled lowly, eyes narrowed on Thor. Adding to the effect, Poikani simply stared at the Thunderer wordlessly. Thor withheld a flinch, but startled as Loptr suddenly flicked the wolf’s nose and elbowed the staring Jotun.

“Behave you two,” he scolded, before fixing Thor and apologetic look. “You must forgive them, they are both a little…overprotective.”

“I-it is fine,” Thor said, waving a hand. “It is good that a prince has such loyal companions, and a protective hound.”

The wolf suddenly bristled with a snarl, as if insulted. Loptr laid a calm hand on his furred back.

“He is not just some ‘hound’, Odinson.” He corrected firmly, yet with the practiced politeness of a seasoned prince.

“I…apologize,” Thor said a bit uncertainly. “What is his name?”

Loptr paused, as if taken aback. Poikani suddenly looked away, eyes locked onto the scenery with great interest. Angrboda’s expression was unknown as his back was to them, but Thor suspected he was grinning.

Expression flat, Loptr replied, “Pörröinen.”

The wolf, Pörröinen, seemed to be dumbstruck, eyes swerving to look at his master with a startling amount of disbelief. Thor was a bit baffled. He had never seen a dog with such…intelligent expressions.

“We are nearing the Norðr Bjarg.” Angrboda suddenly called over his shoulder.

“Ah, excellent,” Loptr said, breaking the tension. “We will be going through a tunnel that cuts straight through that mountain.”

He pointed behind himself and to a tall, spire-like mountain. Surrounding it were much larger mountains, all wide in girth but shorter than the single, needle-like formation nestled between two of them. It stood like a single pine tree between two massive walls, the other side completely blocked from any onlooker’s sight.

“How in the world did you dig a tunnel through such a mountain?” Volstagg asked in a rare and honest curiosity.

“Simple ice magic. Many Jotnar can control the ice and use it in various ways. Weapons are only one way of utilizing it,” Loptr said, “We often manipulate the ice of our environment to make other things – art, structures, buildings and bricks, and other things. The mountain is all mostly ice, so it was easy to simply open a passage in its base.”

So saying, the sleight made a small turn, and continued towards the mentioned passage. The entry was made from carved stone and ice, giving it a more welcoming doorway leading into the otherwise dark cavern. It was only lit by what appeared to be giant, bioluminescent fungi and a few stray lanterns lit with magic.

“What are these mushrooms?” Fandral asked, his voice echoing off the walls of ice.

“Hellir Sǫppr,” Loptr answered, “They grow deep within the ice caverns all around Jotunheim.”

“Are they edible?” Unsurprisingly it was Volstagg who asked this question. Loptr chuckled.

“They are, but they do not taste that great, raw or cooked,” he said, “We will sometimes freeze them and place them in containers to make lanterns. They glow more brightly when frozen, and last longer.”

The Asgardians nodded, both parts baffled yet fascinated by the glowing fungi. There were thousands of the variously sized mushrooms all around the cavern, growing from the walls and even the ceiling. The ground was mostly clear though, no doubt due to high traffic. The ice of the cavern carried the glow of the mushrooms like a magnifying glass, highlighting the fungi in an ethereal glow, making the few lanterns seem almost frivolous.

Loptr suddenly looked at the Asgardians, catching their attention with his voice.

“I feel it prudent to give you all a bit of fair warning,” he said carefully.

“About what?” Sif drawled suspiciously.

“Simply your first impression,” Loptr said primly. “The first time you all were here, you saw more of the decimation Jotunheim had gone through. But that was a long time ago, and things here have changed. Greatly changed.”

“Fifty years isn’t that long of a time…” Fandral pointed out. Loptr shrugged.

“But it is still a significant amount of time,” he said, “What I am trying to say is, try not to use that last experience as a baseline for what you will see when we enter Utgard. I know your views on us Jotnar are less than stellar, but I would like to give you a small bit of advice before we enter the city.”

Sif scowled, but the others made no comment or expression. Thor though nodded to Loptr.

“We would be glad to hear it,” he said.

“Good,” Loptr said, “My advice is this. Don’t allow yourself to be blinded by past lies or stories. Or by secrets being kept.”

He said the last part with an odd look at Thor, but otherwise, his words were vague. The Asgardians could only guess he meant for them to keep an open mind and to not expect some sort of primitive, decimated wasteland like they once saw. They all grew up on stories of the monstrous Jotnar, all told by biased people or warriors from the previous war.

Hogun’s words from that morning suddenly replayed in Thor’s head. And he had to wonder exactly just how right the Vanir likely was. He almost wanted to ask if Hogun fully understood Loptr, but he kept his mouth shut.

They startled as the wolves tailing them suddenly began barking and raced ahead of the sleigh. Thor and his friends had almost forgotten they were even there, and shot Loptr confused looks.

“They will alert the guards ahead of our approach,” he said simply.

Shrugging, the Asgardians waited as they began to approach the other side of the tunnel. Though not overly bright, the cavern began to lighten up a bit more, and the haunting blue-white glow of the fungi began to disperse. Even the mushrooms themselves were becoming more and more scarce. Light was soon filling the tunnel from its other side, and the Elk started to slow their swift gallop to a brisk canter. And it wasn’t long before they reached the exit.

The Asgardians had to shut their eyes briefly as their dark-adjusted eyes were blinded. Though it was currently night on Jotunheim, there must have been some form of artificial light blinding them briefly; perhaps their city was brighter than they anticipated.

The sleigh suddenly stopped, and they could hear Angrboda speaking to what they could only assume were the gate guards Loptr had mentioned earlier. Thor was the first the force his eyes open, his sight slowly adjusting to the new lighting. His companions were quick to follow suit, and by the time their eyes finally adjusted, and their brains were able to process what they were seeing, they were stunned.

Loptr barely withheld a laugh, turning his head to look out at his city while the Asgardians gaped like landed fish.

Utgard had come a long way. Where once was a canyon-like city of ruin, now it lay sprawled as a towering and thriving metropolis of ice and light. Their moons seemed to act as weak imitations of a sun, lighting the city and the sky up in a modest array of icy blues and angelic whites. The towers would almost seem to resemble rockets, their forms not unlike curved and elongated arrows surrounding the spires like shells. Spiked spires and elegantly curved bridges and formations seemed to slither throughout the city like dagger-headed serpents.

Snow did not seem to touch very much here, despite the environment. Instead, water dominated the city of giants. Utgard seemed to be built over a small ocean body, not unlike Asgard. Yet it was so much more, every street flanked or accented by waterways, fountains, even straight out of channels and twisting into streams that floated in midair with the aid of magic. The city’s thick crescent shape was only accented by the roaring fraction of sea that filled its open center, sprawling with bridges and flying ships just over the wild and frigid waters. The round cut of sea broke off into various shelves and drops, creating hundreds of waterfalls both large and small, all spilling down the cascading cliffs and into the open sea far below

Lights of blue and white gave life to the metropolis. Veins of magic seemed to flow through the ice and water with no obvious source. The city was rich with Seidr; it pulsed with it – the lifeblood and very heart of Utgard breathed in time with its large yet so very small residents.

Thor was stunned, his breath stolen. They were at least a few miles from the city itself, down a large slope of a mountain that matched up to the tallest tower. Yet its sheer size and silvery splendor had him wondering if he just reached out, he could touch one of those torpedo-like spires. Simply looking at it, he could be certain that Asgard could fit within the city itself, with plenty of room to spare for perhaps five or six duplicates of Asgard.

A sound startled him and his companions – a low, yet ear-ringing bass reminiscent of the lonely moan of a dying bear. Yet it sounded so much bigger than a simple bear. A shadow passed over them, and they looked up.

The beast let loose another call, low and powerful, signaling a distant dock of its arrival. The ship and sprawling vessels upon its back might as well have been a small town, yet it carried the cargo as if it were free of any burden. Its two sets of pectoral fins flapped slowly and lazily as it drifted through the sky, its tail massive and powerful, yet it never once had to use such power to sail over the mountain.

Fandral shakily pointed up, eyes wide and mouth gaping in disbelief – and no small amount of fear.

“Wh-…whale…!” He rasped.

The others would have agreed if they had the frame of mind to process thought or speech. But they only gaped, hands shaking, as the whale – perhaps three times the size of the Midgardian Titanic – was soon joined by more whales. Some were smaller than the first, others were far larger. But all were flanked by small flying ships and boats, giant sea birds riding their current to hitchhike their way to the sea.

Across from them, Loptr, Angrboda, and Poikani watched the Asgardians quietly and calmly. Pörröinen sat beside the sleigh and peered over its guard rail lazily. The guards, having gone back to their station and position, seemed hard-pressed to keep straight faces.

Angrboda twisted slightly in his seat, leaning over to speak quietly to his prince.

“Think they’re impressed?” He inquired. Loptr smiled pleasantly.

“For the moment.” He said.

To be continued…

Chapter Text

This could not be Jotunheim.

First and foremost was this singular thought in the collective minds of the Warriors Three, Sif, and Thor. For what else could they have known, let alone expected of the once dying wastelands? What else could they think when faced with the towering, heaven-reaching spires of ice and stone? What else could they ever assume when faced with the behemoth vessels at the Jotnar’s disposal?

What more could they ever assume, when they were scrutinized by the looming, regal majesty of a silvery winter realm that would otherwise scoff at Asgard herself on sight?

Their stunned and intimidated resolve was broken by the Jotun prince’s voice.

“Yes, that is in fact a whale,” he said. “They are called Lopt Hvalr, or ‘sky whales’.”

“Alright, why is it a sky whale? Why isn’t it a stays in the ocean where it belongs whale?” Fandral rasped, baffled and more than a little intimidated by the flying mammals.

It was Angrboda who answered. “Because that would be boring. Or if you are looking for a more scientific term; evolution. The northern half of our planet is mostly ice, mountains, and oceans. Icebergs and formations shift and often block typical routes for migration or hunting, so the whales have long since adapted. Or at least most of the whale population. There’s a few species of whales that go under the earth and ice instead of over it…”

Thor and his companions fixed Angrboda befuddled expressions of disbelief. The Jotun grinned.

“Have you ever seen a Narwhal dig a tunnel with nothing but its horn? It’s quite a violent, yet exciting spectacle to behold. I believe Byleistr Prince once tried to wrestle one,” he said brightly.

Prince Loptr rolled his eyes, but he was silently amused all the same.

“It was a stupid idea on his part. Narwhals, especially ours, are extremely violent. And of course he just had to decide to aggravate one during their mating season…” he sighed.

“He survived though,” Angrboda pointed out.

“He nearly gave our Dam a heart attack. He would have died quickly with a Narwhal at least. He bemoaned his suffering under the three-way lecture given to him by Helblindi and our parents.”

Angrboda chuckled and shrugged. Poikani said and did nothing; he didn’t even laugh at the rather ridiculous story being told, nor at the Aesir’s stunned expressions upon seeing another example of the local fauna. He did, however, seem to have his dark eyes on Sif. The female warrior was still staring skyward, the whales having long since passed over them. Her expression was tight and strained, as if she were trying to restrain some sort of emotional flood. There was trepidation in her eyes, and if one looked closely, they would see the muscles in her face suggesting she was violently biting or chewing on her tongue.

But the others paid her no mind. Thor looked at the Jotun prince, just as baffled as his companions.

“They are…ah, hopefully harmless?” he inquired. Loptr laughed.

“Oh don’t worry, they are about as vicious as their aquatic cousins. And if it makes you feel any better, they eat rocks,” he said.

This had the Aesir, once more, gaping at the prince. But he only shrugged, and Angrboda, deciding to postpone any odd clarification, turned to look at his prince.

“Where to first?” he inquired. The prince hummed thoughtfully for a moment.

“The town square. We can pick from any range of stops there. I need to make a stop at the library as well,” he said.

Sif looked as if she was going to make a comment, but somehow she managed to stifle her own tongue. Perhaps she was still reeling from the sight of such behemoths, despite the prince assuring them of their strange, but non-carnivorous diet. Though just how convinced they all were remained to be seen. As far as they knew, no whale of any kind ate rocks. The only thing they could name that ate rocks were golems, trolls and, in stories from their childhoods, Frost Giants.

The prince looked over at Thor from the corner of his eye. “Is this acceptable?”

Unable to find an objection, or reason to argue, Thor nodded. Angrboda snapped the reins and the Elk trudged swiftly yet steadily down the winding path leading to the massive city. The pack of wolves that had escorted them settled by the guards and did not follow, content to wait for their return.

No one said a word along the way. Loptr kept his gaze forward on the city, with Thor locking his eyes on the Jotun prince. Pörröinen and Poikani seemed to have narrowed eyes for the Aesir prince and his female companion, respectively. No one said a word on the journey down the road leading to the massive city, nor did any idea of speaking cross any of the Asgardian’s minds.

Their minds only kicked back into gear when the noise level around them became slightly elevated. It was nothing overly loud or festive, but rather it sounded like the pleasant drone of a busy market. This observation soon became rather fitting as they turned around a hill and, to their surprise, entered what appeared to be a thinner part of the city outskirts. Shops and stands lined the cobbled streets made from a strange, grey-black stone set in an even stranger pattern of whirls and curves. Along with larger buildings and structures, most of which were only partially complete, various Jotnar mingled and bustled around the area, rushing to-and-fro carrying bags, supplies, goods and tools. A few rode even more strange, aquatic looking fauna that had the Asgardians doing a double-take. One such creature appeared to resemble a cross between a horse and a catfish. Some were more familiar, but still just as startling, for they were extinct in the realm of Midgard and have not been seen in any other realm.

The Woolly Mammoth, manned by a large Jotun shouting orders to a few others working on a half-constructed building, gave a deep and lazy bray as it stomped backwards. With thick tethers and ropes skillfully tied to its tusks, and a thick wooden beam held in its trunk, it hauled a large stone pillar up from its horizontal position with the aid of a pulley system. The Asgardians watched in awe and trepidation, seemingly oblivious to the fact that their sleigh had stopped to allow them to watch the construction.

They also seemed oblivious to the hush that fell over the area in general, eyes of various shades of red staring at them in a mixture of collective emotions. Even the construction workers who were once so focused on seeing the building completed were staring at them, no longer shouting at one another or manning their tools.

The silence reached the Asgardians then, and Thor felt his companions’ hackles rise. In that moment, Thor tried to recall what he was supposed to say and do whenever he would be sent on a realm-wide tour in the name of Asgard. But despite how many tours he had taken, how many people he had charmed and wooed on his adventures, he could not recall just what it was he said or did to gain such results.

But thankfully – or unthankfully, judging by Sif’s wrathful yet startled expression – Prince Loptr was not the least bit as stage-frightened as Thor had become, and stood from his seat to regard the people. It took literally no effort for the Jotnar’s attention to leave the Asgardians and focus solely on their prince.

“My prince!” the Jotun riding the mammoth exclaimed. He quickly tapped a signal on the mammoth’s head, which prompted the furry beast to lower itself so the Jotun could slide off and properly greet his prince. Many other Jotnar also muttered and scrambled to assume proper greetings and acknowledgements; even the gruff and scarred workers removed their headgear and dropped their tools to give their full attention to the small Jotun.

The mammoth rider – the foreman, Thor guessed – quickly rushed to the sleigh and bowed to the Jotun prince.

“My apologies, my prince, we were not expecting your arrival…” he sounded a bit embarrassed, despite his hulking frame and scarred skin.

“There is no need to apologize, I was not expecting any ceremony.” Loptr waved a hand dismissively. “Do not mind us, we are simply giving our guests a tour of the city before they are sent home.”

The foreman nodded slowly, his eyes sliding over to look at the passengers of the sleigh. He seemed to glare at them, but Thor had to wonder if that was just his usual expression. Even from the mammoth he seemed to be scowling at everything, and even still when he approached his prince. He said nothing to them though and turned his attention back to Loptr.

“Will our prince be needing us for anything?” he inquired. Loptr shook his head.

“Not at all. I apologize for interrupting and causing a bit of unease. Please, as you were.” He said firmly yet leniently.

The foreman bowed again with a brisk, “Yes, sir!” He suddenly turned back to his workers, his scowl intensifying, and he began to shout again as if he had not been a meek and admiring citizen of his prince. “What are you lot standing around for?! You heard your prince! Back to work!”

A startled chorus of ‘yes sir’ was heard by the workers, who all immediately donned their equipment and got back to work. And almost immediately afterwards, like ants falling in line, everyone else got back to the work or task they were doing.

Loptr took his seat in the sleigh again, petting Pörröinen’s head as he did so. Angrboda urged the Elk into a canter through the streets again towards an unknown destination.

Beside Thor, Fandral swallowed thickly, leaning towards his prince to quietly whisper, “What did I just see?”

Volstagg elbowed Fandral. “Quiet, that was no different than how people in Asgard react when they see Thor.”

“This was different though…” Fandral muttered.

Thor did not even entertain commenting on his friend’s flabbergasted emotions and words. He was just as baffled, though he handled it with a bit more grace than the gaping and pale swordsman. He was grateful that Volstagg was keeping a level head, though he appeared a bit surprised himself. Hogun, Thor could tell, was just barely withholding his own mild discomfort in being in such a new and strange place. The Aesir prince had to wonder if he was thinking about his younger years when he came to Asgard, a land so foreign and strange to him at the time.

Thor looked over at Sif. He frowned, taking in her expression. She was still scowling, but her eyes were looking down at her knees, of which she was gripping painfully tightly with her gloved hands. She seemed distraught yet furious, her jaw tight and flexing with strained muscles and grinding teeth. Thor had to wonder if she was intimidated, if not frightened of these new people; people they had only met once, but had changed so much in only fifty years.

He knew he was a bit intimidated. He never would have even entertained the thought of another realm being as advanced, if not more so, than his beloved Asgard.

It frightened him. And he imagined it frightened his companions as well.

Pörröinen and Poikani only continued to watch them.

 

~s~s~S~s~s~

 

“…do I smell a roast?”

Thor almost palmed his forehead at Volstagg’s blatant inquiry of food. But much to his relief, Loptr only laughed.

“I would imagine so. We’re almost to the square, and there are quite a few popular inns, pubs and restaurants there.”

Thor quickly slapped a hand on Volstagg’s shoulder behind Fandral before the warrior could ask about getting food. And in a somewhat clumsy and unpracticed attempt spoke to the prince.

“Is there, ah…anything we should not do or say while we are within…the populace?” he asked.

It was clumsy and not at all said in the right political or courteous context, but Thor had never really thought about what may be disrespectful to other races. Up until his banishment fifty years ago, he had paid no mind to any outraged or upset expressions of other races, and had simply laughed it off and proceeded to insult them further. No one could say anything though, but nor did his actions or words do anything positive to Asgard’s image or reputation. Thor never once thought of himself as a representation of Asgard – only a representation of a great and powerful warrior. This had been a great mistake of ego on his part, and he had only realized as much when he returned and his mother sat him down to give him a thorough talking to.

He was working on it, but in the face of the Jotun prince…he felt about as graceful in his speech as a drunk boar in a glass shop.

Loptr hummed thoughtfully, seemingly thinking. He crossed his arms and legs regally, the very picture of a business-like diplomat.

“All I can truly offer is, if you run across something or someone you do not understand, you simply ask myself or Angrboda. There is no shame in asking us, but you had best keep such questions to us or figure it out on your own. Many are still hurting from…past events. You will not receive an overly warm welcome, but so long as you are polite and leave my people be, they will do the same and not instigate or provoke you.” He said.

“And if they do?” The Warriors Three and Thor were surprised to hear the question come from Sif, who had been so quiet and tense up until then. Now she seemed even more anxious, her faceless anger and trepidation palpable.

Prince Loptr was not fazed though, unlike his hound. Pörröinen’s hackles rose, and he quietly growled at his prince’s side. Loptr placated the wolf with a hand on his neck, and fixed Sif a neutral look.

“If by some chance someone tries to provoke you, then walk away,” he said, “If they persist, then let me know and I will handle it.”

His expression hardened just a second before Sif could retaliate with how cowardly walking away from a fight was. His steely, icy look had the female warrior leaning back in her seat, her mouth screwed up oddly.

“You are a visiting out-of-realm representative. You are not just a warrior right now, Lady Sif, you are what represents Asgard and all she stands for,” he said, eyes narrowing. “I suggest you put the pride of Asgard before your own, and if it means ‘being a coward’, then do so. There is nothing to be gained by starting another feud and adding yet another crack in an already shaky truce.”

Sif’s face seemed to turn an ugly, mottled red, though one could assume it was from the brisk cold of the realm. Thor and his companions knew better though. Sif never took a scolding well, and they could rightly assume that a scolding from a Jotun of all people was making her blood boil in ways that would make a volcano shudder.

“My prince,” Angrboda called from the driver’s seat, “We are here!”

Conflict evaded, Thor and his friends looked up, and once more, they felt their hearts stutter and their forms shrink under the majesty that greeted them.

The town square was, from what they could tell, not actually the central square of the Utgard. Rather, it seemed to be only one of what were perhaps numerous squares scattered throughout the city. The highest tower they could see was still quite a distance away, and was more towards the center of Utgard itself, and their location seemed to be situated in the far western half of the city. Regardless, this square was not small, nor was it deserted.

Jotnar of various sizes and ages wandered the streets, all adorned in clothing so unlike what the Asgardians recalled from their very first encounter. Buildings as tall as some of Asgard’s towers loomed over them, glistening with frost and gem-like stone. Shops of modest and luxurious sizes lined the streets, all of them open and advertising their wares, trinkets and treats. Jotnar meandered about, entering and exiting shops and market stands, or simply window shopping. Animals of numerous kinds wandered about or followed their respective owners – mammoths carrying construction supplies, wolves watching over the young Jotun children or keeping an eye out for possible thieves by storefronts, even birds of the domestic and wild variety meandered about in their comfortable city life, pecking up dropped food and being happily fed by elder Jotnar on benches. Waterways lined the wider traffic streets and behind businesses, where large, walrus-like seals barked and swam with those traversing the canals in boats or riding swimming animals. Other strange and nameless animals were present, mostly sticking with an owner of some sort, helping with work, or tied up securely to stations while their masters entered shops or restaurants.

Young Jotun children laughed and scampered through the streets freely, completely safe from the vehicles that cruised the wide streets.

Vehicles, the Asgardians were startled to see, that were of a vast variety. Some were quite familiar, imitating the flying boats found in almost every realm except Midgard. Others were less advanced, but no less familiar; carriages and wagons were pulled by strong beasts that seemed to be a hybrid of a land and aquatic animal. Some vehicles weren’t even made for the streets, as the numerous wide waterways and manmade streams were not in fact for decoration, but were lanes used for regular boats carrying goods or passengers. Some Jotnar even rode single vessels installed with powerful engines that resembled a much smaller propulsion system to the flying boats in the streets – reminiscent of the jet skis on Midgard. Others rode what appeared to be hybrids of a horse, a lizard, and a seahorse in the canals.

But what truly caught their attention was something none of them had ever seen before. A vehicle that was seemingly alive, but not. An animal, but a machine.

And most of the Jotnar rode them – even the children rode lower flying, crab-like vehicles of the same kind.

“What…” Volstagg rasped, pointing to one such vehicle-animal being parked in a designated area beside a shop. “Are those…?”

“Those, Sir Volstagg, are Stjarna Skríða,” Loptr said, grinning as one such vehicle flew overhead. “Or, ‘star gliders’.”

“Star…gliders…?” Fandral rasped.

Thor was also entranced, and even Hogun was not spared the bewildered awe of the strange, beast-like machines.

They all appeared to be made from a dark, grey-blue stone that was almost black. They were all segmented, like their parts were carved of this strange stone and put together by magic. And perhaps they were, for between each segment was a vibrant, icy blue light that was absolutely saturated in Seidr. Yet despite being made of stone, they moved with such grace and ease. Markings carved on the segments and the machine’s bodies were reminiscent of the markings the Jotnar wore, and they too were lit up and humming with Seidr.

They all seemed to resemble some kind of sea creature. Fish, sharks, small whales, crabs and lobsters, even the more streamlined eel and steady nautilus. Eyes glowing with that same vibrant blue Seidr, the vehicles seemed to boast a liveliness to them, but their propulsion and commanding riders made them seem like machines. And with a simple, gentle landing, the Jotun that parked his vehicle simply tapped a glowing blue stone that seemed to house the Seidr on a console in front of his seat, the fish-like machine quieted, and its lights dimmed. The Jotun dismounted the vehicle, not unlike a motorcycle in its seating, and sauntered casually into the shop he parked next to.

The Asgardians could form no words, despite the dozens of questions screaming in their minds.

“How…?” Fandral managed to choke out.

Loptr hummed thoughtfully, as if uncertain. In the end, he merely turned to look distractedly at a few passing boats as their sled stopped in another parking area for land-bound vehicles. The Elk huffed and shook their heads, chewing on their bits and huffing at a young adolescent Jotun tending to the parked animals.

“Simple magic,” Loptr eventually said, “Our realm does not lack it, and the particular power source for the gliders is ridiculously abundant at this time.”

He said no more, and instead took the offered hand of Angrboda – who the Asgardians were a bit startled to see had left his seat and proceeded to help his prince step out of the sled. Pörröinen and Poikani followed swiftly after their prince, each flanking his sides like personal guards – or fussing siblings. It wasn’t until the prince and his entourage looked up at the Asgardians did they all realize they were staring and still in the sled.

Loptr quirked a brow, his lips twitching in a faint resistance of smirking. “Well?”

And like children snapping to attention, Thor and his companions half scrambled, half leaped from their seats and onto the hard cobblestone. A few of them swayed on their feet, their equilibrium stifled by the near gliding sensation of the sled ride and then coming onto solid ground.

Angrboda did not even try to hide his amused grin, but his prince and other companions seemed disinterested. Loptr seemed to give the area a swift glance, taking in some of the looks being shot at them by passing Jotnar. He eventually returned his attention back to his guests though.

“Shall we start with a walk through the square?” he inquired.

Thor, after regaining his footing on solid ground and making sure his companions were not about to keel over, could only nod.

“Yes, that…that would be pleasant,” he said with a shaky smile. Loptr nodded.

“Wonderful. We will take lunch halfway through if that is agreeable.” That caught Volstagg’s attention, and suddenly the rotund warrior was perfectly balanced and eager.

After passing the reins off to the young Jotun minding the parked animals, Loptr and his entourage entered the square and began their tour. The Asgardians suddenly found themselves missing the off-the-ground, safely enclosed sled. Eyes of various shades of red and dark pink – and strangely some other colors – fell over them and seemed to scrutinize every step they took. Most of the adults made the effort to ignore the Asgardians, or focus solely on their prince. Others were not so kind, and Thor found scowls and sneers directed at himself and his companions more often than not.

It was…unnerving, to say the least.

“Is it bad that I want to turn tail and run away screaming like a maiden seeing a cock for the first time?” Fandral whispered. Thor rolled his eyes.

“I cannot say I blame you, but do try to keep vulgarities to the minimum…” Thor said, trying not to look too long at the many Jotun children exploring the square. Many parents and other supervising adults had given him very dirty looks if his gaze lingered on the children too long…

Hogun elbowed them both. “Pay attention.” He scolded.

Angrboda was gesturing to a tower peering over at them a few blocks away. “And that is one of our schools for science and arts. It was one of the first high-end schools to be built in the last fifty years, and has housed and educated some of the most brilliant minds in Utgard.”

“Science and arts?” Volstagg inquired, looking up at the tall spire. It was not the tallest tower, but it wasn’t small either.

Loptr nodded. “Yes, many Jotnar have gone into studies for improving energy and fuel, as well as healing and medicine. It’s more of a scientific Seidr school. The art department has been responsible for most of our latest aesthetic trends too.”

“You do not have warrior camps?” Thor wanted to scowl at Sif, who of course chose then to speak and bring up a less than transparent jibe.

Angrboda snorted. “We have training faculties, extra curriculum arts, and yes, we have army camps and barracks. We do not push our young into camps though, nor are we looking to polish our army at this time.”

Thor stepped in front of Sif, giving her a hard look before she could question the Jotnar further. “I take it with these times, combat training is not much sought after in the children?”

“Oh, not at all. Of course, some rambunctious younglings wish to take up a spear or bow, or follow in their military parents’ footsteps. But most are encouraged to go into something more productive to our realm…” Angrboda said. Loptr fixed him a dry look at the faintly subtle jab at the Asgardians.

“Which is not to say we are lax in our defenses,” he said steadily, “We simply have no reason to prep our armies or recruit young Jotnar into the army at this time…”

Loptr suddenly looked over his shoulder at the Asgardians, his brows quirked in innocent inquiry.

“Unless you believe otherwise?” he asked.

Thor swallowed thickly, his male companions evasively turning their gazes to their boots or nearby buildings. Sif looked more like a seething and red-faced cat than anything.

“Loptr Prince!”

The Asgardians jumped at the high-pitched chorus of the mentioned prince’s name. Thor and his companions fell into an instinctual defensive stance as a small herd of Jotnar – children – ran towards them. Or more specifically, Loptr.

Loptr grinned as the small herd approached them. But the moment they caught sight of the Asgardians, they dug their heels in just as they were within feet of their prince. A larger Jotun child scrambled and staggered into one of his smaller peers, nearly knocking the youngster over.

“Ah! My youngest students!” Loptr greeted, kneeling so he was at a proper level with the children – sort of. Children or not, they were still Jotnar. The eldest child stood a few inches taller than Loptr when he knelt.

He cocked his head at their apprehensive looks to Thor and his companions. “Now, now, don’t be rude. These are guests of our kingdom. How do we greet our guests?”

The kids blinked, before they all fell into straight-backed, orderly younglings. They all bowed shallowly at the waists, and keeping their eyes locked on the Agardians’ boots, politely greeted them,

“Welcome to Jotunheim, honored guests…” They sounded less than enthusiastic, but were polite as they spoke.

“Greetings,” Thor offered, his companions extending hesitant hellos and waves.

One Jotun child, the smallest and clinging to the hand of what they assumed was a sibling, peered up at them with large garnet-pink eyes. Said eyes roved over the Asgardians in trepidation. Thor offered a small smile to the tiny Jotun, and felt bittersweet amusement as the tiny Jotun looked away and hid in its sibling’s skirts.

“These are some of Loptr Prince’s youngest Seidr students,” Angrboda explained. “They attend the original Seidr school he created, and are some of his most brilliant.”

“I can make fire!” The child holding the hand of the smallest exclaimed in fierce bravery. Thor almost laughed and silently applauded the obviously intimidated youngling’s courage.

“I can make the water do anything.” Another child proclaimed in deadly seriousness.

“We can make the earth shake,” two children – twins, judging by their identical appearances – proclaimed.

Thor’s smile widened into a genuine grin, charmed by the small but brave Jotnar. He looked to the smallest Jotun and cocked his head.

“And you?” he asked as gently as he could manage. “What can you do, little one?”

The Jotun child shuddered, shuffling further into his sibling’s side. The supposed fire-conjurer scowled at Thor, his hand resting protectively on the smaller one’s shoulder. Thor felt trepidation creep into his gut, and panicked guilt overcome him; Norns help him if the kid started crying!

Loptr, bless his soul, intervened before anyone could start a fight. He easily ushered the meek child into his arms and encouraged him with soft words.

“Come now, little Lok,” he said, petting the child’s hark hair. “You have a wonderful gift. Won’t you show our guests what you can do?”

The child, Lok, mumbled incoherently, fidgeting and staring at his prince’s chest. Thor felt his heart quiver, guilty for having frightened the shy boy. He felt the quiver turn into a mild ache; he reminded him so much of Loki when they were but toddlers hanging onto their mother’s skirts. Even his name was similar.

Lok suddenly stepped back, and keeping his eyes lowered, reached into his skirt’s pocket. He took something small out, and held his hands cupped at his front, revealing a tiny seed. The other children hovered behind him at a respectable distance, grinning in excitement and shushing each other anxiously. Thor felt his companions take a step back, but he remained rooted to the spot just behind Loptr.

“Breathe in…” Loptr instructed gently.

Lok took in a slow, deep breath, and shut his eyes. The markings on his arms suddenly lit up with a dazzling mix of blue and green light. The markings on the backs of his hands glowed the brightest, and seed in his palms became incandescent. Thor felt one of his companions gasp behind him, but he could only stare in awe as the seed suddenly sprouted and began to grow.

The children squealed in delight as the seed sprouted and began to spill out of Lok’s hands in the form of glowing vines and buds that slowly bloomed into bright white flowers. Lok suddenly released the breath he had been holding, and the glowing subsided, leaving behind a long chain of ivy-like vines and delicate white blooms. He looked up shyly at his prince and presented the flowers to him.

“Marvelous, Lok! You are improving greatly!” Loptr praised earnestly.

The older sibling laughed and picked his tiny brother up from behind in a tight embrace. “My brother’s the best! He’s going to be a hero one day!”

Lok blushed darkly, a tiny smile quirking his small mouth. The other kids surrounded the small Jotun to get a better look at his flowers, all the while Thor could only watch the two siblings in a strange sense of longing.

Behind him, Fandral cocked his head. “He can grow flowers…?”

The kids suddenly quieted, their heads turning to look at the blonde warrior. Fandral felt himself blanch, suddenly intimidated by the childish scowls and glares. Angrboda snorted into his hand, while Loptr seemed to deflate.

One of the twins crossed their arms. “Lok can make life, not just flowers.”

“He can do anything once he’s strong enough, even save lives.” His twin added.

The elder sibling glared up at the Asgardians, holding his baby brother protectively. “What can you do?”

Thor flinched, oddly intimidated and feeling – of all things – small under the young Jotun’s scrutiny. What could he do? Fifty years ago, he would have laughed uproariously and snidely told the child he could slay beasts with a mighty swing of his hammer; a hammer he was still missing. What could he do without it? He could fight without it, he reasoned…but that was it.

But this little Jotun – a Jotun, Thor was startled to realize, that was no taller than Loptr’s knees – he could make life. Loki had been able to do something similar, and on a larger scale. Thor recalled a particularly bad winter in Asgard, and their mother’s beloved garden had suffered greatly. Frigga had been heartbroken, and her duties as queen had not allowed her to tend to her garden to try and salvage it. She did not keep gardeners either; it was her pride and joy, something she could claim in earnest that she had cultivated and created all her own without help. Loki, a mere child at the time, had locked himself in his rooms with tomes of healing and plant magic for days. And on one partly-cloudy day, the snow receding and the ground damp, he had come out to her garden and brought it back to life.

Frigga had been beside herself with pride and joy, doting on her youngest son as he recovered from the magical drain such a spell had expended on him. Thor often looked back on those days with a bit of embarrassment; he had been ridiculously and unreasonably jealous of the attention Loki got from their mother. He had thrown tantrums and tried to pretend to be sick or injured, and had spent many hours in the time-out corner until Loki recovered.

“What can you do?” the child had asked. And Thor did not have a remotely adequate answer.

And like a hound being taunted by a cat, Sif suddenly stomped one foot forward next to Thor, causing the children to jump and bristle fearfully.

“Do not disrespect a prince of As-”

Sif startled, not due to Thor or one of her companions, but the swift, snake-like rise and turn of the Jotun prince. She flinched back as an icy chill came over her, frosting her blood and clutching her throat in an icy death-grip.

His silent, icy garnet glare made her organs wither and drop to her feet. He seemed to regard her with the same distain one would give a stain on their carpet. Both Sif and her companions were suddenly reminded of a hunt they all went on for a legendary giant bear in Alfheim. The bear had had cubs, and they were unfortunate enough to stumble on her den and her cubs. They had had the fear of the Norns put into them that day.

Loptr reminded them of that furious, towering mother bear. But the difference this time though was they were in the middle of a bear-driven realm. And all of them commanded ice and magic, size and strength.

“A village seems to be missing their idiots…” the distant past whispered to Sif in Loki’s voice. It made her want to scream and rage against the Jotun prince.

Said prince only glared at them wordlessly, speaking not a single word of scolding, insult or threat. The children stood behind him in a huddle of modest protection, staring past their prince and at the Asgardians apprehensively. Angrboda and Loptr’s guards were mostly motionless and expressionless, but Pörröinen had moved to stand over the children, fur bristling along his back as his lips twitched at the Asgardians.

Thor did not dare look around to see if any other Jotnar were about to aid in dismembering them all.

Loptr suddenly crossed his arms, eyes narrowing further.

“I find it odd for you to say that…” he said flatly.

The Asgardians flinched at his unreadable, almost bored tone. But the challenge was met, and Sif made an ugly snarl.

“Why?” she growled. “Do you not comprehend what ‘respect’ entails?”

Loptr held up a hand before Thor could scold his irate companion. The sudden and wordless command only seemed to enrage Sif more, but Loptr was not deterred. If anything, he seemed rather curious, but in such a way as to be compared to someone studying an unknown entity. There was a sort of caution behind his eyes, but there was also a strange sort of fascination.

“Respect a prince of Asgard,” he said, almost in narrative. He cocked his head at Sif. “Does this apply to all of Asgard’s princes? Past, present and future?”

Sif blinked, taken aback by the seemingly irrelevant and out of place question. Was the Jotun mad? Or had she given him too much credit to his intelligence?

Behind her, Thor suddenly blanched, and he stared in shock at the Jotun prince as understanding lit up in not just his eyes, but the Warrior’s Three as well.

Oblivious to the trap she was walking into, Sif clenched her fists, raised her chin to look down at the taller prince, and replied,

“Yes.” She said firmly and with every ounce of assurance and smug arrogance she could muster.

Loptr blinked slowly, like a cat considering its food, or perhaps a man wondering in bland fascination of a dog meowing and a cat barking.

But then he suddenly smirked, his lips stretching wide in an uncanny and hauntingly familiar smile. He hummed thoughtfully.

“Indeed?” he said, not even acknowledging the simultaneous cringe of Thor and his male companions.

“That’s interesting…” he said. But to the relief – and the surprise – of Thor and the Warriors Three, he merely shrugged and did not seem to pursue the verbal battle. He had already won, regardless. Instead, he turned to the somewhat meek and confused children and gave them all an apologetic and warm smile.

“Ah, before I forget. Class will be cancelled tonight, as I am due to attend a banquet this evening,” he said, “Please pass the word on to your fellow students, alright?”

“Yes, Loptr Prince,” the kids chimed, still apprehensive of the Asgardians.

“Thank you…” Loptr suddenly reached into a hidden pocket in his skirts, and not-so-discreetly passed them a small leather pouch. He winked at the children and whispered, “Don’t tell your parents. A new sweet shop just opened down the street.”

Eyes wide and suddenly glittering with mischief and anticipation for sugar, the kids percolated back to life. The eldest Jotun child, still holding his baby brother’s hand, took the pouch and bowed with his peers with an enthusiastic thank you – and a vow of silence. They then turned and scampered off without a second glance back at the Asgardians. Lok, however, held his sibling back for a moment, and shyly held the flowers he grew out to his prince. Loptr kneeled and gently accepted that flowers, kissing the space between the two bumps marking where immature horns have yet to emerge.

The children scampered off soon after, disappearing into the crowd the Asgardians were aware of gathering and quickly dispersing around them. It set Thor on edge, how silently such large beings had surrounded them, and they had all been completely unaware of the would-be danger.

Thor swallowed thickly as the surrounding Jotnar thinned and left them be, but not without suspicious and leery eyes. He felt like he was in a snake-pit and being stared down as their next meal.

Speaking of which…

“Perhaps a break for lunch will do us some good,” Loptr suddenly said, regarding his guests with the tactfully blank look most politicians reserved for those they would prefer not to be in the same room with. “Is this agreeable, Prince Thor?”

Thor wasn’t sure how, as Loptr’s tone was completely polite, but he felt the other was silently mocking him. Or perhaps scolding him. He wasn’t too sure which was worse in any case. Thor only knew that Sif had singlehandedly sunk Asgard’s reputation another ten feet under. And he had been too stunned to prevent it from happening in the first place!

“What can you do?”

Thor did not recall when he made a quiet agreement, nor did he recall when Volstagg suddenly engaged in conversation with Loptr over the local fares. Despite the topic, the large warrior was shockingly doing well in recovering Asgard’s pride, while her own prince could only follow like a dazed duckling.

He stared at Loptr’s back as they moved on, speaking softly and amicably to Volstagg with the occasional comment from Angrboda. Loptr’s bare back rippled with whipcord muscle that moved under his skin with each graceful step, his hips subtly swaying.

He felt eyes on his own back, and Thor did not need to turn and find out who was behind him. The lack of the two guards at the front simply had Thor accepting the scrutiny and borderline hostile eyes on his back. He couldn’t imagine how heated their gazes were on Sif, who saw fit to stick close to Thor like his personal guard. Irritation welled up in Thor, but he could not dissuade Sif away from him at the moment, lest he risk her throwing yet another tantrum and embarrassing them all further.

Pörröinen growled lowly, staring at Thor like a hound stalking a lamb. Poikani continued to watch Sif.

To be continued…

Chapter Text

IMPORTANT! Author’s note and PSA regarding my Thor/Avengers fics.

I will start off frank; no, I am not abandoning any of these fics; no, I am not going to be updating in the immediate future; and yes, they are still on-going, but life reasons will explain why they are not being updated.

I am in school and working to get my associates degree, then will be moving onto hopeful pilot training. My story priorities will remain on my Rise of the Guardians fics, primarily Solitude and Darkness. And because of my school schedule, and my working hours, I cannot work on more than SaD until I get free time, and until I finish SaD.

Some of you may be confused as to why I am making this post now of all times. One fic hasn’t been updated in years (Come Home), the other has also been mostly untouched for a year or so (Five Times Loki was Forgotten and One Time he was Not), and another is sporadic in its updates (Prodigal).

I am doing this now because one individual on FF has been using some very poor methods of underhanded and simple-minded means of trying to get me to update these fics. Worse yet, I was planning to use some technical methods of getting them off my tail, but after doing some digging, I fear things may get a tad ugly. I’ll simply say Proxy server and leave it at that. They dropped numerous IMs on me regarding those fics, making passive-aggressive inquiries as to when I will update, despite my telling them it’s probably not going to be anytime soon because of my school, work and life in general. That was back in early October, yet last night, I get another IM from them asking how I’m doing on my Loki fics. It’s barely been a month, and all college students who read this know just how ridiculous that is – even non-college students know or have an idea of how much time school takes up.

I’m a tad pissed right now, as I have told them straight up not to ask me about my fic progress in those stories, yet it was ignored. But the bottom line here is I’m getting suspicious, and this person’s IMs seem to correlate with those rather unhelpful ‘update please’ and ‘please update’ two-liners that get dropped into my review and comment boxes for those fics – per chapter, in less than five minutes between them.

I’m getting tired of people dropping passive-aggressive comments and reviews that assume the fics are dead and they are sad I’m not writing them. If I don’t say ‘it’s over’ then chances are, it’s not over. People don’t know that, I get it, but it helps to not make assumptions, and better yet, not spam my review/comment box with unhelpful filler-comments. And even better yet, consider not just IMing me to pan-handle for updates that are not going to be written at the drop of a hat.

To recap. I’m putting this here to make people stop asking me when I’ll update and to deter one particular individual from bothering me on FF. I have seen your IP address, dear. And because of what I saw, I am not going to risk speaking to you directly if you are, in fact, a minor as the information implies.

So yes, all of my Thor/Avengers fics are on hiatus until further notice. I am doing this because I am busy and not out of spite – tempting as it is. I am also doing this as an indirect and final warning to a certain IMer on my FF account.

THIS IS A PSA TO LET YOU ALL KNOW NOTHING HAS BEEN ABANDONED – I HAVE A GOD DAMN LIFE. I WILL NOT UPDATE ANYTIME SOON. I WANT TO, BUT I HAVE ALMOST NO TIME.

And to those who have been so patient and supportive of me, and who continue to read and review…thank you. Seriously, I have considered killing these fics many times because of the people who make demands of me or are just plain rude or unhelpful. You guys are what is keeping this and the other fics alive, and keeping my spirits up to prevent me from just deleting them out of spite and frustration. So thank you, seriously. I love you guys.

INHALE… I believe this is all I need and have to say on the matter. Hopefully you all will take this with a grain of salt, and the one person who I don’t want to hear from steps the fuck back.

This has been a fanfic PSA from Sumi-Sprite.

Good evening, and see you all next time.

~S~

Chapter Text

A VERY IMPORTANT PSA!

Regarding ALL of my Thor/Avenger fics.

Alright, let’s just get it out there, folks. Perhaps around October, a little before then, I had once more been getting more persisting comments and yet another IM from three consistent sources asking I update these damn fics. And at that time, that was the last fucking straw. That was it; those persisting comments broke me. I had at the time planned to give out a PSA telling people that these fics would be dead entirely (or in this case, given entirely to PotionsChaos). Because of those persisting comments, ESPECIALLY from particularly three sources, had entirely killed off any and all affection I had for those fandoms, and thus, the plots died.

I was sick and tired of these comments, blocking those I could on FF, even one that crossed onto DeviantART to bother me. AO3, sadly, does not have a blocking application, so all I could do was try and ignore these idiots.

In this PSA, I was even going to name names. I was so fucking spiteful, angry and just TIRED of it. I already felt guilty enough as it was that I hadn’t updated these stories in literal years, and there have been so many wonderful, supporting readers for them too. But it was no longer a comfort to me to have these good comments outweighing the bad. I wanted it to die and stay dead so I could get some peace of mind again. I even planned to possibly adopt those fics out to others who could complete them.

But, after discussing with a friend, I decided to hold off, maintain radio silence to truly consider things. And today, I finally decided to go an alternative route.

You see, the reason my fics – not just these ones, but ALL of them – have been so dead for so long is because of a combination of school and work. It was a lot easier doing fics when I was just going to school, or just working and not doing both at once. But it became impossible to do one or the other, especially when I got into classes requiring a gross amount of reading, complete with inconsiderate teachers who seemed to think that their students had NO other classes, jobs or life outside their subjects. I actually had a very recent, very serious burnout, and thank the gods that my boss is so damn considerate and understanding. He gave me as much time as I needed off work so I could catch up in classes I was very close to doing less than ideal in, catch up on sleep I absolutely NEEDED, and just generally get back to a healthier mindset. I returned to work on a MUCH more sensible schedule, and I’m doing much, much better, but I’m still too busy to do anything other than dedicate 99% of my life to school and work, and the remaining 1% to making sure the 99% doesn’t kill me.

And not long after, I sat down with my mom and an academic advisor. We crunched the numbers, and we found that the next coming semester may in fact possibly be my last. I have perhaps the next semester left, or one and a half semesters left and then I’m done. In which case, I’ll just be working so I can save up enough to start my own life, go to a trade school (because fuck universities, seriously), and really and truly start my independent life.

Six months, perhaps nine, and then everything with school will be done. Meaning I will have time for fanfiction again, something I have missed so much, and long to continue. I know after so long, especially in my RotG fandom, fans have gone and the fandoms are drying up. Even the Marvel fandom has likely experienced this, but at this point, I don’t care about the view count. I just want to finish what I started and ENJOY IT.

That said, no, my Avenger/Thor fics will not be updated just yet. No, I am not completely killing them off or adopting them out. I will keep them, and when I finally graduate, I will look back on them and see if I can continue them. I’m almost 90% sure I can and will once I have school completely cleared off my plate, but I make no promises.

So the gist of the situation is this: I will NOT update these fics just yet. Not until I graduate and have school done and over with, and I’m left with just working as much as I can and move onto trade school. Other fics that are not Thor/Avenger have a CHANCE to update before the new year, but again, no promises.

Guys, I’m not going to lie. My Thor/Avenger fics are on seriously thin ice now. I’m not giving any more chances after this. You want to bother me and demand an update? Fine, go ahead. If I can, I’ll block you. If not, fine. But that’s it. I’m shutting shit down. I’m not even going to adopt plots out. No, what I will do is take these fics down, maybe give enough warning for people to save them to docs for personal reading, but that’s it. If from then to now I get at least 5 more messages demanding “update please” or “please update” or any other bullshit remotely close to it, these fics are gone. Six to nine months of either silence or HELPFUL reviews. If you like the fic and want to comment, great! I’d love to hear it! If you just want to badger me, please see your ass right out the door. I don’t fucking care if you are a fucking 12 year old or have some kind of language barrier as an excuse, you’ve gotten NUMEROUS warnings and understood them, but continued to persist.

I have all of your interactions with me screencapped and saved. If you are one of these persisting, sniveling little shits with truly nothing better going on in their lives than a fucking FANFICTION, I have plenty of spiteful initiative to out you publicly.

So there you have it. I have ultimately decided not to delete and adopt out anything, but I do ask for just one more stretch of patience. You all have no idea how much I used to love these stories, but after so much time and so much insensitive persisting, I’ve practically fallen out of love with them, and have even grown to resent them on numerous levels. I think I can recover and even grow to like them again once school is finished, but until then, please, please just bear with me a bit longer. I won’t ask readers to stick around – I don’t blame you in the slightest if you want to move onto other fics. I’m honestly shocked I still get such encouraging comments and reviews on these, despite how long it’s been and the bullshit its bred.

This is why I wanted to give my GOOD and ENCOURAGING readers this. I don’t want to be such a spiteful bitch and take this away from you just because of a tiny handful of childish shitheads. Tempting as it is, I’ve ultimately decided to take the high road and just hope it’s enough, and that for once these assholes will get a clue.

If not…then I can only apologize. I can’t make empty promises anymore, and if my last promise has to be putting these stories in a digital paper shredder, then that’s what I’ll do.

This is the absolute last and final warning to those of you who have been trying to get an update out of me, who have IMed and followed me onto DA for your ridiculous and rather pathetic need for a fanfiction update. I will out you, I will plaster your user names and messages all over the place, and whatever happens, happens. I’ll sleep perfectly fine at night regardless. Hell, people can go into the comment and review boxes right now if they want to find you – it’s not hard in all honesty.

I guess that’s all I can say on the matter now. Nine months is all I ask, perhaps ten if it comes down to it; the hope is that by next fall I’ll be back in the fanfiction seat at the absolute latest. But once I finish school, I’m very sure I will be able to come back and start an actual update schedule. But until then, I ask one of two things: be respectful or fuck right off. If you do not want to stick around that long, I honestly and truly do not blame you, and I’m sorry I let you down. If you do intent to stick around…I hardly know what else to say other than thank you and that I do not deserve such loyal readers. If you are thinking of leaving another insensitive, two-liner review asking I update…I gave you fair warning. Enough said.

Until then…well, just for now, this will be goodbye. I want to try and get in one update for one of my RotG fics before the new year, but this will be more of a hopeful goal than a plan.

Be kind to your own readers, and be kind to other writers. We don’t get paid for this, and we’re growing and evolving every day in our lives. Once our priority plates are clear enough, then we can get back to fics. Otherwise, don’t ask writers to meet your demands; the world doesn’t revolve around you, and honestly, just what does it say about you to be so thirsty for a fanfiction? If you’re so desperate for fics, get off your ass and write your own. Work for it just like a real writer.

Till next time, folks, I will see you then, and I hope I will get to see familiar and welcome readers.

~Sumi