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Thor looked up from where he had landed and his eyebrows drew together in confusion.
This realm was not only not Midgard, it was distinctly unfamiliar.
And apparently very, very unfriendly to men who fell from the sky. He’d barely been on the ground fifteen seconds and there were two dozen mounted warriors surrounding him, pointing curved blades at his throat.
They spoke to each other in a rough, guttural language that Thor couldn’t, at first, decipher, but he recognised a few of the consonants, and realised where he had ended up.
Apparently the Bifrost wasn’t as well-repaired as Heimdall had thought - he’d overshot Earth entirely and landed on a continent known to its’ inhabitants as Essos, apparently he was in the middle of Dothraki territory.
Fear was an unfamiliar feeling to the God of Thunder, but when a score of mostly naked, mounted men were bearing down with wickedly sharp blades aimed for his throat and belly, his body had something of a sympathetic response.
Then a few of the men to his left looked back over their own shoulders, and began to separate. The attention of the rest was drawn in that direction as well, just a few of the smaller warriors keeping their eyes on the intruder as someone (apparently someone important) approached.
The man was huge, of a height with Thor himself, and clearly a warrior of some magnificence. He wore kohl on his eyes and his hair was drawn back from his face, but appeared to be long enough to reach the mans’ waist when he stood. He was riding a wild-eyed stallion, handling the beast with such calm assurance that Thor could not help but be impressed. Clearly this experienced horseman was the leader of the people he had landed among, and Thor was racking his brains to think of any social protocols his father had taught him about this realm - if the Bifrost was still so damaged as to have sent him here when he intended to go to Earth, then it was probably best to wait until someone came to fetch him, rather than try and return immediately and risk expulsion somewhere in the ravages of space.
“You fell from the sky.” The leader of the warriors spoke, gruff and short, his dark eyes boring into the pale ones of the intruder. Thor’s brain had apparently dug up memories he’d thought lost - he understood every syllable now, and could hear the other men muttering curses and prayers at him, unsure if they should be attempting to kill this pale-haired man from the sky or falling to their knees to worship him.
They were also wary of Mjolnir, clasped tight in Thor’s hand, the power emanating from the Hammer both intrigued and repelled them - it was foreign, it was magic and they did not care for it.
“I did fall from the sky, Great Leader.” Thor inclined his head slightly to the man with the longest hair, not bowing, not exposing his neck, just showing enough deference to the leader that he would not be gutted without at least fair warning.
Not that two dozen horsemen against an Asgardian was really a fair fight, but Thor knew a thing or two about diplomacy, no matter what his father thought. And he had no quarrel with these people.
“I am Drogo, Khal.”
“I am Thor, Prince of Asgard.”
“Why are you here? Where did you come from? You have the look of a foreign man.”
“I came from beyond the stars, to meet the legendary Khal Drogo of the Dothraki and see his skills in battle first hand. Word of your victories has traveled far, Khal.”
The man on the horse did not move, his expression did not change one iota, but somehow Thor knew that he had said exactly the right thing, because the entire atmosphere changed. The men who had been threatening were suddenly admiring, and Mjolnir was looked at with reverence rather that suspicion.
Drogo lifted his chin a fraction.
“How far have these tales been told?”
“Throughout the Nine Realms and beyond - I wished to meet you in person and brag of our comradeship to my brothers in arms.”
“You do not come for war?”
“Never. I would not dare challenge the mighty Dothraki to war, I come to congratulate you on your victories and drink with you to the power of your people.”
Yes, flattery could get you anywhere, because the Khal was softening. His eyes were still hard as onyx, but the line of his jaw had changed slightly, and his eyebrows were less drawn, so Thor pressed home his advantage.
“I bring with me a token of Asgardian honour - the mead that is reserved for the King and his sons, my brother and I.” Thor drew a leather flask from his belt and held it up, glad that it was a finely crafted vessel and that the mead within was indeed from the reserve and not the usual swill that was served at feasts.
Drogo stared at the flask for a moment before his eyes flicked back up to meet Thor’s, and suddenly his entire bearing changed - he smiled so broadly his face threatened to crack in half.
“Then tonight we shall build a fire tall enough to be seen from your world, and drink your mead until we can no longer see!”
That was more like it, Thor thought, raising his fist and joining in the raucous cheer that came from the men around him.
“Fetch a horse for our guest - a Prince of Asgard does not walk!”
Thor was still grinning, and Drogo caught his eye once more, as he mounted the black stallion that had been bought forward for him.
“To the khalasar!” Drogo shouted, and kicked his horse into a gallop, Thor following suit and extremely happy to find that the horse he had been issued could keep pace with that of the Khal.
Oh, yes. Descending to one of the mortal realms definitely had its’ perks, and getting drunk with a bunch of barbarians was one of the highlights.