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Chapter Text

Wanting to run from life had always been a sign of growing older. A slow and painful passage from youth into adulthood. At a certain age, different for everyone, you want to experience change closely instead of being a bystander and witnessing it from your room in your childhood home which was cluttered with your parents and older sibling's memorabilia, walls covered with pictures of the times you were only a baby and so you couldn't remember anything. 

Thor could only ever remember the feeling of being lost.

There’s a small patch of grasslands looming over the shoreline. The rocks pile as they meet the shore, unlike soft sand the pebbles poke and rip the skin of your feet, the air cold and wet as the sea reaches your face. The water chilled even against the heat of your skin. 

Denmark had grown, and with it, the Viking age spread far, the European people feared the Vikings and their longboats, the brutal beasts that stepped foot onto their lands to take and kill what they could. His father's name was a legend by then. 

His father, a man with a single eye, had won too many battles and raids and so left the endless fighting in Denmark when his wife became with child. His older sister who had been born upon reaching these new lands had grown into a fine young woman who shared her father's warlike spirit. Always fighting, always arguing. 

Always wanting more.  

The roots of Yggdrasil are said to be weaving deeper, spreading through the earth and water, recreating what had been destroyed in the old times. The Norns watched the remaining living, weaving their threads of fate. The never-ending cycles of life and the suffering that accompanies the hope.  

The earth shakes now and then, the roots digging deeper making the people both wary and excited for the Norn's continuing weaving of their lives. 

Of things yet to come. 

Thor can’t help but agree with Hela as he grows older. A deep need to go to the seas to search for the missing piece of his life. As if he were living a farce as if he’s living a life not belonging to him. 

Thor, having been born after Hela, was the jewel in his father's eye. A son, and one who looked so much like Odin himself. 

Arrogant and prideful on the surface, Thor grew to be the village favorite. Sif, Fandral, Vollstagg, and even Hogun had grown to admire Thor. The son of One-eye Odin. Their friendship was one of respect yet, enough fondness where they teased one another. For Thor, it was normal to be loved. The center of attention. But the feeling of emptiness ruined whatever went around him, as if he had become numb to everything. It was difficult to wake in the morning, often hoping to see the sunset again so he'd be able to go back to sleep.

Hela grew to hate the land, they had settled on the edge of the Nordic waters surrounding their small home. She wanted nothing more than to leave for her adventure and wander the world and not the same villages a thirty-minute walk from their small house. 

Thor often felt the same but wanted to play pretend and be the perfect son for his soft-hearted mother who loved this land and the villagers. He would bite his tongue and continue seeing the sunrise regardless of how he felt.  

There’s nothing but a calmness there, an everlasting sense of nothing, as if the land had always and will always remain this way. It felt like dying. 

Winter soon arrives, the air cold and unkind to bare skin. Thor can feel a chill run up his back. A warning of what’s to come. 

Even sleep gave him no respite. He’d been having strange dreams for as long as he could remember. Dreams of another life, of a blurry figure invading his mind, green eyes almost glowing like a serpent. It unnerved him how familiar they were as he's never met anyone with green eyes in his life. There were days he felt as if he were going a little mad. Especially when he woke with bits of his dreams still lingering in his head.  

* 

“You’re a prince?”  

Loki nods, his eyes catching Thor as if he were prey. Holding him there, unable to move and somehow fearful. He swallowed, nervous for the first time because of another. Thor frowns at the strange feeling as he is unused to being shaky in front of anyone. Loki held a small hound, setting him down, as he did the pup roamed the small room freely. Bumping into things and sniffing everything he came across, including Thor. 

“When will you go back home?”  

Loki frowns back. “My father said I was to stay.”  

“What?”  

Loki begins to unpack his few belongings, ignoring Thor entirely now.   

Thor watches him, also unused to being ignored. “I’ll have Mother send you back-”  

The sound of something heavy falling had interrupted him, his chest pounding as Loki looked at him with fear.  

“Don’t,” Loki says. “If I’m sent back Father said I’d bring war to Jotunheims doorstep, and I’ll be sent away.”  

Thor flexed his fingers, wishing he had been holding his practice sword, so he’d have something to occupy his shaky hands.  

“Ok,” Thor said. “Just don’t bother me then.”  

And with that simple answer, Loki nodded, relieved and kneeling to pick up the small ice toy bear that had fallen.  

Thor left just as Loki was about to look at him again.   

Thor was sure Jotunheim sent a witch. He could feel those green eyes corrupting him. He went to his Mother.

*

The parts of the grass that weren’t dead were long and flowing with the wind as the skies grew darker, the clouds gathering and covering the last bits of blue like an infection. 

The village held shops and things from across the seas, sometimes he would see foreigners like himself and wonder if they came from the lands his father had once invaded. 

The village had been a porter town, nothing ever changed aside from a few new faces and trinkets and so the feeling of boredom grew stronger each year. His father had always told him stories of their homeland, of their gods, and silly legends from their Norse ancestors. Of Ragnorak and the dead. Nothing true, however. Odin kept his own life private.

The stories only made him want to leave even more, to make a name for himself as his father had done. Hela’s resentment was clear, her reluctance to stay at the house for longer than an hour made it impossible not to notice. His mother says she had been the same at her age, she always said Hela would even grow bored of the changing lands and until then she only needed to be patient. Her mind would settle when she understood that the unchanging world is the same everywhere and that the mind is where life will truly begin to change. 

Thor thinks she’s only saying this to herself as Hela has grown to be a pain to raise. 

Denmark seemed so small, surrounded by familiarity, and with only his father's memorabilia on the walls, it felt as if he would always remain as it was. Alone and unknowing of the world, his father had been reluctant to speak of his time in Norway and Sweden. His mother avoided the topic by pretending not to hear his questions. 

As if they wanted to hide their lives from them. Afraid Thor and Hela would somehow ruin their own lives knowing the past, maybe afraid they would attempt to return to their homeland while it was still in turmoil.  

Thor could simply pretend his hollow self didn’t exist, after all, he was something here. Even in this small village, he was known to be Thor Odinson, the son of a former raider. A young man full of promise a fine suitor for the daughters of the fisherman there. Thor had always thought his fate had been made.  

He’d marry a woman from a wealthy fisherman, inherit the business, have a child or two, and continue the way his own father had. Nothing new, peaceful, if anything, a kind life for those who disliked change.  

Thor often felt bitter over the thought. 

Thor wanted more, though he also knew if he voiced his thoughts he’d be seen as ungrateful. He felt ill, disconnected, and unable to realize why. Had he always been this way? Born numb only to age with nothing big enough to fill the emptiness. How long had he felt as if he needed more?  

Thor often went to the shoreline to stare into the deep waters and the feeling of fear would briefly course up his spine his instinct knowing the chaos of the sea and yet he longed for the danger. Longed to experience being near death like a lover. He craved chaos in his mundane life. 

When it rained, he would stand at the shoreline longer, uncaring of how drenched he’d become, and watch the volatile waves from the seas, staring at the lightning in the distance and hoping for something to change. 

“Thor,” his mother had been setting water to boil, this early in the morning he was the last one awake. “Now that you’re up can you bring this to your father, he’s by the port down in the village.” 

“Why not send Hela?”  

“She left hours ago, who knows what she’s doing, probably down by the docks.” 

Thor muttered as he took the sack from her. 

“Don’t give me lip, you’re just like your father, soon you’ll be grateful to have this. Don’t mutter and just go.” 

"I'll go." He said waving his hand, dismissing her lecture as he turned to leave.  

“…Thor,” Frigga stopped him, looking nervous, slightly skittish. “Careful of strangers, you’re old enough but you’re still young and mistakes will come from your actions. Choose wisely. Hela should know better too but she-” 

She had been prone to tangents and as Thor grew older she spoke more of the dangers of life as if Thor was still the ten-year-old and not the twenty-year-old man that he was. He agreed with her with another wave of his hand. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.” 

Thor dragged himself out through the door, the grass dry as the rain had passed them several times this week. 

The village seemed busier, there were new faces, and new shiny things cluttering the sides of the dirt road. There are more ships, nothing too different but unfamiliar enough for Thor to notice.  

The sack over his shoulder slipped and with it, the reminder of his duty came, he walked the short distance between the main village shops toward the docks. Passing men who shoved and pushed him aside, he grew to dislike these new foreigners. Covered in silver and strange furs, their heads covered with horned helmets.  

He set aside his curiosity about these new men to search for his father, and he found him, standing by a large ship speaking with one of the helmet-wearing foreigners. Hela was by his side. And she looked angry. 

Thor went along, the waters splashing the sides of the dock and land, the sun permeating down onto their cold skin and warming their blood. He looked at his father warily, taking the sack from his shoulder to hold in his hand.  

“Father,” he said when he came close enough. “You left this behind.” 

Odin turned to look at his son, it was a nervous gaze. He took a quick step in front of both his children and the man eyed them with a hard look.

Thor was unsure of what he’d run into but nerves began to build in his chest, his stomach turning to knots as Hela tried to push herself into the stranger's face, rage and profanity coming from her.  

“Cowards,” She said. “You people think you can accuse others of thievery? What proof do you have? My family has come to run from violence and you try and accuse my father of stealing our Hammer? It belonged to our ancestors, passed down from generations and your king says we’ve stolen it from the Halls?” 

She had always been this way. Forceful, a tyrant until she was able to speak her mind. A woman born inheriting her mother’s rage.  

Thor figured that was why Frigga was always calm now. 

This land may have been a burden for the children here, to keep traditions and never change the ways of the past, but Hela knew well enough to understand it was a parent's blessing. Coming from unspeakable loss and violent wars, this unchanging land was a respite. 

Thor stared at them, unsure of what was being said. Odin grabbed Hela’s arm, pulling her back.  

“The King has no say on this land.” He says, “This land belongs to no one, to the sea, I have no reason to give what I’ve earned.” 

The man stays unemotional, cruel almost. It startled Thor yet angered him all the more. 

“This land,” He says, “Denmark, belongs to the King, now. This is not a choice. You’re given two options, either leave our lands or face your crimes, nothing else. You have until the sun sets.” 

Odin held onto Hela and watched as the man walked from the docks down into the village. Now, as Thor turned to look, he could see the change. 

There is more clutter, it’s all being thrown, nervous, the people here are filled with fear. The new reign has come and with it the blood from the past. 

Thor returns home following his father and sister. He watches as his father tells Frigga the news and listens to Hela’s angry shouts.  

He can feel his anger rise but waits for his turn to announce his grievances.  

“Why not just stay?” He says when the room is quiet. “What can they do if we choose to stay? If they want to fight, then let them try.” 

Odin takes a moment to think but the moment is short-lived, he grabs the sack Thor had held before and takes out the maps of the sea and land.  

“We go back home,” he said. “Sweden or Norway should have grown tired of the bloodshed now; the land may be fresher-” 

“And if we return to more war? What if they send you to more raids?” Hela asks. “What of it then? You ran from those lands to escape the fighting only to return with uncertainty. You're no longer the Viking you once were.” She reminds him. “The land must have changed over the years; we know nothing and yet we run because the unknown come to us?” 

She grabs the old hammer that had been displayed over the table on a mantle. The one the King announced was stolen, an old gift said to be older than Ragnorak itself. 

“I agree with my idiot brother. It’s better to face what chases you than to run.” 

Thor watches again and looks at his mother as she turns to Odin. She’s hiding something. She always had. 

Odin takes another moment to think but shakes his head. “You’re a woman.” He spoke. “Vulnerable to groups of men wanting to take. Thor is merely a boy. As you’ve said, I’m an old man now. Returning to Norway is safer. It's something familiar regardless of the turmoil. Begin packing. We leave before the sun sets.” 

Hela smashes the table with one swing of the hammer she held.  

“And let them take what you’ve earned?!” 

“Let them take what is useless,” Odin says. Being a man of old, he had never been sentimental but surprised even Hela with his response. “You, your brother, and your mother are what gives me meaning. I have lost many things; I’ve lived many lives. There are battles to forfeit for what you truly need.” 

Hela squeezes the hammer in her grip and Thor can only observe his father as the man begins motioning to his mother to hurry. 

Thor leaves the house in anger. He did not need to pack. Nothing held value to him, everything had become dull over the years, and yet, the emptiness he’d felt only grew wider, burdening his existence.  

It’s a farce, something had always been missing and now, he must escape a land for fear of death or slavery. 

Trees line the outskirts of their house, thick enough that even a bird can become lost within the branches.  

Two ravens are staring at him as he throws rocks against the bark, kicks at the foliage, and lets himself become angry. Either they mocked him or were simply curious, Thor didn’t know but he threw rocks at them anyway. 

They began kawing at him, swirling over his head but Thor did nothing but continue cursing the King in his mind. Cursed at his father for being weak and his mother for never telling him the truth.  

When he heard horses, the sound of yelling and crackling he looked out and saw a dim light coming from the direction of the house. He ran, the ravens following him as he stepped into the clearing. 

The fires reached the skies, killing every cloud it touched and burning the air. The scent of burned wood and dying grass had become ingrained in his mind.  

Even in the distance, Thor watched and stood unmoving. Devastated he watched the house crumble down.

He hesitates, his legs feeling heavy and his heart in his throat. He ran to the rubble.

*  

“How come you don’t come outside?”  

Loki looked up at him, the book he held sitting on his lap. The library had been the place where Loki would spend all of his time in, reading all the boring books and analyzing spells for later use.

“Sif said it was because you’d melt away if you did.” Thor had grown used to Loki’s silence, but he grew to find himself wanting to make Loki’s expressions change. Always wanted to see him react.  

“Why would she say that?” Loki asks.

“Don’t witches hide in dark caves for that reason?”  

Loki frowns at him, setting his book aside.  

“Why do you call me a witch? I don’t practice such a weak craft I use Seidr-”  

“Then why do you look like a girl?”  

Loki pauses. His face slowly contorted into a glare.  

He stands and shoves Thor. Their fight had been less than a few minutes, and Thor had pinned him down. Tightening his grip around his wrists each time Loki tried to pry himself away.  

Their breathing was sharp and deep and Loki refused to look away from Thor due to pride.  

“Let go-”  

“You started it.” Thor gripped his wrists again making Loki wince.   

Loki relents, reluctantly looking away and Thor lets go.  

“I apologize.”   

Thor turns to him just as he stands up again. Loki looks angry, nervous, and on the verge of tears.  

“Please don’t tell the All-father.” 

Thor grits his teeth. “It’s fine. I won’t say-”  

“But your bruises- what will he say when he sees them?”  

“I get them all the time. He won’t notice.”  

Loki still looked frightened. “Still- what if he finds some came from me?”  

Thor frowns, crossing his arms. “Heal them for me then.”  

“What? I’m no healer I’ve just started my lessons with the All-Mother.”  

Thor shrugged. “Then let my father see-“  

“Alright,” Loki says, cutting him off. “Alright… I’ll do my best.”  

Thor smiled. “Good. I’ll call you to my chambers.”  

*

The dry grass around his burning home was catching the flickering flames, burning Thor’s bare feet as he tried to enter the house. 

“Mother!” 

He can hear struggling, men laughing and his sister’s swearing going farther away from him. 

He was grabbed and pulled away from the house, he struggled only briefly before his father hushed him. 

Odin struggled to stand, his one eye tearing up from the heat of the flames burning his weak retina.  

“Thor,” he said. “Run to the village- go to the ships and take the smallest one and return to Norway- your sister has already run, when you find her in the grasslands take care of her- make sure she’s safe-” 

There’s the sound of more men coming and Odin grabs Thor once more to shove him as far as he could manage. 

“I’ll see you again, do not scream my boy, make yourself small, and keep your pride at bay.” He turns to run back into the flames to distract from his son. “The Valkyries will be kind this time around, my dear Frigga is waiting for me in Valhalla.” 

The grass cuts Thor's legs and arms, and the burns on his feet sting as he stands again and begins to run. He didn’t turn to look but he heard his father and the fires that consumed him. 

The men seemed to have missed him and he looked around in the darkness of the night, hoping to see the silhouette of his sister.  

The village is burning, and the people are panicking. The Vikings glimmer from their destruction and Thor can do nothing but run toward the docks.  

The poor have met their fates by the new King. 

He rushes past weeping people and onto the wooden planks, the water is sloshing around the movements of the ships, and he looks around to find one for himself, hoping Hela has already left. 

He sees his friends on one of the larger ships,  Sif and Hogun yelling words he can’t hear.  

“Jump into the water! We’ll use the ropes-!” 

Thor is grabbed before he manages to break the water’s surface and the men who grabbed him drag him from the docks. He can hear Hela screaming, she struggles in the grips of other men and Thor tries to call for her but is punched before he can. 

He struggles, mouth cut and bleeding as he refuses to look away from his sister who’s being taken away from him. Her screams go distant as he calls for her.  

The sound of crackling fire clouds his mind and he’s knocked out with a heavy hit to his head. His strength weakened with the loss of Hela. 

They dragged him back to what was once the center of the village, forcing his head down by the neck.  

“How old?” His voice was gruff, older, and unkind. 

“Older than eighteen by the looks of it.” 

The older man takes his chin and forces Thor to look before he shoves his head back down.  

“We’ll sell this one, a new slave for a Viking Master.” 

At the word they bound him, wrapped his arms and ankles together, and gagged his mouth to prevent his bite. 

The Vikings were an unkind, and harsh people. Living for glory and dying young had been their way. They came quickly, like beasts they killed and ransacked their peaceful lives and ran off to give away what was not theirs. 

Thor could imagine his father doing this, it was either becoming a victim or choosing freedom in this age. Perhaps it had been harsher in his father's time. 

Beaten and still bound he had been tossed inside a wooden carriage, the wood blistering his back, breaking skin, and bleeding through his thin tunic. 

After the first few hours, he opened his eyes when the carriage hit a bump, making eye contact with the first man he had seen. He snarled like a dog, attempting to bare his teeth.  

The man laughed, patted his companion, and gestured to Thor at their feet. 

“Careful with that one, he’ll use his teeth.” 

The ride lasted four nights before the carriage slowed. Thor had been jostled, kicked, and dragged by the men. Fatigued and covered in bruises and pain from hunger, he feels nothing more than the rage in his chest. Still, even now, it consumed him. Blinded him with the need to wound others.  

Maddeningly, he thinks there might be hope.  

He's taken to the center of the new town of Denmark and dragged with other young men on a wooden bench. He is the only one gagged, bruised, and angry. The others looked worn, tired, almost ghostly. 

They are looked at and moved around, the men there ask questions to their seller, but Thor can do nothing but attempt to free himself, digging the rope deeper into his skin making them bleed. His ankles are swollen, and his mouth is dry from the rag in his mouth. His feet numb as the cold air and thin snow burn his toes. 

“The one on the far left.” An old man in grey furs and animal bone calls out and Thor pauses his restless hands to stare at him. His pupils were blown as he glared at him. 

“This one?” His seller hits his back with a cane, using the wood to force Thor to kneel seconds later. 

The man nods, “How old?” 

“Old enough,” he grabs Thor by the back of his neck. “He’s tall, he’ll grow bigger with time and training. Perfect for cutting trees, the Yard, building ships, and rowing vessels.” 

The wealthy man considered his words. “How much?” 

“250 silver.” 

“200.”  

"220.” 

“Done.”  

The wealthy man waves his hand and Thor is dragged toward the cage behind the stage and toward the tall carriage with bars. 

He isn’t released from his bonds, he's forced to go with the man who bought him. 

A conglomerate, a wealthy man who owned much land from his father before him. He had been in the slave trade business for only three years but had been doing well. His men lasted more than the average. 

Thor would be his next. 

Just as they approached the slave house the man who bought him grabbed his head and forced Thor to look at his eyes.  

“Listen here, boy.” He says, squeezing Thor's head in his hand. “I am your master, you will call me Master Harald, you’ll be well kept and well fed here, this is the new Slave House and where you’ll be training, working, and living. I’ve been told you’re a thief, if I find you stealing anything you’ll lose a hand,” he gestures to the east.

“There’s the vessel shop, that's the place where you’ll work.” 

He lets Thor go and walks alongside him, though he cuts the rope around his swollen ankles, hobbling by his side. “As a slave from a conquered territory, you have different liberties from the others in my trade. Most here are degenerates, condemned criminals serving their death sentences, those in debt to me, and fools attempting to gain meals and board.” 

“I give pity to those like you,” He continues, though Thor feels a blood vessel almost pop from the word. “You will be given fifteen percent of each vessel you build. Or, if I put you in the fighting ring. You earn extra after you enter the Yard, and to remind you, winning means keeping your life and killing your opponent unless the opponent is given leniency by their masters. After you earn a minimum of 20,000 silver from your earnings then I will be willing to grant your freedom.” 

“For now, you will begin working as soon as you’re able to walk.” He pauses, gripping the back of Thor’s scrawny neck. “How old are you boy?” 

Thor glares at him, the gag making his mouth even more dry. Harald pulls the gag out.  

“Twenty.” Thor grits his teeth. “Master Harald.” 

Harald stuffs the gag back in his mouth, pleased. “A year will be more than enough time to earn your winnings, twenty-one is to be a man after all.” 

Thor takes the words and stores them to mind. 

He was led down to the Barracks deep within the Slave House by other slaves, his struggle against the restraints forced them to drag Thor, his feet bared, and ankles still swollen, his skin scraping the ground as he was unable to walk. His mouth was still cruelly gagged, and wrists bound. 

He took deep breaths through his nose, looking around like a feral animal. A fever breaking his skin and his vision swirling. He tripped; the skin of his knee cut on a rock while the men holding him steady stared at him with pity. Thor was still a boy after all. And now a slave. 

Stew and fried pork. A meal Thor had grown tired of while in the Slave House, though the taste had become bearable having lived there for five months. Even Harald had taken a liking to him. Gave him extra meals after seeing Thor grow taller, the training building muscle on his thin frame. 

“I can see it,” he says, “Your name on the walls of the fighting yard, and the fools willing to bet of your loss.” Harald pats him on the back.  

Thor had kept quiet, his words stolen from him the day his life had been taken. He held onto the agony of the longing and the scent of the fire. There are times he wakes to the air black and his lungs unable to breathe. 

He eats silently as the others around him speak of the fighting yard, of who perished last, of the losses and winnings of those who had made expensive bets. He listens but has nothing to add of his own, he was merely a vessel builder training to enter the Yard, and nothing here had value to him. Another day of living had been good enough but even that has become a waxy sentiment.  

The year had been unkind, he tires easily but the sword he holds weighs little in the palm of his hand. 

He thinks of taking a life, if he’d be able to do it if put in the Yard, if the dying man would look at him with pity for having to continue living despite the dead spirit within him. The Vikings are brave men. He’s sure they don’t blink even at the sight of their deaths.  

Despite being considered the lowest social standing and having to be looked upon with distaste and segregated from the public they were admired and loved by the commoners for their bravery, and for the loyalty of their Masters. It was another reason why a few slaves here felt honored by the lowly title of a slave. To them, the world of dying young was equivalent to earned fame.  

His muscles ached but his mind has become numb to even this. Bearable indeed. 

Chapter Text

*

“The Jotuns…” Thor trailed off, feeling Loki’s back pressed against his as he read his books.  

“Hm?”   

Thor had been scrawny, a teenager by Asgardian standards, with messy hair and as tall as a man. He’s sure his back feels bony, not at all pleasant but Loki had grown accustomed to using him as a chair when they shared nights alone. These rare nights became both a blessing and a curse for Thor who felt too much around Loki, the nerves making him awkward and uncoordinated.  

Though, it seemed that Loki had never minded his strangeness.  

Thor’s crush had grown to obsession at this point, he prayed to the Norns Loki wouldn’t notice his desires written across his face.

“The Jotuns,” he starts again. Loki remains patient though it’s mostly due to the book in his hands. “They use Seidr to… make…”  

Thor finally gets Loki’s interest as he feels the other sit up, closing his book and setting it aside.  

“What is it?” Loki asks as Thor turns to face him.

“I… found one of my mother's books. Your kind, they can have children.”  

Loki nods. “Yes. As all living beings can. What are you trying to say, Thor?”  

“I mean, the Jotun men… they can also give birth-”  

He sees Loki’s face flush. His cheeks are pink turning to red as Loki avoids his gaze.  

“Why’re you searching for such things.”  

“No, I wasn’t searching I just saw it-”  

“And? What? Are you going to mock my kind? It's difficult to sire children in Jotunheim-”  

“No- I wasn’t going to mock-”  

“Then why-”  

“I thought it was impressive.”   

Loki pauses. His face was still red though he looked confused.  

Thor, still nervous, clears his throat. “I just wanted to learn more about you.”  

Loki hums after a moment. His face was only pink instead of the bright red it had been.  

“Just ask me what interests you then.”  

Thor swallowed.  

“Do you all have green eyes?”  

“Just me and my dam. The commoners usually have red or black eyes.”  

*  

His green eyes are familiar… and painful . Thor had never been one to analyze or try to understand things over face value. His dreams had always been thick, filled with another life, and he had only just begun to try and think of them now willingly. He had little else to do as a slave. 

He longs to see a being who doesn’t exist, a madman as his sister would call him. As if he wishes to find the Gods in everything, he hopes he’s not completely losing it.

He’s already lost himself. He begins even to doubt the Norns. If they truly did exist, why put him through agony? 

Though he remembers little from his dreams… or rather nightmares, the pain of them still follows him into the land of the wake. His voice was the one thing Thor could remember clearly after awakening from the dreams. Soft and stern, all-knowing and pragmatic. He wished to stay asleep to hear him, regardless of the words.  

This unknown being haunted him. Perhaps the Norns were speaking to him. More likely Hela was right and he’s losing his mind. 

The eating hall had been a never-ending room filled with noise. Of other men who spoke of useless stories, of their past before the Slave trade. Things with no meaning anymore. Perhaps Thor’s insanity was a nihilistic philosophy and he's running away from his thoughts.  

“Did you hear?” 

“What is it this time Frode.” 

“There’s been another vessel missing in the seas-” 

“Again with this-” 

“I’m telling you, the Serpent lives-” 

“Ships sink for many a reason. Enough with your tales.” 

Thor ate quietly, at times he’d listen to the others, but more often he listened to Frode. He always had something interesting to say. Though, a bit chatty for his tastes. Thor's been rather broody lately. Loss made him a brittle man. 

“They’re not tales- I’ll tell you all something you’ll want to hear.” 

The table groans and Frode tells them to shut up or he won’t say. Thor didn’t care either way, it would be nothing else but a tall tale. 

“Look,” He says, “I heard Harald speak with a traveler, the boy said the King himself would be at the next Yard fight. Said he’s looking for a warrior-” 

Thor pauses, the mention of the King brings a rage he thought had died within him. 

“Lies.”  

The men around the table already begin to ignore him, turning their attention to their food or another. 

“I don’t tell lies!” Frode slams the table with his hand, his temper making the other men tease him and his great reactions.  

When it quiets and Frode is forgotten Thor goes to sit next to him, just at the edge of the table. He places a hand over his shoulder startling the man. 

Frode turns to him, about to question his intentions before Thor opens his mouth. 

“You mentioned the King.” 

Frode pauses, smiling, finally, a willing audience. 

He tells Thor everything he hears. And, with the consequences of selfish intentions, Frode had made Thor his friend. 

Thor finds it in himself to allow this friendship to come to fruition, at least for the time being. 

* 

“Thor-” Loki shoved at Thor’s unwounded shoulder, weakly pushing him away but hardly moving the man.  

Thick with growing muscles, arms, and thighs covered in bruises and cuts that ran deep. His torso had been bandaged around his waist and up his right shoulder where Odin's Spear had pierced through. The magic of the weapon still burns through Thor’s body.  

Thor ignored Loki’s plea and pressed his sweaty face into his shoulder. His eyes closed tightly from the pain he was in. Loki’s cool skin a mercy to his fever.  

“Thor, I haven’t finished wrapping your wounds- my Seidr can only do so much against Odin’s magic-”  

“Leave them.”  

“Don’t be stubborn-”  

“I beg- leave them for a moment and let me breathe.”  

Loki pauses, his hands hovering over Thor’s larger body before they settle, feeling Thor sigh at his touch.  

“Your father will be unhappy if he finds me here,” Loki says.  

Thor refuses to move, his weight pressing Loki down on the bed.   

“I won’t let him harm you again.”  

Loki frowns and remembers the bruise he’d been given just a few weeks before, it had been over his left cheek, and the unsightly wound made his lovely face look ill for too long.  

Loki traces a finger over the fresh bandages, there’s blood seeping through already, the skin still raw and burning underneath the cloth.   

He rubs gently as the blood seeps onto the pads of his fingers. It’s sad, the purity that the color white represents can be so easily stained by another’s actions.  

Odin had been a grand King in his time. The man just doesn’t realize it’s no longer his time so he berates Thor for not being perfect and banished his firstborn for having been too much like himself. It frightened him to see the mirror within his daughter. Sending her away hoping he’d no longer see himself.  

Still, Thor would never become anything more than this. A kind man, a man who feels too much, his powers come from that nature alone. The skies had always been the same, feeling too much all at once. Loki had compared Thor to the lightning he brings, Thor had thought he was teasing but Loki seldom jests, though he doesn’t correct Thor when he does. It’s better that way.  

“I feel every ache you have.” Loki is quiet when he speaks, still tracing over the bandages and old scars on his back. He ignores the blood on his fingertips. “Just as you wish for my safety here in Asgard… I wish for your happiness, to see you well-”  

Thor opened his eyes, lifting his upper body to look at Loki. The Jotun stares back at him and Thor opens his mouth without thought, delirious from the pain.  

“You care for me.”  

Loki frowns at him again. “What fool wouldn’t be able to care about Thor Odinson.”  

Thor hesitates at his answer. “You care for me…because I am an Odinson?”  

Loki doesn’t answer for a moment, instead, he rests a hand on Thor’s head as the man lays back down.   

Loki’s silence suffocates Thor. His need to be more than just an Odinson made it hard to breathe and his pain only increases when he thinks of Loki’s kindness only being given to him because he was the next heir to the Throne.  

“I care for you as just Thor.” Loki finally says and Thor realizes he can breathe. “Frankly… being an Odinson is your only flaw.”  

Thor closes his eyes again. Falling asleep to the sound of Loki’s beating heart against his ear.  

*  

Thor wakes with phantom pain in his shoulder. He grits his teeth at the feeling. This dream bore into Thor, as if embedded into his skin- it's unrelenting- he opens his eyes and wishes for the dream to fade as it had always done. 

“Thor.” He turns to see Frode, standing over him and staring at him with concern. “You look ill. Maybe you shouldn’t fight in the Yard today-”  

“No.” Thor sits up, he’s covered in sweat, and his ache still lingers over his shoulder. Though the dream begins to fade and it’s given him some semblance of normalcy.  

“I’m alright. I’ve already told Harald of my eagerness. I can’t fail now.” 

“Look, I understand you’ve got something against the King- we all do- but you’ve never been trained for the Yard-” 

“It’s killing a man. What else do I have to learn?” 

Frode frowned. “You’re not even a man. You’re a year younger than me. Barely twenty-one and you speak of killing as nothing more than a means of getting what you want.” 

Thor agrees and gets ready. He had no reason to pretend he wasn’t selfish. He had no other wants but this rage to fulfill. He’s beginning to think the Norns had given him no other meaning aside from revenge and death. 

Harald had no qualms about allowing Thor to fight. Thor had grown within the year, as large as the other men. If he died, he’d collect Thor’s earned wage and be done with it, if he won, he took a percentage of the winnings. There’d be no loss on his part. 

The Yard was bigger than expected, it resembled a pit but with wooden blocks lining the ground and sides, and a small fence separating the participants and the audience. There were four levels of seating, the pit itself was deep enough where the tallest man standing inside would meet the high fence above his head. 

There were old blood stains littering the ground, some of it splattered on the fence, if Thor looked closer he’d be able to see strands of hair stuck into the wood. It smelled of iron and rot. It nearly made Thor nauseous.  

There had been light snow, the first of the season, and so the wood became damp, the wood soaked and any uneven ground would be hidden by the snow making mistakes much easier to make. 

Thor had been given a dull sword, old and brittle with age. He’s sure it was made just before his father was born and had grown slightly frustrated with the poor weapon he’d been given.  

He sets aside his own emotion to look to the filling seats, watching each man that entered with a sharp concentration. He felt as if he’d know who the King was if he saw him. But as each man entered and the fight began soon Thor was unable to tell who it could be. 

He settled his gaze over his opponent now that the first horn had been blown. Three rounds. If both men survived the first two the third must be completed within the first ten minutes or a fourth round would be added until one is beaten enough to consider it a failure on his part. 

Both masters of each slave would be given a chance to speak with them once after the second round. 

Thor held his sword tightly, staring at the other man. He took a deep breath and tried to remember what his father had taught him.  

*  

Asgard had been grand, huge, and all his. Even as a boy Thor had known. His father had promised him the throne. He had been thrown across the fields by his opponent, his father yelling by the sidelines, telling Thor to stand, to face the other like a man. He had been stabbed and bruised, the muscle of his upper arm split right down to his forearm and he held in the scream so his father wouldn’t see him weak.   

These are the days Thor wonders if he truly wants Asgard. If he had a choice would he still have wanted this life?  

Training and never-ending lessons from his aging father, an older sister banished and threatening war every century, and a mother who’s fallen ill.  

Thor wishes he’d been given a choice.  

A quiet life, he’d take Loki with him, somewhere where nothing would be able to find them, sharing a small cabin. He’d hunt for them, grow crops, and as he grew older, perhaps... Loki would want a child- he cut those pitiful thoughts from his head, not wishing to become depressed.  

Barely a young adult he had no hopes for such a calm life in Asgard. The son of the All-Father and the next heir to the throne.  

He limped to his chambers, his father would mock him again for going to the healers and so he aches in his room and cries when he can. He summoned Loki. The only being he can cry to without fear of mockery.   

He came just as Thor called. His black hair had grown long and down his back, framing his pale beautiful face. His eyes were bright green like the venomous snakes in Alfheim. His face was elegant like a cat's and a demeanor that matched.  

He looked nothing like Asgardians. Though his mother, Frigga, had explained long ago that he came from an ice land where his appearance aided in his survival Thor hadn’t been paying attention to her short lesson about the strange guest.  

Loki had been sent here as a representative, a peace offering to end the long war between Jotunheim and Asgard. And although Thor hadn’t liked his presence in the beginning, he grew to need the other. He hadn’t thought of anyone else to be with.  

“Odin has been pushing you too harshly.”   

Loki was a year younger than Thor. A cold being raised by his side and yet soft and kind in his own way.   

Thor cries. Though he tried not to, after all, he was a man now but Loki lets him hide his face in his tunic, holding him and waiting for him to relax.  

“Calm yourself.” He says. “All will be alright.”  

Thor believes him.  

*  

The horn blew and they were given respite. Thor had been cut over his forearm, the gash not deep enough to cause severe injury but the sting of it bit, and Thor felt the warm blood begin to cool as it slid down his arm. The cold made his blood slow. 

He breathes heavily, proud to have given the other more wounds than he had received.  

Harald stares at him, emotionless but Thor had considered that a good thing as Harald had been known to only show unpleasant emotions. So, nothing displeased him just yet. 

His opponent looked weary, almost lacking in spirit and yet he seemed unwavering. Self-preservation coursing through his unconscious mind pushing him through all of this even with a tired and wounded body. 

Unlike Thor, this man didn’t choose to come and risk his life.  

He glances at the audience, their merriment clear with their pitched voices and laughter surrounding the pit. 

The horn blew starting the second round and Thor turned to his unwilling opponent. Thoughts of any mercy for this poor life were gone when his rage came again. 

He bared his teeth. Lost himself in the memories and the unfairness of his life. Of his parent's death, of his empty soul tormenting him with age, of his sister's screams, of the dream’s unrelenting and painful- he thinks of the men who tied him, captured him, and his life as a slave.  

By the time he came to his senses, he realized his face felt warm and sticky, he looked to his arms and saw the deep shade of red covering his skin.  

Tainted by another’s blood, he’s breathing harshly. The crowds rumbling and cheering fall on deaf ears. He looks at them and can’t see their faces. 

He watches as Harald comes to him, smiling and proud. 

Thor looked to his feet and stared at the dead man. Mangled and twisted, a ruined being who had nothing and died for nothing.  

He returned to the Slave House a growing name, the newcomer with the strength of a Viking warrior, of a young man who held a berserker in his skin. Eyes filled with unrestrained rage. 

The King didn’t make his presence known. Not yet. 

Thor spent the night thinking of his murder. The thinking not lasting long but the flashes of blood and ripped flesh come to mind. For the first time he hears the agony, the screams of mercy his opponent had given before his end.  

Thor stepped outside to breathe fresh air, he looked at the stars to see if he’d find the Gods in them.  

He had been born a man with unchanging morals, he’d been told all day that he was born to hold a weapon to fight and kill, they had seen it. His eyes revealed his own denied truth. 

If it had been for glory- for anything else aside for entertainment- 

Thor doesn’t notice he’s shaking until he looks at his hands. The truth of human nature makes him sick- the scent of iron ingrains itself into him and mixes with the scent of fire. His mother must be watching him. Perhaps, Valhalla would be kind enough to hide her from him. His shame is exposed and vulnerable to the world as an open nerve. 

If judgment would be left to the Valkyrie’s he wonders what they think of forced murder to protect oneself from the power of a slave owner. If it were noble to end the life of another who was miserable in life. 

He must have three other selves. One who’s gone mad, another longing for the unknown, and a being filled with rage. 

He looks to the field of the House, the snow came down in heavy piles now. He’s unsure how long he’d been standing there. He stares at the wooden polls used to practice. His fingers, still shaking, begin to feel numb. 

He’d have to do it again. The King was looking for a warrior. 

Chapter Text

*
“I’m Jotun. We don’t hold hands as affection. Besides, your hands are too warm to hold. It’s off-putting.”

Thor takes his hand even if Loki looks at him with annoyance.

“My coronation day is in a week from now. Your brother didn’t receive any gifts for becoming the King in Jotunheim?”

Loki’s fingers are loose around Thor’s.

“Living is our gift. Our lands are harsh and cruel. If any child makes it to adulthood- let alone the next heir- we thank our ancestors for the life not taken.”

Thor hummed. “No celebration? What about when you become a man?”

Loki feels Thor’s knuckles, the bone thick and hard against the pads of his fingers.

“A small one. It’s when our Sires announce who we will be betrothed to.”

Thor pauses, his hand tightening slightly. “What?”

Loki looks up at him hearing the sudden strain in his voice.

“When you reach adulthood do you not wed the following year?” Loki asks, curious about Asgardian customs.

Thor ignores his question to ask his own. “And who are you betrothed to?”

This question used to haunt Loki. Before he had been chosen for Asgard he would have nightmares over being married off to Thrim, a boring man from the North, or even paired with Borros, a man who had been known to kill his brides over little matters.

There had been days when he would think of the man Loki’s father seemed to favor. Mimir. He shuddered at the name alone.

Mimir had been the son of a commander, an Aesir but was banished by Odin for his so-called ‘betrayal’ against Asgard. Once known as the wisest had become known as the most brutal, intelligent enough for Loki to notice, and... unforgiving.

The punishment Odin had given him affected the man. Loki doesn’t wish to see it in person.

Loki had been sure Mimir would’ve asked Laufey personally for Loki’s hand had his brother, Helblindi, not interfered and offered the idea of a Jotun representative to settle the war between their realms.

Loki was glad to see his father agree. After all, Loki had fully given Helblindi the throne without a fight.

Helblindi had made a deal with him of course.

To allow Helblindi the throne so long as he found a way to let Loki run from marriage.

He had fulfilled his part. Now, in Asgard, Loki needed to finish his plans.

He would run from Asgard just as Thor came onto the Throne. From there the realms would be settled with peace and Loki would be freed from the shackles of a boring, painful, and unforgiving life in Jotunheim as the Seidr Prince.

And he’d be free from Odin and the Asgardians’ pitiful existence for a never-ending glory that blinds them.

Thor had never been in Loki’s plan. Which seems to prove quite difficult to navigate seeing as Loki refuses to see the man as an obstacle.

Loki refuses to look at him, gaze fixed on Thor’s hand over his own. The touch comforting though strange.

“I am only a representative of Jotunheim. I do not need a betrothal.”

“Then I’ll have you as mine.”

Loki pauses, Thor’s hand no longer as interesting. “You can’t be serious-“

“I’ll have him approve. Father-”

“Your father-” Loki scoffs. “The King of Asgard would rather see the empire fall than have his beloved son take a Jotun as the Queen. Thor, I understand wanting to spite your father for his wrongdoings, but I would like to have a say in my life should I have a choice. I don’t wish to remain in Asgard for eternity.”

Thor frowns. “I don’t wish to wed you simply to spite my father. Loki.” He hesitates to place a hand over Loki’s fair cheek. Just as nervous as he was when he had first realized his feelings.

“I desire you. I wish to have you by my side until the end of time. If you wish to return to Jotunheim then I plan to allow you to stay there for each winter season, I only want your return. When I’m King-”

“When you’re King,” Loki is stern, voice unchanging but demeanor cold, “Your friends, your people, your family, every realm will talk of your decision, and you will find enemies for having me.”

Thor frowns. “Let them. Every realm will come to speak of my name regardless of whom I love. I only care about what you have to say.”

Loki furrows his brows, Thor’s voice low as he speaks.

It must have been a jest, Loki thinks,Thor, this beloved man of Asgard doesn’t truly wish to have Loki but a pet of Jotunheim.

Laufey had warned him of the falsities of shiny things. How not all that shines is gold and yet Loki can see Thor and his honesty.

He looks away from Thor, his pride wounded but not irreparable, he swallows, unsure of what to say.

He had known for some time. Thor had never been clever enough to hide his feelings. He had only assumed it would fade over time.

Centuries later, Loki believes he’s tricked himself into thinking Thor wasn’t the stubborn man that he had always been.

“You desire me?”

“Completely.”

“Then,” Loki pulled away. “I should expect you to find me.”

*

The next fight had passed much the same. He ignored his own emotions and dealt with the consequences in the night. He forced himself not to sleep. He didn’t wish to dream of another life, of a life not belonging to him.

He remembers bits and pieces of them now. With each day the dreams become clearer, it shakes him when he wakes.

He tries to remember what the person in his dreams looked like but can only remember the color green. Of the soft voice that lulled him into a sense of peace he’d never experienced in his life. Where he’s whole and the feeling of loss has gone away.

He wakes only to find it all false and his emptiness remains, holding him at the mercy of life’s torment.

He fails and falls asleep, dreaming of him and his cool touch. He wished the Norns would tell him what was missing. He wished to have someone guide him through his path filled with uncertainty and unconditional fear where he prayed his choices were correct and the world would become kind because of his winnings.

He prayed for truth and was given emotion.

The next morning he’s awakened by Harald himself. Early, before the sun rose, he’d been taken to the inner village, closer to the edge than the center, accompanied by only Harald, which was surprising, Thor would’ve thought he’d be escorted by his warriors. Harald still shows no signs of displeasure.

Thor says nothing, he’d been waiting, Frode had been telling him the King had been choosing carefully, how he had asked Harald himself to choose his finest warrior. Thor had known he would be chosen.

If he ever met Frode again he would thank the man.

The King had been hiding in peasant garbs, his face nearly covered with furs as the winds grew harsher. When they got closer, he lowered the furs and Thor was met with a man who looked younger than he’d been expecting. He looks just a few years older than Thor himself.

A tired look over his face and eyes that's seen too much.

His blond hair is long and tied back, his beard long and braided down to his chest, his brown eyes deep and his lips had a few scars on the right side of his mouth.

He stood shorter than Thor, still taller than Harald, when he took a step toward them Thor noticed the limp in his gait. A man from war it seems.

Given his demeanor, cold and knowing, he doesn’t smile even for pleasantries and remains neutral if not for the quick once-over he gives Thor. As if in disbelief that this was the same man he had witnessed in the Yard the last few times.

“A cold wind has hit the village… a storm comes.” He says, his voice deeper than expected with a crack in his words. He nods once to Harald who excuses himself.

Thor watches him leave, he turns to the King with a calculating stare. Like this, alone, and in the dark, he’d be able to kill the man and run, becoming a fugitive might be his path in life.

Running and hiding like a rodent or he’d die soon after, somewhere in a creek with his head halfway in the running water. Left for the animals and rotted in his grave where nothing would visit him. Alone just as he’s always been.

He’s unsure what difference it would make. Each choice would leave him a dead man, either literally or metaphorically.

He’s unable to make a decision, however, as the King takes out a familiar hammer from within his many layers of furs.

Thor freezes at the sight.

“A pity that the skies have been so unrelenting… it’ll make your journey much more difficult.”

He sets the hammer in between them startling Thor who frowns at him.

“What’s the meaning of this?”

The King looked to the woods. “I’ve known you… for many more years than you know of. I’ve known your father much longer.” He walks toward the tree line, there’s snow falling now, slowly and gently, a warning of what’s to come for the rest of the season.

Thor picks the hammer up, weightless and perfectly placed against his palm. He stares at the weapon with a frown. Anger rose as he remembered his father and the loss he’d suffered. He looks at the King and demands an explanation.

The King walks toward the tree line, choosing to ignore Thor’s growing wrath.

“There’s a cave.” He says instead. “Located West of Sweden by an ancient waterfall. Hidden behind trees, boulders, maybe illusions made from his Seidr.”

Thor follows, hardly listening as his mind is filled with questions. How long had he known his father? Why didn’t Odin mention this? Why take their hammer only to return it to Thor? What did he want from Thor to choose him? Why did he believe Thor to be so willing?

His hand clenches around the hammer. He stepped in front of the man and raised his hammer, pushing it against the man’s chest. Gritting his teeth, Thor says, “What do you know of my father? Who are you?”

The King didn’t blink at the threat. Uncaring for his outburst and used to having weapons pointed at him. “You have a sister.”

Thor falters, and his hammer lowers slightly.

“Hela Odinson. A tall woman with dark hair and a temper.” He moves aside Thor’s hammer and continues toward the path in the trees. “Do as I say and she’ll be released… run and I’ll have her sent to a friend as a thrall.”

Thor lowers his hammer completely. He’s breathing heavily at the thought of his sister. Still alive and imprisoned.

“Who are you,” Thor asks again.

Overwhelmed with information with no answers. He’s confused, angry, and full of fear. Emotions he’d been quite familiar with as of late but hit him hard nonetheless.

He looks back. His frown altered his scars. “You can call me King Mimir. The man your father betrayed.”

Thor freezes. An old enemy from his father's raids?

“My father raided long ago- you held onto meaningless hatred for this long-“

Mimir laughs. His deep voice makes it sound as if he were forcing himself. “I was no victim to a raid.” He again, walks down the path, there’s the sound of the ocean crashing against the shore in the distance, getting closer.

“Before Ragnorak. When Asgard was new and Odin, the All-father, still had many enemies he accused me of treason- of aiding the Giants. All because I desired the Jotun prince, Loki. He cast me aside, tortured, and nearly severed my head. Your father blamed me for his insanity. I’ll have his son do my bidding as compensation in this life.”

Thor believed he was listening to a madman. Listening to the king ramble like an old storyteller confusing life and fiction.

“You’re mad.” He says, nearly breathless.

“Call me what you like. Your father had been just as mad.” They reach a shore, resting in the waters is a small boat, rocking against the waves. The snowfall covered it in a thin layer of white. 

“Loki stands tall, thin, with pale skin and deep green eyes…” he pauses, the words reminding him of the beauty he’d seen before, during court, he remembers watching Loki as he stood by his father, the King of Jotunheim, as the young prince listened carefully to the proceedings and how delicate he seemed dressed in the flimsy royal garbs of Jotunheims court.

He continued. “After my years of searching, I found he’d been imprisoned in a cave, bring him to me by the next season and you’ll be given the leniency the All-father didn’t give me.”

Thor watched the boat sway. He’s unsure if he should believe this madness, rather, what choice did he have? Either return to the Slave house knowing his sister suffers an arguably worse fate or go and find this man the King wishes to have.

“You wish me to bring you a thrall for my sister’s freedom?”

The man watched the sea just as Thor did. His face was calm and pale.

Rotten and decaying, a man full of maggots from the past eating him from the inside out.

Thor wonders what his father had truly done to this man… and why was it his burden to bear?

“A season. That is all the time I will give you. Fail and I’ll have you hunted and killed. Your sister will suffer the same fate as the other women from your village. I’ve bought your freedom, I’ll be giving you only half of what you were worth to help your journey.”

Thor stared at the swaying boat. He’s empty. A measly human without meaning,  he follows what the world wishes him to do.

The sea is calm in the first few hours. The skies continue to drop snow and the winds are harsher out on the waters.

With his hammer, a small bag of food, coins, and mead prepared by Harald, he packed what little he had from the Slave House.

The King had paid his debt and so Harald had no complaints, only a little bit of sadness came over the man’s face.

Surprising them both, Harald had come to like Thor. Though they had spoken little, with one hard pat on his shoulder Harald bid Thor goodbye.

The boat made little sound, the ice water tapping the sides gently and the floating ice moved away as he passed through the waters.

Sweden would be a five-hour sail, but the finding of a man can be a months-long affair, true, he can run and start anew there.

Forgetting all he’s lost, forgetting he’s ever had a sister, and forcing himself to mourn quietly. He’d call himself by a new name… but what would be the difference?

Thor Odinson had been a dead man for a while and nothing would change reality. He had nothing and would bring nothing. A nobody left for dead in a Slave house.

Thor watched as the boat sailed. Small enough to get passed harsh bouts of wind, the snow fell less and less as he traveled.

Then what else? He asked himself. What more would he do in life? What should he expect from life if not more loss? Or what was life expecting him to be?

Freedom would do little to quench his ache.

More freedom would mean a more meaningless life. At least as a Slave, he had a role given to him.

He drinks slowly, and leisurely as he sails closer to the Swedish shore. The mead in his mouth is too sweet, Harald put too much honey in the batch.

As he reached the land he tied the boat to a rotting dock, the wood creaking loudly under Thor’s heavy footsteps, he strapped the hammer on his side by the packs he’d been given and began his journey.

*

“My King.”

Thor had been drinking late into his coronation, the day had been filled with laughter, and happiness, even as Odin stared at his son with no expression on his face Thor ignored him.

He’ll see what displeased his father soon enough, for now, he would enjoy his last day of freedom.

“Yes,” He turned, the drink in his hand filled for the fifth time that evening. “What is it?”

The advisor looked weary and concerned, he glanced over at Odin.

“It is the representative,” He says and Thor’s smile becomes hesitant. He lowers his drink to lean closer to the man.

“He can’t be found, it seems the Jotun vanished shortly after your coronation.”

Thor stands, his drink forgotten and spilling across the table. The people don’t notice, too deep into their merriment as Thor’s chest grows heavy.

“Kidnapped?” Thor questions.

The advisor shakes his head, keenly aware of Thor’s growing anxiety.

“His chambers show he had left willingly. He’s packed a few books, clothing, anything of personal value is missing.”

Thor looks around and glances at Odin who stares at them with a knowing eye.

When he arrives at Loki’s door he hesitates. The thought of opening this sacred room to find nothing of Loki made him retreat. He remembers the week prior.

“Then, I should expect you to find me.”

Thor turns away from Loki’s chambers. Slamming the doors of Heimdall’s dome with a glare.

“Show me where he hides.”

*

Thor wakes startled and surrounded by trees. He looks around in a panic, feels for his hammer, and finds the handle. He’s lost his food and mead but his coins remain and he can feel the sweat run down the side of his head.

The snow on the ground was packed and nearly crushed into ice.

He’s breathing heavily, his unbraided hair is a mess over his shoulders and he can’t remember how he came to be in the middle of the woods.

He remembers only walking onto Sweden, finding a small wooden sign directing visitors to a small village toward the mountains, and leaving to gain more supplies, perhaps a shelter for the night.

After, it’s all a blur, a mess of memories mixing with dreams, lies, and truth swirling together and ruining his mind.

He stands in a panic, ignoring his dizziness, and points the hammer in front of him, turning toward any sound he hears.

“Look,” she said, her voice soft and chilled. Thor turned to the voice but saw nothing aside from thick trees and snow.

Frightened and confused he grits his teeth and forces himself not to shake.

“How odd… Urd you’re correct. The thread can’t be found, yet here he stands-” Another, her voice pitched higher than the last.

“In the flesh again- Verdandi, Urd, we must find the thread, he still lives.” A third voice interrupts, her voice deeper than the other two, an accent making her words more pronounced.

“He’s still a God Skuld, a thread that should’ve already ended with Ragnorak- even the All-father perishes in the mortal world-”

“True Verdandi but Thor did not perish in Ragnorak, this man is no mortal. Loki lied…again.” Her voice trembled with rage, the ground shook with her words and Thor nearly stumbled.

“Do not speak in anger Skuld, that child has always ridiculed fate,” Urd said.

“And this will be his last,” Skuld replied.

Thor can feel his chest become heavy, his vision blurs the longer he tries to focus on the strangers but finds himself lost in the sea of trees.

He swallows, “Show yourselves!” Yelling at them in hopes that he would be able to see them.

There’s a pause, the forest becomes silent, and Thor can only hear the sound of his breathing.

A small shuffle but he’s unable to hear any sound of someone walking on snow or moving dead branches so he feels uneasy and nearly nauseous.

“Should we Skuld?” She asks.

“No Urd, he’s no use when his memories are scattered.” Again, he hears rustling. “Let us return to Yggdrasil, we have much to do.”

Thor’s unable to support himself any longer and passes out on the snow once again, his hammer landing with a thud by his side.

When he awakens once again, he’s on a cot, his torso is bare and he’s overheated. His skin is too warm and his head pounds each time he blinked.

He looks around from the cot and finds himself in a wooden home. The window closed tightly with the shades pulled over it he’s unable to see if the sun is out.

He sits up and locates his hammer at the foot of the cot. His clothes were folded over a chair in the corner.

Thor breathes heavily. Swallows and finds his throat dry. He blinks a few more times and tries to remember what has happened. Those voices, he recognized them but unsure how and from where.

There’s a heavy feeling in his chest, and the thoughts are unwavering, it felt as if he were watching a bunch of words fly over his head and was given the sordid task of being the one to put them together.

He looked around once more, there’s little in the room, a cot, a chair, a dresser, a small window, and one simple painting of a giant serpent in the waters.

A travelers hostel. Though he doesn’t remember ever setting foot here or even paying for the room. He sets aside those thoughts and gets dressed to find something to eat and drink, his food pouch still missing he takes his hammer with him.

Opening the door, he finds it eerily quiet. The halls were dark and the candles had been lit. He glanced around the interior and found it strange.

Though he’s unsure what unsettles him. He decides to forgo food and drink to leave instead.

He walks down the steps to find the keeper and sees a short, stout old man sitting behind a desk and reading something in a language Thor recognizes to be old Norse. His father taught both him and Hela the language to keep the custom alive.

It’s strange, however, to find the dying language here of all places. He ignores this premonition too.

“I’ll be leaving.”

The old man looked up; his eyes narrowed upon seeing Thor as he set the paper down.

“You paid for the night. If you plan to leave before then I won’t be giving you a refund.”

Thor frowns. “That’s alright... if I may ask, how long have I been here?”

The old man narrows his eyes again, looking at Thor like he is one of those strange young homeless wanderers chasing the make-believe.

“You’ve been here for only a few hours. It’s the middle of the night with a storm coming. Are you sure you want to forego the night and have yourself lost and dying from frostbite?”

Thor pauses and glances at the front door before looking back at the old man. He felt his gut become heavy once again. He’s had his memory relapse before but never to this extent or for long periods.

He turns with his hammer back toward the stairs even though he can feel his instincts telling him to leave. A ghost hand attempting to guide him outside and far from these lands.

“Forgive me, I must’ve slept too long. I’ll return to my room.”

The old man watches him go back up the stairs before he turns his attention to the paper he’d been reading. The words at the top read ‘To Thor Odinson’ the only words he could read.

Practically glared at the letter before folding it up and placing it in the guest box. It was rare to have letters be delivered but it happened on some occasions, families knowing their loved ones would be here at certain times would send them to make sure they arrived safely.

But never were the letters unreadable and sent months before the guest arrived.

Sighing, the old man felt as if asking questions would force him into a disagreeable situation so he forgot about it and returned to counting the till.

He’d make sure the letters would be delivered come morning before the guests awaken.

Back in the room, Thor sat on the cot, trying to remember what had happened. He’d forgotten too much. It makes him weary and makes him feel even more like the God’s plaything.

He thought about the voices. What they had said but nothing made sense and he didn’t even see a living person.

He swallowed, maybe those voices were in his head.

Perhaps in his desperation to escape life, his mind protected him by forgetting things and invented voices to give him a false sense that he wasn’t alone.

“Madness,” he says. His voice sounded unfamiliar and distant alone in this room. He stands up and opens the curtains to find nothing but the dark skies shining on the falling snow. He can hear the storm getting stronger matching his panicked state.

He needed to find this man quickly before he forgets everything and becomes completely mad.

If not for himself for his sister. He promised his father he’d keep her safe. His mother would be disappointed.

Thor almost felt ready to give up. It was too much. Yet he knew if he were to become a runaway of life, he’d have no reason to live at all.

What suffering should he choose between those forced upon him? Either continue and risk his madness or run and die a worthless man.

He took deep breaths. Sat back down on the cot and calmed himself further.

Closing his eyes he ran a hand over his hair and found it close to matted. Opening his eyes he looked to the bathroom.

Standing he took his clothes off and entered the tub of hot water. Sighing when he let his muscles relax.

He let the water overrun, some of it dripping onto the floor. Uncaring he leaned back and felt his hair get caught between his back and the tub.

Stepping out of the bath he lets the water drip down onto the floor, he stares at himself in the mirror before reaching for the razor by the sink. Slowly, he cuts his hair and lets it drop onto the sink, over his toes, and down his chest and face.

He cuts and cuts until his long hair becomes short and close to his scalp. Blinking he goes back to the water and renews his bath. Washes away the last bits of dirt and hair before he goes back to the room dry and packed what little he had.

The sun barely rises when he sets foot by the front desk again, just before he leaves the keeper stops him.

“Young man.”

Thor freezes, unsure at first if he’d been the one called. He turns to see him holding out a letter.

“Someone’s been expecting you it seems.” He sets the letter down on the desk, sitting down with a heavy breath. “Don’t forget to take it before you set off… it’s a rough winter season this year, best be on your way before the sun falls.”

Thor frowns, takes the letter, and thanks the man before leaving.

Once outside he looks around, a small village, he can hear a stream a short walk west from there. The hostel was smaller than he’d thought.

The wood rotted in parts, the carved pieces had missing limbs, and the steps felt weak under his weight.

He crushes the letter into his pocket. Perhaps, Frode had sent it to him. He refuses to acknowledge it any longer in fear that it was not actually for him. He wouldn’t be able to bear the loneliness of reading words meant for someone else.

The skin of his throat felt exposed, the chill easily wrapping itself around his head now that he’d cut his hair.

He held no regret in it however, it felt as if he’d become a new man. The people here don’t know him, he’s a ghost no matter where he went, with nothing to prove that he’s lived a past or was waiting for a future.

He walks through the soft snow, the sun is still dim enough that he’s the only one awake. He can hear animals rustle in their pens, and the birds calling out, he can see the pine trees carrying piles of snow and turns toward the nearest shop he can see.

The shopkeeper startles hearing Thor walk in, still preparing for the day he coughs before standing behind the counter.

“How can I help you? We’ve just opened so what you need might be in the back.”

Thor looked around without saying anything. He grabs a knife with a carved raven for a handle, he reaches for any food that looks non-perishable regardless of the taste and a leather flask.

“Just these.”

The man collects his things and gives him a price. Thor pays, and still having much of his money he adds a smaller razor to keep his beard in line.

He leaves the shop just as fast as he walks in and is met with a street hound.

A beast, reaching Thor’s waist with black fur, a missing eye with a scar across his face, his ear had been cut in half and his fangs long with an intimidating maw.

Thor freezes. Though ugly and intimidating Thor found himself comforted by its presence.

As if greeting an old friend. He felt a strange mix of endearment toward the beaten creature.

He reached down and petted it. The hound relaxed easily into his touch.

Thor walks again, toward the trees and the beaten trail that lingered in between. He can hear the hound follow but does nothing to stop him.

Thor walked with his new companion, the air dry and cold made his throat sore so he took his new flask and filled it with the nearby stream, drinking from it before refilling it again.

Prepared, he leaves the trail, and again, the hound follows. As if knowing where Thor intends to go the dog waits for him at times, other times he leaves Thor’s side for moments at a time.

Thor didn’t mind the constant reappearance. It was a welcome distraction from the ache of his legs and arms.

Like this, he finds it easier to become overwhelmed by decisions made for him by others.

At times he gets spikes of anxiety thinking of his recent memory loss, fearing sleep had become something new.

He was afraid he’d awake to something distressing; to become lost in dreams too realistic not to be, he breathed the Swedish air deeply.

He can feel his fatigue hitting him. Withstanding sleep could only work for so long before he begins to lose himself and blurs the lines of truth and dreams.

When the sun begins to set, he finds a clearing and starts to collect wood for a fire. It was difficult at first as the wood had been soaked through but after a while, the fire grew and settled as Thor stoked it alive from time to time.

The dog came to sit by his side, lying down near the fire as he rested his heavy head atop Thor’s feet. He yawns as Thor pets the side of his damaged ear.

He watches as the dog relaxes further, regardless of what he’d been through the dog still surrenders at a gentle touch.

Thor thinks of his wounds. Of the men, he’s killed for pure entertainment. He thinks of his sister.

They had never been close, nothing truly connected them but blood. Thor felt obligated to protect her yet knew he felt nothing more.

He’d been relieved to hear of her survival but that relief had been selfish. He was glad he wasn’t the only one who had to suffer the loss of their parents, friends, and village. Hela knew what he felt.

The distaste of his selfishness- of the inner grief of knowing the truth made him feel almost nauseous. His father had raised him to be a man, a leader, something akin to a King. But all he is is a weak man who holds no meaning in life.

“Tell me, friend, what would you have done in my position?” he asks the hound as it breathes deeply, close to sleep.

Thor smiled watching the dog fall sleep. Calm and gentle he looked. Thor wondered who would’ve been able to harm such an innocent creature.

He stares at the fire crackling, unable to sleep though his eyes are heavy.

He thought of the hostel he’d been in and just as he remembered the letter he looked up and found himself completely alone.

The fire was nowhere to be found and the hound was gone. It was dark and he could see nothing aside a dim light in the distance.

Panicked he stands and reaches for his hammer only to find it missing too.

“You’re bleeding.”

Thor freezes, seeing a young man. Tall and thin, his black hair slicked back, his green eyes deep with concern.

He flinches when he sees another young man right next to him. Blond, blue eyes with a deep cut down his bare chest. His breath stutters seeing himself.

The other walks toward the blond, placing a gentle hand over the bleeding wound, the tips of his fingers touching his heated skin.

Thor holds his breath watching. This felt private. Too much to witness but he found no willpower to look away from the brunette siren.

“Hold still… really, the All-father is too much.”

“It was my fault- I wasn’t paying attention-”

There’s a dim light flowing from the brunette's hand, it looks like transparent green silk, soft and flowing.

It was witchcraft, Thor knew but felt no fear watching as the blood flow slowed, the cut healing before his eyes.

“Enough.”

“You’re still bleeding, just let me finish-”

“He’ll see. He’ll find it filled with your Seidr and I won’t let him harm you over my weakness as a man.”

“Childish reasons not to aid yourself first. Thor allow yourself this one moment of serenity-”

“I said enough.”

The brunette looked at him angrily before turning and walking away, a door slams behind him and Thor watches as the sight diminishes.

He begins to breathe heavily. Alone again he looks around and sees the dim light and instinctively pursues it.

It seemed as if the light only grew further, he passed other mirages of memories- or dreams- ignoring them so as not to lose sight of his course.

He blinks quicker, he can feel beads of sweat run down his neck and forehead.

As if someone had covered a candle with glass the light gets dimmer and dimmer and by the time it vanishes, he falls into a forced slumber. Slumping down onto his knees before falling face first.