A God Adrift: THORHAMMER (WHF/Thor Quest, Story Only Thread)

[KarmaA]

It's good. All of it.

 

[TheWiseTomato]

Thor spotted the waiting longship before they spotted him, though it was a near thing. It was, after all, somewhat difficult to miss the uprooted tree flying through the air seemingly of its own accord. He began to bleed altitude, coming down by the river's edge near the longship. The tree settled to earth with a thump, shaking off dirt from its roots and pale faced warriors from its branches.

Wolfric was the first to 'disembark', the one eyed man half falling in his haste. He lay on the snow, staring up at the sky and uncaring of the cold given the multiple extra layers he wore, taking deep breaths.

Tyra was the second, staggering off after untying the rope that secured her to the tree. "Never again," she swore, green eyes wild as they roved to find Thor, tearing the cap she wore from her head. Her red hair had been shorn short, with only a few inches remaining on top. "I care not for your power. You will never take me into the skies again."

"The journey was not that bad," Thor said, laughing it off. He hesitated as he watched the other ten warriors free themselves from their ride, many mimicking Wolfric and making as much contact with the ground as possible. "Was it?" he asked uncertainly.

Tyra gave him a final scorching look, and not the good kind, before turning to the longship that waited just off the bank. Those aboard had already started reacting to their presence, running a gangplank out to the shore. "These are our allies?"

"They come from two of the other villages in the area that suffered under the Aeslings, yes," Thor said.

Tyra grunted, and made to help secure the gangplank. Like the others who had taken Air Thor, she was covered in even more furs and hides than usual, but under them she wore armour looted from slain raiders. She was not alone in doing so; the others wore better armour than any most had worn in their lives, if only for the breadth of coverage. From what Thor could see of those on the ship, they had done similarly. Their force would not lack for protection, at least.

"Thor!" came a call from the ship. Gunnhilde raised her spear to him as he turned to look, and he raised his axe in reply. She hopped over the rail to run along the gangplank, heading for him.

"Who is that?" Wolfric asked, pushing himself to his feet.

"That is Gunnhilde, the first of my Valkyries in this land," Thor said.

Wolfric stumbled. "Your what?"

"My Valkyries," Thor repeated. "Defenders of the innocent, warriors true."

The one eyed man gave him a queer look.

"I'm sorry, you cannot become one," Thor explained. "Only a woman can be a Valkyrie. I was heartbroken when I found out as a child."

"Gunnhilde is your first?" Wolfric confirmed.

"There is another," Thor said, and Wolfric tensed, "but she is not of this world. Her name is Brunnhilde." He stopped, considering. "Amusing, how that works out. Brunnhilde and Gunnhilde. You would like her, I think."

"Then it must be so, god of thunder," Wolfric said, just as Gunnhilde reached them.

Whatever greeting Gunnhilde had been about to give Thor, she was distracted by Wolfric's words. "You know Thor for a God?" she asked. Around them, the others began to approach the gangplank.

"I do," Wolfric said, eyeing her. "He saved my life, and that of my sisters."

"He broke my chains and let me loose on those who killed my family," Gunnhilde said.

"I saw him purify a well spoiled by the Unclean One," Wolfric said, turning to face her fully.

"He hallowed a spear cursed by the Hound and granted it to me to wield," Gunnhilde retorted.

Wolfric made to reply, only to stop and scowl, glancing at the fine spear she bore. His hand lingered on the simple axe at his hip.

A smug look was his answer, at last until a large hand was clasped on both their shoulders.

"Play nice, children," Thor said. "It took the belief that you both hold for me to achieve what I have."

The two looked away from each other, just like the squabbling children being scolded that they were to him. "Aye, Lord Thor," they both answered.

Something seemed to occur to both of them.

"Is our belief that strong?" Wolfric asked, doubtful.

"We are not your only believers, surely," Gunnhilde said.

"Astrid and Elsa believe as well," Thor was quick to point out. They were alone now, the other warriors going about the business of boarding the ship.

There was a pause, and Gunnhilde turned to Wolfric with a question on her face.

"My sisters," Wolfric said to her, before glancing at Thor. "You are a newborn god? But…you turned the gaze of the Schemer from us."


"I am certainly not newborn," Thor said, puffing up. "I have fifteen centuries under my belt! I am only new to this world."

"You strode fresh from the Realm of the Gods," Gunnhilde said. Her faith was still strong, but Thor could feel her uncertainty as she absorbed this information.

"How new are you?" Wolfric demanded. "When did you come to our world?"

"Oh, about five minutes before I met you," Thor said.

"...I prayed for aid from any who would listen as we fled," Wolfric said.

"Fortunate timing," Thor offered. He wasn't sure he liked where this was going.

"You appeared as I prayed for a chance to slay that guard," Gunnhilde said. "You named yourself the protector of mankind."

"Yeeeessss," Thor said, drawing the word out.

"We called for help, and you answered," Wolfric said.

"I cannot be summoned through prayer," Thor said, but they didn't appear to be listening.

"Not newborn, but new to this world," Wolfric said, sharing a look with his fellow believer. "Our belief is truly that valuable to you?"

"You are vulnerable," Gunnhilde said, realisation in her words. "Faith is strength, and we are your main sources."

"I do not control the storm through faith," Thor said.

The pair stared at him, frowning as they attempted to understand.

"You fight the other gods with our faith as fuel," Wolfric said. "You were wearied, after you banished the Schemer."

"And after you hallowed my spear," Gunnhilde said. "I was spent, but I saw."

The pair shared another look, laden with meaning.

"We will find you more believers," Wolfric declared.

"All will know the might of Thor," Gunnhilde said, tone ominous.

Thor swallowed, unpleasantly reminded of the end of his first days on Midgard. "Belief will come from my deeds. I will earn it, or I will not."

Wolfric shook his head. "But what if -"

"Then I shall meet them with steel and storm," Thor said, patting Stormbreaker. "My believers will choose to worship me."

"You will break chains, and protect the innocent," Gunnhilde said suddenly. "And they will know who to thank."

"I will," Thor said, "but that is not the reason I do it."

"You do it because the innocent need protecting," Gunnhilde said.

Thor smiled at his Valkyrie. She understood.

Wolfric ran a hand over the stubble on his head. "You were insistent that I acknowledge you as a god, after you turned the Schemer's eye," he said, seeking to understand.

"You needed hope," Thor said, "and you wanted to believe. I felt your sincerity at the well."

Wolfric nodded, thinking deeply.

Thor watched the pair of them. He could feel the bridge of their faith to him, still strong and true, now tempered by a truer understanding of where the world stood. Their connections deepened, and he could feel it leading to the well within him, gradually refilling after hallowing the spear. In time it would be full, and then it would grow. Slowly, and not as swiftly as gaining new believers, but grow it would.

"Lord Thor!" came the call.

Thor turned to see Harad leaning on the rail, all the warriors he had brought aboard and waiting. The old man looked pointedly at him, before glancing up at the sun. It was low in the sky, already well into the afternoon, and they still had a journey ahead of them. He raised an arm in acknowledgement, and began to make for the gangplank.

"Is that Harad of the Axe?" Wolfric asked suddenly as he followed.

"I had not heard the title, but that is Harad," Thor said, glancing back at him.

Wolfric spoke no further, but his eyes tracked the man as he walked away from the rail, giving orders to his men. There was no malice in them, but they hid something all the same.

"Come," Thor said to the pair of them. "The sooner we depart, the sooner we free the town." He led the way up the gangplank, and his believers followed. He had a bounce in his step.

X

Vinteerholm was no city, but it was magnitudes greater than the small villages Thor had seen so far. Nestled against a broad, slow flowing section of the river, it had clearly grown outwards as its population demanded, town planning clearly completely foreign to them. Angled streets, untidy rows of buildings, a tannery deeper into the town than he suspected the residents would like; it seemed those that lived here had put all their efforts into maintaining the wall that surrounded their home. From where he lurked just beneath the clouds, he could see where previous iterations had been torn down as the town had expanded in the past. Quarried stone and thick lumber offered residents a reassuring defence, but it had not been enough when the Aeslings came to call.

Some few rickety docks had been built on the riverside, and it was here that the Aesling longships had been berthed, three vessels tied off where there should only be small fishing boats. It appeared that the raiders had taken the gate closest to the river by force, for they hung open, splintered, as if shattered by a mighty blow. He could still spy bodies here and there, some hanging from the walls, some left to freeze where they fell. The clouds, already ominous, darkened further. Though it was mid morning, it felt closer to dusk, and the rumble of thunder warned of a storm to come. Few walked the streets, and those that did either scurried quickly or swaggered. In the centre of the village, a bonfire roared, and the doors of the nearby longhouse were open, a steady stream of warriors flowing in and out.

Thor had seen enough. He turned upriver, and flew to join his companions. It was time to liberate Vinteerholm.

When he reached his comrades, they still waited upriver where he had left them, eager and waiting. Two score men and women, armed and eager for blood and vengeance. Gunnhilde and Wolfric were the first to look up, some instinct telling them of his approach, and the others followed their lead. He set down on the deck, a small circle of space growing around him.

"What word?" Tyra asked, eyes hungry for news. Her hand was stroking the edge of one of her axes subconsciously.

"The Aeslings make merry in the longhouse," Thor said. "They've a bonfire in the square, but few roam beyond it."

"Numbers?" Harad asked. He wore his sleeveless steel armour, double headed axe peeking over his shoulder, and a skullcap of iron.

"Three dozen in the square, but more hidden," Thor said. "There are three longships by the docks."

Tyra scowled, clenching a fist. "They came with six."

"Those three, one destroyed, one captured…one missing," Wolfric said. He had taken the armour worn by a man whom Thor remembered decapitating. There was a sword at his hip and a round shield on his back.

"How many men to a longship?" Thor asked.

"Depends how well they can get along," Harad said. "Could be forty, could be four times that."

"Well, I suppose it doesn't matter," Thor said. "They'll die all the same."

The drumming of feet and growling cries were his answer.

"Just down the river, Vinteerholm waits," Thor said. "In it are raiders and murderers, preying on those who cannot defend themselves."

"Innocents," Gunnhilde said. She wore splint mail, and leaned against her spear.

"Just so," Thor said. "For their crimes, there can only be one punishment."

"Death!" Tyra said, pounding a fist on the ship's rail, and her spirit was echoed by many others.

"Our foes number less than three hundred," Thor said, "but there were five thousand souls before they came. No matter their ferocity, they cannot fight the entire town."

"You think they have taken hostages," Harad said, voice grim.

"Likely children," Thor said. "I have seen it before. Easy to control, and the surest way of cowing their parents. Killing the raiders is the lesser goal here today."

There was some murmuring as his words sunk in, but none gainsaid him. They all knew what it was to be at the mercy of one stronger, some more than others.

"I will rescue them," Gunnhilde declared. "As a Valkyrie of Thor, I will take this task."

Thor nodded approvingly. "Tyra," he said, turning to the woman. "Where would they keep their hostages?"

"The longhouse has storage basements," the redhead said. "Hard to get to, locks on the doors. If they've claimed it, that's where they'll keep them."

"The longhouse is the most defensible point," Harad warned.

"And that is why we will lure them out," Thor said. "Once we have thinned their numbers, we will move into the town as a group, splitting when we hit the centre. Harad, the square is yours to hold. Wolfric, you will take the longhouse. Tyra, you will guide Gunnhilde to the likely hostages, and kill any raider that gets in her way." The muscled woman likely would have objected to being told she was on guard duty, but she bared her teeth in a grin at his words. It was all in the phrasing.

Nods and grunts were his answer, all accepting his directions, though some glanced first to Harad.

"How do you mean to draw them out?" Harad asked. He glanced up at the storm clouds, darkening still. "Those who follow the Hound do not respect wizards and their magics."

Thor smiled, nostalgic and sharp. "I will do as my brother would, and ask nicely," he said.

X

Thunder boomed, leaving silence ringing in its wake. But then there came another kind of booming, a voice rising over the walls of Vinteerholm.

"They tell me you Aeslings worship the Hound,
So I went to the kennels, and that's what I found!
Your father I saw, his desires unclean,
Rutting away, how I wish I'd not seen!
You've the face of a dog, for which no maiden could care,
With your bitch of a mother, you surely do share!"

Thor rocked back on his heels, unable to help the smile on his face. Loki would have despaired over his verse, he was sure, but he cared not. He would pay tribute to his memory in his own way, and if that meant hurling abuse at his foes in terrible rhyme, that was what he would do.

The quiet stretched out after his words faded away, and he could feel those behind him exchanging looks.

"Do you think they heard him?" someone asked quietly.

"Can't just say it again, you'd sound a fool," someone else answered.

Suddenly, the gates began to creak open, and a small party of warriors were revealed. A dozen strong, armed and armoured, but some held tankards or food. Many seemed to be steaming in anger, but when they saw the forty odd warriors waiting outside, their ardour cooled.

"Fuck you!" one of them roared.

"You're supposed to say it in verse!" Thor shouted back.

The man only seemed to swell further, stepping out past the gate and jabbing a finger at them. "You fat cunt!"

Thor sighed, deeply. "No, no…this is how you're supposed to do it." He cleared his throat.

"Thy mother was akin to a hamster,
For she couldn't keep her pants up,
Thy father was limp but merry,
And overly fond of elderberry!
You've many brothers, but he one son,
'Twas your mother who had all the fun!"

The Aesling gaped at him, ale foam dripping from his beard as his face reddened rapidly.

"Now you try," Thor encouraged him.

A scream was his only answer, and then the raider was charging towards him.

Thor held back another sigh. He could hardly expect flyting to be a tradition everywhere he went, but he would at least hope to find some culture. "Wolfric."

The one eyed man stepped forward like he had been waiting for it, putting himself between the Aesling and his God. He made no move to draw his sword or pull his shield from his back, even as the raider neared and drew back an axe. The foe gave a great bellow, all reason lost, and swung for Wolfric's head.

Almost too late, Wolfric ducked low, leading with one shoulder. He caught the raider in the legs, bracing himself as he did. The axe found only air, and then Wolfric rose with an explosive motion, sending the foe hurtling over him to land in the dirt and snow, face down and rattled. Before he could do more than start to push himself up, Wolfric was on him, seizing him by the hair to drag his head back. A dagger appeared in his hand, and he dragged it across the man's throat, spilling bright red blood onto the snow.

"For Thor," he snarled as stood and turned to the gate, holding the bloody dagger high.

There was a moment of stillness, as the Aeslings stared at their freshly butchered fellow, and then Tyra let out a shout.

"Death!" she screamed, already charging forward, crossing the last distance between them and the gate. Harad was only a heartbeat behind her, weight of experience ensuring she wasn't charging alone.

It was Gunnhilde who claimed the next kill though, her spear taking a man through the chest before sliding free with a squelch as she called it back. She spun with it, bleeding off momentum, but caught it in hand. The rest of the Baersonlings charged with a roar.

The Aeslings had no time for fear, for Tyra and Harad were upon them, the two axe wielders bloodying their weapons as one. Tyra was a dervish, her axes whirling with her, while Harad felled men like a lumberjack, strong sweeping blows impossible to resist.

Thor leapt forward, crossing an impossible distance in one stride, kicking a man in the chest as he tried to stab Tyra while she had an axe buried in a man's neck. He was hurled back, ribs crushed and folded near in two to collide with the wall of a building within the town. The raider next to him turned and fled, either cowardice or going to warn the others. Either suited Thor's purpose, and he turned for another victim.

The rest of the Baersonlings reached the gate, crashing into their hated foes, and there was only one way it could end. The portal became a charnelhouse, the drunk and unprepared gate guards unable to match those that had come for them. They had grown arrogant and cocksure, safe in the knowledge that the town was cowed and there were no forces nearby to challenge them.

They were wrong.

The last foe fell, Tyra turning his head into a pulped mess as she rained down blows again and again, splattering herself with blood, bone, and brain matter.

"Tyra," Thor said, voice sharp and quick.

She spun to face him, still caught up in the battle rage.

"I think he's dead," Thor said mildly.

"Hnrngh," Tyra grunted. She touched a hand to her face, and it came away with viscera on it. She swallowed, and began to look for a rag to wipe it off with from amongst the dead.

"One got away," Wolfric said. "Should we follow?"

"No, let them come to us," Thor said. "Catch your breath. They can die tired."

Low laughter was his answer, and they waited, checking their armour and wrapping what few injuries they received. It did not take long for the man who had fled to return, and he brought friends. A battle cry from within the town drew their eyes.

The street leading deeper into the town was narrow, paved in cobblestones and filth, but down it Thor could see a mob of raiders approaching. Their blood was up, and they made no secret of their anger upon seeing their dead comrades.

A shutter in a house across the street cracked open, and Thor saw a child peeking through. He raised his axe to him, and the kid stared with wide eyes.

"Where are we?" Thor asked, turning to those who had followed him.

"Vinteerholm," Wolfric answered.

"Who does Vinteerholm belong to?"

"The Baersonlings," several answered.

"Who are they?" Thor asked, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.

"Aeslings!" they shouted.

"What do we do with Aesling raiders?"

"Kill!" came the roar.

Thor turned as the Aeslings neared, Stormbreaker at the ready. The clouds above began to rumble, lightning arcing across them. His eyes began to glow, and those that opposed him had only a moment to suspect that perhaps they had made a mistake before the mob crashed into them, and then there was no time for anything but bloodshed.

The storm above only grew, thunder booming with every swing of Stormbreaker. Thor put himself in the thick of the fight, bellowing and laughing, drawing the eye of every raider to himself and away from his people. They may not have been his people in truth, but they had followed him into battle, and that was enough for him. He could have slain this unruly mob before they had reached them, struck them down without the others having to do so much as draw their blades, but that was the easy road. To do so would be to rob those they had wronged of something important, and he was no impudent young prince, eager for gratification. He backhanded a frothing raider hard enough to snap his neck, sending him tumbling through two of his fellows. Every warrior with him would wet their blades, and through them those who couldn't fight would share victory.

The gate was a packed scrum now, each group pressing and struggling against the other. The Aesling's greater numbers meant little when the gate was only a dozen men wide, and the Baersonlings were reaping a bloody toll.

The Aeslings were feared for a reason though, and a woman screamed in agony as she was stabbed through the gut, scavenged armour not enough to turn the blow. Thor shouldered a foe out of the way and trampled another as he made for her side, seizing the sword with his spare hand and snapping it off before the wielder could pull it free. He headbutted them, caving in their skull, and put himself between the fight and the wounded woman.

"Get her to the back!" he ordered to those behind, voice heard clearly above the fight.

The woman was pulled back, passed through the ranks away from danger, and a man stepped up to take her place, catching a blow upon his shield and leaning in to bite the enemy. A bellow of pain followed, and red stained teeth spat out most of an ear.

The fight was packed tight now, so tightly that there was hardly any room to breathe, let alone swing a weapon. More were doing as the ear biter had done, using any inch of space to strike however they could, pulling free daggers to strike between shield and small gaps. Already savage, now the fight turned vicious.

A blade snapped against the ribs of his armour, ill made iron no match for the craft of Nidavellir, but not all were so lucky. He saw Tyra jerk her head away from a stab that would have taken her eye, and instead it only carved a line along her cheek, while another man gasped as a dragger was driven through his armour into his shoulder. Thor reached out and snapped a man's neck after they tried to hook his legs out from under him, finding him an immovable boulder in the midst of the brawl. He scowled. This fight reminded him more of an assassination attempt outside a tavern than a true battle, and he decided enough was enough. He took a step forward, the press of bodies yielding before him.

Unable to contest his strength, the foemen tried to give way, but those behind them had them trapped, eager to join the fight. He strode through them, crushing or trampling those before him, until he was deep within their ranks, leaving crumpled bodies in his wake. Those with him were quick to take advantage, pouring into the gap he had created, slitting throats and cracking skulls, as the crack became a breach. Thor emerged out the other side, finally with room to swing his axe. He split a howling man wearing nought but pants from shoulder to hip, crushing another's skull on the backswing. Wolfric was right behind him, watching his back, but they were not alone. The scrum turned into two separate fights, the Aeslings split and dismayed after being treated like errant children by the fat blond warrior with the axe, and the Baersonlings pressed their advantage. Victory was close enough that they could smell it, and they had precious little mercy to show their enemies.

Thor pulled a huge raider off one of his people, and the smaller man sucked in a lungful of air, bruises already forming around his neck. He tossed the raider upwards, and he collided with the arch of the gate with a squelch, before falling back to the ground. He joined the corpses of his fellows, unmoving. He was the last of them.

"Alright there?" Thor asked, extending a hand.

The man accepted it and nodded, trying to force out words, but all that emerged were rasps. He swallowed, trying again as he steadied himself. "Praise you, Thor."

Thor felt a metaphorical bucket poured back into the well within him, and he beamed, clapping the man on the shoulder. "Check your fellows," he said, turning to the others. "See to our wounded, and the fallen."

Those who had heard began to obey, checking each body. Each body was checked, and dead or alive, any Baersonling taken away from the carnage and outside the walls, while Aeslings received a slit throat.

"This can't be all of them," Tyra said, breathing deeply and raggedly.

"Fifty, perhaps? And those who were first watching the gate," Thor said.

"More to kill then," Tyra said, grinning. There was a cut on her cheek, from cheekbone past her ear.

Thor glanced at the work being done. They had slaughtered the raiders, but it was not without casualties. He saw four dead, and several more than that too wounded to fight on. "We make for the town centre," he said. "Stay together. They surely still outnumber us, and we will not make easy pickings of ourselves." He glanced at the shutters he had spied before; the boy was still peeking through them, looking thoroughly awed.

"What of the wounded?" Gunnhilde asked. She had been carrying them away from the scene of the fight. Her spear dripped with blood, though she was uninjured.

"I don't like the idea of leaving them out there," Harad said, stomping over to join the conversation. He had picked up a cut along his bare arm, and likely a new scar too.

"The sooner we kill the Aeslings the sooner we can get them to a healer," Tyra said. "And we need every blade in the fight to come."

"We will not leave them where any fleeing foe might make a corpse out of them," Thor said. "Nor will we leave them undefended, though we cannot spare many. Gunnhilde, ready the wounded to be moved."

Gunnhilde was already moving as Tyra gave a tsk of impatience, but she did not argue with him as he strode away, making for the house across the way. It was a narrow home, one in a row of many, made from wood stained dark by smoke and two stories high.

Thor knocked three times, rattling the door in its frame. He heard shifting on the other side, someone lurking in wait, but whoever it was made no move to open the door. He was about to knock again when there was the sound of a bar shifting, and the door began to creak open, but only an inch.

A gaunt, dark eyed man glowered through the gap. "What do you want."

"I saw a child through your shutters, and -"

"You'll not take him!" the man shrieked, wrenching the door open to reveal a hatchet poised to strike.

Thor caught the axe easily. "I do not want him," he said forcefully, staring down at the father.

The man hesitated, and then there was a pounding of small footsteps on wooden floors. The boy he had seen through the shutters appeared, a wooden sword in hand.

"Pa!" the boy said, rushing forward.

"No!" the man said, trying fruitlessly to free his weapon from Thor's grip.

"He killed the Aeslings!" the boy chattered excitedly. "I saw it, I saw it, he cut a man in half with his axe!"

"I told you to stay away - what?" the man said, despair giving way to confusion.

"We're here to deal with your raider problem," Thor said politely, letting go and stepping back, away from the door.

The father looked past him, and glimpsed the carnage in the gate. His eyes snapped back to Thor. "You're no Aesling."

"I am not."

"I can fight the Aeslings with you," the boy said, brandishing his sword. He couldn't have been more than six. "They took Ma away, but we can get her back!"

Thor glanced to the man, and saw a look of masked grief on his face. He asked a silent question, and received a slow shake of his head in answer. "I am sure you would sl-defeat many," Thor said, "but if you come with us, who will guard your father?" He accepted the small tragedy of the family and focused on the task at hand.

"We can both fight, right Pa?" the boy asked, looking up at his father.

The boy's father looked out over the street of corpses, ready to deny his child, before he was distracted. "Is that Tyra?" he asked, spying the redheaded woman.

"She was among the first I rescued from these scum," Thor said, "but not the last."

"And Harad of the Axe," the man said, more to himself.

"Pa?" the boy asked, insistent.

"No, son," the man said. "Warriors like these don't need our help." He sounded beaten.

"But you're a great warrior," the boy said, trusting and sure.

The man seemed to fold in on himself at the words like they were physical blows.

"I do have need of a pair of warriors like you," Thor said. "We make for the longhouse, but we have wounded. I require a strong arm to watch over them, and keep them safe."

The father looked out over the warriors who had slain the raiders occupying his town, gaze lingering in places. "...bring them in," he said. "We'll hide them."

"I'll leave you some aid," Thor said, speaking less to the child now. "But we must move quickly." He turned, gesturing to the others, and Gunnhilde was already guiding the wounded over. She had a man's arm over her shoulder, helping him hop along with a lame leg. The woman with a broken sword through her belly was being carried on a makeshift stretcher made from spears, and a few more came behind them.

"Some of the lighter wounded can guard them," Gunnhilde said to Thor.

"Aye," Thor said, as the wounded were helped or carried into the house.

"Son, go ahead and light the lantern in the basement," the father said. He was quick to help them inside, getting them off the street and out of sight, but Thor could still feel eyes on them. Not that it would matter who saw what, but he understood the man's nerves.

It did not take long to get them squared away, reducing their numbers to thirty. The gaunt, tired townsman gave him a jerky nod as they departed, a cold hate surfacing just long enough to be seen. His tale of a lost wife, a mother gone, would not be unique in this town after the depredations of the Aeslings, and Thor felt an angry tide building in his chest. It was reflected in the clouds above them, and as they made the final march to the town centre, the storm heralded their coming. It was an ill day to be an Aesling in Vinteerholm.

X

When they neared the square, the Aeslings were waiting. Some seventy men were arranged in a rough group before the bonfire outside the longhouse, the time it had taken them to deal with the fights at the gate and the wounded allowing them time to prepare. They were clad as most of the raiders had been, though at their head was a man in better gear than most. He looked superior even to Reket, the man Gunnhilde had bested, his armour akin to that of some Midgardian knight, a fine sword in one hand. They waited as Thor and his people approached, making their way down the street that led to them without hurry.

Shutters and windows opened as they passed, townsfolk looking out while trying to avoid being seen. The fight by the gate had not been quiet, and the scent of blood was on the air. Blood and thunder. They hoped, some even daring to pray, whispering pleas to whatever god might be kind enough to listen, even as they knew it was for nought. There were no kind gods, not in these lands. Lightning crashed, and the sky darkened ever further.

Thor came to a stop in the square proper, Wolfric to his right, and Gunnhilde to his left. Harad was over on the right wing of their group, while Tyra had taken the left, each falling into place without need for discussion. He beheld what waited for them, and the tide of anger within grew.

The obvious leader was holding his fine sword, and its tip was at the neck of a young woman. She was shivering in the cold, naked from the waist up, and she bore the signs of past abuse as she held herself, barely daring to swallow lest the blade at her throat slice it open. Lightning flashed in the distance, and raindrops began to plink on steel.

The leader smirked at the growing fury on Thor's face, and opened his mouth to speak.

Thor did not deign to give him the chance. The storm erupted, opening to release a deluge, and with it came a lance of lightning. It struck the raider captain dead on with a roar, leaving all who saw it blinking away blinding afterimages. When their vision cleared, there was only a smoking corpse in ruined armour, and a sword sticking out of the ground before it. Thor himself was standing by the once-hostage, staring down at his defeated foe. No one had seen him move. He tugged at his cape, freeing it from its clasps, and draped it over the woman.

Hisses of disgust arose from the raiders, whispers of 'wizard' and 'sorcerer' shared between them, but words froze in their throats when glowing eyes were turned on them.

"You are safe," Thor told the woman.

Standing within spitting distance of the raiders who had brought fire and ruin and suffering to her life, she believed him utterly. His eyes glowed with untold power, and the cape she was wrapped in was finer than anything she had ever seen in her life. "Who are you?" she asked, grasping his arm.

"I am the God of Thunder," Thor said, and the heavens rumbled with his words. His gaze drifted over to the Aeslings, and the weight of his disregard was a physical thing. "Tell me, who were you again?"

There was no answer, and yet he smiled.

"Ah, that's right," he said. "Dead men."

This was too much for one man, and he ran at Thor with a bellow. Thor backhanded him, sending him flying over the rest and into the bonfire behind them. The burning wood collapsed under his weight, burying and entrapping him. He gave a single tortured scream, though he continued to thrash, but to no avail. A wave of fear swept through his fellows, awed by his might.

On another day, Thor would have faced them with a quip and an invitation. He would have sent them on to Hel with a laugh and a quip to his comrades.

Not this day.

He readied Stormbreaker, drawing it back and to the side. With a thought, it would sweep through their ranks like the farmer's scythe swept through wheat, and -

The corpse beside him shifted.

Thor turned, as the body of the raider captain began to swell, bursting from the remains of its shattered armour, skin reddening. "Go," he said to the woman in his cape, gently pushing her towards his people and away from the still growing thing.

She stumbled into a run, disappearing through the ranks between Wolfric and Gunnhilde, but Thor's eyes never left the mutating beast. He watched as its cooked flesh split and tore, revealing swollen muscles as spikes of bone grew from its knees and elbows.

"Khorne!" came a cry from the Aeslings. "Praise Khorne!" The cry was taken up by the raiders, and a foul joy rose within them. "Khorne! Khorne! Khorne!"

Thor's grip tightened on his axe as a cancerous presence descended on the square. It was eager and hungry, and it fed off the cries of the raiders, directing their faith into the still growing beast. An extra set of arms sprouted from below its armpits in a shower of blood and gore, but instead of hands they ended in blades of bone. Yet more flesh split and swelled as it continued to grow, towering over him now, but instead of muscle, fang filled maws were revealed, snake-like tongues flicking out of them. Its head was tiny on its new body, its eyes so bloodshot there was no white to be seen. There was not a hint of rational thought behind them.

"Blood for the Blood God! Skulls for the Skull Throne!" came the roar.

The beast gave out a howling shriek, lurching for Thor on uneven legs, and its cry made him wince, but he had heard worse. The Baersonlings were more affected, some collapsing and clapping hands over bleeding ears, many backing away in fear. Others dropped their weapons entirely, though Gunnhilde and Wolfric only clutched at their heads, staggering.

Thor had no time to see to his people. He met the charge of the beast head on, Stormbreaker carving off one arm and blocking a bone blade that sought his neck, while he parried the other with his vambrace. His boot lashed out, catching it in the belly, and it staggered back. One of the maws tried to bite his foot as he did, though it was much too slow, and Thor brought his axe around, taking off one leg at the knee. It fell, all of its mouths screaming in agony, and the raiders faltered in their jeers and taunts.

"Where is your god now?" Thor bellowed, incensed by the foul touch of one of the Chaos Gods. He could feel their gaze on the fight, could sense the Bloodlust heavy in the air. He would not have. He would not.

His words gave his people strength, and those affected by the mental attack regathered themselves, taking up their weapons once more and stepping back up to form ranks once more. They did not join the fight, and neither did the Aeslings, an unspoken demand forcing them to bear witness.

The mutant did not answer his taunt, thought its screams intensified, and soon he saw why. The limbs he had removed had begun to grow back, new flesh and bone sprouting in showers of gore. Already it was forcing itself back to its feet.

"KHORNE! KHORNE! KHORNE!" the Aeslings chanted, beating their weapons against their shields.

"Thor!" came the sole answering cry, Wolfric sounding his defiance. He was not alone for long, as more voices joined with each repetition. "THOR! THOR!"

The beast gnashed its teeth together, wary of him now. Overlarge fangs cut into its mouths, adding to its pain and rage, and its slavering drool hissed and spat where it dripped onto the ground. It charged mindlessly once more, reaching with clawed hands and blades of bone.

Thor could not help but sneer. This was what Bloodlust sent against him? This was all it could conjure? It was an insult. He brought Stormbreaker back, winding up for a swing, not even trying to disguise the blow.

Unthinking hunger and eagerness for blood was all that could be seen in the beast's eyes as it neared him, and it was then that Thor struck. His axe came up in an underhand strike, delivering a mighty blow to its groin and continuing upwards. From crotch to skull he split it, and it died with that same unthinking hunger on its face as each half of it was carried on to either side of him by its own momentum. Black blood sizzled in the dirt as the corpse halves thrashed briefly, before they went still.

Thor turned to the Aeslings. The clamour of each side had fallen silent, and rare was the raider who could meet his eyes. He cast his gaze over them, these small men who had used their devotion to the cancerous mass of thought they called a god as an excuse to bring terror and misery to their neighbours. He inspected them, and he found them wanting.

"You are not worthy," he said. The storm had arrived in truth during his fight with the cancer spawn, and the rain began to fall in sheets. Lightning danced amongst the clouds, and the thunder only paused long enough for his words to be heard.

One raider found some scrap of courage, and he ran screaming at Thor, sword raised. "Blood for the Blood-"

Thunder boomed, and lightning struck, blinding all who were looking at him. When their vision returned, all that was left of him was a pair of smoking boots.

"None of you are worthy," Thor said, and it had the weight of judgement.

The raiders had only enough time to feel fear, and the heavens opened once more. Lightning roared, shaking the ground with its might in a display that seemed to last an eternity. An unknown number of heartbeats later, it came to an end, thunder slowly fading in its wake. There was only silence, though that may have been because no one could hear in the wake of such elemental fury. The storm eased, and the rain stopped.

In the quiet, Thor stared at the smoking corpses that were all that remained of the Aesling raiders. He could see scorched faces screwed up in agony, and the ground they had stood upon had been reduced to a ring of twisted and blackened glass. He turned away, facing the warriors who had followed him. Many were awed, some were frightened, but it was the surety and confidence on Wolfric and Gunnhilde that drew his eye. He had seen similar on the faces of civilians he had rescued on Midgard, but this went further. This was devotion, and he was not sure how he felt about it.

"Gunnhilde, Tyra," he said, looking to the two women.

"Hostages, aye God of Thunder," Gunnhilde said, already moving towards the longhouse that bordered one side of the town square. Tyra was quick to join her, only pausing to give the smoking bodies a look of disappointment, and several warriors followed in their wake.

"Harad, three longships still wait on the docks," Thor said, turning to the axeman.

"I will see them secured," Harad said. He gave Thor an indecipherable look before taking half of the remaining fighters, heading towards the river.

Thor turned to his first believer. "Wolfric, the town must be secured," he said. "Take those who remain and scour it for any raiders that linger."

Wolfric beat his fist against his chest and set about directing the ten men and women left to him. It was unlikely they would find many, if any at all, but it would be irresponsible not to check.

Thor's eye was caught by the sword that the beast had used to threaten the hostage when he had still been a man, still sticking up out of the ground. It was finely made indeed, and bore a green gem in its hilt.

"Oh, Wolfric," Thor said, reaching down to pull the blade free. It was absent of any foul taint, and he felt confident in his decision. His follower turned, and he tossed it to him. "You should have this. Call it a bonus for your deeds by the gate."

Wolfric caught it by the handle, surprised but quietly pleased. He held it out, narrowing his sole eye as he looked down the blade, and gave it a few swings. He smiled. "My thanks, God of Thunder."

Thor gave him a put upon frown, as a teacher might a foolish student.

"Lord Thor," Wolfric corrected himself.

"Bear it well," Thor said. "And when I regain my strength…" he trailed off, shrugging.

Wolfric glanced after Gunnhilde. "I will," he swore. He strode off, intent on his task and fresh steel in his spine.

Thor looked about the square, empty now as it was. The bonfire had been blown apart by the force of his lightning, leaving small clusters of burning wood scattered about. He would do no good to those he had set to work by hovering over their shoulders, so he kept himself busy by kicking the wood back into the firepit, piling it up around the half cooked body of the raider he had backhanded into it. In short order, he had a fire going once more. There was a woodpile nearby, and from it he dragged a large stump to use as a seat. He planted himself by the fire, away from the glass and corpses, listening to it crackle and enjoying its warmth. Distantly, he heard a brief clash of steel on steel, but there were no shouts, and it ended quickly.

Footsteps reached his ears, shoes squelching through the slush that had come from his brief rainstorm, and he turned from the fire to see who approached. It was the woman he had rescued, still swathed in his cape, and she was hesitant as she drew near.

It was the work of a moment to procure another stump for her to use, and he set it down by his own. At his unspoken invitation, she joined him in staring into the fire. She did not speak, and he was in no rush to hurry her.

A thought occurred to him, and the woman gasped as his armour faded in a gleam of seidr, leaving him in his comfortable hoodie and sweats. He began to rummage about in his pockets, until he found what he sought. Lunchable in hand, he peeled the foil from one corner and offered it to her.

With a bemused expression, she accepted the offering, inspecting the strange thing. Her interest rose when she caught a whiff of its contents, and she quickly puzzled out how to get at them. The wafers, cheese, and ham within were quickly devoured, and then she went looking for crumbs. Thor smiled at the near rapturous expression she wore. Truly, Clint had been speaking the truth when he introduced the Midgaradian delicacy to him.

"Thank you," she said quietly, offering the plastic remains back to him.

"It is no matter," Thor said, tucking the rubbish away in his pocket. "I am glad you enjoyed it."

She swallowed, but found the courage to speak again. "I mean - for-" she broke off, pulling his cape tighter about himself.

"I know," Thor said. "You are safe now. They can never harm you again."

The woman inched closer to the fire. "What if they come back?"

Thor glanced over at the corpses. "If they do, I will strike them down again."

"There were more," the woman insisted. "They left days ago, but what if they come back?"

Thor frowned at the confirmation. He had known there was a longship missing, and the numbers they had fought were fewer than they had expected from Tyra's information, but still he had hoped. "What is your name?

"Kirsa, God of Thunder," Kirsa said, glancing at him quickly. Her eyes were brown, and full of anxious fear.

"Kirsa," Thor said, meeting her eyes. "If any raiders return to this town, I will smite them with the fury of the storm, and smash their vessel to splinters. You have my oath."

The fear receded, warded off by his promise, but still she was wary. "Even Sigurd Twice-Slain?" she asked.

"Even Sigurd Twice-Slain," Thor said, marking the name.

"He killed my father," Kirsa said, her voice small.

"Should we meet, he will never slay another," Thor said. He ran a thumb along Stormbreaker's edge where it sat against his knee.

The longhouse doors were kicked open, drawing their eyes, and Gunnhilde was the first to emerge. She carried a small child on her hip, and her spear was wet with fresh blood. The sun began to peak through the clearing clouds, and a beam lit upon her hair, making it glow akin to gold.

"Who is that?" Kirsa asked, eyes wide and her tone betraying her youth.

"That is Gunnhilde, first of my Valkyries," Thor said proudly. "Defender of the innocent and uh, revenger upon the wicked."

Kirsa's eyes tracked Gunnhilde as more emerged from the longhouse, all carrying children or guiding them along. A pair of old women came with them, squinting in the sun, as if they hadn't seen it for days. They too bore signs of abuse, one missing an ear and the other with one eye swollen shut.

Thor's mood darkened. "This Sigurd will reap what he has sown," he said. "He will come to regret commanding these raids."

Kirsa glanced up at him, tearing her eyes from Gunnhilde. "Sigurd wasn't the one who ordered this."

"Was he not the leader who fled in the days past?" Thor asked.

"Aye God of Thunder, he led the raid," Kirsa said, nodding, "but he didn't order it."

"Then who?" Thor demanded.

Kirsa leant in, as if afraid to speak the name too loudly. "They call him the Aesling," she said. "Valmir Aesling."

"Valmir the Aesling," Thor said, as if tasting the name. Gone were the days where he would tempestuously swear revenge and go haring off on an adventure, but he would note the name nonetheless. "I had thought to let some flee, and spread their fear amongst their fellows," he said. "I do not think I mind that none have survived."

"Good," Kirsa said vehemently.

They fell into silence, watching as the warriors who had rescued the hostages began to lead them towards the fire. Tyra had a child on each hip and one seated on her shoulders, the domestic image greatly at odds with the blood splattered all across her front. The clouds above continued to fade and a bright day dawned over Vinteerholm.

Gunnhilde reached them first, the toddler on her hip peeking out at them from where he had hidden his face in her neck. Thor raised his arm in a wave, brightening at the memory of the times Steve had taken him along to visit the children's hospitals.

"Children," Gunnhilde said, voice raised. "This is Thor, God of Thunder and the man who has saved us all."

There was a doubtful silence, as the hostages took in his hoodie and sweats, faces unimpressed. A flash of panic crossed Gunnhilde's face, and Thor held back a chuckle.

Thor rose, calling on storm and seidr, and his armour rippled into being across his body once more. "Call me Thor," he said, "or Lord Thor if you want to be formal."

Doubt turned to awe, and Thor beamed down at all the little faces staring up at him. No one spoke, and the silence began to stretch out.

He clapped his hands together. "Well. Yes. We should see about finding your families, little ones."

"We know them," one of the old women said, the one with the eye bruised shut. "We can bring them."

"Gunnhilde will protect you," Thor said, glancing at his Valkyrie. She nodded quickly. "Tyra, take the warriors and join Wolfric in cleansing the town." The redhead grinned, revealing bloody teeth, and he chose to believe it was from an unlucky splatter.

"What about the children?" the other old woman demanded. Her voice was hoarse, and there were finger shaped bruises around her neck to go with her missing, scabbed over ear.

"The children are under my protection," Thor said, meeting her gaze. Stormbreaker jumped up into his waiting hand with a hum of Uru.

The elder inspected him, gimlet eyes running from toe to crown, and she gave him a grudging nod. "...praise Tor."

"Ah, it's 'Thor'," he said. "Easy mistake to make, no harm done."

She gave him a suspicious look, but said nothing, only sharing a glance with the other woman, who on closer inspection looked to be a sister or a cousin.

"Gather round children," Thor said, giving Gunnhilde and Tyra a nod to send them about their tasks. They departed, leaving Thor and Kirsa alone with the children. He took up the stump he had sat on in one hand and began slicing discs off it with his axe. "Here, take a seat to keep yourselves dry." As he cut, he handed each child a disc and they sat, knees drawn to their chests to keep their feet out of the slush on the ground. When he was done, he had used up his seat, and Kirsa made to rise to give hers to him, but he shook his head.

The children had watched him work, eyes wide, and now that he was done they watched him still, and Thor suddenly realised he had volunteered himself to keep two score odd children occupied until their families could be found. He glanced at Kirsa, but he was only met with more of the same. The silence verged on awkward.

"Who wants to hear a tale of my adventures?" Thor asked brightly. When in doubt, tell a story. It had worked for the hospital visits, and it would work here.

The children perked up. They looked to be in better shape than he would expect, having been held hostage as long as they were, but the worst he could see were deep bags under their eyes and dirty clothes. The promise of a story breathed new life into them.

"Many centuries ago, in a distant land, a young and foolish warrior sought adventure," Thor began. "With him were his boon companions, the Warriors Three - Fandral, Hogan, and Volstagg - the Lady Sif, and the warrior's brother, Loki Silvertongue."

Thor warmed to his tale, beginning to pace back and forth with the fire behind him. The attention and awe of the children warmed him more than any fire ever could, and it helped him ignore the knowledge that he was the only person from the story that yet lived.

"This band of heroes came to a cold place much like this, filled with people much like you, and though they were hardly more than children, they did their best to aid those they found, for their admiration was pleasing to them…"

He continued speaking, talking of a feud between villages, of the stronger village that was led by a giant of a man taking advantage of the weaker. As he did, he glimpsed figures gathering in the streets beyond the square, unwilling to come closer. A broad gesture to emphasise the size of the strong and cruel giant let him glance over his shoulder, and he saw the same on the other side of the square, yet he continued with his story. He had Stormbreaker in hand. No matter what came, the children would be safe.

"...the warrior was foolish indeed, because he became very drunk at the feast marking peace between the villages, so drunk that he misplaced his hammer, a magical weapon forged by the dwarfs of Nidavellir…"

From the watchers, a figure emerged at a run. It was a woman, and her shawl flapped behind her as she approached, heedless of anything but the child her gaze was fixed on. She shouted a name as she neared, and the boy jumped up and turned, the tale forgotten. Thor held back a pout as his story was interrupted, but he couldn't complain overmuch as mother and son were reunited, the boy swept up into a crushing hug.

The mother checked her son over for injuries with a frantic energy, but on finding none she looked up to Thor. "Thank you, thank you lord."

"I was happy to help," Thor said. He could have said it was nothing, and perhaps the effort was to him, but it was everything to her.

"What do we call you, lord?" the woman asked.

"That's Thor," the son piped up. "He's the god of thunder."

The woman paled, and her grip around her child tightened.

"He was tellin' us a story," the boy added.

"You may join us if you wish," Thor said generously.

The woman took her son's seat, cradling him in her lap protectively. Though he was perhaps a little old for such, he did not protest, already looking back to Thor with an expectant gaze.

"Right, where was I…" Thor said. He spied a number of other townsmen approaching cautiously, now that no harm had befallen the mother, but he focused on his story. "Yes, the strong and cruel giant was unhappy with the peace he had been forced into, and he saw his chance to take his revenge upon the ones responsible. He stole away with the magical hammer, fleeing back to his village, where he hid it away…"

His audience grew, the bravest and most desperate coming in search of news. The glassed patch of the square and the bodies on it received a wide berth and many glances, and a game of whispers was played as small groups joined. Thunder god they said in hushed tones, and if they believed or not they respected and feared a man in armour such as he wore, to say nothing of the axe he held and gestured with, the weapon turned into a prop to entertain children.

"...the giant was cunning, and he knew the value of what he had stolen, and refused to reveal where it was hidden," Thor said, his tone lowering, inviting listeners to lean in to hear him. "But then rumours began to spread, helped by Loki Silvertongue, telling of a golden beauty from a neighbouring kingdom. Her beauty and strength were unmatched, so the tales said, and she was in search of a husband - but only one who could provide a bride price of something greater than mere material wealth."

Quiet reunions were taking place under his gaze as parents found their children, holding them close after being separated for who knows how long. More and more residents approached, those who had witnessed the end of the raiders, or heard word from those who had. Many were not sure what to think, having come expecting a force of their own tribe, only to find a strange blond giant telling tales, but questioning those with power was a dangerous idea at the best of times, and this giant clearly had power.

"...the wedding came, and Floki, the bride's brother, demanded to see the hammer Mjolnir. The cruel giant was besotted with his bride to be, even hidden by a veil as she was, and he brought it forth without thinking," Thor said. "Can you guess what happened next?" he asked the children. Many now were in a parent's arms, or held close to one's side, but they still listened eagerly.

"Was it a trick?" "Did Floki steal the hammer too?" "The warrior was hiding in the crowd!"

"All very close, but not quite!" Thor said, giving a booming laugh. He had been incensed at the time, furious with his brother's plot and with his father for the rules laid upon him for interacting with the Midgardians, but a thousand years on he felt only nostalgia. "The bride took off her veil, to reveal the foolish warrior! The cruel giant gaped at his bearded foe, giving him time to seize his hammer and strike him with a mighty blow!" He swung his axe through the air, hammer side first, and distant thunder rumbled with it, simulating the blow.

"What happened next?"

Thor spent a moment to consider his audience against the slightly debauched events that had followed. "Ah, they finished the wedding feast, no need to waste good food, and everyone returned home afterwards to get some sleep. The end."

A ripple of impressed noises ran about his audience, mostly from the children, but some of the adults joined in as well.

"Are you the god of stories too?" a child demanded.

Thor's smile faded. "No, that was my brother, Loki."

"Like in the story?"

"Exactly like the story!" Thor said. "The tales my brother spun, when the mood suited him…" he trailed off, before shaking himself lest a familiar melancholy sink in.

"Does that - are you saying you were the warrior from the tale?" Kirsa asked, hesitant.

"Gods can't get drunk," someone said, but they sounded doubtful.

"Not from mortal wines, but I was young and foolish," Thor said, "and I had borrowed a keg from the cellars of my father."

"It must have been long ago," Kirsa said. "You're so -" she broke off, gesturing at him.

"To some it would seem that way," Thor said. "I am not so young any more, but I can still be foolish from time to time."

Many glances were exchanged amongst the crowd, now grown to a healthy size, as something unsaid seemed to pass between them.

"What was this land called, god of thunder?" a man dared to ask.

Thor frowned, thinking. "I can't recall. It was long ago, and I'm not sure which realm it would fall within today."

There was a pregnant pause, as many seemed to be working up the courage to question him further, but it was broken by yet more arrivals. Not townsmen this time, but Harad and his people.

"Harad!" Thor called, drawing attention to them. "How did you fare?"

"The longships are taken," Harad said, the crowd shuffling out of his way to allow him to approach. "We freed those within." His voice was hard as iron, and there was blood on his axe. He had lost no warriors, indeed his numbers had grown, as he was accompanied by a dozen hollow eyed young men and women.

"I see," Thor said, his tone going flat. His gaze was fixed on the one amongst them that did not belong, a limping man with his hands bound before him, blood dripping from a broken nose. "And this one?"

"Surrendered," Harad said. "Claims he has knowledge on where those that were taken went."

An ugly mood descended on the crowd, as they turned nearly as one on the Aesling prisoner. The promise of violence was heavy in the air, the joy of reunions and the tale all but snuffed out.

Thor approached the captive, drawing all eyes. He stared down at the man, head and shoulders above him, and felt nothing but contempt. Here was a man who preyed on those weaker than he, and who proved himself a coward when the consequences of his actions caught up with him. "I will make you a deal," he said. "You will tell me everything you know, and I will give you a clean death."

The raider looked very much like he wanted to spit, but after a glance at the axe in Thor's hand decided better of it. He still found the nerve to complain. "That's no deal at all. I tell you what I know, and you set me loose downstream."

"You will tell me everything you know," Thor repeated, "or I will leave your judgement up to the townspeople."

Shifty eyes darted around, taking in the crowd, hungry for vengeance. Then he glanced back at those that Harad had rescued from the longships, and he shuddered at the looks in their eyes. He nodded quickly, tongue stilled by fear.

"Good," Thor said, putting on a fake grin as he clapped the prisoner on the shoulder, nearly buckling his knees. He caught sight of Wolfric and Tyra entering the square from a side street, roughhousing with the warriors with them. The blood on his new sword and the smirk on her face told him they had been successful. "Vinteerholm is liberated," he announced, turning to the crowd, "but the work is not yet done. Spread the good word, and give aid to your neighbour if you can. The Aeslings are gone, but the work is not done. We will meet in the longhouse in two hours, so you might plan for your future."

"Praise Thor!" Wolfric shouted, having joined them. "Protector of Man, God of Thunder!"

"Aye, Praise Thor!" Tyra called. "A better god than those that abandoned me!"

Thor felt somewhat like that one Midgardian skald he had met, with the hype man, but the townspeople still caught on and cheered. "Thor! Praise Thor!" Some were sincere, but most didn't want to seem ungrateful, or be left out. He couldn't say how he knew, but he knew it for truth, knew it in his bones, just like he knew Wolfric and Gunnhilde believed, and now Tyra too. The crowd began to disperse, the people starting the arduous process of picking up their lives, and he smiled as a rescued child waved at him over their father's shoulder. He waved back, feeling the first wavering flicker of a connection, warm and bright.

Vinteerholm was free. A worthy day's work.

 

[Razorfloss]

Well this just became a holy site

 

[TheWiseTomato]

The longhall of Vinteerholm was a larger affair than any Thor had seen in this land so far. Much more than a single large hall, it had a catwalk around the walls for an upper level, and a number of extra rooms on the ends and sides for all manner of business, as well as the basement that had been used to hold the child hostages by the Aeslings. The central feature was still the feast hall, a stone firepit running its length, long tables set alongside it. It was full with what seemed like every town resident now, and the air was a heady mix of joy and wrath.

As the fire crackled merrily, food and ale flowed. The tables groaned under the bounty upon them, the stores of the Aeslings having been looted as the Baersonlings reclaimed their own stolen treasures. Families could be seen crying tears of happiness as they spoke, while elsewhere others shouted and argued. The hall could scarcely contain the cacophony.

Thor watched it all, keeping his thoughts to himself for now. At his sides were Wolfric and Gunnhilde, eating heartily. Tyra was in the thick of her people, shouting down a large bearded man, while Harad was off to the side with his own warriors. From his position in the chieftain's chair, Thor kept one ear and his good eye on the hall as he tucked into the meal before him with a will, very pleased that it wasn't mammoth. Taking the throne-like chair had only partially been his decision, Wolfric and Gunnhilde almost steering him towards it. It was likely for the best; even up at the head table, those nearest to him were visibly checking themselves, quieter and more contained than the rest further down the hall.

Tyra had evidently had enough of the man she was arguing with, for she reared back and delivered a mighty headbutt. The sound of his cracking nose was audible even over the clamour of the hall, and Thor winced, laughing, as the man staggered back, disorientated.

"She is a fierce warrior," Gunnhilde said.

Thor turned, and saw she had been watching the same conversation.

"Will you make her a Valkyrie?" she continued.

"I do not think she would want the role," Thor said, considering.

Gunnhilde looked so offended on his behalf that Thor couldn't help but laugh.

"My Valkyries will be more than great warriors," Thor said. "More important will be their reasons for marching to war."

"A Valkyrie is a defender of the innocent," Gunnhilde said as she thought, echoing his words.

"You know, there are tales of one called-" Wolfric began.

There was a sudden uproar, cutting his words short, and a fistfight broke out. Thor began to move, but Harad was already there, leaping over his table and wading into the scrum. The greybeard dispensed slaps with great force, knocking men a third of his age from their feet and rapidly cooling the ardour of those looking for a fight.

Wolfric's single eye was fixed on Harad, his words forgotten. "You'll want to watch that one, Lord Thor."

"Is that so." Thor looked between the two men, a light frown on his face.

"Harad of the Axe has many sagas sung about his deeds, and not all are well," Wolfric said, watching as Harad returned to his seat.

"He implied as such, when he warned me of Gunnhilde's spear," Thor said. "He spoke of his axe, and the corruption that once possessed it."

Wolfric grunted. "That's the tale. I don't know how true any of it is. All I know is that he killed my father."

Thor clenched a fist, smoothing his expression deliberately. "Had I known, I would not have asked you to fight alongside him."

"No," Wolfric said, shaking his head. "Looking back, as a man…he was right to do so. Not that my uncle would agree."

"A complicated tale, by the sounds," Thor said, taking another bite of his meal to give him time to ponder his words.

"Aye," Wolfric said. He looked like he was about to say more, but he held his tongue.

"His past is not unknown," Gunnhilde said. "He settled where he did for a reason, and has lived there without reprisal for the same."

Thor hummed, considering. The greybeard had hinted at his past when they met, but news of the corrupted spear had demanded the bulk of his attention at the time. His line of thought was diverted when he spied a child sitting by his parents down the hall, staring up at him. The boy was clutching at a wooden toy axe, but what caught his eye was the etchings on the head of it, roughly carved into the wood by an unsteady hand. They resembled Stormbreaker. He winked at the child, waving.

The boy burrowed into his mother's side, but peeked back after a moment, and waved shyly back.

"He sits in the chair, so why not?! Let him who seeks to rule do so!"

The noise of the hall died suddenly, and a wave of heads turned to the head table. Thor put on his Stern Avenger face and hoped there was no food in his beard. The man who had spoken was glaring up at the table, though its effect was somewhat lessened by the red handprint fairly glowing on his face.

"Our people are stolen away by Aeslings, and every moment they fly further from our reach," the man said, raising his voice for the whole hall to hear. "We should be planning our pursuit, not feasting!"

"We don't have the warriors!" another man answered, pushing forward to be heard. "Our defences are sundered, and you want to strip the town clean of what remains?" He also bore evidence of Harad's problem solving skills on his face.

"Easily said by one whose family is in this hall," the first man spat.

Violence threatened to bubble over once more, and Thor rose to his feet. "Enough!" he boomed. Silence fell. "You are neighbours, not foes, and you will act like it!"

Feet were shuffled, but it did not last long.

"Then what will you do?" the first man demanded. He was of middling size, with blond hair and one arm bandaged. "You sit in the seat of our leader. Do we hunt the dogs down, or cower here?"

"That," Thor began slowly, "is not my decision. I may be Thor, but I am a god, not your direct ruler."

Whatever the people had expected, it was not that. The flame in the lanterns lining the walls were visibly buffeted by the wave of noise that followed as near everyone tried to have their say at once, and Thor winced. This was why the lustre of leadership had faded for him. A thunderclap boomed through the hall, silencing them once more.

"Perhaps if you spoke one at a time," Thor suggested, "you might hear one another."

"Why do you not wish to lead us?" a woman asked. It was Kirsa, the one he had rescued from the raider leader. She had found proper clothes, but she still wore his cape like a cloak. "You are so-" she broke off, gesturing to him.

"I cannot earn your faith if I am to give you orders," Thor said, speaking to the hall at large. "I am God of Thunder, but that does not entitle me to your worship. I have slain your foes, but that does not put you in my debt. I have done what has been done because I am Thor, not because I seek to rule you."

"Then why are you here?" a frustrated voice asked.

"I am here because raiders sought to harm the innocent," Thor said. He shrugged, sinking back into his chair. "Man must chart their own path. All I can do is offer guidance."

The man that had been for pursuit had simmered down some, though he was still frustrated, looking about the hall. "I nominate Tyra of Vinteerholm as chief," he said.

A murmur ran through the hall in response, more considering than anything.

His most vocal foe was quick to answer. "I nominate Harad of the Axe!"

This suggestion received far more vocal a response, with some supportive, but just as many against it. Arguments were already starting to pick up again, though blows had yet to be thrown. Thor settled in to watch, pleased that his name was no longer in contention. Tyra was deep in conversation with the man to nominate her, while Harad looked to be trying not to rub his temples. His unfinished plate beckoned, and he tucked in once more.

"We will return to your village tomorrow I think," Thor said to Wolfric. "Let your sisters know that you are well."

"Thank you, Lord Thor," Wolfric said. "If I delayed, they would make me regret it."

"Ah, siblings," Thor said, reminiscing.

Gunnhilde drained her goblet, setting it down too harshly as she stared down the hall.

He grimaced internally. He had not meant to remind her of her lost sister. "I lost count of the times my brother tried to kill me," he said. "Mostly it involved trickery. I was always stronger, of course."

"You have a brother?" Wolfric asked.

"I did," Thor said. The hurt was old now, though it had not lessened. "And a sister, though I do know how many times she tried to kill me."

"Your family seems…spirited," Wolfric said.

"They were," Thor said. For a moment, he wondered again how the fight with Thanos aboard the Statesman would have gone had Hela been there with them, united in purpose, but he pushed the thought aside. He knew well where such spiralling thoughts would lead. "You will like little Astrid and Elsa," he said to Gunnhilde. "A Valkyrie would be a good role model for them."

"As you say," Gunnhilde said, though the thought did seem to distract her from her thoughts.

"That would be for the better," Wolfric said, glancing between them. "Our mother died in the birthing bed, and they have been different, since the raid."

They fell into a conversation about the two girls, half Wolfric complaining about them, half bragging, even as the debate raged in the hall. Half of it didn't even seem to be about who to make chief, but more generally about what to do next. To Thor's ear, it seemed that the decision would come down to which choice people thought would deliver what plan of action they most desired.

He would stay out of it, he decided. Who they chose, and what they decided, would be up to them. He would only be so present as to guide them away from the path of cancerous gods who lorded over this land. The ebb and flow of the two forming groups arguing, swaying and being swayed, could sort themselves out.

The feast had been forgotten for the most part, as politics took centre stage. It was likely only those with the most status or nowhere to go who were present now and he was glad that the excess had been handed out to the townspeople earlier, those who didn't wish to or couldn't attend taking it thankfully. His eye was caught by Kirsa, the young woman glancing up from her table to him and back down, on the verge of working herself up to something but unable to cross the threshold.

Draining his goblet, Thor rose, heading for her. His movement drew the eye of many, but when they saw that he was not approaching either nexus of arguing figures, their interest eased. Kirsa looked up again in time to notice him approaching, and her eyes gave away her panic. He smiled, attempting to set her at ease, and took a seat next to her in one of the many spaces vacated by the debaters. A moment later, Wolfric and Gunnhilde sat with him, having followed in his wake.

"How do you fare, young Kirsa?" Thor asked.

"I am well, God of Thunder," Kirsa said, looking up. She creased his cape in her grip, running her hands over it as if to savour the feel. "I can return your-"

"In time," Thor said. "Let it warm you for now. And please, call me Thor. Lord Thor if you must."

"Aye, Lord Thor," Kirsa said, drawing the cape closer about herself.

"Have you a place to sleep tonight?" Thor asked. Several fires had been lit in the taking and occupation of the town, leaving burnt scars dotted within its walls.

"I do," Kirsa said. "My mother, she is old, so she was left alone mostly." She shivered. "I went to see she was safe, but I wanted to see -" she hesitated briefly "-the meeting, so I came here."

Left unsaid was that Kirsa had not been left alone, and Thor kept his expression clear of the familiar anger he felt. "I am glad she is well," he said. "Have you seen what you wished to see?"

Kirsa jerked her gaze away from Gunnhilde, nodding. "I have," she said. She hesitated again. "Only…"

"Ask," Thor bade her.

"What does it mean to worship you?" she asked, voice all in a rush. "You said your Valkyries protect the innocent and take revenge on the wicked. Is that the worship you want?"

Thor hummed, trying to hide the fact that he had little idea how to answer such a question. "Well, I would ask you to be brave," he said.

Kirsa looked stricken. "Oh."

The blond giant panicked. "You do not need to be a warrior to be brave!" he said.

"I am not brave, Lord Thor," Kirsa said, drawing in on herself. "I only came here because you said you would be."

"You could have hidden in your home, could you not?" Thor asked. He knew the answer to this malaise. "Fastened the shutters, barred the door, and hidden your head beneath your pillow?"

"I had to come here," Kirsa insisted, holding back a flinch, shivering. "To where you could shelter me."

"Across the town? To the place where you were held captive, where you were hurt?" Thor asked. "Kirsa. Bravery is not the absence of fear. It is knowing fear, and doing what must be done in spite of it. Do not doubt that you are brave, for you have survived terrible things."

Kirsa's shivers eased as she absorbed his words. "You are a kind god."

"That's another good point," Thor said. He took up a flagon of ale, and topped up Kirsa's mug. "Be kind to others. Help them if you can, but even a moment of compassion can do wonders."

"He stands for strength," Wolfric said suddenly. He and Gunnhilde had been listening, and now he shared his own insight. "For groves held sacred and clear of betrayal. For the duty of protecting those weaker. He is the storm that scours the darkness of monsters." The words were an echo of what Thor had told him the day after they met, when he had felt despair, before Thor had shown him the light. The light of the storm.

"For being there," Gunnhilde said. "Wherever you are needed, to shield the innocent." She made to speak further, but Thor could see the moment she failed to translate her own martial experience for Kirsa's standing.

"The old women, who watched the children," Thor said, remembering the elders who had been rescued by Gunnhilde and Tyra. "Their deeds are pleasing to me. They showed bravery."

"Even though they do not worship you?" Kirsa asked.

"It matters not to me if the deed is done in my name," Thor said, shrugging. "I approve all the same. They shielded the children, and in that act they were mighty."

"One of the raiders," Kirsa said, gaze going distant. "He…he liked the children. I put a sickness in his food."

"That sounds like a great deed of bravery to me," Thor said gently.

"Then I could worship you," Kirsa said, rallying now, a fire growing in her brown eyes. "You would not turn me away?"

"I would turn away only those whose deeds would make me their enemy," Thor said. A sudden thought of home. Noobmaster69. He scowled, dismissing the memory of the small foe. "Those who seek to stand above by treading on the backs of those beneath them, who prey on the weak, who mistake strength of arms for strength of purpose." He turned his thoughts away from the many tyrants he had fought in his years, and smiled at Kirsa. "You, I would welcome."

"Then I am yours," Kirsa said, earnest and sincere.

Thor's smile grew into a beam as he felt her faith, already reaching towards him, settle in full. A new connection bloomed. "Excellent!" he boomed, again drawing eyes, but he paid them no mind. "As long as your faith is true, I will be true to you, and you will find a place in Asgard when you pass from this world."

"I will be true," she said, fiercer now, the look incongruous on her soft features. "What would you have me do?"

"Plant some trees?" Thor suggested. "Groves are nice. The town could use a place of peace."

"I will see it done," Kirsa said, with more intensity than gardening plans likely warranted.

The clamour of the leadership debate rose even higher, before suddenly stopping. Thor looked over, seeing Tyra and Harad facing one another in one of the gaps in the fire pit. They were speaking, but between the crackle of the fire and the murmuring of the audience, he could not make out what they said. Harad inclined his head, and Tyra inclined hers in turn, before he stepped back to rejoin the table of warriors he had brought from his village. The murmuring of the crowd began to grow.

"I am Tyra of Vinteerholm!" she announced, silencing the hall. Short red hair shone dark in the firelight, the same shade as the bloodstains on her clothing that spoke to her deeds. "I will strike the Aeslings, and take back what they stole from us! Will you have me as your chieftain?"

A roar was her answer, tankards and fists raised high.

"Then I will lead you! We will hunt down the Aesling dogs, rescue our people, and make them fear the day they ever came here!" Tyra shouted. She raised a muscled arm, fist clenched. "Thor be with us, as we bring a storm upon our foes!"

Another roar, and many shouted his name, though Tyra was the most devout.

"For as long as you fight to defend the innocent," Thor said, his voice rumbling through the hall, "you will have my blessing."

Tyra's answering grin was more akin to a wolf than anything, but grin she did, and her people cheered, no matter the depth of their faith or if they held other gods in their heart.

The night was young, and the acclamation of Tyra seemed to be the signal for the celebration to truly begin. What children there were found themselves shuffled out by a parent, and somewhere someone had found a drum of some sort, and was playing it with enthusiasm and a little bit of skill.

Thor settled in for a night of revelry, raising his goblet to Tyra as she took the chieftain's chair. She met his gaze, clasping her wrists where once she had been bound by iron, and raised her own. They shared a drink. Nothing more needed to be said.

X x X

Thor dreamed.

He walked through Asgard, Old and New and all at once, taking in the empty streets. It should have been a place of life and laughter, but it was deserted, empty, abandoned. After the heat and revelry of the longhall, the absence was all the more pointed. Thor wandered, listless. He felt tired, but not to his bones. It was the kind of tiredness that told him he was nearly recovered after exerting himself, but it was there all the same.

Through gardens he passed, but they held no scent of flowers, and past training halls he walked, though there was no sound of combat. He yearned for the emptiness to be filled, but at the same time he knew that with the filling there would be tragedy to equal the joy. He did not know how he knew, just that he did.

He was not sure how long he walked, though it was long enough to recognise several places from his past, side by side despite the literal Realms that were once between them. Though they looked the same, they all lacked the soul they once held, for now at least.

Then, something caught his attention. Crows, circling outside the city walls. It was a sight he was familiar with. Scavengers always came, after a battle.

Through Asgard he ran, Old and New and all at once, until he had returned to the main gates. The gleaming gold barrier parted before him, revealing the lands outside the city. Heimdall was there of course, ever alert, and Thor followed his gaze.

A scene of carnage waited. Charred corpses and sundered bodies littered the fields on either side of the path, and this time there were no faceless children playing in them. They were occupied only by the dead.

"Were we attacked?" Thor demanded, Stormbreaker suddenly in his hand.

"Were we attacked, my King," Heimdall said, "you would have heard my horn."

Thor eased, letting his axe lower, though he made no move to release it. "Who did this?"

"You did."

Thor looked askance at his guardian, and the man gestured at the bodies.

"Look, and see."

Thor looked, and he saw. The bodies scattered about his fields were not just any bodies; they were the bodies of his foes, of the Aesling raiders he had slain in Vinteerholm. Parasites in life, now they watered the earth of his domain, giving sustenance, little as it was.

It was not every man slain in the battle, for his was not the hand that had taken every life, but it was a sizeable harvest nonetheless. The mutated beast that their leader had been reduced to was at the top of the pile, lifeless eyes staring at the sky as his blood soaked into the earth.

"Good riddance," Thor said, before another face caught his eye. Ale froth mixed with blood in their beard. It was the man he had tried to flyte, and whose throat Wolfric had cut. "You said I did this?" He turned to face his friend.

"By your hand, or sincerely in your name," Heimdall said, yellow eyes piercing. "It is due to you all the same."

Thor rumbled an agreement, turning back to the harvest. The corpses themselves were starting to dissolve into the ground, sinking and fading. "Good," he said. "A fine crop."

"First of many, huh big guy?" a woman asked.

His head turned quickly, and beheld Natasha, clad in golden armour.

"Just make sure the red goes to the fields, not your ledger," she said. "Be seeing you."

X

When Thor woke, he did so slowly. He was laid out on a hard wooden bench, and the scent of smoke drifted past his nostrils. Without opening his eyes, he reached into his pocket, already knowing what he would find. His fingers clasped foil and plastic, and he sighed. Another lunchable.

He rubbed sleep from his eyes as he forced himself up. He had slept on a seat in the longhall, leaving his back to protest, but from his memories of the night prior it wouldn't ache nearly as much as the heads of some. He levered his legs over with a groan, noting that he had lost his shirt at some stage. More memories returned. It seemed the celebration had gotten…raucous. He hadn't realised Gunnhilde could bend that much.

Retrieving the inexplicable thing from his pocket, Thor beheld the Midgardian product. He knew it was no great delicacy, but its value and deliciousness came not from the quality of its make, but because it had been shared with him by a friend.

But why then, did they keep appearing now?

Thor's brow furrowed as he beheld it. They appeared each time he dreamed of Asgard, Old and New and all at once, but how? Was he responsible, somehow? Were they being sent to him?

Glancing around at the longhall full of comatose and semi-comatose people, he decided that deciphering the puzzle of the reappearing lunchable could wait for later, when it was needed.

"Thor," a voice rasped, drawing his eye.

It came from beneath his bench, and he peered down to see who it was. He brightened as he saw them laying on the floor, covered in his shirt. "Good morning, Gunnhilde. You were most enthusiastic last night."

Gunnhilde made a sound of acknowledgement, holding her head. "Ma always said I was too competitive. That 'limbo' game was something new."

"I enjoyed it when it was introduced to me, and thought to pay it forward," he said. "How do you fare?"

She made a sound of tortured disgust.

Thor nodded sagely. "Close your eyes and rest. I will fetch you water."

A grateful sound answered him.

Rising to his feet, Thor began to cast around for water, though none was immediately apparent. Well, in the worst case she could at least have some hair of the dog.

Fortunately for Gunnhilde, it did not take him long to find a waterskin, and one would think he had bestowed the mead of the gods upon her; she was so grateful. Few others in the hall were stirring, and he took a seat on the bench again, sitting over her legs. She craned her neck, sipping at it slowly with her eyes still closed. Her free hand groped around for something, disquiet crossing her face when what she sought wasn't beside her.

"What do you seek?" Thor asked her.

"Spear," Gunnhilde said, voice less hoarse now. She forced her eyes open, and tried to shift out from under the bench, though her face paled alarmingly.

"Easy," Thor said. "Reach out with your mind, as if to call it."

Gunnhilde listened, ceasing her struggles, or maybe it was the nausea proving too much. Slowly, she levered her upper body out from under the bench, and squinted up at the ceiling.

Thor looked up, following her gaze, and saw a curious sight. The spear he had wrested from Bloodlust and blessed in his own image was lodged in the ceiling, hanging vertically. "How did that happen?" he asked.

"I think I threw it up there when I beat Tyra in your game," Gunnhilde said. She raised a hand, as if to call it, but visibly thought better of it.

"You don't need to fear your weapon," Thor said, guessing her thoughts.

"I almost impaled myself when first I called it," Gunnhilde said, closing one eye so as to better glower at him.

He rubbed his head. "Ha ha, yes, you did," he said. "But why should your weapon be a threat to you?"

"Because it is very sharp and moves very fast," Gunnhilde said, speaking slowly for his benefit.

"Why should it continue to move once you grasp it?" Thor asked. "Try it."

On the floor, hungover and dubious, Gunnhilde only considered his words for a moment before accepting them. She raised an arm, reaching up, and the spear in the ceiling quivered, but only for a moment - in the next, it shot down as if launched, and landed in her palm with a meaty thwack. Her elbow was driven down into the stone floor, and she grunted, but it was leagues better than having to use her full body to bleed off the spear's momentum.

"See?" Thor said, beaming. "Already you improve."

Gunnhilde groaned, less enthused, and closed her eyes once more. "Thank you, Lord Thor. Please go away." She curled up around her spear and the waterskin, turning her face from him.

Knowing well her suffering, Thor beat a quiet retreat and left the hall and those sleeping within it behind. Outside, the morning sun was shining, reflecting from a soft dusting of snow and the circle of glass that was left of when he had made his displeasure known. Someone had taken care of the corpses, and the roaring bonfire in the square spoke of how. Some few people were moving about, and though he did not recognise them, he still waved and smiled in greeting. They clearly recognised him, and bowed low instead. He hid a small frown; they would learn in time.

A face he did recognise appeared across the square, and he brightened.

Harad carried a corpse over his shoulder, and he approached the fire, where two of his warriors waited. The body was dumped beside a considerable pile of weapons and armour, some in better condition than others, and the two men set to work stripping it of valuables. The three of them looked up briefly as Thor approached, but were not distracted from their task for long.

"Harad," Thor said. "How goes it?"

"Well enough," Harad said. "No good comes from leaving the dead to rot, and I can handle my ale unlike some."

"Watching the young suffer is half the fun," Thor said. The fire was pleasantly warm in the cool morning air, though some might have called it sweltering to be so close.

Harad snorted. "Watching one youth vomit up their booze is the same as another," he said.

"Does much remain?" Thor asked, gesturing at the corpse, already reduced to its clothes, anything metal added to the pile.

"Just the bodies outside the walls, where we first brought battle to them," Harad said. "Those by the ships, too."

"I will help," Thor said.

The old warrior nodded, and they set out again as the corpse was tossed into the roaring bonfire, joining the remains of others. More wood was added as they left the square, stoking the flames.

Vinteerholm was a town renewed that day. Shutters were open where they had been barred, and folk walked through the streets where before they had hid. Thor spied the man who had taken in their wounded at the start of the assault, and greeted him with a raised arm, slowing to a stop.

"God of Thunder," the man said, stopping his quick pace to bow. He was still gaunt, but the shadows behind his eyes had lightened. It seemed word of Thor had been quick to spread through the town.

"I did not get your name, yesterday," Thor said.

"Knut," the man said in a mutter. Those few others in the streets slowed to observe as best they could without lingering.

"I thank you, Knut, for your aid yesterday," Thor said. He did not project his voice, but it was heard all the same. "You took a risk in doing so."

"M'boy wouldn't have let me hear the end of it," Knut said.

"Even so," Thor said. He was satisfied that his gratitude had been heard by those listening, and that was where the truth of his thanks lay. He made to be on his way.

"God of Thunder," Knut said, words bursting from him almost against his will, "wait. I heard word - Tyra means to pursue the Aeslings, rescue the taken. Is this true?"

"It is," Thor said

"Do you go with them?"

"I do."

Knut let out a breath, like a weight had been taken from him. "Praise Thor," he said, bowing again. He went on his way, a lightness to his steps that hadn't been there before.

Thor felt like he had sipped from a pure mountain stream of ice melt. It would seem he had gained another follower, and he fought the urge to bounce as they continued to the town gates.

Harad was watching him, thoughts hidden behind dark eyes. "The people are grateful," he observed.

"They often are," Thor said.

"What do you mean to do with that gratitude?" Harad asked. Their boots crunched in the snow as they walked. "That faith?"

"Repay it in kind," Thor said immediately. "Such trust is a burden to be borne responsibly." He had lived the results that came with failing to live up to that trust, and now that he was starting to shake off the fog of those years he would strive to never fall to it again.

Harad let out a considering rumble as he thought. At length, as they neared the gate, he spoke. "You are not the first."

"The first?"

"The first to proclaim yourself a god," Harad said. "Though usually they respond poorly when we don't drop to our knees in worship."

Thor boomed a laugh, thinking of a less suave, more unwashed version of his brother stamping his foot when denied worship. "How do you deal with them?"

"I crushed their skull between my hands," Harad said.

"Well, that is a compelling counter argument," Thor said. They had reached the gate. A path had been made through the gore, though the bodies themselves were gone, and they passed through. A cold wind greeted them, unhindered by the walls and buildings.

"Couldn't throw lightning around like you can, either," Harad said.

"Few can," Thor said. "I am the God of Thunder, not Hammers, after all."

"I would have expected you to name yourself Tor," Harad said. He was watching him closely.

"Why would I?" Thor asked. "My mother named me Thor."

"Tor is known well in the south," Harad said, as they crossed the field. The bodies of the gate sentries they had challenged when they first arrived waited for them, partially picked over by crows, though none were present now. "A god of storms, who wields a great axe with a haft of oak."

"Stormbreaker's haft is not oak," Thor said. "Though this Tor sounds like an impressive fellow."

They stopped by the closest bodies, Harad looking over Thor like he didn't know what to make of him. "You will have an interesting time in Kislev should you go there, I think," he said. He picked up a body missing an arm, and heaved it over one shoulder.

Thor grabbed a corpse with its intestines spilling out and folded it in half with a crack, so that he could carry it without trailing gore behind him. One large hand held it by the wrists and ankles, and they turned for the town again. "If ever I make it to this Kislev, I will ask after him," he said.

Harad let out a low chuckle. "I would hope to see it, if it did not mean leaving Helena and home behind," he said.

"I had thought she might join you," Thor admitted, glancing back at the bodies that remained. He could have carried more, but the bonfire could only consume them so quickly.

"Someone must lead those who remained," Harad said. "Even when we were young, she never had my wanderlust."

"How old are you?" Thor asked.

"I have fifty nine winters," Harad answered. "She has fifty five."

"Impressive," Thor said, and it was. In a land where warriors died easily, few were those with the skill to grow old and grey.

"We have almost everything we could want," he said simply. There was a mountain of feeling hidden behind the words.

They walked in silence, passing through the gates again, and they drew eyes as they went.

"Faith you mean to repay in kind," Harad said suddenly.

"Aye?" Thor said, watching him.

"What do you intend for our home?" he asked bluntly. "You take no insult at lack of worship, you do not claim the role of ruler when you could, but you court those like Tyra, and Wolfric." A gimlet eye watched him. "Your influence grows with every deed."

"I see much here I would change," Thor said, and Harad's brow furrowed. "I have started as I mean to continue."

The old warrior's expression eased. "What you have done…it is good," Harad said. "Few are those who would do so unselfishly."

It was not doubt or uncertainty that Thor could hear in his words. It was more a reluctance to trust that Thor was as he seemed, an unwillingness to hope and have that hope betrayed. He put his free hand on the mortal's shoulder. "You will come to see the truth of my words," he promised.

For a moment, Harad slowed, and Thor could feel a flicker of something, but then it was snuffed out. "I'll not pray to you," he warned.

"I will not demand it," Thor said, holding back a smile. Men such as this were rare, and he was reminded of Steve. They reached the bonfire, and dropped their burdens to the two waiting. They began to strip them of valuables once more, working quickly.

In no time at all the corpses were added to the bonfire, black smoke and the scent of roasting flesh rising from it, and more wood was added again. As they watched, another pair of Harad's men arrived with armfuls of wood, replenishing the pile.

"You seem on top of things," Thor observed.

"I lead my village for a reason," Harad said. "It's not because I'm pretty."

"Harad," Thor said, voice solemn. "You are very pretty. Do not let anyone tell you otherwise."

There was silence for a moment, and the four men nearby shared looks that spoke of their struggle to remain quiet. Then, a strangled snort, and the battle was lost.

Harad looked at his men with a kind of resigned annoyance as they struggled to contain themselves. He shook his head, turning away from them, but Thor caught a glimpse of a faint smile before it disappeared.

"What do you plan, now that the town is reclaimed?" Thor asked, following.

"Once the town is secured, I will take my warriors and return home," he said. "Without Gunnhilde's village to stop by in, it will be a longer journey, but not difficult."

"Take one of the longships," Thor said. "You need not walk."

"Generous," Harad said.

"The Aeslings have provided more," Thor said, shrugging, "and I need no ship to travel."

Harad chuckled. "I would not favour your chances of getting your people to follow you into the sky again."

"Yes, well…" Thor said, rubbing his head. The passengers of Air Thor had been most vocal about the experience, and not in glowing terms. "Perhaps a ship, strengthened so as not to shatter."

"Good luck," Harad said, his tone speaking volumes as to his thoughts on his chances.

Thor grumbled, but it was with good cheer. More corpses waited, and he was of a mind with Harad in avoiding the consequences of letting them fester. An ounce of prevention was better than expending his might in cleansing the taint. The sun shone down on the two axemen as they went about their task, speaking of little of consequence. The town would recover.

X x X

The first days were the hardest, but the people of Vinteerholm were a hardy folk, and they overcame them. Bodies were burned, buildings repaired, belongings recovered. The damage done to the town was excised, and the process of healing began.

Some scars were too great to be healed easily, such as the block of homes that had been burnt down when those living there had refused to surrender a daughter to the invaders. When the bodies were pulled from the ashes, the smallest of them saw storm clouds gather overhead to weep for the dead, and the town shared in the grief of those that remained.

Not all recovery was cause for tears. Families were reunited, new bonds were forged amongst those who had come together to slay raiders, and rebuilding began. Seeds were planted, literal and not, as Wolfric visited home and Kirsa planted trees, while Tyra began to train warriors. Harad departed, taking his people with him. Anticipation grew as the Baersonlings hungered for revenge, but it did not come with a snap of fingers, and Thor had his part to play.

The very first day, after the Aesling corpses had been disposed of but before Harad departed, Thor met with Wolfric and those who had people to return to, back at the village. A tree was felled, though each of them refused to strap themselves to it before certain measures were taken, and carpenters were pressed into service to make the journey less fraught. Thor sulked as he watched the work proceed; he would have caught anyone who fell.

In the late afternoon of that first day, it was Trumpetter who first noticed their return, sounding a shrill warning when he saw the tree approaching through the sky, although given the way he rocked Thor back as he tackled him upon landing, perhaps he had somehow sensed his approach.

"Who's a good boy?" Thor asked the juvenile mammoth, rubbing his large skull with enough force to rock him back and forth. "Is it you, Trumpetter? Is it you? I think it is!"

Trumpetter wrapped his trunk around Thor as best he could, butting his head up against him. Theirs was not the only reunion; Astrid and Elsa had been playing with Trumpetter when he noticed their approach and they did knock Wolfric over when they jumped at him, digging bony knees into his chest as they sat on him and demanded answers, checking him for injury.

"Where did you get that sword?" Astrid demanded.

"Did you kill many Aeslings?" Elsa asked immediately.

"What about Thor?" "What was Vinteerholm like?"

On and on the barrage of questions went, giving him no time to answer, but he did his best, fighting his way out from under them and to his feet. The clamour soon attracted others, and there was great joy as loved ones were reunited. By fortune or perhaps design, none of the slain had family waiting for them, leaving the day unmarred by heartbreak. Soon the entire village was present, drawn from whatever task they had been at. The children joined the twins in marvelling at Wolfric's new sword, while others sought news of how the fight had gone, and it trickled out in dribs and drabs, hindered by the enthusiasm of the crowd.

"Yes, Vinteerholm is freed!" Thor said. "The Aeslings are gone, though the town still bears the marks of their presence. Some escaped before we arrived, and Tyra, the new leader of the town, means to pursue them as soon as she is able."

"What will you do now?" Aslaug asked from near his shoulder. In the press of the crowd, she had drawn close without him noticing.

"I will aid them," Thor said. "They stole people when they fled, and I will not permit that to stand."

"How many Aeslings were slain?" "How many people were killed?" "What of the grain stores?"

Thor raised his hands to ward off the questions. "I know you have questions, and Wolfric will be happy to answer them," he said, throwing his worshipper under the bus.

Wolfric did not quite glare, but there was no thanks on his face as every face in the crowd turned to him. "We slew many. The town suffered, but more were taken than killed. The grain remains."

More questions erupted, but it was impossible to tell them apart.

"Was there any trouble while we were gone?" Thor asked, rescuing his follower.

"Scavengers about the mammoths, but nothin' else," an old woman said.

"Lucky, with all the warriors gone," Helka, the wise woman, said.

"If the men hadn't gone off to fight, we'd not be in these troubles to start," another elder said. It had the sound of an old argument, and it threatened to erupt again. It seemed that the mood had been fractious in the absence of the warriors that remained.

"If you go to war against the Aeslings, how will we protect ourselves?" Auslaug asked of Thor.

"Perhaps you could come to Vinteerholm," Thor suggested, "at least until your warriors return, and you can rebuild in safety."

The suggestion was not received poorly.

"Got a brother there," one old woman said.

"Few of us were born there," another added.

"Tyra would not refuse us," Wolfric said. "She is the new chieftain," he explained. "It would be the safer option."

"Once we're there, aye," a greybeard said.

"I can convey you there quickly," Thor said.

"My sisters are not flying with you," Wolfric said flatly. The girls suddenly looked rebellious, Astrid outright glaring at the brother she had been fawning over moments before, though she didn't move to escape his arm around her shoulders.

"Or I could arrange for a longship," Thor said. The twins looked disappointed, and there was a sudden chill in the air.

"You're sure Tyra would accept us?" Helka asked.

"You healed her after Thor rescued her," Wolfric said.

Helka glanced at him, and saw him watching her. "Godly one," she said, ducking her head.

"Perhaps a gift of mammoth meat might smooth the way," Thor suggested. "Not you," he said to Trumpetter, the tyke still leaning heavily against him.

There were more considering murmurs, but no one seemed to be outright against it. Many glanced at the still partially destroyed village, and the half built wall around it, and found it wanting.

"All in favour of moving to Vinteerholm, at least in the short term?" Wolfric asked.

A general acclaim answered him, and that was that.

"Gather your possessions as you can," Wolfric told the crowd. "A longship will be here tomorrow."

Thor beamed as he watched Wolfric step up, leading more directly. No longer the injured and battered man he had met scarcely a week ago, now he was looked to by his people, and gone was the bloodstained bandage covering his missing eye, replaced by one cleaner. He would have to get him something nicer.

It was mid afternoon, and they spent the rest of it socialising and telling tales of the battle. Those who had fought found themselves the centre of attention, as Thor held back from boasting. It did not matter, as they boasted for him, speaking of his slaying of the mutated creature, the chaos spawn, that the raider had turned into, and of the insults he had goaded them with beforehand. He pretended not to hear the children imitating him, crafting insults of their own and hurling them at each other with glee.

When it was time to leave, hours later, Thor found that though some warriors had elected to stay, he had still picked up two more passengers. Astrid and Elsa clambered aboard the tree, almost wearing their own weight in warm clothes, and sat patiently as Wolfric tied them down with three times the ropes anyone else was attached with, looking smug.

"I thought you said they would not be flying with us," Thor said.

"I don't want to talk about it," Wolfric said, double checking a knot.

"Even if they fall, I will catch them," Thor assured him.

Wolfric glared, before visibly realising he was glaring at his god and dialling it back a notch. Only a notch, though.

Trumpetter gave a forlorn hoot when they were ready to leave, but Thor had spent the bulk of his time petting him already, and he hardened his heart. He would see him again tomorrow.

One look at Trumpetter's large dark eyes had him crumbling. "I will see you tomorrow," he said. "Don't look at me like that."

Another sad rumble was his answer. Thor stepped away from Air Thor to give him one last rub behind the ears, but then he was forced to extricate himself from his trunk and turn his gaze away. He stepped away again, but then there was a touch on his hand, and he looked down to see the tip of his trunk reaching out to him.

Thor heaved a great sigh. "Fine. Get on."

Trumpetter gave a jubilant trumpet, racing ahead of Thor and towards the passenger tree, trotting around it with happy little stamps. Wolfric gave Thor a look that he resolutely ignored, and in short order the mammoth was straddling the trunk and lashed in place. After a final round of farewells to the villagers, temporary as it might be, Thor hoisted Air Thor and took to the skies, two delighted screams and a trumpet left in their wake.

The journey passed quickly, though it was impossible to talk between themselves, and they arrived back in Vinteerholm as dusk fell. Gunnhilde was waiting for them in the square by the longhouse, watching as Thor descended and lit by the light of the still burning bonfire. Again, those aboard were quick to disembark, some more shakily than others.

"I hope you were not waiting long for me," Thor said, as he untied Trumpetter from his spot. The mammoth was quick to stretch his legs when he was freed, the twins running after him after Wolfric untied them.

"No," Gunnhilde said. "I had a feeling you were approaching."

Thor thought back to how Trumpetter had alerted the twins to his arrival, and made a noise of consideration. "Were there troubles while I was gone?" he asked.

"Nothing, though Harad said he would aim to leave tomorrow," Gunnhilde said.

"He mentioned," Thor said.

Trumpetter came tramping past, Astrid and Elsa trailing behind him.

Gunnhilde watched, bemused, as they went.

"That's Trumpetter," Thor said. "He's not for eating."

"I see," Gunnhilde said. Her tone said she didn't. "Those must be Elsa and Astrid."

"Aye," Wolfric said, joining the conversation. "My sisters. Hellions."

Perhaps sensing they were being spoken about, the two ran up to join in, colliding with their brother.

"Hello we're Astrid and Elsa," the two said, almost tripping over their words.

"Lord Thor told me about you," Gunnhilde said.

"He's the god of thunder," Astrid informed her.

"He's very warm," Elsa added. "He saved our lives."

"I am his Valkyrie," Gunndhilde told them. "He saved my life too."

Their eyes grew huge, and they looked impressed.

"We're gonna be Valkyries one day too," Astrid said.

"I thought we wanted to be witches," Elsa said, frowning.

"We can be both," Astrid told her, before pausing, looking unsure. "Right?" she asked Thor.

"Of course," Thor said, smiling down at the almost-teenagers. "My brother knew subtle and cunning seidr, but he was also a great warrior." He noticed the fixed expression on Wolfric's face. "Just ah, when you're older."

"How much older?" Elsa demanded.

"Much older," Thor said.

"So next year?" Astrid said, tone conveying how unfair it all was.

"When you're grown up," Thor said. "As grown up as Gunnhilde."

Two sets of blue eyes travelled over to the woman, taking in her lithe and muscled form, blonde hair coiled at her neck. Then they looked at each other, taking in skinny limbs and wind swept brown hair, before looking to Thor, identical expressions of betrayal on their faces.

"If you are good," Gunnhilde said, before they could voice their dismay, "and listen to your brother, I could teach you a few things."

"Yes!" the twins said as one.

"I think feeding Trumpetter would be a good start," Wolfric said. "He looks hungry."

Trumpetter was in fact investigating the circle of glass nearby cautiously, but the twins were swift to run off to him, faces determined.

"I appreciate that," Thor said.

"I just wanted to keep them busy while I find a place for us to spend the night," Wolfric admitted.

"Tyra helped me with that," Gunnhilde said. "There are…many empty houses."

Wolfric nodded his thanks, and set off for the longhouse after a muttered 'Lord Thor'. Gunnhilde watched after them for a moment, before sighing and making to do the same.

"Gunnhilde," Thor said, stopping his Valkyrie. "This is a good thing you are doing."

"'Be kind to others'," Gunnhilde said, shrugging, as if to play it off.

"You mourn your sister still, I know," Thor said, and she stilled. "Again you prove yourself worthy of being my Valkyrie."

Her hand went to the pocket which he knew held a carved token of a cat. She swallowed, blinking, before giving a nod. "Lord Thor."

He clasped her shoulder, and she went on her way. Thor watched her go, as night well and truly began to fall. There was more work to be done on the morrow.

X

The second day, the mood was bleak. The Aeslings had not been kind to the Baersonlings, and had stamped out any defiance with ruthless cruelty. That day, work began on a block that had been burnt to the ground when one family within had hidden away their daughter, refusing to hand her over. The raiders had made a statement, killing a dozen families, and no more were their demands refused outright. On that day the remains of the buildings were sifted through, family retrieving what keepsakes they could while others salvaged nails and other materials to help them rebuild. They were not the first to comb through the ashes. First had been Harad's men, volunteers all, who had recovered what was left of those who had perished.

Thor had watched as tiny bodies were pulled free with care, and a downpour ensued, a storm threatening. It was only when the last corpse was found, and a respectul pyre built, that the rain let up. Little else had been achieved that day, spirits dampened as word spread as to the human cost of the occupation, and the joy of liberation faded. The longhouse was full again, but there was no celebration, and the mood was sombre.

The third day, the skies were clear, and the townspeople were beginning to look to the future. The worst traces of the Aeslings had been removed, and those most hurt by them that yet lived were with their families, recovering as best they could. Thought they would always carry the evil of those days with them, in time the burden would lighten.

Not all scars faded with time alone, however, and that was what brought Thor to the burnt scar that had been cleared the day before. It lay on the northern side of the town, away from the river, only a few streets short of the wall. He was not the only one drawn by it that morning, gazing across the remains in the cold morning air.

Kirsa stood at its edge, just shy of the black slurry of ash and mud, his red cape bundled around her. Thor came to a stop beside her, and for a time, no words were shared. A particularly bitter breeze swept past them, and neither so much as shivered.

"She was my friend," Kirsa said, swallowing to clear her throat.

"She?" Thor asked.

"Magda," Kirsa said. "The one they - the one they wanted." Brown eyes stared out over the small field of ashes, fixed on a specific spot.

"The pain will never truly fade," Thor said. "You will grow better able to bear it, all the same." He turned his mind from those he had lost, and allowed anger to rise to take its place. Too many had been hurt by a meaningless raid that amounted to nothing but the spread of pain and suffering.

Kirsa rubbed the back of her hand across her cheek. "I want to plant your grove here," she said. "Magda liked the forest, and I - I want it to be something good. For her. If you approve."

"Then here my grove will stand," Thor said. It had been centuries since he had planted anything, and even in his first visits to Midgard, being worshipped by the mortals, their devotion hadn't been nearly as real as this. He was making it up as he went along, but then, he often did and it usually turned out well enough.

His words seem to centre Kirsa, and she nodded, standing taller. From her hip, hidden by the red cloak, she pulled a large pouch. It rustled, full of seeds. She stepped forward, the slurry squishing under her boots, but then she hesitated. "How should I…?

"Focus on why you do this," Thor told her. He thought back to when his mother had led him and Loki through something similar as children. "My mother used to tell me that if you plant seeds with care, their fruit will taste all the sweeter."

Kirsa nodded, firm. "I know what I shall pray on."

On that note…with an effort of will, he summoned his armour, though not his axe. This was to be a place of peace, after all. With a faint ripple of light and seidr his tunic and pants were covered by the product of Asgardian smiths, his cape settling on his shoulders. He paused, glancing over his shoulder at it, and then to the cape Kirsa wore as a cloak.

"Lord Thor?" Kirsa asked.

"I guess that's yours now," he said, gesturing to the red cloak. "Look after it, won't you? It was woven by my mother's handmaidens."

Kirsa was almost overwhelmed. She looked to be overflowing with questions, but she held her tongue, letting out a shaky breath. She poured half of her pouch of seeds into Thor's waiting hands, and they set about it. Small holes were dug with their bare hands, and a single seed placed within before being covered. The ground and slush was moist from the rain the day before, and though parts were close to frozen, it was not enough to slow Thor, and Kirsa did not let it stop her. They worked away from one another, splitting up along the field, neither in any hurry. What few clouds there were did not come close to casting shade over them, and the sun was almost warm.

Their task did not go unnoticed. Passersby slowed as they went about their business, distracted from their work. Many were quick to dismiss them, thinking little of their behaviour, but others stopped to watch. Thor beamed at these, but for some reason they tended to bow and hurry onwards. His smile would disappear until the next one, but his pockets were heavy with seeds, and there was much ground to cover. They were perhaps a quarter done when there came a man who didn't flee at his smile.

"God of Thunder," Knut, the townsman, said. His son was at his side, looking up at Thor with clear awe, drinking in his armour. The boy was still as irrepressible as when they had met.

"Knut," Thor said. "Good to see you again. What brings you out here?"

"We went to see Tyra," the boy said, beating his father to the punch. "We're gonna help them raid the Aeslings back!"

"It's just a bit of provisioning son," Knut said, patting him on the head.

"The warriors are gonna use our supplies when they get Ma and the others back," the boy insisted.

"Even the greatest warrior would fall without a full belly," Thor agreed. "And what is your name, little one?"

"Ragnar!" he said proudly.

"Then I am pleased, Ragnar, that I will eat food prepared by you and your father when we set out to rescue your people," Thor said.

Ragnar grinned, gap toothed, but then his attention was diverted by the arrival of two newcomers. The two brown haired girls inspected him in turn, before deciding he was too young to be interesting, and they turned to Thor.

"Lord Thor," Astrid said. There was a smudge of dirt across her cheek, and she had found trousers somewhere to wear. Elsa was more interested in the dirt on Thor's hands and the pouch at his hip.

"Astrid, Elsa," Thor said. "Does Wolfric know where you are?"

"We did our chores," Astrid said, dodging the question. "What are you doing here?"

"Can we help?" Elsa asked. She wore a grey wool dress.

Kirsa was nearing now, and had heard the question. It was her project, and Thor was inclined to let her decide, but she was clearly looking to him to answer.

"I wanna help too!" Ragnar said.

He was not against the idea, but some instinct had him pause. "I don't know, children," he said. "Can you?"

"What've we gotta do?" Astrid demanded.

"Only the faithful may plant a tree for my grove," Thor told them, crouching down to look them eye to eye.

"I'm a faithful," Ragnar insisted.

Thor smiled, but his expression soon turned serious once more. "Look to your father, young Ragnar," he said. "This is not a decision to be made lightly."

The boy looked to his father, questioning, and Knut squeezed his shoulder. "You remember the ones we would pray to when we needed help?"

"I remember Ma killed the snow leopard last winter, when it was bad," Ragnar said. "Cut its head right off!"

Knut grimaced, and Thor had a feeling it hadn't been quite so easy. "The Gods give, and the Gods take," he said. "The God of Thunder has been kinder than most, so far." He looked like he regretted the last of his words the instant he said them.

Ragnar puzzled over the words; he was only a young child.

"We're faithful," Elsa said. There was not a jot of uncertainty in her words. "Lord Thor saved our lives."

"If I am ever unkind to those I protect," Thor said, mostly to Knut, "I will no longer be worthy."

The man nodded slowly. "The Aeslings brought the Hound with them, son. The God of Thunder threw him out." The words had Ragnar brightening once more.

"We're gonna be Valkyries of Thor when we're older," Astrid said, bragging. "We're gonna protect our people and kill raiders!"

"Valkyries protect the innocent, no matter who they are," Kirsa said, speaking to Astrid.

"That's what I said," Astrid said, puzzled.

"I wanna be a Valkyrie too!" Ragnar said.

"I am sorry, Ragnar," Thor said. He knew well the heartbreak he was about to visit on the boy. "Only women may become Valkyries."

Ragnar sagged slowly, lower lip not quite trembling.

"That does not mean you cannot plant a tree," Thor said hurriedly.

Kirsa took pity on him. "Were you brave, when the Aeslings came?" she asked the boy.

"He was," Knut said.

"Have you been helping your neighbours recover?" Kirsa asked.

Ragnar nodded quickly.

"Are you thankful to Lord Thor for what he has done for us?" Kirsa asked, eyes intent.

"He kicked out the raiders and he's gonna save Ma," Ragnar said, utterly sure.

"Then as long as you do nothing to anger the God of Thunder, you are faithful," she said.

"Yes, I'm a faithful," Ragnar said, insisting again.

He was young, Thor knew, too young to truly understand, but his was not a complicated creed, and it asked nothing of the boy other than that he be a child. "Here," he said, handing over a seed.

Ragnar almost seemed to vibrate in place, holding the seed carefully as he looked around, searching for the perfect place to plant it. A spot caught his eye, and he traipsed over to it.

Wordlessly, Thor looked to Knut, tilting his head in question. The gaunt man nodded slowly, and held out his hand. A seed was given to him, and he joined his son.

Elsa and Astrid were fairly squirming in place, gazes locked on Thor's pockets, and he smiled. "Would you also like a seed?"

The girls nodded rapidly. "This is a sacred grove, isn't it?" Astrid asked.

"Where people can meet but can't fight," Elsa added. "Wolfric said."

"That's right," Thor said. The twins shared an inscrutable glance as he handed them each a seed, a pair of matched acorns, before looking to Kirsa. Something seemed to pass between them.

"Thank you, God of Thunder," they said together. Uncaring of the dirt, they knelt and dug a single hole together, placing the seeds within, before covering it up. The next moment they were up and racing in opposite directions without so much as a word.

Kirsa was smiling. "Word will spread," she said, running her hand along her cloak.

"Children do like to chatter," Thor agreed.

They returned to their task, sharing more seeds with Knut and Ragnar. There was no rush, for it was not a task aided by haste. Some of those who lived nearby watched from doorways and windows, silently observing. Before long, Astrid returned, rounding the nearest corner as she pulled another by the hand. It was Gunnhilde.

"I was told you needed your Valkyrie," Gunnhilde said as they neared. Her spear was slung over her shoulder by a leather strap. Astrid was already running off again.

"Kirsa is planting our grove," Thor said. "Seed?"

Gunnhilde accepted it, and glanced over at the father and son. "They watched over our wounded, after the fight at the gate," she observed.

"We made an impression on them, it seems," Thor said.

"You've made an impression on many," Gunnhilde said, giving him a look. "Do I need to water this with blood?"

"No no," Thor said quickly. "Just a prayer if you must."

Nodding, she knelt to scrape a hole, placing the seed within, before looking to the sky and beginning to pray. Then she paused, suddenly uncertain, glancing between the sky and Thor.

"The sky is fine!" Thor said, eager to avoid having actual prayers delivered directly to him. He moved on to continue planting as his Valkyrie prayed for strength and swiftness in battle as she quietly contemplated the sky.

Gunnhilde was not the last to arrive. Wolfric was next, dragged by Elsa, but again the girl ran off after delivering her quarry. The man took in the situation at a glance and accepted a seed with a sigh, joining in the fun.

More and more people began to arrive, not just those who were passing by on other business. Most were those who had fought with Thor to take back the town, those from Wolfric or Gunnhilde's villages, though the old woman who had lost an ear watching over the children joined as well, as did the child hostages themselves, arriving in a mob with Elsa and Astrid as they returned for the final time. Their parents came with them, and many seeds were handed out, though not all partook, electing only to watch from the sidelines. Thor did not begrudge them. He was outside anything they had come to know or experience, and worship compelled was a poisonous brew.

Tyra was one of the last to arrive, still sweaty from training, axes at either hip. Kirsa handed her the last seed she had, and the chieftain planted it without ceremony near the centre of the burnt block, now a field well planted. There was a crowd now, not large, but not small either, and they all looked to Thor, one last seed in his hand. It was an acorn, and its size had seen him save it for last. There was a sense of weight to the moment, and he considered his words.

"Where I come from," he began slowly, looking out at those around him, "groves such as this will become are places where one might meet and talk without fear of violence or betrayal." All were quiet as he spoke, though some listened more intently than others, straining as if fearful they would miss a great truth. "A terrible deed was done here. It has left scars." He looked to Kirsa. "By the will of one of your own, this place will be healed. By my will, it will be hallowed and made sacred. As long as this town is defended by those with stout hearts and strong arms, let none know fear under the boughs yet to grow."

Thor closed his fist around the seed he held, and brought forth the storm. It came not from the skies, but from his soul, and the scent of lightning and fresh rain was heavy in the air. Across his mind's eye faces flashed, most of which he knew to be in the crowd around him. He saw Gunnhilde and Wolfric and Tyra and ElsaandAstrid and Knut and Ragnar and - he focused, drinking of the belief that flowed from them and pouring it into the seed. White light shone from between his fingers, and the eyes of all were fixed upon it.

From the core of himself Thor could feel an outpouring of power, of essence, greater even than when he had hallowed Gunnhilde's spear, but weathered it, and he was not left drained - not utterly, at the least. When the seed held all it could, he opened his fist and allowed it to fall. It fell faster than it had any right to, still shining, and buried itself in the dirt.

"Any who seek to repeat the evil that led to this moment in this grove will know the might of Thor," he said, and it was like the rumble of the oncoming storm.

"Praise Thor!" Kirsa said. Her fervour was clear upon her face as she exulted.

"God of Thunder!" Tyra said. Red hair whipped in a sudden wind. "Praise!"

"God of Groves!" Wolfric added his voice.

'Praise!' came the cry of some in the crowd. 'Praise!' it was repeated, louder as more took it up. 'Praise!'

"Protector of Mankind!" Gunnhilde cried. "Praise Thor!"

"Praise Thor!" Elsa and Astrid shouted as one, working to make their voices heard.

Thor felt like he had liquid lightning coursing through his veins in a way he hadn't felt since the day he first laid his hand on Mjolnir. It was like being at the centre of a cyclone, and thunder rumbled in the cloudless sky. He felt like he could fly without Stormbreaker, like he was drunk and battle high and rolling in the sheets with a comely maiden all at once.

With an effort of will, he controlled himself, pushing back against the urge to let loose the storm. He raised his hands, calming the crowd. "If not for you and yours, this grove would not be here," he said. "It is for all who would come to it in good faith. Remember that."

Heads were bowed, as the excitement settled and Thor's risk of being thrown up on someone's shoulders fell.

"We will remember, Lord Thor," Kirsa said, and she spoke for them all.

The crowd began to filter away, first in ones and twos, then more. Some looked over their shoulders as they went, as if hoping to see green sprouts. Thor kept a tight grip on the storm within as it began to settle, perhaps slightly fuller than before he had spent it on the blessing. He hummed an old tune under his breath, one half remembered from childhood. Soon, all that remained were those whose faith Thor could feel most strongly, his earliest, most sincere worsh- followers.

"I thought I felt your power when you smote the chaos spawn," Tyra said. "That was different."

"The beast that the raider became?" Thor asked. He received a nod. "I struck that down with my own power. This was…something else."

"It was belief," Wolfric said. Astrid and Elsa were at his sides, listening intently, as if they thought speaking up might risk reminding them of their presence.

"The power Lord Thor draws from our faith," Gunnhilde said.

"What will it become?" Tyra asked, looking at where the seed had buried itself.

"I don't know," Thor said cheerfully. "We will have to wait and see."

"Shouldn't a God know?" Tyra asked, perplexed.

Kirsa made a sound, almost glaring at Tyra, but the redhead gave her a look akin to one a panther might give a snarling cub.

"If anyone tries to tell you they are all knowing or all powerful, they are a fool or lying," Thor said.

"The Schemer is said to know all," Wolfric said, noncommittal.

"Then it is a fool, or lying," Thor said.

"Strong words," Tyra said, baring her teeth in a smile.

Thor shrugged, returning her smile. He had never been one to hold his tongue. The sword at Wolfric's hip caught his eye, and he considered it. He had implied that he would bestow a blessing upon it to match Gunnhilde's spear, and had thought about waiting until the rescue raid to do so as a way of boosting the morale of the warriors, but that was perhaps not fair to the man. "Pass me your sword, would you Wolfric?"

"Do you mean-"

"Aye," Thor said.

"Are you not tired? After the seed?" Wolfric asked.

"Nay, I am mighty," Thor insisted.

Wolfric levelled a gaze at him that his sisters saw often.

"Those who witnessed the blessing were well impressed," Thor said. "I have power enough for this, never fear."

Reassured, Wolfric handed over the sword that had once been wielded by the raider turned chaos spawn, and Thor inspected it. It had been cleaned and honed since the one-eyed warrior had taken possession of it, fairly gleaming under the sun. The gem was worth much even on its own.

"You watched me slaughter scores of raiders, and then stepped between me and your sister when you thought I might mean her ill," Thor said, speaking as much to himself as to Wolfric.

Elsa and Astrid were listening closely, as were the others.

"I wonder…" Thor said.

Again, Thor drew on the truth of his power, of his being, and directed it into the weapon he held. It was not like when he had hallowed Gunnhilde's spear; there was no Bloodlust within that sought to devour it for him to overwhelm. There was only an empty vessel, and the storm poured in to fill it. He shaped it as it did, forming it to suit his purpose, to fulfil the vision he thought might best suit the man.

The sword grew to fit his power, shifting under his attentions, and his audience watched with awe. Where once it looked like something a Midgardian knight might wield, now it reminded him more of something forged by Asgard. Solid knotwork decorated the hilt, the crossguard resembling the stylised helm of an Einherjar, and it had a weight to it, rapidly growing heavy in Thor's hand. He held back a chuckle at the unintended consequence that his changes had wrought.

"Your sword, Wolfric," Thor said, holding it out, hilt first.

Wolfric accepted it with reverence, taking it by the hilt and staring down the blade's edge. "It's light," he said, surprised.

"It will accept no wielder that does not hold the faith you do," Thor said. "In the hands of a nonbeliever, it will grow heavy and slow. In yours, the stronger your faith, the keener its edge."

"Tribes have gone to war over weapons like this," Wolfric said, still admiring it. He gave it a practice swing, and it hummed through the air.

"You will use it to set right a wrong," Thor said. He noticed Astrid's eyes following it, catlike, and smiled. "If your sister does not steal it first."

Wolfric followed his gaze and turned slightly, as if shielding the sword. Astrid didn't defend herself, still seemingly hypnotised by it, and Elsa poked her in the side.

"Thank you, Lord Thor," Wolfric said. "I will be worthy of it."

Thor nodded, sobered by the choice of words. "I have no doubt."

Tyra was nearly as covetous as Astrid, staring at the sword as Wolfric sheathed it, but she made no request for herself. Thor was thankful, for he was strained, though it was a good tiredness, not the near exhaustion that had come after hallowing Gunnhilde's spear.

A few streets over, there came a trumpeting call, and the twins perked up. The hesitated only for a moment, looking to Wolfric for permission, and were off before he had finished nodding.

"They have the right of it," Gunnhilde said. "I was helping Harad ready the longship."

"If I don't keep an eye on my warriors, someone is going to lose a limb," Tyra said, agreeing.

Wolfric was already following his sisters.

"I will stay here, for a time," Kirsa said, offering nothing else.

"If I am to fight with these warriors, I will see them for myself," Thor decided.

Tyra straightened, nodding. "They've fought with you, or heard the tales. Your eye will serve them well, God of Thunder."

"Please call me Lord Thor," he said, almost begging.

"Lord Thor," Tyra said, agreeing easily.

Giving the others a nod, they set off. Through the town they walked, making for the western gate. It seemed word of the planting was already spreading, for Thor received many newly awed looks, though there were some scornful looks hidden amongst them.

"How goes the training?" Thor asked as they walked.

Tyra grunted. "They won't fend off another raid, not without help."

"So poorly?" Thor asked, frowning.

"They're raw," Tyra said. She ran a hand through her hair, cut short by a knife. "We had fifty strong fighters when the Aeslings came and I was the best of them. Most fell."

"Recruits can be seasoned," Thor said, remembering sneaking out to watch the Einherjar train.

"In time," Tyra said. "But if we wait that long there won't be any of our people left to save."

"If a threat emerges that prevents you from rescuing your people, I will see to it myself," Thor said, his tone as sure as the mountains.

Tyra stopped in the street, turning to face him. "If you went now, could you save them?" she asked bluntly.

"I could," Thor said, stopping with her, "if I knew where they were taken, and by which route. The prisoner was…unhelpful, before I left him to stew."

The warrior woman grimaced, setting off again. "Taking back our home was one thing, but our taken people have no time for misplaced pride."

"Preparation is key," Thor said. "Even if I could rescue them today, I would be alone in the wilderness with who knows how many wounded and battered." He gave her a sideways look. "You have made the right choice. An unwise ruler would have rushed off without a plan."

Tyra gave a hmm, brow still furrowed, but seemed lighter for his words. "I've got people eager to make the prisoner talk, if he's feeling unhelpful."

"He will speak when next I see him, or I'll give him to you," Thor said. It was barbaric, but this was a barbaric land, and there were no palace cells to isolate the man in.

"He'll want to avoid that fate," Tyra said.

"He brought his fate upon himself," Thor said. "If he does not wish to set some measure of his wrongs to right, I'll not protect him."

They were nearing the town wall now, passing by what tanners they had, their stench wafting over them and making them both pinch their noses as they hurried through.

"Our gods are usually more distant," Tyra said, after they had passed. The gate was ahead, open but watched over by a pair of archers above it.

"How helpful I would have been, sending blessings from afar," Thor said.

"I've seen Gunnhilde's spear in action," Tyra said. "You could slay a full raiding party alone with that."

"Even so," Thor said. "I could help, so I did."

"Our gods are usually more demanding, too," Tyra said, giving him a look.

"If I'm going to be worshipped as a god, I might as well earn it," Thor said, large shoulders shrugging. "Besides, those who demand veneration are rarely worthy of it." He thought of his sister and the rivers of blood she had spilled in her quest for the crown.

The look Tyra gave him was searching, but she kept her thoughts to herself, and then they were through the gate. Beyond was the training fields for the day, churned and muddy from use. Near to one hundred men and women were assembled, most young, but some greyhairs amongst them too. A few Thor recognised as having fought to liberate the town, but more seemed to be locals of Vinteerholm, eager to gain some measure of revenge or justice for what had befallen them. They were not training now, most walking about to keep warm, but they bore the signs of hard sparring. One man had a face of mud, save for the patches scraped away from his eyes and nostrils.

"NAPTIME'S OVER YOU LOUTS," Tyra roared suddenly, startling those who hadn't seen her and Thor pass through the gates. "You think the Aeslings are going to give you time to rest?!? Pair off; if your partner isn't bruised you're not trying hard enough!"

Thoroughly chastised, the gathering was quick to break into pairs and spread out, hacking away and doing their level best to hurl each other into the ground. Here and there veterans prowled through the mess, giving advice and snapping instructions. Thor recognised the woman who had been near run through with a sword snapping at a young man, scarce more than a boy, as she limped along on crude crutches.

Thor observed from the side, arms crossed as he conjured up what he hoped was the same stern expression his father had worn when he inspected the troops. He was glad he was still wearing his armour; it would pick up the slack.

"It's a mess," Tyra said, stepping up to his side after she had finished haranguing some poor girl. "My man would have my h-" she choked off what she was going to say, swallowing. "He'd give me an earful if he saw me training them like this."

"Was he the trainer?" Thor asked. He remembered the skull that had been placed to taunt Tyra in her captivity.

"He wasn't the best fighter," Tyra said, "but he had a way of easing new blood into things."

"You do what you can," Thor said. It is not how he would do it, but he was not the chieftain.

"We don't have the time to do it right," Tyra said. "Plenty of blunt weapons on hand, at least," she added with a wince as she saw someone miss a block completely and catch a handaxe to the side.

"How long did you plan to wait before setting out?"

"The moment I think the new blood won't die to the first Aesling they meet, we're going," Tyra said.

Thor gave a grunt of acknowledgement, watching as one pair devolved into a wrestling match in the mud and slush.

Tyra's wince grew more pronounced. "What would you do, Lord Thor?" she asked lowly. "I don't want to fail my people."

"They need discipline," Thor said immediately, thinking of the gleaming ranks of Einherjar that defended Asgard. They were not as mighty as he, and had fallen against Hela, but they had served honourably and well, overcoming foes beyond the ability of any single warrior. These townspeople were not Einherjar - but if they could be taught a touch of their discipline, they would be far more likely to survive.

"Discipline," Tyra said, nodding slowly, before taking a breath. "SWAP PARTNER!" she bellowed. She cleared her throat, spitting to the side. "I can do that."

For a time, the sparring continued, Tyra calling for rotations now and then, and Thor continued to watch. There wasn't anything approaching a uniform, and much armour bore the signs of battle and quick repair. If the bulk of it hadn't been looted from the Aeslings, Thor would eat his axe.

At length, a halt was called, and shields were sent for. Those who Tyra thought hadn't been giving their all were volunteered, and returned quickly with arms full of round wooden shields. Many bore images of snarling hounds, some carved on, some painted, and Thor narrowed his eyes at the sight. He listened with half an ear as Tyra split them into four groups. If the images had been painted with actual paint, forget his axe, he would eat nothing but mammoth for a year.

"...and if you don't break the opposing shield wall at least once, you'll wish you had," Tyra said as she finished threatening the assembled groups. She jerked her head towards one of the veterans, and they took over for her, while she rejoined Thor on the side.

"A good start," Thor offered.

"Look at that line," Tyra said, groaning.

The bowed line had already caught the eye of one of the veterans, and they were delivering a blistering tongue lashing.

"Torygg would have their hides," Tyra said, as much to herself as to Thor. "What kind of fighter can't hold a shield wall?"

"Torygg was your partner?" Thor asked.

Tyra glanced at him, as if realising what she had said. "...aye. He was my man."

"Would you tell me of him?" Thor asked. In the years after the Snap, Korg had pried many stories of Sif, Volstagg, Hogun, and Fandral from him. It had helped, even if he had not been ready to be helped in truth.

For a long moment, Tyra did not reply. "He was kind. Almost soft enough to be a Gospodar, but strong still."

"A fine quality," Thor said.

She did not seem to hear him, lost in memories. "He loved my hair, and I wore it long for him. Said it brought colour to the white mountains."

Thor listened, glancing at what remained of her locks.

"When the Aeslings came, we had no time to ready ourselves. I fought at his side, and it flew about like a chimera's mane. He died when they seized me by the hair and pulled me from him." She was staring off into the distance now. "They dragged me onto their ship, and I remained there with his skull until you carried me clear."

"Do not remember him in that moment," Thor said. "Remember him as he was when you last shared a meal, or spoke under the stars." He thought of his mother, of the counsel she had given him when he and the rabbit had obtained the Aether. He thought of Loki, smirking in the infuriating way he did after pulling some trick.

Tyra did not answer, though she seemed to have heard him, blinking as she was brought back to the present. They watched as the groups pressed and strained against each other, desperate to not be the group that did not break another. The blooded warriors went down each line, barking at them to fix this or that, or to smack someone to distract them.

"I will mourn for him once those responsible are dead," Tyra said at length. "When Sigurd Twice-Slain knows true death and I have his skull for a goblet, I will mourn. Until then I will train." She started towards the shield wall that had just broken their foe, moving with violent intent.

Thor wisely decided to stay out of her way. He let out a sympathetic 'oof' when she grabbed one of the shields and pulled, punching the man who held it in the face when the unexpected move opened up a hole in the wall.

Well, that was none of his business. He had mammoths to pet and prisoners to interrogate. Tyra seemed to have all this well in hand.

X

The captive had been kept in the same basement cell that the raiders had kept their hostages in, shackled to the wall with the same manacles they had used on those they abused. He had a pot to hold his gruel in, a bucket to shit in, and a hope that he didn't confuse them in the pitch blackness of the cell. Four different people had tried to gain entry with murderous intent in the time he had been there, kept out only by the men Harad had set to watch the door. Had it been anyone from Vinteerholm, the man likely would not have survived the first night, and Thor could not blame them. The whispers he had heard of what was suffered by those taken off to the longships where the man had been captured were enough to set his blood to boiling.

A torch lit his way as he entered the room. The stench of sweat and human misery was thick in the air, and the guards outside watched him through the doorway. He set a small stool on the ground, and sat.

In a dark corner of the room, the captive stirred. He squinted blearily against the light of the torch, days spent in the dark leaving him sensitive to the light. Thor had no sympathy for the man.

"Are you ready to answer my questions?" Thor asked. He had dismissed his armour, clad only in roughspun clothes, but there was no denying his presence.

"I told you," the captive rasped, "everything I know."

"I think you are lying," Thor said.

"Please," the man asked, shielding his eyes against Thor's gaze as much as the light of the torch. "I don't know."

"Then what do you know?" Thor asked. Even sitting, he towered over the wretch of a man, curled into the corner as he was.

"Sigurd - Sigurd Twice-Slain led us!" he offered up, desperate.

"I know this already," Thor said, letting his tone grow bored.

"This wasn't the only raid," the man said in a rush, desperation growing. "We needed to stockpile - slaves, treasure - for tribute."

"Why?"

"I don't know, I don't know, I don-"

"Then what reason," Thor said, voice rumbling deep in his chest, "do I have to keep your victims from you?"

The prisoner froze, terrified eyes staring out like lanterns from his grimy face. "You said you'd kill me," he said, voice suddenly clearer. "We made a deal."

"I said that when I thought you had more sense than a goat," Thor said, "and a longer memory than a mayfly!"

The man lunged up and at him suddenly, fingers grasping like claws and his teeth bared. The guards at the door started to move, but they were too far away. There was a piece of metal in his hand, perhaps pried from the bucket, and sharpened into a shiv. It angled for his throat.

Thor backhanded him contemptuously, knocking loose teeth and rattling his skull as he collided with the wall. "If that's the way it has to be then," he said. He grabbed him by the ankle while he was still insensate, and began to drag him from the cell, making for the stairs.

The guards stepped from his path quickly, noses screwing up as the reek of the captive came with him. He began to climb, dragging the captive belly down behind him, head bumping on every step. Halfway up, the raider came to, and began to cry out in fear, trying to latch on to each step, but his grasp was far too weak.

"NO! Please!" he shrieked. "I don't know! I don't know!"

Thor ignored him, grip on his ankle tightening. They reached the top of the stairs, emerging into a sideroom of the longhall and startling the woman digging in one of the chests within it. Her gaze fixed on the man with unerring precision, but only for a moment, before she turned and ran from the room. Thor followed, ignoring the fearful cries.

There were more in the main room of the longhall, their attention drawn by the captive's panic, and they watched as he was dragged above ground for the first time in days. Some had no good reason to be present, and their eyes were hungry as they saw who it was. Hungry for blood.

"You said you'd kill me! You promised!"

Thor stopped as the dozen or so spectators watched on. "Do you have anything to tell me?"

Unfortunately, this only seemed to give the man time to think, and he heaved in a gasp, fighting his panic. "I told you everything I knew! That was the deal!"

That was not the answer Thor was looking for, and he turned for the door. Pain joined the fear, as the captive left furrows in the wood floor with his fingernails in his attempts to resist.

"Your word! You gave your word!"

Those present followed silently as Thor dragged him outside into the light of day. The racket drew the attention of more, and a small crowd began to grow. For a moment, he considered dragging him through the glassed section of earth, but he put the thought aside. He was better than that. They reached the point where he had slain the chaos spawn, and he hurled the man forward into the dirt, leaving him sprawling. The crowd pressed in, providing no avenue of escape.

"I gave my word," Thor said, "and you gave yours. You were to tell me everything you knew. You have not. This is your final chance. What say you?"

The man's jaw worked soundlessly as he pressed himself up and looked around, searching for an escape that wasn't there. The woman from the sideroom returned, and with her came a group of young men and women; it was they who Harad had rescued from the longships, those who had been taken aside as the personal amusements of the raiders, and now they came for revenge. They watched with eager eyes, a threat that needed no illumination.

"I don't know," the man moaned, lying.

For a moment, Thor considered pressing him, picking apart whatever lie the man had told himself to frame his answers as the truth, but the man was right. They had a deal. He had given his word. Everything he knew, in exchange for a clean death…and the man had broken his word.

Thor turned his back on the man.

"NO!" came the keening cry as the crowd surged, reaching for the raider.

Steve would not have done this.

He was not Steve.

"SKRAEVOLD! SKRAEVOLD! SKRAEVOLD! SKRAEAARGHH!"

It was a name, screamed in desperation, and it was enough. Thor turned back, opening a path to the man with a sweep of his arm. He was already bleeding, arms and legs seized and pulled by those he had made victims of, now taking their own vengeance. One eye had been torn out, bloody tracks down his face, and a young woman, barely more than a girl, was looking down at him with red stained fingers and an expression that made Thor want to weep. He reached out, grasping him by the neck and snapped it with a squeeze and a shake.

A sudden quiet fell as the screams were silenced. The corpse was dropped, and accusing eyes turned to Thor. He met them evenly.

"He will never hurt another. Go and be with those dear to you."

For a moment, rage fought with grief before it was doused, and the crowd began to melt away. Some couldn't look at him as they left, but one old woman, face lined with worry, glanced at him with thanks in her eyes as she sheparded away her son. All that was left were the two guards, and they waited for orders.

"Take the corpse. See it burned, and scatter the ashes in a latrine," Thor told them.

They nodded and left, passing Tyra as they went, and the woman joined him in staring at the spot the captive had died. There was a small splash of red on the ground.

"Same place you killed the chaos spawn," she remarked. It seemed the recreational violence had helped her mood.

Thor grunted. "He deserved worse."

"He'll get it," Tyra said. "His god isn't a kind one to cowards."

Thor grunted again.

"What did he cry out at the end?" Tyra asked.

"'Skraevold'," Thor said. "It has the sound of a name."

"It is," Tyra said. "A village to the northwest, just south of of the Gianthome Mountains."

"Aesling?" Thor asked.

Tyra spat, and that was answer enough.

"Then we have our destination," Thor said.

"It's not a short journey," she said, "or a safe one."

"We will not be stopped," Thor said.

It was a savage grin that Tyra wore, and she wore it well.

"He said something," Thor said, looking back with a clear mind. "That the raid was to gain slaves and treasure for tribute. What does that mean?"

"It means trouble is brewing," Tyra said, smile fading. "Valmir the Aesling rules. If he has need of tribute…"

"Perhaps it was tribute to him?" Thor asked.

"Maybe," Tyra said, but she sounded unsure.

"Hmm," Thor said. "Tribute means swords to defend it. Can we cut them off before they reach Skraevold?"

Tyra shook her head. "Too many ways to reach it. No way to know if they risked Kislev, or the Skaven, or the Dwarfs."

Thor spared a moment to wonder at what the Skaven might be, but he was quickly distracted by mention of Dwarfs. "Oh, Dwarfs, excellent," he said, cheer returning to his face. "Love the Dwarfs. One made my axe, you know."

"Dwarfcraft is prized, hard as it is to lay hands on," Tyra said, agreeing.

Thor's cheer subsided as he returned to the problem at hand. He looked up into the sky. Grey clouds were drifting across it, starting to obscure the sun. "If we cannot cut them off, we must assault the town itself. How defended is it?"

"It is larger than Vinteerholm, though I know not by how much," Tyra said. "Vinnskor, another town of my people, clashes with them most often."

"Would they lend their strength to an attack?" Thor asked.

"...maybe," Tyra said at length. "They face many threats. I do not know if they would leave themselves vulnerable."

"Then we must still rely upon ourselves," Thor said, rubbing at his beard. "This is not a simple question." How best to go about things, he wondered. When was the best time to leave? How many fresh warriors could they take, how many veterans should they leave? There were no easy answers.

"The longhall would be a better place to discuss such things," Tyra said.

"Aye," Thor said, before smiling. "Perhaps the chief might give us access to her cellars?"

"I think she might," Tyra said. "The day's work has gifted me a powerful thirst."

They turned for the longhall, the spirits of both more settled than they had been, intent on upending a different kind of spirit. They had difficult questions ahead of them, but they were moving forward.

By the time the sun had started to set, Tyra was pleasantly buzzed, Thor was still stone cold sober, and they had a plan. Word had well and truly spread of the events of the day, and a determinedly festive air descended on the longhall as all found cause for cheer, whether it was the planting of the grove, the beginning of their training, or the death of the last raider. An impromptu feast broke out as it came out that Harad and his warriors would be leaving the following day, all thankful for their aid and eager to show it.

Time would tell if their plan would pay off, but that night they looked forward with optimism, and their course was set. The victims of the Aeslings' raid would not be abandoned to their fate.

Not while Thor drew breath.

 

[Razorfloss]

Harad is eventually going to become his strongest follower isn't he. Also I was right this is definitely going to become a holy site. The birth of the first grove which I'm sure is going to have some immense power and give his followers some insane buffs in defense and the birth of his priesthood. This is going to be thors Rome isn't it. How is thor going to react to active magic users? Could he teach it ? I know he has some training in it even if he was terrible according to his mother.

 

[16 characters]

So if this is the story only thread where do people go to vote from the quest?

 

[TheWiseTomato]

Harad is eventually going to become his strongest follower isn't he. Also I was right this is definitely going to become a holy site. The birth of the first grove which I'm sure is going to have some immense power and give his followers some insane buffs in defense and the birth of his priesthood. This is going to be thors Rome isn't it. How is thor going to react to active magic users? Could he teach it ? I know he has some training in it even if he was terrible according to his mother.

Click to shrink...

You are very right on some things, and very wrong on others.

So if this is the story only thread where do people go to vote from the quest?

Click to shrink...

Follow the link in my signature.

 

[SuperiorShortness]

I ll enjoy some empire building here!!! Groves of Thor almost seems like 'Temple' or 'Church' of Thor.

 

[16 characters]

Wider story thoughts:

Y'know with all the chaos spawns, suffering prisoners, implications of rapes, dangling visera etc, I am little surprised at the lack of battlefield feces from people voiding themselves upon death.

IDK where you got the Idea of Trumpeter from but he is the best boi in this whole story(sorry thor!) and it wouldn't be the same without him.
Might just be my Mammoth bias leeking through though, I once had like five, maybe six different Mammoth plushes laying about some Columbian, some Wooly.

Those groves of thor are surely going to cause a headache with the first Taalites thor meets if he ever makes it out of the sad hovel of depravity that is Norsca :-(

I think the timeline has to be at minimum 1600 IC or some such because kislev seems well developed enough to be known across the north, it's obviously also got to be pre end times because of how small the northern armies have been so far.

Gosh, I hope thor doesn't meet the northern Skaven too soon, ditto for them meeting him. Hellpit is not a kind place by any means, violence would break out. Not a Joke I do feel quite bad for the rats. GHR is one of the few WH gods to regularly intervene, and his deamons spend plenty of time goading them around too and pretending to be a government.
They don't even have the luxury of death ending their suffering given their souls seem to get sucked into the same place verminlords come out of if I recall right.
Hard not to pity the dudes with daggers against their necks from birth, well if lucky that is. Big drow vibes from them TBH.

That said I feel even worse for their captives, those who get eaten are lucky since they avoid being worked to death or...turned into rat ogres or worse...or being used as weapons testing targets for which the variety of weapons seems nigh infinite.

What would be cool would be if he could meet the Norse Dwarves, they've always been cool and not a source of depression fuel.

EDIT: Also Thor's references to earth are always smile-inducing for me ''The Midgardian Hero marry Poppins'' ''The Eteternally winter realm of Canada.'' Earth really is a pretty cool place especially if seen from an outside perspective, especially in the MCU.

 

[TheWiseTomato]

The rivers of Norsca were perilous things, at turns still as glass and then tumultuous as the storm, but that would not stop the group on the longship that day. Only the very strongest had been chosen to accompany Thor on the venture to retrieve those stolen from them, their party barely half a dozen strong. It was not even enough to properly crew the longship, certainly not enough to row against a current should it be necessary, but with Thor leading them, it never would be.

Tyra stood alone at the rear of the ship, shading her eyes against the setting sun as she kept a hand on the tiller, taking her turn to steer. She had been quiet in the days since they had left Vinteerholm, seemingly happy for a break from the constant responsibilities and discussion that came with being chief. She would be relieved soon by Gunnhilde, the Valkyrie even now sleeping below decks.

The sun's light was weak that afternoon, and the chill in the air spoke of overnight snow. Wolfric wore a mammoth hide cloak as he polished his sword, still enraptured with it as he had been since Thor had blessed it. The bandage that had covered his missing eye had been replaced by a leather patch, and on it was scratched a lightning bolt. He was speaking quietly with Eirik, one of the two warriors who had been deemed worthy of accompanying them, a big blond man who bore a bigger axe - though not as large as Stormbreaker, of course.

The other warrior, Halvar, was sleeping below as well; a slight man, more akin to a fisherman than a fighter at first glance, though that would be remedied the the first time he was seen in battle, opening throats with his dagger and handaxe with an uncanny speed. His red beard had received an appreciative nod when Thor had first seen it, though again, it was of course not as impressive as his own.

Thor himself stood at the stern of the ship, axe in hand, speeding the vessel on with his flight. There had almost been an accident as they were leaving Vinteerholm, the ship and its steering not quite able to keep up with his strength or speed, but there was little need to talk about that in his opinion. The wind tugged at his beard as they coursed down a wide river, lessening the distance between them and those who had been stolen by the Aesling raiders.

The journey would be dangerous, but it would be undertaken nonetheless.

In hopes of making the voyage less dangerous, they had taken a longer route to their goal, first sailing upstream, past the remains of Gunnhilde's village, before following a smaller offshoot west that Thor was shocked their longship could navigate, threading through the thalwegs of mountain valleys that perhaps would have been impossible without Thor propelling the ship onwards. The effort had been driven by an ill-omened area to the south that none of his companions had wished to speak of, telling only of the despicable ratmen who were said to dwell there beneath the earth, and of the fate worse than death that awaited those foolish enough to risk it.

A brief portage had been needed, but then they had made it to Lake Lagodash, and blooded warriors they might have been, none of the Baersonlings had been shy about showing their relief to leave it behind them, much preferring the dangers of their chosen path. That had been two days ago, and it was that day they had left the lake behind in turn, now sailing west, more than halfway to their destination.

Soon it would be time to discuss their plan of attack, but for now, Thor found himself enjoying the journey despite its dangers. There was something to be said for quiet contemplation - though not too much - and it had a way of steadying the mind. He had done much pondering of his circumstances during it, the quietness of the streams and rushing of the rivers giving him quiet moments that had been absent for the most part since his arrival in this new world.

A whistling in the air broke his line of thought, and before he knew it, a bolt had pinned his beard to the prow of the ship. It had once bore a dog's head, but no longer, not since Thor had taken it for his own. He blinked at the bolt as it quivered there, sticking out of the wood.

"Lord Thor?" Wolfric asked, breaking off from his conversation with Eirik by the middle of the ship.

"My beard!" Thor said, indignant. He pulled the quarrel from the defaced head of the ship, and a few hairs drifted free. He ceased his flight, and the ship began to slow, his feet returning to the deck.

"We are attacked?" Eirik asked, taking up his axe. His voice rumbled, low and deep.

The banks of the river were quiet, and there was not a sign of whoever had fired the bolt.

"Alright, who did that?" Thor shouted, startling birds from nearby trees as his voice echoed across the water. He stormed down to the middle of the ship, the mast at his back.

There was no response.

The ship continued to slow, carried on only by momentum, and Tyra lashed the tiller to the stern. Her hands were at her axes, and she joined him in scanning the banks.

"A warning shot?" Wolfric wondered, hand on his sword. He was half crouched, ready to duck into cover.

There was another whistling in the air, and Thor snapped his head to the side. Rather than pin his beard to the mast, it only severed a few strands on its way, thudding into the post with a thunk. Thor was starting to have flashbacks to the first time he had grown his beard out, before Loki had waged his war against it and he had settled for something more sculpted.

Over the years, Thor had gained a hard earned sense for when someone was trying to kill him, when they were trying to scare him off, and when they just wouldn't mind if he died. This was probably the middle option, but he wouldn't rule out the last. That didn't change the fact that his ears were near to steaming at the repeated insults.

"What kind of base envy drives someone to assault another man's beard?" Thor shouted at the silent banks, leaning over the side of the ship and causing it to rock. "To stoop to such a low act?! Let it be known that Thor, Defender of Beards and Mankind, challenges such small people to show themselves!"

He had barely finished speaking when three more bolts erupted from the trees from completely different locations. All were aimed squarely at his beard, and would have pinned it to the side of the ship had he not jerked back with an outraged shout.

Steam began to whistle from Thor's ears, and Stormbreaker rushed to his hand. "Seven strands you took from my beard, and seven strands I'll have from you in turn! Best pray to your gods that they're from your head!"

Over the rail he went, leaping the distance between ship and bank in a feat impossible for any normal man. He landed amongst the trees, ready to deliver a hiding with the blunt side of his axe - but there wasn't so much as a hint of a foe to be seen. Not a disturbed leaf to be seen, nor a snapped branch to be heard. It was like the trees and stones themselves had been the ones firing bolts at him.

The others watched from the ship as he prowled through the trunks, seeking but not finding. Loki would have found them in an instant, he was sure - or been invisible at his back, ready to strike. He spun, swiping through the air with the back of his hand, but there was nothing. No invisible foes, no beard envying-enemy. Just the forest, and him.

After a minute of peeking around trees and poking at stones, he began to feel a touch foolish, conscious of the eyes of his companions upon him. He gave a dismissive scoff, and leapt back to the ship, setting it to rocking as he landed.

"It seems they wanted the beard, but could not handle it," he said, projecting his voice. "I suppose that's only to be expected-"

Again, the whistling of a quarrel, but this time Thor was ready. He turned and seized it between his teeth as it flew past, snapping it with a crunch. Head and fletching fell to the deck, and he spat out the middle of the bolt to join them.

"Let that be a lesson to you!" he said, stroking his beard protectively. "Time to go," he said to Tyra.

She nodded. "Best not pick a fight with the dwarfs we don't need."

"Dwarfs?" Thor said. "Surely not. The dwarfs I knew would never resort to such small and petty-"

"Let's really not pick a fight with the dwarfs," Wolfric said.

"My grandchildren don't need that," Eirik agreed. He was covering his own short blond beard with a large hand.

Thor grumbled, but frankly he had put a lot of time into his beard, and wasn't eager to see it gone before he was ready, not when it had been so many centuries since he had the chance to grow one unhindered. Tyra went to the stern, and he to the stem, and they resumed the journey without further incident. If he tucked his beard into his shirt as he put his weight against the prow of the ship, that was no one's business but his own.

X

In time, they came to the lands of the Aeslings. By Tyra's reckoning, Vinnskor, the northernmost village of the Baersonlings, lay a ways to the south, and they sailed on the main body of the River Groene. Skraevold was perhaps only two short days away, and if they were fortunate, the longship carrying their stolen people lay between them and it. There was no time to seek information in Vinnskor, and to sail on as a group would commit them to an assault and rescue on the town itself.

After much discussion, a third option had been chosen. Their ship, even pushed by Thor, could not likely catch their prey in time…but Thor could certainly fly ahead and catch them himself. It was this decision that found him hovering high in the air one cold morning, eyes fixed on the river below. Skraevold was to the north, a smudge in the distance. If he concentrated, he could feel a thread of malignance at its heart even this far away, but his attention was rightly fully on the river below.

He was high enough that the ship he was watching appeared akin to a child's toy, and he could make out the trophies and coloured shields that decorated its sides. The prow was carved like a hound's head, but he could not say if this longship was the one that had raided Vinteerholm or not, not with any certainty. All he knew was that there were Aeslings aboard.

They were Aeslings, and likely had poor souls suffering beneath their deck. That was enough for him, and he allowed himself to fall, wind whistling past his ears. A flex of will had his armour glimmer into being, and it brought the storm with it to darken the sky. The earth rapidly approached, and he could see raiders on the ship looking up in wary confusion at the sudden storm. Some squinted up at him, but there was nothing they could do to stop what was coming.

Thor slammed into the longship near its stem. It was smaller than the ship he had commandeered, with the oars on the topdeck, and he slowed enough to ensure he didn't crash through. Even so, the impact set the ship to bucking like a ship in foul seas, launching the oarsmen from their benches every which way. Some were thrown overboard, but most landed in a mess across the deck in utter disarray.

The Asgardian let them recover, but only so they could gaze upon him and what happened next. As they were struggling to comprehend his arrival, the heavens roared, and a bolt of lightning descended to strike the hound's head, its brightness casting his features in shadow, save for the glow of his eyes. The Aeslings shied away, shielding their eyes from the sudden brightness. When they looked again, Thor was waiting, and the symbol of their god was aflame. They roared in anger and outrage, and rushed him.

Thor cut the first man in half at the waist, sending intestines flying across the deck. The next man sought to tackle him before he could bring his axe back around, but that would be a challenge even for Steve, and this man was no super soldier. His head was pulped with the backswing, and he kicked the next man between the legs, prying an agonised squeal from his throat as he was launched into the air.

More Aeslings rushed him, and more died. He killed five in the seconds it took the airborne man to return to the ship, and he kicked him again, shattering his chest and sending him flying once more. He could feel the corruption dripping from these men, sense their dedication to the pile of cancer that called itself a god, and he knew them for the scum they were.

The sky darkened further and the deck grew slippery with blood as Thor worked. The sail was splattered with blood as he carved a man from hip to neck, and he spiked another into the deck and through it on the backswing.

"Sorcerer!" they accused as they died. "Witch!"

Thunder boomed, drowning out their wails. Lightning flashed in his eyes. "NAY!" he cried. "I am Thor, son of Odin, God of Thunder!"

"Fake!" a bear of a man bellowed, catching Stormbreaker's haft between two axes, the effort forcing him down on one knee. "Imposter! Praise Khorne!"

Thor leaned in, putting his strength against the man's own. It was no contest. "I see no god here," he growled, "other than me!"

He backhanded a raider that tried to take advantage of his distraction into the ship's rail, the impact upending him and sending him into the water with a splash. The big man was forced down onto both knees, and Thor kneed him in the face, smearing his nose somewhere above his eyebrows and flipping him onto his back. The enemies were dwindling now, and Thor stomped towards them, crushing the big man's skull as he went.

By the time he was finished, his beard was flecked with blood, and there was not a single living soul on the deck. The silence after the slaughter was sudden, and the ship shuddered as it scraped against the river shallows, grinding to a halt. There was only the flap of the sail in the wind, and fearful murmurings coming from below.

There was a square hole in the deck below the mast, a ladder set within, and Thor stepped down it. Fearful murmurings had turned to screams at his coming, but they choked off when he made no aggressive moves. The hold of the longship wasn't high enough for a man of his height to stand upright and so he hunched over as he looked around, axe kept low. As he looked, his expression darkened.

The hold was full of captives, all in chains. The adults, women all, were chained to the hull, while the more numerous children were chained to them. Every woman bore signs of violence, but they stared him down despite the fear writ clear on their faces, clutching the children to themselves.

"I am Thor," he said, his words filling the hold, "and I am here to protect you."

None spoke to him, so he made to put words to deed, approaching the nearest captive and reaching for their manacles. She shrank back, pulling the two children chained to her with her, and Thor slowed. The children shared no resemblance with her, but still she held them close, one hand clutching at her torn dress.

"Every raider above is dead," Thor told her. "There is no one here to hurt you." He let Stormbreaker float beside him, and held his hands out towards her, waiting.

Every soul in the hold watched as the woman shivered in cold and fear, eyes fixed on the giant of a man who had suddenly appeared. They had all heard what he had bellowed out above during the orgy of violence, but they had suffered, and trust came hard or not at all.

Slowly, like she was expecting to be hurt, the woman extended her hands to him. Thor took them in his own and conjured a warmth in them. From her hands it spread, and colour returned to her pale face. He took hold of the manacles and pulled them apart like they were made of cloth, before doing the same to those of the children. They looked up at him in cautious wonder, and he moved on to the rest.

As he went, a fragile hope spread through them, a hope that their nightmare might be over. It strengthened with every broken chain and manacle, eyes darting between him and his floating axe. When every last one of them had been freed, he stood as best he could to regard them once more.

"The scene above is not one fit for the eyes of children," Thor said to the hold.

"They've seen worse," one young woman said.

Thor's jaw clenched. "Even so," he said.

"What will we do now?" another woman asked, anxious. "If more Aeslings come…"

"Should the entire town of Skraevold descend upon us, you will be safe," Thor promised. "I will slay them all before any of you may come to harm."

"Where will we go?"

"Will you take us to safety?"

"South," Thor said. "And yes. I have come to rescue those stolen from Vinteerholm, but I will not deny you my aid."

"That's a Baersonling name," one woman said, rocking the young child in her arms.

"It is," Thor said, regarding her. "Is that a problem? Where are you from?"

None answered, until the woman Thor had freed first gave a reluctant answer. "Narberg," she said. "We were from Narberg."

"And…the people who lived in Narberg were..?"

"Sarls," someone said, one of many giving him odd looks.

Thor was accustomed to such looks. "You are innocents in need of aid," he said, looking around. "Where you were born is of no matter to me or mine. The quality of mercy is not strained."

The words seemed difficult for them to comprehend, but then wisdom rarely came easily. They were safe for now, moral discussions could come later. He needed to decide what to do next.

The important thing was to get moving.

"Does anyone here know how to steer a longship?" Thor asked.

A number of scoffs answered him, showing the already recovering spirit of the captives.

"We are Sarls," one woman said.

"Good," Thor said, hoping that their tribe meant they had some knowledge of ship handling. "Those of you who can, I need your aid to clear the deck…"

A sudden energy filled them all, and they were quick to get to work. The still quiet children were herded into the grasp of a dozen odd women, while two dozen odd more climbed up into the open air to remove what remained of the raiders from the deck, tossing it all overboard. They seemed enthused, pointing out this or that raider to each other with some small glee at their messy deaths, and spitting on their remains. There was little that could be done for the blood, but when the task was done it was a much cleaner sight than before, and Thor was quick to push the ship from the shallows. Soon they were underway, heading south and away from Skraevold. Between the current and Thor's help, they did not even need to row, only pulling the oars in as one woman manned the tiller.

The storm clouds that Thor's anger had summoned had dissipated, and the sun shone down on the freed captives. The children were brought up on deck, and all basked in the first sunlight they had seen for weeks, uncaring of the cold wind.

Then, in the distance, another longship approached.

It was larger than the one they were on, and bore signs of hard battle, perhaps only half of its oars in use. Many looked to Thor for reassurance, and he was already raising his axe. It carried him up and towards the enemy longship, crossing the distance swiftly, and he cut off the hound figurehead on his way past. It clattered noisily across the deck as he landed, drawing the eyes of the ten or so raiders upon it, conjuring a fury in them as they looked between it and him. He spread his arms, inviting them to do something about it. They obliged him.

Thor spun, cutting the nearest man's head from his shoulders. Before it could hit the ground he had completed the spin, twisting Stormbreaker in his hands to hit the head with the blunt side and whacking it into the navigator's face at the far end of the ship. He cut two more men in half, and then another dropped down on him from the mast with a dagger in hand, only to be backhanded back up with enough force to fold him around the yard, spine audibly snapping. The corpse fell back to the deck as Thor pulped the torso of the next man. Lightning surged around him, chaining between the few smart enough to rush him as a group and they dropped, twitching. Then he was at the rear of the ship, just in time for the navigator to recover from the skull to the face and deliver another, headbutting him hard enough to cave in his forehead.

Rushed footsteps could be heard from below, and Thor made his way towards a nearby opening, dropping down without care for the ladder. A man with an inferior beard blinked at him stupidly, and then Thor seized him by the skull and squeezed, popping his head like a grape. Thor grimaced in distaste, wiping his hand on the man's tunic, and looked about.

He was on the rowing deck now, and the Aeslings working at the benches stared at him in disbelief, having witnessed his latest deed. The deck was cramped for one of his size, so he threw his axe, sending it spinning down one side and back the other. Not a man had the time or space to get clear, and what had been rows of oarsmen were now rows of bisected corpses, torsos flopped to the ground while the waist down still sat at their oars.

There was still one more level below, and so Thor ventured onwards, almost whistling. He took little joy in slaying inferior foes, but there was some to be found in the knowledge that they would never hurt innocents ever again.

The lowest hold was without even the scant light of the first longship he had taken, lit only by a few scattered flickering candles. As his eyes adjusted quickly, he could make out the forms of those unlucky captives looking up at his arrival.

"Fear not," Thor said, setting his axe to float at his back. "I am oof."

Something small and heavy collided with his gut, driving the wind from him even through his armour.

"You'll not have me for a prize, Umgi scum!" a woman roared, voice loud in the closeness of the hold. Again he was struck in the side, but this time he was prepared, and was less phased by whatever had struck him.

"I am not your enemy!" Thor said. "I come not for prizes, but to free you from a foul fate!" His eyes were adjusted now, and he could make out the hold, and the very short woman menacing him.

"I'll show you a foul fate you cockless hill dweller," the woman growled. "I'll put a claw hammer down your throat and pull up your guts with it."

"That seems a bit harsh," Thor said. He parried another blow, stepping back. "Instead, how about I free you all and we go up on the deck?"

The short woman paused, fist cocked back. Her ginger hair had once been set in plaits, but now only one remained, the left side shorn off, along with the lower half of her ear. Dried blood stained her neck, and there was a ring of old bruises around it in the pattern of a rope. "Plenty of room up there to throw a net, isn't there? Make it easier to club someone over the back of the head with a broken oar?"

Thor had a moment to feel puzzlement over the specificity, before there was movement behind him, and someone clubbed him over the head with a broken oar. It shattered into splinters with the force of the blow. Slowly, Thor turned.

A blond giant of a man, almost as large as Thor, stood behind him. He was frozen, the remains of a broken oar in his hands and an almost sheepish expression on his face. His beard was short, but his braided moustache fell almost to his collarbones. Shirtless, his musculature was a thing to be envied, and Thor fought a frown.

"I'm going to go back up to the main deck now," he announced, breaking the breathless silence of the hold. He could see now that they were only pretending to be bound by their manacles. "Once you see what I did to the oarsmen on the level above, you may join me if you wish." The man who had attempted to ambush him stepped aside as he made for the steep stairs and ascended, feeling a little put out. Their reaction was understandable, but he much preferred it when he was known enough to avoid such misunderstandings.

It took perhaps ten minutes for those below to gather the courage to climb above, joining him in the sun and the breeze. It was not yet midday, but Thor found himself humming, pleased with the work of the morning. The first ship he had liberated was drawing near, carried by the current, and they would reach him without need of assistance. He turned to the more recently freed.

The short woman and the large man were at the head of the group, and it was not as that from the smaller ship. Men and women all, not a child to be seen, and they eyed him cautiously, sunken gazes flicking from him to the carpet of bodies he had made of the deck.

"Hello," Thor said to them. "As you can see, there is no one lurking about with a broken oar, waiting to club you over the back of the head."

The short woman glowered up at him, gaze mistrustful. There was a sack slung over one shoulder. Despite her height, there was a core of muscle to her evident in her stance. "Who are you then?"

"I am Thor, son of Odin and the God of Thunder," Thor said. He bounced on his heels a little; already this was going much better. "Who might you be?"

Blue eyes narrowed, but reluctantly she answered. "Eseld. This is Bjorn." She jerked her head to the blond giant looming behind her.

"I am Bjorn," Bjorn said. Despite his large frame, his voice was steady and quiet. He raised his right hand, palm towards Thor, and then lowered it.

"Hello Bjorn," Thor said. He waved back.

"Who is that?" Eseld asked, eyes fixed on the approaching ship. The women and children on the main deck were visible, likely the only thing that was stopping her from suspecting foul play.

"Those I have already freed this day," Thor said. "Sarls, they call themselves."

There was some grumbling from the three dozen or so gathered on the ship.

"You would not be the same then?" Thor asked.

"We are Aeslings," Bjorn said. He glanced at Eseld. "Well. Most of us."

The joviety faded from Thor's face. Floating at his back, Stormbreaker drifted forward to within easy reach. "Aeslings," he said.

Something about his tone made them nervous, and some tried to step back, but there was only so far one could go on a ship.

"You'd be Baersonling then?" Eseld asked.

"No," Thor said, "but I have lent them my aid, in the wake of an Aesling raid that saw many wronged."

"Would that we had you to aid us before now," Bjorn said. There was a sadness in his face, highlighted by the faint lines around his eyes.

Thor's gaze flicked to Eseld. "Infighting?"

"We could not afford the tithe," Bjorn answered in her place. "They found another way to take it."

A considering hum was his answer. It seemed that the tribes were not as monolith as he had assumed. A foolish thought, in hindsight. "Did you raid?" he asked.

"We farmed," Bjorn said.

Thor's gaze panned over the small crowd. Though they all had a certain hardness to them, it was the kind that spoke of a hard life and hard choices, not of raiding and reaving. "Then you will have my protection."

Eseld was still glaring at him mistrustfully. "And we'd have to do what for you in return?"

"Well, you'd need to stay nearby," Thor said. "I mean to slay more raiders and free more captives, but I cannot protect you if you wander off."

Grumbling, the short woman continued to glare at him, though she didn't disagree. The first ship drew near, and the woman at the tiller did something that slowed its speed. Thor clapped his hands together.

"Perhaps we should move to the other ship? This one is rather messy," he said.

Some eyes went to the carnage on the deck, while others glanced to the stairway leading below, remembering the charnel house Thor had made of the rowing deck. He hid a wince; it was possible he had been overly enthusiastic.

"Reclaim any of your possessions-"

"Already done," Eseld said, hand tightening on the sack over her shoulder.

"-and let us be off," Thor finished. He gestured to the women on the other ship, and they came alongside, rocking the ship with a splash.

The captives looked to Bjorn, and Bjorn looked to Eseld. She nodded, grudgingly, but began to climb the side of the ship, clambering into the other one. It was smaller, but there was no salvaging the larger one after what he had done with it. The last of them were soon clear, and he eyed the ship itself. He took up his axe, and with a casual swing, cut down the mast near the base, letting it topple over the open side. Then he threw the axe down through the deck, punching through another and another. When he heard a splash, he called it back, and the deck lurched as the ship began to sink. A quick hop had him free of it, and he landed easily on the deck of the other.

Both groups were eyeing each other uneasily, though the Sarl women were outnumbered.

"I won't have any fighting," Thor warned them. "If you have cause to disagree, you will use your words."

"Aye, god of thunder," the Sarl woman at the tiller said.

"Don't start none, won't be none," Eseld said.

"Excellent!" Thor said, beaming. The ship beside them chose that moment to knock loudly against theirs as it began to sink in truth, and soon it was disappearing beneath the water, dragging its detached mast down with it by the ropes. "We will continue south until we reach the fork in the river, and lay anchor," he said to the tillerwoman. "If any raiders wish to get their ill gotten gains home, they will have to go past me."

They set off once more, the sun overhead and the freed prisoners settling in as best they could, taking the chance to eat their fill for the first time in too long and see to their injuries, of which there were many, though none life threatening. Thor hummed a tune as he set his strength gently against the stem of the ship. He did enjoy doing good works.

X

The ship he sank was not the last to fall afoul of him that day, or the second last, or even the third. All told, Thor butchered the crews of eight more ships, and not a one of them offered him a challenge. By the last, it felt more of a chore than anything, and a frown had set in on his face. Some of it was that he did not care to feel such a way about the bloody work, and the rest due to the state of the captives he had freed. The afternoon sun shone down on the decks of nine ships anchored in a circle at the fork of the River Groene, their decks full of people. There was ample room below on even the smallest longship, but few wished to go down when the alternative was the sun on their face and breeze in their hair.

Thor could not blame them. Some, like the Sarls he had freed first, had been abused only thoughtlessly, the cruelties they endured the grim reality that came with sundered defences and slain warriors. Others though, had been subject to greater malice. It had taken considerable restraint not to paint the decks red on the ship that had bound a young man to its figurehead, hands and feet hacked off. At the least, he had avenged the young man and freed his family, allowing him to die in what comfort could be conjured.

Those taken for slaves were not all from the lands of Norsca, either. Some were from the south, from lands called Kislev and Nordland, and they were at turns skittish and belligerent. It had led Thor to leave each group on the ship he had freed them from, unwilling to be distracted by policing their behaviour, though for the most part his presence was more than enough. Few were those willing to argue with the man who flew from ship to ship and slaughtered the raiders upon them, clad in armour of a kind they had never seen, and bearing an axe of kingly quality. Not when he had all that, and had spared them from a dire fate besides.

Few, but not all, and Thor glanced over at Eseld on the next ship along. Her ear had been seen to, after some unspoken nagging by Bjorn, and she had armoured herself in plate and chain that was evidently custom made for her. She was still glaring at him.

"East!" came a faint cry, though it was quickly taken up by more. "East, east!"

The warning of another longship approaching spread through the gathered ships, and Thor took to the air once more. When he caught sight of the ship though, his frown was wiped clear. He knew that ship. He descended upon it with a smile and a glad heart; Wolfric and Gunnhilde were there to meet him.

"Lord Thor," they said as one.

Thor clapped them on the shoulders, and looked past them to see Halvar, the slight man at the tiller. Mismatched eyes looked back, and he lowered his head in respect, tugging at his red beard. "How was your journey, my friends?"

"Easy, with the wind and the current behind us," Gunnhilde said.

"Tyra rests below now," Wolfric said. He looked over at the ring of longships that they were approaching. "You have had some luck."

His frown returned for a moment. "Some," he said.

"But not as much as hoped," Gunnhilde said.

"No. I have freed some Baersonlings, but none from Vinteerholm. I fear we were too late."

"Shit," Wolfric said. "They couldn't be behind us still, on another path?"

"Not if they're still coming," another voice said.

Thor blinked, looking around, and saw Eirik, the big blond man from Vinteerholm. He had been curled up by the ship's side, head resting on a rolled up cloak.

"If they are not here yet, they were waylaid," he said, deep voice rumbling. "If they were lucky, it was the Kislevites. To be a slave there is not so bad, given the other."

"We will assume they beat us to Skraevold before I begin searching elsewhere," Thor said. "What I have seen this day has made me disinclined to allow it to stand." Despite the clear sky, there was a distant crack of thunder.

"The slaves," Wolfric said, his gaze going to the ships. The people on them were watching as they neared, intent, after Thor did not greet them with violence. "The Aeslings are not kind."

"Given I found Aesling victims amongst them, they are not kind even to their own selves. What they did to those under their power…there will be a reckoning," Thor promised.

"And the innocents?" Gunnhilde said. "We cannot bring them with us to Skraevold."

"Some have fire in them," Thor said thoughtfully. "And of those, some can fight. But no, we cannot bring them to Skraevold with us."

"Vinnskor is near enough," Wolfric said. "Three days, four at most with them. How many did you rescue?"

"Close to five hundred," Thor said. "But that is four days that those in Skraevold must wait."

"Six, with the return," Wolfric said.

"Four, with a tree," Thor countered.

Wolfric pulled a face.

"Too long," Gunnhilde said. "But we cannot bring them with us either. A hidden camp, to collect on our return?"

"They could aid us, after the attack," Eirik said, getting to his feet. "Pick through the ruins, help the rescued."

Thor felt his frown returning. It was not an easy decision. "Their safety is our priority," he said, "but so is that of those yet in the grasp of the raiders. We will make a shelter for them as best we can, and then strike Skraevold this day."

"This night, I think," Wolfric said.

The thunder god looked up at the sky, taking in the sun. "Aye." They had reached the other ships now, and an anchor was dropped as they lay alongside one of them. It was the ship of those from Nordland, and they looked upon the four of them with a defiance that sought to hide their fear. "Pass the word. We will put to shore, and establish a camp in the forest for the night. We will strike Skraevold, and collect you in the morn."

Those close enough to hear wore looks that said they would very much like to argue, but they had also just spent the better part of the day watching Thor gather the ships present now, and rescue them besides. Word was spread around the ring of ships, and slowly they got themselves in order, aiming upstream towards the town. Thor helped where he was needed, nudging ships and pulling them along, and soon they set out.

Progress was slow, but it was progress all the same. Despite their pace, no more Aesling longships came up behind them as the sun began to fall lower in the sky, taking on a red haze. Thor called a halt when they reached the site he had sunk the longship earlier, and the vessels were pulled ashore, snow and dirt crackling as hulls scraped across them.

There was much talk as all disembarked, carrying with them everything they could. Many of those who could fight had taken weapons and armour from the fallen raiders, some bloodier and in more pieces than others, while others carried sacks of food and valuables, often the same that had been stolen with them from their homes.

Tyra gave Thor a nod as she emerged from the ship, fresh from her sleep, and she set about giving directions and whipping the mass of people into some semblance of order. Wolfric and Gunnhilde joined her, Halvar and Eirik with them, and soon they were all marching towards the edge of a nearby forest, only a middling walk away. Snow crunched underfoot, and every breath brought with it a crisp coldness.

"Would that my brother were here," Thor said as he took in the procession, mostly to himself.

"The one that tried to kill you?" Wolfric asked, walking nearby with a bundle of sailcloth over one shoulder.

"The same!" Thor said. "The work to come, I am most suited for, but he had a cunning that would have aided greatly."

"We could use someone like him to infiltrate the town ahead of time, find the captives," Wolfric said.

Those around them were listening as they walked, but Thor did not mind. He found he liked the idea of spreading word of his brother's quick wit. "Such a thing would be child's play for him. He could have woven a spell around the ships to hide them from sight, or made our camp-to-be appear as nothing more than an empty clearing."

"A powerful wizard," Wolfric said.

"He was," Thor said, a sad smile crossing his face. "The most." That petty conjurer Strange would not have compared had the Odinsons approached him with violent intent. "Had he still lived, I would not have been shocked to find him hidden as a raven in the woods ahead, waiting to ambush me."

Some of those listening looked to the woods worriedly, and Thor felt his lips twitch at the thought that even from the grave, the mere mention of his brother could bring worry.

"Ravens are of the Schemer," a man with a thick accent said nearby, not quite accusing. His hair was black, and lay thick on his cheeks and his arms.

Distant thunder sounded. "Ravens are servants of my father," Thor said, deliberately not turning his scowl on the man. "And the Schemer wishes he could conjure a trick capable of fooling my brother. Loki Liesmith, Loki Silvertongue we called him, God of Mischief." His ire cooled suddenly. In the end, there was one thing he could not trick his way out of.

Whatever his cause for speaking up, the dark haired man held his tongue now, and the crowd walked on in silence. Their goal grew closer, and a faint snowfall began to drift down from the sky.

When they reached the treeline, many were eager to enter the otherwise forbidding shadows, if only to get out of the wind. They were not so large as those around Wolfric's home, but they were still tall, and large enough to conceal a good number of people comfortably enough, as such things went. The longships had held material enough to construct shelters for the night, and many were happy to sleep in a place that wasn't the cramped and damp hold of the longship that had ripped them away from their homes, to say nothing of the other, darker acts perpetrated upon them.

There was no dividing into groups by place of origin here, but Thor's even gaze was enough to dissuade any who might wish to bring up old slights or grudges against their neighbours. There was not a scrap of belief amongst them, not truly, but he was still a large man with a large axe who could fly and hurl lightning. They would bear the presence of each other for the night at least.

Sailcloth was strung up between trees, forming sloping roofs and walls, furs and spare clothes piled for bedding, and Tyra supervised as the gathered food was shared evenly. Thor was using his finger to tap a metal stake into a tree as an anchor point when he was approached by a small group.

Eseld was at the head, Bjorn following her, and a dozen more followed Bjorn. Thor ceased his work and turned, gaze sweeping over them. They were a mix of folk, most from different ships, men and women, but they all had one thing in common as they came to a stop before him. A certain look in their eyes, and weapons at their sides. Thor's lips thinned.

"You want to join me," he said, preempting them.

They stilled, but only for a moment, looking to Bjorn, who looked to Eseld.

"Aye," Eseld said. "We want in."

"You were captives until recently," Thor said. "You are weakened, wounded." He looked from person to person, noting small injuries and the hints of missed meals. Bjorn was still shirtless, though the cold seemed to bother him not.

"I've a grudge to settle with Skraevold," Eseld said, squinting up at him, "and you're in no position to knock back volunteers."

"I could raze the town alone, and be back in Vinteerholm for lunch," Thor said.

"Could you save your people, though?" a man asked. It was the dark haired man who had had questioned him on ravens earlier. "You'll need hands for that."

"And you will help with that?" Thor asked. He swept his gaze across them again. "I see the truth in your eyes. You seek revenge."

"Some need it," Bjorn said, and his quiet voice drove home the point more than any argument could.

Stormbreaker floated at his shoulder as he thought. Eseld's eyes darted to it, but she wrenched them away, focusing on his face. At length, he spoke. "If I allow you to join me, there will be a condition," he said, voice slow and measured. "Those in Skraevold are responsible for great evil, and the gods they follow are a cancer, but if you harm a child, I will slay you myself. Do you understand?"

"Kids can pick up a dagger," one woman said. There were a series of cuts on her cheek, barely scabbed over, like someone had carved the same design into place again and again.

"If you cannot subdue an armed child without killing them you are not fit to join me," Thor said. "That is my condition."

"Done," Eseld said. She ran her thumb over the hammer at her hip. It was a claw hammer.

"I agree," Bjorn said, and slowly the others nodded.

"Good," Thor said. "Eat. Rest. Soon, we fly to Skraevold."

Bared teeth were his answer, too far from mirth to be called grins.

"Do you not mean sail?" the dark haired man asked.

"No."

X x X

That night, a storm came to Skraevold. Sheets of rain doused lanterns no matter the cover, and rolling thunder made it near impossible for those dwelling there to hear their own thoughts. Lightning roiled amongst the clouds that had blown in with unnatural swiftness, and anyone who had cause to be outdoors hurried on their way. Those working the docks, sure that more victorious ships carrying tribute should have returned, were finally driven from the piers and the empty ships that lined them. Sentries and guardsmen were quietly miserable, hunching over in whatever little shelter they could find on the walls or by the gates, cold and shivering.

The only ones not praying for the storm to ease were the prisoners, those unfortunate souls beaten, whipped, and kicked into the dog kennels four to a cage, where they could be tormented by the hounds kept on either side of them. The rain had even the mutts curling up in misery, but to the captives it was a sweet relief, cleansing them of filth they wore like a second skin. Elsewhere, in a deep pit with standing room only, hundreds of faces turned upwards, mouths open to taste rainwater so sweet that it should be gracing a prince's table.

At the main gates, on the side of the town opposite the river, a guard peered out into the darkness from atop the walls. The pouring rain had eased for a moment, and he swore he had seen a figure approaching on the road. He shook his head, pulling his cloak closer about himself. Only one cursed by the Gods would be fool enough to travel that night.

Night turned to day as a colossal bolt of lightning struck to the north, and a deafening boom followed it. It seemed to echo on forever, and the guard pulled his hands from his armpits to plug his ears, squinting at the sudden brightness.

There was a figure on the road.

His pulse quickened as darkness returned, the hammer of rain muted after the thunder. "Did you see that?" he asked the man at the other end of the gate.

"What?!" the man replied, shouting over the rain.

"I said did you see that?!?"

"WHAT??"

"DID YOU SEE THAT?"

"Fuck, no need to yell," the second man said. "See what?"

"On the road, a man."

"In this weather? Fuck off."

The first man would have replied in kind, but two pinpricks of blue-white light out on the road caught his eye. There were about where he had seen the figure, but closer, and drawing closer still. "There! See?"

Squinting, the second man was about to tell him to fuck off again, before he paused. "I see it," he muttered. "But what…?"

Again, night became day, but something was wrong. Lightning erupted from the ground to strike at the sky, and the force of the thunder was a physical thing rushing through them. Blue forks covered black clouds, arcing and spreading without fading. The guards looked up into the sky, and they quailed in terror as it looked down at them in turn. An enormous figure was writ in lightning, and it was not pleased with what it saw.

Thunder boomed. The heavens roared.

"THOR! ODIN'S SON! PROTECTOR OF MANKIND!"

The figure pointed down at the earth, and the guards at the gate cowered, but then there was only blinding white and a noise like the end of the world had come, and they died, unknowing and afraid.

X

Under the cover of trees near the northern gate, Tyra blinked the afterimages away as the giant in the clouds dimmed, though he didn't disappear. She thought she had witnessed Thor's might before, but she was beginning to realise that she had only seen the first hints of it. Her heart raced. That was the God she had chosen. That was the God that would stand with her. A sharp grin stole across her face, and her eyes grew bright with battlelust.

She turned, and saw that her look was mirrored by those at her back, Wolfric and Gunnhilde first amongst them, but also Eirik and Halvar. Even those who didn't believe were hungry for blood and revenge, the dwarf woman Eseld holding her claw hammer like she wanted to pry open an Aesling's skull with it. Only Bjorn was calm, but there was something lurking in his eyes that spoke of violence.

"In the name of Thor," Tyra said, axes slipping into her hands, "we will purge this village." For a moment, it seemed the stormy giant above glanced her way, but the lightning that made it up shifted and the moment ended.

"For Thor," Gunnhilde said, eyes fixed on the gate ahead. There was a watcher atop it, but they had turned to gawk at the destruction of the west gate, and they were exposed by the lightning writhing across the clouds overhead. Gunnhilde cocked her arm back, took three skipping steps, and hurled her spear.

The guard staggered as the spear took him low in the back, and would have toppled from his perch had Gunnhilde not called her spear back to her, dragging him screaming with it. The spear slipped free partway, leaving the Aesling to tumble across the muddy ground, screams ceasing as he ragdolled.

"Khazukan Kazakit-ha!" Eseld roared as she charged past them all, and her words were punctuated by a ground shaking blast of thunder.

Within the town, a building erupted, stone and wood and corpses launched up into the sky, and they were illuminated by the repeated flash of lightning from below. Before they could hit the ground, the rest of the group of warriors was charging in the dwarf's wake, heedless of the sheets of water pouring down.

Despite her short stature, Eseld's head start saw her reach the gates before the rest of them, and she did not slow, introducing herself to the wooden gates shoulder first. They splintered inwards with a great crack, though they did not break entirely, and Eseld stumbled back, already setting herself for another charge.

Eirik got there first, bringing his battleaxe down on the bowed portion in a mighty overhead blow. Whatever was still holding the gates up broke, and then bare chested Bjorn was there, shouldering them open. He held a morningstar in his right like it weighed nothing, and Tyra pushed forward on his left, ready for battle - but there were no defenders. There was only the rolling shadows, cast back here and there by rippling lightning overhead and in the town, and the pouring rain.

"Where to?" Wolfric asked, stopping beside her. His mammoth cloak kept the rain from his shoulders, but it was trailing down his scalp and over his eyepatch.

A lightning bolt fell from the sky to strike near the centre of the town, away from where Thor was apparently rampaging.

"That way," Tyra said, pointing to where the bolt had fallen.

None questioned her, and they set off at a jog, Tyra leading the way. The town was starting to stir, the thunderous bellow earlier making clear that it was no mere storm that had descended upon them. A man emerged from a house as they passed, struggling with armour, and Tyra hardly paused as she buried an axe in his neck, her momentum wrenching it out as she continued. The Aesling fell, choking on his lifeblood as it spilled out into the mud, only to be swiftly washed away by the ever falling rain.

Onwards they ran, deeper into Skraevold, even as the tempest that was Thor grew more violent. Those familiar with it could hear the thrum of his axe as it spun through the air, and thunder boomed unnaturally in the rhythm of battle. Something unholy screeched a challenge, but it was cut off abruptly, only for more to rise in a chorus in its wake. Onwards they ran, through dark muddy streets and crooked alleys.

A group of Aesling raiders running the other way stopped as they saw them, but only for a moment. They howled battle cries, and Tyra felt a rage stoked in her heart as they invoked their wretched blood god.

"THOR!" she screamed in return, falling upon the leader. In his face she saw the face of the man who had slain her beloved and taken her captive, and she hooked his shield out of the way with one axe so the other could hack into his face, again and again.

Gunnhilde's spear pierced two men before knocking over another as it was called back, and Eseld was there to break his skull open like an egg with her hammer. Swift and slight Halvar darted around the fight to get at those behind, axing a man behind the knee and opening his throat with his dagger before he could hit the ground. Soon the Aeslings were all dead or wishing they were, and they continued on, nearing the centre of the town.

From a side street they emerged into a square of sorts, though it could not be called so. Instead of an open space, there was a pit, and around its edges was a wooden cage rising up taller than a man. Torches were spaced around it, but all had gutted out, extinguished by the rain, and the only illumination came from the godly figure above, looking down on them all.

Their arrival did not go unnoticed. Whatever the pit held, it was guarded, a score of Aeslings having emerged from nearby dwellings to defend it. These men were not responding in haste, and they were quick to form up against their arrival. Their numbers were about even, but that did not last, as another dozen arrived across the pit, having been on their way towards the clamour and furor that was Thor. Both groups began to advance around each side of the pit, aiming to fall upon them like hammer and anvil.

"Do Tor!" a black haired bear of a man cried, raising his axe in challenge, but his response was not the one that drew the Aeslings' eye.

Bjorn had yet to bloody his morningstar, but now he let out a great bellow, charging the larger group. Rain had soaked his hair and moustache, and his features were half cast in shadow by another bolt of lightning from the west. His bellow turned into an unending wordless scream as he fell upon the Aeslings, and with a single mighty blow he caved in the head of the first to stand against him. The corpse began to collapse, but he seized it with his left hand and wielded it as a shield as he laid about, tearing the next man's face off with the spikes of his weapon. His ferocity cowed the Aeslings back, but only for a moment, and they pushed forward, threatening to swarm him.

Eseld was there before they could, jumping into them and bringing the claws of her hammer into a man's crown. They cracked the bone and lodged themselves in, and as she landed her victim was brought down, twitching and convulsing. Dawi curses filled the air as she shattered knees and splintered ribs, outright ignoring blows that fell upon her armour and only catching those she needed to. More joined them, the Kislevite first amongst them, and the Aeslings found their advance stymied.

They were not the only foes, however, and Tyra turned on the other group menacing them. Wolfric and Gunnhilde stood with her, and though they were outnumbered four to one, she knew no fear.

"VINTEERHOLM!"

Gunnhilde claimed three lives before they clashed, her spear beyond lethal at the middle distance, and the blessed weapon made the Aeslings hesitate for a crucial moment as Tyra and Wolfric met them. A raised shield was no defence to his sword, cleaved in twain and the arm wielding it with it, taking the next man's head on the backswing. Tyra hacked and spun, little thought given to defence, only to opening bellies and skulls. The Aeslings fell before their ferocity and the righteousness of their cause, and for a moment Tyra swore she saw wisps of blue-white light steaming from the eyes of her fellows, but then her axes splattered blood across her face and the moment was gone.

The last of the twelve fell, clutching at Wolfric as the man drove his sword through his heart. Wolfric snarled in his face, no mercy to be found for one of those who would have raided his home and slain or stolen his sisters, and he kicked the man away, not bothering to watch the light leave his eyes. But the fight across the pit was not yet over.

"From behind," Tyra said to them, gesturing on.

"Thor's groves will be well watered this night," Wolfric said, eye roving for his next foe.

Gunnhilde only grinned, lining up her target across the pit. She threw, and her spear did not stop until it pierced through the melee to hit the timber of a house on the other side. When she called it back, it was dripping with blood, though the haft was soon cleaned by the ever present rain. Blood seemed to cling to the tip.

"Where are your gods now?!" Gunnhilde screamed, filled with a savage joy, and then she joined her fellow believers as they rejoined the fight.

The Aeslings might have been fearsome raiders and cunning warriors, but they fell all the same, unable to withstand the fury of those they had wronged. One woman accepted a spear through the shoulder to open her foe's throat, and another man's arm hung limp, bleeding sluggishly, but that was the worst of their wounds. Bjorn bore a cut across his collarbone, one that would add to the latticework of scars across his chest, but none were dead. They could feel eyes watching them from the wood and stone buildings around the square, but none emerged to challenge them, and they gathered on the carpet of corpses they had made, catching their breath.

"What now?" a woman with a shaved head asked. There was a scar upon her cheek that was bleeding again, though it looked like it had been opened deliberately to mar the scar pattern that had been there.

"I have seventeen more debts to collect," Eseld said, wiping her hammer clean of brain matter.

"We could go to - to that one," a wiry man said, gesturing to the ongoing chaos that marked Thor's presence.

They looked over in time to see some kind of fell creature thrown up into the sky, illuminated by the lightning that struck it.

"I think he has it handled," another said.

"Look," Gunhillde said. She was pointing down into the pit, and the rest followed her gaze.

The pit was three men deep, and the sides were slippery with mud, but that was not what drew the eye. Hundreds of faces looked up at them, unblinking in the rain. No, not at them - at the lightning writ giant in the clouds.

"We must get them out," Gunnhilde said.

"And take them where?" Eseld said. Her remaining braid was dripping, soaked, and blood not her own dripped with it. "We've Aeslings to slay."

"We can't leave them in there," Gunnhilde said. "Not in this weather."

"Thor would cease before they were endangered," Wolfric argued.

"We're here. We will help them," Tyra said, bringing the argument to an end. "The Aeslings would sooner slay them than see them freed."

None could argue with her words, and thought was turned to deed. Some saw to their wounded, while the rest worked to find the mechanism by which prisoners entered and were removed from the pit. Through it all, the captives were silent, though many began to shift restlessly as they sensed freedom nearing.

Eseld was the one to find it, giving a loud 'Ha!' and striking a section of the cage wall around the pit. Something came loose, and a piece fell straight down into the pit, creating a wide ladder to be climbed. There was a ripple of turning heads across the pit as every man and woman looked towards it as one.

"Hold!" Tyra commanded, though her words were ignored by many.

Again, Eseld was the one to solve the problem, calling something in Reikspiel, and the imminent rush to escape was strangled. Slowly, the captives began to climb up the wooden lattice. Many were weakened by hunger and exposure, but still they climbed doggedly, rising to freedom. Gunnhilde and Wolfric were there to pull them up at the last, and they spilled out onto the ground around the pit, making room for others to rise.

Another building erupted in the background, man and beast thrown into the sky with a thunderous roar, though that might have merely been the continuing storm. The chorus of unholy screeches had been ended, but something still fought the God of Thunder as he prowled Skraevold.

"Who - what?" a man asked, as Wolfric pulled him up.

"That is Lord Thor, God of Thunder," Wolfric told him. The man's clothes were ragged, but had once been fine indeed, the mark of a southerner.

"Protector of Mankind," the man said, more to himself, his eyes fixed on the sky. He was slim, his features almost too pretty for a man, and he spoke like he had learned the language from a book.

Wolfric nudged him on his way, making room for the next. Soon, every last man and woman had been freed from the pit. Some looked unnaturally clean for their ordeal, the rain cleansing them beyond reason. The storm raged, and some great beast howled, but there was no fear. The filth began to slip from more and more of those that remained so, as if it was suddenly falling on them for the first time, and all shared a look of awe and fearful wonder. The giant above seemed to look directly down on them, approval in his bearing.

The crowd began to mill, directionless, and Tyra took action. She climbed up a portion of the cage that still stood, shouting for attention. "We go to the docks! Stay behind us, and we will forge a path!"

Again, there was little comprehension, but then one of them began to shout in turn, repeating her words in Reikspiel. It was the overly pretty southerner, projecting his voice to be heard by all.

"You!" Tyra called, pointing at him when he finished. "What is your name?"

"I am Stephan the Bard, of Nordland and at your service," Stephan said, almost managing to sound grand despite his waterlogged state and gaunt frame. Black hair hung to his shoulders.

"If I give an order, you will translate," Tyra said.

Stephan bowed, though he had to stop halfway through, holding his ribs and wincing.

Tyra leapt from the cage, already moving to leave the square and head back into the streets. The river was their goal, the river and the longships docked there that might provide shelter from their god's fury. Eseld was the first to follow, Bjorn following her, having thrown off the sudden rage that had taken him, though by the look in his eye and his grip on his morningstar it was only temporary.

There was no protecting the hundreds of people they had found themselves escorting, not with less than a score of fighters, so they relied on speed. Gunnhilde took the rear, the scar faced woman and bearlike Kislevite with her, while the rest of them acted as the sharp tip of the spear for the wave of humanity that snaked through the shadowed and muddy streets. Only twice did they encounter Aeslings, and both times they were ragged groups, either running towards or away from the ongoing chaos that was carving a path through their home. They were dealt with swiftly, by Tyra and her fighters if they were lucky, by the freed prisoners if they were not. Eyes could be seen and felt watching their progress, but they belonged to those too wise or too cowardly to venture out, and soon they reached the docks.

Whatever guard had been on the ships had long since fled, leaving them free to herd the rescues aboard. Some may have been torn from their homes in the very ships they were now finding shelter on, from the storm and the sight of the Aeslings both, but there were no raiders aboard now, only the captives, those that had freed them, and a rising tide of fervour for the god that had made it possible.

Wolfric stood on the dock as he watched a ring of lightning bolts strike within the town, and he knew that his god stood at its centre. He gripped the hilt of his sword, wishing he could fight by his side. "We should be there," he said.

"What would we do?" Tyra asked, watching as another ship grew full. She pointed at the next, directing the slowing flood of escapees.

Wolfric grunted, but didn't argue.

"We should be where he is not," Gunnhilde said, joining them. "There are more in need of help within."

"More Aeslings to kill too," Eseld said, Bjorn ever present at her shoulder.

Tyra glanced between dwarf and man, and Eseld flapped a disgruntled hand at her.

"Well?" Gunnhilde asked, pressing Tyra. The blonde woman was coiled, tense, and it was clear she was on the verge of venturing back into the town alone.

As much as she agreed with Eseld, she knew Thor would want otherwise. "There will be more slaves," she said. "We go to free them."

An isolated lightning bolt struck the town, and Gunnhilde pointed towards it. "Lord Thor guides us," she said, already walking away along the dock.

Wolfric followed, lightning glinting from his wet eye patch as he passed her with a grim smile.

Tyra turned to Eseld. "There will be more foes," she promised the dwarf.

"If there aren't, I'll go looking," Eseld said, like it was a threat, before following, Bjorn shadowing her.

Tyra was quick to detail five of her fighters, the wounded included, to stay with the ships. Those of Skraevold had more pressing matters to deal with, like the ongoing calamity making his way through their home, but she was not going to take risks, nor take safety for granted. Not again. She hefted her axes to follow, when a voice called out.

"Wait!" It was Stephan, the southerner, almost slipping as he hopped from a ship to the dock.

"What?" Tyra asked, impatient.

He swallowed, one hand held to his ribs. "May I come with you?"

Tyra gave him an incredulous look. "You don't have the wind."

Like a rooster he puffed up, only to deflate. "Not to fight," Stephan said. "To see."

She narrowed her eyes, taking in his hunched posture and sharp, underfed features. He was a pretty one, yes, and looked like he could be quick with a knife, but only after a good meal. "You want to see the ones who wronged you brought low. See them hurt as you were hurt." She understood the desire.

Stephan coughed. "Yes, but…I also need details for my song."

"Your song," Tyra said, voice going flat.

"I am a bard, after all," he said, trying to smile in a winsome manner.

Tyra was little impressed. "Southerners," she said, like it was an insult.

"My father was Norscan, actually," Stephan said, a hint of sharpness to him.

What little credit his fire earned him was lost by his lack of understanding. Tyra snorted; it was just like a southerner to treat every tribe of Norsca as one. "Come if you must, but I cannot promise your safety," she said. "Here." She handed him a dagger, a cheap iron thing.

The southerner took it with an ease that suggested he might even know how to use it. "How kind," he said, though his tone belied his words.

Tyra had no more time for him, turning and striding from the dock, heading after those who had already left. Stephan was quick to hurry in her wake, and she found herself annoyed, knowing that Thor would be disappointed if she didn't protect him. The clash of steel on steel and the pained cries of dead men sounded briefly through the storm, and she hurried on. She would not miss out because a skald wanted a story.

When she reached the fight, it was just in time to see it end, watching as Bjorn beat a man's face against a stone wall until it was naught but pulp. He turned, unthinking savagery in his gaze, searching for another foe, but there were none, yet the lust for blood would not dim. For a moment, it seemed that the blond giant would attack one of them, but then he blinked, mastering himself. He picked his gore covered morningstar up from the ground, returning to his place at Eseld's shoulder.

Nothing was said about the man's bearing as they continued onwards. They all knew what it meant, had guessed from the moment they saw the countless scars across his chest and belly, and the few across his back. Baresark. To be so was to be blessed and cursed in equal measure, and it was better to have one such on your side than against, though at times not by much.

They only came across isolated Aeslings now, lone men skulking about for whatever ill purpose as Thor's presence in the town only intensified. What he fought, they did not know, but by the furious screams and tortured roars, it was not going well for them. The rain hardly bothered Tyra and her force now, but it seemed to sting and lash at the Aeslings, leaving them to squint and shield their faces, easy pickings to the dozen or so who stalked through their town.

When they reached their goal, many were unpleasantly reminded of their time under the power of the raiders. Kennel cages were laid out before them under the open sky, maybe thirty all told, unpleasant things of iron and spikes waist high at best. It was not only hounds within them, but humans too in half of them, and never fewer than three to a cage though by scant mercy not together. The moment they entered the small open area, the canines began to uncurl, misery at the rain overcome by anger at the intruders, hackles rising. They were ugly beasts, black furred and sharp toothed, and there was only a feral hunger in their eyes.

"Help," someone croaked. Perhaps the anger of the dogs was enough to make them seem trustworthy, or perhaps it was something else, but they saw in them a fragile hope. "Please."

"Get them out," Tyra commanded. Several moved to obey, before she spoke again. "Wait. Kill the hounds first."

Some of the dogs had started to snarl at her first command, but now they began to snap and growl as they were approached. The bites and wounds on the people crammed into cages where they couldn't avoid the dogs made it easy to dispatch them, and they were unable to avoid a spear or sword thrust into their cages more than once. Even as they died, they didn't stop snapping and snarling at their cages, some even frothing at the mouth. Those yet to be killed started throwing themselves at their doors, not to escape their imminent death, but so that they could attack those approaching them. There was no thought beyond violence in their minds, and to kill them was to put them out of their misery.

There were fifteen of them, and it was after the seventh was killed that things began to go wrong. Instead of a rattle and clang, there was a tortured groan of metal as one bashed its head against the gate again. Another got its jaws around the bars of its cage and began to squeeze, and the bars started to groan and give. They began to swell in size, fur bursting as the muscle beneath rippled.

"Kill them, kill them quickly!" Tyra shouted, and she was not alone in her words.

Gunnhilde speared one and then another, but only the first died, the second one only gurgling, still living despite the spear that was thrown down its gullet. The captives beside the mutating beasts began to scream in fear and panic, but there was no time to see to them, only to try to kill, but they were too slow and it was not enough. The first of the mutated chaos hounds burst from their cage, and it lunged at Eseld, even as great horns sprouted from its head in a burst of blood.

Bjorn was there, and he caught the beast under the chin with a mighty blow, but it did little to dissuade it. A second swipe with his morningstar was caught between its jaws, and the hound snapped the weapon in half with a contemptuous bite. Bjorn was ignored, bowled over and trampled as the hound again lunged for Eseld.

Another cage ruptured, the hound struggling through the door, and Wolfric hacked at its neck as it sought to escape. Even his sword took two strokes to cleave its head free from its body, and in that time two more had bashed their way free, covered in gashes from the cage spikes and those striking at them, but the wounds were not mortal, and one man found his leg seized and torn off with a single shake of its head, his screams ringing in the night.

Eseld had set herself, hammer cocked and ready, but she was sent flying by the sheer mass of the beast, unable to deliver a telling blow. She disappeared beneath it, screaming curses, but there was no time to help her, no one free to go to her aid as more beasts escaped.

No one but Bjorn. He had been trampled, but not left behind, grabbing onto the tusks that had burst from its jaw, and he was between Eseld and it. Now he reached up to seize its snout as well, muscles flexing as he roared, seeking to tear its jaw open, to stretch it beyond its limits. All was chaos, a mad struggle to kill the hounds before they could all escape and tear them apart, and above it all rose the howls of what once had been dogs, hungry for blood.

There was no clever strategy to be had, no formation to take that would hold the beasts at bay. Gunnhilde finished killing her target, but two more were free, and they were amongst them like a fox amongst hens. Wolfric saved a man's life when he tackled a leaping hound, sword taking off one leg effortlessly, but he could not be everywhere. One woman menaced a hound with her spear, trying to force it away from the man whose leg it had torn off, but she found herself victim in turn, spear ignored and her guts torn out with one swipe of a heavy paw. She spun and fell, screaming in agony as her intestines spilled into the mud.

Two of the beasts were still in the cages, but not their own. Rather than escape, they had gone sideways, into the cages occupied by captives beside them, and there was only blood and a fading gurgle as they feasted on the poor souls locked within.

Tyra rushed the beast that had good as killed two of the warriors under her care. "Thor strike you!" she bellowed, one axe rising high, the other held low to slash its throat. The hound turned to face her coming, blood dripping from its canine grin.

Her hair stood on end, and it felt like she was floating. Shadows were thrown back as she closed on the hound, and it almost seemed to quail before her. Thrice the weight of a man, red eyed and with a neck frill of bone spikes, and it knew fear as she brought her axe down.

The force of the blow was such that thunder boomed in its wake, and her axe parted the hound's skull in twain. Pained yelps sounded from the others as they flinched, and that was enough for Wolfric to thrust his sword down the gullet of the one he had wounded, finding its heart before it could clamp its jaws down on his arm.

A sickening snap sounded, and Bjorn gave a bellow of triumph as he succeeded in tearing the jaw off the beast that had him pinned atop Eseld. His torso was a mess of bloody gouges, but his strength was undiminished and he began to hammer blows into the belly of the beast with his bare fist, breaking ribs such was his fury. The hound was not dead though, not nearly, trying to bring its horns to bear against him. It succeeded, one wicked spike driving through Bjorn's shoulder, and it reared back to deliver another, lower jaw flapping uselessly.

The dwarf woman seized the respite to get out from under the great weights atop her, and she was just in time to catch the hound with her hammer, claws biting into the roof of its mouth. She turned with a great heave, hammer over her shoulder, and she hiked the hound off the man who had saved her life. A gauntleted fist met it as it came, stunning it.

"Khazukan-" she tore her hammer free with a shower of blood, "Kazakit-" she raised her hammer high, "-ha!" and brought it down, shattering its skull with a single blow.

There was still one hound menacing them, but it was being kept at bay by the others, though they could not slay it. Gunnhilde had trusted them to survive, leaping atop the kennels so that she could stab down into them, striking at the hounds tearing into the defenceless captives. They had shredded one cage apiece, but their hunger was not sated, and they had almost broken through to more.

Gunnhilde would not have it. She stabbed down six times in four seconds, abusing her control of the blessed spear to have it rise up with ease. Trapped in the cages as they were, there was no escape for the hounds, and they died whimpering.

A single hound remained, Tyra and Wolfric joining the half circle around it, harrying it against one of the buildings that lined the kennel square. It snapped and snarled, but there was no escaping for it. There was a pause, a breath before they would fall on the foul creature, punctuated only by the storm and the agonised moans of those who had fallen victim to it behind them.

Then, the building exploded.

Stone and wood sprayed outwards, though miraculously not a single human was hit by more than small fragments. An entire slab of stone crushed the hound before it could so much as flinch, but then there were more pressing matters calling for their attention.

Thor was there, wreathed in lightning, so much that it seemed he was as much power as he was flesh and bone. There was joy upon his face and he was laughing, though perhaps that was merely the boom of thunder. In the cratered remains of the building he stood, and he was not alone.

Against him stood a daemon.

Like a twisted mockery of a man it stood on twisted limbs, a crown of bone rising from its skull and red skin splitting and healing with every movement. It roared and gnashed its needle like teeth as it traded blows with the laughing god, and for a moment even the faithful trembled as they tried to comprehend what kind of power it must wield to do so and survive - but then the moment passed, and they began to understand just what they were seeing.

"Stop hitting yourself! Stop hitting yourself!" Thor shouted, laughing, lashing at the daemon with a severed arm. His great axe floated at his back, and his beard was flecked with blood.

The daemon screeched in near mindless fury, five arms bearing weapons of steel and bone all seeking to strike the god, but none succeeding. The stump that had been the sixth bled freely, and the ground steamed and spat where black droplets fell.

"Come Sigurd!" Thor said, slapping the daemon with its own arm hard enough to stagger it. "Was my skull not to be offered up? Were you not going to devour my heart? What would your god think of such lowly efforts?" He laughed again, but there was a core of anger to it, a thread of rage tightly leashed and controlled.

The daemon noticed the mortals then, and it feinted at Thor before rushing at them. Tyra, Wolfric, and Gunnhilde stepped forward without thought, putting themselves between daemon and the others, but it was unneeded. They were given front row seats as the daemon's eyes widened in sudden fear, a very human expression, and then its face met the ground as its leg was pulled out from under it. Like a toddler with a doll, Thor heaved the malevolent, otherworldly being back and forth, slamming it into the ground again and again. Five arms scrambled about for purchase, but they could find none, and it was only freed when Thor hurled it back the way they had come, down a street on the other side of the destroyed building.

Thor turned from it as it recovered, looking to his faithful. Above, the giant in the clouds did the same. "How do you fare, brave warriors?" he asked. The flickering lightning around him faded, but the glow of his eyes remained.

For the first time since the fighting had begun, they took stock of themselves. They were breathing hard, and splattered with blood, but little of it was their own, and they were eager for more.

"We are well, Lord Thor," Wolfric said. He glanced back at those who had come with them, searching for revenge, and the other two looked with him.

The woman whose guts had been torn out was twitching faintly as she was cradled by the scar faced woman, clutching weakly at her hand, while Stephan knelt by the man whose leg had been torn off, fashioning a tourniquet as best he could with what was on hand. Others were working at the cages, bashing at locks to free the increasingly panicked captives, ignoring their own injuries. Eseld was holding a flask to Bjorn's mouth, almost forcing him to drink it.

"Others, not so much," Tyra admitted.

The scrape of claws on stone came from behind Thor, as he regarded them seriously. "Then it is time to be done with this place. Will you lead them to the ships, or do you wish to test yourselves against this pathetic creature?"

For a moment, they were tempted. Two of them bore weapons blessed by Thor, and seeing the daemon being battered and slapped around had a way of boosting their confidence. But then cooler thoughts rose, and the knowledge that there were people depending on them prevailed. The daemon rising from where it had been thrown, murder and a palpable menace in its movements, also helped. There was little to be gained from fighting it, and peril unneeded.

"We will escort the captives," Gunnhilde said, speaking for them.

"Then I will meet you at the docks," Thor said. Without looking, he hurled the arm he held, and it hit the daemon in the face, staggering it once more. "Go now." He turned, and advanced towards his foe. His axe he left floating at his back, knuckles cracking as he formed fists.

Moving with haste, they joined the others in freeing those trapped in the cages. Though not as many as had been trapped in the pit, there were still nearly three score to be helped, and then there were those who could not make their own way. Too wounded or too weak to walk, they were helped by others, though there was no helping the poor souls in the cages that the hounds had gotten into. The scar faced woman bore the corpse of the disembowelled woman, glaring at any who might tell her to leave it in favour of another.

Behind them, they left only blood, corpses, and silent, fearful witnesses to their deeds.

X

Thor felt pride in his chest as his faithful departed, leading those who had only just begun to believe. There was something strange about the belief of one, a distant feeling to it like an echoing shout over still water, but now was not the time to consider such things. Now was the time for good deeds, for the might of Thor to fall upon the foul and the wicked. Now was the time for violence.

The daemon that had once been Sigurd Twice-Slain glowered at him with impotent fury as it cast its severed arm aside. "You think this a victory," it hissed, forked tongue darting through needle teeth.

"I know this to be a victory," Thor corrected it.

"Fool," it said, laughing, an echoing thing that carried with it the screams of the weak. "This town is nothing. The people are nothing. It means NOTHING!"

"It means everything to those we have saved," Thor said. Lightning began to flicker over him once more. "They will love, they will laugh, they will live long lives…but you? You will die here."

More mad cackling was his answer. The daemon hurled its weapons away, spreading its arms wide. "Think you that I can be slain?"

Thor only smiled, a hard thing lacking in humour, and continued to advance. Something in his expression made the daemon hesitate, but only for a moment. "I do not know if the soul of your mortal shell is still there," he said as he neared, "but know that I do this for Kirsa."

Clawed hands lunged for Thor's throat, but arcing lightning left them writhing nervelessly. More tried to stab at his armpits, but were unable to so much as scratch his armour. Thor's fists unfurled, and he reached for the daemon's skull, seizing it by jaw and bone crown. Then, he began to squeeze. The storm, having fallen into a lull, came roaring back. So too did the giant roar.

"IN THE NAME OF THOR! PERISH, DAEMON!"

Bone began to crack and shatter as he squeezed, and the daemon screamed, not in pain, but in true terror. Its head exploded in his grip, brain and viscera splattering everywhere, yet its scream echoed on. A bolt fell from the heavens, striking Thor, and in its wake there was sudden silence, not even thunder.

Thor allowed the corpse to drop, discarding the useless thing. Lightning sparked across his gore covered hands, and it began to blacken and flake away, leaving them clean. He looked around. He was the only living thing to be seen, though he could sense a mother cradling a babe watching through a basement shutter, and a boy alone in a house peering around curtains.

Stormbreaker came to his hand, and he stepped up into the sky. His work was almost done here. Almost, but not quite.

The god came to a stop just below the clouds, looking down on the town of Skraevold, as did his avatar above. He could see the path of ruin he had carved through it, starting from the west gate and ending to the south. Buildings full of raiders and evil men he had razed to the ground, and there were still glowing pits and craters where he had smote particularly offensive foes. Now the town and those who remained held its breath, as if sensing the weight of his judgement upon it.

"People of Skraevold," Thor said, voice rolling out over the land, rolling like thunder. "By the whims of your gods, you have raided. You have enslaved. You have spread suffering." Censure was clear in his voice, a bridled anger that could erupt at any moment. "You have drawn my eye."

Lightning crashed, the left eye of the avatar above glowing bright. Wrath it wore, and those with the courage to step out and look up found themselves tested.

"Your town is sundered, your chieftain and the daemon wearing his skin are slain. Your gods have led you astray, for they do not care for you." He let the echoes of the condemnation fade. "But there is another path. A path that offers succour to those who would but ask for it."

Suddenly, he could feel Four gazes intent upon him, where before there had only been one, and that lazily. A pressure built, but he pressed back at it, and he could feel new reserves of strength responding to his will. Stormwinds whipped at his hair and his beard.

"I stand for strength and storms," Thor said, building with the storm around him. "I stand for groves held free of betrayal, for duty, for those who cannot stand for themselves. I am THOR, God of Thunder, and I stand for the protection of all mankind! ODIN'S SON I AM, AND TO THE FOUR CANCERS OF CHAOS, I SAY THEE NAY!"

Uncountable bolts of lightning roiled in the clouds, and a cacophony to shame all those before it roared to life. Voiceless bellows and shrieks of rage, of denial and accusation and twisted desire rang out through the immaterial, but they were drowned out by the thunder. In that moment, there was only Thor. His avatar exploded across the sky, racing off into the darkness and over the horizon in all directions.

"Come to me if you are willing," Thor finished, already descending from the sky. He made no threat to the alternative, for he neither needed nor wanted one. Those who followed him would be faithful, not fearful, and he would stand at their sides through whatever struggles they faced, from now 'til Ragnarok comes.

He could do little else for he was Thor, God of Thunder.

 

[blankslate]

why oh why can i only give one like...?

More seriously, very nicely done - righteous anger in war, tempered with compassion. And hey - new sailing vocab!

 

[clonezero]

That was quite the exquisite read.

 

[Axiomatic]

One of my favorite tropes is
"Fool! I cannot be killed!"

"Bet?"

 

[TheWiseTomato]

Atop a mountain, on the wooden roof of a stone drum tower, two men watched the sky. Bald heads tattooed with intricate blue patterns were shiny with rain, and the water dripped down into their beards, brown and blond. Lightning flickered and crashed across grey storm clouds, but the pair showed no fear.

"Should Tor strike us," the blond bearded man said, "we will deserve it." He wore the pelt of a grizzly around his broad shoulders.

"Courage is rewarded," his companion said. He was the slighter of the two, but still could not be called small. His eyes remained fixed on the sky as he spoke, his own furs shielding him against the cold.

"Foolishness is punished," the first man replied, eyes fixed the same.

"You can go down and sit by the fire in the hall with the others, if you like," the man with the brown beard said.

The other man made no move to go through the trapdoor that led below, even as a long, low, echoing rumble of thunder reverberated through the air. The rain intensified, becoming sharp and stinging in its force, but neither moved, still watching the sky. Minutes passed, and the clouds overhead grew black, stretching from horizon to horizon above the mountains. The lightning began to slow, then faded, and both men frowned, not quite disappointed, but confused. Then -

The sky turned white as the clouds above their temple exploded with lightning as one. The thunder that followed did not so much roar as drown out all sound. For a heartbeat in the clouds, it seemed there was a figure etched in the lightning, glancing down on them, but then it passed them by, continuing east. The silence lingered in its wake, and neither man dared to breathe.

"Thor!" came a distant bellow. "Odin's son!" It grew louder, nearer. "CHAOS, I SAY THEE NAY!" The rain was buffeted sideways, and the mountains seemed to shake. Slowly, the echoes of the voice faded.

The sounds of wind and rain and the roar of a bear in the stable below returned to the world, but the two men were stock-still.

"I'll get my axe," the blond man said.

"Aye."

X

The scent of woodsmoke was heavy in the air, and what had been a peaceful day of work in the fields had become a night of terror within the walls of the village. A brother and sister were dragged through the streets of their home by the shoulders, feet trailing in the dirt. The man had been struck about the skull, and his head lolled forward, blood staining his dark hair and homespun tunic. The woman was silent as she glared at their captors, not by choice but by the gag tied harshly across her mouth. Her dark hair matched his, and her rough dress was from the same simple cloth. Torches lit the night and dark figures moved through the village, joining the procession towards its centre. The fact that she recognised them all only made it hurt all the more.

"Are you sure about this, holy sir?" the headman asked, almost fretting. He was thick built as a woodsman must be, but he sounded more like he was unsure about the need to slaughter a prize cow than the true business of the night. "They're a mite strange, unmarried at their age and all, but we never had strange happenings or-"

The dark figure that they were following did not so much as pause his stride. "A Witch Hunter of Blessed Sigmar does not err in matters such as this. The stench of their heresy cannot be mistaken." His voice was a dry drawl, and as they approached the village centre, his shadow grew long, stretching over the captives behind him. The scent of smoke grew stronger.

The sister began to struggle in truth as she saw what awaited them. A pyre had been built, a stripped down trunk at its centre, and around it was the rest of the village, bearing torches and dark mutterings. She tried to bite at one of the men dragging her, but received a heavy slap for her troubles, sending her reeling with a noise of pain. She knew him, had kissed him in the cornfield when they were children.

At the sound of pain, the brother jerked, struggling to focus, but his body was weak, and answered his will only sluggishly.

"Ready them for the holy flames," the witch hunter commanded. "Bind them to the centre by foot, body, and neck."

"Is that right needed, holy sir?" the headman asked. "He's conked and she's only a woman."

The witch hunter turned to him, and the torches of the crowd cast his face in shadow. "I once burned a witch who revealed dark gifts from the ruinous powers in their final minutes, and broke free from the stake. I fought them as they burned, and the fire spread through the village. Only ash remained. Would you like to take that risk here?"

With a dry swallow, the headman relented. He looked to the four men carrying the captives and gave them a jerky nod.

Brother and sister were dragged to and up the pyre, surrounded by the curses and invectives of their neighbours. She struggled again, but was overpowered with ease, and soon they were being lashed to the stake. Overheard, dark clouds gathered, concealing the moon.

Back to back they were tied, rope wrapped around them both at the waist, their hands already secured. Next their captors - one of them a cousin - made to bind them by the neck to the stake. Perhaps thinking them disarmed, one was not ready when the brother took his chance to bite him by the hand, clenching his jaw with all the fury he couldn't think straight enough to express, tearing and worrying at it like an animal.

The man screeched, bringing back his other hand to rain blows on the brother's head until he was knocked loose. Even then he did not stop, continuing to strike him.

"Enough!" the witch hunter commanded. "The flames will have their due."

Thunder underscored his words, and rain threatened. The sister cursed them despite the gag, furious tears streaming down her face. Their necks were bound to the stake, near strangling them.

"Quickly now, before the rain can save them," the witch hunter said. One hand was resting on the pistol at his hip, stroking its grip.

Again, thunder echoed in the distance, and it sounded angry. Lightning coursed through the sky above. Torches were brought forward from the crowd, and the mutterings rose into a clamour as they were pressed to the tinder and kindling stacked at the base of the pyre. Flames erupted, and a fight broke out at the edge of the crowd, fists flying and drawing the witch hunter's eye. His features illuminated by the growing flames, the scarred and grizzled man glanced sharply at the brawl, pistol half free from its holster.

The sister tried to stamp at the flames before it caught in truth, but she could not reach, and her brother fought to focus his eyes. Lightning flashed across the sky, illuminating the village such was its intensity. Anger, righteousness, fury, despair, all were thrown into stark relief, and everyone within missed the figure depicted in the clouds for a bare instant. Everyone, except the siblings.

Then came a noise. It was faint, almost too faint to be heard, but just loud enough to make one turn their head. "Thor!" came the call, behind the crackling of the fire. "Odin's son!" it rose above the clamour of the crowd. "CHAOS, I SAY THEE NAY!" Lightning struck at the pyre, not at the tree at its centre, but at the two lashed to it. Wood and rope blackened, but did not burn.

Energy filled the brother and sister, and their eyes began to glow. A pistol rose, swift in its judgement but still far too slow.

"NAY!" screamed the sister, gag crumbling to ash in her mouth, and she pointed at the witch hunter who had torn her from her bed and turned their village against them. Lightning surged, connecting her hand to his pistol, and the man was thrown back, his pointed hat flying free.

Clamour and curses were replaced by fear, and torch wielding villagers turned to flee. The sister wasted no time, tearing herself loose from what remained of her bindings, and turning to help her brother with his. The flames licked at their heels as they leapt from the pyre, lurching as they landed, clutching at one another.

"Come, hurry!" the sister said, tugging at her brother.

"No, not there - this way," the brother said, pulling at her in turn, and his tone was so certain that she followed without question.

They turned away from the path that would lead to the closer south gate, instead making for a smaller gate farther away that pointed north, disappearing into the shadows. They had lost near everything that night, but as the heavens opened to drench what had been their pyre, they could be thankful at least that they still had their lives, and each other.

X
What had once been a village was little more than ash and mud, mute evidence to the weakness of those that had lived there. Jarrod paid little attention to his men as they did as ordered, focus instead on the small wooden block he was carving away at. His seat twitched feebly, but it was ignored.

The morning sun was weak, and if one looked to the north the shifting auroras could be faintly made out, though his band knew better than to do so. This far north, gazing too long at the border between realms invited ill things. There were better ways to seek blessings. He blew on his carving, blowing wood shavings away, turning it this way and that. The head was starting to emerge, and slender fingers continued to carve away at it with sharp nails.

"Boss," came the deep rumble of his second, footsteps crunching deeply in the mud and snow.

"Dax," Jarrod said. The big man had been with him since they left their village, though his size had only come in after their first raid.

"We're done," Dax said. His nose was blunter than a warhammer, and almost as wide.

"Boys finished having their fun?"

"Girl killed herself," Dax said, uncaring. "So I guess so."

Jarrod stopped in his carving, looking up with a raised eyebrow. "How did she manage that?"

"Got a dagger off Nokel while he was busy with her."

"Well, good for her," Jarrod said. Eyes that had once been blue but were now the colour of ice went back to his carving. "Nokel?"

"He's fine. Girl turned it on herself first."

The flicker of approval he felt faded like a cinder in snow. "The rest?"

"All done," Dax said, something almost like contentment in his voice. "What do you think?"

Jarrod looked up to where his man was gesturing, and took in the pile of skulls. An appreciable portion of the village were now piled in a pyramid. Well, their heads were, anyway. All wore slack expressions of pain and terror. "Very good. How about you?"

His seat moaned, but didn't shift.

"I asked you a question," Jarrod said, chiding, and he grabbed the man by the ear, nails piercing and twisting, forcing him to look. He would have grabbed him by the hair, but such a thing was hard given his lack of a scalp.

The seat looked with empty eyes, but still he saw.

"That's your son in pride of place, no?" Jarrod asked.

He didn't answer, but Dax did with a chuckle. "Said he was going to give my head to the Axefather," the hulking man said.

"I'm sure he is happy, being at the top of the pile," Jarrod said. He let go, flicking blood from his fingers, and returned to his carving.

Dax shuffled, but didn't leave.

"Was there something else?" Jarrod asked, not looking up.

"Some of the boys were wondering, about last night," Dax said.

Jarrod carved deeper than he meant to, and he put the block away, tucking it within his furs. "What of it." Forcibly, he held back a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold wind of the morning. The entire camp waking in fear had left things shaken. It was the entire reason he had taken them on this pointless diversion.

'Thor!'

"Are we fixing to do anything about it?" Dax asked.

'Odin's son!'

"You want to get between the Gods when they fight?" Jarrod asked. Only a fool drew the gaze of those his greater before he was ready, and whatever was responsible for the storm that flowed over them last night was still his greater.

'CHAOS, I SAY THEE NAY!'

Dax looked uncomfortable for a moment, shifting like his father had caught him doing something he shouldn't. "The Blood God called for Blood."

"So he did," Jarrod said, as if he had dreamed the same dream his men had. "And we will give it to him."

The brute found his balls, setting his shoulders. "Some want to turn south."

"Some?" Jarrod asked, as if he didn't know exactly who was muttering where they thought he couldn't hear them. Only a small part of his band was made up of those he had left his village with, so many months ago, to venture north into the Wastes. Others had been picked up on the way, and they didn't have the right kind of loyalty.

"No one important," Dax said.

"Then fuck 'em," Jarrod said. "We'll turn south when we're good and ready, and I've got what I came here for."

That seemed to settle Dax, and he nodded. "Blood for the Blood God."

Jarrod smiled, a thin thing more cutting than the wind about them. "The blood will flow. Get ready to leave. We march north."

Dax hesitated, but then turned and left, doing…whatever it was he needed to do.

The carving was retrieved, and Jarrod began to work on it once more. He couldn't return home without a gift for his nieces, after all.

 

[TheWiseTomato]

Thor dreamed.

In the fields of Asgard, Old and New and all at once, he watched over the latest crop. The land drank greedily of the corpses and the essence of those that he had slain and seen slain by his faithful. A warm summer's breeze caressed his hair as he walked by the fields, carrying with it the scent of flowers and the buzz of bees. On his left was the city wall, and he followed a small dirt path that meandered just outside its shadow.

His nose twitched as a foul scent came to it, overpowering the pollen, and he saw from whence it came. Amidst the carpet of corpses, one stood out. The thing that had been Sigurd Twice-Slain was an ugly creature even in death, and it was bled of its essence more slowly than the others, even the few chaos spawn littering the field.

"It is as I told you," Thor said, though he knew there were none to hear his words.

Or perhaps there was. In the distance, he glimpsed a dove fluttering, alighting on the branch of a sapling across the corpse field. Its feathers were white, and it glanced only briefly at Thor as it settled itself, before regarding the bodies that lay before it.

To walk through the field would be to leave him up to his ankles in gore and battle muck, and so he didn't. With deceptive ease, he took a powerful step that sent him soaring across the field, skimming over the bodies, and landed in the untouched grass of the meadow beyond, skidding slightly. He left faint furrows in his wake, but the dove was not startled as he came to a stop by its small tree. It only watched the bodies, an air of sadness about it.

"Do not spend your sorrow on these ones," Thor said. "They are not worthy of it."

"Every death is worthy of sorrow," the dove said. "Even ones such as these." Its voice was as a woman's, gentle yet firm.

"Had they lived, they would have spread more," Thor said, turning to survey the field with her. "Sorrow was all they knew."

"Now it is all they ever knew," the dove said. "You have stopped them from spreading more, but only by causing sorrow in turn." She seemed to point with her beak. "That one left behind a son. Even now he huddles in his father's basement, waiting for his return. Soon he will start praying."

The sunshine dimmed as a cloud passed before the sun. "Praying to whom?"

"The Enemy," the dove said. "The only gods he knows."

"I offered him a different path," Thor said.

"Would you have offered it to his father?" the dove asked, looking to him with eyes far too knowing to belong to a bird.

"...not without earning it," Thor said. "Forgiveness is not offered lightly, and worthiness comes even harder."

"A difficult thing to judge," the dove said.

"Is it?"

The dove made a considering noise, a strange thing partway between a dove's coo and a woman's hum. "The boy's path is his own. He might follow his father's gods, or he might follow you."

They watched the bodies of the slain as they were leached away, silence broken only by the rippling of wind through the grass. At length, Thor spoke.

"What brings you here, Lady Dove?"

She gave a tinkling laugh. "You made such a racket moving in," Dove said. "Others have come, but you were absent."

"I had work to do, as we left Skraevold," Thor said, feeling vaguely like he had his mother giving him a reproving glance over his manners. "The humans needed sleep, but I did not."

"You treat them well," Dove said.

"Of course I do," Thor said. "They believe in me, so I believe in them."

Dove cocked her head at him. "Is that how you came to walk amongst them so freely?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Perhaps not," Dove said, though her tone said she did not much care.

Before Thor could question her, something about her bearing changed. Where once there was a dove simply resting on a branch, now she was fixated on something like a hawk on its prey, and her talons cut into the wood. She gave an ominous coo.

Thor's hand was ready at his side, Stormbreaker waiting to be summoned into being with a thought, but he waited. He could not see an enemy, and Heimdall's horn was yet silent.

Dove swept from her perch, swooping down towards the bodies. She landed on one man, unassuming and half consumed, and uncaring of the filth of battle, spread her wings across his chest. Blood stained white feathers, and tears welled in her eyes.

He did not know her goal, and so he watched, inspecting the rest of the crop yet to fade and ready to respond to any threat. A dove was vulnerable on the ground.

Red earth, stained by the blood of the man Dove now wept over, began to bubble and boil, and a black foulness rose to the top. Each bubble rose and popped with an oily sheen, some coming perilously close to splashing Dove. He could not say why there was peril, only that there was, and in the next instant his will responded.

Within a heartbeat the blue sky was gone, replaced by dark storm clouds that roiled out from nothing, but golden Asgard still gleamed. A bolt thicker than Thor's belly lanced from the sky and struck the Thunder God's crown, shrouding him with its light. He knelt, and seized the foulness in hand. It writhed like a living thing, but there was no escaping his grip, and he squeezed it without mercy. Like shadows before the dawn, his lightning burnt away at it, and soon nothing remained. The bolt connecting him to the heavens faded, and thunder rumbled belatedly in its wake.

"Of all those that spread misery and pain," Dove said, struggling back to her talons, "he is the one I will find hardest to forgive."

"He?" Thor asked, though he knew the answer as he spoke.

"Nurgle," Dove hissed, and the sick scent of the battlefield intensified just for a moment. She breathed heavily, not attempting to flutter skywards just yet.

From the pocket of his Asgard woven clothes, Thor retrieved the cure to her ails. The lunchable was new, and the foil crinkled pleasingly as he opened it. Cheese went on 'ham' went on biscuit, and he took a bite, before holding it out to Dove.

Dove gave him a Look. "Do you wish to be this generous?"

"'Tis but a snack," Thor said, swallowing his bite.

"'Tis an expression of your power," Dove corrected him.

Thor thought for a moment, but shrugged. Dove had noticed and rebuffed a threat he - and Heimdall - had missed, so he would be generous. He wiggled the remainder of the snack.

Dove wasted no time, pecking at the snack in several small, precise bites. Despite her small beak, not a crumb was wasted. She shook her body and gave a testing flap of her wings. A moment later, she was fluttering up to his shoulder. "Thank you, Odin's son."

"You are most welcome, Lady Dove," Thor said, rising steadily to his feet, careful not to unsettle her. "What do you mean by 'an expression of your power'?"

Dove gave a shrug that looked curious on her avian body. "As you give to your Realm, so too can you build from it."

"Anything?" Thor asked, curious.

"No."

Thor was hit by a sudden yearning for his brother. Loki would have known what she meant. Loki would likely already have figured it out.

Dove pecked at the mess that was his hair, preening some out of his face and behind his ear. "You will grow, and learn," she said, and her voice was soft, like she knew his heartsickness.

Before Thor could summon an answer, she burst into flight, up and away from the battlefield. He watched her go, white form disappearing into the sky against the backdrop of fading storm clouds, blue peeking through once more.

The Thunder God turned back for the city gates, his curiosity as to the state of his crop sated for now. He thought on Dove's words as he walked, turning them over in his mind. Were a foe ever suitably penitent, he could consider accepting their worship, even if only after they had proven themselves, but one of the Enemy?

No. Even new to the fight as he was, not them, never one of them. Someday in the future they would have a reckoning, and there would be no forgiveness on that day.

That day was not today. He closed his eyes, taking a moment to enjoy the scent of flowers, and the warm breeze.

"Thor," Gunnhilde said.

Thor blinked, shifting around, disorientated. "What are you doing in Valhalla? You're early."

"Valhalla?" Gunnhilde asked, tone wondering. "The halls of the worthy dead?"

Thor rubbed sleep from his eyes as he rose, levering his legs out of bed and taking in his cabin. It had been foisted upon him despite their lack of space, but he was thankful for the bed and the privacy. He was no longer in - wait. He had been in Asgard, Old and New and all at once, so why had he said Valhalla? "No, well yes, but - I was dreaming of Asgard."

"The home of the gods? I thought it destroyed," Gunnhilde said.

"I appear to have made it anew," Thor said, still pushing back at the fog. The cabin was small, with only a bed and a chest in it. Why had he said Valhalla? He tried to trace the thought, pulling at the thread and seeing what else came with it, but frustratingly understanding remained elusive. Were they the same?

He wondered if that was why it was empty.

"Lord Thor?" Gunnhilde asked. "The city of gold, that is Valhalla?"

Thor frowned in thought. "Perhaps," he said at length. "It is Asgard Old and New, but Valhalla…if it is, I should not be able to roam there."

"But you are its God," Gunnhilde said.

"Valhalla is for the dead," Thor said. "Those slain in battle, or doing righteous deeds. It is not for the living."

"What is it like?" Gunnhilde asked. She hesitated only briefly before sitting on the chest across from him.

"Green fields and feasting halls, filled with heroes and kings," Thor said, but something about the words was wrong. "No - that is not right…Asgard is for my faithful, and all will be welcome, but Valhalla yet stands empty." The words were said with certainty, though where that certainty came from he could not say. "It will be filled by those who fall, if they be worthy."

"Like Valkyries," Gunnhilde said

"So long as they choose to remain worthy, yes," Thor said. "It is not an easy thing." His gaze went to his belly, and he scratched at it absently, old memories crossing his mind.

The look Gunnhilde gave him said clearly that she couldn't imagine choosing otherwise.

She would learn.

"What about the dead at Skraevold?"

"The Aeslings?" Thor asked, looking up at her with a raised brow. "Oh, they went to Asgard." He pushed back thoughts of a child in a basement, waiting for his father.

Gunnhilde took one look at the face he wore and decided to think on what it might mean later. "No, not them. Those that fought alongside us and died for it. What we saw…they must have believed."

Thor shrugged. "Some did. Do. But just believing isn't enough. If they hold another god first in their hearts, they will go to them." The knowledge came from the ether, but he could support it with reasoning. He could feel the hold, the connection, that he had with his faithful. He knew those that were his first, and those that were another's.

"I have heard whispers," Gunnhilde said. "They wonder about you. Wolfric and I have done our best to answer."

Thor made an agreeable sound, thoughts elsewhere.

"Would you have otherwise?" Gunnhilde said, uncertainty in her blue eyes. "You said they would choose to worship you, and we did not seek to convert, but-"

"You have done no ill," Thor said, favouring her with a smile. He forgot her youth at times. "They cannot make a choice unknowing, after all."

The answer caused her spine to straighten. "I understand, Lord Thor."

Perhaps he should have chosen his words more carefully, but he was still throwing off the last of his confusion, thinking back to his dreams. He made to get up, but something poked him in the stomach - or rather, his stomach was sitting on something pointy, and he regarded it with a frown of discontent.

He would have to do something about the record of his malaise soon.

But not now. Shifting his bulk, he found the cause of his discomfort, and looked over the lunchable that he found. It was not packet pristine like the one he had shared with Dove, but crumpled and battered. It had been waiting in his pocket for some time now, ever since the day after Vinteerholm's liberation.

"Here," he said, holding it out to her.

She took it with a faint frown of confusion, turning it this way and that. "What is it?"

"Something a friend once shared with me," Thor said. An expression of power, Dove had said…well, Wolfric and Kirsa were fine. "Food may be tight, but your efforts deserve it. Those in the kennels spoke of your actions freeing them."

"Thank you, Lord Thor," Gunnhilde said, looking down, ears flushing. She figured out how to open it, and peeled back crumpled foil, before pausing. "What is this?" Gunnhilde asked, holding it out to him.

Thor felt his brows rise as he took in the white feather that had been inside the packet. Now that it was open, he could feel it, a presence that had been missing before. Gently, he reached out to take it. There was a sturdiness to it that no feather should have, and he turned it over by its stem. It was soft, yet warm.

"A dove visited me in Asgard," he said at length. "I see she left me a gift."

Gunnhilde did not understand, but she did not let that stop her from eating the lunchable. She made a queer face as she swallowed it down, as if pleased to be eating it but not at all ready for the strange taste. "It is…different."

"I find myself liking them for the memories they carry, not the taste," Thor said, confiding in her as he tucked the feather away in his pocket. "One of my battle brothers refused to touch them, and another would only accept it to be polite."

"My sister…" Gunnhilde said slowly, "...she would refuse to eat dog. Even when it was the only meat we had, she would go out and hunt a rabbit before touching it."

"Was she fond of them?"

"No, she just really hated the taste."

Thor's lips twitched. "A fair response then."

Gunnhilde only gave a slow nod, staring at the cabin wall without seeing.

"But what brings you to me this morning? It is morning, yes?"

The Valkyrie started, rising automatically to her feet. "Yes Thor. We're near the stretch where Eseld wanted to leave us. She asked to speak with you before she does."

Thor thought for a moment. "That would put us in the region where my beard was subject to that dastardly assault, yes? Is she sure she wishes to depart here?"

"She claims the dwarfs will accept her," Gunnhilde said.

He brightened. "Oh, the dwarfs are here? Perhaps she will introduce me to one."

Gunnhilde took a moment to reply. "I see no reason why she could not," she said slowly.

Thor was already rising, straightening his rumpled clothes absently and threading his fingers through his beard in an attempt to tame it. "I have slept long enough. Come."

It was all she could do to follow in his wake. Her God could be a strange one at times, but he was the God for her, and she would have no other before him.

X

The journey back to Vinteerholm was not proving an easy one, nor was it quick. Where one longship had cut a swift path through the mountains in short weeks, their procession of fifteen captured longships and almost nine hundred rescued souls moved beyond sluggishly. Skraevold was three weeks behind them, but they had yet to reach Lake Lagodash. They could fish as they travelled, supplementing their stores, but they still had to stop each night. Even if every soul aboard were to have grown up together, there were just too many of them across too few ships.

Thor surveyed the procession as he emerged onto the deck of the largest longship, Gunnhilde at his back. Though there was room below, those not on oar duty were crowded on the deck, taking in the cool air, and he could not blame them. Each and every one of them had been shackled in the hold of a ship much like this, and they were not eager to subject themselves to it anew. His arrival on the deck drew many eyes, not just on their ship but on those near it.

"Was there any trouble as I slept?" Thor asked. He had remained awake for the first days after the raid, napping here and there, but eventually he had been persuaded to rest.

"Nothing we couldn't handle," Gunnhilde said.

"What manner?" Thor asked, as they approached the ship's rail. There was little space, but space was made for them, and he gave a nod of thanks to a man with a healing gash across his nose.

"Old feuds, worry over food," Gunnhilde said. "The Nordlanders still fear we mean to eat them, or take them for slaves."

"So long as you have it under control," Thor said, trusting in his people. He raised his hands overhead, stretching, and his back cracked loudly.

"Tyra almost threw the bard overboard, but Wolfric distracted her," Gunnhilde said.

"What did he do this time?"

"Threatened to immortalise her in song," she said, amused.

"There are worse things," Thor said.

"Not to Tyra's mind."

Briefly, he was reminded of Fandral badgering Sif, plucking at a lute missing two strings, and he smiled. "And…the Aeslings?"

Even faithful Gunnhilde could not help a frown. "Bjorn's people are well, but those from Skraevold…" she trailed off. "There was an incident."

A score of Aeslings had approached the ships before they could depart the ravaged town, acting more like terrified deer than people, but approach they had, and by Thor's word they had not been turned away. No, not deer. Like a wolfdog, too often beaten by its master.

"Did they start it?"

"No. It was our people," Gunnhilde said, grimacing. The blonde woman hesitated, but still spoke her mind. "Do you not fear that some are false? They may have come to spy, agents of the Schemer."

"Perhaps," Thor said. "How did you handle it?"

"I put a stop to it," Gunnhilde said.

"Why?" Thor asked.

She seemed bewildered. "Because many of them are children?"

"But they may be agents of the Schemer, and are Aeslings besides."

"That does - they are still children and their mothers, mostly," Gunnhilde argued.

Thor glanced at her, waiting, aware that their conversation was not private.

"Oh," Gunnhilde said. A look of realisation crossed over her sharp features. "Innocents."

"Just so. There may be one amongst them with ill intent, but equally there may be one somewhere else on these ships with the same," Thor said, gesturing to the river. "You acted as a Valkyrie ought to," he finished, tone approving.

His words seemed to lift her. "I understand, Lord Thor."

"That is why I accepted your oath," Thor said, clapping her on the shoulder. That, and he didn't have the heart to deny her. "Now, where is Eseld?"

"Here, manling," came the response at their backs.

The two of them turned and looked down to see Eseld standing on the deck behind them. Even on the full deck, she was afforded space, none wishing to crowd her, but that might've been the armour she wore and the hammer at her hip. A pack hung low on her back, tightly packed.

"Eseld," Thor said. "How do you fare?"

"Well enough," she said grudgingly. What remained of her left ear had scabbed over and started to flake off, revealing scarred pink skin beneath. Her hair, though, had a way of distracting from that. The blow that had taken half her ear had also taken her left plait, but rather than trim it back and let it grow out once more, she had shaved the hair on the side of her head clean off. A short and tight braid ran along the edge of her new hairline. Seeing his gaze, she raised her chin in challenge.

"That is most punk," Thor said, approving. He remembered a party somewhere in the lands of Europe with people who wore a similar style, having wandered off after the destruction of another Hydra base. "You will strike fear into the hearts of your enemies."

"Thank you?" Eseld said. There was a strange look on her face.

Thor accepted her thanks with a nod, as was proper. "I hear you wish to take your leave from us."

Eseld nodded, fingers drumming on the hip of the armour she wore. Even with Skraevold behind them, she still wore it daily. "I was taken on my way to begin an apprenticeship. Vengeance was had, but I must still take word to the families of the fallen."

"We cannot spare time to escort you," Thor warned.

"I wouldn't ask for it," Eseld said. "Let me off between here and the lake, and I'll find my own way."

"Are you sure?" Thor asked. "There are some disagreeable sorts in these woods. Seven strands they shot from my beard." He glowered out at nothing, still upset over the matter.

"I will manage," Eseld said.

"My companions say they were likely dwarfs, but I do not believe them," Thor said. "The dwarfs I knew would not be so rude."

Gunnhilde coughed.

"Perhaps…they were simply wary of an Aesling ship passing through their lands," Eseld said, a complicated look on her face.

"I suspect someone was using dwarf weapons to rouse my ire," Thor said, leaning down slightly, though of course his voice was still loud enough to be heard across the whole deck.

"I will ask them for you," Eseld said. "The least I can do, in light of what you have done for me and the debt I owe you."

"Do you suppose you could introduce me?" Thor asked, perking up. "I should like to meet a dwarf in this new land."

Slowly, Eseld looked to Gunnhilde, but the woman only looked skyward. Her gaze returned to the blond man. "I do not think many would care to travel, given the troubles stirred," she said at length.

"A shame," Thor said. "The dwarfs of Nidavellir were boon allies under the rule of my father…" he trailed off, remembering their ultimate fate. He shook himself. "As for your debt - there is none."

Eseld opened her mouth to argue, but he was having none of it.

"If your honour compels you, then I would ask you to pay it forward. Help someone in need in my name, and I will consider the matter settled," Thor said.

The short woman gave a noncommittal grunt, but didn't argue. She looked to Gunnhilde. "And…Bjorn?"

"I'll tell him when he wakes," Gunnhilde said, nodding.

"If he wakes," Eseld muttered. She ran her fingers along the bald section of her head, scratching at ginger stubble.

"He will," Thor said. "His wounds were great, but so is his will."

The blond man had been wounded grievously by one of the hounds, but had clung stubbornly to life, aided by a herbalist found amongst the Nordlanders.

Eseld pursed her lips, but nodded. Something caught her eyes on the bank. "Here will suit me, if we could slow for a moment."

Thor turned, following her gaze, but there was nothing on the river bank that stood out to him. "You're sure?"

"Aye."

"Very well." He called his axe, and it soared up carefully from below, settling onto his back. "Take my arm," he said, offering it.

She gave him a narrowed gaze, but did as he asked. "If you even think about tossing me, we'll be having words," she warned.

"I would never," Thor protested. When he was satisfied her grip was secure, he looked to his Valkyrie. "Back in a moment."

The ship dipped and rose briefly as he leapt from the deck, Eseld's grip suddenly much tighter as she sucked in a breath, but she didn't so much as curse him. A moment later, they landed on the bank, and she released him quickly.

"You absolute wazzock," Eseld said. Her hand twitched for her hammer.

Thor hid a grin. His brother was a terror at times, but even before everything, there was humour to be found in his mischief. "Until next time, Eseld. I hope it will involve fewer broken oars."

Eseld grumbled wordlessly. "Until next time, Thor Odinson." She turned, marching deeper into the trees, and in no time at all she had been swallowed by them.

The woods were quiet, and Thor gave a suspicious look to them, one hand coming up to cover his beard. He chose not to loiter, and a moment later he was airborne, quickly catching up with the ships. He landed easily on the ship he had claimed, mind already turning to what tasks would need doing.

"Lord Thor," Gunnhilde said, as they rounded a bend. "Eseld is a dwarf."

"What?" Thor said, bewildered for a moment, before shaking his head. "No. She's far too short."

The Valkyrie opened her mouth, only to close it. "I see," she said, though her tone said she did not.

"Come, we have things to do," Thor said, stepping away from the rail to approach one of those who had emerged as a leader since being rescued from the Aeslings, and Gunnhilde followed, as she always would.

X x X

Their approach to Vinteerholm did not go unnoticed under the early afternoon sun, and when they neared the fishing docks, they were greeted by what felt like the entire town, crowded on the shoreline. The last time ships had approached the town so, they had spread fear and misery in their wake. This time, canine figureheads had been struck off, and a red haired woman stood at the prow of the first, fist raised towards them.The crowd knew her, and they responded, joyous and celebratory, but curious and wondering too. More ships approached, packed with more people than could be explained by even the rescue of every single person stolen from them.

The ships reached the docks, but they were not meant to host such a force, and most ended up gliding into and onto the shore. Tyra leapt from the first, boots hitting the wood of the dock, and there was a sudden hush. It did not last long.

"Victory!" Tyra roared, and the crowd roared in answer, hundreds of voices echoing off the town walls and across the water. More and more clambered from the ships and onto land as the cheers continued, building and growing.

Thor watched from the rear of the rearmost ship. He had placed himself with the Aeslings, both Bjorn's people and those from Skraevold, so that there would be no misunderstandings. And perhaps also so he would not be the centre of attention, and expected to do things.

The cheers and roars died down, and Tyra began to shout once more. "Their raiders, dead! Their slaves, freed! Their gods, HUMBLED!"

More roars, but this time a chant rose with it. "Thor! THOR! THOR!" It did not come from every throat, but it rose up all the same.

Thor didn't duck below the ship's railing, but it was a near thing. Vinteerholm hadn't been nearly this devout when he left, so what had changed? He spied Kirsa further back in the crowd, his red cape worn like a cloak, and there was a small group of men and women around her. He had a growing suspicion he knew.

"NAY! NAY! NAY!" the faithful in the crowd continued to chant, somehow growing louder still.

"Oh, they heard that," Thor mumbled to himself.

"Many did, Lord Thor," an old woman said. She was positively ancient by the standards of the Norscans, and it was she that had led three generations of her family from Skraevold to flee with them. "Your voice is…thunderous."

"Yes thank you Wioleta," Thor grumbled. She had the same lack of fear that came to all bristly elders, and had been quick to divine the manner that pleased him most. By the missing fingers and ear, it seemed a lesson hard earned, but she had not survived to such an age by being slow of wit. Her faith was a small thing, still a spark, but it was growing.

The rescued were streaming from the ships now, whether they were Baersonling or not, all were happy to leave them behind, and the crowd swelled and rippled as two became one. Friends and families, lovers and strangers, all found arms to fall into as it hit home that they were truly free, that Skraevold was behind them. Thor beamed as he saw little Ragnar dart through the legs of the crowd to leap into the arms of a woman, his father Knut weaving to catch up, sweeping up his wife and child, tears flowing unashamedly.

A mammoth's trumpeting cry rose up above the celebration, two young girls on his back using him to get closer to their brother when the crowd proved too thick. One - Astrid - launched herself from Trumpetter to land on Wolfric, and the other scampered down to press her face into his side.

Yes. This was a worthy deed.

X

There was no chance of measured discussion by the rivershore, and so those with cause to talk found themselves in the feast hall of Vinteerholm. It was not the bulk who had come; most had returned to their homes or found a place to rest, overcome by the high of their return, but there were some for which that return had brought with it mixed feelings. The hall was host to these people now, the leaders of disparate groups local and not. Some were angry, some were worried, others fearful, but under Tyra's sharp tongue and Thor's stern eye they gathered peacefully.

Tyra had taken her seat in the chieftain's chair, surveying the packed hall. The various groups were sharply delineated, those of Vinteerholm and other Baersonling settlements sitting on her right, while everyone else sat on the left, clustered in their own groups. The Nordlanders in particular seemed overwhelmed, finding it hard to understand how they had come to be guests in a Norscan hall.

"...not our people," one man said, standing as he spoke to the hall, gesturing at those across from him. "We can support those of our tribe, but even that will be hard, to say nothing of Sarls and Nordlanders and Aeslings."

"Fuck you, don't forget we Kislevites!"

Jeers and laughter rose up as some of the seriousness was sapped from the speech, and the speaker sat, fuming. Thor looked down the head table, and raised a tankard to Tyra. The woman would strangle the armrest of her chair if she wasn't careful, and she pulled a face at his gesture.

"We just finished killing Aeslings!" another man spoke, almost shouting as he rose up on the right. "Why do these still live?"

Before anyone on the left could give voice to their response, a loud slurping sound rose above the growing mutterings. It continued on, drawing many eyes, going and going until finally Thor had drained his mug. Deliberately, he turned to Tyra, attentive.

Tyra rose. "These Aeslings," she said, "are not those who raided us. Their baresark lies wounded even now, brought low by beasts of the Hound. He slew many raiders, and his actions speak for the presence of his people." She surveyed her hall, short red hair illuminated by the torchlight.

"Some are of Skraevold," the man said, challenging. He bore scars from the occupation, and his voice spoke of a hatred for Aeslings far clearer than his words. "What of them?"

"You mean the old crone, her daughters, their children, and those like them?" Tyra asked. "You fear their swords?"

The challenger flushed, but did not stand down. "They can't be trusted. Kirsa put a rot in the belly of an Aesling. They could do the same. Why are they here?"

Thor's gaze flicked to Kirsa, sitting to his left. He had been pleased to be sat near her, eager to speak and catch up after being away, but he had not considered what it meant for her to be seated at the head table. Gunnhilde was to his right, two spots from Tyra, but also present were Halvar and Eirik, the two warriors first chosen to accompany them to Skraevold, as well as a few town elders. He suspected room would have been made for Wolfric, had his sisters not claimed his attention. It spoke of a certain intent from Tyra.

"We're here because we were invited," an old voice croaked, interrupting his thoughts. "No, I'm not getting up, my knees hurt," Wioleta said to someone near her.

"By whom??" the man demanded.

"The god sitting at the table with your chief," Wioleta said, almost cackling.

The man swallowed, looking to the god in question, and sat down.

"Aeslings worship the Hound," someone called, accusing.

"What has the Hound ever done for me?" Wioleta said, smacking the table. "He took my husband against the Graelings, two of my sons on raids, another to Sigurd, and my eldest grandson-" she cut herself off, the sorrow of years in her voice. "No more. Lord Thor offered us another path. We're taking it." She glared across the hall, as if daring any of them to disagree.

"Lord Thor," Tyra said. "Some of us were there when you slaughtered the Aesling raiders. Baersonling, Aesling, Sarl, and aye, even soft southern Nordlander," she said, smirking down at one Nordlander in particular. "We heard your words after you slew the daemon-ridden Sigurd, but many here did not. Will you share your wisdom with us now?" She sat, and now it was her turn to wait on him to speak.

Thor narrowed his eyes at her, but she had a warrior's composure, only the left side of her mouth curling up in tell, hidden from the hall. He couldn't even sip at his now empty mug to gain time. Slowly, he stood.

He began to speak, voice filling the hall, rumbling like an oncoming storm. "Before I went to Skraevold, the people there had Four choices." His gaze swept along the tables, down the left, and up the right. "Before I came to Vinteerholm, the people had Four choices. Now, you have more." It all came down to choice, in the end. "I do not demand you choose me - but there is a difference between choice, and no choice at all." Thor sat, and there was silence.

A chair squeaked as it was pushed back, loud and drawing the gaze. It was the man who had called for dead Aeslings. "Praise Thor," he said, but he was glaring across the unlit fire pit in challenge.

"Praise Thor," Wioleta said to the man. It sounded like a curse word.

"Praise Tor!" one of the few Kislevites called, the one who had fought in Skraevold.

More and more voices were raised in praise, and Thor felt a fixed smile - almost a grimace - spread on his face.

"Praise Thor!" Kirsa shouted beside him, wearing a much more sincere grin, a light in her eyes. "Praise!"

Thor did his best not to shrink into the chair. He blamed Tyra for this. And his displays of godly might, he supposed, but mostly Tyra. He brightened as a thought occurred to him, and he rose swiftly, clapping his hands above his head. Thunder echoed through the hall, bringing silence in its wake. "I may be another choice, but remember, it was you and yours who chose to take it! You and yours willing to put old feuds aside!" If they were going to praise his name, he was going to nudge them away from tribal rivalries while they were at it. "And it was Tyra who led the rescue raid on Skraevold!" He raised his empty mug. "Tyra!"

"Tyra!" came the answering shouts, mead and ale raised skyward. There was a pause to drink, and then dozens and dozens of mugs were slammed onto the tables with a crash.

"Now feast and be merry, for your chief has returned those thought lost, and brought new neighbours besides!"

It was not the smoothest of speeches. Loki could have had them move beyond seeing each other as enemies without anything nearly so hamfisted as telling them clearly, and had them thinking it was their own idea besides, but he was the Thunderer, not the Silvertongued, so it would have to do.

Despite his clumsy tongue, there were none present who would argue, not openly, not in the hall of their chief, and not against the one who named himself a god with the power to support it. Those not of the tribe had not been accepted, not even in part, but there would be no putting the cutlery to any use but to eat, not that day. For now, that was enough.

Thor though, he suddenly had more pressing matters to attend to. He could already see figures from all parts of the hall eyeing him as food was brought out, questions and concerns on their minds. He glanced at the main doors, halfway down the hall, and currently unguarded - but now wasn't the time to flee. Now was the time to feast and be merry as he had said, and he would do so.

For many, the feast was their first chance for food that wasn't caught and cooked without ceremony for at least a month, and they brought with them a strong hunger and a powerful appreciation for a meal that wasn't seared over a campfire. Thor was just thankful it wasn't mammoth, and a dull roar filled the hall as people spoke and argued and laughed, a tension that had lingered ever since the town was first liberated finally easing.

Even so, it was not without snarls. Many were the divisions, each group keeping to themselves, wary of those around them. If those divisions were to be erased, he would have to guide the people he had adopted through it, and this was a battlefield on which he could not wield his axe. He pondered the empty surface of his third plate, contemplating his plan of attack. What would Steve do?

Of all the groups, there was one that was most wary, more than just turned in on themselves, they were huddled as if expecting an attack, the youngest at the middle of their section. Unlike the other groups, it seemed as if every one of them was in the hall, none allowing themselves to be separated from the herd. He nodded, setting down another emptied mug as he rose from his seat, clapping Gunnhilde and Kirsa on the shoulders as he went. The hall was busy now, people coming and going, and his movement did not draw as much interest as it otherwise might.

He approached his target, snagging another mug on his way, shifting between small groups and leaning away from those stumbling, already drunk. He had to suck his gut in to squeeze between two, and then he was at the far end of the left table, squeezing in between two groups to sit. He gave a quick smile to the Sarl woman on his right, but then turned his focus to his target.

"Ah, Lord Thor," Stephan said, having eyed him warily as he made his approach. "What brings you to our fine part of the table?"

For a moment, Thor only stared. The similarities to his brother were too great to be ignored, but he pushed aside the familiar ache of loss. "You do, Stephan," he said. "Or rather, your people do."

Those closest, battered women with hands newly accustomed to weapons, were obviously listening in, and they tensed at his words. One did not; it was the woman who had joined the fight in Skraevold, head shaved and cheek a mass of scars. She had no fear, but even she watched him warily.

"I wish to ensure you settle in without issue," Thor explained, seeking to ease their worries. "You are far from home, with an unfamiliar people."

"Not unfamiliar," the woman said. "We know Norscans."

"Ah, but these are not only Norscans," Thor said. "Here you have Sarls, there you have Baersonlings, and there you have Aeslings," he said, gesturing to groups in turn.

"Norscans are Norscans," she said, grimace pulling at her cheek.

"Some are," Thor allowed, taking her meaning, "but some are not only that. I wish you to know that you will be welcome here, and need not worry that you or yours will come to harm." Like many of those taken, they were mostly women and children, the raiders having been deliberate in their choice of victims.

He received no answer, none close wishing to speak their thoughts, though all along the bench there were those watching, trying to listen in.

"You saved a life, binding that man's leg as you did," Thor said to Stephan. "Have you experience in such things?"

"Very little," Stephan said. "I am a bard first, but in my wanderings I have picked up a thing or two."

"What do you play?" Thor asked. He was rapidly approaching asking about the weather, but hid his panic.

"The zither, the glockenspiel," Stephan said, before scowling suddenly. "Those bastards used them for kindling."

"Better your toys than your family," the woman said, tongue almost barbed.

Stephan winced, regretful.

"I am sorry to raise ill memories," Thor said. "I know revenge is a weak salve."

The woman turned her tongue on him next. "Lost a lot of family, have you thunder god?"

"Yes."

She swallowed, and those on either side of her leaned away.

"And so I speak from experience," Thor said. "I know what it is to lose a home, but I also know that it is the people that make a home, not the place." He looked down the table. There were a score or so present, but more had retired to one of the other rooms in the hall after eating their share to make room for others, unwilling to be truly separated from each other. "Were you all from the same town?"

"Weren't taken from a town, thunder god," another young woman, more a girl, said. She was sitting beside Stephan. "They picked us from villages near the mouth of the Schaukel."

"Not all of us," the scarred woman muttered, unable to keep quiet.

Stephan sighed, but said nothing.

Thor looked between the two outspoken Nordlanders. "You don't care for each other, do you."

"Oh, I'd never say a word against milord," the woman said, almost dripping with mockery.

"I'd be happier if you never said a word at all," Stephan said, mostly to his mug.

"Oh I'm sorry milord, I'll just go sit in the corner milord," the woman said, affecting an obsequious voice.

"You might as well tell me," Thor said to him.

Stephan sighed. "My mother was the daughter of a Nordland noble." He turned on the still unnamed woman. "And I am not a noble, because she was disinherited when she was caught in bed with a Norscan skald and the North Star grandmaster's daughter."

"No, you're just the fool who thought he could traipse into Norsca without even a prayer to Ulric," she said scathingly.

Stephan muttered something to himself that even Thor's keen ears missed.

"You came to Norsca yourself?" Thor asked.

"I wished to see the land of my father," Stephan said. "Obviously, things have not gone as smoothly as I might have wished."

"You are alive, and you will one day return with tales to share," Thor said, shrugging. "But…I would perhaps be polite to the lady if you wish to remain so."

"'M no lady," the woman muttered.

"I would never insult you so," Thor assured her. "May I have your name, to avoid such an insult?"

She squinted at him, her own rough fire overcoming whatever wary caution she had for a man that held such power that she had witnessed. "...Hildur," she said, once she was sure he wasn't mocking her.

"Hildur," Thor said, toasting her. "You fought well in Skraevold, and your people will be looked after here in Vinteerholm."

"What if we don't want to stay in Vinteerholm?" Hildur asked. "What if we want to go back to our lives?"

"Then you may leave as you wish," Thor said simply. "Though I would advise caution. It is not I that will block your way home, but the journey."

"We could go through Kislev," Hildur said, more to the others than to Thor.

"With what supplies?" a woman said.

"They keep slaves in Kislev," another muttered.

"Like Norsca doesn't?"

"It is not a decision that need be made today," Thor said, interrupting the brewing discussion. "Eat. Rest. Come to terms with your ordeal."

"Couldn't you fly us to Nordland?" Hildur asked, earning looks askance at her boldness. "Like you did at Skraevold?"

"I could," Thor said, nodding in acknowledgment. "But such is a venture of weeks or months, not days, for I would not leave you in the husks of raided villages to struggle, and that is time I am not here to defend Vinteerholm in its time of weakness."

Hildur subsided, holding back whatever reply she had been about to make, and stared at her plate. She held her cutlery like she wanted to gut someone with it.

"I'm no warrior," Stephan said, drawing attention away from her, "but I've something of an education. I'm sure I can earn my keep somehow."

"Tyra is the one you want to speak to about that," Thor said quickly. "She is the chief, and in charge of such things."

Mention of her had them glancing to the high table, where Tyra was in the middle of a spirited discussion with one of her people. Though the hall was too loud to hear, their voices were clearly raised, and then Tyra headbutted the man abruptly. He staggered back, scowling in turn, but then their conversation continued more calmly, the man rubbing at his head.

"I might wait," Stephan said, looking conflicted.

Thor laughed. He knew the signs of what Tony had called a 'fear boner', and he clapped the young bard on the back. "Best of luck to you," he said. He rose, draining his drink and raising the empty vessel to the Nordlanders.

Some of them jerked, trying to hurry to their feet to bow, but he was already turning away, deliberately taking the false expectation of servitude with him. The rest had settled for bowing their heads, and even Hildur had given him a stiff nod. He would keep an eye on that one. She had shown spirit at Skraevold, and just now.

The Nordlanders were not the only newcomers to Tyra's hall, however, and there were more he wished to speak to. One group in particular, smaller than most, had drawn his eye - or rather, his ear. He plonked himself down in the middle of the half dozen men, interrupting their conversation and seizing their attentions.

"Mighty Tor," one said. It was the heavily furred man who had fought in Skraevold. "You honour us." He held out a fresh mug of mead, offering it to him.

Thor's expression perked up as it always did when offered such things. "Ooh, thank you," he said. He took a long draw, enjoying it. It was no Asgardian brew, but it would do, and he made a sound of contentment.

The Kislevite beamed through his thick black beard. "When I return home, I will make an offering of the finest mead in the oblast."

"Well, make sure you enjoy some of it first," Thor said, taking another sip. "Be a shame not to."

The other men shared looks, only slightly wide eyed. "You would have your faithful share in the offerings they make?"

"I appreciate the thought, but it is the thought that matters," Thor said. He slapped his gut. "Besides, I won't be able to work this off if I'm kept in honey and mead without effort."

They seemed to take that in with deep thought, deeper than Thor felt it merited.

"I do not have your names!" he said, breaking them from their introspection.

"Ivan."

"Mikhail."

"Ivan."

"Vasily."

"Ivan."

"Grigori," finished the man who had offered the mead. Again, they had responded like he had asked them a question of great solemnity. "We are all of Kislev, and now all of Tor before any others." They were also all solid, dark haired, and bearded.

"A fine thing to meet you," Thor said. "But first - what is this 'Tor' business?"

The men shared looks, looking past him to do so while trying not to be rude. "Do you wish to test us, Mighty Tor?" Grigori asked after a moment.

"Not at all," Thor said. "I have little time for such games - that was my brother." He fell silent, again reminded of Loki's death.

"You are Tor," one of the Ivans said. He differed from the others by dint of having larger ears. "God of thunder and lightning and war."

"Brother?" another Ivan muttered quietly to himself. This one still had a broken arm strapped to his chest.

"It's pronounced 'Thor', actually," Thor said. "But I would wager that to be a matter of accent, so little matter."

"Mighty Thor," Mikhail tried out.

Something occurred to Thor. "A moment - this Tor fellow, you say he is god of thunder and lightning and war, but what weapon does he wield?" He could remember Harad speaking to him of this Tor before Skraevold.

"A great axe, with which he cleaves the sky to summon thunderbolts!" the third Ivan said. His beard was thinner than the others, but grown out longer.

"I wager it has some manner of rough wooden haft?" Thor asked.

"Oak, taken from a lightning struck tree," Grigori said.

Each man looked up to the head table, where Stormbreaker floated behind the chair Thor had left behind. As one, they took a pull of their drinks.

"Does he loathe Chaos, and smite the wicked with wrath from on high?" Thor asked, glancing each way.

"Aye," Ivan of the large ears said. "When his faithful are in need, he lends his power."

"And does he have a cunning brother that he sometimes quarrels with, but who always returns in the end?" Thor pressed.

"Er, no," Grigori said. "Not that one."

Thor sagged, but he rallied. "Hmmm," he said, stroking his beard as he pondered the chances of there being a god named Tor that shared his domains and his weapons and his attitude towards Chaos. "Clearly, time travel is to blame," he said decisively. For a moment, long habit had him suspecting his brother, but no. Time travel was the simpler explanation.

"Time…travel?" long beard Ivan asked. "What, like travelling back through time?"

"Yes, that's it, well done," Thor said, giving him a nod of approval. "I know of other gods whose domains intersect with mine own, but none so closely. More likely that I will venture back in time at some point in the future, and seed the legend of Tor."

Grigori's brows furrowed at this. "Then…you do not know yourself to be Tor?"

"I have only fifteen centuries under my belt," Thor told him. "There are many queer sights and strange aeons on the limbs of Yggdrasil that I have yet to encounter." He took a sip of his mead. "Time travel is the simplest answer, and if I am wrong, I am sure this Tor fellow will attempt to strike me down."

Grigori looked up to the rafters, as if expecting clouds to form or thunder to boom, but Thor had no interest in causing such a thing, and so there were none. "I suppose that Tor would suffer no imitators," he said slowly.

"I understand your caution," Thor assured him. "I am very imitable."

It took Grigori a moment to wrap his head around that one, and in that time Ivan of the broken arm spoke up.

"You say your brother is one to play games?" he said. "You surely do not mean Ranald, aye?"

"I have not heard of this Ranald," Thor said. "What manner of god is he?"

"A tricky one," big eared Ivan said. "Like as much to trip you and laugh as ignore you, and even then you might've landed face first in shit or gold." He took a drink, fingers crossed on his tankard handle.

"He's trouble," Mikhail said. "Better to follow Handrich if you deal rightwise."

"Right, of course," Ivan big ears said, winking as he did.

Mikhail grumbled at him. "Not this shit again."

"I'm just saying-"

"And you've said it before so let's pretend you did and I told you to fuck off already," Mikhail said, though there was little heat to his words, more an exhausted amusement.

"These are gods of the south, then," Thor said. "Not worshipped here."

"There are only Four gods worshipped in these ill lands," Grigori said, before hesitating. "Well, used to be."

"But your brother, Mighty Thor?" broke arm Ivan pressed.

Thor let out a sigh. "My brother…" he trailed off, tapping his fingers on the table. "One would struggle to speak of a single page of his life in one sitting. He was a maker of mischief, his tongue getting him into much trouble, and then usually getting him out. So many tricks he would play for the sake of the trick itself, and woe to the one who made a deal with him without clear eyes." Despite his words, he wore a reluctant grin. "He fooled me many a time, but just as often required my strength to save his hide…"

"Does he walk the land as you do?" Ivan asked further, leaning across his benchmate.

Grigori winced at the question, bowing his head.

"No," Thor said. "He died." There was a moment of silence as those he spoke with, and some of those nearby listening in, shifted back at the sorrow in his voice.

"To kill a god…it would take one with strength beyond reckoning," Mikhail said, troubled.

"It did. So I cut off his head," Thor said, and there was a weight to his words, thunder without sound. "And then I erased him from existence with my battle brothers." His hands twitched, as if holding something. He came back to himself as a brindle cat twined its way through his legs, and shook himself, putting on a smile. "But enough about me; from where do you hail?"

The subject changed lacked subtlety, but a god such as he needed that little with those who would believe.

"Erengrad," long beard Ivan said. "We were on a voyage to Marienburg when we were taken."

"Ship sunk with half the cargo on it too," Mikhail grumbled. "Its loss will hit my family hard."

Talk turned to less weighty things, as Thor questioned them about their lives and troubles, learning about the world to the south. The men of Kislev found themselves speaking of worries they would usually keep for the priest, and they were rewarded for it as the man who might be their god gave advice in turn. By the time Thor left them to their own devices, he could sense five tentative new connections, distant and filtered just as Grigori's was, but there all the same.

The gathering carried on, locals and new arrivals taking the chance to feel each other out as what little formality had been present was shed. Thor made sure to speak with each different group, not lingering overlong with any, and he began to form an understanding of each. The Nordlanders wanted to return home, but recognised the dangers of such a journey, while the Sarls were split, their focus on the children amongst them. The Aeslings wanted to start a new life in Vinteerholm, but not if they would be looked down on or mistreated; their pride would not allow it. There were others from more disparate groups, but not enough to form a dedicated faction, and these had banded together even when they would usually have scorned each other.

Through it all, Thor noted as Tyra directed some of her people to approach the leaders of each group - it was wrong to call them servants, for they did not fetch and carry and do chores, though they did fetch and carry when Tyra desired - to speak with them about matters of food and lodging, and as the afternoon drew on the gathering began to shrink some, not quite enough to be noticed. Thor was picking at his teeth with a fishbone and finishing another mug of mead when he saw the chief finally find a moment to breathe unbothered, dispatching a final messenger with a flurry of other departures. One of those to leave was Kirsa, a swish of red marking her wake as she departed the hall, though she walked alone, waving off one of those who Thor had noted as her followers.

The talk he wished to have with Kirsa was not one to rush or have with another waiting, so Thor ambled his way back to the head table, sitting himself down in the chair just to her left. She looked up at him as he did, eyes narrowing briefly.

"This is your fault," she said. Green eyes swept the hall, strained and tired.

"Oh?" Thor asked. He liked that she did not censor herself out of respect.

"All this," Tyra said, gesturing with a pewter goblet. "You put me in charge of it."

"What a terrible thing to do," Thor said, reaching over to pick at some of the food Gunnhilde had left on her plate.

"I just wanted to kill them that wronged us," Tyra said, sinking into her chair with a mournful sigh. "Now I have to fret over grain and seeds."

"Into all life some rain must fall," Thor said philosophically. He knew well her troubles, even if he had escaped the trials of leadership himself. Mostly.

Tyra near glowered at him, but glanced at the few people close enough to hear their conversation, checking her words. "Mayhaps I should speak with the god of storms about that rain."

"I hear he is very wise," Thor said. "Perhaps you should." The clank and clamour of the hall drowned out the quiet expletive Tyra muttered at him, but he read her lips all the same, and his own twitched upwards.

"The greyhairs tell me we'll starve before winter is out unless we find another food source," Tyra said. She pulled a dagger out, resting its needle tip on the table while she moved the pommel about with a single finger.

"I could hunt," Thor suggested. "Another mammoth herd, though no, Trumpetter would not…perhaps wha-"

"Stopgaps," Tyra said. "We need something reliable."

"Are the newcomers truly such a strain?" Thor asked.

"It's not just them," Tyra said. She began to push the pommel in circles. "We lost many in the occupation, but two of the four splinter villages returned, and the Aeslings took much of our winter supplies and spoiled more."

A commotion broke out down the hall, and there was the sound of splintering wood and angry shouts. Tyra took her dagger in hand, leaning forward in her chair as she looked to see if her intervention was necessary. Thor looked with her, but it was only a pair of Baersonlings fighting, and those around them were jeering and cheering them on rather than seeking to separate them. She slumped back into her chair.

"Should you not ration your stores then?" Thor asked. The feast that had been put could not compare to Tony's, and certainly not Asgard's, but for their means it had almost been lavish.

"We needed to celebrate the victory, and if we had started on rationing the moment we took in strangers, there would be trouble," Tyra said, "your word or no." She took a breath. "We can't trust raiding to find what we need, even if we had the strength for it, so that's out too."

"And because it would be doing to others what has caused you such trouble," Thor reminded her.

Tyra waved him off. "Aye, and that, Lord Thor. But that's an issue in itself. I thought we had strength before, even if I was proven wrong, and now we're a shadow of what we were. Greenbloods and grey veterans can't hold the walls."

"You have time to change that," Thor said. Unspoken but not unheard was the implication that he would not always be there to defend Vinteerholm.

"And even then," Tyra said, starting to work herself up, holding her dagger by its blade and waggling it at him, "even then, when I kick them into shape, we're still relying on walls that fell to the first foes worth the name-" she cut herself off, breathing harshly out her nose.

There was a quietness between them as Thor considered what she had said. "It seems to me," he started slowly, "that you have two - three - two problems."

Tyra tilted her head at him, frowning in thought.

"Your supplies," Thor said, raising a finger, "your strength of arms," he raised a second halfway, "and the strength of your walls," he finished, raising it in full. "Each could be said to be the most important in their own way. How fare your supplies?"

"If we don't ration, we starve in two months," Tyra said. "If we do, three and a half."

"Rationing comes with its own problems," Thor said, nodding. "Men can be trained, walls can be raised, but what are your plans for food?"

Tyra's full lips thinned to a line as she pressed them together. "We don't have one." She must have seen something in Thor's expression, because she flushed in anger and embarrassment. "I told you I just wanted to kill my enemies," she said. "I'm not good at all…this."

Thor looked at her, unblinking. He took in the faint scar on her cheek, sharp eyebrows, ragged mess of blood red hair, her strong shoulders and the awkward way she sat in the chief's chair. She shifted uncomfortably, suddenly reminded that for all the man by her side drank and joked and held odd values, he was still the man - the god - who had gone to Skraevold a giant in the sky and given true death to a daemon. She swallowed.

"It is a cruel thing, leadership," Thor began slowly, gaze shifting away and granting her a reprieve. His eyes were distant, looking down the busy hall without truly seeing. "Once I feasted, fought, and fucked without care. I was a Prince; I wanted for nothing and in return all I had to give was a vague promise of 'someday'. 'Someday' I would serve as King, 'someday' I would change my ways and put my own desires second to the needs of my people." He frowned, brows creasing harshly. "It took much to teach me the lessons a good King must learn."

The sounds of the feasting hall seemed to fade away as he turned back to Tyra, and her breath caught in her throat. His right eye was a void, black as coal, and his left glowed with inner light. She blinked, and his eyes had returned to normal.

"Killing - death - is easy," Thor said. "Light as a feather is. Duty is heavier than the mountain, but it must be borne all the same." He smiled at her, not in humour but as an elder might to comfort a child. "You have the heart to be a good leader. That is what matters. The rest will come with time."

Tyra swallowed, but nodded. Her God believed in her. She could do this. She would do this. She took a breath. "Then, will you help me as I learn?"

There was a bare moment of hesitation, but then Thor grinned broadly. "How could I do anything less for one who has faith in me?"

Her shoulders eased, like a weight had been lifted. "How then can I find food for my people? We cannot raid, winter crops are not enough, hunting is a stopgap."

Thor thought about it for a moment. "Have you considered trading?"

"Trading?" Tyra asked, like he had suggested painting the pigs blue. "With who?!"

"The Nordlanders," Thor suggested, nodding towards them, "or the Kislevites."

"Nordland is too far," Tyra said, shaking her head, but then she paused. "But Kislev…maybe." She tapped the pommel of her dagger on the table. "We are not rich, and our luxuries are few. We have no mine. What could we trade?"

"The furs you wear," Thor said, nodding to the mantle she wore about her shoulders, "how much do you suppose some southern noble lady might pay for them?"

"A few silver?" Tyra guessed.

"Gold," Thor said. "More the further south you go."

Tyra looked down at her furs. "No."

"Yes," Thor said. "I imagine Kislev has no shortage of furs for their traders, but I would wager there are creatures in the mountains of Norsca that they lack… mammoth, perhaps?"

"Bones too, and their tusks," Tyra said, eyes narrowing in thought. "Such things would be rare in their markets."

"There you go," Thor said approvingly. "You are not so ill suited to this as you might think."

"A party could go, but the town would be weakened," Tyra said, mind elsewhere. "Food and defence." She focused on him, eagle-like. "How would you do it?"

"Give me your thoughts, and I shall share mine," Thor said.

"I will have to lead the party into Kislev," Tyra said. "Those men of Kislev can pay their debt as guides and give introduction. You could stay here, and there would be no fear of attackers."

"I did have some thoughts on how to quickly improve the town walls," Thor said.

"A blessing?" Tyra asked.

"Not quite," Thor said. "I saw some rather large trees on my arrival to this world, but I feel my axe is up to the challenge."

Tyra glanced at the still floating axe that was very obviously beyond the craft of mortal hands. "Right. With you remaining here, I could take more strength south - Gunnhilde, at the least - and trade furs for gold for food. An agreement for future deals could be made."

"A fine start," Thor said.

His words buoyed her, and she smiled faintly. "What would you suggest?"

"I think you should lead a party south, with numbers enough to deter threats and ensure you are dealt with fairly, while I remain here and ensure the safety of the town with my presence," Thor said. "I could occupy myself with improving the defences of the town, and beginning to work off this," he finished, tapping his belly.

Tyra blinked at him for a moment, brows furrowing. "That is what I suggested."

"Clearly, you had a good idea," Thor said. "I told you that you are not so ill suited to this as you think." His tone was teasing.

Tyra's ears reddened, but she put on a scowl. "Then it will be so. I will speak with the elders."

"As you say, Chief Tyra."

Tyra shuddered like something cold and wet had slipped down her back. "You're lucky you're a god," she muttered.

Thor clapped her on the shoulder, laughing, as he rose from his seat. "It does come with its perks," he admitted. "I hope you enjoyed your reprieve."

A puzzled look was his answer, before it was replaced with one of hunted dismay. The moment it had become clear that Thor was leaving, a visible ripple had passed through those who happened to be loitering nearby as Tyra's attention went up for grabs once more. He slipped away as the first began to besiege her, heading down the hall and towards the exit.

Elsa and Astrid darted past him as he went, engaged in a game with some Sarl children, and he briefly found himself caught up in it, Astrid sticking out her tongue at a boy as she used his bulk as a barrier. They circled around him, pursuing and fleeing, before the stalemate was broken and they darted off, giggling. Elsa was chasing her own target, menacing him with a short stick that had a black feather attached. Thor could remember well when he had first laid eyes on the two sisters, one near frozen, the other covered in gore. It was good that they had overcome the events of the day, and could now play as children ought to. He did not care to linger on what might have happened in his absence.

The doors parted easily before him, and he emerged into a square shaded by the setting sun. The section he had glassed had been dug up and carted away, little evidence but memory of the spawn and raiders he had slaughtered.

There was a huff and a shifting of bulk to the side, and when Thor glanced to it he smiled at what he saw. Trumpetter lay there on a patch of dry earth free of snow by the edge of the hall, and now he got to his feet, already trotting towards him. Mammoth met man with enough force to plough through a shield wall, head butting into his chest affectionately.

"Hello little one," Thor said, hands going up to rub behind his ears. "Are you taking a break from the children?"

Trumpetter rumbled in response, his trunk wrapping around Thor's waist in a hug.

"Yes, I know," Thor said, apologetic. "I have been away, but I have returned, and will not venture out again for a time."

The juvenile mammoth chuffed, pleased, and began to lean even more heavily as Thor continued to rub at the base of his skull. The Asgardian braced himself against the weight, lest he be tipped back into the hall.

"You know you cannot do this with another," Thor warned him, though he did not stop his scratching.

Another rumble was his answer, Trumpetter's eyes beginning to roll back and his trunk going slack.

"We're blocking the door," Thor said. "Will you come with me to check on the grove?"

Trumpetter gave a low whurr of agreement, but made no move to stop leaning into him.

"Well, if that's how it has to be," Thor said. He ceased his ministrations, but before Trumpetter could do more than start a plaintive whurr, he found himself picked up and carried.

The whurr became one of excitement, as Thor hoisted him against his chest, arms under his legs and barely able to see over his hairy back. He began to walk towards the grove, and those whose path they crossed gaped until they realised who it was they were watching carry a mammoth through the town. They still gaped afterwards, but became more polite about it, and it was not long until the two of them came to the grove, where Thor halted in sudden surprise.

Thor would disagree with any who said he gaped at the sight that met him, but he certainly raised a brow in measured surprise, setting Trumpetter down to get a clearer look at it. When he had left Vinteerholm near two months ago to fall upon Skraevold, the 'grove' had been an open space of ash and slush, but no longer. Now it was a carpet of green, filled with saplings of all kinds, knee high and growing strong. It was not a thick carpet of plantlife, but it would become one in time as they grew, and growing it was in defiance of the season.

The carpet was not what drew his eye most, however. He lay a hand on Trumpetter's shoulder as he gazed at what lay in its centre, Kirsa kneeling beside it. Already as tall as himself, the young ash tree swayed to its own breeze, one that did not touch any other plant in the grove. Something about it called to him.

Slowly, carefully, man and mammoth made their way into the grove. Trumpetter held Thor's wrist lightly as he followed behind, large eyes looking about with simple curiosity, until they reached Kirsa. He knelt beside her, and Trumpetter took that as an invitation to lean into his back, inspecting Kirsa's brown locks with his trunk, the two heavy braids resting forward on her shoulders.

"Kirsa," Thor said.

"Thor," Kirsa replied.

Whurr, Trumpetter sounded, giving up his investigation of Kirsa's hair and slumping down onto his side, still leaning against Thor's back.

They were quiet for a time, the afternoon sun starting to shift to a burnt orange, as both watched the tree.

"I knew you found victory," Kirsa said at length. The red cape she wore as a cloak was firm around her shoulders, warming her even as the temperature began to fall.

"Because you had faith?" Thor asked, but she shook her head. "Did you have a dream, a vision?"

"I saw you in the sky as your power raced across it," Kirsa said, smiling lightly. "The mood was low that day, but then your words came to lift it, and we knew you had triumphed."

"Not just I," Thor said. "Many fought that night."

"You want the newcomers to be accepted," Kirsa said, nodding. "I will see it so."

Thor turned away from the tree, his beard tugged at by a slight breeze. "You have grown since I left," he noted.

Kirsa glanced towards him, the hint of uncertainty lingering in her brown eyes testament to her youth.

He smiled at her. "Growth is good. I am pleased to see it."

A shy smile was his answer. "When you left - Tyra nominated elders, but none would speak about you. People started to come to me with questions of you."

"And you answered."

"I did my best," Kirsa said. "Some listened. Some didn't. Some…hold to other gods." There was a shiver of disgust in her voice. "But then we saw you in the sky, and the next morning, we found this." Her eyes returned to the ash tree.

"It grew overnight?" Thor asked.

"Not as you see now, but much of it," Kirsa said. "Two months since the planting, but near a year of growth, and in winter."

"And so people came to believe," Thor said, finding the explanation he had sought for his reception at the docks.

"That and another thing, but you will see with your own eyes soon."

Thor gave her a curious glance, but she only smiled, and he accepted it. Quietness fell once more, and the sun continued to set.

"Was I right to speak of you?" Kirsa asked suddenly. "I tried to be true to the words you shared with me, but I am only…" she looked down as she trailed off, one hand fidgeting with the material of her cloak.

"Only?" Thor said, chin lifting in challenge.

Her mouth twisted, and she did not answer.

"More than most, I think, you know what I stand for," Thor said. He contemplated the ash tree before them. "Anyone might repeat my words, but it takes a stout heart and a hopeful soul to truly share them."

"Your words are kind," Kirsa said, though still she looked down.

"Did I not spy some followers of your own?" Thor asked. "I wager they would agree with me."

Now she looked up, frowning, though it had all the rancour of a bear cub. "I answered their questions and they started following me!" she said, almost disgruntled.

"How terrible," Thor said, stroking his beard to hide the twitching of his lips.

"They brought me nuts and berries!" Kirsa said, on the verge of throwing her hands up. The doubt she had worn was cast back like shadows before the bonfire.

Thor made a sympathetic noise. "Were they tasty?"

"I don't know! I said we should share them with those in need, and now they think that Th- that you would have them do so every week!"

"Such a thing is worthy of praise," Thor said.

"They think it a Thorite ritual! What do I know of your rituals?!?" She reached up to grasp each of her braids, pulling on them to steady herself.

It was clear that for all Kirsa had been improving and doing well for herself, she was not without her stresses. Trumpetter's trunk came up to rub at her shoulder, though he didn't shift from his position, comfortable.

"Do you have rituals?" Kirsa asked, turning to him. "Or ceremonies, or, or, prayers?

"Well," Thor said as he considered, looking upwards. The clouds were cast in orange, and the first hints of stars were beginning to shine above them. "I do appreciate it when someone dedicates an undertaking to me." He had known, at Skraevold, when Tyra and the others had devoted their deeds to him, the declaration buoying him.

"Undertakings?"

"Righteous battles, deeds pleasing to me, that sort of thing," Thor said. "The sharing of food with those in need is a worthy one." He wondered if he could make Thorsday a thing again.

"But how do we worship you?" Kirsa pressed. "Would you have a temple, or rites?"

"This is my temple," Thor said, gesturing broadly at the grove around them. "And to worship me is a thing of deeds, not pomp or ceremony. The farmer working the field to feed the town, the smith forging a spear for defence of home…the woman who answers questions put to her about her faith in me," he said, teasing.

Kirsa flushed prettily, but met his gaze all the same. "I just wanted to do right by you, as you did for us."

"That is enough," Thor said. "Do worthy deeds. Keep my groves free of betrayal. Help your fellows as best you can."

"That's it?"

Thor was quiet for a moment, remembering a time when he himself had not met such standards. "It seems a simple thing, and perhaps it is, but that does not make it easy."

His words seemed to resonate with the young woman, and she nodded slowly. "Not the scale of the deed, but the one doing it," she said, almost to herself.

"Yes, exactly!" Thor said, pleased, snapping his fingers. "You understand."

She straightened at his words, and the cloak she wore became less a thing shielding her from the world, and more a simple part of her. She glanced back at the ash tree, then at the setting sun as if waiting for something, but whatever it was had not come yet.

Behind them, Trumpetter had drifted off to sleep but now he stirred, legs twitching as he dreamed, as if running. Thor reached back to rub his side, and he calmed.

Kirsa gave a sudden sigh. "I just got them to stop calling me your priestess, too."

"Oh?"

"Those who wished to know you," Kirsa said. "They thought that since I could answer their questions, that I must be your priestess."

With great solemnity, Thor placed a hand on her shoulder. "Good luck," he said. He knew well the travails that came with having titles bestowed upon one unlooked for.

Kirsa sighed again, gloomy, but then stopped as a thought occurred to her. "But now that you've returned…I can tell them to ask you."

"I'm busy that day," Thor said. "Trees to cut down, walls to build."

"Wolfric then," Kirsa said, undeterred. "He believes."

"Not Gunnhilde?" Thor asked.

"Oh, I couldn't bother her," Kirsa said, shaking her head. "I will manage."

Thor gave a hum in response. He hadn't had anything like a priest in centuries, besides some odd folks in Scandinavia, but the situation in the Nine Realms was…different. Perhaps the day would come when he had need for priests and priestesses, but it was not this day. Helpful Kirsa was more than enough.

They sat in silence for a time, as the light continued to fade. The stars shone brighter, glimmering in a tapestry of purple as the sun continued to creep below the horizon. Trumpetter woke, and shifted around to sit at Thor's other side, not quite leaning on him.

"This is my favourite part of the day," Kirsa said. There was a serenity to her, a calmness that had eluded her when Thor had last seen her.

"Dusk is a peaceful time," Thor said, speaking quietly.

Kirsa shook her head, a faint smile on her lips. "You'll see."

They were no longer alone, as others began to arrive, filtering into the grove. They came from all directions, not many, but enough to feel like a gathering, though they did not join them. They found places within the grove to sit, scattered amongst the young growth, all arrayed around the ash tree in its centre. There was no conversation, and it was clear they were waiting for something. Thor recognised little Ragnar squeezed between Knut and his mother, one of those rescued from the hound kennels. She was not the only one, but most seemed to be locals. The crescent moon hung low in the sky, gleaming white.

Finally, the sun set in truth, the last of its rays disappearing. There was a moment of anticipation as nightfall spread across the village like a blanket, and then Thor saw just what had drawn people to his grove.

From the blessed ash tree came motes of golden light, drifting from its leaves like snowflakes from the sky. There was no mistaking them for fireflies, not with the coronas of soft light that flared around each of them as they drifted towards the earth. Warmth that had nothing to do with the physical bloomed, and unbidden, he thought of his mother, of the way her body had lain limp on the stone floor after she was stabbed through the back. The pain that usually followed was absent this time, replaced by brighter memories. He remembered lessons of her home, of advice when he struggled with a new weapon, of scoldings when he and Loki had raided the kitchens and become too round to escape. He remembered the warmth of her hand on his cheek, of advice given when he most needed it. A knot of grief, long buried, eased ever so slightly.

A sound like a sigh swept through the grove, and the golden light began to fade, the last motes falling to the ground. None spoke, and even Trumpetter was quiet. Wet eyes were not uncommon, though they did not come from pain, and none sought to hide them. The moment was soon over though, and there were those who took their leave, though some stayed.

"We didn't know what it was," Kirsa said, voice a whisper. "But we know it came from your blessing."

"A boon unlooked for," Thor said. Something about it reminded him of Yggdrasil, but the sapling before him was no world tree. Not now, likely not ever. But still the thought was there.

"One that has helped heal the scars left by the raiders," Kirsa said. "It has helped many."

"Then you should be proud," Thor said.

"Me?" Kirsa said, surprised.

"You," Thor said. "Intent matters. Remember what spurred you."

"Magda," she said, and she fell into silence, lost in memories.

Thor let her be, observing the tree. More of those who had come went on their way, little Ragnar waving at him as he went, seated upon his mother's shoulders, and he waved back. Eventually, it was only the three of them left in the grove once more.

"Sigurd Twice-Slain," Kirsa said, speaking the name as if to prove a point to herself. "Tyra said you killed him."

"I did."

"He's truly dead?" Kirsa asked.

With a name like his, she couldn't be blamed. "He is," Thor said, "and to a fate worse than any I would care to conjure."

"Good," Kirsa said, a vicious twist to her words. "How did he die?"

"Like a coward," Thor said. "He surrendered his soul to a demon before I did more than slay all his men, before I had even torn one of his arms off. I beat the daemon that possessed him with it, and then I crushed his skull and delivered a true death to it."

Kirsa smiled like he was telling a pleasant bedtime story, and perhaps he was. For all that she was no warrior, she was still a child of Norsca. She had suffered, but now she listened to tell of the vengeance taken in her name by her god, and it was good.

Even after the tale was told, neither felt the need to move as they sat in companionable silence. Gentle snow drifted down on them, almost too sparse to see, but Kirsa was kept warm by the cloak she had been gifted, to say nothing of the furnace that was Trumpetter. She was hardly aware of it as she drifted off, slowly leaning into Thor. By the time her head came to rest on his shoulder, she was already asleep.

Gently, Thor took her up in a princess carry, and left the grove behind. Tomorrow was a new day.

 

[Razorfloss]

Well Thor has met a native god in Shallya who's probably going to spread the news of a new godling in the north. The fact that it's coming from the Shallyan cult of all places is going to raise some eyes especially since they're apolitical and make the witch hunters concerned. Kislev Is probably going to freak and declare hersey until they figure out what the hell happened. Assuming that Thor and Tor are separate people whenever they met is going to be fun as they try to figure out who's the true God of thunder. That's going to cause some religious strife among their followers. I can't wait for more

 

[Duncan]

I just love this story. Haven't seen any Warhammer characters I recognize and honestly I don't care. It's refreshing to see a more nuanced look at religion and culture in the warhammer world.
Thor is getting back in shape, but remains a bit dense. More info on his divinity works, and the birth of proper rites and creeds for his worship. It feels like a prologue arc just concluded, and I'm looking forward to seeing where it goes from here.

 

[SneakyWalrus]

"You say your brother is one to play games?" he said. "You surely do not mean Ranald, aye?"

"I have not heard of this Ranald," Thor said. "What manner of god is he?"

"A tricky one," big eared Ivan said. "Like as much to trip you and laugh as ignore you, and even then you might've landed face first in shit or gold." He took a drink, fingers crossed on his tankard handle.

"He's trouble," Mikhail said. "Better to follow Handrich if you deal rightwise."

Click to shrink...

You know, ironically enough, Loki was also considered the God of Fire within the Norse pantheon. It wouldn't exactly be a stretch of sorts for the faithful to make the narrative leap to wonder if the Kislevite god Dazh is the one Thor is taking about, and then have it be lost in translation due to distance.

 

[TheWiseTomato]

Assuming that Thor and Tor are separate people whenever they met is going to be fun as they try to figure out who's the true God of thunder.

Click to shrink...

I've got plans for T(h)or.

I just love this story. Haven't seen any Warhammer characters I recognize and honestly I don't care. It's refreshing to see a more nuanced look at religion and culture in the warhammer world.

Click to shrink...

I think Shallya is the the sole canon character that has appeared so far. Good to hear you've enjoyed the lens I'm showing things through.

narrative leap to wonder if the Kislevite god Dazh is the one Thor is taking about

Click to shrink...

( :

 

[TheWiseTomato]

"Ahhhh," Thor said, closing his eyes in bliss. He may have slipped through the folds of Yggdrasil to another strange new realm, but coffee was eternal.

"Worth the wait?" Elara asked, leaning forward onto the counter. Topaz eyes were full of questions, and they seemed to glitter against her blue skin.

Thor took another long sip before answering. "Indeed. I regret I could not come sooner, but I was denied entry to this section of your Citadel each day before now." With coffee obtained however, all was now well. The counter stool he perched on even seemed sturdy enough to bear his frame without worry.

"I had to go through a whole thing at my embassy before they would let me back in here, too," Elara said, propping her chin up on one fist.

"No, I spoke with no embassy," Thor said. He swirled what remained of his coffee, looking down into its rich depths.

Elara's face screwed up in confusion. "They just let you into the Presidium?" she asked.

"My persistence was rewarded," Thor claimed, downing his drink. "May I have another?" He set the cup carefully on the counter before him.

"Sure," Elara said, answering on automatic, already pulling back to move to the coffee machine. "And they're on the house, you hear me?" Liz would turn her disappointed Matriarch face on her if she tried to charge their saviour.

"No no," Thor tried to argue, digging in his pockets, "I insist. I have obtained objects valued by the people here."

For a moment, Elara was distracted from her coffee making. She had been so fixed on his braided 'beard' and newly short hair - the idea of a haircut still sent shivers down her spine - that she had somehow missed his outfit entirely. He looked to be wearing enough material to outfit a family, and it wasn't even made of anything she recognised. It looked like it was meant to resemble primitive fabric - it might even be primitive fabric. Her distraction with his clothing only lasted until she realised what he was retrieving from his pockets to place on her counter.

"Thor!" she hissed, looking around in alarm. Only long practice and muscle memory kept her going through the motions of coffee making. "Put that away! Where did you even get it?!?"

Thor blinked at her, slowing but not stopping, as he placed a bag of actual red sand on the counter. "Is it not a luxury good?" he asked. "I was offered quite a bit of it in exchange for a service." He dug into his pockets again, but this time it was no bag, but an entire brick of vacuum wrapped red sand he came up with.

"Oh Goddess," Elara said, moaning. "What did you do to get that?" Was her saviour a criminal? Was she aiding and abetting?

"Little and nothing," Thor said, putting the brick on the counter, starting to dig in another pocket. "They offered it to me if I would go away, but I found it much easier to finish dealing with them and simply take it." He began to pull fistfulls of credit chits out, dropping the glowing cubes to the counter with a waterfall of tinks.

Colour fled the young asari's face, leaving her a wan cyan as she watched pocket change chits join the small fortune in drugs on her countertop and oh wait that was a hundred thousand credit chit. "Thor. It's on the house. Really."

"It would be ill of me to accept such aid when I do not need it," Thor said, his tone more suited to some grave oath than to a bright cafe on the Presidium. He reached into the flap of his outer clothes and pulled out something larger, setting it down with a thunk.

"Is that someone's implant?!?" Elara whisper screamed as she dribbled a happy puppy face in the coffee foam. "Is that bl– wait, is that the new Serrice amp? I didn't think those were on the market yet."

"I do not know," Thor said with a hum, patting down his pockets but thankfully finding nothing else. He wiped a few drops of blue blood discreetly on his sleeve. "But I am sure that there will be something amongst my prizes worth another cup of your fine brew."

"Just, put the red sand away," Elara said, putting the final touches on the puppy whiskers. She stepped away from the coffee machine, coffee in hand, and stared him down as he made no move to do so.

"I will pay," Thor said, returning her stare, unblinking.

"Put it away or I drink the coffee."

Mismatched eyes narrowed.

The coffee cup was raised in silent threat.

Thor surrendered, grumbling, and heavy hands plucked bags and brick from the counter, returning it all to his pockets.

"And the implant."

"That was not the deal," Thor protested.

"I am altering the deal."

Thor grumbled some more, but stowed the implant away too.

A bright smile broke out over Elara's face, as if she had never been anything but a cheerful barista. "Here you are! Please enjoy." She set it down on the counter, pushing it through the spread of credit chits deliberately.

The thunder god was of a mind to argue now that the brew was in his possession, but then he was distracted by the coffee art. "Oho, look at his little paws."

Elara smirked at the acknowledgement of her skills, leaning back into the counter, side on so she could keep an eye on the approach to her little open air cafe. "You kill geth, I brew coffee," she said.

"What made you choose to dedicate yourself to it?" Thor asked, taking a sip. "Family tradition? Rebellion?"

"Oh, no, it's just a phase," Elara said, crossing her arms under her chest. "Last decade it was bartending, before that it was competitive zero-G ballet. Not sure what I'll do next yet."

Before Thor could voice his interest in competitive zero-G ballet, there was a soft chime from behind the counter, heralding the arrival of another customer. It was one of the 'salarians' that he had encountered in this new world, skin a burnt orange. It wasn't until Thor noticed the scar, a thick line of brown above his right eye that it clicked as to why he seemed familiar. "Raegent! he said in greeting. "Another victorious warrior, come for a victory drink?"

Raegent stopped in place and blinked rapidly, gleaming black eyes taking him in before darting to the counter and back, before raising a hand with three digits in a wave. "Thor. Good to see you. Had hoped to run into you." He shifted his attention to Elara. "Elara."

"Raegent, welcome back," she said, straightening. "The usual?"

"Please," Reagent said. "Squad spoiled by quality of drinks. Regret being put off by strange name of your establishment." He spoke just a beat faster than normal, but Thor had been privy to enough discussions between Tony and Bruce that he was used to it.

"There's nothing wrong with 'The Clicky Klixen'," Elara said with a scoff, moving back to the coffee machine.

Raegent made a vague noise of disagreement. "Actually, hold larger order. I will take my break here. Squad can wait for coffee." Approaching the counter, he took a seat at the next stool down, to Thor's right, blue armour clinking. He adjusted the pistol at his hip to sit more comfortably.

"How fares your squad?" Thor asked. Last he had seen them was when he had departed to give battle to the sentient geth flagship.

"Mostly healed," Raegent said, pulling his gaze away from the pile of credit chits on the counter. "The medi-gel of your people continues to be a boon."

"Of course," Thor said, as if he knew what that was. "Love a bit of medi-gel."

Raegent side eyed him, something more effective than usual given the size of his large black eyes. His attention was pulled away by the arrival of his drink, a steaming drink with a pungent smell that wasn't unpleasant. "Ahhhh," he said, leaning in to inhale the vapour, though he made no move to drink it yet.

Elara nodded in satisfaction, before turning to Thor. "Would you like a cake, or a pastry?" she asked. "We've got levo recipes from Thessia to Earth and all points in between."

"That depends," Thor said. "Will you let me pay for it?"

Elara leaned in, smiling. "No." Deliberately, she swept the spread of chits back towards him, looking him dead in the eye as she did it. "I'll get you a Dark Jungle cake. It's an asari take on a human classic. You'll like it." She bustled off to fetch a plate and cutlery.

"Would not have thought a barista capable of bouncing a geth combat unit," Raegent said.

"Well, she's getting on to her third century," Thor said, shrugging.

"A strange thing to ponder, for shorter lived races like ourselves," Raegent said.

Thor gave a non-committal hum. "You said you had hoped to run into me again?"

"Yes," Raegent said, unphased by the subject change. "Heard you tell Elara you would return. Wished to pass on thanks of squad and myself. Survival without your intervention unlikely."

"Your valour would have seen you through, I am sure," Thor said. "There is little point in lingering on what ifs."

Reagent gave a sharp nod. "Just so. Will admit to great curiosity in your weapon technology, but appreciate likely confidential nature. Will ask instead after your health."

"I am most well," Thor said, savouring the last of his coffee. "There has been much to keep me occupied in the days since the battle, and generous people to offer me lodgings."

The salarian straightened, moving away from his still steaming drink. "You have not found a public shelter?" he asked.

"Such are for those who have no other options," Thor said, waving him off. And who had proper identification, but that was besides the point.

"No, unacceptable," Raegent said with surprising vehemence. He slapped his hand down on the counter hard enough to rattle cups and chits. "Have access to apartment, currently empty. Can be made available to you."

"That is not necessary," Thor said.

Unfortunately, it seemed that Elara had returned in time to hear. "You mean you're couch surfing? When you've got this kind of money??" She placed a plate with a slice of cake on it down more heavily than was warranted.

"No, I-"

"You can stay at my place," Elara said, speaking over him. "It'll be a little crowded, what with my girlfriend being there - some geth wreckage fell on her block - but we can manage."

"Apartment is meant for witness protection, comes stocked," Raegent said. "Would not crowd Elara and her partner."

"I've got Citadel unlimited bandwidth, and fifth tier extranet priority," Elara bragged, which would perhaps be more impressive if Thor knew what any of it meant.

"Thank you both," Thor said, cutting in before the offers could grow any more heated, "but I have coin enough to gain lodgings for myself."

Both of them glanced again at the pile of credit chits. It had a way of drawing the eye, even when one was trying to be polite. It was a wild mix of single chit cubes to chits worth hundreds of thousands, and most of them were even close to full. Some of them were flecked with liquids of mysterious provenance, but asari and salarian chose to ignore that.

"So, why didn't you?" Elara asked.

There was a pause.

"I was busy," Thor said, speaking with great dignity to disguise the fact that he knew not the value of what he had claimed as booty.

"I've got a line on a crew that needs muscle, if you need a berth," came a deep, rumbling voice.

All three of the sentients in the cafe startled, Thor and Raegent looking over their shoulders at the newcomer. Even Elara, facing in that direction, had not seen him coming.

"How did you - the greeting tone -"

"Public facing omni-tool ports are for chumps," Shath, the purple crested krogan from the fight against the geth said. "I've seen three fools get chewed up when their 'tools answered a greeting ping in urban combat." He looked back to Thor. "Well? I saw you fight those geth. Might be something to your boasts. Wouldn't mind finding out for sure."

Thor's brow creased as he remembered the words he had exchanged with this Shath. He had perhaps been short tempered, but it was understandable, given his circumstances. "Thank you, but no," he said.

"Shame," Shath said. He ran a thick tongue over serrated teeth, before looking over to Elara. "I'll have a ryncol."

"We're a cafe, not a bar," Elara said.

"Whatever you've got that's heavy then," Shath said, dismissive. "Levo or dextro, I don't care." He ambled up to join them, taking the last stool before the counter. It creaked slightly under his bulk and dark red armour.

Elara narrowed her eyes at him, crests darkening in anger. "Double octo-espresso coming right up. Fifty credits."

Shath waved his arm carelessly, and it flickered orange for a moment, but he was already looking back to Thor. "So what the fuck was going on with that axe of yours?" he asked bluntly.

 

[KarmaA]

Wherever you write him, you make Thor fun to read.

 

[16 characters]

So what brought Thor into conflict with the Geth?

 

[TheWiseTomato]

Mostly the part where they tried to kill him.

 

[16 characters]

Ah, I kind of only started reading this side-story now, thought it had just begun...and having missed the rest of it I was a little confused.

 

[TheWiseTomato]

Timber groaned mightily as it fell, cracks echoing through the forest, and another tree too large for ten men to circle their arms around fell with an almighty crash. Any wildlife in the area had long since fled or hidden away in their burrows, driven by the sharp, repetitive blows of an axe. There were only two beings comfortably walking the primordial forest that day, the uneasy shadows cast by its thick canopy proving no hindrance to them.

A mammoth trumpeted in victory, having helped in giving the tree the last push needed to topple it. Beside him, a blond bearded man wiped sweat from his brow, bare chested despite the snow, a mighty axe resting on his shoulder. He breathed heavily but evenly, large gut rising and falling.

"Well done, Trumpetter!" the man said to his companion.

Trumpetter near pranced in response, even as he shovelled more stripped foliage into his mouth, heavy teeth grinding it down.

"Are you ready to return to the town?" Thor asked. He received another trumpeted blast in response. "Then let us go."

He made his way towards the centre of the fallen giant, judging the thicker base against the length of the trunk. When he reached the spot he was happy with, he let go of his axe and it hovered, waiting. He eyed his chosen spot, sizing up the tree.

With a grunt, Thor punched both hands into its side, driving his arms in almost up to his elbows. Setting himself, he took a deep breath, preparing. Trumpetter gave a noise of encouragement, low and rumbling. With a sharp exhale, Thor lifted the entire massive tree, grunting with the effort. His face reddened as he stepped forward and held his burden overheard, arms extended. They trembled slightly, but held steady as he slowly lowered the enormous thing onto his shoulders. Deeply and evenly he breathed, growing accustomed to the weight. When he was sure he had it, he began to walk.

"The hours approaching, just give it your best,
You've got to reach your prime."

He sang under his breath as he walked, carefully threading through the outer reaches of the forest. The trees were smaller on the path he was taking, but in the sizes he was dealing with, smaller was relative.

"That's when you need to put yourself to the test,
And show us a passage of time,"

Trumpetter ambled along beside him, happy to be out of Vinteerholm and on an adventure. He did enjoy playing with the children of the town, but there was only so much to see and do within its walls.

"We're gonna need a montage,
Montage
Oh it takes a montage
Montage"

One unlucky tree was toppled as Thor didn't quite manage to manoeuvre around it, but it hardly slowed him. The ground grew uneven and he slowed, stepping carefully lest he fumble the lift. Some of the words he had forgotten, and he hummed the tune for a time.

"Anything that we want to go from just a beginner to a pro,
You need a montage
Montage
Even Rocky had a montage
Montage"

The forest began to thin somewhat, and before long he had emerged from it onto an open white plain. If he looked back he knew he would see the mountains looming over the forest, disappearing into the clouds overhead, but he was focused on the weight he held, beginning to feel the burn.

"Anything that we want to go from just a beginner to a pro,
You need a montage
Montage
Oh it takes a montage
Montage"

In the distance, he could see his destination. Not the town itself, but a section of flat ground outside it, swarming with townspeople as they worked. He could already see them taking notice of him, an enormous tree carried horizontally hard to miss, even if he was likely too small to draw attention so far away.

"Always fade out in a montage,
If you fade out, it seems like more time
Has passed in a montage,
Montage"

His pace remained steady, his steps even. In time, he would incorporate lunges and squats, but he knew his limits, and for now simply shouldering his burden was enough. He continued to hum as he walked.

"Montage
Montage"

By the time he reached the makeshift lumber yard outside Vinteerholm, his shoulders ached fiercely and his arms burned, but he pushed on. Workers were sure to clear the way as he was guided to a set of stones, pairs of them laid out in a long line. He sucked in a breath and exhaled, extending his arms and raising his burden with a controlled slowness. For a long moment, he held it, until his arms began to tremble once more. Almost snarling with the effort, he began to lower it forward onto the stones, new muscles straining, until he could set it down gently. Even prepared, the stones sank under the weight, but still they did their job, keeping it off the ground. Thor let out a relieved breath, shaking out his arms and stretching.

The chief woodsman inspected it with a sharp eye, even as others ran along it, checking each stone. Shouts of confirmation came with each one, word travelling quickly, and the chief nodded. "Clear!" he bellowed, and like a swarm of locusts, the workers that had been waiting and watching descended upon it with axe and rope and saw.

Thor stepped back, clearing the way in turn, accepting a water skin offered to him. He drained it in a single long pull and accepted the next, already waiting. The teenage girl offering them to him had another three slung over her person, and he would drain them all.

"Thor," a familiar voice said. "No trouble?"

"Wolfric," Thor said, turning to him. "None. The beasts of the forest do not seem to wish to bother me."

"Strange," Wolfric said, tone putting lie to his words. Unlike most, he had no tools of lumber or carpentry on him, only his sword and his shield. With so many of their people outside the protection of the walls, a wary eye was needed.

"I see you were persuaded," Thor said as he finished another skin, nodding towards where Astrid and Elsa were already clambering up Trumpetter.

"They did their chores, and helped Helka with her work," Wolfric said. He grumbled something to himself. "Will you fetch another today?"

Thor glanced over at the tree he had felled early that morning. It was afternoon now, but already it was much worked over, every branch stripped from it, teams of men working with long saws to chunk it into smaller pieces. The same would be done to the second great tree he had brought, in time.

"No," Thor decided. "Not until the first is dealt with further."

They watched for a time, taking in the orderly chaos. Thor's solution to the failure of the walls of Vinteerholm was a simple one: he would simply aid in building bigger, better walls. If it also served as an opportunity to induct the newcomers into the community as they shared sweat, and provide another trade good with the excess, that was all the better.

"It will keep us occupied, for a time," Wolfric said. Gone were the days when his words were filtered through fear and worry, of Thor or of more mortal concerns. It was a sentiment shared by many others, now that the malaise of the raid no longer hung over them, and that they had begun to take steps to prevent such a thing happening again. "Three more like those?"

"More," Thor said.

"You think there will be that much demand for northern lumber?" Wolfric asked, doubtful, but expecting to be proven wrong. "Tyra didn't take any as a sample."

Tyra had led the trading expedition south some few days prior, taking with her a force that included Gunnhilde, Eirik, and Halvar, but also those others who wished to prove themselves in some way, or were too restless to stay, like Hildur. To Thor's surprise, Stephan had not asked to join, his eyes seemingly fixed on Norsca. The Kislevites had gone with them as guides, save Grigori, but his motivations for staying were harder to divine.

Thor gave a shrug that was as much an answer as it was a way to loosen his shoulders. "If there is not, we will find a use for it here. We will do more than replace the walls."

"Expansion?" Wolfric asked. "I think they did that in my father's time. Built a new set of walls around the town, then tore down the old."

"Aye, but more. Bigger," Thor said. He gestured to the south, towards the river across the town. Just downstream it grew broad and shallower for a time, but the town itself was nestled against the point where the river began to widen. "It would be well to grow across the river. No longship will sail up to the docks if we place a barrier across it."

Wolfric squinted, as if trying to picture it. "That would be something."

Thor found himself feeling like a child playing with sticks, but even though the grandeur of Asgard might be out of reach, he could at least see that the lives of those that lived here were safe, comfortable, and without shit in the gutters, even if that last one was just a command to dump it outside town. An actual sewer system was rather out of reach.

"It will do," he said. "Once Tyra returns with what we need, more plans can be made."

"So long as they are let past Zenilev," Wolfric said with a grumble.

"Even if they are not, they can trade there," Thor said. Zenilev was the nearest Kislev stronghold they knew of, and trying to sneak past it would send the wrong message. Even if they were not permitted further, there was still trading that could be done.

"Likely they refuse them just so they can make a profit for themselves by selling it on," Wolfric said. "All the best furs and mammoth bones that she took with her."

"They do have reason to be wary of Norscans," Thor remarked.

Wolfric grumbled again, but did not gainsay him.

The work continued, branches almost as thick as some trees being sawn off and dragged away for further rendering down, mobs of children old enough to join in the work falling upon them as their parents saw to the harder tasks. Thor watched as young Ragnar clung to the end of a branch his mother was carrying over her shoulder, giggling with each step she took as he dangled and swayed. The woman herself was fighting back a smile, pretending not to know where her son had disappeared to. It was clear that the townspeople had the matter well in hand.

Thor gave a decisive nod. "Keep an eye on the skies. I have business to see to."

"The other village…?"

"Aye. They've still not made contact," Thor said. Before Vinteerholm had been retaken, he had checked on the other villages that had splintered off. Of the four in the region, only one had escaped the raiders, evacuating before their coming, but it was only now that he had time to check on them again. "I mean to drop in on them."

"Then they are the ones who should watch the skies," Wolfric said, quirking an eyebrow at Stormbreaker, still floating at his god's shoulder. "Unless you mean to walk?"

"It would take more than a short walk such as that to make an impact on this," Thor said, slapping his gut. Perhaps when the need for trees was no more, he would carve a tunnel into the mountains, and juggle the boulders that came from it. The time saved by taking to the skies was worth more than the benefits of the walk, though a thought occurred to him, and his own gaze strayed to his weapon. Stormbreaker bestowed more than one method of travel…

…but now was not the time to test it. Some unnamed worry, some half forgotten instinct told him that to use the Bifrost would not be a simple matter of summoning the rainbow and strolling through. What it might result in he did not know, and one day he would discover it for himself - but not this day.

"You would have to walk to the deserts of Araby to make an impact on that," Wolfric said, unaware of his god's thoughts.

"Ha!" Thor said, barking a laugh. He was pleased his people could finally bring themselves to shed their awe, even if they would only do it in private conversations. There were those amongst the town who still wouldn't address him with lesser respect than 'godly one'. Even now the workers flowed around them if they had to get by, none willing to intrude on what was surely an important conversation. "By the time I am done, men will envy my form and women will fight for the right to drape themselves over it," he added, boasting.

Wolfric opened his mouth to respond, then visibly rethought the wisdom of whatever he was about to say and closed it.

"Hmm?" Thor prompted him.

"Nevermind," Wolfric said, shaking his head. "They would kill me."

"Wise," Thor said, having an inkling as to his thoughts. "I will see you upon my return."

"Lord Thor," Wolfric said, bowing his head.

Thor considered returning to the town to retrieve a shirt, but the day was fine enough despite the clouds clinging to the mountains, and he desired to feel the cool breeze upon his bare torso as he flew. He inclined his head to Wolfric in turn, and then his hand closed around his axe. A moment later, he was rocketing up into the sky and away, Vinteerholm a swiftly receding dot below him.

That day, the sky was his and his alone, and he spiralled and spun as he flew upwards. He did not know why those with the luck to be born aloft by him on a tree were so loath to repeat the experience; to fly was one of life's great pleasures, even more so than wine and women. He shocked an eagle as he blew past it, the regal beast's yellow eyes widened as it almost squawked. Its gaze followed him, and it attempted to do the same, but there was no hope of a mere animal doing so, and he quickly left it behind as he turned east.

The journey was not a long one, even when he took the time to enjoy it, and the sun still shone when he neared the unnamed village that he had visited so briefly two months ago now. He could make out the burnt down granary, now partially reconstructed, and some movement in the village. He just needed to choose his manner of approach.

Setting down outside the village, a ways along the sole road - path really - that led to it, Thor took a moment to stretch. Stormbreaker settled onto his back, as if in a harness, its haft peeking up over his shoulder. The path was a narrow thing, crowded by the trees on either side, and only the sound of the flowing river carrying through them for company. The cry of an eagle made a lie of that, and Thor glanced up to see another bird much like the one he had startled earlier soaring high above. It couldn't have been the same one, not at the speeds he was flying, but still it looked similar.

It did not take long to reach the village. When he did, he was first met by a boy in a watchtower, looking out over the trees. They had been cut back away from the village, itself a circular assortment of dwellings and other buildings. So focused on whatever it was the boy was watching, he appeared to have missed Thor's approach completely. The village was larger than Harad's, but lacked its walls.

Thor coughed.

Up above him, some three tall men high, the boy gave no indication it had been heard.

Thor coughed again, louder this time.

The boy frowned now, looking over his shoulder and back into the village, but after seeing nothing, quickly looked back to whatever it was that so firmly held his gaze.

"Ahem," Thor called up.

With a violent startle, the boy almost fell out of the chair he sat in atop the watchtower, more a raised platform than anything, only to recover at the last moment. He looked down, and when he beheld Thor, his jaw fell in shock.

"Good afternoon," Thor said politely.

The boy continued to gape, showing off a broken canine.

Thor began to feel vaguely self conscious. Perhaps he should have worn a shirt. "Might I enter your village?"

He jerked at the question, as if roused from a torpor. "What," he said. He was either a small teen or a large child.

"Might I enter your village?" Thor repeated himself.

"But the outlook didn't catch ya," the boy said, more to himself than Thor. It was like he was questioning his very eyes.

"I am very sneaky," Thor offered.

Boy stared at Thor. Thor stared at boy.

Slowly, the boy reached for something hanging from the rail of the tower. It was a leg bone of some kind, with another shorter bone dangling from the end of it by a strip of leather. Without breaking eye contact, the boy began to spin it overhead, and an unsettling thrumming resulted, rising and falling with the speed of the spin. It set Thor's teeth to rattling, and he couldn't imagine anyone in the village had missed it. Well, it was one way to sound an alarm.

Heavy footsteps approached rapidly, pounding in the dirt. A large man, though of course not as large as Thor, burst around the corner of the lane that ran into the village, a woodsman's axe in hand.

"What is it son?" the man demanded, bushy brows furrowed in concern as he looked up at the boy. "More raiders? How many?"

Mutely, the boy pointed at Thor. The man followed the finger and blinked when he saw him.

"One man?" he asked of the boy, though his eyes didn't leave Thor.

"No signal Pa," the boy said.

The man gave a grumbling sigh, and nodded. "You did right. Sound the all clear."

The boy spun his implement again, three quick spins with the last slowly fading out.

"Who're you?" the man demanded of Thor. "What do you want?"

"I come from Vinteerholm," Thor said. "I bring word that the raiders are gone."

"And your name?" the man pressed, hefting his axe pointedly. Its handle was well used, and its blade sharp.

"Thor," he said, even as he threaded his fingers through his windswept beard. The flight over had done it few favours.

The man nodded, hardly giving it another thought, before stopping still. "Thor, you say," he said, taking him in with new eyes, looking over his bare feet, work-stained pants, bulging gut, and messy hair.

"I do say," Thor said.

"...right," the man said. "I'm Halvdan. What word do you bring?"

"The raiders have been repelled, and Skraevold raided in turn," Thor said. "Those that could be retrieved were, and then some."

Off the path, a short ways into the trees, there was movement. Thor spied a slim man with a spear, ready to throw but waiting. He made no indication that he had noticed him.

"All is good," Halvdan said. "Is that the only reason you have come?" His brows were furrowed, and he spoke like he was caught between belligerence and caution.

"I came to check on this village," Thor said. "When the raiders first came, I made to check on you, but the village was empty, save one."

"You're the one that split him in half then?" Halvdan asked.

"He was whole when I left him, if smoking," Thor said.

"Hrngh," Halvdan said. Behind him, a chimney smoked steadily, but the village was otherwise quiet, the few sounds of life that had come from it before Thor's approach absent. "Thor, then?" he demanded.

"I am he," Thor said. He was not one to shy away without reason, even if he felt no need to appear in his full regalia. Though perhaps he had picked up some of Loki's penchant for mischief, given the amusement he felt as Halvar looked him over dubiously once more.

"Just here to check on us then?" Halvdan asked.

"I would offer my help, if it is needed," Thor said. He was well used to the side quest as a method of earning trust.

Halvdan glanced over at the man still hiding in the trees, disguising it as a look at his son up in the watchtower. Still the village was quiet behind him. "Two hunters went missing this last week. There's a bear den needs checking. One like you could do it, no trouble."

"I could do that," Thor said, shrugging and scratching at his gut. He had to hold back a perhaps unworthy giggle as Halvar was visibly torn between what his eyes showed him and what his brain told him. "What are their names?"

Halvdan blinked. "What? The hunters?"

"Aye."

"Rand and Bain," Halvar said. "...will that help you find them?"

"No, not at all," Thor said.

"Right," Halvdan said. "Well. Old Hang-lip is an ornery old bastard, and he should still be asleep at this time, but Rand mentioned seeing tracks the day before he vanished, and Bain was headed out that way too."

"How far away is it?" Thor asked.

"Close enough to get there and return before dark," Halvdan said. He shifted his grip on his axe. "Wouldn't suggest it if not."

"Will your friend be joining us?" Thor asked, tone casual.

Halvdan only hesitated for an instant. "My boy will be staying right where he is."

"Of course," Thor said. "But what of your friend, the one with the spear?"

"...he'll be coming," Halvdan said. "Can't trust strangers, no matter their name."

"Then let us check on Hang-lip, so we are no longer strangers," Thor said.

Again, Halvdan looked him over, and again Thor had to push back his amusement. "The mountains are dangerous. Are you ready to walk them?"

"I appreciate your concern, but I am sure I will manage with your help," Thor said.

Halvdan gave him a long stare, brows somehow furrowing even further. "Vali!" he called.

There was a pause, and then the sound of grumbling and light steps through the underbrush. "What?" Vali said as he emerged. He had an unfortunate face, and a chin that could only be partly hidden by his short and thick beard.

"We're going to Hang-lip's den. Thor here is coming with us."

Vali looked him over, keen eyes missing nothing. "Nice axe," he said.

"Thank you," Thor said. "Its forging almost killed me."

The two men shared a look. Vali nodded, as if confirming something, even as doubt lined Halvdan's shoulders.

Halvdan sighed. "Let's go then," he said.

"Do you need to tell your fellows?" Thor asked. "I would not want to make them think I am absconding with you."

"They know," Halvdan said. Without waiting for a response, he headed past Thor and back down along the path, expecting him to follow.

Thor did so, uncaring of the way Vali waited until he did, before falling in behind. The walk would be dull, but there were worse things. Overhead, an eagle gave a hunting cry.

X

The den of 'old Hang-lip' was not deep in the mountains. It was barely in the foothills to the north, but it was still more of a trek than a walk, enough of one that Thor would have taken to the sky had he been alone. There was little conversation, and Thor found his thoughts straying elsewhere, away from the task at hand. He could not simply leave Vinteerholm, not when it depended on him for protection and especially not when Tyra was away, but nor did he wish to become bound to it, overseeing petty problems. Perhaps once he had returned himself to form, some challenge would come along, though he knew his mother would chide him for tempting the fates like that.

Ahead, Halvdan came to a stop. They joined him on the edge of a ragged copse of trees, grey shale stone ahead, and in the side of a hill not too far away, there was a dark entrance to a cave, or a tunnel.

"That's it," Halvdan said. "He should still be hibernating, but if something stirred him, it might be he took Rand and Bain for food."

Vali shivered beside him. Even with their furs, they still found it cold. "Can't see any tracks, and last night's snow covered any there were."

Halvdan grimaced. "Only fools stick their face into a b-"

"Then the only thing to do is check on the den," Thor said, already starting forward. The loose stone crunched beneath his bare feet as he left the trees behind.

"We'll be right behind you," Vali called from the trees. Halvdan was noticeably silent.

Thor was halfway across the open ground when he saw movement in the darkness of the opening. A moment later, an enormous brown bear began to emerge from its den, and he saw where it got its name from. Half of its jaw had been broken off along one side, what remained hanging down, and it was an old wound. What would have been a life ending wound for another beast seemed to have not slowed it at all, being almost too large to fit through the entrance to its home. Thor noted that the jaw was not its only injury. Still dark with old blood, a broken spear protruded from its shoulder, looking more like a stick than a weapon. He also noted that the great shaggy mass of fat and muscle was looking straight at him, snorting and sniffing in a rage.

"You're a big boy, aren't you," Thor said.

The bear gave a roar, rearing up high. It was already charging as it dropped back down.

"That spear can't be comfortable," Thor said. "Let me take care- oof," he said, as nearly a ton of apex predator slammed into him, bowling him over.

His back prickled and stung as he carved an unwilling furrow through the loose stone, the bear charging after him, swiping at him with its paws. Its breath was rank.

"Calm down now - sun's getting real - no, bad bear-"

Slavering jaws sought to close around his head, only to be stymied by his fist reaching down its throat to seize the root of its tongue. The bear choked out a protest, splattering him further and spreading a rancid stink all over. Thor's face screwed up in disgust; it was nearly as bad as the time he had been forced to pass through a bilgesnipe den. Sickly yellowed teeth chewed on his arm, scoring his skin but little more, and it reared up once again. He was brought with it, and he lost his grip on its slippery tongue, going airborne. The bear roared again as it drew one heavy paw back, almost as large as his torso. It meant to strike him as he fell, apparently helpless.

Thor was upside down as he fell, but he brushed the blow away and struck with one of his own, punching the bear in the skull. Still standing, it was driven staggering back, and he landed unsteadily as it tipped over backwards, groaning in pain.

"My patience thins," he warned it, finding firmer footing in the shale.

The bear began to roll off its back, and the spear in its shoulder was driven in deeper as it did, before snapping under its bulk. It didn't so much as groan in pain, only snarling at him, apparently not noticing the wound at all as it shook off the last of its dizziness. Closer as it was now, he could see that what should have been brown eyes were instead shot through with red, and the yellowed teeth were not decayed, but stained. Its fury did not come from sleep deprived grumpiness, but from something else. Something it had eaten.

Whatever the cause, it was beyond any help he could give it. Thor pursed his lips as it charged him again with unthinking ferocity, seeking again to bowl him over to rip and tear at him. He let it near, but this time he did not permit it to knock him over. The bear made no sound as he uppercut it with great force, lifting it off its feet. Before it returned to the ground, it was already dead.

Halvdan and Vali emerged from the trees and began to pick their way across the shale, slowly coming to join him, and Stormbreaker returned to his side after getting away from him in the bear's first charge. For the best, he thought; the stone may have pricked at his bare back but landing on his axe would have been something else entirely.

"Guess we know what happened to Rand," Vali said, investigating what was left of the spear in the bear, a short foot of wood protruding from its shoulder. "That's his spear."

"We can tell his family, at least," Halvdan said. His gaze was fixed on Thor, somehow warier yet more settled after witnessing the display. "Hang-lip probably got Bain as well." He glanced over at the den entrance, but only for a moment, quickly returning to Thor.

There was a flutter of wings, and the eagle that had followed them from the village alighted on the remnants of the spear, wings out for balance, before it tucked them in. It seemed unbothered by the three of them, and it made no move to peck at the soft flesh of the fresh kill beneath it, its amber eyes fixed on the treeline they had come from.

"We should at least check the den," Vali said. "Might be something o' Bain's in there. Can't see anything else livin' in there."

Thor turned his gaze away from the eagle. It would be well to find some token for those the hunters had left behind.

The entrance to the cave was larger than it appeared from a distance, looming over them as they neared. The two men were happy to stay at Thor's back, and the god approached it without fear. As they reached it, however, his face screwed up in disgust at the rank scent drifting out from it.

"That is foul," Thor said, snorting in a vain attempt to clear it from his nostrils.

"Maybe we should keep an eye on things out here," Halvdan said.

"Awful dark in there," Vali added. "Might trip, get in ya way."

Thor gave them a look. If he was to suffer the stench, he would share his misery. "But how am I to recognise a token of Bain's?"

"You knew him better than I did," Halvdan said to his friend.

"Not a fucking hope chief," Vali said flatly.

Halvdan grumbled, rubbing at his face. "Fine. I've got my flint, we'll-"

"No need," Thor said, and he conjured a spark in his fist, bright even in the light of day. The two men stared at it, fixated, and when he turned to proceed into the den they followed almost without thought.

Thor made it three steps into the den before he pinched his nose shut, trying not to breathe too deeply through his mouth. He could feel the horrid stench on his tongue, it was so heavy in the air. He raised his hand, letting the light of his power illuminate the cave. It was a bending passage they followed, marked by old blood and other leavings, but soon it came to a large cave hollow. The smell only got worse, and the men began to heave and retch.

"Search swiftly," Thor said, before spitting to rid his tongue of the taste of the air.

They did, and Thor helped as best he could. The remains of various beasts cluttered the cave, more than a few human bones amongst them. Here and there were items made by mortal hands, dagger handles or carved tokens, but they didn't get a second glance from the men. The cave was searched quickly, until only the worst of it was left, the large depression to one side that was the bear's bedding. The reek grew worse as they reluctantly neared it, enough to set mortal eyes to watering.

It seemed Hang-lip had kept the fur of his prey for comfort; what chunks remained after his feeding, at least. Most of it was black or brown, fine and thick, but what manner of beast it came from Thor did not know or care. Vali used his spear to dig around in the matted mess, before seizing something and turning immediately for the exit, already scurrying out.

No time was wasted in following him, and they quickly returned to the outside world, taking in heaving breaths untainted by the foul stench of the cave.

"You'd best have found something," Thor said to Vali.

Vali held up a leather thong, a small tooth attached to it. "From Bain's first hunt," he said, spitting and coughing.

"And…for Rand?" Thor asked, reluctantly looking back at the cave.

"His spear will do," Halvdan said, nodding at the bear. "I'll pull it out with my teeth before I go back in there." He put this thumb to the side of his nose and snorted mightily, before repeating it with the other nostril.

"Good," Thor said, with feeling. He approached the bear, cautious of the eagle still perched atop it. The bird watched him with wary eyes, but made no move to strike at him. It was a handsome thing, plumage full and beak wickedly sharp.

As he neared and set a hand on what remained of the spear in the bear's shoulder, however, its face screwed up in almost human disgust. It shrieked, wings flapping as if to ward off the lingering smell.

"Yes, I know, I know," Thor said. The spear came out, and so did a flow of bile and sickness. He stepped away quickly to avoid it, but there was no avoiding a new flavour to the horrid stench.

The eagle screeched at him, scornful, taking to the air with a hurried flapping of wings, hovering before him.

"I couldn't have known that would happen," Thor argued. "You cannot blame me for that."

The eagle shrieked, swiping him across the face with one wing. Apparently it could.

"Would a fine fish, caught with mine own hands, serve as sufficient apology?" Thor asked.

Landing on the ground away from the slowly spreading pus and filth, the eagle surveyed him imperiously, judging him. Even standing awkwardly, it was quite a size, its head almost of a level with his waist. Inspection completed, it gave a dubious crawk.

"You doubt my ability to catch a suitable fish?" Thor asked, affronted.

The eagle gave an insouciant shrug.

Thor found his eyes narrowing. "Challenge accepted, my feathered friend."

There was a cough, breaking the developing staredown between god and bird.

"Is…what is she?" Halvdan asked, gesturing at the eagle like it might take offence if he pointed.

Thor looked between them. "She is an eagle," he said.

"You're talkin' to her," Vali said, as if that might clear things up.

"I speak with Trumpetter, my mammoth friend, all the time," Thor said, dismissive. "Rare is the being that I cannot share words with."

The two men shared a glance. "Right," Halvdan said. He swallowed, eyes flitting to the bear and the fist that had clenched lightning. "Godly one."

"Lord Thor is fine," Thor said. He glanced up at the sky; it was still fair despite the odd grey cloud. "Do you require an escort back to your village?"

"Go- Lord Thor?" Halvdan asked. He stood as if expecting the shale beneath him to give way at any moment.

"I understand this venture was your way to determine my intentions," Thor said, patient, "but if you were confident enough to leave your people, then you must be faring well enough. Am I wrong?"

"No, Lord Thor," Halvdan said with a swallow. Vali seemed more than happy to let his chief do the talking.

"Then I will not presume to burden you with my presence," Thor said. "If you find yourselves in need, reach out to Vinteerholm. I am minding the town while its chief is away."

"Bad history with the chief," Halvdan said, lip curling.

"Not this one," Thor said, shrugging. "It is Tyra of the red hair and two axes who reigns now."

Vali grew interested, feeling safer now that topics of godhood had been put aside. "Fierce fighter. Wouldna picked her as a chief."

"She promised to pursue those taken," Thor said, "and she did so." The eagle gave an impatient flap of her wings. "Now if you will excuse me, I have a fish to catch."

Axe flew to hand, and he took to the sky, the eagle following in his wake with several mighty wingbeats. Before long, both were small dots in the sky, heading south.

Back on the ground, Halvdan and Vali shared a long look. There were some things that a man couldn't be expected to deal with absent a strong drink, and neighbours claiming godhood dropping in to check on them were one of them. They turned for home, and the spirits waiting for them there. An empty hillside was left in their wake, only the rustle of trees in the wind and the squeak of a rat as it fled the bear den to break the quietness.

X

Thor was not a renowned fisherman, but he was a god, and there was little the river denizens could do in the face of his might. He stood in the shallows of some swift flowing rapids, form still and intent, waiting for the right moment. Movement caught his eye, and he struck.

"Ha!" Thor said as he pulled a creature the length of his arm from the white waters, unmindful of the cold or how they left his beard and hair soaked. "For you, noble eagle."

Nearby, perched on a low hanging branch of a tree that extended over the rapids, the eagle inspected his catch critically. The scales glimmered silver, and its jagged teeth tried fruitlessly to chew through the thumb Thor had hooked into its mouth, powerful body flexing about in vain. A moment later, she turned her nose up and away, as if sniffing.

"What?" Thor asked in consternation. "This is a fine catch."

The eagle turned back to him, yellow eyes judging. She looked from him to the fish and back deliberately, before turning away again with a disapproving clack of her beak.

Mismatched eyes narrowed in response. It was clear that there was something more about this eagle, a superior specimen indeed, but that was no excuse for such unreasonably high standards. "This is as large a catch as you might find in this river," he protested.

This time a derisive screech was his answer, and the eagle stretched her wings, as if measuring.

"I cannot provide you with a fish larger than the river allows," Thor said, frowning, free hand going to his hip.

The eagle squawked, taunting, stabbing her beak towards him.

"What, you - you think it my effort that is lacking?" Thor asked. "This is a fair bounty when you were not so much as splashed by the bile!"

An offended screech answered him, and the eagle flapped her wings, taking to the air and leaving the river behind.

"Fine," Thor said, grumbling to himself. "But this challenge is not yet over!" he shouted up at the bird. He would just have to find a larger fish to uphold his word. But even so…there was something queer about that eagle. He would have to keep an eye on any of its like he saw in the future. There was something about this one, but he knew not if it was to be expected of their kind. She had not come to him in a dream and purged filth from his domain, at least.

Glancing down at the weakly flopping fish he still held, he considered it. Perhaps Kirsa would appreciate the catch, even if an overly picky eagle hadn't.