Warm Welcome

A terrible smile graced Thanos' visage. "I am inevitable." His fingers snapped--and nothing happened. Confusion bloomed.

Tony Stark stared him down, heart heavy with duty. "And I...am...Iro--"

Heavy boots hit the scorched earth next to him, lightning crackling in the air. "No," Thor said. He laid a hand on the shoulder of the Man of Iron.

Steve Rogers joined them, bruised, bloodied, shield shattered and hammer heavy, but still standing tall. "We," he said, grasping Stark's other shoulder. The Stones pulsed, each to its own beat.

Thanos lunged for them, denial and wrath on his face.

"We are Avengers," they spoke, and Stark's fingers snapped.

And then things went sideways.

X

The wind whistled in Thor's ears, tugging at his beard as he lay upon a pillow of clouds. He felt weightless. A chill took him, and he reached for his blanket.

Suddenly, he was not so weightless, instead flipping end over end as he tumbled through the air. His hair whipped at his face as he passed through a layer of clouds, and what had been a pleasant moment became a jumbled rush as he was tossed every which way. The wounds given to him by the Mad Titan still pained him, but they were a secondary concern to the ground that was rapidly approaching. It was an untamed land, full of colossal mountains reaching towards the sky, and covered in snow. The chill holding him grasped him all the tighter as he fell, the cold seeping into his bones. A flurry of snow blinded him for but a moment, and when his sight cleared he realised he was rather close to one of those mountaintops. Moments from impact, he considered shielding his head, but could only find the will to close his eyes.

A thunderous crash announced Thor's arrival in this new world, echoing through the valleys. Stone splintered and avalanches crashed down, the very land greeting him. Long minutes passed before calm returned to the mountains.

Atop the mountain, Thor simply lay in the impact crater, staring up at the sky as he sucked in a breath. His body felt strained, like his essence had been stretched further than it was meant to be, and his mind was tired, as he had often felt after lessons with his father as a youth. Thanos was no more, not merely dead but gone, and the bill had come due. There was always a price. Perhaps if he didn't get up, he wouldn't have to confront it...or perhaps it had already been paid.

He groaned, before he found the will to leverage his bulk, shifting slowly until he was sitting upright. The hole his wake had left in the clouds was already filling in, but for a brief moment, he glimpsed a thing of rare beauty though it. An aurora borealis, weaving through the sky, shining blue. The stars behind it seemed to ripple and weave, distorted, but then the clouds covered the sight, and the sky was grey once more. Thor dragged his gaze away, taking in his surroundings. He wasn't quite on the peak, but he was near it, on an open stretch of stone. He brushed stone fragments off his hoodie, picking a loose stone out of the fingerless gloves he wore.

For a long moment, he simply sat and stared, unseeing, as he looked out over the mountains. There was a weariness in his bones, the kind that sets in after a great burden has been lifted. Thanos was dead, but what came thence?

Thor barked a laugh, surprising himself. Thanos was dead, he could feel it in his gut. He had laid a hand on Tony's shoulder, taking on the burden of the Stones, and he had felt the connection to the universe when the Man of Iron made his demand of them. "Who is inevitable now, you great purple ballsack," he said, and he couldn't help but laugh. He put on a deep voice, "I am inevitable," he said, before snapping his fingers and putting on a look of shock, laughing again.

The cold mountain bore witness as the laughter rang out into the void, and tears spilled from Thor's face. With an effort of will, he brought himself under control, drowning the hysterics that threatened to erupt again. Thanos was dead, those he had killed were returned to life, and he was stranded in an unfamiliar world.

Well, it wasn't the first time.

With a grunt, Thor heaved himself to his feet, and began to make for the summit. It wasn't far, but it gave him time to gather his thoughts as he crunched through the snow. He stuck his hands into the pockets of his hoodie to warm them, and gave a small noise of delight when he found a plastic package. He retrieved the Lunchable, and peeled it open. He carefully arranged cracker, spam, and cheese substitute into a tower, before cramming it into his mouth and chewing. The snack barely lasted long enough for him to reach the peak, and he stuffed the empty wrapper back into his pocket, brushing crumbs from his beard. There was a small stone outcropping to mark the very tip of the mountain, and he leaned against it.

"Well now, let's see what we have here," he said to himself as he surveyed the grandeur of the mountains.

They stretched as far as the eye could see, in whatever direction he cared to look. He was not atop the tallest of them, and the snow lay thick upon them. Deep, wild forests littered the landscape, still green even in the cold. Perhaps this land was one where it was ever winter, like the realm of Canada, as Clint had told him.

In the distance, he could faintly make out some kind of creature flying through the air, but it was far away, and all he could tell was that it seemed to be circling, looking for prey. It resembled no beast he knew of, not of Asgard, and certainly not of Midgard or Jotunheim, but then he was hardly the Master of Hunts.

A new scent caught his attention, and he sniffed, chasing it. Smoke was on the wind. Smoke and blood. He cast around for it, and down in the valley he saw a number of small smoke pillars starting to rise from the edge of the forest that grew on the side of his mountain. Distantly, he heard a cry.

Before he realised what he was doing, he had taken a step towards the cry, uncaring of the sheer drop before him. He would survive it unharmed, sure, but tumbling down the mountainside would just be undignified.

"Mother always wanted me to look before I leapt," Thor said. He raised an arm, hand outstretched, calling Stormbreaker.

There was no response...until there was. The axe set the air to humming as it sped towards him, falling from the sky to collide with his palm with a thwack. A storm kindled anew in his chest, and overhead, thunder boomed.

Thor stepped off the mountain, falling quickly, his hair trailing behind him. He would have been dashed against the mountainside, but for Stormbreaker granting him the gift of flight, and he kept his distance from it until the ground neared. From down here, the smoke was more visible, several curling pillars speaking of fire and destruction. He landed with a heavy thud, kicking up dirt and snow, surrounded by trees. The smoke was to the north, but the scent of blood had shifted, or at least spread, further south now. He remembered the plaintive cry, and began to make for the scent of blood.

The forest was old, even the smallest trees thicker than his own body several times over. Their roots were taller than a man in places, the frost covering them giving them the appearance of grasping fingers of bone, digging into the dirt. He leapt over them, the sound of his passage loud in the silence of the forest. There were few animals to be seen, even to one as perceptive as he.

Another cry was carried by the wind, a cry of pain and fear. He was drawing near. The forest ended suddenly, from enormous old growth to open valley, and he stared out into the whiteness. In the distance he could make out the source of the smoke, the burning remains of what was once a village by a small river, more a stream really. Blood was heavy on the air, sitting thick on his tongue, and he could tell dark work had been done this day.

Between the village and the treeline, a mass of figures approached. Some were desperate, all but falling over themselves as they fled their pursuers, while others were doggedly determined. Some carried possessions, others children, yet more nothing at all. Behind them came the hunters, easily keeping pace. They hollered and jeered at those they pursued, spurring them on for the sick joy of the hunt. They carried torches, and were clad in animal furs. Humans.

One of the hunted collapsed suddenly, unable to go further. The hunters did not even slow, simply trampling the form into the ground.

Thor's gaze hardened. If that was how they wished to behave, then that was how he would treat them.

The fleeing villagers must have thought their plight had attracted the amusement of thirsting gods. Grey skies above darkened further, becoming storm clouds in truth. Lightning cracked, striking the forest's edge, seemingly denying them even that futile hope of sanctuary. Booming thunder near deafened them as the lighting struck the same place, again and again. The warriors chasing them laughed, calling out a claim on this or that piece of meat and prey.

Then, from the woods came a figure. Blond of hair he was, his beard braided with silver. An enormous axe he bore in one hand, and he wore armour the likes of which they had never seen. His eyes were not that of mortal man, an unrelenting storm held within them. He advanced, and the villagers scattered around him, hoping that his attention would turn to someone else, not daring to utter a prayer to the gods lest they draw their eye further. Their hopes were answered, not because he struck at their neighbours - but because he struck at those chasing them. They streamed past the newcomer, not daring to meet his eyes.

Thor flexed his power. Lightning arced, dancing between the hunters and cooking them in place. By their weapons and warcries, they clearly fancied themselves warriors, but Thor would not give them the satisfaction. Some forty savages abandoned their quarry to charge him, and he was all too pleased to meet them.

For all their foolhardy bravery, they were not worth the truth of his power. Stormbreaker cut four men in half in a single swing, and crushed two more on the backhand, knocking the remains of their corpses into a third. Blood stained the snow.

To their credit, the barbarians continued in their doomed attempt to strike him down until there were but three of them left. The last of them tried to flee, but they had no chance. Two were bisected as they turned to run, and the last was crushed under his boots when he leapt after them. A cold wind blew in the aftermath of the tussle, the scent of blood drowning out all else. Quiet descended.

Thor turned back to the trees to see the villagers peering out from their transient safety, having ceased their flight to watch the slaughter in shock. He waved, wiping blood from his cheek with the back of his hand. No one waved back, but some began to emerge from the forest, and more followed.

They were a miserable people, wearing the crudest of furs and cloth. There were no fighters amongst them, only elderly, the young, and the infirm. All bore the signs of a hard life, many were injured, and all were shivering in the cold.

"Praise to Tchar!" shouted an old woman. "Delivered we be by their whims!"

"Praise!" "Praise! "Praise!"

Pain lanced through Thor's brow, as a sense he didn't know he had pulsed in agony. It was like looking at the sun after a lifetime in Jotunheim. He felt his eyes glow, and he was unable to keep back a growl of anger and pain, deep in his throat.

"I am not Tchar," he said in the sudden silence.

The old woman cowered, clutching her thin shawl close.

"Who are you then?" a young man asked, brave enough to draw Thor's attention. He was missing an eye, a tattered bandage wrapped around his head soaked in blood. One arm was held in a sling, and a small girl clutched at his leg, half to hide, half for warmth.

"I am Thor, son of Odin," he said simply. The words carried weight to them, and the young man swallowed as he heard them.

"Who do you serve then?" a gnarled grandfather missing a hand asked.

"From what tribe do you hail?"

"What are you?"

"Enough," Thor boomed, and they were silent. He surveyed the people before him, setting Stormbreaker before him and leaning on it. He was not just tired, he was weary. He allowed his armour to fade away, dismissed now that it was no longer needed. The people murmured at the seidr. The strange pain he had felt was fading, and he had a decision to make. "Night is falling. Are there any foes remaining in your village?"

"That was all of them that the Hound sent," the man with one eye said.

The new sense pulsed again, but this time it was only a strange pressure, no pain. He ignored it for now, his attention caught by the blue lips of the girl child. She wore a thin shift and little else, not even shoes, and her lips were turning blue. Her lank brown hair was already frozen.

"Girl," Thor said. "Come here."

The girl didn't move, but whether that was from fear or because she was frozen in place, Thor couldn't tell. He stepped towards her, and the one eyed man who was surely her brother stepped in his way, poorly hidden terror in his eyes.

"Your actions do you credit," Thor said, picking him up gently and shifting him aside. He knelt down, unzipping his hoodie. "Come, child. You need warmth."

The girl hesitated for only a moment, already feeling the heat radiating from Thor's body. She darted in, bony limbs wrapping around his torso, and he zipped up the hoodie to keep her in place. Her shivering eased, and she clutched at him.

"Are there any other children in danger?" Thor asked.

A quick inspection said no, the few other children either in better clothing or still held by their parents. They would not remain so for long though, and the temperature was still dropping.

"We will return to your village, and then I will answer your questions," Thor said. "As will you answer mine." He received no answer, but that was a response of itself. There were none who would gainsay him here.

The village was the better part of a kilometre away, and they began the trek back. Many of the survivors threaded through the gory remnants of the raiders, but some took a perverse pleasure in traipsing through their remains, many spitting on them. After that glut of blood however, the only corpses to pass were their less fortunate neighbours, and the mood turned grim once more. Some had been trampled, as Thor had seen, but others had been cut and left to bleed out, while others had been beheaded. The bodies were left where they lay, none of the people having the energy to do more than lay a hand on those that meant something to them.

In time, they reached the village. Much of it was half burnt, or at least charred, save the longhouse in its centre. That had been left untouched, the raiders perhaps planning on using it themselves after they'd had their sport. A small river ran along the far side, much of the village's buildings arranged in relation to it. There were more corpses in the village streets, and these had died more violently, killed in the initial moments of the attack.

For a moment, the villagers took in what remained of their homes. Some swore, while others wept quietly. Some were just empty, kneeling by the body of a loved one. It was a dark scene, but none of the villagers seemed surprised. Thor stroked the hair of the child he held. It had been a long time since he had been witness to such butchery, even the chaotic days after the destruction of the Bifrost seeming more a skirmish in light of it.

Ahead, a pile of corpses twitched, and Thor raised his weapon. Any creature that attacked him while he bore the child would have little time to regret it. It was no creature that crawled out from under the mutilated bodies, however, but a child.

The one eyed young man swore an oath. He hadn't strayed more than an arm's length from Thor since he had taken up his sister, but now he rushed forward, gathering up the child, uncaring of the viscera coating them. He wiped the blood from their face, and a twin to the girl Thor carried was revealed.

Thor watched the quiet moment of joy amongst the remains of their lives, and it eased something in him. He glanced down, and saw the girl he carried peering up at him from inside his jacket. He smiled at her, and she buried her face in his chest again.

Now that they had arrived, the villagers seemed to mill about without direction, unsure of where to turn. Those whose homes had not been completely destroyed were searching them for what they could find, while the less fortunate just stared listlessly at their own. At a glance, there were nigh on one hundred people standing in the shattered remains of their lives.

"We will gather in the longhouse this night," Thor called out, drawing their attention. "Bring what you can find to help your neighbours." He looked between them all, gauging their response, but there were no complaints. "You will survive only by the efforts of your fellows."

He made his way towards the longhouse, and the one eyed man kept with him, holding his still bloody sister.

"You, what is your name?" Thor asked him.

"Wolfric," he said, but offered no more.

Despite how close Wolfric had stayed to him, he had never left his right side, always keeping his good left eye on him. Thor said nothing of it, approving of the dedication the man showed to his sisters.

The longhouse was a simple building, but well made. Its top looked like an upturned ship's hull, and a pair of wide red doors provided entry. Inside was warm and well lit, a rectangular firepit running nearly the length of the building in the centre. Coals still burned within it.

Behind him, more people filtered inside, seeking warmth, and soon every surviving member of the village was inside, taking seats at one of the several long tables on either side of the firepit. At the far end of the hall was what could only be called a throne, the head of a twelve point buck mounted above it. Thor eyed it with distaste, but approached it all the same. He sat, and some of the tension in those watching him eased. This was something they understood. He made to detach the limpet he carried, but she refused to budge, and he didn't try very hard. Stormbreaker sat beside his thro--his chair.

"You had questions," Thor said into the hall. "Ask them."

"Which of the Four do you serve," Wolfric asked. His eye bored into Thor's.

"What's your tribe?"

"Are you man, or are you other?"

More questions came, but Thor raised a hand for silence, and he received it.

"I serve no one," Thor said.

"You used your gifts openly," Wolfric argued, ignoring the people near him trying to quiet him. "We witnessed your magics. If you do not serve Tchar -"

There was no pain this time, but again there was the same feeling of pressure. Thor was reminded of presenting himself to the court of his father for the first time, the eyes of all present upon him.

"I serve no one," Thor said, something about the question stoking his anger. "I am Thor Odinson. If I owe my service to anyone it is the people of Asgard, who know me as their King, for all who would threaten them have fallen before my might. God of Thunder I am, slayer of Titans and would be kings." He stared out at the hall, suddenly realising that he had begun to rise to his feet, unsettling the girl on his lap. He coughed, sitting back down. "I'm also the strongest Avenger, which is the most important part, really."

Mutters whipped through the hall, all repeating the same word. 'God', they said, 'god, god, god'.

The pressure grew, and Thor pushed back. After a moment, it eased, like a cat only leaving because it had chosen to. He was left feeling strained in a way he couldn't explain.

Briefly, Thor considered asking them just who these 'Four' were, but something told him the question would shatter whatever relative calm there was. He put it aside for now. Whatever sorcerer kings had let this realm fall into such neglect were the problem of tomorrow, not tonight.

"Now that I have answered your questions, I have some of my own."

The villagers braced themselves, as if for something terrible.

"I want to know...what realm this is," Thor said.

Looks were exchanged, disbelief common. None answered, until Wolfric spoke up. He seemed to have been nominated spokesman somehow.

"This is Norsca, God of Thunder," he said.

"Ah yes, Norsca," Thor said. "And you are the Norscans, of course."

"We are Baersonlings," Wolfric said. He was staring hard at Thor, even as he held his sister with his good arm.

Thor began to sweat. "Your attackers were not Baersonlings then," he said.

Wolfric shook his head slowly. "They were Aeslings, seeking the favour of the Hound."

Again, the pressure, but it vanished quickly, as if bored.

"I see," Thor said. He really wanted to know who these Four were, but it was definitely not the time, not after the reaction he had gotten to his questions. "I think that will be all for tonight. You all need to rest and recover, and we can speak on the morrow."

The villagers began to rise, as if released from an audience, quick to see to their needs. There was food to be distributed, and many would need to clean themselves before they could sleep, but his attention was not needed for that.

"May I…" Wolfric swallowed, whetting his lips. "May I have my sister back?"

"Of course," Thor said. He rose to his feet, careful not to disturb the child he held. Unzipping his hoodie, he offered her to her brother.

Wolfric approached, holding out his arms. "Come Elsa," he whispered. "Astrid needs your help."

The now named Elsa grumbled incoherently, more asleep than not, but let go of her grip on Thor and reached out to her brother. Thor couldn't help but beam at the child, but by the look he received from Wolfric that might not have been the best idea.

An old crone approached him, forcing her old bones into a bow. "God of Thunder, it isn't much, but we want you to have the chieftain's room, at the rear of the hall," she said. "It has a bed, and a bath."

"The children should take it," Thor said.

But the crone was shaking her head, pale. "We could not. You would have to sleep out here, with all of us, or worse, be turned from our hall."

"Ah," Thor said. Clearly they didn't want him listening in as they discussed him. "Then I shall be honoured to take the chieftain's quarters." He paused. "...what was it that happened to the chieftain?"

"His torso is by the docks, his head is in the market, and his legs are down the well," the crone said flatly. "The door is over there." She pointed to a narrow door in the wall behind the chair.

They stared at each other for a moment.

"I'll just be going then," Thor said. He backed away, taking Stormbreaker as he went, until he reached the door. He fumbled with it for a moment, never breaking eye contact with the old woman, until he found the handle. He pushed at it, and discovered it was pull, and then he finally left the hall behind, putting the entire awkward affair behind him as he closed the door again. He turned, allowing himself to slump against the door.

The room was simple by his eye, but likely well appointed or even luxurious to the villagers. It held a bed, covered in furs, and a table with various knick knacks on it. A carved whalebone caught his eye, but there was also a tooth, and a claw of some unknown beasts, both larger than his hand.

Inspecting the room further could wait. He had had a very, very, very long day, and it was finally at an end. He blew out what remained of a candle that sat on the table, casting the room into darkness, and then he collapsed into bed, seeking the sweet release of oblivion.

Of course, it eluded him. At first it was the winds that blew along the longhouse, an unfamiliar room with unfamiliar creaks keeping him awake. Then it was the people out in the hall, some weeping now that they finally had a moment to themselves, others just trying to scrub off the blood or see to their wounds.

Finally it was his mind, unwilling or unable to let things go. Setting out to the past. Seeing his mother, one last time. Returning, and seeing Clint and the empty space at his side that should have held Natasha. He had lost many brothers and sisters in arms over the years, but some he felt more keenly than others.

Stormbreaker's edge, slowly being pushed into his chest, realising that he was going to die because he was too weak, because he had allowed himself to diminish, and that his weakness was going to lead to untold suf-

There was a knock at the door.

Thor tossed off the furs, eager for the distraction. He cracked open the door, and beheld a young woman, one of the villagers. "Can I assist you?"

"I am sorry to disturb you, godly one," the woman said. She was playing with her hair, and Thor noticed that she had changed into what passed for sleepwear. "You - you saved my life, and that of my family. I wanted to thank you."

"Saving people is what heroes do," Thor said. He had been thanked many times, by all manner of people for all manner of deeds, but he felt his spirits rise, nonetheless.

The woman bit her lip. "No, godly one," she said. She stepped on her shift, drawing it tight against her body, and her nipples strained against the rough cloth. "I wanted to thank you."

Thor gazed upon her shadowed form, the thin fabric hiding less than the darkness, and even that peeled away by his keen eyes, laying the full roundness of her breasts clear to him. But no. It wouldn't be right, not for her, and not for him.

"On another night, I would be sorely tempted," Thor told her. "But on this night, I am weary, in body and soul, and you have suffered a loss. Your thoughts may be different under the morning sun, and I would not take advantage of your grief."

The woman seemed disappointed, her hazel eyes dimming. "You are kind, godly one," she said. She stepped back. "Perhaps another night."

He smiled at her, closing the door as she left. The moment it was closed, his smile disappeared. He turned back to the bed, and crawled into it once more. Tonight, he only wanted to spend time with his ghosts. He deserved a night to grieve, at the least.

This time, sleep found him quickly.

X x X

Thor dreamed.

He dreamed of Asgard, Old and New and all at once, green fields and pleasant seas surrounding a city of towering gold. He walked along a dirt path, frost flurries dancing before him as he approached the grand gates of the city, the wall they sat in rising hundreds of feet into the air. Flowers bloomed in the fields on either side, and faceless children frolicked within them. Standing before the gates, barring the way, was a familiar figure. Their gold armour gleamed under the sun.

"Heimdall," Thor said, coming to a stop. No one, not even the King of Asgard, could cross its threshold without dealing with the watcher.

"My King," Heimdall said. He did not look to him as he spoke, his gaze fixed on the path from which Thor had approached, tracking something unseen. One hand rested on the horn at his belt, wary.

Ever had Heimdall kept a wary eye on threats to the people of Asgard, and it was a foolish king who ignored him.

"What do you see?" Thor asked.

"I see dangers on the horizon. I see rival kingdoms," Heimdall said. He turned his gaze briefly to Thor. "I see a fragile foundation."

"Tell me of these dangers," Thor commanded.

"Bloodlust, Manipulation, Excess, Decay," Heimdall said. A shadow pressed down on the two men with each word, despite the clear sky. "You must be wary, for they know of your coming."

Thor could feel the pressure again, and he tired of it. He pushed back at it, as he had in the waking world, but this time it was easy, and the presences were banished. The shadow passed, and light held sway once more.

"The day will come where you must do more than simply avert their gaze," Heimdall said.

Stormclouds began to form overhead, spawning from nothing as they roiled in the sky. Despite them, light still shone down on Asgard, and they felt more like a shield than a threat.

"Woe be to them on that day," Thor said.

Heimdall smiled, a predatory thing, one that the enemies who had sought to force entry to Asgard in the past would have recognised, had they still lived. "As you say, my King."

Thor inspected the fields of his domain briefly, but decided against interrupting the lives of his subjects. The way his people felt pressured to revere him was one of his least favourite parts of kingship. Even as he made the decision, the gates of Asgard proper began to draw open, great edifices of gold and steel inviting him to walk further up and further in. He clapped Heimdall on the shoulder and left him to his duty.

"Thor," the watcher called, and Thor turned back. Steve Rogers stared at him, in the same golden armour. "You take care of yourself now."

X

Thor woke with a sharp breath, Stormbreaker flying into his hand. The room was empty and still, and his gaze darted around, seeking what had disturbed him.

There was a rap on the door, and he relaxed. He rolled out of bed with a groan, adjusting himself. It was never comfortable to sleep fully clothed, but he had been weary. He still was, but it was no longer a tiredness of the body, but the soul, one that only time and good cheer could cure. He opened the door, and the young woman from last night was there.

"Good morrow, godly one," she said. She met his eyes only briefly, looking down demurely.

"Gooood," Thor cracked open a yawn, "morning. What time is it?"

"The sun has been up for three hours, godly one," she said.

He'd overslept then. "Call me Lord Thor." He knew better than to insist on familiarity with one who saw him as a god. "What's your name?"

"Aslaug, Lord Thor," Aslaug said. In the light of day, or in as much light as the shutters of the longhouse allowed in, he could see that she was a woman grown indeed, blonde hair done up in two buns. Her woollen dress was poor quality, but the furs she wore would have been the envy of many.

"Did you need something?" Thor asked.

"Oh!" Aslaug started. "We've set aside a meal for you, Lord Thor. And…I wanted to apologise, for coming to you as I did last night. I don't know what came over me."

Thor brightened at the idea of food. "Say nothing of it; yesterday was a hard day. Where is this food you mentioned?"

"At your seat, Lord Thor," Aslaug said. "It awaits you, I must get back to my tasks." Her nerves apparently failed, and she almost fled from his door.

Thor's emergence into the longhouse proper did not go unnoticed, and the two dozen or so villagers still present did their best to watch him without making it apparent. Caution was first in their gazes, and he couldn't blame them. They were the young, the elderly, and the injured, and they still had little grasp of his measure.

As Aslaug had promised, a plate sat on the wide armrest of the chieftain's chair that he had temporarily - very temporarily - claimed for himself. It was surprisingly heavy given that the village had been sacked the previous day, with a freshly cooked fish on a bed of onion and leek, and a tankard of ale beside it. Thor drained half the tankard before he had even sat down, and dug in eagerly. There was no cutlery to be seen, and he began to pick chunks of fish from the skeleton to gobble down.

He was halfway through his meal before it occurred to him to think beyond his hunger. Perhaps it was simply that he had risen late, and all present had already eaten, but he could not help but notice that there were no traces of a recently eaten meal in the hall. At one of the tables, near where the coals in the firepit were brightest, a cluster of children watched him eat with unblinking intensity. Elsa and Astrid were amongst them, not covered in gore or touched by frost as they had been the previous night, but still far from what a child should look like.

Thor swallowed the strip of fish he had torn off, finding it suddenly bitter. He glanced at what was left of the fish; it had been the size of his bicep and near the length of his arm, and there was still plenty of meat on it. He rose, taking the plate with him, and approached the children.

The elderly and the injured had been keeping their hands busy with what small tasks they could, mending clothes or whittling arrows, but all seemed to tense as he neared the children. They watched, and he pretended he did not see their unease.

Of the nine children, Elsa and Astrid were the only ones who did not look away from his plate in wariness.

"I have eaten my fill, but there is still food on my plate," Thor said to them. "Would you all like to share the remains?" He set it on the table.

There was a moment where the children darted glances between the food, himself, and each other, before the air changed and it looked like each child was going to do battle with the others.

Thor made a warning sound, and they froze. "Share," he stressed. "Can I trust you to make sure your friends each get as much as you do?"

The children eyed each other mistrustfully, but under Thor's expectant gaze, they nodded. He beamed at them, and gestured for them to eat. As they descended upon the plate like an orderly pack of wolves, he took a moment to inspect them. Most seemed well enough, save for a few scratches and bumps, but one boy had a bruise that covered half his face, and he was eating slowly and carefully. His gaze fell on the twin sisters. Astrid looked like she had been scrubbed to within an inch of her life, noticeably cleaner than the others, and Elsa was bundled up in more furs than he thought was strictly necessary, even should she wander outside. Still, both girls looked far better than they had yesterday. He made to step away, when a thought occurred to him.

He had questions for his hosts, questions he couldn't ask openly without making it clear he was more foreign than they thought. He might be well experienced in the arts of blending in amongst new societies, but he didn't want to push it. Still, if he could speak with the twins out of earshot of the others…

Best not. Beyond how it might look to the villagers if he pulled the girls aside to speak to them alone, he was wary of the pressure he felt with his new sense. It would not do to bring that attention on the children. He would ask Wolfric when the opportunity arose.

"Do you know where your brother is?" Thor asked the twins.

"Outside, fixing things," Elsa said.

"He said he was going to look at the well," Astrid added.

"Thank you Elsa, Astrid," Thor said to them in turn.

The girls shared a startled glance, communicating without words.

Thor was struck with a yearning pang for the days that he and Loki had been like that, able to get themselves into and out of trouble with hardly a word. Those days would not come again, and there was little use lingering on them in his current troubles. He left the children behind, ignoring the faint hunger he still felt, and made his way out of the longhouse.

The elders and injured still snuck glances at him, but they were less fearful, more trying to puzzle him out, like he was a bilgesnipe that had wandered into the tavern and asked for mead.

Outside, the day was as pleasant as could be hoped, only mostly freezing instead of completely freezing. Hints of blue sky peered through the clouds, and the wind was hardly worth mentioning. The carnage wreaked by the raiders had been partly cleared away, or at least the worst of it had been. The scent of death on the air told Thor that the villagers had carried the bodies of their neighbours to the south side of the village, away from the river. Now they focused on clearing away burnt dwellings, salvaging what they could.

He headed deeper into the village, seeking the well, and answers. Heads were bowed as he passed, and he acknowledged them with a wave. Most were women, and the few men present were all injured in some way. Briefly, he thought that perhaps he should have brought his axe with him, lest he have to call it through the walls of the longhouse, but faint was the chance that he would face a foe worthy of it on this morning walk.

When he reached the village centre, he found what he sought. Wolfric stood by the well, a stone construction with a wooden roof. He held a pole, poking about in the well with it, and a single frozen leg sat on the ground beside him. Nearby, a hairy dog eyed it speculatively.

"Wolfric," Thor said in greeting.

Wolfric was startled by his call, and jerked his head around to pin his eye on him. He still wore the same dirty bandage as he had the previous day. "God of Thunder," he said, lowering his gaze.

"Call me Lord Thor," Thor said. "How goes it?"

Wolfric scowled, looking like he'd very much like to spit. "Badly," he said. "We've few enough able bodies left after the skirmishes. If you hadn't walked out of the forest when you did…"

"Well, I take offence to those who call themselves warriors because they prey on the defenceless," Thor said.

Wolfric grumbled, and returned to poking about in the well with his pole. "Our god didn't save us, and theirs didn't save them." He looked like he wanted to say more, but held his tongue after a glance at Thor.

"What is the state of the village?"

"Poisoned well, livestock driven off, burnt buildings, and the chance that more Aesling cunts might come when their ship doesn't return," Wolfric said. He pointed his chin towards the longship that still sat in the river by the village. Through the gaps in the village left by fire, Thor could see that it was still untouched.

"Would they not avoid the place that their fellows vanished?" Thor asked.

"Not if they think there's a good fight to be had," Wolfric said.

"An execution is hardly a fight," Thor said, but he frowned in consideration.

Wolfric grunted, and cursed to himself again as he failed to do whatever he was attempting with the pole. "Fucking useless chieftan in life, fucking annoyance in death."

Thor glanced down the well. It was wide enough for two men to stand in, and just over a man's height in depth. He could make out what looked like another leg still within it. "Bottoms up," Thor said, and he grabbed Wolfric by the ankles and tipped him in.

Wolfric yelped and struggled, but stilled when his presence of mind returned and he realised Thor still held him in a firm grip. He was lowered, and he grabbed the leg. "Got it," he called through gritted teeth.

Thor pulled him up easily, and set him back on his feet. "A manly shriek is perfectly normal," he assured the man. "And that's one problem solved."

The pale Norscan looked like he wanted to grumble, but held his tongue, dropping the limb with its fellow.

"What need for a well by the river?" Thor asked.

"Can't be sure what's been put in the water upriver," Wolfric said. He pulled his wool shirt closer to himself as a bitter wind carved through the village streets, collarbones prominent under it.

"You should eat more, my skinny friend," Thor said.

"Not all of us can grow fat off snow and bark," Wolfric said, but then he froze, like a rabbit before a hawk, hoping to avoid notice.

Thor only laughed. He slapped his gut, setting it to jiggle, but felt something strange in his pocket. A quick investigation revealed a Lunchable, and he stared at it in confusion. He could have sworn he had already eaten it. "Here," he said, peeling it open and offering it to the man. Looking at him closer, Thor would be surprised if he was more than twenty. "A novelty from a foreign land."

However queer the wrapping may have appeared, Wolfric was quick to gobble the snack down. "Praise to Lord Thor for the bounty," he said, almost under his breath.

Thor felt uncomfortable for a moment, a strange feeling on the back of his neck, but he waved him off. "'Tis but a snack. You said the livestock had fled?"

"Bastards broke open the pens and cages as they herded us out of the village," Wolfric said. "Not a beast remains, and if they haven't all been eaten or frozen to death out there I'll take out my other eye. It'll be slim pickings for us in the coming days."

"There was a bounty of food awaiting me when I was roused," Thor said.

Wolfric looked at him blankly. "Of course there was."

"I would prefer that the children are fed first," Thor said.

"You're the god of thunder," Wolfric said, eyeing him as if suspecting a trick.

"And I would prefer the children be fed first," Thor repeated firmly.

"I will tell the others," Wolfric said slowly.

"Good," Thor said, smiling. "Now, the well is saved from poisoning. What next?"

"Food," Wolfric said. "If we don't replenish our stores soon, Spot will be on the spit next," he said grimly, nodding to the hairy dog that was still nearby.

Thor looked over at the happily panting dog, putting up with the attentions of two teens, taking a break from their work. "We can't have that," he said.

"We need wood to rebuild, we need to see to that longship and whatever nastiness they've left in it, we need to watch for more fucking Aeslings, and then we need to think about how we're going to survive the winter if our neighbours have been hit like we were," he finished. "Can't trade with the dead."

Thor considered him for a long moment. "You are not my people, but it would be low of me to abandon those I have the ability to help. I will help you regain your feet, if you would accept my aid."

Wolfric stared at him, single eye unreadable. "Aye," he said at length. "We would be grateful, God of Thunder."

"So then," Thor said, clapping his hands together as he considered the problem. "What to do first."

Wolfric offered no suggestions, only watching him think. He made a subtle gesture of reassurance to someone out of Thor's sight that he pretended not to notice.

"How close is the nearest sea?" Thor asked. "A large sea creature would be valuable for more than its meat."

"Weeks of hard travel," Wolfric said. He made to scratch at the skin beneath his bandage, but forced himself away.

"What if, I don't know, you could fly?" Thor asked.

Wolfric peered at him. "Still a few days, and that's if something with wings didn't take you for a meal - well," he corrected himself. "Didn't delay you, anyway."

"Pity," Thor said.

"You might find a mammoth herd, a few valleys over," Wolfric said. He gestured to the west. "Something was driving them this way; they don't usually wander so close."

"Then that is where I shall go," Thor said. He made to leave, before remembering one of his father's lessons. He patted Wolfric awkwardly on the shoulder. "Good job," he said.

Wolfric looked between Thor's hand, lingering on his shoulder, and his face. He made what could charitably be called a smile, revealing yellow teeth.

Thor drew his hand back. "Yes, well. Don't go into the longship while I'm gone, seers only know what they've left in there."

"The wise woman already told us to avoid it," Wolfric said. "I won't cross her."

"Smart move," Thor said. He thought of his mother, and the time he had upset the cooks. He held back a shudder that had nothing to do with the cold. "I'll be back by afternoon."

"As you say, Lord Thor," Wolfric said.

Thor turned and walked away, wishing he'd brought Stormbreaker with him. Departures were much more dramatic when he could simply fly off into the sky.

X x X

With his axe in hand, the landscape below passed in a blur as he weaved in and out of the valleys and mountains. What would be a day or more on foot passed in the blink of an eye. It was a wild, untamed land, devoid of human presence but still teeming with life despite the harsh conditions. He saw a pack of wolves hunting caribou, and marked their location in his mind in case the mammoths did not eventuate.

It was hard to call it a hunt with his advantages, but his task soon bore fruit, even if not in the form that he had expected. He dropped from the sky to land easily on the snow, and took in the scene before him.

A herd of mammoths lay dead, spread out across the open valley. Whatever had killed them had done so with a mighty blow to the back of their necks, and the way the herd was spread out spoke to it being a single beast, picking them off one by one.

The wind whistled mournfully as Thor walked through the dead. It was the only sound for miles around, and he apparently the only living thing. Whatever else called this valley home was either hiding deep in their dens or had fled the predator responsible for the carnage. Even the birds, surely too small to draw the eye of whatever it was that hunted mammoths, were quiet.

Movement ahead caught Thor's eye. One of the corpses was shifting. Without fear, he leapt towards it, his axe pulled back to deliver a mighty blow - but as he neared, he saw that it was no foe. Rather than a hunter burrowing in the guts of its prey, there was a mammoth calf, pressing against its mother's side in a vain attempt to rouse them.

"Oh hey there little guy," Thor said to the calf. It was only slightly taller than himself.

At his words, the calf turned to face him. It lowered its head and rumbled a challenge, before charging.

Thor stopped it with one hand on its head, his boots sinking back into the snow. "Woah there friend," he said. "Sun's getting real - wait, no-"

Enraged by his refusal to be trampled, the calf trumpeted its displeasure, the noise echoing over the valley. It took a few steps back and tried to charge him again.

He let it, again catching it with one hand against its brow. It tried to pull back and headbutt him, but he held firm, letting it scream a mix of outrage and animal grief. He tried to mimic the sounds he had heard Darcy make when she had accidentally stepped on the tail of her cat once, but it didn't seem to be very effective.

In time, the calf began to flag, what energy it had drained by its exertions. When its umpteenth charge proved itself to be more of a slump into him, he allowed it to slip past his hand, and lean into his chest. He ran a hand through its thick fur, scratching behind its ear. It raised its trunk to his shoulder, and rested it there.

"You look like you need a new home, my furry friend," Thor said. "I promise not to eat you, or your mother. What do you say?" He had never worked with the weavers or herders in Asgard, Old or New, but he was sure a mammoth would be a useful beast to keep around, and for more than its meat.

The mammoth calf didn't answer, but it did blow a blast of hot air right into his face. Thor decided to take that as a yes.

"Now, how to get you and tonight's dinner back to your new home," Thor said to himself, looking about. It would be awkward, but he could manage.

But first, perhaps, it would be wise to find whatever had killed them all. It would not do to take to the sky with the calf and a corpse only to be attacked by the beast responsible. The mammoths were not small creatures, and now that he was closer, he could make out the great puncture marks partially hidden beneath their fur.

He guided his new friend back to its mother - he would have to think of a name soon - and persuaded it to settle down, out of the wind as much as possible.

To the sky he took once more, aiming to turn a hunter into the hunted. Around the valley he soared, inspecting every fold and ridge he could, but to no avail. He spied a bear cautiously sniffing the air from the entrance to its cave, but it turned and fled back inside when he passed. His search was fruitless, until he began to think more like his brother. Rather than search for the predator, he would force it to come to him.

Back to the mammoths he went, taking up a middling male by one of its tusks. Encumbered, he rose into the air, and began to drift towards one end of the valley.

"Oh my, what a delicious meal this will be," Thor called loudly. "What luck I have to stumble across the kill of a slower, stupider predator who has done all the work for me."

Thor waited for his cunning gambit to pay off, still drifting away. The moments stretched out, only the wind breaking the silence.

Then, a roar.

From behind a nearby peak, a figure rose, great wings flapping to gain height. It shrieked its outrage at his taunts as it folded its leathery wings back, angling towards him. He grinned, heart beating faster at the promise of combat. This would be a fight worth boasting of.

As the beast drew near, he could make out details. It had the body of a lion, but twisted, and its fang filled maw was too large for its face, jaw unable to fully close. It fell towards him like a thunderbolt through the air, whip-like tail steering its descent, talons outstretched to shred him.

Like a thunderbolt, but not truly. The sky darkened, and true lightning crashed, striking the beast from the sky. It convulsed, thrown off course as it twitched and screamed, passing by harmlessly. It was scant metres from the ground by the time it recovered, batlike wings beating frantically to catch itself. It began to wheel about, fury brimming within it at the position of weakness it had been forced into.

Thor hit it boots first, nearly breaking its spine as its body arced with the impact. The next impact with the ground finished the job, and the furious shrieks turned to high keens of pain. He dealt it a mighty blow to the back of its head with the blunt side of his axe, finishing the job and silencing the beast.

"Ugh," Thor said, screwing his face up in disgust. "You smell worse than a bilgesnipe, you ugly fellow."

The baby mammoth came surging towards him, leaving the safety of its mother's body, and headbutted the dead creature with all of its juvenile strength. When it failed to respond, it raised its trunk and trumpeted its victory.

"Well struck!" Thor told it as he hopped down. "It certainly won't dare to challenge you again."

The calf trotted over to him, pushing its head against his chest. It rumbled deep within its chest, and he rubbed its head. He almost felt guilty about the plan to eat the rest of its herd. Almost, but not quite.

X

"This is Trumpetter," Thor said to Wolfric and the gathered villagers. "Because he trumpets, and he enjoys being petted."

Sadly, they seemed less interested in Trumpetter than in the two corpses he had also arrived with, wide eyed stares flicking between him and them.

It hadn't been easy getting all three of them back to the village, but with Trumpetter draped across his shoulders, and the beast tied to the mammoth corpse by its tail, he had managed. He didn't much like the idea of eating it, not with the repulsive aura it had to it, but perhaps it would make for a decent trophy.

"That's a manticore," Wolfric said. "You killed a manticore."

"Well, I've put on a bit of weight, so when I landed on its back it didn't do so well," Thor explained. "It also killed Trumpetter's herd, so now the little one is going to live here. He's not for eating."

The villagers looked up at the mammoth calf.

"Could be good for the hair," one woman offered.

"Might trample any raiders when he gets bigger," an old man said.

"The children will love riding on him too!" Thor said.

As one, the gathered villagers seemed to look to Wolfric. He set his jaw stubbornly, as if taking on a great burden. "You are generous, Lord Thor," he said. "Ingrid, do you think you could take…Trumpetter, to graze just downstream?"

A woman with a nose that had been badly broken some time in the past eyed the mammoth dubiously. "I'll try."

"Be gentle," Thor admonished his new friend, before nudging him on to follow Ingrid. Obediently, Trumpetter followed, looking briefly back at Thor as if to make sure he wouldn't vanish.

"Erik," Wolfric said. "You and the lads want to get a start on the butchering? The village will eat well tonight."

"Aye, praise be to the god of thunder," another man with violently red hair said.

Thor rubbed his neck, a feeling akin to cool fingers on it.

"You're welcome," he said.

Erik looked up, startled, words failing him. He settled for lowering his head.

"So, what next?" Thor asked.

"Wise woman says the well wasn't sullied long enough for the rot to take," Wolfric said. "Which is a shock, even round these parts."

"Do you not have to worry about such things here?" Thor asked.

"Not as much as them that worship the Unclean one," Wolfric said. He spat to the side, and he wasn't the only one.

Erik and his fellows departed to go about butchering the mammoth, and the other villagers began to filter away too.

Thor eyed the young man who was starting to emerge as the leader amongst the villagers. His need to question him about these 'Four' only grew clearer, but the time was not yet right.

"I will inspect the well," Thor said suddenly, "and then the longship."

"The well?" Wolfric asked.

"The 'unclean one'," Thor said. "I mislike the idea that some mischief has been left to linger."

"As you say, Lord Thor," the young man said.

To the well they went, Wolfric following at his back. There was a cover on the stone rim, which was removed for him, and he stared down into the darkness. He could not say what compelled him so, but a feeling took him, just as it had centuries ago, when his father had first handed Mjolnir to him. Lightning crackled in his fist, and he opened it over the well.

Softly, like the most delicate of snowflakes, sparks fell from his open hand, falling down into the water. Ripples spread from where they touched, and wisps of blue smoke rose from the water. His essence felt strained, just as he had when he had first pushed at the presences that lingered on him last night.

"What did you do?" Wolfric asked, voice low and hoarse.

"Whatever sickness was hidden is now purged," Thor said. "Drink freely."

"By the grace of the thunder god," Wolfric said, and he immediately began to draw a pail.

He drank deeply, and with those words and that action, Thor felt an easing in the strain. "Come," he said. "Let us see to the longship."

X

The longship sat in the river that ran past the village on the north side, shifting gently in the currents. It was anchored by a harpoon that had been hurled into the frozen ground, likely by a raider as they leapt from it, and tied off near the prow. The prow itself took the shape of a snarling dog, and human skulls had been tied to it, many still with flesh rotting off them.

A withered woman stared at the ship, keeping vigil over it. Thor still wasn't the most apt judge of human ages, but despite her appearance, he would put her at barely fifty years.

"Helka," Wolfric said as they joined her.

"Boy," Helka said. Her voice was hoarse, like one who indulged overmuch in the pipe and didn't bother to see the healer. "Godly one."

"Has there been any change?" Wolfric asked.

"None," Helka said. "I like it not. There's the touch of the Hound to it."

"Any of the Hound's get would not have lay in wait all night," Wolfric said.

"Mayhaps," Helka said. "We should still burn it to the waterline."

"I will go aboard," Thor said, finishing his inspection. It was larger than the longships he had seen as a youth in his adventures on Midgard, and the oar ports on the side suggested a lower deck. It was impressive that it had been brought so far inland.

"Your will, godly one," Helka said. She wore a rough cloth satchel over one shoulder, and she clutched it tighter to herself.

With a light jump, Thor was on the deck of the longship, axe in hand. All was quiet.

The deck was stained with blood, new and old, but was in good order otherwise. He paced softly along the vessel, passing by sailor's tools where they had been dropped. At the rear of the ship was an opening, and within a ladder that led below.

"I'm going below," Thor called to the shore. "If you hear lightning, get clear." He didn't wait for a response, stepping off the edge to drop down.

His eyes adjusted at different rates, leaving him to squint for a moment, before his mechanical eye caught up. On the other side of the ladder, a hall ran the length of the ship, and on either side the hold had been divided into compartments. Yet more blood stained the floor, this time in streaks, like it had been left behind by something dragged.

There were five rooms total, two on each side and one on the end. Of the first two, the one on the left was an armoury, bristling with weapons of all shapes and sizes, many of a cruel form and design. On the right was a room of bunks, tightly packed and lacking in comfort. The second was another set aside for sleeping quarters, but this time there was more space and greater comfort. Opposite this was the supply room, holding both food and spare sail, as well as several kegs. Thor cleared them all, footsteps silent, axe at the ready. Then, only the last remained.

The scent of blood grew stronger as he neared, and it was clear that all the streaks of blood led to whatever lay beyond. He snorted, trying to clear the stench from his nostrils, but there was no escaping it. Thor set himself. Whatever charnel house awaited him, he would face as a son of Asgard and an Avenger. He pushed open the door, almost regretting that he had already slain whoever was responsible for whatever surely lay beyond. But what was revealed was unexpected.

It was no torture room or butcher's house, but a bedroom. A bed dominated most of the space, red sheets messy and unkempt. The floor at the foot of it was stained black with blood, and it was clear that hundreds had died on that small patch of wood. A sick feeling spread from it, and Thor felt his gorge rising.

There was movement in a dark corner of the room, beside the bed. He squinted, and after a moment he felt his rage building all over again. What he had done to the raiders was too easy a death.

A woman was chained to the wall there, hands secured above her head. She was naked and covered in dried blood and old wounds. Before her was a skull, angled to face her, and she stared at it, uncaring of anything else.

"Lady," Thor called. "I would aid you." He watched her carefully, but she did not respond, and as far as he could tell, did not hear him. She did not even blink as she stared at the skull.

Thor strode forward, seizing the manacles pinning her arms in place. He tore them apart, and her arms dropped to her sides. In the same moment, he ripped the sheets from the bed and covered her with them, wrapping her carefully and avoiding her wounds. With a warrior's gaze, he could not help but note that despite her captivity, she had a fighter's frame, and that many of her wounds seemed to purposefully hinder her without permanently crippling her.

As he rose, the woman in his arms, he thought about crushing the skull that had captured her mind so completely. He knew not who the skull belonged to, nor what they meant to the woman, and the way she tried to turn to keep her gaze on it only settled his mind. He would make no decision he could not unmake until he had more information.

He left the ship in a hurry, thunder on his face and in the sky, stormclouds having gathered since he first went belowdecks. Several more had joined Wolfric and Helka on the bank, and two looked to be apprentices to the old woman.

"Give her to my girls," Helka snapped. "To my home, quickly."

Thor handed the woman over to the apprentices, and they bore her away swiftly. He was shortly left standing alone with Wolfric.

"You are going to tell me of these 'Four'," Thor said, watching as the wise woman disappeared. He looked to the longship. He could still feel the wrongness in the air, centred on the ship. "You will tell me all you know. What they want. What they hate. Who serves them. What burns at them. Everything." Static was heavy in the air, and the clouds above only darkened.

Wolfric buried his confusion and his fear and nodded. There was nothing else to do.

X

From the longship they walked north, upstream, and away from the village. The only sound was that of their boots crunching in the snow, and the river burbling beside them. An old man watched them leave, before hopping away on his single leg and walking stick. Only when they had well and truly left the village behind did Thor stop, turning back to face Wolfric. Around them was a field of white, the treeline distant. The wind whispered in their ears.

"Speak to me of these Four," Thor commanded.

For a long moment, Wolfric seemed to struggle to find the words. At length, they came to him. "They are the gods," he said. "Their whims decide our fates. We huddle to one, hoping that they will protect us from the others, but they never do. They laugh as we struggle, and thirst for our suffering." Pain and helpless hatred was writ clear on his face.

"To speak their names is to draw their gaze," Wolfric said.

"I have felt it," Thor said. "And when Tchar was praised for the deeds I did in saving your people-"

Presence, sly and mocking, heavy in the air and cloying in his nostrils.

"Begone," Thor thundered, infuriated by the attention of the foul thing, drawn by the mere mention of its name. "I will not bear the presence of such a wretched being, capable only of corruption!"

Wolfric cowered back as Thor's eyes shone white, turning his gaze from the painfully bright light. Thunder boomed and lightning cracked, but not in the world about them, and he did not hear with his ears. After an unbearably long moment, the touch of the divine faded, and he dared to look upon the Lord Thunder once more.

Thor breathed deeply, eyes closed. His arms trembled minutely, and weariness settled about him like a cloak. The attention of the schemer was gone, for now, but it had not been done cheaply. "Perhaps it is wiser not to invite their gaze, as you said," Thor spoke.

Drawing in a shaky breath, Wolfric nodded. "When we teach our children of them, we speak of what they do, their domains, so that they do not hear us so easily."

"Tell me," Thor said.

"They have many names, and more masks," Wolfric said, "but at their heart they are each one thing. Hunger for blood, disease and rot, schemes upon schemes, and unending lust."

"Bloodlust, Decay, Manipulation, and Excess," Thor said.

Wolfric nodded, hunching and shivering in a way that had nothing to do with the cold, almost looking over his shoulder as if fearing what he might find there. "They are the only gods of this land."

"There are more than these Four?" Thor asked.

"There are soft things of the south, but they find no worship here," Wolfric said. "To worship outside of the Four is to become an enemy of all." He snorted in disgust. "Better just to pick one and hope to draw no attention."

"You do not have atheists?" Thor asked.

Wolfric stared at him blankly. "Non-believers? What?"

The very idea was inconceivable then. "Where do these gods reside then, that all know of them?"

"Beyond the Chaos Wastes, in the Realm of Chaos," Wolfric said. It had the air of an oft-repeated truth.

"And none have ever risen up against them?"

Wolfric shook his head slowly. "They are not some warlord that has gained power or wizard that uncovered some secret. They are the Gods."

"Nothing is unassailable," Thor said. "No foe too mighty to be fought."

"These ones are," Wolfric said. "They cannot be fought, only endured." There was no hope in his single eye.

"Am I not a god?" Thor challenged. "You say the southern gods do not tread here, but I am no southern god, and I am here."

"I - as you say, Lord Thor," Wolfric said.

"You do not believe me," Thor said.

"I have seen your power, God of Thunder," Wolfric said. He bowed his head. "I believe."

Thor had tasted of his sincerity earlier, after purifying the well. There was no such sense now. "You are lying to me."

To his knees he fell, not meeting his eyes. "Without you I would have lost one or both of my sisters. Please. I believe."

"You will speak to me with truth on your tongue," Thor said. "You will stand as a man, and you will look me in the eye." There was a strange sound, a squelch and a pop.

At first, Wolfric hunched in on himself even further, but then he put his hands on his knees and laboriously pushed himself to his feet. Slowly he looked up, and he gaped as he saw the empty socket where Thor's right eye had been.

"Speak," Thor said. It was a command that could only be obeyed.

A sudden madness filled him, and he ignored the display he had just seen, the cleansing of the well, the manticore, and the destruction of the Aeslings. "I do not think you are a god," Wolfric said, words spilling out of him. "I think you are a daemon sent by the schemer to test and twist us. I think you are just another chance for pain and suffering in this blighted land." His voice was hoarse, scarcely believing the words he had spoken. "Gods do not walk the earth."

"This one does."

"Then why are you here?" Wolfric demanded. "What do you stand for?"

"I stand for strength," Thor said. "I stand for storms. I stand for the hallowed, the sacred groves where man might meet and talk without fear of betrayal." He thought of Ultron, of Hela. Of Thanos. "I stand for duty, and for the protection of all mankind from the monsters that lurk in the dark. I stand for you, Wolfric, and your sisters." He met the young man's eye with his own. "Will you stand with me?"

"I…I want to believe," Wolfric said. No longer did despair alone fill his gaze, now there was fear as well, fear that Thor might be telling the truth.

"Then do so," Thor said. "Believe in the me that believes in you." The philosophers of Midgard had surprised him in the early days, but he had come to see the value in their words.

Wolfric bowed his head again, but not in supplication, or in terror. This time it spoke of the faintest beginnings of something pure, and Thor felt the weariness in his spirit lift, just a little.

Thor laid a hand on his shoulder, causing him to raise his head back up. "Tell me of our enemies," he said. "Their omens, their followers, how to fight them." He pushed his mechanical eye back into his socket, feeling it settle into place with a whirr. "The task seems a great one, but we must start somewhere."

The first follower of the Thunder God spoke, and his god listened. Though the weather worsened, and storm clouds gathered, not a hint of snow fell upon them. He spoke, and Thor learned. He learned of the tribes of Norsca, from the Baersonlings to the Graelings, of the god they held closest to, and what that meant for their peoples. He learned of the Chaos Wastes to the north, the lands that none could venture to without emerging unchanged, if they emerged at all. He learned of the petty, in comparison, raiding that Wolfric's people had suffered under, as they tried to eke out a life in the cold and the frost. He learned, and he pondered. By the time they finished talking, it was mid-afternoon, and the sun was beginning to set.

"Go back to the village," Thor said, "be with your sisters. I must think on what you have told me."

"Your will, god of thunder," Wolfric said. He hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to depart, but Thor solved that problem for him.

With a thought, he raised his axe and shot up into the sky, quickly disappearing into the grey.

X

Thor drifted through the sky, high above the village, and took advantage of the solitude to think. His brother would have said something sly and cutting about the effort involved, and he smiled faintly as he thought about the look Loki would have worn as he did. The smile faded as his thoughts returned to the cancerous piles of malicious thought that called themselves gods. He did not have to think overly hard, in truth, for he knew the answer in his gut when he first laid eyes on the disgusting scene in the longship.

Loathing bubbled up within him, loathing for the abominations that preyed upon this new world. He had thought he loathed the Jotnar, but that was a child's hate. The Frost Giants were merely rambunctious neighbours compared to these beings. They were forever anathema to him and his, and the only mercy he would ever show them would come from the sharp side of his axe.

Even so, he could not simply charge out, roaring his challenge to them. He feared no foe, but when he had forced Tchar to avert its gaze, he had been reminded of the first time he had gone with his father to inspect the troops, and stared up at them all as they towered over him in their golden armour. There was no fortress he could assault in the morning before going out to lunch with the rest of the Avengers, no champion he could call out and take their head to end things. He was surrounded by deeply hostile territory, and even a man who had been desperate for another choice had barely been able to bring himself to believe in him. The four cancers would not have to send armies against him when he declared his intent, for they would rise of their own accord. But, to bear their worship…

…as much as he would wish to crush it everywhere within his reach, he had learned his lessons well. Flatly forbidding their worship would not end the way he wanted. He would be cunning, and lure them with honey, or perhaps mead, and show them a better path. He would be the god these benighted people deserved, and bring great violence upon those who would threaten them harm.

The scent of cooking meat began to waft up to him, and his nose twitched. His hunger, never fully sated that day, made itself known with a vengeance. He could just make out Trumpetter romping around, a small figure riding on its back, and he smiled.

Yes, there was a just cause here waiting to be taken up. Duty called, and he would answer.