Terrestrial Constellations: Chapter 3
Chapter 3: The Place Where I Should Be
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The city stretched out before him, glimmering gold and white and bejeweled with color. The twilight sun turned Asgard’s crystal waters to brilliant amethyst. Overhead the evening star shone bright, the spear-point of the Odin constellation that shone above the palace year-round.
Thor stood on the open balcony of his receiving chamber, resplendent in his armor, Mjolnir hanging faithfully at his side. His shoulders were stiff and his back rigid beneath the scarlet cloak. His hands gripped the parapet rail so tightly cracks were beginning to form beneath his fingertips, and though he stared at the city that had always been his home; he found no wonder in its beauty.
Instead, he saw only the broken outline of the Bifrost Bridge, a painful and constant reminder of what his brother’s treachery had cost him.
“There was a time,” Fandral said, stepping to the partition and resting his hand on it, “When you would have unleashed your fury upon this chamber.”
“My friend,” Thor replied, “I’m afraid I am not fit company at this time.”
“And yet,” The warrior replied, “here I stand. As most of your moods of late correspond directly with the mortal girl, shall I assume that Heimdall gave you unfortunate news today?”
Thor let his eyes close, as though doing so would contain the surging emotions that battled within him. Rage, fear, hurt, longing, jealousy, and the beginnings of despair all battled one another for dominance within him. It was taking every ounce of control he could muster not to throw the table across the room; to resist the need to break, crush and destroy until he was spent and numb.
The beings on Midgard were delicate and so easily damaged. If he wished to reside there, if he wished to become Jane’s husband, he would need to control his temper lest he become a risk to her safety.
“Jane… has been injured.” He finally replied, and just uttering it seemed to reignite the blast of fear that had gripped him as he’d stood on the Bifrost Bridge with Heimdall, listening second to second as the Guardian focused his sight on Earth.
“She lives, I hope. It is not a mortal injury?” Fandral focused intently on Thor, trying to decipher the seriousness of the situation. His concern was genuine, and the Asgardian prince was grateful for it.
“She lives. Her arm has been dislocated. By our standards that is not a grievous injury, but humans are so delicate… I believe it will take her months to recover. There was an explosion during the test of their Bifrost, the cost could have been much worse than it was.”
He thought of Heimdall that afternoon, who had smirked just a little as he’d said, “The one called ‘Darcy’ greatly fears your wrath, my prince.” It almost made him smile. He would have to tell his little friend that he did not hold her responsible for Jane’s injury.
“I am sorry that she has been hurt, and for the pain it brings you. I suppose this means that the Human’s Bifrost is a failure and you will return to spending all of your time pouring over Loki’s manuscripts.”
“Do not dismiss the ability of the mortals so easily, my friend. Aside from the fact that they have yet to find a way to sustain its power beyond a few seconds; it works perfectly.”
“The explosion-“
“Heimdall believes that it was a separate incident, possible treachery. He has not located a traitor among the humans, as yet, but believes that one exists.”
They lapsed into silence, each retreating to the solitude of his thoughts. A cool breeze swept over the balcony, carrying the barest scent of autumn with it. If Heimdall’s assessment was accurate, Thor would be long gone before the first snow blanketed the streets. He would miss the Winter Festival, and that made him a little sad.
In the years before his brother’s betrayal, the six of them would take to the city for three days of drunken debauchery. They would brawl, drink, wench, drink, feast… and drink. By the third day it was often Sif who would undertake the task of locating them and having them hauled back to the palace. One year she’d had to revive him from drunken slumber with a bucket of cold water. Another year they’d discovered Volstagg asleep in an empty barrel of mead… and missing his pants.
He’d enjoyed himself immensely when he was sober enough to be aware of what was going on around him. Looking back, however, he could feel only embarrassment for the raucous, undisciplined, selfish boy he had been. He strove now to be a better son to his father, a wise prince to his people, and a man worthy of Jane Foster’s hand.
That wasn’t to say that he didn’t enjoy the occasional drunken brawl. Sif’s Name-Day celebration had been the stuff of legends, most of which he could remember.
“Lady Jane’s injury was not the only thing to have evoked your anger.” Fandral stated after a time.
“You know me well.”
“We’ve known one another a long time, Thor. If the girl is alive and the Midgard Bifrost nearly complete, it means that something else has happened. What troubles you?”
Where to begin, Thor thought, how to put into words the jealous rage that suffused his blood?
Heimdall had been reluctant relate the events that had transpired when Jane had arrived home that day. Whether because he had known just how deeply it would trouble the prince or because he considered the event trivial, was unclear to Thor. He had related it though; and Thor had listened helplessly as this Donald had forced his advances onto an unwilling Jane.
Bad enough that he should have to carry the burden that Jane had been injured because he had broken his word. Now he faced a rival for Jane’s affections, and he was unable to stand at her side and prove himself the more worthy candidate.
“Thor, my friend, your balcony cannot withstand much more of that treatment.” He looked down, saw that the stone under his grip was fracturing badly. Embarrassed, he quickly lifted his hands and stepped back. He looked to Fandral, sighed, and told him everything.
His friend was silent through the recitation, alternating between observing Thor, and looking out over the city. Thor, too agitated to stay still, began to stalk back and forth across the wide platform of his terrace, hands balled into fists at his side.
“She did not tolerate him.” He said, thinking that it ought to have comforted him to know how quickly and forcefully Jane had rejected the touch of another man. “His actions repelled her, but still…”
“You’re not angry with her are you?” Fandral asked, clearly surprised, “Thor, it hardly sounds as though she welcomed this man.”
“Of course not,” Thor shook his head, reached up to run a restless hand through his blond hair, “I could never blame her for this. I only feel as I am responsible for it. Had I returned, this man would never have become close enough to touch her.”
“Had you not destroyed the Bifrost, Jotunheim would have been annihilated. Could you have faced her then, knowing you had allowed the execution of an entire world?”
“No,” He admitted, returning to stand beside his friend and comrade to look out over the city, “but still, I feel as though I have failed her.”
And he worried, though he would not admit so, that Jane would soon grow tired of waiting. That she would give up and seek comfort from another, from the man who had sought her out. He feared that, by the time he was able to reach her, she would have moved on and forgotten him.
He had spent months pouring over the texts in Loki’s chambers. His brother’s library was vast and Thor had eventually been persuaded to assign a team of sages to the task of searching for the secret pathways Loki had used to slip between the realms. The progress therein had been slow, due to the fact that his brother had taken the peculiar precaution of magically coding most of his manuscripts.
“You will see her again, Thor. Earth is the place you are meant to be; its protector, as once was your father.”
“When the sages find another path…”
“You can be assured that Lady Sif and the Warriors Three will be the first through it, eager to visit you.”
Thor smiled, letting the turbulent emotions inside him begin to settle. Fandral was right, he would go back. One way, or another, he would return. In the meantime he would begin the preparations for his departure, and there was much to do.
“Was the other human girl injured in this explosion, the girl who was with you when we arrived?”
“Do you speak of Darcy? She was with Jane, but her injuries were minor.”
“Ah, yes, the lovely Lady Darcy.” He smiled, stroking his beard contemplatively, “I regret that I had not the chance to know her better.”
Amused, Thor could only shake his head. “If you choose to pursue a human, Fandral, I will not stop you. If that human is Darcy, however, I’ll have your word that your intentions toward her are honest.”
“My intentions are always honest.” Fandral grinned, “But you have my word.”
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Yes, Odin has a constellation of himself.
Come on, you all know Thor was a total playboy before he met Jane. Fandral is too, but Darcy will take care of that. :p
The Winter Festival was created for the single purpose of being able to use the words Drunken Debauchery in a sentence and to give you all the image of Volstagg without his pants.
I think that Fandral and Thor have probably known each other since childhood. He might even have been the first of Thor’s Warriors Three. I base this a little off the fact that he was less willing to believe Loki’s Treason, whereas Hogun and Sif saw it right away.
I imagine that if Fandral had grown up with Loki and Thor, it would be harder for him to accept that Loki had betrayed them.
And does anyone know where a good online Norse/Norwegian-whatever translator is? All the ones I’ve tried majorly suck.