All Our Paths - Chapter Two (Thor)
Warning: Characters are going to act like jerks and no one is going to call them on it. Yet. But I wanted you know I am aware. ^^
Chapter Two
With a roar, Thor lifted Fandral bodily to unbalance him. The two, grappling men toppled to the ground, Thor pinning his opponent successfully.
“Peace,” Fandral gasped around the crushing pressure on his ribs. “Peace, my friend.”
“You should beg for mercy more fervently,” Sif criticized, perched with the rest of the Warriors Three on the sidelines to the practice ring. “Considering your poor showing all day.”
“Then I shall sweetly beg respite from your tongue, Lady Sif.” Free of Thor’s hold, he rolled to his feet and executed a short, flourishing bow. “For it is far more cutting than any bruise I’ve earned today.”
“You have been distracted.” Hogun looked as unimpressed as Sif.
“I do not know if that is a worse insult to Fandral or myself.” Thor laughed, rising to feet. “Considering the trouble he gave me.” He tried to breath through his mouth, for it had been a hot day and all the men and women had sweated strongly. Now that Thor and his age mates were older, the sweat was starting to be tainted by the stronger musks of their coming sexual maturity, and alpha and beta scents always mixed so unpleasantly.
Fandral may have been not fully committed to their battle, but the hours of grappling in the Glíma had left his right shoulder tender and hot. Truthfully, Thor knew he should have stopped earlier. He was a better warrior than to push through on through an injury when the only stakes were who would buying the first round of mead at the week’s end. But since that conversation in Loki’s chambers five years past, he had been gripped with a strange urgency.
“The insult was Fandral’s,” Tyr called as he walked by, finished with his own training for the day. “For it’s been many seasons since a man could fairly contest the prince of Asgard without the full force of his strength.”
Or, perhaps not so strange. The prince of Asgard. As if there were only one and not two.
Thor had tried to talk to the Allfather about the sly innuendo which pervaded the practice grounds and found himself summarily dismissed. Loki had been almost as elusive on the topic, but had at least condescended to private weapons training with his brother. Even if he refused to work on close combat.
That was why Thor was still here, practicing as the others called an end to the day’s work and prepared for a night of feasting. Thor not only had to prove himself as a great warrior capable of leading a hirð of men older and more experienced than he, the elder prince of Asgard also had to learn how to teach those skills to his brother, who would not even consent to watch Thor’s practices, apparently consumed by the study of those illusory cantrips.
“Yes, quite.” Fandral grimaced at Tyr’s back.
Thor laughed and slapped his friend on the back. “I am grateful for the extra practice.” For despite his favoring of a blade, it was only Fandral who agreed to an extra wrestling bout after the end of day was called. “But what calls your wits away from the field?”
Fandral sighed. “The Lady Freya.”
Volstagg whistled. “There is a woman highly deserving of attention indeed. Though I would thank you not to repeat that to my wife.”
“And what quality,” Sif drew out the word, “of the Lady Freya has caught your consideration?”
“Tis better to ask what hasn’t. Her every distinction is deserving of the most fulsome praise. Yet, it is her scent that I cannot help dwelling on. I fear she might be an alpha.”
“She let you scent her wrist?” Volstagg asked, plainly astonished. “I had no idea she’d agreed to let you pay court. You have been holding out on us!”
“No, no.” Fandral scowled. “I did not get so clear a sniff, but after spending all day wresting with Sif, who is-my dear, you must admit it’s clear-going to be an alpha, the developing scent markers seemed similar.”
“Why would this news make you so glum?” Thor wondered.
“That’s easy for you say. Obviously the sons of Odin will be alphas. The rest of us must at least wonder where our lot will fall.”
“Being a beta is hardly a hardship,” Volstagg remarked, dry. “There is, in fact, far more women available for you to woo were that so.”
“Yes, but they will not include the fair Lady Freya. My heart needs a few days to mourn.”
“Then mourn and be done,” Thor advised. “For none can change their path in this, and as Vostagg has said, there are plenty who would be a better match.”
“Even if you do end up an alpha,” Sif agreed and dodged the slim dagger Fandral threw at her. “Shall we remain here gossiping like crones while the roasts are picked clean and the barrels drunk dry? Or will we get on with cleaning up?”
“Let us make all haste to the baths,” Volstagg agreed, and suited his words with action. He scurried towards the columned entrance to the palace, managing to herd Hogun ahead of him while the others were left to follow.
An hour later, Thor entered the feasting halls, hair still damp, his skin hastily scrubbed clean of dirt and sweat and any lingering scent traces of those he’d grappled with earlier. As expected, the rest of his family was already seated and presiding over the pre-meal activity. Frigga sat directly to Odin’s left, the rest of Odin’s councillors lined up beyond her, while Loki sat two chairs down on their father’s right.
Thor took the empty seat between his father and brother, the firstborn prince tasked with guarding Odin’s blind side at all functions, while the Warriors Three and Sif arranged themselves on Loki’s right. Those chairs traditionally would be reserved for Odin’s warriors, but after Thor had spent many, many nights shouting down to the lower tables to be heard by his friends, Loki had begged Odin on Thor’s behalf to move them up. Though he insisted it was only to save his own hearing.
“And what have you been up to today, brother?” Thor asked. His brother, of course, was perfectly clean and smelling of mint and evergreen-almost too strongly. There were plenty of rumors about what kind of dandy Loki must be to perfume himself like a woman, but his brother never sought closeness with anyone--woman or man--as far as Thor could tell. Personally, he was worried his brother had damaged his sense of smell with one of his potion experiments.
“I found a very interesting text yesterday afternoon on how to shape-shift from one form to another without reverting to your natural form in between. I’ve spent most of today practicing the art, and found it easiest to shift from a natural creature to a magical one.”
“Oh dear,” Fandral said on Loki’s other side. “Now I will spend all my days wondering if every mouse I cross will become some eldritch horror.”
Loki turned with the speed of a predator. “Why, that is an excellent idea, Fandral. I shall always keep that mind. Though I can, of course, become far more than a mouse: a cat. A spider. Even the pillow on your bed, if given reason.”
Thor laughed, slapping his brother on the back. “A worthy jest!” His brother rolled his eyes, but he turned his attention away from his grimacing friends and back to Thor. A hirð could not fight amongst itself. Even if they were not technically a hirð yet, and none thought of themselves as such. Thor leaned in to murmur,“Do you have to provoke them so?”
Loki’s mouth flattened before he smoothed his expression into a cipher. Thor did not understand why Loki would try to hide from him so. “I? I was provoked first.”
Thor sighed. He noticed his hand was still on Loki’s back, resting comfortably now and warmed by Loki’s skin through his tunic. He left it there and leaned in a little more, because while he smelled so strongly of mint, there was something underneath-
Loki pushed his brother away with a finger to the soft flesh at the base of his neck. “Sit up straight, brother. You are at an age where basic decorum at the high table is now expected.”
“And there is another reason to wish to be an alpha.” Fandral’s odd comment caught Thor’s attention, and he looked past his brother to where the Warriors Three had their heads bent together.
He followed their line of sight to find Lady Aldis, the latest member of court to come of age as an omega. The quiet blonde was starting to fill out the curves of her pink dress, but her cheeks were still rounded with youth. Thor rarely had cause to speak with her, as she was younger by five years.
She had arrived with her mother, the Lady Arnthrud, and her brother Vestar, who Thor had never sparred with but knew by reputation to be a forthright, if middlingly, warrior. Both Lady Arnthrud and Vestar wore blades on their hips. Lady Arnthrud had been a shieldmaiden before her marriage, but had given her husband her sword on their wedding day, as custom. The Lord Sumarlid died twenty years ago in battle on Muspelheim, and now that Aldis had come into her maturity, the wife had retaken up the blade in her husband’s absence.
“Poor girl probably already has more attention than she knows what to do with,” Volstagg remarked. “Don’t add your suit to the mix when you do not even know if it’s a promise you can keep.”
Fandral frowned, always unhappy with reminder that it could be another year or so before he matured. “I did not think omegas were ever unhappy with attention,” he retorted.
“Then it’s a shame you missed your true calling.” Loki’s interjection caused a pause as the rest tried to unravel his meaning.
“What?” Fandral sputtered as he caught on. “I am completely unsuited to be an omega!”
“Oh?” Loki raised one eyebrow, expression darkening. “Just think, since omegas develop earlier, all the insecurity you incessantly exhibit over the shape of your cock would be over.”
“Loki!” Thor hissed, throwing a side glance to their parents, but they were deep in conversation with the councillors on Frigga’s left. A thin line of blazing green magic demarcated the place settings between Thor and their father. Seeing it, Thor doubted anyone could hear their conversation-or at least Loki’s part in it.
“You go too far.” Fandral drew himself up, and Thor could see the challenge he would throw at Loki as clear as any divination. Loki leaned back in his chair, unconcerned, and Thor wished he could be on Loki’s other side, between his brother and his friends.
“For someone with a silver tongue, why are so many of your words leaden?” Sif drawled.
“I wonder. Is it my tongue or your ears which need whetted?”
“Stop!” Thor ordered, slamming his fist down on the table. As he’d hoped, Loki’s spell extended to the rest of them, and no one took notice. “I will have this conversation cease.”
Thor found himself increasingly unsuited at stilling the trouble Loki roused. The best he could do was drop a boulder through the wave and hope the ripples took a more pleasing shape.
He was never going to be able to forge them into a hirð at this rate.
His brother and friends respected his request, and the table fell into an unhappy silence as the meal was served. It lasted until Vostagg, irrepressible in the face of good food, was able to naturally restart conversation.
Far away amongst the lower tables, Lady Aldis took her supper. Her place now separated from her peers, flanked by her family on either side.
Chapter Two
With a roar, Thor lifted Fandral bodily to unbalance him. The two, grappling men toppled to the ground, Thor pinning his opponent successfully.
“Peace,” Fandral gasped around the crushing pressure on his ribs. “Peace, my friend.”
“You should beg for mercy more fervently,” Sif criticized, perched with the rest of the Warriors Three on the sidelines to the practice ring. “Considering your poor showing all day.”
“Then I shall sweetly beg respite from your tongue, Lady Sif.” Free of Thor’s hold, he rolled to his feet and executed a short, flourishing bow. “For it is far more cutting than any bruise I’ve earned today.”
“You have been distracted.” Hogun looked as unimpressed as Sif.
“I do not know if that is a worse insult to Fandral or myself.” Thor laughed, rising to feet. “Considering the trouble he gave me.” He tried to breath through his mouth, for it had been a hot day and all the men and women had sweated strongly. Now that Thor and his age mates were older, the sweat was starting to be tainted by the stronger musks of their coming sexual maturity, and alpha and beta scents always mixed so unpleasantly.
Fandral may have been not fully committed to their battle, but the hours of grappling in the Glíma had left his right shoulder tender and hot. Truthfully, Thor knew he should have stopped earlier. He was a better warrior than to push through on through an injury when the only stakes were who would buying the first round of mead at the week’s end. But since that conversation in Loki’s chambers five years past, he had been gripped with a strange urgency.
“The insult was Fandral’s,” Tyr called as he walked by, finished with his own training for the day. “For it’s been many seasons since a man could fairly contest the prince of Asgard without the full force of his strength.”
Or, perhaps not so strange. The prince of Asgard. As if there were only one and not two.
Thor had tried to talk to the Allfather about the sly innuendo which pervaded the practice grounds and found himself summarily dismissed. Loki had been almost as elusive on the topic, but had at least condescended to private weapons training with his brother. Even if he refused to work on close combat.
That was why Thor was still here, practicing as the others called an end to the day’s work and prepared for a night of feasting. Thor not only had to prove himself as a great warrior capable of leading a hirð of men older and more experienced than he, the elder prince of Asgard also had to learn how to teach those skills to his brother, who would not even consent to watch Thor’s practices, apparently consumed by the study of those illusory cantrips.
“Yes, quite.” Fandral grimaced at Tyr’s back.
Thor laughed and slapped his friend on the back. “I am grateful for the extra practice.” For despite his favoring of a blade, it was only Fandral who agreed to an extra wrestling bout after the end of day was called. “But what calls your wits away from the field?”
Fandral sighed. “The Lady Freya.”
Volstagg whistled. “There is a woman highly deserving of attention indeed. Though I would thank you not to repeat that to my wife.”
“And what quality,” Sif drew out the word, “of the Lady Freya has caught your consideration?”
“Tis better to ask what hasn’t. Her every distinction is deserving of the most fulsome praise. Yet, it is her scent that I cannot help dwelling on. I fear she might be an alpha.”
“She let you scent her wrist?” Volstagg asked, plainly astonished. “I had no idea she’d agreed to let you pay court. You have been holding out on us!”
“No, no.” Fandral scowled. “I did not get so clear a sniff, but after spending all day wresting with Sif, who is-my dear, you must admit it’s clear-going to be an alpha, the developing scent markers seemed similar.”
“Why would this news make you so glum?” Thor wondered.
“That’s easy for you say. Obviously the sons of Odin will be alphas. The rest of us must at least wonder where our lot will fall.”
“Being a beta is hardly a hardship,” Volstagg remarked, dry. “There is, in fact, far more women available for you to woo were that so.”
“Yes, but they will not include the fair Lady Freya. My heart needs a few days to mourn.”
“Then mourn and be done,” Thor advised. “For none can change their path in this, and as Vostagg has said, there are plenty who would be a better match.”
“Even if you do end up an alpha,” Sif agreed and dodged the slim dagger Fandral threw at her. “Shall we remain here gossiping like crones while the roasts are picked clean and the barrels drunk dry? Or will we get on with cleaning up?”
“Let us make all haste to the baths,” Volstagg agreed, and suited his words with action. He scurried towards the columned entrance to the palace, managing to herd Hogun ahead of him while the others were left to follow.
An hour later, Thor entered the feasting halls, hair still damp, his skin hastily scrubbed clean of dirt and sweat and any lingering scent traces of those he’d grappled with earlier. As expected, the rest of his family was already seated and presiding over the pre-meal activity. Frigga sat directly to Odin’s left, the rest of Odin’s councillors lined up beyond her, while Loki sat two chairs down on their father’s right.
Thor took the empty seat between his father and brother, the firstborn prince tasked with guarding Odin’s blind side at all functions, while the Warriors Three and Sif arranged themselves on Loki’s right. Those chairs traditionally would be reserved for Odin’s warriors, but after Thor had spent many, many nights shouting down to the lower tables to be heard by his friends, Loki had begged Odin on Thor’s behalf to move them up. Though he insisted it was only to save his own hearing.
“And what have you been up to today, brother?” Thor asked. His brother, of course, was perfectly clean and smelling of mint and evergreen-almost too strongly. There were plenty of rumors about what kind of dandy Loki must be to perfume himself like a woman, but his brother never sought closeness with anyone--woman or man--as far as Thor could tell. Personally, he was worried his brother had damaged his sense of smell with one of his potion experiments.
“I found a very interesting text yesterday afternoon on how to shape-shift from one form to another without reverting to your natural form in between. I’ve spent most of today practicing the art, and found it easiest to shift from a natural creature to a magical one.”
“Oh dear,” Fandral said on Loki’s other side. “Now I will spend all my days wondering if every mouse I cross will become some eldritch horror.”
Loki turned with the speed of a predator. “Why, that is an excellent idea, Fandral. I shall always keep that mind. Though I can, of course, become far more than a mouse: a cat. A spider. Even the pillow on your bed, if given reason.”
Thor laughed, slapping his brother on the back. “A worthy jest!” His brother rolled his eyes, but he turned his attention away from his grimacing friends and back to Thor. A hirð could not fight amongst itself. Even if they were not technically a hirð yet, and none thought of themselves as such. Thor leaned in to murmur,“Do you have to provoke them so?”
Loki’s mouth flattened before he smoothed his expression into a cipher. Thor did not understand why Loki would try to hide from him so. “I? I was provoked first.”
Thor sighed. He noticed his hand was still on Loki’s back, resting comfortably now and warmed by Loki’s skin through his tunic. He left it there and leaned in a little more, because while he smelled so strongly of mint, there was something underneath-
Loki pushed his brother away with a finger to the soft flesh at the base of his neck. “Sit up straight, brother. You are at an age where basic decorum at the high table is now expected.”
“And there is another reason to wish to be an alpha.” Fandral’s odd comment caught Thor’s attention, and he looked past his brother to where the Warriors Three had their heads bent together.
He followed their line of sight to find Lady Aldis, the latest member of court to come of age as an omega. The quiet blonde was starting to fill out the curves of her pink dress, but her cheeks were still rounded with youth. Thor rarely had cause to speak with her, as she was younger by five years.
She had arrived with her mother, the Lady Arnthrud, and her brother Vestar, who Thor had never sparred with but knew by reputation to be a forthright, if middlingly, warrior. Both Lady Arnthrud and Vestar wore blades on their hips. Lady Arnthrud had been a shieldmaiden before her marriage, but had given her husband her sword on their wedding day, as custom. The Lord Sumarlid died twenty years ago in battle on Muspelheim, and now that Aldis had come into her maturity, the wife had retaken up the blade in her husband’s absence.
“Poor girl probably already has more attention than she knows what to do with,” Volstagg remarked. “Don’t add your suit to the mix when you do not even know if it’s a promise you can keep.”
Fandral frowned, always unhappy with reminder that it could be another year or so before he matured. “I did not think omegas were ever unhappy with attention,” he retorted.
“Then it’s a shame you missed your true calling.” Loki’s interjection caused a pause as the rest tried to unravel his meaning.
“What?” Fandral sputtered as he caught on. “I am completely unsuited to be an omega!”
“Oh?” Loki raised one eyebrow, expression darkening. “Just think, since omegas develop earlier, all the insecurity you incessantly exhibit over the shape of your cock would be over.”
“Loki!” Thor hissed, throwing a side glance to their parents, but they were deep in conversation with the councillors on Frigga’s left. A thin line of blazing green magic demarcated the place settings between Thor and their father. Seeing it, Thor doubted anyone could hear their conversation-or at least Loki’s part in it.
“You go too far.” Fandral drew himself up, and Thor could see the challenge he would throw at Loki as clear as any divination. Loki leaned back in his chair, unconcerned, and Thor wished he could be on Loki’s other side, between his brother and his friends.
“For someone with a silver tongue, why are so many of your words leaden?” Sif drawled.
“I wonder. Is it my tongue or your ears which need whetted?”
“Stop!” Thor ordered, slamming his fist down on the table. As he’d hoped, Loki’s spell extended to the rest of them, and no one took notice. “I will have this conversation cease.”
Thor found himself increasingly unsuited at stilling the trouble Loki roused. The best he could do was drop a boulder through the wave and hope the ripples took a more pleasing shape.
He was never going to be able to forge them into a hirð at this rate.
His brother and friends respected his request, and the table fell into an unhappy silence as the meal was served. It lasted until Vostagg, irrepressible in the face of good food, was able to naturally restart conversation.
Far away amongst the lower tables, Lady Aldis took her supper. Her place now separated from her peers, flanked by her family on either side.