Chapter Nine

Ororo dreamed fitfully, of a storm that would not abate. It was a frightful storm, the likes of which she had never seen before, caused by her own hand. She awoke suddenly, her heart pounding as she sat up in the soft, wet grass.

Night had passed quickly as she slept, the storm tapering off as her emotions calmed, and the Asgardian morning greeted her as it always did, with sunshine and warmth. Ororo worked the kinks out of her limbs, stretching her arms and legs and arching her back to work out the stiffness there.

She paused mid-arch, her eyes wide.

"How… how long have you been there?" She asked slowly.

Thor shifted where he was, his back against the massive tree she'd been lying at the foot of. "Long enough to know you had a nightmare," he answered.

She gazed at him for a long time. There was no anger in his golden features, nothing to indicate he was visibly upset with her. At the same time, his expression was unreadable, and she wondered what he was thinking behind those stormy blue eyes of his. Ororo cleared her throat, shifting uncomfortably. "I am sorry-"

He held up a hand, and she fell silent immediately, a jolt of fear spiking through her chest.

"When I was very young," he started, his eyes on a point somewhere in the distance, "my father told me that one day I would inherit the throne. He explained to me, in great detail, all the things that were involved in being a good king. Of course, at the time, I thought nothing of it, and most of what he told me went over my head, to be forgotten in favor of the next meal or game."

The corners of his mouth turned up into a wry smirk, but Ororo's nerves would not allow her to share his smile.

"There is one thing he told me, though, that I will never forget," Thor continued, and his eyes met hers. "He once told me that the most important thing a king can remember is never to mistreat those that love him, for it is their love that can enable him to accomplish anything he wishes." He shook his head. "I wish I had remembered that in regards to you."

Her brow furrowed. "I don't understand."

"I have been blind, and foolish, and selfish, and arrogant," Thor explained. "And it is I who should be apologizing to you for it." For the first time, she noticed that he was not wearing his armor. He was dressed simply, in plain leather breeches and a red tunic. She thought it suited him well.

"Ororo," he started again, looking into her eyes. "It has taken me two years to realize what I feel for you. The moment I laid eyes upon you, the day that my father presented you as a coming of age gift, I thought to myself, 'Surely this is a goddess. Surely my father is trying to fool me, to make me out dull enough to believe this divine being a human.' Your beauty," he continued, "is the kind of beauty that brings mortal men to their knees - and what of a god?" He knelt down, bringing his knees to the earth where she sat. "But more than your beauty is at the forefront of my mind when I think of you," he continued. "You sacrificed everything to come here. You gave up your home, and your family, and everything that you held dear, to come here and be a servant to a fool who cannot tell his right hand from his left."

Despite herself, she smiled. "If that last were true," she started, "you would not have lived so long a life as a warrior."

He shook his head. "Perhaps it is merely a matter of luck being on my side," he countered.

Ororo didn't know what to say to that.

"I have allowed mistreatment of you to go on for far too long," Thor continued. "My own mistreatment included. I am sorry that I allowed Brigit to strike you - it was not her place."

Her expression hardened at the woman's name, and this did not escape Thor's notice. She was stonily silent.

Thor took a deep breath, as if what he was about to say would be difficult for him to get out. "It was… it was not my place, either," he said, and though his voice was gruff, she could hear the underlying sincerity.

Still, she said nothing.

"You think me unkind," he surmised.

Her eyes met his, and she hesitated for a moment before speaking. "I do not think," she started slowly, carefully, "that I mean quite as much to you as you would have me believe."

"Why think you that way?"

She dropped her eyes to the ground. "Would you have me speak freely?"

He nodded. "There are no secrets between us, Ororo. What you say to me here and now, say, not as a servant to her master, but as one being to another."

"With your lips you proclaim that you care for me," she began, twisting a blade of grass between her fingers, unwilling to let her eyes meet his again for fear she would lose her nerve. "But with your actions, you prove otherwise."

"Explain," he demanded, but his voice was not harsh.

"Day in and day out, you scold me for being clumsy and mortal," she said softly. "I know that I can never possess the grace and self-assurance of the goddesses born here. I do not expect to. But you wound me, when you berate me for something I cannot control."

"Ororo," he started, realizing the truth to her words but wanting to explain himself. "It isn't because I do not care for you that I say those things."

She looked up at him, finally, and her eyes were doubtful.

Thor sighed. "Perhaps my vanity will be my downfall - I care too much for what others think of me."

Confusion filled her face, but she said nothing.

"The relationship between a master and his servant has been set in stone," he explained, "from days long before these. Ororo, why do I give you free time?"

"To be rid of me when you are occupied with your friends," she answered him immediately.

He shook his head. "No. You misunderstand my intentions."

She raised an eyebrow. "Please help me understand."

"There are those that would mock you, because you are different, because you are not of Asgard. You saw this in Brigit. Asgardians are not open to change, and anything that comes along that is different from what they are accustomed to is something to be poked fun at, something undesirable. I wished not to expose you to that by forcing you to accompany me to the training grounds."

Her brow furrowed.

"I know that you are not comfortable in the gowns Asgardian women are wont to wear," he continued, reaching out a hand to finger the tunic she was wearing. "And should I speak truth to you, I would tell you that I prefer the garb of your people."

"Truly?" She asked him with wide eyes, scarcely believing it.

"Truly." He answered with a smile. "Perhaps you are not the most graceful woman I have ever encountered, but you must know that every time you stumbled, and I caught you, it was not to save myself from embarrassment, but to save you from harming yourself." He sighed again. "I suppose I have been going about this all wrong."

"I was so angry at you," she started, watching as his finger traced the embroidery on her wrap. "So angry at you, for allowing that woman to strike me. So angry at you for not defending me, for not taking my side against her."

"And you very well had a right to be," he interjected. "I promise you, though, that it will never happen again."

She fell silent, considering his words.

"I will see to it that Loki is dealt with," he continued, and the anger in his voice echoed the thunder that rumbled at his words. "He had no right to touch you."

His words struck something in her, and she glanced up at him sharply. Her face was flushed, but not in anger.

"What is it?" He asked, peering at her closely.

"Will you?" Her voice was barely above a whisper, and she forced herself to hold his gaze though her heart pounded hard in her chest.

Thor cocked his head to the side. "Will I what, Ororo?" Somehow, he knew what she was asking.

But he wanted her to say it.

She took a deep breath. "Will you touch me?"

He looked at her for a long time without speaking, watching her emotions flicker across her face as he tried to sort out his own feelings. Somewhere, deep down inside, his heart told him that this was what he had been waiting for all along.

Silently, he offered her a smile and his hand, and she accepted it.