A/N: And the Story goes on
The Return to Asgard
Chapter 9
The line of war was still a good distance from the city. Where as the Frost Giants had an initial attack on the walls, the warriors of Asgard had pulled together swiftly in order to drive them back. It was nearly two kilometers of treacherous riding before Gulfurn and Clint reached the back lines of the Asgard warriors.
The medical tents came next. Wounded warriors with the ice beneath them tainted in the brown sludge of congealed blood. It smelled of infection and death. The ice kept away the majority of what insects may exist to feed on the carrion, but flies were present in an alarming degree. They covered the living as much as the dead. The sight was akin to any battlefield Clint had previously been to. He took it in, but kept his mind away from the more gruesome sights. Perhaps Frigga was among the nurses. She made a formidable caretaker when a bullet nearly took apart his own skull.
After passing through the North Gate of Asgard, Clint happily reunited with his first Asgardian brother, Heimdall. The watcher was at his post, glittering in his armor. It was obvious he had not missed all of the action. His face was alight in excitement and the taste of Frost Giant lives.
Heimdall was not a very emotional Asgardian. He could be confronted with most of the galaxies horrors and stand unfazed through it all. Seeing Clint brought a smile to his stoic face.
"Hey at least on a horse I'm finally taller than you." Clint said, spinning his horse to Heimdall's side. "How have you been, my friend?"
"Missing the thrill of war." Heimdall told them. "But I will stand where I am needed."
"If a giant comes toward this gate I'm sure it will be his last regret." Clint replied.
Heimdall assured him that he spoke the truth. He indicated the Asgardian riding with Clint. "A friend?"
"Gulfurn. Wagren loaned him to me."
"I knew your father, Gulfurn. A fine warrior." Heimdall said. "A fitting rider, Clint Barton."
Gulfurn thanked him for the compliment.
Inquiring after Thor gave Clint a fitting insight to the state of the Son of Odin. Thor had been on the field of battle since the start of the invasion. His presence had been felt leaving to retrieve Barton but again he was back, fronting the Asgardian line and driving his men into battle. While Heimdall recounted the story with pride, there was also something left hanging for Clint alone to snatch.
Thor had been going nonstop. He may be an Asgardian, but that did not make him immune to exhaustion. If the Asgardians lost Thor, if their Heir fell from sheer weakness, what could that do for the Frost Giants?
Clint first mission was clear. He had to get to Thor. He wanted to make the stop temporarily in order that he may inform his friend of the quest pushing on to Arabachy. He couldn't pull Thor away from the line when he was needed so critically.
Heimdall wished them well but was not about to allow them to tarry. He was desperate to get Clint moving on to Thor.
When they reached the second encampment the signs of exhaustion and elation were finely twined together. Men huddled beside roaring fires that melted the ice beneath but warmed their frozen souls. Tents built of thick furs were pitched with heavy layers added to their floors to keep the warmth. Men boasted of their little Frost wars, they showed the scars of where they narrowly escaped a beheading, and they displayed the trophies of those that fell by their blades. Others stood or sat silently, contemplating what war meant and when this long winter may soon come to an end. Perhaps more were relieving the memories of watching a loved one fall and never again rise.
Clint had been in this place before. Working in Afghanistan with the desert heat and sun turning his gear into a walking sauna had this same look. The men, some elated others horrified stood in fringe groups around camp. Some smoking, most drinking, men and boys who could hardly believe what was being asked of them and the conditions they were being forced to do it in. War was war whether on Midgard, Asgard, or any of the realms. It was perdition.
He slowed his horse by a vaguely familiar face and inquired after Thor. The soldier pointed in a direction, west of the main tents where the rest of the Warriors Three had encamped beside the command post. Clint turned his horse toward the tents with Gulfurn dutifully following behind. They passed me with axes and mallets who worked to flatten the sharp points of the ice. Some stopped to look at them, the same battle worn look in their eyes. When they reached the edge of camp Clint slid down from his mount and handed the reins to Gulfurn with the instructions to wait.
The archer knocked lightly on the outer wood post holding the smaller of the tents aloft. At the lack of response, he poked his head in slightly. From the décor and the armor lying in the corner it wasn't hard to ascertain that the tent belonged to Lady Sif. There was a squire (if they were to be called that, Clint mused) sitting on a stool just outside.
"Is the Lady around?" Clint asked.
The young lad that looked probably as large as Captain Rogers shook his head. "She be out, sir. Gone to the mess. Asked if she wanted me to fetch it for her, and she declined."
"What of Volstagg?" Clint shook his head before the lad answered. "Nevermind. If he's not in the midst of war, he's probably at the mess hall with Sif, is that right?"
"Yes, sir."
"Thor then?"
The boy pointed out a larger tent, erected like a large square with a pointed center roof pole that kept the snow from piling along its top. Clint thanked him and headed over to the tent. He was happy to find Thor actually in and not still running himself ragged somewhere. When Clint knocked, a clipped voice shouted him in.
"If they've gone through the South side, then I've sent Grafhin there already. My father is checking the map to see where these Giants may come on the morrow." Thor's voice was saying even before Clint had fully entered the tent. The warrior was bent over his armored legs, working numb fingers against the straps to pull them off. He was having a terrible go at it.
"Thanks for the update, but I don't think it was meant for me." Clint said by way of introduction.
Thor's head lifted. His face was a mixture of relief and surprise. "My friend!" He exclaimed. He stood to his feet and closed the distance between Clint and himself. They embraced.
"I could hardly pull myself away, let alone concern myself over your progress, forgive me." Thor admitted. He held Clint tightly, his relief heavily felt at seeing him. When he released, his face was unable to hide all those emotions he masked from the others. Suddenly Clint felt as if Thor had aged near twenty years. Heimdall's eyes never failed him. Thor was running himself to the ground.
"You look like Hell." Clint told him flatly. "Here, sit down a sec, let me help get that crap off you. "
Thor numbly did as he was instructed. Clint left him a moment to poke his head out of the tent flap.
"Gulfurn? We'll spend the night here, I think. See if you can't find someone to set up a few bunks. And try not to let those horses get carted off either."
"Belay that!" Thor called over. "Clint, you must remain here as my guest. There is my company man's quarters beside us. Unoccupied now, your man may take that."
Clint thanked him and relayed the instructions to Gulfurn. After the affairs were settled, he returned to Thor's side and began pulling at the armor plates.
"Thanks for the accommodations. Really five star out here. Didn't know I needed a winter coat or I would have brought one."
Thor nodded, rubbing his hands against one another to breathe life into them. "They mean to break us with the cold. But we have endured worse than their torments."
"Don't you have a squire-kid for stuff like this?" Clint asked. He didn't mind the tedious work, honestly he was more interested in keeping Thor talking.
"Company man? Yes, I did. He was lost on the field less than an hour before. I only returned for a moment to lay him in the hands of the healers. Though there is nothing anyone could do for him now."
Clint stopped. He looked up into Thor's pale face and rosy cheeks. He imagined it wasn't the first friend Thor had seen fall today.
"I'm sorry." Clint told him. "I wish there was more that I could do but just sit here and say that to you. But I'm limited. For that matter, so are you. I passed Heimdall on my way out of the city. He was concerned, frankly so am I. Have you eaten anything?"
Thor pulled his breastplate over his head and let it fall to the floor beside Mjlonir. His cape was wet with blood and stiff from frost. His clothes were no better off.
"I have not." Thor said. "Volstagg and Sif, they have already gone on to the hall and I was meant to follow, but I cannot bring myself to it. After coming through that door I found myself suddenly overwhelmed."
"I haven't eaten either, I'm sure Gulfurn hasn't. I'll ask him to get us something. While I'm gone, can you get yourself out of those clothes."
Thor nodded his head, too weak to respond.
"All right. You dress, I'll be gone for a few minutes. Don't go flying off into battle in the meantime."
:(:):(:):
Gulfurn's innate knack of discovering whatever Clint required was coming in handy every passing minute. After enjoying a warm meal in the tent of the heir, an honor Gulfurn had to be convinced was all right, he produced a stable cot and blankets enough for a king. While Clint and Thor spoke of matters not related to either the hunt for Fandral or the war of the Frost Giants, Gulfurn set up the place for Clint parallel to Thor's bed. They took equal helpings of some fortifying tea, said their goodnights, and Gulfurn left them. The guard was welling in absolute pride at his sudden change in life and was truly taking to the strange Midgardian he once felt saddled with. If he proved himself a worthy enough friend, could he be considered a company man of Clint of Barton? The very sound of it made Gulfurn beam.
The guard's attitude was not lost on either Clint or Thor. When they were left alone, the Asgardian turned to Barton.
"You have made some suitable allies in this place, my friend."
Clint placed his cup down on the tray and went to his cot. He wasn't joking before when he complained about missing a coat. Getting out on the sheets of frozen sea was terrible. The wind bit through him, especially on horse back. At least he could cling to his animal's neck and attempt to block out the cold, but that small luxury was nothing compared to the heat of his bed. He shrouded himself in the lush furs of animals he couldn't begin to pronounce the names of. Again he was reminded of Gulfurn's worthiness.
"Wagren's man. Was meant to show me to Loki's prison. He's staying with me to find Fandral."
Thor seemed warmer now himself. The rosiness faded from his face and his features smoothed . He had long abandoned his tea to the small table between them and lay now stretched beneath his blankets with his eyes at the ceiling.
"My brother. How was he?"
"Helpful." Clint skirted the truth. It was obvious Thor had enough on his mind without adding life and death scenarios to it. "He gave me an idea of where to go. I'll admit I didn't risk this ice just to see you. He mentioned Arabachy. I was heading there but stopped here first."
"Arabachy?" Thor asked. "Does he say Fandral is there?"
"He said the word. I'm checking it out, but not getting my hopes high. Is there a way to get to the island from here? You would know better than me, I don't know how far this ice stretches."
"It will take you." Thor said. His eyes were closed now. His body beginning to relax. "Arabachy. Fandral did always love it there."
"I know." Clint said. "I'll be gone early, before you should start moving. If you aren't aware enough, I leave you a note with some instructions in it, all right?"
Thor didn't answer him.
Clint leaned over, finding his friend had slid into an exhausted sleep. "I'll just leave a note." Clint whispered. He sighed to himself and tucked back into his cot. He pulled the furs up around his face and waited as sleep came up and dragged him under.
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