*Author's Note: Apologies for the short chapter. I just had my reasons for wanting just these two scenes back to back, because they go together in a way. But we get a little bit of Sif, Fandral, and Hogun this time around! I dunno, I've never really written the Warriors Three so I hope it's acceptable. (Also, if anybody's wondering where Volstagg is, it's my impression that he's significantly older than the others, so I feel like he probably wouldn't have become their friend until they were all adults.)
It was a radiant summer morning in Asgard. For the first time in a week, Thor laced up his outdoor boots—the ones Mother did not mind if he got muddy—and explored the palace grounds. The sun on his face felt glorious.
Mother had shooed him outside to burn off some of his long-bottled energy. Although his mind kept wandering guiltily to Loki, locked away in a tower still, he was grateful to finally have room to truly stretch his legs and run as fast as he wanted to. Loki will still be here when you come back, Mother had reminded him. And you should not neglect your other friends.
But she had made him swear, on his honor as a warrior, not to speak a word about Loki to his friends. Keeping secrets was not in Thor's nature, but he did not want anyone to hurt his Jotun friend.
After some searching, he found his three comrades in one of their favorite haunts: climbing in the leafy branches of an old ash tree, where they could look over a high stone wall into Idunn's orchards. They had tried, in the past, to sneak over the wall and pluck a few apples—the sweetest in all the Nine Realms—but they had gotten caught every time, and now contented themselves with the aroma of the fruit that wafted on the breeze.
"My friends," Thor called up to them. "Have you missed me?"
Fandral nearly fell off his branch.
"Thor! You're back!" he shouted, waving frantically to him until he almost lost his balance again.
Hogun remained more composed. "Your father finally let you outside again," he observed neutrally from his bough, although Thor knew he was glad to see him, because the usually-solemn boy actually cracked a small smile.
"Come on, then, join us," Sif said, grinning.
Thor's heart swelled as he scrambled up to sit with them. He loved this feeling, of being missed, of belonging.
"We were starting to worry you would die of boredom," said Sif. Her trousers, Thor noticed, were torn in a few places from climbing.
"Not quite," Thor laughed. "Though it is good to see you all again."
"Is it true, what everyone is saying?" Fandral asked him in a hushed voice, quivering with excitement.
"You believe everything you hear, Fandral, no matter how ridiculous," Hogun muttered under his breath.
Ignoring him, Fandral continued in a rush, "Is it true that there is a Frost Giant in the dungeons?"
Thor felt his palms start to sweat. He had hoped he could skirt around having to tell any outright lies—that his only deception would be one of omission—but now he had no choice.
If you wish to keep your friend safe, you will not speak a word about him, his mother had charged him. And he had given his word.
"I…I don't know," said Thor uncomfortably. "My father caught me before I could see."
The words came out stiff and awkward. It was not, perhaps, as big a lie as telling them positively that there were no Frost Giants in Asgard. But Thor still did not like it. The secret burned inside him—there was now a portion of his life that they could not know about.
Fandral's shoulders slumped in disappointment. Thor could feel Sif's eyes watching him, as if she knew something was troubling him. But she did not press the matter.
"Let's play a game," she suggested. "We could rescue a damsel from a fire drake."
"Only if I get to be a warrior this time," Fandral complained. "I hate being the damsel."
"It is your own fault for dressing like one," Sif said with a snort, eying the fine embroidery on the hem of Fandral's periwinkle tunic.
Fandral opened his mouth, but before he could turn this discussion into a full-fledged flyting, Thor intervened.
"We should play something where we can all be warriors," he said firmly.
The others nodded. Perhaps it was his rank as prince that made Thor's friends follow his lead, but he did not think it was that, exactly. He simply felt natural in a position of leadership, and they were loyal. They looked to him for direction, and he was glad to provide.
"We could invade Jotunheim," Hogun said.
The blood drained from Thor's face.
Sif and Fandral cheered at this idea and dropped immediately to the ground. Fandral brushed the dirt hastily from his clothes as Sif snickered. Hogun followed them, almost silently.
"The tree can be the fortress," Sif decided, "and we are laying siege to it. The fate of Asgard rests in the hands of just a few brave warriors."
"These monsters must be destroyed, once and for all!" Fandral chimed in.
"We will rid the Nine Realms of this menace."
"We will not rest until their heads are mounted on our walls."
They continued their typical war cries, stolen straight from various sagas, but Thor couldn't speak.
He felt nauseous. Just a fortnight ago, he would have joined them with relish. He wanted to be part of their group again, wanted them happy. But now—even if they didn't know it, even if it was just pretend, they were plotting the death of his friend—he couldn't listen to it.
"Thor? Are you coming down?" said Fandral.
It was an effort to keep his voice steady. "Can we play a different game?"
They all goggled at Thor as if his skin had suddenly turned blue.
"Why?" Sif demanded, her forehead wrinkling in confusion. "Slaying Frost Giants is your favorite game."
"Well, I do not like it anymore," Thor said. "I…I want to play something else."
"Is something wrong, Thor?"
He wished he could simply explain the truth to them. But he had promised.
He racked his brains for another game, one they would like just as much—then at least they would not be upset, and would stop asking questions.
"I know—let's go on a treasure hunt instead," he said, trying to inspire some enthusiasm for this alternative. "There can be dangerous traps, and maybe a troll guarding the way…"
His friends were eventually persuaded—since Thor would not come out of the tree until they agreed—and the fearless band of warriors searched for precious jewels in the mines of Nidavellir, instead of killing giants in Jotunheim.
It was good to run around and laugh with his friends again, but it was hard for Thor to ignore the unease settling in the pit of his stomach.
I have a new friend, he wanted to tell them. He is funny and clever and tells wonderful stories. And he is a Frost Giant.
He wanted Loki at his side. The Jotun prince was too small to belong in Jotunheim, but perhaps he could belong here, with them. With Thor. Perhaps it was a silly thing to wish, but he had gotten so used to Loki's presence in such a short period of time that it was hard to imagine going back to life without him.
Thor had wanted all of his friends to know each other. Now, he was not so certain that was wise after all.
On Midgard, the All-Father in his tent was just dismissing a war council. The commanders were loath to leave the fireside, since going outside meant being assaulted by the blizzard that was now ravaging this area.
But above the howling wind, there was a sudden commotion—there were wounded men arriving in the camp—and the soldiers rushed out to help bring them to the healers.
An officer entered the king's tent to report the number of fatalities.
"It was a costly victory, My King," he said, keeping his eyes on the ground. "Not simply in numbers, but…"
"Who has fallen?" Odin's tone made it clear that he was not in a mood to be trifled with.
Another officer entered, carrying a body wrapped in a bloodstained cloak.
Odin lifted the makeshift shroud to gaze into the dead man's face. All of the wounds were on the front of his body—he had never tried to retreat, then. Valhalla awaited him, at least.
Geir always was reckless and headstrong, Odin thought, sighing. Well, now a warrior's greatest glory is his.
This war had cost the king one of his best generals.
"Take his body back to Asgard," he ordered the officers. "See to it that he is given a warrior's funeral. Tell his family—"
Odin paused. He closed his eyes, allowing himself just one moment of heavy regret. Geir's daughter, Sif, was one of Thor's close companions, Odin knew. He had not just lost a valuable chess piece, but a child had lost her father, a wife her husband.
"All-Father?" one of the officers prompted timidly.
"Tell his family that he died with honor, and that their king will not forget them."
The soldiers bowed in assent and took away the limp, shrouded form on a stretcher. Moments later came the rushing sound of the Bifröst pulling them back home.