1407 AD: Asgard, Valaskjálf

Thor calls for another round of drinks, clapping a broad hand on the other man' shoulder. He had been surprised, but pleasantly so, when Haldor had suggested they talk. The Great Hall is all but empty in the early afternoon, and rather than the long benches they'd chosen to sit around a small table set up by the fire.

"We should have done this ages ago," he tells him, beaming as a servant hurries back with two more tankards of mead. Thor had been acquainted with Haldor— of an age with him, from a minor noble house, but it was his recent accomplishments on the battlefield that had truly distinguished him (and, he suspects, caught Sif's eye). He'd noticed them socializing after a few minor skirmishes, then stealing glances at feasts and celebrations, chatting together, and finally they'd been courting in earnest for a few short years. She brings him around often, but they've never spoken alone before today. "Anyone dear to Sif is a friend of mine."

"Yes," Haldor says, unusually stiffly as he accepts the drink, "Sif." He's always seemed a pleasant fellow, bold and daring on the field, but with a warm, welcome smile and good-natured sense of humor at rest. He seems distracted today, passing a hand through his short sandy-brown hair, his dark brown eyes distant.

"Is there some trouble, friend?" Thor quirks an eyebrow as he takes a swig, but Haldor shakes his head, assures him that nothing is amiss. Haldor perks up suddenly, with the attentive excitement of a dog that's caught a scent, as the sound of quick footsteps and the tapping of dainty heels draws nearer.

"Well isn't this a surprise," Lorelei says as she reaches the table, smiling as she looks between them. "Might I join you?"

"Yes. Yes of course," Haldor stands to let her in, wide-eyed, his tongue darting over his lips. There's a breathless eagerness in his expression that immediately strikes Thor as wholly inappropriate for someone courting one of his dearest friends, and he's about to tell him so, his own expression darkening as he opens his mouth to protest—

Lorelei's hand grazes the back of his neck as she passes by, and the tension drains out of Thor's shoulders. He's being ridiculous. Haldor is an honourable man, and Sif trusts him— he's clearly imagining things… though he could hardly fault him if he wasn't. Lorelei is stunning.

"Honestly, I've been meaning to speak with you for a long time," she tells him with a bashful smile, looking up through lowered lashes, "but I'm never able before someone so rudely chases me away… With threats of violence, no less…." She shakes her head, aghast, and shrinks into herself with a delicate sigh. "I do understand, of course, I feel awful about what happened, but it was so long ago and I was so young… The attention was so nice, and I didn't know what I was doing. By the time I realized, I had already ruined everything…" She looks up at him, her green eyes sparkling. "But you don't hold it against me. Do you, your Highness?"

Thor offers her an understanding smile and nod of his head. "Honestly, Lady Lorelei, I'm the last person who should criticize for youthful lapses in one's power," he chuckles. "I think I've shocked each of my friends at least once. Poor Loki alone—" he trails off with a sheepish grimace, rolling his eyes and shaking his head at the memory.

She smiles at him, letting out a deep breath of relief, a pale hand at her collarbone, the other reaching out to take one of his. It's so small in his own, so soft, and she gives it a squeeze, looking deep into his eyes. "Oh, thank you," she breathes, "I knew you'd understand."

The rest of the world melts away as they talk. She says she was in town picking up a few things she'd had commissioned, and she'd thought it most polite if she stopped in to visit. He'd never realized before how pleasant Lorelei was, and there's an irritation growing at the back of his mind as he thinks of all the times Sif warned her away from them. This warm, charming, perfectly lovely ásynja excluded for all those years because of Sif's overprotective— no, jealousy, Lorelei rightfully names it. He'd never believed Sif capable of that kind of pettiness but perhaps he didn't know her as well as he had thought, and Haldor— Norns, he had completely forgotten about Haldor— isn't offering any words in her defence.

It's alright, she assures him, her hand resting on his forearm— he doesn't miss the way she admires the muscle corded beneath his skin and he might show off for her a little in return— they can make up for lost time now. A crooked grin stretches across his face. He feels a little tipsy— flushed and unsteady like he's enjoyed a few too many drinks, and he's suddenly certain that he's never been this thoroughly besotted. Something…. There's a buzzing at the back of his skull, something needling him about that thought, but it can't quite come together.

Lorelei's eyes widen suddenly as her gaze darts to the main entrance. Thor manages to tear his own attention away from those beautiful eyes long enough to follow their line of sight, and he finds Fandral paused in the doorway. He blinks, his eyes passing over the three of them before he turns abruptly on his heel and disappears down the hallway without another word.

Thor raises an eyebrow and moves to follow him, but the gentle pressure of Lorelei's hand on his arm somehow holds him still. To his disappointment, she looks away from him.

"Haldor, dear," Thor feels the barest shiver of jealousy at her divided attention, but he says nothing. "Do you remember what we had discussed?"

"Of course," he says, rapt, and then contented when she smiles at him.

"Good. Just be ready, in case things become…. Unpleasant. Let's hope he's just giving us our privacy," she says, turning back to Thor with a nearly nervous giggle, taking hold of his hand and threading her lithe little fingers through his own, "but really the thing I'd been meaning to ask you— I hope you don't think it terribly forward, but I'd been hoping to invite you to my estate. You've never visited, have you? You'll love it— I do realize it would be most unbecoming, a young Prince visiting my home unchaperoned, being fatherless and alone as I am, but… I would rather it just be the two of us, no big official party. I know the polite thing would be to extend the invitation to your brother, but..." she lets out another guilty sigh, looks up at him apologetically, hoping for understanding. "He makes me so very uncomfortable."

He furrows his brows for a moment. He supposes Loki can have that effect, but he dislikes the thought of the two most important people in his life at odds. Thor gives her a reassuring pat on the shoulder and smiles at her. He can work on that, has all the time in the world to ease them into one another's company, and surely Loki will warm up to her when he sees how dearly Thor loves her. "He's actually away, at the moment."

"Is he really?" her expression brightens. "Perhaps now would be the perfect time. Just for a few days, it really is beautiful this time of year. We should leave at once." A sly smile curls across her lips as she leans in closer, playfully twisting a long lock of his golden hair around her finger. The look she gives him has heat pooling low in his belly as she stands, linking her arm through his and starting for the door. "It would be terribly scandalous if anyone found out, though. If you could just tell the guard you're off hunting, or fishing, or whatever it is strapping young warriors like yourself do between battles…"

When they turn, the Lady Sif is standing in the doorway, sword drawn and eyes narrowed.

"Haldor, get back," she orders, never taking her steely gaze from Lorelei. Haldor's eyes flicker to Lorelei, and she dismisses him with a subtle nod of her head. He backs away but doesn't leave, lingering by one of the servants' corridors. "Let him go," Sif demands, pointing the blade at the two of them.

Lorelei looks up at him, terror shining in those lovely eyes. "Sif, it's fine," he assures her, holding up a cautioning hand. "Sheath that at once; you're being ridiculous."

Sif ignores him, her fingers curling around the hilt of her blade in anticipation. "I said," she repeats, directly at Lorelei, "let him go."

To his dismay, Lorelei slips her arm out from his, takes a step back, her hands raised in surrender. "Alright. See? We're only talking."

"Sif," he eases, taking a step forward, one hand still extended as he moves to lower the sword. "I know what you think, but Lorelei can't help the nature of her magic any more than I can. Amora had the same gifts, and she was always welcome here. We've just been talking, and honestly, I'm coming to see how we've all misjudged her for so long." Sif hesitates and Thor smiles, reaching out again for Lorelei, who winds her way back into his arms. "She's wonderful. I've never met anyone like her. Sif," he sighs, a tender glance down at Lorelei and then back up at Sif, beseeching. "As my friend, I would hope you would be happy for me."

The knot in his stomach unclenches as Sif lowers the weapon. It's still in her hand, but dangling loosely from her thumb curled beneath the cross-guard as she holds her palms out, placating. "Alright," she says, nodding, and Thor beams at her change in attitude. "Alright. Tell me, what is it you admire about her?"

Thor's grin widens, dreamy and drunk on his affection. "So many things," he tells her eagerly, impatient to convince Sif of her worth. "There's…. She… ah," His brow furrows as he tries to wrangle the warm, dizzying feeling into something concrete. His head begins to throb at the temples, behind his eyes, as though it might split open. "She's… beautiful? And… and….and her voice…? I… what?"

"Damn you." There's a snarl from below him, and Lorelei seizes him by the arm so tightly that her nails pierce the skin. "You just had to make this unpleasant, didn't you Sif?" At the end of the hall, Haldor vanishes down his corridor. "No matter. We'll do this the hard way."

There's a numbness where her fingers dig into his forearm, a feeling sinking in through his skin like something's tapped the lightning in his veins, slowed the current— interference, Thor thinks, though the implication of this falls away—is wrenched away from him, someone else's magic tampering with his own.

He flinches, tries to rip his arm away as a reflexive defense against the intrusion, but blood begins to pool beneath her fingers and it drags him down deeper, deeper… the urge to fight draining out of him. It's a soothing feeling, he comes to realize, like laying down to rest. It's Lorelei's magic, after all, his sweet, beautiful Lorelei, her essence pouring into him, and how could he not welcome it with open arms?

"Thor? Thor, look at me— shit," he hears Sif as though she's far away, as though he's hearing her from underwater.

Lorelei's voice is clearer, the only thing that cuts through the haze.

"Thor, my love?" she asks, casually, and his heart leaps at the sound, at the opportunity to give her anything she wants from him. "Kill her for me, would you?"

Yes. Yes, of course. Yes, anything.

The storm is already gathering in his heart, and he channels it bright and sharp and arcing, into his hand. Sif throws herself out of the way of the first bolt, just barely evades a second as the bench he hits in her place explodes in a shower of charred splinters. She backs away from him as he lunges towards her, but doesn't flee, instead keeping a steady distance, sword raised. He hears her talking, though he can't make sense of the words.

Fight her, Thor. You do not want this.

He sees only the target of Lorelei's ire. Lightning gathers in one hand, and he holds out the other, and calls.

No!

Sif strikes at his arm with the flat of her blade, disrupts his concentration, but he sends her flying with a blast of crackling energy and then— he blinks slowly as the hammer falls into his hand, at home, singing in resonance with his magic. Mjolnir is solid, grounding, its familiar, comfortable weight in his grip like a reminder—

Sif. Oh Norns, something… something struck Sif, sent her to the ground— relief floods through him as she scrambles back to her feet, but everything's still spinning, his head pounds— Lorelei's fingers curl around his shoulder, her voice in his ear, and the fog in his skull grows thicker.

"End her, my love. We need to leave now."

The hammer feels heavier in his hands.

He freezes as someone calls his name. Not Sif this time, and not Lorelei, but he hears it so clearly— "Mum?" he mumbles, looking towards the source, trying to blink his eyes back into focus, and he sees her now, in the doorway, a hand outstretched. His mother. It's his mother calling to him, and he feels the gentle caress of her magic reaching for his, familiar and comforting, calming the static that rushes through him. Not enough to clear his head, but enough that he knows something is wrong, and feels the intrusion alongside her welcome presence.

Thor lets Mjolnir slip from his fingers to fall with a heavy thud, and Lorelei screams in frustration. She yanks the sword from his belt and runs for an empty doorway, but Sif is upon her in an instant and he hears a ringing clang of metal on metal as his mother creeps towards him.

"Mum?" he feels lost, as if he's being torn in two. He needs to do something. He desperately needs to go help, but he can't remember who.

She smiles when she reaches him, hushes him as she trails a hand down the side of his face, and whispering reassurances, bids him focus on her— and he's suddenly so very, very weary…

His eyelids droop irresistibly, lulled by his mother's magic, and he sinks with her to the stone floor, cradled in her arms as he'd been as a boy. He's meant to be doing something… Thor drifts, bobbing to the surface and then sinking back to the deep, calm quiet, static crackling idly about him. He hears sounds— the familiar ringing of metal on metal, voices, familiar but unintelligible.

Someone calls out, uncertain, then again, frantic. There are more noises then, closer than the clatter of weapons, a sequence of events that some deep, smothered part of him understands in muted horror: a muffled cry, the dull thud of a body thrown to the ground, and then that gentle darkness swallows him whole.

Author's Note: So, horrified to realize that it's been over a year now since I published chapter 9 OTL Here's... something? This year has been uh... A lot.