THE INCARNATION
Chapter 2: Month One - Alien
At first, Thor was content to wait. When the harsh New Mexico sun rose, so did he. The lovely mortal woman was delighted to keep him nearby, on the condition he answered her many questions and carry her large machines wherever she directed. He was little better than a servant to the woman, but she allowed him to sleep on the cushioned chair in her glass house and permitted him to eat from the food in her kitchen. That alone was enough to keep him from wandering elsewhere, for now.
He did not know where else to go, or what else to do, and so he watched Jane talk to herself as she scribbled unintelligibly on a notepad and sought to unravel the mysteries of the stars through her primitive technology. He carried her heavy machines for her across the roof or across the desert and he made notations on computer, when she told him to, and he even learned to make coffee. The brilliant smile she rewarded him with more than made up for the number of times he spilled coffee grounds or fumbled the machine so it overflowed all over the counter.
He climbed to the roof each day, when the heat finally dwindled with the setting sun, and he stared out into the stars that his patroness loved. He did not know their names or their faces. They were strangers to him, but not to her. She knew them each by name and had a story to go alongside them. She told of heroes endowed with more strength than mortal men who fought fantastic beasts and fierce villains and so earned their memorials in the nighttime sky. Her eyes glowed more than the fire at their feet when she spoke of them and he did not understand why something as constant and as unexceptional as the night sky could stir up so much passion for her.
He wished, sometimes, that he could bottle the fire Jane so readily shared and imbibe it himself, to breathe new life into his stagnating, lost self and help him find his way. He had once been passionate about many things, but sometimes now he wondered why he bothered to wake at all. It grew worse, the more suns rose and set. The eager anticipation, the sureness that this would be but a quickly passing detour, began to wane with extinguished day.
He wandered the small village, watching the little Midgardians as they bustled to-and-fro, living their menial existences without any knowledge of the wider universe beyond them. They knew nothing of Asgard or Jotunheim or their place in the Nine Realms. They did not care if he had once been first in line to the throne which far surpassed the power of this entire realm put together. The them, he was simply a stranger, another face passing through their desert town.
To them, he was simply another mortal.
He learned the names of each of the shopkeepers and what wares they sold. He learned that horses could only be acquired from the next town over, but Farmer Jones could provide him with an old mule, if he was interested (which he wasn't). No one sold swords, but he managed to find a good hunting knife from Tom Smith's shop. It was far too dull and weak to be of much use for anything but to cut bread or skewer a pheasant. It was better than an empty sheathe and no weapon at all. Isabella could give him a plentiful supply of food and companionship, though he could not find food in the middle of the night (or so she told him, after the first time he tried).
Each establishment insisted he give them green paper and metal disks in exchange for their wares and services, though he could not decipher what possible use the strange currency could provide. The metal disks could not be melted down for jewelry or weapons and the green paper contained no spell work, at least none that his woefully inadequate skills in magic could distinguish. Jane assured him that their currency was soluble, nonetheless, and told him he was "on a budget" and that once he ran out of his supply, she would not give him any more. He had never had his purse strings limited and the thought that there was no an entire treasure vault financing his every whim came as a bit of a shock.
The village tavern was the best place for news in the area. He frequented the tavern, not only to enjoy its flowing supply of strong drink, but to inquire into the latest of information surrounding the mysterious tented city and the immovable hammer within. He feared that one such evening he would be informed that the hammer had vanished, or found a new owner. He wondered how long it would be guarded by so many Midgardian warriors. He dreamed, again and again, of the day he would be able to stride through the center of that tented city and claim his birthright as his own again.
In the meantime, he could do nothing but wait.
In fidelity to the promise extracted by Erik Selvig, Thor left town the day after Mjolnir's condemnation of the banished prince. He had nowhere to go and no discernable purpose to achieve. He had never felt so overwhelmingly aimless in his life. All that tied him to both his life in Asgard and his life on Midgard was Mjolnir, so he haunted the wastelands around the white tents. He stayed far enough from the swarming tents and vehicles to avoid detection, but near enough that he could still keep his eyes trained on them and track their movements.
Through the blaring desert days and nights, he stayed and watched. Only a day or two passed before he realized two distinctly uncomfortable revelations. The first was that he could not go indefinitely without sleep. After only a single night's vigil, his head swam and his body felt so heavy that he thought he could fall asleep on his feet. Such exhaustion was something he had never experienced in Asgard, even after staying awake for a month. While his Aesir form grew somewhat uncomfortable when he abstained from rest, it was nowhere near as debilitating as he currently felt after only one night's vigil.
Secondly, he was not sure if the thirst or the hunger was the greater opponent to his continued presence near Mjolnir. His tongue clung to the roof of his mouth and his stomach gurgled and he felt weakness flood his body like a wasting illness. He determined to not let it bother him and he stayed in place another day and night.
By the time dawn crept over the desert next, Thor knew he would need to find sustenance or his continued vigil would leave him in no condition to protect himself or Mjolnir from harm. He crept as quietly as he could to the temporary lodging of the Midgardian warriors. In the back of one vehicle, stationed far afield from the surrounding fence, he found boxes of provisions. These, he stole like a common thief and he found cover in the brush so he could eagerly ingest his prize.
He nearly spluttered when the sugary sweet beverage burned through his nostrils with bubbles and the wrapped packages of what he had assumed to be food seemed to be more a treat than true sustenance. Still it invigorated him enough that he thought his needs were met.
For another day and night, he watched. It was then, as the sun rose over him again, that he realized he could not continue on indefinitely. Thor's head swam in a manner uncomfortably reminiscent of the time he ingested that sorcerer's potion on Nornheim. The weakness of his newly acquired mortal form was nearly overpowering and he feared that if he deprived his body of further sustenance, he would have no strength to continue on. At dawn, he began to walk the half day's journey back to Puente Antiguo. He loathed going back on his word to Dr. Selvig, but he did not know which direction the next closest village would be and he was not sure how many days his mortal form could travel.
As it turned out, he could not even make it to Puente Antiguo. The morning sun morphed into the afternoon heat and the dusty road before him became more and more overpowering until, unbidden, he collapsed on the ground.
That was how Thor met Louis. When he woke next, he was laying in the back of a delivery truck on a blanket, surrounded by boxes. Despite his best efforts to stay awake, the gentle vibrations of travel and the rising heat of the morning sun lulled him back to sleep and he did not wake till the truck stopped and a group of mortals in white clothes surrounded the truck with a bed on tried to sit up and protest, but he failed.
"I found him lying by the side of the road like that," Louis told them. "It was hot as hell out there. I think he's dehydrated."
When he woke next, tubes and machines were attached to his body and Midgardian healers swarmed around him. Jane stood beside his bed, anxiously looking over at him and talking to the healer. He would have pulled the tubes from his veins and pushed his way out of the room if her hand had not stayed him in place. She gave him a firm glare and frowned.
"Oh no you don't," she said. "You are staying put until the doctor says you leave."
She stayed by his side, then she insisted he accompany her back to her glass home in Puente Antiguo.
"Thor, you were dehydrated and your blood sugar was far too low," she told him. "How long had it been since you last ate or drank anything?"
Thor gave a sheepish grin. "How often do mortals require sustenance? I fear I am ill-equipped with the knowledge required to care for my mortal form."
"Let's gloss over how that makes you sound like you should still be in the hospital. Thor, you need to eat and drink every day. I know, I know, I forget sometimes, too, but, really – what were you doing out in the middle of the desert without anything?"
"I did not know where else to go," he answered truthfully.
"Then why did you leave?"
When she had extracted the story of Dr. Selvig's interference from him, she promised to give her companion a thorough chiding and assured Thor of his longstanding invitation to stay with her.
"I could use your help around the lab," she told him. "Besides, I'd love to pick your brain about a few things."
He didn't know what his brain had to do with anything and he felt like the Midgardian healers had done more than enough "picking" of his body for some time, but he agreed. It was obvious that Mjolnir would not provide a means for him to survive his banishment and thus far, his only other firm direction, came from the woman he first found on the other side of the Bifrost.
Though Thor decided to stay with Jane, he still visited Mjolnir as often as he could. It just so happened that on Mondays, Louis drove his truck to the white tents out in the desert. Louis drove his truck from Albuquerque to Roswell each week and on the way, he stopped by the white tents to bring them their supplies of bottled water and nonperishable foods and box after box of unlabeled supplies.
It was Louis who sought out Thor. He came to Jane's home the week after Thor's return and he inquired after Thor's health.
"Hey man! I just, you know, wanted to make sure you were good. Isabella said I'd find you here."
"You have my thanks, mortal," Thor told them man with a broad grin.
Soon, the pair were fast friends and Thor acquired a longstanding invitation to accompany Louis on his weekly drives.
Louis had a pet dog named Nacho, who he let ride in the passenger seat. Louis liked to talk about Midgardian sports, which Thor had never seen, but Thor was content enough to listen and ask questions. He was an amiable enough companion and he tolerated Thor's company without question. Thor never left the truck when they arrived. It was as close as he dared to get without raising the suspicions of the Midgardian warriors who held his hammer captive.
It was the highlight of each week. He could not see Mjolnir and he certainly did not come within reach of it, but he knew it was there and that made him feel closer to home. Closer to who he had once been. Closer to being worthy.
Yet, the sun continued to rise and set. Midgard orbited around its sun and Thor Odinson remained on Midgard. Each day, he felt just a little farther away than he had been the day before.
For one full cycle of the moon, he had slept on Jane's cushioned chair and carried her machines about. He fulfilled the instructions of Lady Darcy and he spent his evenings on the rooftop, his eyes searching for any glimpse of his home.
"You see that one?" Jane said and pointed out overhead. She wrapped her shoulders in a blanket and a half eaten meal still rested on her knee. She had stopped studying the heavens only long enough to tell him stories again.
He leaned back in his chair and squinted overhead, trying to make out the constellation she pointed at. He could not, but he nodded and pretended he did. It appeased her enough that she continued with her tale, her warm eyes overflowing her with own special fervent passion.
"That one is Hercules. He was said to be a son of Zeus, the greatest of the Greek gods. His father gave him immortality and then he was given a series of impossible challenges to complete. He did them all. Once he was able to prove himself, he was able to join his father on Mount Olympus, the home of all the gods. They say he kneels on one leg because he is praying for his father's help in his tasks. With his other foot, he crushes the head of the serpent, Draco. Behind him, just out of his reach, is a crown, Corona Borealis."
"It is a noble tale," Thor answered, his eyes falling from the star and back to the fire. He could not help but wish he knew what impossible tasks he needed complete himself.
She stayed with him on the roof for some time, asking him questions about Asgard and the people who claimed him as their own. He answered truthfully, though he could not avoid his ignorance in his knowledge of their astronomy. He wished he remembered more about their stars. He wished he knew more about their planets. He wished he paid more attention to his tutors' stories about the magic holding together Yggdrasil. He gave Jane all he had, but he knew it wasn't enough to satisfy her insatiable curiosity.
Still, it was enough to please her and keep her eyes fixed on him when he spoke. It was enough to give him a place to sleep and food to eat and a place to belong, however impermanent.
When she had gone to retire for the night, Thor was left on the roof, his eyes still fixed on the stars overhead.
"Father, what must I do to be worthy?" he asked out loud. "How long will my banishment last? Why must I continue to inhabit this mortal form on this realm, of all realms?"
He knew Heimdall could hear and see him. He knew his father, mother, and brother could reach him – by Bifrost or by magic. Yet, they chose not to. No voices spoke. No apparitions appeared to direct his path. The stars remained silent and Asgard remained far out of reach.
By the time the sun rose again the next morning, and Thor fought the sudden wave of exhaustion that came with it, he realized that his banishment just might last longer than he had originally anticipated. It could last years and years.
What if it never ends? A small, traitorous voice whispered in the back of his mind, making him feel ill and even more determined to cling to the hope that kept him going, kept him waking, kept him believing it would soon be over. It had to be. He could not even comprehend the alternative.
Author's Note: This tale will most likely have about five or so parts. It is not an epic one. This began with the thought of "what would have happened if Loki's hand never turned blue?" and "what would have happened if Thor's banishment was longer than three days?" We are one month in.