Someone with long, dark hair bobbed in the water.
They rocked overtop the waves on a broken hunk of wood, passing alongside slippery cod and thick ice flows which glittered beneath bright sunlight.
Thor very nearly speared them. Only the appearance of thin pale hands creeping out around the mop of hair held him off and had him reaching for rope, for all the good it may do.
He'd called out to them, shouted even, despite the uneasy silence he felt when his calls went unanswered.
They looked dead.
Whether they'd passed before winding up in the sea, or suffered the bitter cold in their last moments, Thor couldn't say. He knew how little sanctuary it offered to anyone unlucky enough to fall in.
His heart ached in his chest as he tried to ignore the fierce urge to collect their body and send them off properly, or as properly as he could manage.
A funeral might not make much of a difference with how personal funerals tended to be, and how little Thor knew about whoever now floated before him.
It stung something deep in his soul to consider ignoring them though.
If Thor didn't care for their body, what if they sank deeper into the sea and rotted until something far less human grew from their bones?
He shook his head as the sickening thought. Dredging a body may do more harm than good; what would Thor do with this body once he hauled them aboard?
Would he search for their family, or friends?
Thor couldn't see any nearby boats, nor any nearby people he might intrude on. Few people lived as far north as Thor, and fewer still fished in the desolate waters he did.
The body rolled over another wave and began to sink before Thor jerked to life.
Whether or not their body would be claimed, they deserved a funeral.
He paddled nearer and wound one end of a thickset rope around himself and the opposite end several times around the seat of his rowboat. He hissed a brief hope for his own safety to Njörd and his fickle realm of the wind and sea, and lunged for the pale body.
The bitter cold stole the breath from his lungs and threatened to swallow him whole as his arms dipped beneath the waves.
He breathed a violent litany of swears as he struggled to haul them aboard. Frigid water streamed down Thor's front as he tilted their pale arms upwards and gently settled them to lounge at the far end of the boat.
He couldn't help but breathe a slight sigh of relief after noticing they appeared old enough to be a grown man, and thankfully not a tall child.
"You couldn't have chosen a different time to die, could you?" he asked before leaning back over the side of the rowboat and squeezing out his soaked sleeves. "Summer would've been nicer, or autumn, there's no better time for a funeral than autumn." He nodded to himself as the tastes of nutty breads and roasted, crispy lamb with honey, mustard, and garlic filled his thoughts. "Funerals in late winter are poor cousins to those held in autumn."
He rocked sideways as a broad wave knocked into the small boat and tossed the body upwards into Thor.
An old respect for the dead, or more aptly a fear of them, sent Thor scrambling just out of range as mottled foam spat out from the dead man's mouth.
Thor's heart pounded in his chest as he dodged as far backwards as he could go.
A hacking cough croaked from the body and left Thor with an icy feeling having little to do with his recent dip in the sea. He could hardly breathe as old fireside tales of the monsters and spirits tore through his memories.
Had he fallen into a trap?
He spun on his heel and frantically searched the horizon for suspicious movement but found only thick ice flows.
A clever beast could be hiding beneath the waves and using a body as a lure, but Thor already risked himself by grabbing the lure.
If Thor were the hunter, he'd have attacked then, so why hadn't the monster?
A second rattling cough sent him spinning back around in time to see the pale man shudder and spit up a slick, rancid foam from near blue lips.
His eyes opened with a sluggish blink and struggled to focus as they wobbled over the rowboat before dropping shut once more.
"You're," Thor started as a horrible sensation swept over him and stole away any thought of monsters. "You're not dead!"
He lurched forward, causing the boat to rock again as he turned the man sideways to help him spit up seawater.
"Forgive me! I would've been quicker had I known!" Thor said with a gasp. He thumped a heavy hand over the soaked wool at the man's back.
"I—" he jerked backwards as a shudder rattled through the man.
Undeterred, Thor leant forward and tried wringing the wool dry and pushing some warmth into the man's pale arms before he realized that swallowing sea water might be the least of their worries.
"You need warmth," Thor said with a wet sniff before looking out over the desolate sea.
He imagined the man might've nodded if he could, but his eyelids tightened and he dropped deeper into the rowboat instead, as if the time spent coughing took the scant energy left to him.
"You need warmth," Thor said again as he twisted in place and spied the inlet hiding the route to his home. "You can't lay there, not while you're this cold! I'm not sure how you managed to survive for this long in the sea, but I don't think you can manage it for much longer!"
What if they didn't make it in time? What if the man had spat up the last of what bothered him before making for Hel?
Thor couldn't bear for this to be the man's last moments, not after his stubborn refusal to die. He deserved a chance, a fighting chance.
"You need body heat," Thor said as his chilled fingers struggled to loosen the knot at his waist before pointing, rather unhelpfully as the man's eyes remained closed, toward the knot. "I'll tie you into this with me and sail home. I left a low fire going, but I'll make it bigger."
He shivered as he tugged the man closer and nervously glanced over his bruised and purple eyelids. He hoped they'd open again and give him some semblance of understanding as he pressed the man against his front. If he could share his tunic, he'd share that as well, but Thor had grown rounder in the middle since he'd woven this top and lately, he'd been considering weaving a larger one.
The man's head fell forward with a worrying movement as Thor pulled him into his lap. His height nearly rivaled Thor's, but his thin frame fit comfortably atop his lap.
"It's a quick trip from here to the shore," Thor said, fussing with the sail, "and an even quicker walk from there! It's maybe five minutes total," he added, ignoring a nagging voice arguing about how quick a hike could be when the hiker couldn't walk.
Thor would have to carry him then, that couldn't be too difficult. He didn't weigh a tremendous amount.
"We can handle that, don't you agree?" he asked.
The man gave a ragged cough followed by a slow, wet inhale.
"I'll take that as a yes," Thor nodded. "You can't give up now, not with what you've already gone through," he said as the man wobbled in his lap. "Think of how curious little ones will be to hear this story, we'll need a title for it, and a fitting theme! Little ones have no love for themes, but I'm sure their parent's will appreciate one."
He kept up an anxious hum of chatter as he rowed to the shoreline. The man didn't appear to mind, rather, he seemed to nod along with him, though whether he'd awoken, or the waves nodded for him, Thor couldn't say.
The boat groaned as it tore a jagged cut through the snowy shore, nearly unseating the two of them and shaking a hacking cough from the man.
"We're alright," Thor said. "Just a rough boat landing." His teeth chattered as he searched over the dense, quiet woods. "We'll be home sooner than you'd think."
The nagging voice argued once more about moving dead weight through deep snow and narrow paths. It asked how Thor intended to help someone who'd clearly intended on dying—
"No one who lives this long intends to die," Thor argued out loud.
He hauled the man upwards and shuddered as icy streams rained over the two of them once more.
Snow clung to Thor's boots as he shuffled out of the boat and loosened the rope tying the two together. He looped an arm around the man's chest and awkwardly held him upright.
"It would be faster if I put you over my shoulder but…" He looked at the narrow pathway leading into the woods. Thor somehow doubted a bit of body heat at the man's middle would be enough to stave off death, but if they moved quick enough it might work?
He paused and turned back to the small catch of cod in his boat, as well as his fishing tackle and supplies. He didn't enjoy leaving them here, but what more could he do?
A wet gurgle shook him from his thoughts.
The man's head had fallen backward, and two hazy green eyes now watched him with a feverish intensity.
Thor inhaled quickly and pulled the man up and over his shoulder.
A second gurgle sent a bit more sea water down Thor's back, making Thor wince in sympathy.
"Forgive me, but it's the quickest way."
Low hanging spruce fronds dusted them in snow as Thor stumbled through them. He tried to think up a list of the healers he knew, but the closest lived more than a day away.
Would the man live long enough to make a trip like that? If he did, should he make a trip like that so soon after nearly drowning?
He seemed to have already perked up some. It could've been the cold keeping the man so unresponsive, but then, how had he wound up so far from the shore? How had he lasted so long as well? Where had he come from?
Thor hadn't seen anyone else fishing today, nor had he seen other boats or boat wrecks.
Maybe the man had been fishing further south, but his boat wrecked, and the current took him north?
He might be hurt if his boat sank. Thor couldn't tell if blood or mud stained the dark clothing the man wore, only that he looked considerably dirty despite being soaked.
"It would help if you could tell me of any wounds," Thor said with a gasp as he skirted a bent birch tree. "Anything in need of treatment, I mean," he added. "Maybe, maybe cough once if you—"
The man gave a sudden, painful sounding wheeze.
"Maybe I shouldn't be asking you to cough, not after all the sea water you spat up," Thor mumbled. His quick steps seemed determined to trip him up, but then, so too did the snow, path, and cold, and his frigid, drenched clothes.
The short hike wore on them faster than he'd thought possible, and by the time his small cabin appeared, his fingers and toes had lost all feeling. He made short work of throwing the door open and haphazardly settling the man onto the tattered, woven rug before the fire. The discordant greetings of hens, sheep, and goats echoed through the house as he tossed his own frozen clothing off and climbed into warmer things.
He tried to carefully work the man's stiff, icy tunic free, but near silent gasps of pain urged Thor to reach for his father's old, pockmarked hunting knife and begin cutting.
Strips of heavy fabric dropped to the floor as he worked. He felt as if his heart might beat out of his chest every time his knife passed close to the man's skin. His quick movements tore through two pouches around the man's waist, which scattered soaked white lily petals and spruce needles over the floor. He narrowly avoided doing the same to a smaller pouch around the man's neck, though his cold fingers fumbled with the fabric, allowing a wet sprig of mistletoe and a worn piece of pine wood to tumble out before Thor quickly stuffed it back inside.
Once finished, he sucked in a breath as he finally had a chance to see the man's condition. No wounds bled outright; rather, mottled bruises in varying stages of healing littered the man's torso.
A spike of protectiveness shot through Thor's chest at the sight of the vivid reds, purples and blues. He'd seen what became of folks who survived boat wrecks. They rarely walked away unharmed, and more often than not, splintered wood and sharp ice left shallow wounds alongside bruising.
Thor had never seen any sign of a boat though, so how had the man wound up so far from the shore?
Thor tried to quiet the growing list of questions as his eyes tracked over the man's pale skin, but the list continued on despite his attempts. The man looked concerningly thin. His ribs stuck out far enough to leave a shallow well where a belly should be. Thor couldn't grasp why it bothered him so much, though it could have to do with his own large belly, or the abundance of food he kept to share, on the off chance old friends came to visit.
It felt unreasonable to have someone so thin when there hadn't been any nearby droughts or famine in recent memory.
A sharp cough brought Thor out of his worries.
"Forgive me!" Thor whispered as he leapt to his feet and tossed his knife beside his spear.
He grabbed a few towels and a thick, patterned blanket from his bed before dropping back to his knees and helping to dry the man off. Once he'd wrapped the blanket around the man, he set about building up the fire in the pit and debating how uncomfortable the man might be when Thor stripped down to join him.
It felt too intimate, cuddling him so close, especially with how little they knew each other.
Thor ought to tell him about himself then, shouldn't he? If he did, the man might feel more comfortable. Should Thor worry about himself? His size worked to his advantage quite well here, as his weight gave most folks pause. The man didn't have many options if he wanted to live though.
If Thor didn't help him, he wouldn't live.
He spun in place after finishing with the fire and moved to join the man on the carpet once more.
The top of his blanket had fallen over to hide the man's face, leaving a tangled mess of damp, dark hair spilling out from beneath. It reminded Thor eerily of how he'd looked in the water.
He'd woken up twice now though, and begun shivering too, whereas before he'd been worryingly still.
Shivering might be a mixed signal. Did it mean the man would be alright, or did it mean he'd grown colder? He couldn't have grown colder, could he?
Thin, dirty fingers crept out from beneath the blanket, trembling in the air as a wobbly hand reached out toward the blanket's hem.
Thor reached out as well and flipped the cover free from the man's face in time to watch him huff at himself. A glare flickered through his eyes as he stared at his own grimy fingers.
Thor took the man's hand between his own. "You need body heat," he said. "Touch, I mean. You can't just sit before the fire, it would—that is…" Truthfully Thor didn't know why sitting before a fire wouldn't work, but he knew it would harm more than help. "I assure you, if there were other options, I would take them."
The man's eyes swept upwards and landed on Thor's face. The previous tightness around his eyes had yet to fade.
"My name is Thor," Thor said awkwardly. "This is my farm," he added when the man hadn't reacted.
The man's eyebrows scrunched together.
"I felt—I thought I ought to introduce myself, so you might feel more comfortable with, well, with me," Thor said as he dropped the man's hand. He tugged his tunic over his head and kicked his trousers off, leaving only his small clothes in place.
The tight pinch around the man's eyebrows faded into a flat, blank expression. He tried inhaling, but only wound up coughing again.
"I'm going to touch you, if that's alright?" Thor asked before very slowly sliding an arm around the man's waist and tucking him close up against Thor's chest.
A sharp crack erupted from the fire pit, startling Thor into squeezing the man tight enough to elicit another cough. He whispered another apology as his thumb trailed idle, soothing patterns over the man's shoulders before stopping short again when he realized how familiarly he treated the man.
He dearly hoped that if his presence bothered the man still, he'd either forget about it amidst the pain of almost drowning or forgive Thor after the fact.
Blustery wind whirled overtop the house, rattling bare trees as it tore by. Thor tried to let the sound take the place of conversation but found he couldn't tolerate the near silence.
He was still worried the man felt deeply uncomfortable about him.
How could he not? Thor significantly outweighed him, undressed him, and now held him close.
If Thor lay defenseless and in the same position, he would likely panic.
Although, the man might have understood that without the help, he'd die. Either way, Thor should offer some more information to try and make him feel safer, shouldn't he?
"This is my house," Thor started with another awkward sound. "I didn't build it though, I inherited it."
He glanced over the littered mess of clothes and dishes.
Sharing his home with a stranger so suddenly felt jarring. He hadn't had company since his mother's passing.
"My mother decorated it," he added. "She was a witch with many gifts, particularly in foresight." He glanced up toward the small charms glimmering in the dim light of the fire. "Her witchcraft keeps the house safe."
The man's eyes trailed upwards and followed along as Thor murmured about each charm and explained how it defended the house. His tour angled down the walls toward the partition covered in animal carvings.
Yggdrasil came first, with its eagle and hawk, squirrel and stags, followed by two ravens for Odin, and two goats for Thor of course, which Thor couldn't help but find comforting. His mother had loved to remind him of how similar Thor behaved to his namesake. She used to delight in asking Thor to bless their garden and act as though he carried his own gift for fertility. He'd tried to explain their luck as due to good earth, but she'd never accepted that answer.
He missed her.
The house had grown colder, and too quiet for comfort without her. She'd been uniquely skilled at keeping the darkness of winter at bay.
His voice hardly echoed as his eyes landed on the crooked hare carved near the base of the wood, with its sly eyes watching him.
He wondered what it might think of Thor's situation.
A near intelligible sound broke over Thor's thoughts. He dropped his eyes to the man and paused when he noticed the fever-bright eyes watching Thor once more.
"Say again?" Thor asked in a soft voice.
Should the man be speaking? Thor didn't know much about the effects of near drowning, but he doubted the man's throat would be healthy enough to carry a conversation. Then again, how could Thor judge someone else's throat?
"—llo," the man said with a croak. His gaze wobbled as he focused on Thor's face.
"Hello," Thor said as a gentle smile crept across his lips and something oddly nostalgic danced in the margins of his thoughts. He tried to guess if he'd been alone too long before the reality of the situation slammed back into him and he pulled himself away to look over the man again. "How do you feel? Is anything broken, or hurting? I'm not sure—"
The man inhaled and gave another wet cough before dropping his head back over Thor's shoulder.
"Do you mean to say," Thor began, "do you mean to say you're feeling alright?"
A breath of air puffed over Thor's shoulder, "I'm cold," the man said, "tired."
"You should be." Thor nodded. "I found you in the sea. Try to stay awake with me, please. Even if it pains you, you must tell me if anything hurts," he said as he patted the man's back, "and your name, please."
Thor wondered if he could feel the man's chilly eyelashes tickling his ears as he blinked.
"Please?" Thor asked. "You might need more help—"
"—'m not dying," the man mumbled into Thor's shoulder. "Cold water—s'not," he added as he curled closer to Thor, "s'not deadly."
"Maybe not to those washing or cooking with it," Thor argued. "but you were stranded in it!"
The man huffed a soft sounding 'no'. He tried to speak again, but his voice cracked and died in the crook of Thor's neck.
Thor supposed this meant the man would live at least another day, perhaps more, though he seemed very confused. His hands and feet had yet to go dark from the cold. He hadn't given Thor his name either, as much as Thor wanted one.
"What do I call you, if I need to wake you up?" Thor asked in a quiet voice. He closed his arms around the man once more and wondered if the burgeoning feelings of protectiveness he felt for him had more to do with how the man's fragile form felt, cradled by Thor, or the fierce stubbornness he'd exhibited by refusing the die.
A spark popped in the fire pit.
He'd likely fallen asleep, despite Thor's plea for him to stay awake.
Thor waited a long moment, but hardly any sound echoed from around them aside from their soft breaths. The sheep, hens, and goats had long since settled. Even the wind had calmed as the house steadily grew warmer and finally chased away the bitter cold. Thor worried one last, wondering if he hadn't fallen victim to hypothermia himself before the burnished glow from the fire pit lulled him to sleep.
—
An odd whistle rang distantly in Thor's ears.
The world felt too soft to disturb, and too calm for such a skin. Thor wanted to continue sleeping.
He doubted he'd slept so well in months, maybe years.
He sniffed and moved to roll over again, but the odd whistle echoed again, though this time snowy footsteps accompanied it.
Thor blinked his eyes open and tossed a cursory glance towards his mother's charms, but they spun unbothered overhead. Maybe a reindeer had come by, or a herd of them? They didn't often come so close to his house, but then, it had been a strange day, hadn't it?
Thor tucked himself further in his warm covers before jerking upwards.
The blankets were empty.
The man—there'd been a man with him earlier! A thin one. He'd been quiet, and stubborn and Thor hadn't quite decided what to think about him, but he didn't like that he'd gone missing.
He twisted around and breathed a fair bit easier after spotting him.
He hadn't left or died in his sleep. He'd snuck from their blanket nest and cracked the door open, as he now shivered, naked save for the pouch he clutched at his neck, just left of the entryway.
"What is it?" Thor whispered as he climbed to his feet. He snatched the wool cover from the floor as he stumbled closer and wrapped it around the man. "Are you alright?
The tangled mop of dark hair bunched around the mouth of the blanket but hadn't deterred the man from watching the dark garden with a trembling wildness in his eyes. Thor brushed a hand over the man's hot forehead as worries about a fever trickled through his thoughts.
Perhaps his eyes always burned this bright, or perhaps he'd begun to hallucinate as a fever truly set in?
The odd shrill whistle tore through the silence again, far closer now than before.
The man jerked away from Thor's hand and flattened himself against the wall.
Thor spun around and covered him as he peeked out the crack in the doorway. The sun had long since set, but enough moonlight broke through the pines to light the snowy front garden.
Someone had come to visit.
The darkness made it difficult to spot much, but Thor saw enough to understand the man's worry. A polearm shone in the dim light. Whether one person had come, or many, Thor doubted they'd come for any friendly reasons.
He dodged back across the room and tugged his tunic and trousers on before snatching an axe from his workbench.
"Do you know who they are?" Thor asked as he pointed the axe toward the figure in the garden.
The man gave Thor a blank stare as his chest began to rise and fall quickly. His stained, dirty fingers wound around the edges of the blanket as he tucked it tighter to himself. Had the visitor been the one who'd left bruises all over him? Had they been the one who'd left him to drown?
"Are they friend or foe?" Thor asked in a softer voice.
The man gave a near imperceptible shake of his head.
Thor nodded.
The whistle rang out again, though this time Thor shouted over it as he opened the door enough to show his face. "Are you lost?"
Bitter wind tore over the garden. It crept into the house and sent his mother's charms clattering together as the fire hissed and spit.
The strange polearm whirled behind the visitor in a smooth arc as they called in a raspy, accented voice, "terribly so," their boots crunched over the snow. "I confess, I have been searching for a friend, and found myself turned around."
Thor's fingers tightened around the worn wooden handle of his axe. "You've made quite a misstep, you're too far north now," he called back. "No one lives around here but me."
A faint gasp echoed in Thor's ear and had him biting his tongue.
He shouldn't have admitted to being alone.
"My friend is a stray," the raspy voice said. "Neither established, nor looking to be."
Thor tried to reason how a stray, who by the very definition meant 'lost', could refer to someone who chose to wander? The only sort people coming to Thor's mind were drunks or outlaws; the former because of their tendency to wander drunk and wind up lost, and the latter because they had no home to return to, nor any family, friends, or kind folk to help them.
The visitor introduced themselves as a friend of the stray though. Maybe they thought stray meant something else? They did have an accent, a thick one, and they spoke as though they'd been practicing Norse for quite a short time.
No one in their right mind wandered the fjords in late winter though, nor would they do so without a destination in mind, stray or immigrant. If the visitor's friend truly enjoyed wandering, it stood to reason they'd wander between warm, safe villages.
"You would have better luck searching somewhere farther south," Thor called. "There's no easy food, so far north. There's nowhere to stay and no one to stay with."
The raspy voice gave a laugh. "You and I may find that inhospitable, but not everyone values such comforts."
Thor couldn't keep the distress from curling along his lips as he wondered how their visitor could consider food, shelter and care to be demoted to comforts when survival often required all three.
"Tell me, have you met anyone called Loki?" The raspy voice continued.
Thor blinked stupidly. "The god?" he asked.
The raspy voice laughed again. "There is only one god."
"No," Thor snapped, "there isn't, and no, I haven't."
"Do you swear it?" the strange polearm whirled again, catching in the moonlight. "On your false gods?"
"I swear to Odin, I have met no Loki's," Thor said through gritted teeth, "and though you may have little opinion of the Allfather, I do not."
The visitor grunted.
Thor had never been brilliant at guessing the feelings of others, but he doubted he'd misread the bland look of disbelief on the visitor's face.
What good would Thor's word do, when neither believed in the other's gods?
"If my word is all you came for, then you have it. Leave my garden," Thor said. The thought of letting this new stranger into his house left something foul in his stomach.
"Is that not against your people's guest rites? You would turn away those lost in the dark?"
Thor lamented having asked if they were lost. He doubted their story. His mother had often warned him against turning away the lost and hungry though, as something foul could always be hiding beneath their skin.
If they lied about their story, would Odin see fault in Thor for turning them away? Their visitor found Thor's home, in spite of how it hid within the forest, too far to see from the shoreline and well away from any notable roads. That must speak to their less than random appearance, didn't it?
It's a small house, and difficult to find in daylight even, unless a guide led the way.
Perhaps they'd tracked Thor here?
Thor felt a great sense of relief for having only left one set of footprints. The cod he'd abandoned in the boat might be less easy to explain though, if their visitor had indeed tracked them. He racked his brain for something clever to turn him away without offending Odin, but he had little skill in conversation and suddenly wished he'd practiced more when friends came to visit.
"Where did they come from?" the man whispered from Thor's left. His fingers slipped over the fabric at Thor's back and grasped it tight.
"I don't know," Thor whispered back.
A pleading sound hummed from him in a wordless nudge for Thor to ask.
Thor tried to remember if asking questions before offering safety made Thor's behavior impolite before giving up and uncomfortably calling out, "where did you come from?"
A quick burst of snow flurries swallowed the beginning of their reply, but Thor heard enough to recognize the name of a village along the coast.
He'd visited there when his father had been alive.
The visitor stepped closer, allowing the moonlight to reveal a thick fur overcoat, and a beaded necklace with a painted cross dangling at the bottom. Their polearm seemed to be the only item they carried.
"Where are their supplies?" the man murmured in Thor's ear. "What are they to eat, cook with, or sleep on?" he asked. "Aren't those comforts, and their lack, inhospitable?"
The man had a point.
Their visitor made it clear how he felt about so-called 'comforts' and how a lack of them made life inhospitable. It didn't make sense for him to forgo supplies for himself. If Thor went searching for a friend, he'd bring food, and supplies, double the necessary amount if he knew his friend might be missing both.
Odin would certainly find fault in the visitor's story.
"That village is little more than a day away by boat," Thor called, as he pointed his axe in the direction of the sea. "I'll give you bread for your trip back, but I have no space for you."
The visitor fixed their grip on their strange polearm. "You will turn me away then?"
Thor swallowed heavily, and tried to ignore the way the man's fingers clenched tighter around the back of his tunic.
He sent a silent plea to Odin.
He hoped their visitor lied about being lost. If Thor found him dead in the morning—
The man's fingers tightened again and he let out a near-smothered worried sound.
Thor swallowed a fierce shudder. "I've hardly turned you away," he said. "You asked me whether or not I had seen your friend, and I haven't. I offered you bread and will point you south if you can't find it."
A raspy laugh echoed through the yard. "Give me your bread then," they said, "and should we meet again, I shall have to repay you for your kindness." Their voice dropped into something mocking as they spoke.
Thor backed away slowly, giving the man enough time to loosen his grip on Thor's tunic and dodge out of the way as he snatched the nearest loaf of bread he could reach.
The charms above the fire pit whirled and cracked together as a burst of bitter cold air cut through the house.
Thor spun back around and stopped short as he caught sight of the doorway.
The visitor had bolted across the garden and was now pressing their face through the open crack. Two calculating, deep-set eyes flew over the small home as they searched for their missing friend. They landed once on the wet pile of clothing Thor had cut away from the man leaving Thor hoping they looked as if they could easily have been rags.
Fleeting thankfulness shot through his chest when he spied the man again, hiding out of the visitor's sight, behind the door.
His own eyes were set on Thor.
Thor inhaled slowly and put his full weight into his steps as he closed the gap between himself and the door. He passed the loaf over, but kept a tight grip as thin fingers slipped over the crumbly top.
"I will give you this," Thor said in a quiet voice, "and bear you no ill will, but if you come into my home uninvited, we will have an argument."
Scarred lips split into a crooked smile as the visitor backed away. "You are remarkably kind."
Thor nodded and forced his fingers to loosen.
Without another sound, the visitor disappeared into the dark night. The odd whistle that signaled their arrival didn't ring out again.
Thor shoved the door closed and locked it. An uncomfortable buzzing echoed in his ears as anger bubbled in his chest, warming until it almost grew hot as it whispered to Thor.
He wanted to chase after the visitor and crack their skull in two.
His thumb swept over the worn handle of his axe.
While their visitor had been nasty, they left when Thor turned them away, which made Thor struggle to understand why he felt so angered by them. They'd only asked questions.
Thor shouldn't be angry about someone asking questions when he had questions of his own.
He still didn't know the man's name, or if the man did in fact know their visitor. He still didn't know how the man wound up in the water, or how he'd lived despite the temperature.
"Are they gone?" the man asked, his soft voice somehow piercing the buzzing sound.
Thor inhaled slowly and nodded. "They won't find Loki, if Loki is who they're truly searching for. He's too cunning to be caught," he said as he stepped away from the door and rested the axe against the wall. His fingers stung, aching to grab it once more and charge into the snow.
"How flattering," a curious, small smile played at the edge of the man's lips.
"Hardly," Thor said. "Loki's cunning is common knowledge. I wouldn't consider it flattery when it's central to his character." He turned and peered at the man before frowning as he noticed the man's bare toes, curled and peeking out from beneath the cover.
"You would label all of his actions as tricks then?" the man asked as the strange wildness left his eyes. "A trick to escape danger is equal to a trick which misaligns blame?"
Thor reached out and gently took hold of the man's elbow, leading him closer to the fire.
He tried to remind himself that in spite of the man's vaguely healthy appearance, little more than a few hours ago, he'd been dying in the sea. The blanket hid an impressive amount of bruising.
He needed help, and Thor could offer it. The burning in his chest agreed, as it cooled quickly now that the man looked as though he felt safer.
"Or perhaps you feel it is in your purview, as Thor, to judge Loki as entirely evil, and call all of his actions deceptive and cruel, solely because he benefits from many of them."
"I am not Thor Odinson," Thor argued kindly. "I am Thor Jarnson."
He turned around and gathered a long, red tunic, along with trousers, socks, and underclothes from one of the chests near his bed.
"I can only judge what I see," Thor said as he turned and passed the clothes over.
"What have you seen then?" the man asked with a cough.
He dropped the blanket and tugged the tunic and underclothes over himself. He eyed the trousers, but seemed to find them unhelpful, or more likely, doubted they'd fit unless altered.
"Hardly enough to judge anyone, and that's good news," Thor laughed. "My mother often told me that I had a strong sense of right and wrong, but my reactions didn't always suit others."
"Were you reckless?"
The soft light of the fire caught on the red fabric of his borrowed tunic and matched the flush coloring the man's cheeks. He looked far more comfortable.
Thor shook his head and tried to push his mind away from affectionate thoughts. "I am more partial to 'bold'," he said with a smile, "rather than reckless."
"Bold then," the man nodded and smiled at Thor. "Thor the bold, boldly fending off strangers in the night."
"Thor the bold, boldly taking strangers into his home," Thor parroted as something unsure shot up his throat. He disliked pushing the man, despite how little Thor knew of him.
The man's eyes brightened further, worrying Thor. They'd taken on a glassy appearance ever since they'd first opened on the boat, and Thor couldn't help feeling unsettled by their appearance now. He wondered if the man's fever had risen, as loose strands of dark hair now clung to his sweaty forehead.
"I am Loki," the man whispered.
Thor blinked.
The man—Loki—watched Thor from behind half-lidded eyes for a long moment before wobbling as he sank to sit beside the fire.
"The god?" Thor breathed. Had he lied to the visitor when he'd sworn to Odin he hadn't met Loki?
Loki gave Thor a flat look.
Their visitor acted as though the Loki they searched for had been the same Loki from the stories, but Thor couldn't quite combine the man before him with the god. The god had often been described as having red hair, though he also had the skill to change his shape as he liked, and what he often liked suited his wily, constant machinations.
This Loki seemed far more sedate.
"Why didn't you speak up when they said your name?" Thor asked as an uncomfortable mix of curiosity and frustration crept through him.
An indecipherable emotion flashed behind Loki's eyes before his mouth slipped open and he quietly said, "I may not be able to speak on your experiences," he said, glancing toward Thor, "but I would guess that those who search for Thor are very different from those who search for Loki."
Thor's frustrations simmered and a far more understanding feeling took its place.
How could he judge someone called Loki, when he wore the name Thor? Loki seemed to feel similarly as Thor about his name, with how it conjured images of a godly figure neither could live up to. Loki might suffer more danger as well, as his name carried far more bad luck than Thor's.
Loki didn't deserve to suffer because of his name.
"I am unable to change my shape," Loki said with a rueful smile.
"And I have no mighty hammer," Thor said as he lowered himself to sit beside Loki.
"I, however, am skilled with some witchcraft," Loki said with a nod more to himself than Thor. "Similar to your mother, it would seem." He gestured toward the wooden charms. "I have no gift for foresight though."
The fire flickered and cracked as Thor leaned closer. "You're a witch?"
Loki didn't appear to love that title, but that didn't surprise Thor. He'd heard of men practicing witchcraft, but he'd never met one who openly admitted to it.
"You call yourself Thor."
Thor blinked as his eyes found Loki's again. "It's my name."
Loki hummed. "Who gave it to you?"
"My mother."
"Did she ever explain why?"
She had. She often said she'd chosen the name to give Thor someone to aspire to. Thor could do no better than a great warrior; one with a good heart and sound judgment.
He rubbed his thumb over the worn fabric of his tunic and tried to remember if she'd ever given him a deeper reason for his name, but her intent seemed to begin and ended with wanting the best for Thor. His father always thought of Thor's name as being arrogant, and prior to Thor's birth, he'd apparently given a spectacular argument.
"She meant to give me someone bold to aspire to," Thor said with a faint smile.
Loki nodded. "Bold."
"It's just a name," Thor said softly. "Much like yours." He wondered if they should transition to a bed, or eat? Loki didn't look as if he'd eaten in the last month, and Thor's name and all the weight that may come with it didn't feel important enough to put before anyone's health. "Are you hungry?"
Loki's head swung up and the flush decorating his cheeks darkened. "I'm always hungry."
"You're in luck," Thor said before climbing back to his feet. "My garden keeps me well stocked."
Thor snatched a half-eaten loaf of rye bread and internally lamented handing over his freshest loaf to the visitor. He found he didn't mind so much once Loki began to eat though, as it quickly became apparent that he liked the bread.
It didn't satiate him however, as he'd hardly finished licking his fingers before looking over at Thor for more, which led to Thor hunting through jars of pickled carrots and parsnips, and sprigs of rosemary and wild onion to cook into a soup.
Loki's eyes darkened as the pleasant scent filled the house.
The smell seemed to help.
Thor passed him a shallow bowl of sheep's milk while the soup simmered with the hopes that it would help him feel a little less starved.
He hoped it helped.
Cooking certainly helped Thor. Each time he turned to check on Loki, a quiet joy fluttered through his chest, as if his world righted itself now that Loki sat nearby. He didn't know how that could be the case, seeing as Thor's world hadn't toppled over, but he didn't feel bothered enough to investigate the feeling.
Once they finished eating, Loki hardly made another sound. He blinked sluggishly once or twice before Thor helped tuck him into bed and curled around him.
He silently told himself Loki needed the body heat, even if the danger of hypothermia had passed.
Thor's urge to keep close had nothing to do with it.
He spared a thought for the impolite visitor, and Loki's fear of them, as well as Loki's odd bruises and his even odder good health, but it became difficult to think too much on them with a full stomach and a warm bed.