A God Adrift: THORHAMMER

by WiseTomato

Cast adrift in a foreign world, his boon companions far from his side and strange local customs to navigate? Must be a Thorsday.

9. Home Improvement 2

A hefty tree trunk soaring through the air was somewhat noticeable, but a lone man doing so was easily missed. Thor descended from on high, coming down directly above his grove, masked by the shine of the early afternoon sun. He looked over the town as he did, casting his eye about for ill omens, but nothing stood out. People went about their days, walls were worked on, nineteen longships were tied off along the shore. All seemed well.

As he landed, he found his hope and expectation fulfilled. Kirsa was present, bent over as she emptied a sack of something onto the ground around the ash tree that was the heart of the grove. Her sleeves were rolled up to her elbows, and her skirt around her knees, beads of sweat running along her forehead to drip into the earth as she worked.

"Kirsa," Thor said, making his presence known as he landed behind her.

The young woman jerked upright, spun, and jumped, all in one motion, giving a small yelp of surprise. The sack of fertiliser she was spreading was dropped, spilling some of its contents. "Lord Thor," she said, hand pressed to her chest. "I did not hear your approach."

"No footsteps to hear in the sky," Thor said, lips quirking despite himself.

Her face was flushed with the effort of work, but now embarrassment joined it as she worked to calm herself. The red cloak he had given her was absent, hardly a suitable garment for gardening, and her dress was simple but hardy. "You h- your eye," Kirsa said, gaze fixed on his empty socket. "What happened to your eye?!"

"A dragon did," Thor said. "Wh-"

"A dragon took your eye?" Kirsa demanded.

"No, I gave it to her," Thor said.

"You - what?"

"I gave my eye to the dragon as payment for my intrusion into her lair and for the healing of the twins," Thor said patiently. It was not the most expected thing, he knew.

Kirsa blinked rapidly, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand and leaving a small streak of dirt above her brow. "You paid the dragon."

"They are thinking beings, not beasts as I had assumed," Thor explained. "Taking her heartblood for the elixir would not be right, but thankfully she is a skilled user of seidr, and agreed to come and work a healing."

"Will your eye grow back?" she asked.

Thor gave her a strange look. "Why would it?"

It was Kirsa's turn to give him a look. "Then, will you fashion one anew?"

"I have not the knowledge," Thor said, shrugging. "Nor would it be much of a sacrifice if I simply replaced the loss."

A slow, controlled sigh was his only response for several long heartbeats. "I am glad you are well, despite that," Kirsa said. "You were missed."

"It has been but two days," Thor said.

"Yet you were missed," Kirsa said. She bent down to set the sack rightwise, dress front falling forward to hint at the slope of her breasts, framed by braids of chestnut brown hair.

Thor coughed, looking to the ash tree. It had continued to grow strong, taller than himself by over a head now.

"The grove was full both nights, spilling beyond even," Kirsa said as she straightened. "Many sought the light of the tree, knowing you were absent."

"I am glad it brought them comfort," Thor said, looking back. "But I have come to you by stealth for a reason."

Kirsa's gaze sharpened, and she straightened with the manner of someone who had just remembered something important. "That is good - I spoke with Bjorn this morning."

"What did he share?" Thor asked, stepping closer.

"He recognises the elixir that Helka brews," Kirsa said. "Her apprentice Sunniva shared the knowledge with him."

"Will it heal them?" Thor pressed. He had to know.

"It is not a potion of healing," Kirsa said slowly. "It will fortify them, bolster their strength so they might survive your power? Bjorn said - was that not what she told you?"

Thor frowned, deeply. He struggled to recall Helka's words - had she not said she could heal the girls if she had heartsblood? Or only that her elixir could strengthen them so they might survive his hallowing of the touch of Decay? He cursed his lack of certainty, details blurred by concern for Astrid and Elsa.

"Bjorn said that the elixir would do that, give them the strength needed," Kirsa said, "but that it was not all it could do. That it could grant great power to a witch."

It was not damning. Not certain. But it was enough to stoke Thor's suspicion further, enough to churn the worry in his gut. Many potions and brews could have more than a single purpose, poison and medicine two sides of the same coin. "How certain was Bjorn?" he asked abruptly.

"Certain," Kirsa said. "His mother taught him everything she knew of a healer's arts when his nature revealed itself."

He could imagine well the drive of a mother to ensure a baresark son could survive the aftermath of his battles. "Then it may be as Helka has claimed, or it may not," he said. He scowled heavily. He was not made for this skulduggery, no subtle instrument was he.

"The twins have not worsened," Kirsa said, folding her arms about herself as a cold breeze swept through the grove. "They woke long enough to drink some broth."

Thor heard the reluctance in her words. "But?"

"I do not like her," Kirsa said. "I do not think she believes in the truth of you."

A lack of belief was not a reason for suspicion. He had been clear that he did not require worship from the townspeople - but Kirsa knew that, and still she voiced her thoughts. "Then there is no way to know for sure," Thor said, "no bloody dagger to point to her guilt."

"Without the heartsblood, she cannot use her elixir if she means it for woe," Kirsa said.

"Yet we are left with a healer we have cause to doubt," Thor said. "It cannot stand." He looked to the ash tree, as if its swaying branches might hide the answer.

"What will you do?" Kirsa asked.

"I will go to her," Thor said, "and I will find the truth, one way or another."

"What would you have me do, Lord Thor?" Kirsa asked.

"Wolfric and Grigori approach the east gate," Thor told her. "I would have you meet them, and come to the healer's house. If the worst should happen, you are to take the twins and get them clear."

"They will be protected," Kirsa vowed, dirt stained hands clenching into fists.

"I have no doubt in you," Thor said, finding it in himself to smile. "Now, go. I will see you there."

Kirsa was quick to obey, leaving the grove and the half finished job behind. Thor watched her go. She had come far from that day in the town square, a reaver's blade to her throat. He did not linger, taking to the sky once more, making for the healer's home and answers.

X

The house of healing had not changed, still a tall and narrow thing of rickety wood, as much supporting its neighbours as it was supported by them. Old wood sun bleached grey threatened to splinter as he knocked, the three heavy raps echoing through the dwelling.

Hurried footsteps approached on the other side, and the door creaked open, but only a crack. One of Helka's apprentices peeked through, only one eye visible, and the sun seemed almost to reflect off what was visible of her pale skin.

"Lord Thor," she said, almost whispering.

"Ssss-" he hesitated, but only briefly, "-elinda?"

"Yes," the woman said, still quiet. The door opened a touch more, and she stepped back. "Please."

Thor entered, and the door swung shut of its own accord, leaving the hall in darkness too deep to see if one was not accustomed to it, or a god. The faint light of a candle slipped out from under two doors, one the room the girls were in, the other Helka's workroom. There was a heady scent in the air, lingering just under the surface. Selinda watched him, skittish, half her face hidden by a curtain of dark hair.

"A moment," Thor murmured, and then light shone from his remaining eye.

It was not as bright as his first attempt, more uses granting him greater control over the skill, but as he looked with more than his eye of flesh, white-blue light spilled from his eye all the same. Selinda almost skittered back, startled by its sudden appearance, but he spared only a glance for her. She was not why he had exercised his power so blatantly, and he turned away from the muted haze of red that clung to her.

The hall was mostly empty, no current lazily drifting through it to shine light on the hidden happenings of the building. A faint green, the green of plants and life, wafted from under Helka's door, and it was matched by another pooling out from under the room that was the twins'. This one was different however, an oily sheen and a less pleasing core to it.

He looked, but there was nothing else to see. No flows of sickened currents, no greasy patches of corruption. The two greens he could see did not go far, and it was almost like they were being pressed down upon by something, a presence that stifled their flow, but there was nothing he could see. It sat heavier upon the more pleasant green, but he could tell little more, and he grew frustrated.

His sacrificed eye still showed him nothing, despite looking with something beyond flesh. He could feel something on the verge, a curtain waiting to be pulled back, and-

"Godly one," a voice came, tremulous and surprised.

Thor blinked, and his sight beyond sight slipped away. In the time he had taken to glance over the hall, Helka had emerged from her workroom, and she watched him now, gaze flicking between the fading light from his good eye and what remained of his other. She looked to her apprentice, the woman standing stock still in the hall.

"You should have told me we had a guest, girl," Helka told her, scolding as only a grandmother could.

Selinda didn't hunch over, though a quiver in her bony shoulders said it was a near thing.

"Come," Helka said to Thor, not giving her time to respond. She turned back into her workroom and slipped inside.

Thor followed, misliking how Selinda had reacted to such innocuous words. Was he over reacting, or was there something to be discerned from it? He did not know.

The workroom had gained a small cauldron in its centre since his last visit, and it held a pasty green broth, bubbling away despite the lack of any heat source. Helka had returned to her workbench, and as he closed the door behind himself, she turned in her chair to drop a handful of some diced tuber to the cauldron. The broth, in danger of falling to a simmer, began to pop and bubble once more.

"You are swift to return," Helka said, turning back to the workbench. Gnarled hands took up a knife, sharpened almost to nothingness, and began to dice a dark mushroom, smooth and quick.

"You were expecting a long quest?" Thor asked her back, buying time. He could not say if his eyes were playing tricks on him in the darkness of the room, lit only by some few candles in the corners, but she seemed more frail than even two days ago, dark veins in her arms more distinct.

"A dragon is no easy prey," she said. She coughed, a hacking thing from deep in her chest.

"Are you well?" Thor asked.

"The warding against the sickness in the girls is not kind to old bones," Helka said, taking up a nearby cloth and spitting into it. "But better that than to catch it."

"How are they?"

"They linger, as they will for weeks yet," Helka said. She turned again, this time with a ladle, and scooped up a portion of her brew. She drank it down in a single gulp despite the apparent heat. "Hmmm." Back to the workbench she turned. "Do you have what we need?"

"In a way," Thor said, watching the woman with a keen eye. "The dragon we found is one skilled in healing magics. She has agreed to heal the girls, so there is no need for the heartsblood."

The swift motions of the knife skipped a beat, almost almost too brief to be noticed. Thor noticed.

"I cannot say what skill a dragon might have in an art as delicate as healing," Helka said. She coughed again, wet and phlegmy. "The touch of the Crow often demands a high price to remove."

"She is a powerful being," Thor offered. "Power has its own virtues."

Helka was shaking her head. "The Crow crafts his blessings with a hatred for healers. They are as a puzzle, not a gate to be knocked down. Few are his works that can be purged cheaply."

"You think she will fail," Thor said. He leaned against the door frame, arms folded.

"I do," Helka said. "If it does, you will at least have the heartblood close to hand."

Thor's disgust for the idea made no showing on his face, for all that Helka was still turned away. "You know much of the Crow's workings," he observed. "You have worked against him for a long time, then."

"A long time," Helka said, scoffing. "Too long. Much too long. Always a price. Always a price," she muttered.

"Skill, then, more than luck that you were able to diagnose the twins," Thor said.

"Aye," Helka said, dragging a stone mortar and pestle towards herself and sprinkling in some ingredients. "You see its touch enough, you come to recognise it. No mistaking it."

Thor stilled. A memory rushed to the front of his mind's eye.

"Wise woman says the well wasn't sullied long enough for the rot to take."

A sullied well, a hidden sickness, purged by his spark.

Another nail slid into place. Helka had claimed the well at the village to be unsullied, all those months ago - but was she lying, or simply wrong?

No. He would not doubt. He would not waver. Again and again he had found deeds and words to prick at his mind, and each time he had wondered if there was an innocent explanation - no more. The well. The desire for the Feather. The need for a mighty ingredient. An elixir of uncertain purpose. The doubt cast on any other options. A well, wrongly cleared. Alone, suspicious. Together?

Damning.

"Why did you do it?"

The wise woman paused in her grinding of mortar and pestle, though she did not raise her head. "Godly one?" she asked.

"Two sweet young girls," Thor said, his voice growing to fill the room, for all his volume did not change. "And you put a sickness in them."

Now she turned in her seat, staring at him with rheumy eyes. "They may not be my blood," she croaked out, "but I care for them. I delivered them, for all I could not save their mother. I would never give them suffering."

Knowledge came to him then, on fluttering wings, scarcely heard. Nurgle did not see his creations, his poxes and plagues, as a curse or a cause for suffering. To the Plague Lord they were a blessing, and his followers viewed them the same. Disgust inspired rage, and he leashed it tightly, visible only as the faintest of sparks in his eye.

"No suffering, only a blessing from your patron," Thor said. "A joy to be shared, and in turn, I would do your bidding and fetch you a mighty ingredient."

Helka's gaze darted to her cauldron, then to her shelves of ingredients, then the door, almost too fast to see. "No, I- I do not-" she could not seem to find the words, but the knife in her hand didn't so much as tremble.

"Did you think you could hide it from me, from a god?" Thor asked, smiling thinly. He tapped just below his left eye. "I still have one good eye."

It was too much. Helka snarled then, a wet rumble in her throat as her lips drew back, yellowed and rotting teeth revealed. "Pretender," she rasped. Her body began to swell, thin skin stretched impossibly far, and then she lunged - not for him, but for the cauldron.

She was fast despite the grotesque bulging of her form, but not fast enough. Thor pointed, and a single finger of lightning arced to the cauldron, striking the lip. Whatever devilry she meant-

The cauldron exploded in a geyser, pasty green contents spraying violently against the ceiling and then splattering all about the room. Where it touched wood, it rotted. Where it touched ingredients, they putrefied. Where it touched metal, it bubbled and spat, scorching what it touched. A rat in a cage squealed piteously as it swelled and bulged, popping in a small shower of black blood and entrails.

Thor was not spared, even as he shielded his face with Stormbreaker's head. Droplets of the foul substance sizzled and spat as they landed on exposed skin, and his power pulsed to reject the sickness it tried to set within him. He snorted, the scent of burnt hair acrid in his nose. With a glimmer of light and seidr his armour was on him, and he lowered his axe to take in the foe.

Helka had been right next to the cauldron, with no hope of avoiding the spray. When it erupted, her front had been doused by the boiling substance, but there was no scream of pain, no writhing in agony. Once frail and wiry, her body was now swelling with bulbous growths, stretching her form. Where the brew had splattered her, pale skin marked by age had turned a sick green, and it was spreading, the stain rippling across her flesh.

"You are not the only godly one, now," the thing that was Helka said, gloating. Once rheumy eyes were now weeping freely, tears almost as thick as paste falling from her ducts like wriggling maggots.

"You will die for what you have done," Thor told her plainly. A small fire caught in the corner, dry ingredients sparked on by scorching metal, but he was more concerned with the spores that were starting to drift from the ceiling, and from every other bit of wood where the brew had sprayed. Astrid and Elsa - he had to get them out.

Fury bloomed on her face, and teeth rotted away to sharp points were bared. This time she did lunge for him, bulging arm reaching for his throat.

Thor moved to take the arm off at the elbow, but again she moved with deceptive swiftness, and he only found a fat tumour as she jerked away. Pus and filth spilled forth, splattering to the floor with a squelch and filling the room with a putrid scent. The air became hazy, even to his mundane sight.

Wood splintered and crashed from beyond the room, and Thor felt a trickle of devotion as a worthy deed was done in his name. Bjorn.

Helka clutched at the wound, not in pain, but so it would close, the tumour rapidly healing shut. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips as she hissed at him. "You will know the Grandfather's blessing, godl-"

He had no patience to listen to her. The rot and decay spilling from her swollen body was no barrier to him, and now it was his turn to lunge forward, bodying her into the wall and then through it, turning to take her through two more. They exploded into the slush covered street with a hail of splinters, crashing into the ground. Something hit him in the gut with unnatural strength, forcing him off her and launching him away.

"You meddler," Helka spat as she got to her feet. Her form was unrecognisable now, taller than he, even stooped over as she was, a hunch growing from her back like an overripe cyst. "All you had to do was slay the dragon, and we would have prospered."

Thor was already standing, eye aglow as he eyed his foe. Something was building within her, some current he could not quite see no matter how he strained his sight. Stormclouds gathered overhead, rumbling ominously, but he had learned his lesson, and he refrained from calling upon their fury, as much as he wished to smite her from on high. "You would have the town sicken and waste, victim to the plagues of your patron," he told her.

"They would come to know the truth of the blessings," Helka said, black teeth showed in a black smile. "As you will now." Her nose rotted and fell from her face, leaving the slit of her nasal cavity exposed.

"Oh?" Thor said, looking himself over. Decay clung to him, spores and filth picked up from the cauldron and as he wrestled her from the building. He smiled faintly as he called upon his power, not the shallow outer realms, but the truth of it. It expressed itself in the likeness of his very nature, gentle arcs of lightning dancing over him, purging and hallowing the touch of Nurgle. "Will I?" he asked, taunting.

"You deny his gifts," Helka said, coldly outraged.

"No gift but a curse," Thor returned. "Just as the sickness you gave to Astrid and Elsa was a curse."

"It was a blessing!" Helka shrieked. Her form bulged and grew once more, clothes ripping and bursting at the seams to fall to the oily ground she stood upon. She could not be called naked, not with the swollen growths and oozing carbuncles across her form, but Thor recoiled all the same.

"You were to heal them, not watch them wither," Thor said. "But you were the one to infect them to begin with, Helka!"

"Payment for all things," Helka spat. "Every cured ill was paid for in sickness elsewhere. Every wound survived cost a spring fever; a womb made barren the price for healthy babes and living mothers."

"What."

Cold and toneless, it was a woman who had spoken. God and Nurglite found their building confrontation arrested, both turning to see who had approached.

Helena stood there, and Harad was at her side. They were dressed for travel, and with them were Wolfric and Grigori, as well as some few other warriors of the town. The clamour had drawn them, but their bared weapons were second to the terrible look on Helena's aged face.

"What did you do, Helka." The words were quiet, but the pain in them was unmissable.

"Did you think your misdeeds had gone unpunished?" Helka asked. "Your husband's? After the insult you gave the Gods?"

"We came to you for help," Harad rumbled, deep and dark. His fingers were flexing, nostrils flaring as wrath built and built. "And you stole our future from us."

A crow landed on what had been the house of healing. It cawed, and it sounded like laughter, but then the door below burst open with a crash. Bjorn stumbled through, the twins limp in his arms. The once healing wounds on his chest were inflamed, but he stood strong, taking in the scene with a glance and quickly retreating beyond Thor. Wolfric made a sound of pain as he rushed to meet them.

Helka gave no notice to them. "You wanted children," she said to Helena, voice dripping with cruelty even as her wretched form dripped with unmentionable filth. "Grandfather Nurgle will give you children, countless children, even if not in the way you had hoped."

The taunt sundered whatever caution was holding them back. Harad and Helena charged as one, fury and rage and despair worn clearly, and Thor could feel three slivers of attention join the one that had been present ever since he had blown up the cauldron. He had no time to take issue with them, not with the way Helka's cheeks were bulging obscenely, filling with something unknown as she sucked in a breath though the hole where her nose once was.

Though they would surely cut Helka down, he would not see them suffer the ills that would come with it. Nor would he see the very earth poisoned by her death. Stormbreaker reached skywards.

"Heimdall!" Thor boomed, sounding the name of his friend as a battlecry.

A torrent of light and colour ripped through the storm clouds above - or perhaps out of them - to slam into the street. It engulfed Thor and Helka, and then there was the sensation of movement. When it subsided, they were elsewhere.

In a green field they stood, storm clouds roiling overhead, far darker than any to be found in the mortal world. Wind scythed through the tall grass, and the first hints of rain came with it, fast and harsh enough to sting. Off in the distance, Thor spied the gleaming golden walls of Asgard, Old and New and all at once.

"You - where have you brought me?" Helka demanded, ponderous bulk shifting as she returned to her feet. Spores and pus continued to drift and drip from her, one of her tumours popped messily. The Bifrost had been less than kind, and her arrival was marked by a crater in the earth.

"You stand in the realm of Asgard," Thor told her. "Be grateful, for your death will water its fields."

For a heartbeat, fear flickered across her inhuman visage, but it was quickly gone. She cackled. "You have brought his plagues to your place of power!"

Thor smiled, though it was thin and utterly without humour. "Your words betray your lack of understanding. You think yourself strong. You will die unknowing."

The words seemed to pain her, striking at something deep inside. "Grandfather has blessed me with strength and purpose, and you will suffer for your transgressions!"

The grass around her began to wither and die, and from the dirt around her small creatures began to rise, growing from nothing but the leavings of her passage. They were horrid little things, round and disgusting, almost as much mouth as body, ranging all the colours of filth and sickness. They bounced and shrieked with delight as they began to advance across the field, rolling and pulling themselves with misshapen limbs. More began to spawn around Helka.

Lightning sparked about Thor's armour, thunder rumbling overhead like the growl of a god. His power surged in response to the foul things, and he prepared to answer in kind - but then he heard a call. It was a request for aid, for support in the face of evil.

A prayer.

He could do naught but answer, and a hint of his power slipped into those that asked for it whose hearts were true, and whose cause was worthy. He could not help but laugh, bright and booming, as he felt it be put to use.

The laughter seemed to be the last straw for the abomination that had been Helka, and she leapt forward, storming across the field to get at him. Stormbreaker was waiting to meet her, and Thor met her charge gladly.

Helka's leap was met by the blunt side of his axe, and she was sent flying back the way she came, arcing over her minions to land in the same crater that the Bifrost had dropped her in. Both impacts, weapon and landing, saw tumorous growths burst and spray their foul contents over the grassy field. More of the small disgusting creatures began to rise from the affected ground.

Lightning cracked overhead, pitch black storm clouds spilling their contents in a torrential downpour. A moment later, thunder boomed, and long heartbeats after that, the rain arrived, fat drops starting to flatten the long grass so heavy was the fall. It seemed to weigh on the little spawns of Nurgle too, turning their tumbling advance into a slog. Some tripped, face down, and found themselves unable to rise, near drowning on dry land.

It wouldn't be dry for long, as lightning flashed again, spanning the entire sky, and the storm intensified as Thor watched Helka drag herself from the crater once more. There was fury on her face, but it paled to the still rising anger in his gut. A whirling spout began to grow upwards from a neighbouring field, dark grey winds twisting and churning as it grew towards the sky.

"Bury him, Nurglings!" Helka bellowed. Her voice had become thick and twisted, a far cry from the rasp of an old woman, but still it struggled to cut through the clamour of the growing storm around them.

The Nurglings that had pushed through the thick downpour were near on him, and they shrieked and chattered with joy as they tried to obey their master's commands, leaping and reaching with thin limbs, clawed and covered in pimples and rashes.

Thor gave them the attention they deserved, and a heavy gust of wind caught them, throwing them back towards his foe. Dismayed cries were swept away by the wind, and when the wretched creatures landed they tended to pop in a shower of gore and filth, further spreading the taint of Nurgle's touch. One was carried high up into the sky, quickly becoming an almost indiscernible dot, until a single finger of lightning arced down to pop it with a small flash.

It was well that the fight was here, Thor noted grimly, in this strange reflection of Asgard rather than in the mortal realm in Vinteerholm. It did not do to dwell on what sickness could have festered had it been so. Heavy sheets of rain continued to pour down, diluting the miasma and sheddings of the Nurgle spawns, but still it lingered, and more was being shed with every passing moment.

Again Helka charged, her form still mutating and growing, but it was clear that for all her misused knowledge of healing, she was no warrior. She bowled a wave of Nurglings aside as she rushed him, heavy, bulbous arm drawn back to crush him into the earth.

Almost contemptuously, Thor stepped aside, letting the blow fall uselessly on the ground, sending clods of earth flying. He shook his axe, flicking off the viscera that clung to it, and stepped towards the next wave of Nurglings, uncaring of Helka's still figure.

There was a thud, and then two more, and finally a great wet crash. Arm, head, knees, body. The Nurglings wailed as they saw their master fall, and they rushed forward even more mindlessly, stumbling and crawling through the muddy field, some even dragging themselves forward.

Thor took them in with a single glance, and gave an absent wave of his hand. Lightning surged over the field in a wave, snapping and crackling as it killed the foul creatures, sweeping through them. They died with tortured screams, and then there was only the sound of the storm.

Water soaked his hair, dripping from his thick beard as he surveyed the field. The storm began to calm, the tornado shrinking and the rain easing now that the taint had been purged. The walls of golden Asgard, Old and New and all at once, gleamed in the distance. But that was not what drew his eye.

The corruption shed by the creatures of Decay still lingered, for all it had been diluted by the storm. It was fading in defeat, but Thor could feel it upon the land, like a patch of coarseness on an otherwise smooth surface. It had the stench of sickness to it, and he remembered another time that corpses had watered the fields of Asgard, only to hide a poison in themselves. Lady Dove had spied it then, but she was not here now.

The essence of vanquished foes was feeding the earth. He would have to move quickly.

Thor looked with sight beyond sight - but there were no currents to be seen, only sodden fields and grey skies. He frowned, knowing that to be a lie, and wove his power with greater care. He could feel a strain in the place where his right eye had once sat, like a pressure straining to be released, and he looked deeper.

Sensation bloomed in his empty socket, like dry ice rasping over metal. In his left eye, he saw the field as it ever was, but his right… He winced at the difference, forcing his left eye closed, and took in the land before him with his missing right.

Not gold or silver but a mix of both, gleaming in a way that mundane metal never could. It reminded him of raw Uru, only so much more. Stalks of grass bowed by the rain, disturbed earth, leaves carried by the wind, the very air itself - all were made by or suffused by the metallic current. Even the soft exhalations he released with each breath were tinted by it.

It was the colour of Asgard, Old and New and all at once.

It was the colour of Asgard, and there was a taint, attempting to tarnish it, to sicken and weaken it from within.

Thunder boomed anew as Thor stepped forward, crossing a dozen yards in a single movement, and then he was kneeling amidst the muck. It was not where Helka had been slain, nor where the bulk of the Nurglings had been purged, but almost to the side, a spot of putrid brown and bilious green that was trying to burrow its way into the gleam of the earth.

It had the same oily sheen as the current that he had seen oozing from under the door of the twins' room in the healer's house - that he had been permitted to see - but now he knew it well, and there was no mistaking it. A rumble sounded in Thor's chest as his bearing grew dark. It could not hide from him now, and he reached for it, just as he had reached for the sickness that Lady Dove had once set to bubble and boil from where it had infected his realm. Lightning that was not truly lightning sparked in his fists, and the sickness seemed to wail as it was purged, purified, hallowed.

When the light faded, there was no sickness, only the remnants of the power it had held, and even that was swiftly sinking into the goldsilver of the realm he stood upon, feeding it, strengthening it. The muck he knelt in joined it swiftly, absorbed in victory, and soon the field was marred only by furrows and craters and the result of inclement weather.

Thor rose, letting out a steady breath. There was a smile upon his face, and he let his sight beyond sight fade, opening his left eye again to see the green of grass and the earthy tones of dirt, the blue sky peeking through grey clouds. Power had flavour, but to be seen, it had to be understood. He was beginning to understand.

The sun overhead was revealed, brightening the land, and in the distance he could see faceless shapes frolicking in the fields once more. By the gates of the city, more concrete movement caught his eye, golden armour standing out even against the walls. He took to the air, wind whipping at his hair and wringing the rain from it.

Thor landed easily on the paved road that led to the imposing gates of the city, and took in its protector.

"My King," the man said, yellow eyes watching the horizon. "Your foundation strengthens."

"So it does," Thor said. He inspected the man who stood before him carefully, and closed his left eye. His right opened, and he saw in the man before him the same goldsilver that he saw in the walls and the sky and the very earth he stood upon.

Heimdall glanced to him, eyebrow raised in silent question.

"Who are you?" Thor asked. There was no threat here, but the mystery pulled at his mind all the same.

The being wearing the face of Heimdall only smiled, goldsilver teeth shining even against the gleam of his skin. Thor blinked, his sight beyond sight falling away, and then it was no longer Heimdall but Nick Fury, meeting his single eye with his own.

"I've got my eye on you," Fury said, clad in golden armour. He tapped his eye patch, still grinning.

Before Thor could respond, the Bifrost burst from the heavens to envelop him, and then he was departing his realm, almost ushered on his way and left feeling like he hadn't since the days where his mother would walk he and Loki to their classes.

For all he had not called the Bifrost himself, he still controlled it, guided it. Vinteerholm was his target, and two paths stood out to him. One took him directly to the point he had left, where he could feel a jagged tear in the world. The other took him nearby, but to a beacon of safety, a lighthouse of sorts providing safe passage.

Impatience and worry took root in his bones, worsened by whatever threat had caused his people to pray to him for aid. He aimed for the same point he had departed, beyond the reach of the guiding light. Whatever threat had entered the world in the wake of his departure, he would deal with.

Outside the protection of the Bifrost, a thirsting god laughed.

Thor's boots met dirt, and he strode out of the rainbow, Stormbreaker at the ready - but then he stopped, taken aback by what he saw. Two moons hung in the sky, pale Mannslieb and sickly green Morrslieb, neither full, but both casting their light down through the night sky. It had scarcely been afternoon when he had taken Helka away, bare minutes ago.

The town was quiet around him, but if it was the quiet of the grave or the quiet of sleep he did not know. Nothing was burning, though the row of houses that the healer's had belonged to was reduced to nothing but splinters and rubble.

There were no corpses strewn about, and he allowed himself to hope as he began to prowl, looking about. Keen ears picked up footsteps beating a rapid approach, and then from around the corner of the lane, a young man appeared, barely more than a youth.

"God of Thunder," he gasped, relief clear across his face. For all he was broad and strong, his voice still cracked, and pimples dotted his forehead. "You're back!"

"What has happened here?" Thor demanded. "Where is everyone?"

"Longhouse," the blond haired boy said, coming to a stop before him, heaving and out of breath. One arm was freshly bandaged, but he was otherwise unharmed. "You must come quickly, God of Thunder, I don't know how much longer-!"

Thor wasted no more time, taking to the sky in a great arc, looking to come down in the square before the longhouse. There was a faint plea to wait, quickly cut off, but he could not slow, no matter how much the boy might want to join him. He had been absent in their time of need, but he would delay no further.

X

Ragnar peeked around the corner of the house, wishing he had worn his hat like Pa always told him to. Ma had said he could go and see Astrid and Elsa, but right as he had reached the healer's street, there had been a huge crash, and then Lord Thor and a monster had burst out from a house.

For all his Ma always said he needed to think twice sometimes, Ragnar was not a foolish child, which was why he had quickly ducked behind a corner before settling in to watch the fight. Now he squinted down the road, wishing he had a hat to shield his eyes from the afternoon sun as Lord Thor faced down the big monster.

There was a lot of talking for a monster fight, but maybe that was how they went. Ragnar wasn't sure, it being his first monster fight. Astrid and Elsa said they had seen Lord Thor bring home a dead manticore, but he wasn't sure that counted, even if they kept saying they were right because they outnumbered him. He wasn't sure that counted either.

More people arrived, from the far end of the street, behind Lord Thor. He knew Wolfric and Eirik and Halvar, because people said they were the best warriors in Vinteerholm, which meant they had to be almost as strong as Pa, but he didn't know the rest. He couldn't see what happened next, but there was no missing the huge rainbow that fell from the sky, blasting into the ground. A moment later it faded, and Ragnar was left gaping, Lord Thor and the monster nowhere to be seen.

"Thor strike me," Ragnar said, awed, repeating something his Pa said sometimes. That was totally-

Whatever it was, the boy did not have time to finish the thought. Where the rainbow had landed, something was stirring, a fell warping of the air. A circle began to grow from the top down, and it looked like water flowing over clear ice as it grew. Black glass pooled where it touched the ground, and Ragnar could hear shouting from the people on the other side of it.

The circle rippled, and a monster stepped through. Where the first monster was green, this one was red, and it had black horns. It screeched something, words the boy did not know, and looked over its shoulder, back towards Ragnar. He gasped and shrank back, away from its terrible gaze, but it was not looking at him - it was looking through the circle, the portal.

The monster was joined by another, and then another, the portal rippling as they stepped through. Still more came. All had skin the colour of fire, and all had black horns, like demon goats, and some had scraps of metal armour.

"Thor will beat you," Ragnar said, conviction firm, watching as they started to work themselves up, chanting a name that made his head hurt. "Thor will kill you all!" He was too far away to be heard, and his voice hardly more than a murmur.

One of the monsters heard him all the same, turning to pin him with its dread stare through the portal.

Ragnar froze, pinned in place, terror holding his heart in its clawed hand. The monster that saw him stepped around the portal, away from the small crowd of others, and gave a chittering laugh. A long tongue tasted the air, and then suddenly it was charging towards him.

The boy couldn't move, but he knew that he had to run. Pa said the gods helped those who helped themselves, but he couldn't move, and the monster was almost on him, black metal blade pulled back to cut him in half.

At the last moment, he screamed and made a fist, just like Ma had showed him. He closed his eyes as he punched out.

"THOR!"

He punched air, and he heard a whoosh, but there was no pain, only the furious growl of a thwarted monster and a giddy feeling in his belly. He opened his eyes, and found himself still facing the portal and the fight that had started beyond it. There was lightning flashing and thunder blasting, screams and howls rising in the street, but still he heard a hoof shifting in the dirt, and he looked back. The monster was there, and it had noticed him. It spun, again trying to cut him in half with its black blade.

"Thor!" Ragnar yelped, and again he escaped death, but this time he kept his eyes open, and he saw how.

Before his disbelieving eyes, his body turned into a buzzing ball of lightning, and then he had SO MUCH ENERGY. He zipped forward, through the monster, then back and forth twice more for good measure. It seized up, locking in place and shaking violently, before it fell to the ground face first, landing on its own sword. Steaming blood began to spill beneath it.

Ragnar found himself with his normal body once again, jaw dropping, but only for a moment. He began to giggle, then to cackle. He jumped up onto the monster's back, up and down like Pa never let him do on his bed, cackling all the while.

A boom and the collapse of a house reminded him that there were more monsters, and he stopped jumping. Determination settled over his shoulders. Thor had blessed him because he was a faithful, and now he had to help him back.

"Thor!" Ragnar said, and then he was crackling with lightning again, rushing towards the fighting. He was going to zap ALL the monsters.

X

Wolfric stepped forward to join Harad and Helena, thankful that the old warriors had stopped their charge once Thor had vanished with the creature that had once been Helka. He put his thoughts on the woman who had delivered him and his sisters aside, pushing away the sick feeling that maybe there was a reason their mother had died in the birthing bed. His sisters needed him now, needed him to hold off the daemons that were stepping through the portal that had sprung up the moment their god had departed. He would not be found wanting in his absence.

"What are they?" Wolfric asked. At his side, slight Halvar shifted, tensing and loosing his grip on axe and dagger, red beard glinting in the sun.

"Minions of Bloodlust," Harad said, tightly leashed rage colouring his tone. "Bloodletters, they are called. We are lucky we are few."

"Lucky?" Eirik asked from Wolfric's other side, the big blond man a solid presence. His axe was as large as Harad's, though not borne quite so easily.

"They gain strength with every kill, it is food and drink to them," Helena said. There was a wild look in her eyes, like an ice-tiger denied its prey. "I have seen them overcome much larger forces, growing from a pebble to an avalanche."

They were less than a dozen, and already outnumbered. If Tyra and Gunnhilde were there he would feel more confident, but they were not. The Bloodletters were building themselves into a frenzy now, chanting in some foul tongue unknown to him, but he could make out the name of their god. Khorne. Khorne. Khorne. Each cry saw a pressure pulsing in his skull, but he refused to be cowed.

The sun still shone, peeking through the clouds overhead. It had become comforting to see them grow with Thor's ire, but now he was gone, fighting a greater foe, and they stood without him.

No, Wolfric reminded himself. Never without him. "Thor," he said, beating his sword on his shield. "Thor, Thor!"

"Aye," a new voice joined them. "Thor." It was Bjorn, his chest inflamed, barely healed wounds already beginning to show hints of pus.

"Where are my sisters?" Wolfric demanded.

"I gave them to one who would take them safely to the grove," Bjorn said, eyes on the Bloodletters. He bore no weapon, but by the way his hands were flexing, he did not feel he needed one. "I will not miss this fight."

There was a sheen of sweat on his brow, and it was clear that getting the twins clear of the house had cost him, but there was no time to question him, for the daemons of Bloodlust were charging, shrieking with a sick joy for battle and eagerness for blood.

"Thor give us strength," Wolfric said, stepping forward to meet them.

And Thor did.

Thunder roared with every blow of his blessed sword, and he did not so much cut through the daemons as sunder them. Crackling power shrouded his mammoth hide mantle, turning away what blows Halvar and Eirik could not stop. For all their skill, the two men were almost ignored as the daemons threw themselves at Wolfric, racing each other to get to him first.

He was not the only one targeted so. On the other side of the street, Bjorn wore lightning like a cloak, and with every swing of his fists, more surged, drawing daemons in to be battered as they shook and cooked, flesh steaming. He began to scream as reason left him, a chilling, unending thing in the language of violence, and more daemons flocked to him, almost sensing a kindred spirit.

For all they bore the blessings of Thor, though, they were not the most pressed. That was Harad and Helena, holding the middle of the street between them and fighting with something beyond mere familiarity. Harad was a mountain, greataxe moving with speed it had no right to, hewing down daemons like they were wheat before a scythe. Helena stood at his back, almost pressed directly against him, her sword questing out to pierce throats and block strikes from Bloodletters that used the deaths of their fellows as openings. She leapt, outright climbing him, supporting herself with a single hand on her husband's shoulder to catch the falling strike of a leaping Bloodletter.

Still, the daemons came. More and more slipped from the portal, and there was no telling when they would end. Some of the newly arrived had no patience to wait for their turn, and they turned for the houses, pouring into them with the crashing and splintering of old timber. Wolfric had a bare moment to be thankful that most should be out working, but if they could not keep the daemons contained, that would mean nothing.

"Thor!" a boy chirped, giggling.

Wolfric's eyes bulged as he saw him appear in the thick of the fighting, suddenly appearing from nothing. He blew another daemon apart with a swipe of his sword, already lunging to get to the boy, only for his effort to be unneeded.

"Thor!" the boy shouted, and he disappeared, replaced by a ball of crackling lightning, zooming about the battle and shocking every Bloodletter he passed, setting them to stumbling and falling, easy pickings for the warriors they sought to slay.

A house began to collapse, overcome by the rush of daemons into it, and the one beside it followed. If they were surrounded, blessings or no, they would be overcome, drowned by sheer numbers.

Then, a furious trumpeting sounded.

Trumpetter came, and he did not come alone. On his back was Kirsa, red cloak billowing about her. With them came the storm.

Thunder boomed with each step, reverberating loudly, and the mammoth seemed larger than the juvenile he was. Sparks came too with each step, resembling the storm more than the forge. Lightning roiled within the woman, seeking to escape, setting her eyes to glowing in its attempts. Brown hair whipped about in unseen winds as she opened her mouth to scream, though it was not sound that burst forth, but power.

A Bloodletter leaping over its brethren to get at her was pierced by a bolt, a smoking hole left through its torso, and then Trumpetter had joined their line at Bjorn's side. A knot of foes burst from the house near him, only to be trampled into paste. More came as the house collapsed, but Kirsa was ready, drawing her arm back as a spear of lightning formed in it. She hurled it at them, and they were hurled into the air in an explosion of blood and gore.

Still the torrent of daemons only grew. More sought to get around the scrum, the houses hardly an obstacle, and Trumpetter met them in turn, charging forward with a ringing bellow. Tusks of lightning sprouted, sweeping back and forth to vaporise all they touched, leaving bloody mist and tumbling body parts, but so too did the buildings suffer, creating more space for the Bloodletters to advance.

"Thor!" Ragnar shouted as best he could, young voice rising up as he appeared and disappeared. "Thor!"

"God of Thunder!" Wolfric bellowed, lending his voice as he smote another daemon, blasting it to bits.

"Odin's son!" Kirsa screamed, voice carried by the lightning as she spread death with it.

"Chaos, we say thee NAY!" their voices came together as one, denying their enemy as they exulted their god.

Trumpetter added his defiance, and Bjorn's unending scream rose with it as he tore a Bloodletter in half with crackling fists. The warriors stepped forward as one, ferocity and god given power driving back the daemons and drowning out their horrid chanting.

But only for a moment. The portal rippled and darkened in colour, tinted the red of old blood, and more daemons began to pour through, becoming a torrent in truth. Something immense seemed to loom beyond it, a pressure approaching that pained the world to bear. They could not hold out for much longer. They needed Thor.

It was at that point that the dragon arrived.

The ground shook with her coming, earth and snow kicked up such was the force of her landing. Bjorn was splattered with the entrails of a Bloodletter that had been crushed under one paw, but he took no notice, too busy slamming the skull of another into the ground. The daemons close were thrown back, hurled into disarray. The rest had a moment to absorb her presence, a ripple of glee passing through their ranks as they seemed to shift their attentions as one, but a moment was all they had. A contemptuous, guttural growl echoed out, and then blinding cold erupted from between rows of razor sharp fangs.

A beam of white carved through the ranks and towards the portal, an unearthly screech coming with it. Whatever it was, it wasn't ice, as it sliced off limbs and split one unfortunate foe from groin to crown. When it hit the portal, the uncanny rippling froze, but only for a moment. The next it began to twist and churn as if boiling, and the coherence of its rim began to waver. The red tint to it wavered, paling and darkening in turn as it seemed to resist whatever sorcery was disrupting it, and by the grace of Thor, the flood of new daemons paused.

The Bloodletters already through had recovered, and they were not content to watch. They threw themselves at the dragon with abandon, bloodlust heavy in the air, each competing with the other to be the first to wet their swords with her blood. They seemed to have forgotten the mortal defenders entirely. They should have known better.

A boy appeared in their way, gap toothed grin seasoned with savagery. "Thor!" Lightning lanced out, coursing between those closest, setting them to tumbling.

Bjorn was already there to take advantage, whirling about to seize any daemon close enough, crushing skulls with his bare hands and adding to the gore already plastered up to his elbows. His scream was drowned out by the continuing screech of the white beam, but he did not seem to realise. The baresark was not content to plant himself between the foe and the dragon, however, rage driving him onwards, and he dove into a knot of approaching foes. Soon, he was not the only one screaming.

Harad and Helena were moving to the right, seeking to plant themselves before the dragon, but they found themselves bogged down, the daemons closest still driven towards them by something unseen. Wolfric, Eirik, and Halvar could not get past them, nor could they risk stepping back without leaving them vulnerable. The three men pushed forward instead, trying to take advantage of the shift in the current of the rush of enemies, but there were still too many, and for all their blessings, they were still daemons.

Wolfric blew a daemon back with a flick of his sword, turning its shoulder to paste, but then movement above caught his eye. For all the destruction, some of the row of houses still remained. At the end of them, in the half shattered remains of someone's home, a daemon was preparing to jump from the upper level.

"LEIFNIR!" he bellowed. "Above!"

A white eye turned to him, but she did not cease her assault on the portal; if anything the screech seemed to intensify, setting a thrumming in their bones. The daemon leapt, black blade held down before it, aiming for Leifnir's back, where neck met body. Its long tongue trailed out the side of its mouth, jagged teeth bared in grotesque joy.

A bolt of lightning took it through the chest, turning its falling strike into a graceless fall, and what could have been a mortal blow became an annoyance. The falling blade left a scuff mark down Leifnir's side, and her tail lashed in anger, taking out another section of the building behind her, but that was little damage compared to what came next.

Kirsa and Trumpetter had been forced back by Leifnir's arrival, but the bolt marked their return, and they were not content to remain behind the dragon's bulk. The mammoth trampled forward on Leifnir's right, lightning tusks clearing a path as he charged into the daemons, even as Kirsa readied another bolt. More daemons seemed ready to use the remainder of the structure to launch themselves at Leifnir, but then Trumpetter collided with it, powering through it without a hint of slowing. The sound of daemons being vaporised cracked through the air over the crumbling of timber, and above it all the screech of the white beam continued.

It was too much for the portal, whatever fell power that had opened swept away by the scouring light, and it collapsed upon itself. One moment it was there, the next it was gone, and a pressure that had come with it vanished. The beam of light ceased, Leifnir closing her jaw; heavy breaths misted the air. There was a sudden stutter in the flow of battle, as the Bloodletters felt the connection cut.

The last of the row of buildings fell as Trumpetter and Kirsa emerged from the end - behind the crowd of enemies. Caught between blessed warriors, blessed mammoth, and a frost dragon, the Khornate daemons only knew joy, ready to see blood spilt in the name of their God. That it would be theirs clearly did not matter, so long as the blood flowed. That they were cut off did not seem to matter, and they began to fight for the best position when the battle resumed.

"Unworthy," Kirsa said, glaring down at them from her perch. Her voice was layered with a tone not her own, crackling. "None of you are worthy."

A ball of lightning zipped around Wolfric's shoulders, as if caught in the pull of the lightning around his mantle. A breath later it turned into a young boy, glee and enthusiasm no longer there, replaced by a look of seriousness beyond his years. His head tilted, as if listening to something. "You're all cowards. You used to be fighters, but you got used to not dying." He scowled at them, lip jutting out. "You're lucky Thor isn't here."

The words took a moment to settle. A heartbeat later, the Bloodletters erupted in a clamour of shrieks and rage, charging in a frenzy. Some went for Kirsa and Trumpetter. Some went for Leifnir. Some went for Ragnar. Some for Harad and Helena. They all died, leaving behind corpses that were already starting to slough into muck, and rage that was already starting to be carried away by the wind.

In the aftermath, those that had fought stopped to catch their breath. Some had faced and killed greater foes in the past, but a swarm of Bloodletters was still nothing to be dismissed out of hand, and they found themselves grateful for Thor's blessings that day, whether they had been granted them or not. There were injuries here and there, but they were small things, easily ignored by warriors such as they, although Ragnar sulked over the toe he had hurt kicking a decapitated head away. Bjorn was slumped to his knees, slowly coming back to himself, new wounds bleeding sluggishly as old wounds pulsed an angry red.

"What now?" Wolfric asked, leaning on his sword. He could feel the shroud around his mantle fading, and aches and soreness that had been held back by borrowed strength began to set in. He jolted as rational thought returned. His sisters, he had to get to the grove to make sure they were safe, to make sure-

"They are not of Decay," Harad said, his voice rumbling over the field of battle. "They will leave no sickness behind." He let his axe fall to the side, unthinkable for most, but more important to him was taking his wife in his arms. The shieldmaiden let herself be gathered up in them, each taking solace in the other.

It would not be right to push them now. "Eirik, see to Bjorn," Wolfric told the big man at his back. The Aesling had gotten his sisters out of the house, and seeing the shattered state of it now, it had clearly saved their lives. Aesling or not, he owed the baresark.

Halvar followed his friend, and between the two of them they soon had Bjorn on his feet, slowly, very slowly, helping him away from the carnage, even as they tried to move around the dragon.

Trumpetter's feet squelched in the muck as he walked across the field. His extra size seemed to have faded away, as had the tusks of power, but he still bore Kirsa easily on his back. She was glaring at Leifnir, even as the last motes of Thor's power faded from her eyes. "You are the dragon that took Lord Thor's eye?"

Leifnir had been inspecting the scuff mark left by the daemon blade on her scales, but now she looked up, her frill splaying outwards. "I am not 'the dragon', I am Leifnir, daughter of Ymirdrak, and I was paid with his eye," she said.

Kirsa's glare only deepened, not flinching a jot as Leifnir met her glare with her own.

Wolfric found himself glad to have the reassurance of his sword in hand, even as Eirik and Halvar shared a glance and switched from helping Bjorn to walk to taking his weight upon themselves, hurrying past the confrontation.

"It's true, Kirsa," Wolfric said, stepping up to them. Neither took their eyes off the other. "My sisters, they are near, you can heal them now?" He closed his mouth before more words could tumble from his lips unbidden.

"I can. However…fighting the corrupted was not part of our deal," Leifnir said, white glare pinning him in place. Queasily, one eye remained on Kirsa, continuing their staredown. "I presume you have a way of making this up to me?"

Wolfirc set himself grimly. He knew what he had to do.

X

Thor landed heavily before the longhouse, and his stride did not slow as he reached the doors. His worry for his peo- for those under his protection saw him barge through them without care, and they swung open with enough force to crash loudly against the walls, announcing his presence as much as the sparking of Stormbreaker.

The voice of the Thunder God boomed out within the longhall. "Who dares-!? Oh."

A full hall stared back at him, many with cutlery half raised. Someone's drink spilled onto their table as they overfilled their cup.

Thor lowered his axe, allowing his power to fade. Well, it still wasn't the most embarrassing entrance he'd made to a feast. "Carry on," he told those closest.

A snort drew his attention, and he looked to the head of the hall. The dragon lounging behind the main table drew his eye first, and it was she who had snorted at his words, sending a flurry of snow into the rafters, but there were others there that he recognised too. Kirsa and Wolfric were there of course, as were the local veterans Halvar and Eirik, but he did not spy Harad and Helena, he did not spy Bjorn, and he did not spy the twins. Hours had passed, somehow, between his departure and return, and he worried what he had missed. For all that he had given of his power to those who had faith, there were many powers in the world, and he was but one of them.

"Lord Thor," Wolfric called, rising from his seat with relief in his single eye. "You have returned."

"Helka may have been a foul foe, hiding her nature as she did, but once revealed her strength of arm was weak," Thor called back, beginning to make his way to the main table. It seemed to signal those in the hall to return to their feasting, for all that he was still the centre of their attention.

"Yet she still took you the day to vanquish?" Leifnir asked, a lazy lilt to her voice. Without even trying, her words filled the hall. Her tongue snaked out into a nearby barrel, and whatever liquid it contained seemed to flow up it into her mouth.

"Hardly," Thor said, scoffing. "She did not survive more than scant moments, once I removed her from this place." He frowned. "No, my return was…delayed. I chose haste over prudence, and in doing so made myself vulnerable to another power."

"It is to my gain," Leifnir said, not quite shrugging. "Your quaint little fiefdom has been hosting me for some hours, now."

"It is not my village," Thor corrected her, something that saw her frill ripple and Kirsa smirk at her. He had reached the head of the hall now, but there was only one seat available at the main table, but it belonged to Tyra, and he would not take it. The rest had been removed to make room for Leifnir. He sat instead at the end of the firepit, facing the main table, and used its flames to clean his hands. "Its chief has ventured out in service to its people, and I watch over it until she returns." He turned his gaze to his two followers before she could respond. "What has happened in my absence? I heard your prayers."

Wolfric had returned to his seat, and he and Kirsa shared a look. Whatever unspoken words passed saw him leaning forward to answer. "After you took Helka, a portal came, opening the way for Bloodletters. With your blessing, we slew them, and the townspeople that Grigori rallied did not need to join the fight."

There was a heavy sigh from deeper in the hall, audible only to Thor's godly perception, and he glanced back to see Stephan, the skald holding a hand to his brow in almost physical pain.

"Leifnir arrived to aid us, and she closed the portal. In return, we have hosted a feast in her honour," Wolfric continued.

"Most generous," Thor said, withdrawing his hands from the fire. Such a thing was not easily done when their supplies were as they were, but it was a cheap way to repay a dragon as such things went. "And how are Astrid and Elsa recovering?"

"They have not yet been healed," Wolfric said, glaring out the corner of his remaining eye at the dragon beside him.

Thor paused. As best he could reckon, it had been hours since they attack. Slowly, his gaze shifted to Leifnir. "Is that so?" There was a rumble to his voice, one that did not come from within the hall but from the skies above.

"The sick rest in your grove," Leifnir said, piercing a roasted haunch on the table with a single talon, raising it to her mouth to daintily pull it off with her tongue. "They will not sicken further in the time it takes me to enjoy the payment for my aid."

Her words suggested a lack of care, but Thor's eyes saw the very tip of her tail flick and lash, before she stilled it. He crossed his arms, giving her a flat stare as his foot tapped on the stone floor. "Leifnir."

Behind him, the feasters seemed to hold their breath.

The dragon met his stare for a moment, but then she blinked, making a sound of disgust. "Closing the portal was…taxing," she said, acting as if the admittance had been drawn from her with hot irons.

"That is understandable," Thor said, nodding as he uncrossed his arms. "To attempt the healing while lacking in strength would be to do poorly by the girls. I hope you have been able to eat your -" he froze as something occurred to him. "You remember that I told you the mammoth is not for eating, yes?"

Leifnir was staring down at him, slit pupils narrowed, but in bemusement, not anger.

"Trumpetter is in your grove," Kirsa hastened to reassure him. "He was tired after the battle, and wanted to stay with the twins."

"The battle?" Thor asked, alarmed. "He fought?

"You granted him your power?" Kirsa asked more than said.

"I granted my power to those of my believers whose need was true," Thor said. "I didn't know who was asking for it!"

"You give your power so freely?" Leifnir asked, bringing her head down to their level, looking at him closely. She had fallen silent after his easy acceptance of her words, but now her attention had been drawn anew.

"Why would I not?" Thor asked. "They needed my aid."

"Yet you bartered with me for my aid in healing this one's sisters like a human merchant," Leifnir said.

"You wanted my axe, the final creation of the Dwarf King Eitri," Thor argued. "My eye is a fine consolation prize."

Leifnir gave a draconic shrug. "It is a fine enough thing, true," she said, regaining some of her regal air.

Considering he took it from the loot drawer of a group of vagabonds, he felt he was getting good value out of it, but he wasn't about to admit that aloud. "Trumpetter is fine then? He's alright?"

"We slew many, even before Leifnir arrived," Kirsa said, a hint of a boast in her tone.

"Oh?" Thor asked, a smile stealing across his face. It was good to see her coming into her own. "You must tell me more. Actually - Stephan!" he called over his shoulder "Come, so that you might hear better. This is a tale that deserves a skald's retelling, I am sure!"

Kirsa seemed to already be regretting her words, but at Thor's enthusiastic look, she gave in. Stephan was only the first to approach the main table, hunger for the story clear in his eyes. Many followed, crowding around the ends of the eating tables, while a small crowd of children grew around Thor's feet, joining him in looking at her expectantly.

Wolfric gave her a look of commiseration, angling himself to face her, something mirrored even by Leifnir from her other side, but then a thought seemed to cross Kirsa's mind, followed by a smile.

"Wolfric," she said, "you were part of the fight from the beginning. Perhaps you would like to start?" Her expression was cherubic.

Expectant gazes swung to the one eyed warrior. He swallowed, and some of the tension that had eased after learning that Leifnir was unable to see his sisters just then rather than unwilling, crept back in. "Well…"

Thor listened as the tale began, keeping a level expression as he learned how close the town had come to ruin. Had he not granted those who believed his power, little Ragnar would be dead, as would dozens of townspeople that Grigori had rallied in defence of their home. But he had, and they didn't, so he would only harm himself to linger on it.

Hearing that all had survived the fight eased his soul, and he could remonstrate with himself for his impatience rather than curse his lack of learning. For all that he had come far, he still had much to learn and more to experience before he was worthy to be a King.

Such thoughts were pushed away as Thor focused on the story, beaming as he heard of how Kirsa had thrown a bolt through the Bloodletter aiming to interrupt Leifnir's disruption of the portal. If he had to pretend not to see the smug look she sent the dragon as she told the tale, well, rivalries could be good to encourage growth.

"...the corpses were already falling apart, so we did not need to gather them for burning, and Harad tells us they do not spread disease as the bodies of Rot do," Wolfric finished. "We brought Leifnir here to feast in thanks, and now we only need to wait until she can heal my sisters." Now that it was as good as settled, a calmness had returned to him, one that had been missing since he had first gotten the news of their sickness.

"That is a grand tale indeed," Thor said. He glanced at Stephan. The dark haired man was not quite muttering to himself, mouth moving silently. "I feel we will have a tale to pass down by the time Tyra returns."

"All we did, we did in your name, Lord Thor," Kirsa said.

"But you were the ones to do it," Thor said. "Do not discount your deeds. Today, you were all worthy. All of you."

Kirsa flushed with happiness, Wolfric only slightly more stoic, and even Leifnir's tail gave a small wiggle.

"But tell me," Thor said, and here his good cheer faded, "how does Bjorn fare? He was exposed to Decay's touch as he rescued the twins."

"He lives," Eirik said, nursing a mug of ale at one of the side tables. "Halvar and I took him to your grove, and his pain eased, but…" he shook his head. "No healer."

"Better no healer than what we had," someone grumbled lowly.

Dark mutterings spread around the hall, as townsfolk thought back to this or that malady she had had a hand in healing, and what the truth of her actions might have been.

"What of her apprentices?" Thor asked, cutting through the building discussion. "Selinda and Sunniva."

There was a pause, and none could answer.

"I saw them when I spoke to Bjorn, earlier," Kirsa said. One hand went to chestnut hair, worrying at a strand. "But since the battle…"

"I spoke briefly with Selinda, before I confronted Helka," Thor said. "Has no one seen her since?"

None had.

"We found no bodies when we dug through the rubble," someone called from further down the hall.

"What if they learned from their hag grandmother? They could be brewing something as we feast," a woman worried.

"Maybe they fled?"

"What if-"

"We should-"

"Let us not be over quick to judge them," Thor said, raising a hand. He remembered the poorly hidden wariness they had for the false wise woman, but he did not speak on it. "We will deal with what is, not what might be. Do not let fear colour your actions."

The crowd settled, but the worry had revealed to Thor the true state of the town in the wake of the day's events. It was not an easy thing to be without a healer, as the raiders had well known when they had butchered the woman who had held the role before Helka returned.

"We will find another who can help Vinteerholm, in time," Thor reassured them. He rose to his feet, turning to face the room at large. "For now, let us eat and be merry, for a boil has been lanced from your home!"

Ignoring grim realities was something that all Norscans were practised at, and at Thor's direction they were more than happy to do so. While only a small portion of the town's population could be hosted in the longhall at a time, there were still more than enough to enjoy the moment. Those who had the bravery to come in spite of the presence of a dragon were well rewarded. For all that the day's struggle was one that only few had stood in, they still knew what a danger had been lifted from them, the nature of the threat that had been purged, and they were glad.

Thor moved from group to group, sharing words and reassurances, moving on before his presence became too much. It made it easy to slip from the hall as the evening wore on, leaving with but a nod to the three at the main table.

Outside, the night was cool, and the stars bright. Morrslieb had shied away, but Mannslieb still shone, and a fresh dusting of snow had fallen upon the ground. Spring approached, but for now Thor would enjoy the crunch of it beneath his boots, and he took his time as he walked back towards what remained of the street the house of healing had once stood upon.

As he had seen before, one row of houses were reduced to naught but splinters and rubble. It was fortunate that all who lived within had been out working in the wake of his decision to confront Helka. All except her apprentices.

Thor regarded the destruction, glancing over to where the leavings of the Bifrost and the Chaos portal intermingled. Chunks of what looked like obsidian marred woven lines, but that was not what Thor had come to see. Using it as a point of reference, Thor came to the spot where the healer's house had once stood. It looked much like the remains of the rest of the row of houses, but he remembered the interior, and he remembered where the basement stairs had been. With a thought, his armour was dismissed, leaving him in roughspun cloth that did not flatter his figure nearly as well. He knelt down and began to dig, his bare hands more than enough for the task.

As he dug, he allowed his mind to roam, contemplating his actions and what he could have done better. He could not think of a better way to deal with Helka, nor even a better way to confront her, not with the lack of surety he had had. When he considered his actions after leaving Asgard, Old and New and all at once, however, he found himself wanting. Haste could be a virtue, was necessary at times, but he had known that there was a danger lurking unseen, known that something about using the Bifrost in this new realm that worried at his instinct, but still he had allowed himself to dismiss that worry in favour of haste. He still lacked the wisdom required of a King. He could even guess where the beacon of safety would have led him, so close he could have-

A muffled sound pulled him from his thoughts, breaking the spiral, and he stopped digging. His ears strained; had he heard someone moving in a nearby house, or had he - ? It came again, and this time he was sure. He began digging again, shovelling dirt and debris to the side, building a pile half as tall as himself already. The hole grew with it, and he did not meet plain dirt or clay; he was on the right track. More muffled sounds came to his ear, and this time it was clear that they were voices.

Rubble was no barrier to a god, and soon he was scraping against a stone wall, and finding the broken remains of a wooden staircase. The collapse of the building had seen debris spill into the basement, leaving him with more to dig out. Had he not heard the voices, he would have worried that those he sought had been crushed in the very place they had sought sanctuary.

When he broke through, it was sudden, and the debris he was standing on began to slide out from under him. He waited for it to settle, peering into the darkness that had been revealed.

"Hello?" he called softly. There was no answer, and he grew concerned. It was pitch black within the basement; if his excavations had come as a surprise to those within he may very well have buried them.

A spark rose from his hand, slowly tracing a meandering path into the black. It gave off a faint light, only enough to softly illuminate a few feet, but that was enough. In the corner of the basement, dirtied by sweat and rubble, Helka's two apprentices huddled together, eyes wide with fear as they looked up at him.

"The daemons are gone," Thor told them, making no move to enter the basement proper. For all that they were among some of the first people he had ever met in this world, that they had cared for Tyra after he had taken her from the longship he found her on, he had shared scant few words with them.

They did not budge at his words, save to hold each other tighter.

"Helka is dead," Thor said. He watched their reactions closely, but he could not tell if the short breaths they let out were due to relief or fear. Looking back on their bearing with the knowledge of what Helka truly was painted their behaviours in a new light, but was that the truth, or just another layer of deception by foulness masquerading as healing? He could not say for sure. "You need not fear her."

The sisters - and they had to be, next to each other the resemblance was clear - shared a glance, but only for a moment, as if they feared what he would do if they looked away.

"You killed grandmother?" the one with the braid, Sunniva, asked. Her voice was as hoarse as ever.

"I did," Thor said plainly. "She brought pain and suffering where she should have brought relief, and for that I cut her down."

This time, the relief that crept into them was clear, and they eased their apparent attempts to become one with the corner. But was it truth, or more deception? He wanted to do right, to make the just choice, but the memory of Helena's expression when she arrived to hear Helka's words made him slow to trust.

"But, the twins?" Selinda said, barely more than a whisper. "Did she heal them?"

"She was the one who sickened them in the first place," Thor said, and he could not help but let a sliver of his feelings into his voice.

Selinda froze, and Sunniva pulled her into her side.

Thor sighed. "I am sorry. Astrid and Elsa are dear to me, and my fury is for those who meant them ill."

Selinda shook her head in short, shallow jerks, almost trembling, but it was Sunniva who spoke. "We didn't, we wouldn't, we just brewed what grandmother told us to."

He wanted to believe them. They were barely more than girls, younger than Kirsa even. "Even if you did do something, something that led to harm, you can choose another path," Thor said. "If you worshipped Decay-"

"We will never worship the Grandfather!" Selinda burst out, going from cowering to snarling in an instant.

Thor was taken aback, almost unbalanced on his precarious footing by the sudden shift, but a moment later it was gone, and the fear was back threefold as she realised what she had done. He saw that fear, and hated that he was the cause of it. To dither in his decision was unworthy of him, and he opened his missing right eye to look with sight beyond sight.

The oily sheen that was Decay's touch dripped from them, and his spirits fell as he saw it - but then he saw that for all it clung to them, shared between them with every reassuring touch, it did not come from them. They were infected with it, but they did not generate it. Not as Helka had with every breath. Thor closed his missing eye, and he let out a breath.

Carefully, he sat where he stood, wary of shifting debris. He still looked down on the girls, but now it was not so much, and he couldn't suddenly lunge towards them as they seemed to fear. He sent the spark that gave them light off to the far end of the basement, fixing it against the wall. The shadows were longer, but no more was there a reminder of his power between them, a silent threat. He should have thought of how they would see it sooner. Again, he sighed.

"Tell me about Helka." It was no demand, but an invitation.

Sunniva swallowed, and after a moment, she began to speak.

"Grandmother was…stern," Sunniva said. Selinda shifted against her, mouth a thin line, but she kept whatever correction she wanted to make to herself. "She took us in after we lost our parents, fed us and clothed us even in the bad years."

As a grandmother should, Thor thought, though he held his tongue.

"When we were old enough, she started to teach us her craft," Sunniva continued, her voice seeming to catch on itself. One hand twitched towards her braid, as if to worry at it, but she didn't relinquish her hold on Selinda. "Small things at first, like which herbs to gather and how to prepare them."

Again Selinda shifted, but again she kept her thoughts to herself.

"When did you discover her devotion to Decay?" Thor asked.

"We didn't think she worshipped, not like that," Sunniva said, swallowing.

"We knew," Selinda said, gaze fixed on her feet.

"Sel!"

"We were fifteen, and one of the village boys tried to force Sun," Selinda said, still not looking up. "Gra- Helka said she would fix him, and she did."

"That doesn't mean she worshipped the Grandfather," Sunniva insisted. "A healer has to know what not to do, too!"

"He rotted from inside out," Selinda said, unforgiving in her reminder.

"He was Hound favoured, and we had no warrior to stand for us," Sunniva said, gaze roving from her sister to Thor and back. "Giving him a bad brew was the only way."

"That wasn't a botched brew," Selinda said, hunching in on herself even further. Despite their words, neither gave any indication of easing their grip on the other. "A bad brew wouldn't do that. Even back then we knew that much."

"We thought she had chosen the Raven, not the Crow," Sunniva argued.

"We thought that because when we asked how she avoided the Grandfather, we got the shivers," Selinda said, almost spitting, like years worth of venom was frothing to the surface all at once. "And when you didn't listen to me when I said not to ask how she had made a potion for coughs rot that boy alive, you got Red Throat!"

"Because I was helping Erik when he had it!"

"For weeks, but you only caught it when you angered Helka!" Selinda said, low and fast. "Every time! Every time we asked a question she didn't like, we got sick. You just learned to ignore it." She subsided, burying her face in her sister's neck.

The basement was quiet in the wake of Selinda's outburst, and if not for the glance Sunniva shot at him as she held her sister close, Thor might have thought they had forgotten his presence.

"Betrayal is only so vile because it comes from one close to us," Thor said. His voice was heavy with old memories.

"We didn't know she worshipped the Crow," Sunniva insisted, but there was no fire to her words. "But we didn't think she avoided him, either."

"I do not imagine a healer that consorts with Decay would be trusted," Thor said.

"Everyone knows that the Crow loves healers the most," Sunniva said, and it was a bitter thing, a truth that had long weighed on her.

"And so she let your people think she worshipped Manipulation," Thor said, clasping his hands together.

The siblings nodded as one.

"Who did you choose?"

The words were spoken calmly, but they still set a stillness into the hearts of the two before him.

"Tchar," they said as one.

Thor could not help but scowl, for all that no presence came with the name of his foe.

"We needed his cunning to avoid the Grandfather," Selinda said, peeking back up at him.

"Not everyone can be like Wolfric," Sunniva said, the soft glow of his spark reflected in her eyes. "You have to pick one of them."

"And now, that you have a choice?" Thor asked. "Would you choose Manipulation again?"

Sunniva licked dry lips. "Do you…ask for our worship?"

"We will," Selinda was quick to say. "We can worship you-" she cut herself off.

"I will never demand your worship," Thor told them. "You need not fear my might for lack of devotion, and I offer my protection to the innocent no matter their origin. However…" and here he spoke bluntly, unable to moderate his words even to ease their worries, "...nor will I abide the worship of a cancer that would have you plot harm against those that should be your neighbours." As he spoke, his words revealed a truth to him that he had not consciously considered. He had been content to lure the people of this land away from the Chaos Gods, to show them a better path by his own example, but no more. The cost was not one he would choose to pay.

The sisters shared a look, communicating without words. Selinda gave an encouraging nod, and Sunniva let out a breath.

"We could follow a god like that," Sunniva said. "We…I have heard the words of your priestess."

"Wolfric follows," Selinda said, like this was an important consideration. "He spoke of you as we cared for his sisters."

Thor smiled. It was not a grand, beaming thing full of cheer, but something quieter, more reserved. Perhaps they were lying, perhaps they would hold fast to the Schemer and use their position to rise in its esteem - but he did not think so. He would have faith in them, and perhaps in time they would come to have true faith in him.

Hesitantly, the smile was returned, the sharp edge of wariness fading from the girls for all that the bulk of it remained.

"Come," he said. "It is time you leave this place behind." He rose from his shaky seat, and carefully picked his way up and back out into the night air.

Sunniva and Selinda followed, leaning into each other on unsteady feet after hours of sheltering in the basement. Thor reached down to lend them a helping hand, guiding them upwards and onwards, and then they were standing in the shattered remains of what had once been the entry to their house.

Mannslieb was bright after their time in the darkness, but they did not shy away, breathing deeply of the fresh air.

Sunniva turned to him, swaying with slight dizziness. "Thank you, godl- God of Thunder."

"She's really gone," Selinda said, still looking out at the remains of the battle, eyes fixed on the point where the Bifrost and the chaos portal had touched the world. Like her sister, she too swayed in place. "We ow-"

Thor laughed. "Do not speak of debts, for I know it was you who cared for Astrid and Elsa as they lay sick." He called to Stormbreaker, and swept up the two of them with one arm. "Tomorrow we see to their healing, but tonight there is a feast in the hall, and everyone will be pleased to know that you do not share her taint."

Stormbreaker arrived from the darkness, and then they were flying, twin yelps pulled from them as they made for the longhall. They would be be better served by a hearty meal and a bath than by hobbling through the town, and on the morrow, Leifnir would heal the twins, easing the worries of all.

Subtly, Thor looked with his missing eye, piercing the divine, and though it was slight he saw that the oily touch upon them had eased, even if only a touch. The rot upon both pairs of sisters would soon be cleansed.

X

The day dawned brightly, and the leaves of the grove rustled lightly around them as they stood in the centre of the grove. It was to be a fine day, as Thor oversaw a gathering of those with cause to be there…but the promise of the day was threatening to sour.

"Excuse me?" Thor said, voice near rumbling in his chest. He had heard the words well, but he wished to hear them again all the same.

Leifnir's lip pulled back in a snarl. "This is the touch of the Unclean himself," she said. "I cannot heal this."

The grove was not so large nor its paths so wide as to accommodate her form, but that was before she had shrunk herself to barely more than the height of a man. She was perched by the mat that Astrid and Elsa lay upon, still comatose, under the shade of the ash tree. The tree had undergone another growth spurt seemingly overnight, but that was a distant thing to those present.

"Did we not make a deal?" Thor asked, the furrow of his brow deepening.

He was not the only one to take the news less than sanguinely. Wolfric was next to him, standing on the other side of the twins from the dragon, and he stared at her unblinking.

An expression of draconic discontent spread across Leifnir's face. "A deal was made, but there is a world between a sickness and the working that lays upon-"

"Was I not clear when I said the touch of Decay lay upon them? Did you think I was exaggerating?" Thor asked.

Leifnir shuffled in place, resettling herself. "...perhaps."

Those present held their tongues as they watched, none eager to insert themselves into a disagreement between a god and a dragon. Kirsa stood at Thor's other side, while Harad and Helana watched from their right, facing the tree. They had not left each other's side for a moment since the battle. Bjorn was nearby as well, though he sat in a chair, unwilling to be confined to a bed but unable to stand on his own, and he was watched over by Sunniva and Selinda.

"Do I seem a man prone to exaggerations?" Thor asked. "In matters such as this?" he added on.

"Many a pox have I seen that was named the touch of Decay," Leifnir said, tip of her tail lashing angrily. "None have been born of the breath of the Plague Lord himself."

"But it is, and we made a deal," Thor said, putting a hand on Wolfric's shoulder. "Should Astrid and Elsa worsen beyond all reach-"

"They will not," Leifnir was quick to snap. "The aura of your grove has arrested its progression; they slumber but do not fall deeper."

Thor glanced at his ash tree, and he was not the only one.

"She is right," Bjorn spoke up, steady voice imparting a measure of calm. "I can feel the burn of my wounds, but the filth in them stilled when I was brought here." His bare chest was a swollen mass of barely healed gouges and scars split open, inflamed and angry. He bore it stoically, though it was clear the words still tired him.

"Hmmm." Thor let out a noise as he considered. This was not how he had hoped the day would begin, but he did still have the Feather, and surely somehow…

"It is my failing," Leifnir admitted, grudgingly, and as if in great pain. "To make good, I would be willing to give of my blood. It may not be heartblood, but dragon blood willingly given is powerful all the same."

"I know the elixir," Helena said. The kindness that Thor had come to expect in her was missing, dampened by the revelation of the day prior, but still she fought to keep moving. "I would not trust myself to brew it, not quickly, but I know it."

"We know it," Selinda said, though she seemed surprised at herself for speaking up. She let her hair fall across her face as looks were sent her way.

"We began it before Grandmother took over," Sunniva said, shifting forward slightly to take the attention upon herself. "We could brew it."

"'Grandmother'?" Helena asked, turning to the girls.

The girls flinched under her gaze. At Thor's explanation the night prior, only few had still regarded them with suspicion, but still they had been fearful of mistrust and what might come of it. "Helka."

Harad let out a noise that was at first mistaken for a rumble from Leifnir's chest.

"She was not your grandmother, she had no-" she cut herself off, unwilling to speak more on such a topic. "It does not matter. If you trust them, we could brew it."

"I know it, also," Bjorn said. "Though to replace heartblood…"

"Mighty blood," Thor murmured to himself.

"If it is the power of the blood," Kirsa said, almost in the same instant. She looked to Thor, hesitant, but it was clear they had had the same thought.

"With lives in the balance, are you sure you wish to make that offer?" Harad asked. His voice was the same rumble it always was, but his eyes were almost accusing as he looked at Thor.

Kirsa bristled at the implication, and even Wolfric stirred from his glaring at Leifnir.

"You are a good man, Harad," Thor said, and he was, to all but suggest that he was only playing at godhood. "There would be no such problem."

"Then you should know that there will be consequences all the same," Harad said, meeting his eyes without hesitation. "When mortals take something of the divine within themselves, they are changed."

Thor inclined his head to the old warrior, taking his point. It was not an easy choice to make, but at least he had choices before himself.

"To be sure," he said, looking around, "there is no potion or elixir to be brewed that could heal them on its own?"

"Not for a sickness brewed in his own cauldron," Sunniva said.

"No," Helena said, shaking her head, "they can be defeated."

Sunniva blinked. "What? But-" she cut herself off, perhaps realising that the one to tell her so was not unbiased.

"If the Crow's own plagues could not be overcome, he would not have to create more," Helena said, "but the girls do not have the time for us to find a cure." She gave Leifnir a considering look. "Willingly given…a dragon's blood might be enough to contest the taint enough for a hallowing." Her gaze went to Thor, and it was clear she harboured the same doubts as her husband.

Leifnir almost preened.

"Leifnir has strength aplenty, to be sure," Thor acknowledged, "but I will not trust their lives to an uncertainty. I offer my own blood." Harad and Helena may hold doubts, while Kirsa and Wolfric held not enough, but he knew his strength, and he knew the strength of his foe. He could not yet contest Decay outright, but to hallow his taint? That he could do. The only trick was to ensure the girls would survive the scouring.

"Is my blood not enough?" Leifnir asked, frill rising. "Kings have lost great treasures in pursuit of such a thing!"

The ire of a dragon was not easily discounted, though Thor and Harad were left unaffected.

"Fear not, Leifnir," Thor told her, "we will find a way for you to earn my eye."

"Good," Leifnir said, satisfied.

"What do you need for the elixir?" Wolfric asked of Helena, speaking for the first time.

"We will have to gather the ingredients anew; I would not trust any even if we recovered them from the ruins," Helena said.

"Well that Grigori is cleansing them with fire," Kirsa said.

"Tell me what they are, and I will retrieve them," Wolfric demanded.

"You are no herbalist, Harad and I will find them," Helena said.

This was not an answer that appealed to Wolfric, and he scowled.

"I could show you," Selinda offered, almost too quietly to be heard.

Wolfric still heard, and didn't waste more than a moment looking the sisters over. "If Lord Thor trusts you, I will trust you. Show me, and I will protect you."

There was a short, quiet disagreement between Sunniva and Selinda over who would stay to watch over Bjorn and who would go with Wolfric, but it was solved when the baresark told them both to go, for five eyes were better than three, but there was a glint to his own that suggested that was not his only reason.

As that was happening, Helena approached Thor, Harad staying close. "You are sure of this?" she asked him.

"I am," Thor answered.

"You may doubt him, but you saw the might of his blessings," Kirsa said in his defence. "You do not have to believe in Lord Thor's divinity, but you cannot doubt his strength."

Thor gave her an approving glance, reaching over to ruffle her hair. She coloured, but made no move to escape his touch. "This is why people keep thinking you my priestess," he told her, and at that she squirmed.

The couple were not convinced, not fully, but they had indeed witnessed feats to judge him favourably against a dragon, and they questioned him no more.

No more time was wasted, and a quick discussion was held between those who would do the searching as they divvied up the ingredients between them. The five of them set out from the grove without delay, the gathering coming to an end. The elixir would take a week to brew, but Helka had underestimated him from the start in setting her trap, and they had time, especially with the effect of the grove on the workings of the enemy.

It was a difficult thing, to be forced to wait after thinking the solution to their recent troubles so imminent, but all kept themselves busy. The ingredients were found within the day, and then the brewing began under the leaves of the ash tree. The slumber of Astrid and Elsa continued beside them, ample motivation, and Wolfric held a vigil as they worked, feeding his sisters goat milk and honey.

A strange mood settled over Vinteerholm. Work continued on the new walls, and the effects of Helka's deeds were felt. Crow-touched healers had been long feared for the ultimate end of those they ministered, and all knew their fortune in avoiding such a fate. All took time to thank the Thunder God, but there was a wariness to their prayers for some. They had heard the challenge, the insult he had given to Chaos over Skraevold, and they could not help but feel that the time he spent waiting for Wolfric One-Eye's sisters to be healed was more akin to the calm before the storm than anything else.

Perhaps though, their wariness could be laid at the feet of the dragon that had taken up temporary residence in their home. There was some adjustment to be made when one found oneself fishing from the same river that a great pale dragon was bathing in. There was some gossip of a great healing work that it would lay upon the town, one that the Thunder God had paid for with his own eye, but surely that was only gossip.

With three hands on the brewing process, there was time for them to see to Bjorn as well, and it became clear that without the aura of the grove, he would be in dire straits. The infection he had caught getting the twins clear of danger was a potent one, but under the aegis of the grove, he began to recover, if slowly. It would be a path of months ahead of him, but the baresark did not regret the deeds that had set him upon it. Between that, and the Kislevite Grigori rallying the townspeople to fight, those who were new to Vinteerholm found themselves met with fewer sneers and cold shoulders as they went about their business. It was a strange thing to find themselves adjusting to life in a Norscan town, but they found themselves doing so all the same.

Eventually, the limbo of waiting came to an end, a watched pot finally boiling after seven days and nights. The elixir was ready for the final ingredient, and all gathered in the grove once more. This time, however, they had an audience. Townspeople of all kinds had come, from fighters to fishermen, elders to youths, united only by the strength of their faith…to one god, or another.

"It is time," Helena told him, as they stood by the ash tree. It was twice the height of Thor now, and it had sheltered the elixir from the elements as it was brewed over an open fire.

There was a solemnity to the occasion, those most involved gathered around Astrid and Elsa's still forms, while those who had come to observe remained a respectful distance back. The sky was a clear blue, but there was the sense that a storm lurked just over the horizon.

Thor took up a twig of ash, and used it to prick his thumb. A drop of blood welled up, a rich red, and he let it fall into the small cauldron, plopping into the amber liquid.

Immediately the elixir began to churn and froth, not like a pot brought to the boil, but like the sea in a storm. Amber began to brighten, almost shining, though it cast no light. Wolfric scarcely breathed, but none were absent of worry as they watched the product of their work react to godsblood, freely given. After what was only a minute, but felt like much longer, the storm in the cauldron settled. It was the same shade of blue-white that was familiar to those who had witnessed Thor's might, the colour of his power.

"Kirsa," Thor said. "Two cups."

Kirsa stepped forward, wrapped in her red cloak. An unseen breeze stirred it as she began to fill the rough wooden cups she held, and it was the same breeze that stirred the boughs of the ash tree. When the cups were full, there was a scant mouthful left in the small cauldron, but it was ignored for the moment.

"Sunniva, Selinda," Thor said, and no further direction was needed. The sisters accepted a cup each from Kirsa, and then they knelt by the comatose twins.

Gently, carefully, the young women who had been bound to a healer corrupted by Decay poured the precious elixir into the mouths of her last victims. It was swallowed with an ease and willingness that had been absent when trying to keep them fed over their sickness, the cups drained swiftly. All present held their breath.

Thor had thought he might have felt something, but there was nothing, and he called upon a god's discerning eye. With his left there was nothing, just the expected eddies and flows of the currents of the world, so he looked deeper, searching with an eye that was not, and he saw.

The ash tree gleamed with goldsilver, the same colour he had witnessed in Asgard, Old and New and all at once. It was suffused by it, and it seemed to build with each heartbeat, but that was not what drew his eye. It was the way that same goldsilver was building within Astrid and Elsa, seeming to shine from their stomachs as it slowly spread through their bodies.

A foul stench befouled his nostrils, and Thor's gaze grew thunderous. Storm clouds, dark as pitch, boiled into existence in the once blue sky, but the grove did not grow dark. Not with the lazy sparks that had begun to coil and drip from Thor's shoulders, not with the blue-white that spilled from his eyes.

Goldsilver filled the twins, colouring them full - save for a patch of oily green behind their eyes. They twitched and shifted, discomfort on their faces. Elsa whimpered and Astrid shook, Selinda and Sunniva placing soothing hands on their brows, but to no avail.

Thor knelt at their feet, facing the ash tree, and rubbed his hands together, holding them as if cradling something precious. Sparks formed and pooled in them, and carefully, he blew. They drifted over to the girls, gentle…until they were not.

The moment they touched the girls, lazy sparks grew jagged and harsh, growing into a storm and all contained within their small forms. Sunniva and Selinda snatched their hands away, and the twins began to writhe. He could feel it surging through them, just as he could feel how they were guided and shepherded by the power already in them, bringing it to the poison that had been sown by one who had broken their trust. A beat later, the storm latched onto it.

'Nurgle,' Thor hissed, but not with words. It was a malediction that was felt in the souls of those around him. Their faith did not matter, not in this place, not in this moment. Thunder boomed, though there was no lightning, not in the sky.

The poison fought back, but it was built for subtlety, and isolated from the one who had sent it. It began to burn, and such a thing could have been calamitous for those that bore it, but the goldsilver that suffused them saw that they were left unmarred.

'You will not have them.' So Thor proclaimed, and so it would be. He fed more of his power to the fight, feeling it work with and grow from the goldsilver that was the battlefield. 'Your false gifts are unwanted, the harm you have caused undone. You will not have them.' The Feather that was with him unseen was warm against his breast, quietly supportive.

Still the poison fought back, even as it shrivelled and boiled, cooked by the hallowing power that struck at it. A sick desire to spread harm and bring despair radiated from it, but it could not outshine the power that surrounded it. A scream rose, audible only to the ears of a god.

Lightning flashed overhead, and for an instant there was a giant writ in the black sky. "You will not have them!" Thor's voice boomed, though his lips did not move, and the words echoed from above. "Nurgle, I say thee NAY!"

Like an overripe cyst, the poison within the twins popped, seeking to spread its rot even in its defeat, but it found no fertile ground in which to take root. Goldsilver gleamed, finally filling the girls in full. Their pained tossing stilled, and he allowed the storm within them to fade.

All were quiet as silence fell, fear and awe scattered in those that watched. The storm clouds overhead began to fade, and blue sky peeked through once more, but Astrid and Elsa did not stir.

Thor let his sight beyond sight fade, but not before he caught a glimpse of the touch of Decay on the other pair of sisters, the rot slipping from them to dissolve under the light of the ash tree. He smiled, even as a weariness set in.

Most others found their eyes fixed on the subjects of the Thunder God's power. For a long moment, there was no sign, no clue as to the result, hardly a hint even of breathing. Kirsa knew, her gaze fixed on her god, and Wolfric had faith, but most waited with bated breath, waiting for a sign that did not seem to be coming.

Then, the twins stirred.

It took long moments for the torpor of weeks to be shed, but shed it was. Astrid was the first to shift and move in truth, but Elsa was not far behind.

"Where's Trumpetter?" Astrid asked, eyes still closed and still drowsy. "It's my turn to ride him into battle today." Then she rolled over, throwing her arm over her sister.

Elsa made an inelegant sound, freeing an arm to pat at her twin, but did little more. She began to snore.

Wolfric rose, laughing, a wild and free thing. "Thor!" he bellowed. "Praise Thor!"

Like a floodgate had been opened, more cries followed, and Thor felt a wave of devotion crash into him. It was a heady thing, intoxicating far and beyond the faith he had felt when the grove had first been planted, months ago now, but he was better prepared to deal with it, and the gleeful storm he felt coursing through his veins would not overcome him. He was the master of his soul, and he would not be mastered.

Some of those who had come to watch the hallowing had surged forward in their celebration, and one of them pointed at the girls, exclaiming. "Look!"

It was obvious what had drawn their eye. Their hair, once brown and plain, was starting to glint with an inner light, turning not just blonde, but gold.

"You were right, Harad," Thor remarked quietly. He was an island in the crowd, none daring to invade his space even as they praised his name.

Harad did not answer immediately, staring at the slow transformation of the girls' hair. "So it would seem," he said. His tone was indecipherable, and Helena caught his hand with her own.

Around them, the fervour only threatened to grow. It seemed that beyond those who had watched from the grove, more had lurked nearby, waiting for some hint at the outcome. That hint had come with Wolfric's shout, and now they were streaming in, filling the grove as they joined the celebration. But not all were so joyous, some lurking at the edges, unsure or unhappy.

Thor noted them, looked for those who were more than simply unhappy and marked their faces - and did nothing. Not openly. His stance on Chaos was known, and there was no need for any grand ultimatum, not after Skraevold. No, he would lay upon them an unspoken and ever building pressure, making clear his disapproval in a hundred different ways, always with the spectre of what harm Helka could have done weighing down on them. Soon, they would rethink the false choice they had been given, and they would quietly abandon Chaos on their own. Those that did not would leave.

One way or another.

Dark thoughts were swept away when Kirsa leapt into his arms, and he spun her around, meeting joy with joy. All around him people were happy, and he saw people outright dancing, perhaps for the first time in their life seeing proof that evil could be overcome unconditionally. He laughed to see little Ragnar scamper up Leifnir's scales with the unthinking bravery of a child, bewilderment in the dragon's pale gaze. Wolfric had seized Sunniva and Selinda both, the weight of his sisters' suffering suddenly removed leaving him almost drunk. Both were flushed, and neither made any attempt to escape his hold.

Helena leaned around her husband, and he set Kirsa down to hear what words she had for him. "There is elixir yet left," she said, hardly heard over the building crowd. "What would you do with it?"

A ringing trumpet sounded the arrival of Thor's favourite mammoth, drowning out his words. "I would offer it to Bjorn," he said, trying again, "or perhaps Trumpetter, but I know not how it might affect them, and Bjorn is on the mend without it."

Harad gave an approving nod, some of his concern fading.

"I think it will water the tree, rather than let it be stored away where it might be vulnerable to any mischief," Thor said.

Before action could be put to words, they were interrupted. "Thor!" came the shout from an excited little boy, Ragnar almost crashing into them, hair falling into his eyes. He brushed it away.

"Ragnar!" Thor replied in kind, and the boy giggled. "I have a task for you," he said more seriously.

Ragnar snapped to attention, almost vibrating with the effort of waiting.

"I need you to take the cauldron, and pour what is left of the elixir onto the roots of the ash tree," Thor told him. "Can you do this for me?"

"Yes Thor!" Ragnar shouted, already zipping off with an enviable enthusiasm.

Helena and Harad watched him go, matching looks of wist and yearning on their faces, and Thor was reminded that for all Astrid and Elsa had been saved, Helka had done great harm before her end.

"Tell me," Thor said, dragging their attention away. "Have you ever witnessed an Asgardian celebration before?"

The two old fighters were wise to his doings, but they let themselves be drawn in all the same. "I have not," Harad said, "but I have seen feasts and festivals from the Wastes to Araby."

"Would that I had spirits of my father's cellars, and I would turn this day into an event to put them all to shame," Thor confided in them. "Without, we shall just have to make our best effort."

Perhaps it would not shame a sultan's marriage or an Elector-Count's birthday, but on that day Vinteerholm had cause for joy, and they meant to let it be known by all who cared to hear. A threat was slain, two young girls would live, and in a land like Norsca, that was more than enough to eat and be merry. Tomorrow's troubles belonged to tomorrow, but they would deal with them when they came.