Chapter Text
Thor sighed, watching the newest batch of thwarted soldiers cower before the verbal evisceration delivered by King Odin.
Countless attempts over the last few months, made by the most elite of the King’s men, and still the mission was a failure. Still the human evaded capture.
When Heimdall had informed the king of the newest immortal, who had not been so born but rather turned, his father had been fascinated. This boy had managed to hide undetected by Heimdall’s omniscient eye and survive for over fifteen years at the constant age of seventeen without a single bite from Idunn’s Golden Apples. Never in his aeons of ruling had Odin heard of such an occurrence, and he had immediately extended an invitation to Asgard.
When his invitation had been declined, he had not been amused.
It had been a simple request. Retrieve the human immortal, one Harry Potter, from Midgard. But the return of the first man, moulting yellow feathers and squawking a Midgardian tune from his overlarge beak, had been the beginning of a slew of warriors sent out, each one stronger and more experienced than the one before. Even Heimdall hadn’t been able assist very much, grudgingly admitting that the sorcerer was shrouded from his view as though by a veil or cloak, only appearing for irregular flashes that the all-seeing guardian could not predict.
One measly Midgardian magic-user, cause this much hassle? It was preposterous. And yet with every failed effort, the red tinge on his father’s face had remained a little longer, and Thor worried that little incentive would be needed for the throbbing vessel at his temple to burst.
Loki, of course, thought the entire debacle was priceless, and for the first time since his imprisonment eagerly awaited his brother’s visits for the accounts of the latest additions and transformations of the foiled warriors. Even Thor had to concede that the assortment of physical alterations that they returned with were creative and compelling in a grotesque sort of way, and he knew that given the chance his little brother would either collaborate with the Midgardian boy or adopt him.
Only Sif had returned unscathed, claiming that the sorcerer’s sense of chivalry would not allow him to harm a lady. Thor, however, did not believe her. He knew his childhood friend rather well and was certain that had Harry Potter truly spoken those words, she would have been spewing vitriol and raring to prove her worth and well-deserved station among his father’s men. But she had not yielded despite his weeks of pestering, only saying, “you shall see”, with a small smirk playing on her lips.
Her words rang ominously in his head as his father now made his way over. A crash resounded from his left as Volstagg’s many-branched, tree-shaped form toppled over yet another table. In the wake of his destructive refurbishment followed a line of his mother’s most highly trained women, casting numerous and varied magics to no avail.
“Thor! My son!” Odin boomed.
Repressing another, much deeper sigh, Thor stood respectfully. “Yes, Father?”
“Look at the state of my men, Thor!” He swept his arm in a grand circle around them, encompassing the harmlessly but ingeniously incapacitated men. “What use are they if they are unable to follow the most simple of instructions! You will show them how it is done, won’t you, my son? Show them the strength and dedication of the Crown Prince of Asgard!”
Yes, or bear Loki’s unbridled amusement at the sight of the first Crown Prince in the history of the Æsir to frolic about with twitching ears and a score of furry tails. He gave his father a pained smile, hoping it didn’t come off as a grimace.
“Of course, Father. Your wish is my command.”
As water rushed out from the utilitarian showerhead of the S.H.I.E.L.D.-provided New York apartment, Thor wondered how he was going to fulfill his father’s demands—and whether he truly wanted to.
Over the last few days, to better prepare for the task at hand, he had spent many hours with Heimdall in an effort to learn more about this now-infamous wizard.
And what tales he was regaled with!
Stories of a babe who ruined the dreams of a murderer and blew his ashes into the wind, only to be brought up in a callous and heartless household. Sagas of a young boy who faced down killers and monsters alike … His knowledge of magical Midgardian creatures was greatly expanded – shining majestic horses that purified the heart and soul, a giant serpent that reminded him of the Loki’s son Jörmungandr, a fire-breathing beast he likened to an overgrown bilgesnipe …
And finally, he learned of the selfless and courageous defeat of the most powerful sorcerer that Midgard had seen in many a year.
Needless to say, he held this young immortal in high regard, respecting him both as a warrior and a person. If he, after facing so many trials and tribulations in so short a life, wanted to spend the rest of eternity pulling innocent pranks on various—and dare he say deserving—people, who was he to say otherwise.
Oh, the conundrum.
Sighing, he stepped out of the cubicle of a shower and wrapped a towel around his waist, knotting it securely.
His teammates hadn’t been informed of his arrival yet, as his reason for visiting was not an Avengers issue—nonetheless, Tony had no doubt already traversed S.H.I.E.L.D.’s wall of fire and procured this information.
He also hadn’t notified Jane, whose home and bed he usually shared on non-Avengers-related visits, as lately they’d been having some … problems. He knew he was bordering on ridiculous, all but placing her under lock and key whenever a serious issue arose. He also knew that it would not be long before she put her foot down; her fiercely independent nature would not allow her to be caged and protected like some fragile damsel. It was a trait that he admired greatly and loved her for, but it was, he feared, a point of contention on which neither of them would be able or willing to compromise.
Her mortality was a constant presence in his mind, especially after the catastrophic events that took place involving Malekith and his Dark Elves. A paralysing terror still gripped his heart when he recalled how pale and helpless she looked under the thrall of the Aether. No, it could not—it would not—carry on like this for much longer. He needed to talk to Jane soon, to put into speech what they both already knew—that the time they had together would be cherished forever but must end, for their feelings would otherwise manifest into a deep-seated resentment that they would not be able to return from.
Oddly enough, this conclusion left him with a lighter heart—as though a weight he didn’t know existed was lifted from his shoulders.
Humming quietly to himself, he headed to the kitchen.
He did have to admit there were perks to living on his own, the first being the freedom to drip water on whatever surface he pleased without a nagging Darcy trailing behind him (he still hadn’t figured out that woman’s very specific peculiarities) or one of Tony’s strange whirring metal creatures mopping up after him.
A glimpse of black hair peaking out over the top of his couch stopped him in his tracks. He thrust out his hand instinctively, feeling instantly more at ease with the handle of Mjolnir fitted snugly in his fist.
“Whoa there, tiger. I’m not about to attack, so playing with your hammer—however impressive and powerful—is quite unnecessary.” The man chuckled as he stood, turning around to face him with his hands held out placatingly.
Thor was certain his expression of befuddled frustration looked exactly like it always did when Loki managed to trick him into charging at one of his illusions. This time, however, he had good reason. After all, it wasn’t exactly customary for the object of one’s pursuit to conveniently appear before even beginning to give chase.
Green eyes sparkled as they roved shamelessly over the exposed wet chest. “Hmm, what do we have here … You certainly are one gorgeous specimen of a god, aren’t you.” He circled him consideringly, disregarding the legendary weapon pointed in his direction. “The news broadcasts don’t do you justice, not at all.”
Thor had no problems with being admired by another man, even if it was in such a blatant fashion. After all, he himself appreciated beauty in all its forms and found himself returning the regard for the lean, almost waif-like body before him. But … surely this was the moment the human ran away, or at least continued his trend of transforming his pursuers into absurd and impossible forms?
As though he had heard his wayward thoughts, the man winked mischievously. “Oh, don’t worry, we’re going to have lots of fun. In fact, I don’t think I’m letting you go for a while yet, if at all.” The wicked smirk sent a worryingly thrilling shudder down his spine.
Thor decided then and there that Harry Potter must never set foot on Asgard, for if the sorcerer ever decided to join forces with his silver-tongued brother, each and every one of the nine realms was doomed.