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Author's Chapter Notes:

The chapters for this story are actually going to be music, so feel free to listen. I want to try to weave in Icelandic artists, since well, we are dealing with Norse Gods. Black Lake- Bjork.

Warning: This chapter is really dark and heavy.

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Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.


Waters of the personal bathing pool shimmer with crystalline purity, the mystic waters blessed with healing magickal herbs and energies sparkle like bewitched diamonds against the golden archways of the colossal personal room. Gilded accents and burgundy furnishings captivate the enormous space, and the breath of absolute royalty vibrated throughout the bathing room. The brim of the gaping pool-like bath tub filled the center of the room, as true melted gold coated the edge of the lagoon, reflective aurelian paved every surface, the arches of the ceilings clashed in deep brick red and halcyon, the flames danced and swirled about the lit candles scattered throughout the area, few electrical lights were turned on in the room, a glass door shower rested at the back of the room, the bathroom nestled off to the back corner of the room with a door separating the two rooms, and the plush domed seats near the pool are coated crimson with a clear view of the giant water filled alcove and the skies outside.

Gunk and muck mix with the darkened stains of blood in the once serene waters, swirling into a tainted stream that infiltrates the heated basin. The Thunder God takes his time in the infused lagoon, his mind idle. Thor's flushed calloused fingers drag the sponge over his rock-like chest, the divine liquids of the pool washing off the crusted blood of the gashes and scrapes that adorn his body. The soap smells of the richest scent of the forests of Asgard, ripe with the aroma of otherworldly trees and blossoms that those foreign to Asgard couldn't understand nor place. The God's lips part as he stifles a groan, splashing the soapy water on a gaping dagger wound near his collar bone. These injuries will heal in a day, at most a week. Thor's unnatural healing abilities were swift due to his high position as a God, but the sting of the knife slit left him breathless.

Pain is what Thor thrived off for these few years. The sensation of his tank built body being damaged kept him present; the pain stops the Norse God from thinking deeper than the trauma his body undergoes.

Physical damage is good.

The wounds keep him alive.

Thunder washed his face in the small basin in his chamber, leaving the door to his massive pool room open for the servant to enter later for cleaning. His fingers run through his freshly washed cascading flaxen hair that stops a bit past his shoulders; his father made him cut his hair that length a couple of months ago. Odinn noticed how Thunder refused to care for himself, how he punished himself, and let that appearance of his go. Yet, even though Thor let his hair and beard grow wild, the women of the dimension were still mad for him.

Maidens threw themselves at his feet daily, and he took anyone that made his manhood react.

Fucking made him forget for a few moments, or hours if he felt like amusing himself. Sex made Thor forget the losses that he carried every step with him, like some formless unbearable entity that will never leave.

Knocking sounds at the extravagant aurelian double doors to his chamber.

“M'lord, the All Father requests thine presence apace.” the emotionless voice of a palace guard sounded from the other side.

“I shall be there with haste.” Thor said, dismissing the guard.

 

 

 

Without a single thought, the Norse God wrapped his hair into a ponytail, put on lightweight armor over his red tunic top, an obsidian cloak made of the finest fabric in all the nine realms, and traditional pants with his worn in boots. Thunder walked tall through the fanciful golden pleated halls of Odinn's domain, his strong face devoid of any expression as he marched down several corridors. The sun made the comprehensive palace walls gleam, as the multiple brimming open windows displayed the booming city of Asgard below and the wondrous view of cascading waterfalls that floated above in a mystical fashion. Thor's cloak flowed behind him with his fast stride, but still his mind was quiet with nothing.

He is the radiant king of the heavens,

As if yanked backward, Thunder abruptly stopped moving.

That same humble murmur escaped into his ears, forcing him to snap around, azure eyes searching for anyone in his presence. No one was there, minus the servants who tended to the flowers that lined the walls and cleaning the grand floors. The Norse God clamped his eyes shut, hand gripping his head.

Was this all an illusion?

Where was this voice coming from? Who was it's owner?

Is this a spell running it's course on him?

The God's calloused fingers lightly wrapped upon the metal handle of Mjolnir, ready to strike down whoever dared infiltrated his mind, let alone his personal space. Yet, as he stood ready to unsheathe his weapon, his chest filled with that unnatural warmth, as it swirled and tangled about his heart, then dropped to the pit in his stomach. Thor's head became light, but it was filled with an rousing vapor that made him steady.

 

“Flooding the earth with warmth and encouraging the hidden seed of creation to burst forth into manifestation.The voice whispers.

 

Prayer, it all reminded him of the olden times, when Midgard was cast into darkness without hope. Those mortals daily got on their knees, prayed to the Norse Gods for bounty and safety. Oh how those days were beyond recognition, and all it took was coming down to that realm, the display of their unnatural abilities, and ended in worship for centuries. Thor recalls how he would ascend into the skies, call forth his thunder, and the humans would be gracing the floor at his feet in submission. But, those days have long since passed. Humans knew nothing of the greater powers that occupied the thinly split realms of their world...no one prayed to anyone, anything divine that once existed in their small brains was now extinct. Humans believed in nothing now, only in money and other foolish petty things.

Even though all of this was true, this hymn reached Thor's ears like a whisper riding the winds. The sweet scent of the exotic fauna of his home entered too dancing on the gale, and the combination of this strange voice and succulent aroma is making the Norse God weak at the back of his muscular legs.

“Why do I hear thee? Speak again, tell me thine secrets.” Thunder mumbled, hand leaving Mjolnir's side, and cobalt eyes shut in concentration.

 

“He lifts his shining spear to light the lives of all beings and daily pour forth his gold upon the earth, putting to flight the powers of darkness.”

 

Thor's eyes opened slow, sparks of lightning flashing in his sapphire orbs tinted with curious fascination. The utterance could be heard better when the Norse God focused, the litany becoming more distinct instead of in shallow fragments, and a more clear amiable base to the voice tingled in his hearing. Thunder took a breath, inhaling the cool air of Asgard, letting it fill his stomach and calm his mind.

 

“He is the master of the beasts wild and free.”

 

“M'lord?”

Snapping his attention outward, a guard looked upon Thor. So snatched in this siren's song, the God didn't notice when or how long the guard was watching him. It was only then Thor realized how close he stood near his father's grand chamber.

“Tis nothing. I've arrived, my Father has demanded me.” Thor said, eyes glazing with new found irritation that canceled out the calm storm that brewed in his optics.

The guard must have noticed the change in Thor's demeanor, as his armor clanged in movement as the defender hurriedly opened the massive double doors to the All Father's room.

 

 

 

When Baldur died, Thor was demolished with such a foreign agony in him. Never had the God tasted such a grotesque loss that rippled through him, ravaging his soul as though razor sharp talons teared at his immortal life force. That day not only lived in infamy in his mind, but scarred the hearts of all of Asgard, and even further than that. It was all so vivid, even now to Thor. Baldur, so loved and so worshiped of all of the Gods and Goddesses, was undergoing his own Coronation. The accession marked his older brother's bid for the throne; the day showed that he, the very heart of the admired Gods, would be the first candidate to be chosen if Odinn fell. In that grand hall, bathed with the finest of gold that was given in holy offering from every corner of the empire to support the God of peace, food and drink flowed in a wave of eternal celebration, festive atmosphere rang throughout Asgard as the people threw flowers upon the very path Baldur walked, and all attended from the nine realms to cheer for Baldur on his day. Enemies even yielded on this hour; everyone was in more than well spirits for the most beloved God among them all.

Baldur was tall and strong; a force to reckon with in combat that brought Odinn to tears with the vicious grace he wielded with his beloved Spear at his side. But, that Norse God had no pleasure in battle, as he preferred peace and coexistence among all. Baldur believed in love and it made his cerulean eyes glimmer with traces of wonder that no one could understand, he found allure in the way the commoners walked and his orbs teared up at the astonishment he saw in the blossoming of flowers. The older brother guarded the innocent; Baldur was a beacon of the just divine light. That purified aura of Baldur was so strong, so strong in fact that an angelic nimbus surrounded his head by the time he was a toddler, and lasted on until his very last seconds of life. People deemed Baldur the God of beauty as well, for his appearance was male exquisiteness incarnate. Baldur possessed long rich golden tresses that ended past his chest, and was decorated often with random braids. His skin was kissed by the sun and tanned, those cerulean eyes captivated all, the God's chin chiseled firm, his body was strong yet lean, but he was taller by only an inch by Thor. Where Loki wears verdant garments and Thor dresses in crimson colored clothing, Baldur adorned himself with the whimsical color of a fine royal cobalt that complimented his gaze. Baldur was loved, so ridiculously loved.

So ridiculously so, that another God grew tired of it.

Loki.

When did mischief become malice? When was the line crossed?

It was crossed on that day of ascension for Baldur.

Loki, in his jealous daze, tricked the blind gullible God Hodr into such a treacherous deed. An action his mother, Frigg, sought to prevent with the culmination of oaths from every living thing in the realm to never attempt to kill her precious first born. Yet, the devilish cunning of Loki understood a loop hole to these oaths- Frigg never gained an oath from the mistletoe believing that such a “tiny thing” could never possibly kill Baldur. The God of mischief forged a mighty spear from the herb mistletoe, whispered lies in Hodr ears, then set him out in front of every soul in that great hall, let the blind God strike Baldur down with the spear, and impaling the God of peace through the very heart that was all of the love of the Gods and Goddesses.

The way the divine twinkle left the Norse God's cerulean eyes, how his lips twisted in agony or a painful swirl of shock at the assailant, the crippling agony written throughout Baldur's body as it writhed to the ground, the blood spraying on Thor's face and invading his mouth. Those were what clung to him every night he dreams of the event over and over in his head. Tasting the metallic waste of his brother's blood in his mouth as he stood next to the God of beauty, his smile of happiness burning off his lips once he processed what was happening. And Loki, the way his eyes gleamed with a devious happiness as he chuckled at his handy work...one brother down, one less obstacle for his claim of Father's throne. He stood so proud, Loki, as all of the souls in the hall erupted into chaos and tears. His laughter filled the halls.

Yet, Father didn't punish Loki as all of the nine realms wept for months over Baldur.

That was the defining moment...that's when Thor's instincts told him that Loki lied with evil in his soul. A hatred that could not be quelled by any form of love, even if his family gave him more love than he could bare.

Oh that night when Baldur was striked down, the anguish firing in Thor's soul. Watching as all of Asgard set Baldur on that burning pyre down the rivers, setting his course to his guaranteed spot in Valhalla.

On that very night, much later when no eyes were around, Thunder looked down the waterfall where his brother fell in a flurry of flames. Death...Gods and Goddesses can die, and Baldur's death resounded that fact for every single soul throughout the realms.

Thor's heart was too heavy; he wanted to die with his brother. End it there, end it quickly.

Hurry, Baldur could still be waiting at the bottom of that large draining water basin.

Give Loki what he desires, if Thor's gone no one will be in his way.

Shutting his eyes, whispering sweet words down to his older brother's scarred corpse, he jumped.

Thor jumped off of that cliff near the waterfalls.

That was the night Thor learned to fly...he never hit the rocky grounds below. Thunder hovered, his new ability stopped his suicide.

Perhaps Baldur, in his divine formless soul, saved Thor and gave him the gift of flight.

Either way, rage was another gift he learned. Rage racked his body for months as he spent his time in isolation, trekking the realms alone. Until, Loki found him, using his clever silver tongue to manipulate the rage that burned in his eyes for his younger brother till there was nothing but love lighting his orbs again for his younger brethren.

Thor forgave Loki, but he wasn't foolish enough to forget.

 

 

 

The same sorrow Thor felt before he jumped to his supposed death is with him now, as he looks upon the weakened state of his All Father. Odinn is writhing in discomfort in his gargantuan bed, wrapped in the greatest fabrics crafted by the Light Elves, his single eye vibrating in pain, long silver hair in disarray as he tosses and turns, the golden scepter of the All Father has been tossed idle on the floor, and the azure mist that sustains Odinn is now faint with low energy.

Thor's deteriorating Father looks at him now.

Thunder's anguish brimmed ultramarine orbs connect with Odinn's aching ashen oculus.

What Thor wouldn't give to toss himself off that cliff again.

To see their shining faces again.

 






Chapter End Notes:

Baldur- God of Beauty, Innocence, and Rebirth, Firt son of Odinn

 

This is Baldur, brother to Thor and Loki, and the first son of Odinn. Baldur was the God of Beauty, Innocence, and Rebirth.







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Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.