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Author's Chapter Notes:

Kinda short, don't be mad! But, at least we finally meet our leading lady! The song is "Stonemilker" by Bjork.

Interesting fact, a Stonemilker is a person who tries to extract emotions, such as love, from a person who does not feel the same way. That's important, remember that.

Rate and Comment loves!




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.


That once strong stern face now twisted and curled in an incomprehensible pain. Heavy wrinkle lines molded to the prominent bones that poked from under his godly flesh, and that previously hardy tanned skin of the All Father now glowed a faint unhealthy gray tint. With the strength that Odinn could gather, he rose on his elbows from his crumbled laying position.

“Your conquest of Nifleheim was fruitful, my son. Thither shall peace reign for some time, ere our enemies wrap it in chaos again. Anon the realms are ravaged by the Frost Giants, Trolls, and every evil roused by the beshrew of Loki and Malekith. Thine people suffer, my son. I hear their screams and pleas even from here, far into every realm under my command. Death...oh how she grabs all she sees in these times of war. Can thee not feel the suffering? Can thee? Thine people need to see thee strong; do not falter or brow weak. The people of our kingdom have seen the discourse of our family; whispers of descent echo even to my chambers. Forbear all not vital to our name, my son. Do not shame me any further; Loki has given me enough ill to take into many lifetimes. Set thine course well, do not fail me. The throne will be thine in haste. Do not fail in this war.”

 

 

 

Days drifted into weeks.

Odinn's words left a scorch on Thor like nothing he has felt before. The All Father's assertion tingled in the back of Thunder's flaxen head, lingering at every thought that appeared in the God's mind. Was shame such an unbearable crutch for him? There was much more at play than the meager expression of abashment. It took centuries for Thor to wrap his mind around the concept of “shame” through his own blossoms of excessive narcissism, but as soon as the Norse God shed himself of those childish concepts of pride, he soon understood that shame was only a more complex extension of embarrassment. Shame only mattered to someone obsessed with appearances, but the idea that Odinn was more concerned with the “look” of the ruling family made sense. Odinn, the great ruler of all the Aesir Gods, War, and Wisdom is praised heavily by the affluent nobles and senator figures of Asgard. Thor, praised by the warriors and common people. The father and son conflicted in perspective due to what they both stood for, thus “shame” is a concept dealing with very different outlooks.

Thor looked at the realms with the eyes of a vicious champion.

Odinn looked at the realms with the eyes of an opulent senator.

This rift in ideals caused tension that brought Thor to a void in himself; the very void that pulled at him with every strike of tragedy he faced because of the actions of family.

This abyss grew daily, sucking in all the good that Thor was, leaving nothing but the scrapes that even his comrades couldn't bare to tolerate.

 

 

 

Yes, these days of darkened skies, and brimstone of war scraped at Thor.

Yet...

What aberrant comfort that humming voice provided Thor; so much so that the Norse God found a way to tap into the hymns each day. The prayers were set at specific times, right at the rise and set of the sun, and with the appearance of the full moon. Invocations lined with compassionate verses, that lightly brushed against the very atmosphere that Thor struggled to compose daily. Dove-like; a wondrous ballad that Thunder could not help but ease drop upon.

Several days ago, the Norse God was sitting in his chambers with his cobalt orbs shut listening, and the voice busted out in laughter at tripping upon their words. That sequence of laughter, all so feminine...the voice belonged to a woman. What a surprise it was! Thunder was please beyond belief at this, for he thought that the voice was initially a shadowy hallucination. But no, the more Thor listened, the more he understood that the young woman- which he assumed was young because some of the words she spoke reminded him fondly of Darcy- was very much so real. The young maiden gossiped about her day, her plights, the joys, the things she felt in her heart to be true, and some odd things concerning some vile woman named “Jessica”.

Weeks, so many weeks Thor spent listening to her prayers.

He needed to know who he was listening to.

Heimdallur, with his burning ochre eyes that gaze upon all and everything existing throughout the cosmos, could help the Norse God better than any other. Thunder would go to see him and get the answers he sought.

 

 

 

At the onset of dusk, just as the radiant sun dipped into the horizon, Thor set out across the Rainbow Bridge. The God's horse galloped unnoticed through the villages, as his darkened cloak hid his infamous long tresses. Odinn would not know of his disappearance for the moment, and the servants were too busy with their work to notice Thunder leave the castle. Heimdallur on the other hand, probably saw Thor coming miles away, perhaps before the God even knew he would go to the Asgardian Guardian seeking answers.

“Ah, I've been expecting thee, M'lord.” Heimdallur said, his shining golden armor clad back facing Thor.

“I knew thou would. I have a request Heimdallur. My mind has been plagued by a voice for some time, I-”

“You seek the maiden? The one who speaks to thee each day, M'lord? I know her voice reaches you better than any mortal, but yet, how curious indeed it is.” Heimdallur said, facing Thor as he walked from his placement in front of the gate.

Heimdallur's bronzed skin is emphasized by his shining full body armor, but his fiery eyes vibrate with answers far beyond anything Thor could comprehend. What wondrous things Heimdallur witnessed with those burning eyes. The birth of cosmos, the rise of nations, the beauty of far away lands yet known. All divine sights belonged to Heimdallur alone; he saw and knew much, perhaps even more than Odinn.

“Thou knows of my event? Have thee spoken a word to anyone?” Thor questioned, azure eyes crackling with the threat of lightning.

“Be calm, M'lord. I have loyalty to all in the house of Odinn, and to thee my king to be. I haven't told a soul. Yet I know of who thee seeks. No, such reason as to why her voice reaches is a matter I have yet to understand. My eyes see all, but they do not tell me all the secrets of the world. Mortals no longer can speak to Gods, such a talent died long ago. Long since the time of the dark when we ruled with heavenly thunder, M'lord. When it was sacred to even utter our names, and a curse upon thine home to speak ill of us.”

“I must see her. My patience will not suffice any longer. Show her to me, Heimdallur. I request it post haste.” Thor said.

Thunder looked disheveled as he asked the Guardian. Thor's hair was about his face in tangles from the ride to the Bridge, his long tussled crimson cape flowing with a bleak air, and his face contorted in a fine mix of internal suffering and curiosity that seemed to appease Heimdallur.

“I shall give you what you ask, M'lord. I risk my position-”

“Thou risks nothing, I give you my word.” Thor said.

“Then come close, look upon this.”

Heimdallur pushed aside the glistening pad of his chest plate armor, his coarse bronze fingers exiting the section with a clear crystal orb. The sphere looked to be crafted of fine Quartz, shimmering with translucent ethereal clarity.

“And that?” Thor asked, blue eyes fixated.

“Your Father gave it to me eons ago. Tis the Eye of Shambala, ripped from the socket of a mighty Titan that once roamed the realm when it was new and fresh. Shambala had the gift of sight just as I, but Odinn thought it wise to take her eye so he himself could gaze upon his enemies and allies from realms away before he even knew of me and my eyes. The King has no use for the Eye of Shambala due to my gifts, but for you M'lord, you shall take it. Just keep it from the sight of others, and focus your intention to see what you wish. Try it, but focus.” Heimdallur instructed.

Thor's calloused hand took the sphere, mind running rampant. Could the Norse God really look upon the maiden now? Without giving another thought, Thunder shut his eyes clutching the Eye. The mind grew quiet, thoughts emptied out as he always did when he went to listen to the young maiden. Then, Thor felt his azure gaze crystallized in white. The change in sight sent Thunder back, but his sight shifted and molded.

 

 

 

Florals, rich succulent flowers adorned a spacious white room decorated with opulent furniture. Petals scattered the floor; all in variations of lavender, burgundy, canary yellow, and lush pink. White hot sunshine, blinding, flooded the room from the double windows. The curtains danced in the sweet breeze. Delicate chestnut colored fingers run through straight lengthy obsidian hair, a white brush running after the finger in the hair. A young maiden is sitting at the vanity, the large mirror captivating her as she brushed through her cascading raven locks. Her back is the epitome of feminine sensuality; arched, moist rich russet, and full at the waist and ass. That darkened angelic hair fluttering about her back, presumably reaching well towards her abdomen. Her gown a flush tone of burgundy, with the open back showing her subtle skin that reminds Thor of the water soaked sands of the beach flowing with life. Her frock cascades around her; swirls of carmine resembling blood. The mirror...look into it; he needs to see her. He rides upon it, his breath caught in his throat, chest heavy with a weakening need.

What manner of Goddess crafted such an enthralling young maiden; her looks surely sent men to their deaths singing of her beauty to Valhalla.

The captivating luxuriance of her skin is bronzed, emulating her as an artistic sculpture of youth in full bloom. Eyebrows the color of blackened ash, strong and arched with a gentle curve to them that helps express the bounty of each expression that dashes upon her heavenly face. Eyes reflective with a striking resemblance to mahogany colored Tanzanian gems; glowing underneath long fluttering brunet lashes. Cheeks kissed an abiding lustrous maroon, her nose cutely buttoned and fitting to her heart shaped face. Those lips...they looked so giving. Her lips resembled a freshly picked flower petal silken and glazed, as her bottom lip fuller than her top. The maiden's hair, which she brushed still, parted to the side and framed her face in an innocent fashion that presented her as a chaste siren.

No God could have made her.

Her exquisiteness is unparalleled; no God or man could compare.

Hers was the face that could destroy nations, build temples in her honor, and awaken mysterious yet told.

 

 

 

“Did thou see what thou seeks?” Heimdallur said, snapping Thor from his sight.

“Indeed. That and much more.”






Chapter End Notes:

Oooooo! We get a glimpse of the leading lady! Expect a change in POV really soon. I also envisioned the dress she was wearing as this:

dress







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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.