He who speaks with thunder

((This is a Thor RP blog maintained by upstairs-brain)) Thor Odinson Orphan, master warrior, excellent viking, drinker of more mead than you, and elder brother to one Loki Odison.

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The Hunting of Fenrir

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silfrtunga:

Sleep clings to Loki, a heavy and warm weight on his mind. This is a late morning for him, but this is also a time where he knows that rest might be key in his and his brother’s survival, so he remains snuggled into the nest of furs he has arranged beside Thor, one bare shoulder peeking above the layers of furs wrapped around him. Thor grunts and moves, noisy as ever, and begins to wake Loki, though he lets wakefulness come to him very slowly, determined to get as much rest as he can for now.

And then comes his name, a mannish grunt from Thor, and he sighs heavily as he finally gives up on sleep. His eyes flick open, sharp glints of frost-bitten jade. They focus on the fur near his face, fluttering just slightly with the motion of his breath, before shifting to Thor, irritation in his gaze. He had wanted to rest more, even as he knows that they need to move on soon. The Allmother expects success from them, and he strives to please her, just as much as Thor does. So he sighs quietly and pushes himself upright from his sleeping space, revealing inches of pale, blue-tinged skin. He feels the cold of the air as it washes over him, though he does not feel it as much as he is sure that Thor does.

“Good morning, brother,” he sighs, the words swirling like smoke in the air, before he looks over at Thor, watching him fight to tame his mane. A sly smile curls on Loki’s lips, and he reaches under the furs for the shirt he has stored there, warmed by his own body hurt during his sleep, tugging it on to cover himself. “How fair your toes?”

“For your sake,” Thor bites off through the cold as he yanks his fingers through his hair one last time, satisfied enough with the results, “you had better hope that all ten are there.” He laughs, a sound rough with sleep as he pulls off the thick wool covering his toes, wiggling them at Loki for a moment before hissing as the cold begins to seep into them, tugging the socks back on quickly enough. “Curiosity sated now, brother?” Now that Loki was awake and their usual matter of course for their morning ritual was well under way, Thor continued to dress, tugging on layers of wool and layers of steel, protecting himself from both the cold and what they were hunting.

“We're as far into these woods as any have dared before,” he says after a moment of silence between them, knowing of Loki's need for solitude as he wakes. “We should see sign of the wolf sooner rather than later, I can feel it.” Thor taps two large fingers to his breast, tapping lightly. It was more than once that his instincts had saved them. “Shall we break our fast, before plunging into the snow?”

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The Hunting of Fenrir

It is perhaps mid-morning when Thor wakes, though he is aware that it might actually be late afternoon. The falling snow and the thick cluster of trees that offer shelter to their meager camp blot out the sun and it's position, and to Thor, the would looks nothing more than than varying shades of gray and texture. The small tent is freezing, and he can barely feel his toes despite the numerous furs he wrapped himself in before bedding down for the night how ever many minutes or hours or days ago. His stomach kindly rumbles to life as the warrior cracks his back, reminding him that he had eaten little on this journey so far, barely a handful of frozen berries he had found some time back as he and his brother-- who was much more suited to this sort of weather, despite his slight frame and apparently frail health-- made their way into the treacherous mountains.

This is no mere stroll through all the wonders and horrors that nature holds, however. Thor and Loki were on a quest, tracking the great beast called Fenrir, said to be a wolf as large as a tree trunk, with vicious yellow fangs and paws large enough to swipe a man's head clean from his shoulders. Thor and Loki were no hired hunters though, no mercenaries looking for glory and gold. They had been charged with this quest to hunt Fenrir by Frigga herself, and to her they were completely loyal.

With a soft groan, Thor tries to gather the will to move from what meager protection from the biting cold his bed offers. His hair, flaxen in color, is clean but matted to his head, tangled about itself, and he begins to work thick, calloused fingers through the snarls as he grunts loudly enough in the form of what passes for his brother's name to awaken him.

"Loki."

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And so our story begins

Many eons ago, when the Heirs of Odin were yet young, both in body and in mind, the Allfather fell into the Odinsleep, not to awaken for many a day and night, resting and healing. This was not the first Odinsleep that Thor and Loki had seen their father into, but it was the first since their coming of age. Frigga, the generous Queen of Asgard, thought upon this as she sat, graceful and poised, on the throne of Asgard, for if Odin's wishes are to be honored, it will soon be one of his sons-- the brave and bold Thor, who has much potential but still so much to learn, and the quick-witted, silver-tongued Loki, who knows much of many things but has a cold heart that is slow to warm-- that will be seated upon the throne of Asgard. It is Frigga's duty, set to her by Odin before his long sleep, to choose between her sons, for there is only room for one upon the throne.

Frigga looked down upon her sons, perched upon the edge of the great throne. They knelt there before her, the picture of royal grace, erudite and waiting upon baited breath-- but the mother goddess was not fooled. In the quiet hours of the night, when only the steady breathing of her husband in the Odinsleep kept her company, Frigga had peered into the future, had parted the clouds of time to gaze upon Asgard under the rule of Thor, and under the rule of Loki.

Thor was a well-loved king, for a time. Bright and charismatic, he had won over the hearts and mind of Asgard easily, and many a feast was held in honor of his valor and victory. But an unjust war against the Jotun that left far too many of the giants alive while far too many Asgardians lay bleeding upon the ground never to return to the golden halls of their home left Thor disgraced and unloved by the people, disgusted and hated by Thor's own self.

Loki, upon the throne, left Thor an attack dog, sent out by Loki to destroy all those who spoke too loudly against him and his heavy-handed rule. He was cold, far colder than any of the Jotun that were his brethren, as only Frigga knew. Loki was hard and cruel, caring only for the advancement of his own talents and those who also shared his talent for magic and trickery. The people of Asgard lived in fear, and Loki sat upon the throne, brooding and powerful, with many students and yet still so, so lonely.

Stepping down from the throne, light on her feet and graceful in her walk, she stood before her sons-- one conceived in secret with an enemy of her husband, the other not of her blood but just as much of her heart-- and placed her index and middle finger upon the forehead of each of them, her touch gentle but firm.

“My sons,” she said softly, her smile bittersweet. “I have loved you both, with all my heart, for the whole of your lives. I have watched you grow and flourish, and my mother's heart is full of pride when I gave upon the both of you. Thor, you are a so honorable, and brave. And Loki, you are so full of knowledge and ambition. The both of you are strong.” Here, Frigga paused to take a steadying breath. She had made her decision, knew that it was the correct course of action, knew that she held the mother-strength to guide her sons. It was still difficult, though.

“But I have seen what you are capable of Loki, and know what sort of ruler you will be, Thor.” Her voice was hardened now, full of the authority of Frigga, mother goddess and Queen of Asgard. “The Allfather has given to me the power to choose who shall rule in his stead-- and I choose myself. Neither of you are ready for the sort of power being king would give to you. I have seen you to be vain and self-important, Thor. And Loki, I have seen you to be cruel and eager to become hard-hearted. It is with a heavy heart, my sons, that I, Frigga Allmother, ruler of Asgard... cast you out.”

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Thor and Loki, called Odinson for their prowess in battle and affinity for magic, seemed to be blessed by the very gods themselves. They were young, yes, but powerful vikings, often sought out for their services by others in battles and raids, for epic quests and for protection. The brothers, or so they called themselves, were well known across the land as searching for great artifacts, dragons and monsters, anything of note for them to offer up to the one immortal that they pledge their undying loyalty to: Frigga, the Allmother. If pressed for details of their missions, Loki will sneer at the asker, muttering about simpletons unable to grasp even the base details of their quests. Thor would set a large hand upon Loki's thin shoulder, and will simply shake his head with a smile on his lips, offering no more clues than his brother, simply because he does not know.

And here, dear reader, does our story start. Thor and Loki, our gods of Thunder and Mischief, have been reduced to mortals and sent to a time when the gods were truly worshiped, their memories precious keepsakes for Frigga, so that they may learn to be men before they become gods. There was a third path that Frigga had allowed herself to walk, in those lonely hours of night, a path that shown bright and golden, with twin thrones gracing the palace, Thor and Loki ruling as equals, tempered and kind, brave and clever. It is this path that she hopes for, it is this path that will save her sons and save Asgard.