At Hero's Bay

Old Dynasties

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐨𝐝 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐓𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐎𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐇𝐚𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫

𓄹 𝐘/𝐍 𓄼

The whimsical and biting chill of the sunset sent memories and twinkling cinders aflutter within the realm of Vanaheim. The battle was won and the Nine Realms of the World Tree were finally still once more. Volstagg, Fandral, and Lady Sif sought to escort the captured Marauders towards the edge of the village, awaiting transport to Asgard's prison barracks where their final sentence would be decided by the king in waiting—Thor himself.

Y/N, on the other hand, watched as the line of liberated ruffians took off in many numbers. Following them in suit was Grey Blood, who stirred insistently and wanted to watch over the safe transport of the prisoners himself. Y/N argued that her grey just wanted to light some capes on fire.

Filling the barracks would only be more of a nuisance for the Allfather, Y/N thought quietly, her eyes hesitantly gazing upon the luminescent presence of the god of thunder—radiant and hefty as ever. But it wasn't like anything would be any different if this was on her planet—to which Y/N had to refrain from pinching herself after she thought of such a thing. Ziz'il's minor scrapes and wounds were being treated by Sif, who of course, treated her with a much preferable bedside manner than with Y/N.

She could just barely feel her cold and distant gaze upon her every so often. But she soon found it hopeless to place any semblance of blame or fault upon any of the Warriors Three, Sif, or Thor. She betrayed them, she could never forget something like that.

"Thor has agreed to indulge himself in your excuses, Skaraeith."

Fandral was the first one to approach Y/N as she dwindled rather awkwardly near the edge of the village fringes, looking on with widened eyes as he crossed over the knoll to meet her with Zizi'l and Sif. Although Fandral's palm still rested atop the hilt of his rapier, Y/N relied on the fact that she was just still standing; not yet a seizable threat to anyone other than those who remained verbally aggressive. She counted off the seconds it took for Thor to begin striding towards their group, and every bit of it was excruciating.

Dear gods, Y/N huffed with beads of sweat stretching across her brow, just take me to the Everworld already. Thor was always a burly and powerful figure, even during his youth—there was hardly ever a time when Thor didn't best Y/N and their friends at strength or height. In a way, she was rather envious; she would have certainly used those tall advantages on the battlefield, especially in everyday life. Her thoughts drifted and lingered for a moment towards his brother—half-brother, Y/N corrected herself with a slight grimace. There's so much more to be envious about Thor when it is considered...Loki.

Electric blue eyes against a blazing gaze. What a terrifying contrast—almost a mistake in nature. However, Y/N stood her ground, the bottom of her heels firmly rooted upon the rocky terrain where she was almost afraid her very soles would sink into the ground and swallow her whole. Gods, even Zizi'l was practically trembling in his presence—but she acted fairly quicker as she knelt and bowed her head.

Thor could certainly be intimidating when he wants to be, despite being so jovial. It wasn't like he didn't live up to the reputation as the Allfather's first-born and king of Asgard in waiting; in the distance, Y/N could still see the Einherjar picking up stones and pebbles from the destroyed Kronan. She steeled the nerves that aligned the length of her spine and took a formal bow—she would've never heard the end of it if she performed a curtsy, otherwise.