Klance stuff (one-shots)

Chapter 2

Credit:
https://archiveofourown.org/works/18214943

Thor doesn't have many memories of his childhood.

His first memory is being dragged from the arms of his sobbing mother as a boy. He remembers men in heavy armor with two swords on their backs and the strangest golden eyes gripping him by the arm, tight enough to bruise. Frigga's terrified sobs and Odin's blank indifference.

"No, please! Anything else! Take anything else just not my darling, boy!" She screamed over her tears. She grabbed for one of the men's arms. They shook her off and sent the woman careening to the ground, mud splattering over her gown.

Her tear-stained face had been the last thing Thor had seen before being dragged away.

He remembers a strange fortress where he was grouped with other boys of his age. What followed was relentless physical and magical training as well as ruthless mental conditioning and various rituals. Those who lived became witchers. The less fortunate ones died. Eventually, Thor and another, ginger-haired child named Volstagg were the only ones left after the grueling trials. At the end of it all, he emerged changed, different. His strength, speed, and reflexes far exceeded any normal human's. His injuries healed much faster. Gone were his blue eyes, replaced with golden irises and dark pupils in the shape of a cat's. A mutant. A witcher.

How strange, he thought that those memories should drift to the front of his mind now.

A pained hiss escaped the man as he rolled to the side, barely dodging the hulking werewolf above him. His silver sword previously knocked aside, gleamed several yards away at the base of a tree. Ordinarily, he would have no problem taking down a werewolf. Those beasts were relatively easy when compared to other, much larger and considerably more dangerous creatures whose blood had graced his blade. But he was returning from hunting a Katakan (which were always more trouble than they were worth) and the bleeding claw marks on his side and throbbing pain in his head refused to make this easy.

Thor swayed as he hefted himself up onto his feet once more, his opponent pacing in front of him. His vision swam, and his breath came in pained gasps. Already he could feel his stamina waning. The werewolf stood between him and his sword. He could have sworn the beast was taunting him by the way it bared its sharp teeth. This was it. He was going to die here, in the middle of nowhere amidst a grave of leaves and twigs with only the trees to mourn beneath the pale light of the moon. The werewolf dropped to all fours and pushed off of its back legs, leaping forward. Thor refused to close his eyes.

Before the beast's claws could meet his flesh, his very own silver sword came flying through the air, embedding itself in the werewolf's back. The beast stiffened and let out a guttural howl. Blood gushed from the hole in its chest as the sword withdrew before rising once more and slicing clean through the werewolf's neck. The beast crumpled to the ground alongside its severed head.

Thor's shoulders slumped as a grateful smile lit up his face. "You're late."

A hooded figure emerged from the woods opposite of him, their hands dropping to their side as the sword fell to the ground. They reached up to pull the hood back, freeing dark waves of hair and green eyes. Leather boots stepped across the ground until they reached Thor, careful not to touch the growing puddle of blood upon the ground.

Thor's heart swelled upon laying eyes on his lover after some time.

"Yes well – at least I'm not the one missing an eye." The dark-haired sorcerer quipped.

The witcher's hand moved up to finger the leather patch on his head. "It's a long story that one."

Loki's eyebrows rose. "Now I find myself curious."