Thor Odinson, God of Thunder, King of Asgard (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
pirateangelbaby) wrote2021-02-20 01:26 pm
pirateangelbaby) wrote2021-02-20 01:26 pm
Entry tags:
Getting Back on the Horse [for liverfree]
The Plaza may currently be knee-deep in snow, but not everywhere in the Nexus is so inundated.
This particular region is quite some distance from the familiar grounds that Thor knows. It's still winter, a faint chilly bite to the air, but the weak sunshine is warm on the withered grass of the field, and there are a few muddy patches in spots where icemelt has puddled and soaked in. Compared to a polar winter, it's positively balmy, the air temperature above freezing enough to be tolerable, if not comfortable.
Thor has had little reason to wear his armor since the day of the final battle. It's strange to wear it again, stranger still that he's already become so used to the soft fabrics of Midgardian fashion that donning familiar leathers seem almost foreign. He's foregone the cape and scaled sleeves, leaving his arms bare and his movement unhindered by flapping cloth. The black metal of his left arm shines under the sunshine, and it feels a little odd to have it so exposed, but it's all right. He can't be self-conscious of it in front of Prometheus, after all.
He leaves Stormbreaker standing on its head as he ties back his hair, weaving a quick braid to hold the length of it together at the nape of his neck. "Same rules as last time?" he asks Prometheus, raising his eyebrows. Trying to behave as though the last two years have not left their mark on him, despite the glaring evidence otherwise.
This particular region is quite some distance from the familiar grounds that Thor knows. It's still winter, a faint chilly bite to the air, but the weak sunshine is warm on the withered grass of the field, and there are a few muddy patches in spots where icemelt has puddled and soaked in. Compared to a polar winter, it's positively balmy, the air temperature above freezing enough to be tolerable, if not comfortable.
Thor has had little reason to wear his armor since the day of the final battle. It's strange to wear it again, stranger still that he's already become so used to the soft fabrics of Midgardian fashion that donning familiar leathers seem almost foreign. He's foregone the cape and scaled sleeves, leaving his arms bare and his movement unhindered by flapping cloth. The black metal of his left arm shines under the sunshine, and it feels a little odd to have it so exposed, but it's all right. He can't be self-conscious of it in front of Prometheus, after all.
He leaves Stormbreaker standing on its head as he ties back his hair, weaving a quick braid to hold the length of it together at the nape of his neck. "Same rules as last time?" he asks Prometheus, raising his eyebrows. Trying to behave as though the last two years have not left their mark on him, despite the glaring evidence otherwise.
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It's a subtle way to let Thor know that there's no blame over what happened. Thor's reaction was as instinctive and uncontrollable as the Titan's. The only question is, why? Not that he'll push the god for an explanation. When one is given, Prometheus winces sympathetically.
"Makes sense you'd react like that." He sighs and runs his uninjured hand through his hair. "I wish I'd known, man. We could have sparred differently. Do you want to talk about it at all?"
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He makes himself take a deep breath, holding it for a moment before letting it out slowly. No panic is forthcoming, no loss of control, despite his upset. The damp grass underneath him is a grounding touchstone, and he digs both hands into the earth, glancing briefly skyward at the gray clouds that shadow the sun. Darker, but no storm brewing, either.
Thor doesn't answer right away, mulling over his answer as he reorients himself. "Was it like that, with the eagle?" he asks at last.
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He never asked Thor (or Loki, for that matter) about the gruesome details on board the Statesmen. Why would he provoke the trauma of his friend? So that he might one day not accidentally get zapped? The Titan's hand is already beginning to heal, burn marks fading to more of a light sunburn. Rolling his shoulders, he sits down next to Thor and takes off his helmet, setting it beside him on the grass.
The question doesn't surprise him. He looks out over the field a moment, to the more urban areas of the Nexus in the distance. "It was agony," he replies. "Not just having my liver eaten, but knowing that it would keep happening. And the loneliness, too. I'm surprised it didn't drive me insane. Aside from Io, I didn't have any visitors. No one wants to be seen with one of Zeus's enemies." He sighs and turns his gaze to Thor. "But... I knew that Zeus would do something like that to me. I stole fire for the humans with my eyes open. I think it'd be quite different if I hadn't expected it."
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It's progress that he can even talk about it, and there's something sickly comforting about being able to share this secret that he's kept to himself since that awful day, knowing that his friend will not judge him harshly.
"I was restrained, and when he killed Heimdall, his sorcerer also silenced me. Loki... he traded the space stone for my life. And then Thanos killed him too. They left me for dead. No one else was found in the wreckage alive. Just me." He makes eye contact now, and reaches out to grasp his friend's shoulder, giving him a solid squeeze. "Until I returned, I didn't know if anyone else had survived." No matter how many times he thanks Prometheus for the part he played that day, it will never seem enough to truly express his gratitude.
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He listens in supportive silence, a little surprised when Thor squeezes his shoulder. "It was Loki who herded them out of the portal," he says. "He must have been anticipating it... I just happened to be around shortly after it happened." Not the same Loki as his brother, but one who had made the same sacrifice.
"You know," he adds with a sigh, stretching out his legs. "Even after all this time, I still get queasy in the presence of an eagle. Some things will stay with you for a long time, Thor. But it's nothing to be ashamed of."
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It's little surprise that Prometheus would be reminded of his own pain at the sight of an eagle, and there's sympathy on Thor's face, along with an understanding. He lets out a mostly humorless chuckle, under his breath. "I hate seatbelts. I'd rather travel a handful of miles by Bifrost than get in a car." Strange to have such little, innocent things that bring back such terrible memories. Like seatbelts, and eagles, and fighting a giant.
He takes in a breath and lets it out with deliberation, then turns to face his friend more directly. "So... I think we need a change in how we're sparring." Much as he dreads risking a repeat of the incident, the experience had been enjoyable up until then, and now that he's had a taste of his old self again, Thor is reluctant to run from it. That sort of stubbornness is part of his old self, too, no longer crutched under the haze of drink.
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Prometheus gives a knowing nod at the mention of seatbelts. "It's frustrating, isn't it? It doesn't feel like it should be a big deal, especially to people like us. I know it's something I don't like to share..." He smiles wryly and adds, "Not like I have a choice, though. Everyone knows about the eagle."
When Thor turns to look at him, the Titan meets his gaze, a little surprised by his friend's determination. "Yeah? Well, I have a couple of suggestions. I could stay this size or I could keep my hands open while we spar. But if you have any ideas, I'm all ears." Prometheus was enjoying himself, too, lightning strike non-withstanding, and he's not about to discourage Thor's desire to bounce back and try again.
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He'd half-expected to hear Prometheus insist that Thor isn't ready and refuse to fight, so his friend's response comes as a relief, along with a twinge of regret for doubting him. Reining himself in has not traditionally been Thor's forte, but covering his discomfort with a little humor is something he's learning to be better at. "We probably should've started small," he agrees, trying an uncertain smile. Small, indeed. "Easing back into it, and all that. What's that Earth saying, something about getting back on a horse?" That doesn't sound like the right metaphor, but close enough, right?
Thor shifts, getting his feet under him and rising, steadier than he thought he'd be. He offers a hand to Prometheus, quashing the nervousness in the pit of his belly at the thought of trying again. "I think I can take you like this."
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Thor was doing fine with their sparring before he was triggered, Prometheus has no reason to believe that they can't get back to it with a few modifications. "No, you got it right," he replies with a smile, taking Thor's offered hand and getting to his feet. "And we'll see about that, won't we? I've fought plenty at this size, too."
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It used to be reflexive to use bravado to cover up his insecurities, and for a while, Thor has found it difficult to muster even that. Not so today. He makes himself smile back, raising his eyebrows in a silent challenge, hiding his lingering anxiety behind a mask of confidence. Prometheus can likely tell it's not completely genuine, but he's making an effort to reach for his old self. "Recently? Or are you out of practice?"
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Which has gone... well, pretty good, in Prometheus's opinion. Climate change? Just some growing pains, the humans will sort it all out shortly...
"There are even some scholars who draw comparisons between me and your brother! The clear difference being that I can rock a beard." He grins, trying to inject some levity into the conversation. "And excuse you, I was patrolling the Nexus during that terrible winter, I had to lay a smackdown more than a couple of times." He nods his head back to the center of the training circle. "So... back to the beginning, then?"
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Right, the Winter. Part of Thor wishes he'd been here to see it, while the more rational part of him knows that he would have been out of his mind with worry over his stranded people. But either way, it's encouraging to know that his opponent isn't going to be rusty on this, and it shows on his face. "Back to the beginning," he agrees, and his eye flicks momentarily to the weapons they left at the side of the ring. "Unarmed, I think." Until he can trust himself not to forget himself again, that is.
Walking helps, even just this short distance, and he stretches his arms a little to loosen up, trying to shake that last bit of tremor from his limbs. The center of the ring is scuffed from their earlier struggle, but still more than serviceable. Thor lets himself slide into a ready stance, one more suited for tackling an opponent more his own size.