Entry tags:
Trouble in Paradise [for ![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rogueinladysclothing]
Far in the northern reaches of Norway, tiny lights slumber under green-kissed dark skies. The village of Asvera sleeps, save for a few who cannot find rest, or choose to keep awake through the ever-shortening nights as the Wheel turns to spring. Her shores all but unguarded, the Asgardians are nonetheless secure in their isolation, far from any who might wish them harm.
Most nights, it is enough.
But not always.
Gray clouds gather across the sea, a low rumble rolling across the sky. Thor hears the thunder in his dreams, feels the gnarled wood of Stormbreaker against his palms, tastes the ozone in the air, feels the lightning humming in his veins.
He stands on the rainbow bridge, its painted concrete and steel under his boots, the islands at his back. He can't see the village, but he can smell the smoke, hear the screams. Asgard is burning. His hands tremble where they clutch at his axe, hard-pressed to say if it is adrenaline or fear. He cannot be everywhere at once. He cannot defend them all.
Across the bridge, an army advances, the figure at its head easily twice his size. Thor does not need to see their leader's face to know who it is, gold gleaming on his hand, a glint of gemstones in the firelight. A lone standout against a great dark wave that surges towards the village, an inevitable tide that will wash them all away, as if they were never here.
The army flows past him and around him, his axe swings passing through them as though they were naught but mist, and the Titan stops before him, teeth bared in a terrible smile. "You should have-"
Thunder splits the world in two.
He is on his feet, his hands grasping at nothing, the tingle of Stormbreaker's song in his fingers as its yearns to be called. Thor's gaze darts quickly around the room, trying to locate the threat, he was just right there-
The white walls of his bedroom are illuminated by a bright flash, another crack of thunder closely following. His soft sleep clothes are rumpled, the easy touch of air against his skin a stark reminder of how exposed he is out of his armor, and for a moment he very nearly summons it in a panic. At any moment, he might be struck down - but there's no one there, and when he looks out the window, he sees only the normal lights of the village beneath the dreary haze of rain. No fire, no smoke. No army. No him.
Just a dream.
Most nights, it is enough.
But not always.
Gray clouds gather across the sea, a low rumble rolling across the sky. Thor hears the thunder in his dreams, feels the gnarled wood of Stormbreaker against his palms, tastes the ozone in the air, feels the lightning humming in his veins.
He stands on the rainbow bridge, its painted concrete and steel under his boots, the islands at his back. He can't see the village, but he can smell the smoke, hear the screams. Asgard is burning. His hands tremble where they clutch at his axe, hard-pressed to say if it is adrenaline or fear. He cannot be everywhere at once. He cannot defend them all.
Across the bridge, an army advances, the figure at its head easily twice his size. Thor does not need to see their leader's face to know who it is, gold gleaming on his hand, a glint of gemstones in the firelight. A lone standout against a great dark wave that surges towards the village, an inevitable tide that will wash them all away, as if they were never here.
The army flows past him and around him, his axe swings passing through them as though they were naught but mist, and the Titan stops before him, teeth bared in a terrible smile. "You should have-"
Thunder splits the world in two.
He is on his feet, his hands grasping at nothing, the tingle of Stormbreaker's song in his fingers as its yearns to be called. Thor's gaze darts quickly around the room, trying to locate the threat, he was just right there-
The white walls of his bedroom are illuminated by a bright flash, another crack of thunder closely following. His soft sleep clothes are rumpled, the easy touch of air against his skin a stark reminder of how exposed he is out of his armor, and for a moment he very nearly summons it in a panic. At any moment, he might be struck down - but there's no one there, and when he looks out the window, he sees only the normal lights of the village beneath the dreary haze of rain. No fire, no smoke. No army. No him.
Just a dream.