He chuckles a little at the mental image that provides. "Ah well, worth a shot. You never know until you try, right?"

By now, Thor has had enough of the mead that the warmth of it is settling into his blood, and while it's responsible for some of the pink flush to his cheeks, not all of it can be blamed on the alcohol. "Yes, I uh... I have a talent. For fertility magic. Crops, babies, that sort of thing." A thousand years of thinking of it as women's magic is not so easily overcome as just deciding to embrace it, but it still might mean the difference between survival and withering away. The one thing he can still do to help his people in a real, tangible way. So embarrassment or not, there's no reason to deny this part of himself anymore. Nor should any other man among the Asgardians, should he have a talent for seidr.

If only his brother had lived to see the day.

That's a thought that will lead him back down a dark path, though, so the surprise of Prometheus' offer is a welcome distraction to cling to. "You'd do that?" he blurts out, then hastily corrects himself. "I mean yes, of course. There are still beds to spare, though you'd have to share space with someone. Everyone does."