"Special case. They all died before I was born. Or we thought they did," Thor starts, vaguely gesturing toward the rest of the village in an attempt to indicate the Valkyrie who's probably down at the docks as they speak. "Even back then they prob'ly got shit for it. But no Valkyries, no women warriors. It's a... a gender role thing. Like my seidr," he adds, failing to specify which type, though by now his friend can guess he doesn't mean the lightning.

"Women were supposed to learn magic and homemaking; Sif thought it was bullshit, so she pushed to train just like all the boys. Had to fight hard to get anyone to take her seriously." It seems hard to talk about her at first, a reminder of more innocent times he can never return to, but the longer he speaks the easier it gets. The words meander from him, his tongue loosened by the drink, as he recounts fond childhood memories of getting into trouble with Sif at his side, tales of adventure with Thor and Sif and the Warriors Three, young and brash and unstoppable.

It was happier times, and for the moment at least, Thor can dwell in them as if they'd never left. Maybe tonight, when he sleeps, he'll have good dreams again, a reprieve from those that haunt him.