Thor was almost bouncing as he left the priests behind, not because he had so enjoyed his conversation with them, or even because he was glad to see their backs after settling them in at their rooms. His gladness stemmed from what was to come, from a routine that had swiftly become his favourite part of the day. He was off to his grove. It was a pleasant place at any time of day, and the strong trees within that offered shelter and peace were a sight to behold when lit by the afternoon sun, but that was not why he went.

When he arrived, he could hear sounds of play and excitement from deeper within. He made sure to step heavily, giving a loud yawn as he passed under boughs and canopies that looked to be decades old. Ahead, the sounds of excitement suddenly grew frenzied, before cutting off abruptly. He began to hum to himself, unable and unwilling to keep a smile from his face.

As he reached the heart of the grove, Thor made a show of looking around at the empty space before the ash tree. He mastered his expression, smile replaced by a frown of deep thought. “I thought I heard something here,” he said as if to himself, taking care to step over the spiral of leaves arranged by colour that little hands had left in the dirt. “It seems that I was mistaken.” He ignored the strange shaking of the branch above his head, already turning back the way he came.

A high, excited shriek - that is, an intimidating roar - sounded the moment he turned his back on the ash tree. Thor whirled, shock on his face, just in time to see the small figure that came charging out from behind the ash tree. He was knee high if you counted the ears, and his glossy black fur tufted out from under his shorts and shirt. The roar (shriek) that he let out as he charged set nearby birds to flight, and then he was tackling Thor around the shins.

Before Thor could do more than begin to topple, an adorable ‘grah!’ - that is, a fearsome growl - came from above, and another assailant dropped fearlessly from the branch that he had been clinging to. Thor caught the foe before he could land on his head, one hand cradling him around the belly. He remembered that he should be toppling and resumed his fall, even as he warded off his first ambusher with his other hand.

“A fine ambush, Martin, Splinter,” Thor said, going down to his knees. “But I am not beaten yet!” He held Martin back, finger against his chest, and began to use his hold on Splinter to tickle him without mercy. Squirm as he might, there was no escape, and he dissolved into a puddle of grey-furred giggles, his tail wrapping around Thor’s arm.

“Rargh!” came the sound of defiance from Martin as he tried to push past Thor’s finger, but to no avail. The two brave warriors could not overcome him. Not alone. “Remy go now!”

A third small figure, this one brown of fur, peered out from behind a nearby tree, nose and whiskers twitching. One hand was clutching at the hem of his shirt, but the other held a small stick - that is, a mighty spear - and was preparing to throw it.

The throw was not quite lethal, but it was aimed straight enough, and even if it lacked power, it managed to tumble end over end once or twice after it hit the ground, before slapping into Thor’s hip.

“Oof!” Thor said, slumping to his side. “A grievous blow!” He brought Splinter down and caught Martin by the shirt, dragging him in and pinning them both against his chest, where they started wriggling in a futile attempt to escape. “But I still have strength!”

A paw touched his back. “Got you,” came the solemn declaration.

Thor twisted to look behind himself, and the fourth of the siblings looked back at him with pale blue eyes. Her white fur was unruly as ever, sticking out this way and that wherever it wasn’t covered by the grey smock she wore.

“Alas,” he said gravely, letting his arms go limp. “I am got.”

Martin and Splinter seized the chance to escape his grip, scrambling atop him with their paws held high. They began to jump up and down, bouncing off his belly. Unfortunately, his belly was not as ample as it once was, and the two rapscallions did not restrain themselves to it. Thor had to move quickly to protect himself - Asgardian or not, God of Thunder or not, Mightiest Avenger or not, there were some blows that could not be shrugged off.

“Do you need help down there?” a wry voice asked.

Thor looked up to see Aderyn standing behind Blika, the Shallyan priestess smiling freely as she watched the continuing victory dance. “I may,” he admitted.

“Race time!” Aderyn called, smoothing a lock of ruddy brown hair from her face. “Show me how fast you can climb that birch tree and get back!”

Martin and Splinter were off like a shot, both pressed close to the ground, sped onwards by all four limbs. Remy had returned to his spiral of leaves, searching for one that had just the right shade of yellow to add to it, and Blika was more interested in a nearby butterfly, leaning against Aderyn’s leg as she watched it.

“My thanks,” Thor said, pushing himself back to his feet. He took in the little ratoskyr as they played. They were scant months old, but seemed more akin to toddlers, though he had never met a race whose toddlers could use their tails to dangle themselves from tree branches while making faces at their bigger sibling. “How have they been?”

Splinter’s teasing turned into a squawk as Martin jumped up, almost catching him.

“Excitable,” Aderyn said. “We did some Reikspiel today.”

“They were excited for that?” Thor asked, not quite surprised.

“They were excited for the promise of my aid in ambushing you,” Aderyn answered.

Thor chuckled, watching as Martin and Splinter’s game changed, the smaller boy swinging back and forth by his tail, while the larger would try to jump and touch him with each swing.

“I can count to fifty fow- fifty sh- fifty thousands now,” Blika informed him quietly, looking up at the adults.

“Very impressive!” Thor said, favouring her with a smile. He looked to Aderyn for the true answer, and she made a so-so gesture with a tilt of her head.

“Would you like me to show you?” Blika asked.

Thor froze for a moment, but Aderyn came to his rescue.

“Didn’t you have a question for Thor, Blika?” she asked, crouching down so she could rest a hand on the little white ratoskyr’s shoulder.

Blika brightened, her tail flicking behind her. “What are mountains for?”

“To be climbed,” Thor said.

“Oh. What are clouds for?”

“To bring rain.”

“What are rivers for?”

“To carry water.”

“What are trees for?”

“To give shelter.”

“What are butterflies for?”

“To help flowers bloom.”

“What are dragons for?”

“To be fearsome foes, or mighty allies.”

“What are gods for?”

Thor let out a breath, and crouched down to the same level as the other two. “Good gods protect and guide. Bad gods corrupt and mislead.”

Blika turned this over in her mind for long moments. Her whiskers wriggled with a twitch of her nose. “What’s mislead?”

“Do you recall when I told you that we had run out of honey for dessert?” Thor asked the child.

Quick nods were his answer.

“If I had lied about that because I wanted the honey for myself, I would have misled you about the reason you couldn’t have honey,” Thor explained.

“But you didn’t!” Blika said, though for all her words the worried look on her face begged for reassurance.

“No, I did not,” Thor promised. He reached out to ruffle her fur, trying to settle a tuft sticking up from her head, but it only made it more unruly. He made to pull his hand away, but Blika’s tail had come up to curl around his wrist, keeping it in place.

“It is important that you only pray to gods that you know you can trust, Blika,” Aderyn murmured.

“Like Thor, or Shallya?” Blika asked, ears flicking back and forth.

“That’s right. There are others, but you don’t know them yet,” Aderyn said.

“Ok. Why are mountains for climbing?”

Thor let out a laugh. “Because they’re there!” He poked Blika in the belly, earning a squeak and a loosening of her tail.

Another small child slammed into his side, bouncing off, only to leap at him once again, completely undeterred. Thor looked down to see Martin staring up at him, arms stretched around his waist. A moment later there was another impact as Splinter joined him.

“Again!” they demanded. “Again!”

“I will take a walk through the grove soon,” Thor confided in them. “If any little ratoskyr want to lay in wait, they don’t have long to do it!”

Splinter was already scampering off, two legged, but Martin slowed before joining him.

“Remy, come on!”

Remy shook his head, big ears almost flapping against his head as he focused on his growing leaf spiral. Martin gave a huff but didn’t push, hurrying after his brother.

The thunder god watched them go. The differences between ratoskyr and skaven were already showing, not just in their clean fur and unblemished skin, or in their more solid and filled out frames, but in the very shapes of their bones. Their skulls weren’t as long as the skaven he had seen, nor were their paws and fingers as long and grasping. They were more just another species, and less a child’s nightmare come to life. He could not say where all the changes stemmed from, but at the very least no ratoskyr would ever know the kind of hunger that would drive one to eat a newborn child.

If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

“Will you join them?” Aderyn asked Blika.

“Nuh uh,” Blika said, shaking her head. “Already got him.”

“Why don’t we see what Remy is making, then?”

Thor gave Blika a last ruffle, then rose to his feet, walking noisily in the direction of Martin and Splinter’s discussion of how best to ambush him. There was still some time before his presence was needed to aid in preparations for the night’s feast, and he meant to enjoy all of it.

X X X

Vinteerholm’s longhouse rang and roared with cheer that eve, filled with the scent of roasting meat, fresh bread, strong ale and stronger mead. The fire pit that ran the length of the hall glowed with coals, the light adding to that cast by the oil lanterns that lined the walls. Tyra had returned with more than just grain, bringing with her a taste of things that could be had through trade that the town would struggle to craft for itself. Thor was looking forward to the tale of how she had managed it, but it seemed he would have to wait a little longer - the party was in full swing, and he would not forsake the journey for the destination.

“Three!” came the raucous calls as Thor pushed himself upwards once more, lifting his head out of the half empty keg and swallowing down the latest gulp of ale, before lowering himself again for another. “Two!” It was hardly more than flavoured water to him, but he would drink it all the same. “One!”

Thor let himself overbalance, falling from his handstand and finding his feet easily. He wiped drippings from his beard with the back of one hand, and raised his fists to receive the adulation of the crowd, returning their cheers with a shout of his own. He accepted the drunken slaps to his back, as was his due, and cleared the way to the keg. Another was already stepping up to take his place, putting her braid into a knot to prevent it from being dipped in the ale.

All around were familiar faces, those he knew well and those he knew only in passing, natives to Vinteerholm and new residents both, but so too were their guests present, even if they were not quite as cheerful. The traders and the priests had all accepted invitations, even if they had each claimed a spot for themselves together at the tables, and Stephan had arrived that afternoon with a group of Harad’s people, come on an errand from the axeman, though it was clear he had been distracted in his task by the goings on the the tease of new tales to be shared. Gunnhilde and Wolfric were boasting at one another, little Ragnar’s family were there, Sunniva and Selinda were tucked away in one corner, Tyra was holding court from the chieftain’s chair - what seemed the entire town had come together, and the night was still young.

He knew better than to hope that the priests would unbend enough to enjoy themselves, but there was no reason the traders could not do so. Grigori and Mikhail were with them, acting as both core and buffer for the small group. Thor began to amble over to them, slipping through the packed hall as only a big man could.

“...freeman Knut leads much of the efforts, though they have nothing so organised as the Erengrad dock crews,” Grigori was saying, the hairy man speaking respectfully to the black haired woman who looked to be the leader of the traders.

“What sort of man is he?” the woman questioned.

“A family man,” Thor said by way of announcing himself, plonking down on a patch of empty bench next to the traders. “Not a warrior, but he fights for his family all the same.”

The group jolted, startled by his sudden presence. Some seemed torn between rising in respect or hiding under the table. Not the woman, though - she was watching him like a lone hunter might watch a hungry bear.

“Mighty Thor,” Grigori said, straightening in his seat.

“Grigori,” Thor said, beaming. “You must introduce me to your friends.”

“You remember Mikhail, of course,” Grigori said, looking to one of the bearded men sitting across from them.

“Of course,” Thor said. He gave the man a nod. “Follower of Handrich. It was a ship belonging to his family that you were taken from before we met.”

Mikhail was halfway through bowing his head in respect when he froze. “You can tell my faith?”

“You mentioned him during the last feast we shared,” Thor said easily. “It is good to see you return.”

“Oh. Yes.” The man seemed as much disappointed as anything. A beat later he twitched, like someone had prodded him under the table. “Your hospitality is very welcome. I come under the guidance of my elder cousin, Devana.”

Thor turned his gaze on the woman sitting beside him. She had been watching him since he sat down, and now he took her measure in turn. The rare grey strand through her dark hair spoke to her experience, as did the understated cut of her outfit - she was hardly draped in fine furs, but her dress was a cut above her companions’ in make, and the necklace that she wore had been made by skilled hands with fine silver, even if it lacked gems.

“Devana Rozev,” she said. She had a goblet of mead, and she raised it to him. “My father is the head of the Praag branch of the Rozevs.” An expectant look followed.

“Thor Odinson,” he said in turn. “My father was King of Asgard.”

There was a flicker of wordless conversation between Devana and another of the traders, and Thor politely pretended not to notice that they were trying to figure him out, tip-toeing around his strength.

“The sons of Kislev that you rescued worked for my family,” Devana said. “Before anything else, you have my thanks for that. I hope that the supplies we have brought will see you through the planting season.”

“You are most welcome,” Thor said. “I hope that you find what you are looking for here.”

Devona and Mikhail shared a look, before looking to Grigori. The man gave the slightest shake of his head.

“We look to show our gratitude through deeds, not simply words,” Devona said.

“Of course,” Thor said. “You also hope to find something to benefit your family, to offset the ship and the men you lost.” There was a half carved leg of pork on the table and he took it by the bone, smoothing his beard out of the way to tear a chunk off with his teeth.

“A good merchant must always be on the search for profit,” Devona said after a pause.

“Indeed,” Thor said, swallowing down the meat. “Tyra took furs, ivory, and mammoth bone, and returned with grain, salt, and oil.” He smiled at her. “It is good that both sides gained from this.”

Devona reassessed him in real time. “There has been trade with the tribes of Norsca before. Some more successful than others.”

“And so you have misgivings,” Thor said. “It is well that the people here are led by one such as Tyra!” He took another bite from his leg of pork. “And also that the daughter of the leader of the Praag branch of the Rozevs herself has come to see Vinteerholm.”

“Chief Tyra impressed me, and my father as well,” Devona said, giving a slow nod. “We hope that we can ease each other’s troubles.”

The noise of the hall filled the moment as Thor watched Devona, considering. Tyra’s journey had reaped greater rewards than they had hoped for, taking them all the way to Praag and back with holds heavy with goods, especially when they had feared a rejection and poor trade at the first river fort they encountered. For such a deal to take place, and then for these Rozevs to send one of their own back even in the face of what they were surely told after Tyra, Gunnhilde, and Hildur had done what had been done…

“There is more to it though, isn’t there,” he said. “Ivory and furs are sought after, but I do not imagine even a wounded merchant house would be eager to extend a hand to a town that holds one such as I.” He smiled, as if inviting them to share the joke.

“Such as you?”

“One with the hubris to name himself a god, and who has drawn the attention - ire, even - of the priests of your realm,” Thor said. “I know well how those who do not know me must see me.”

“Words from your lips, not mine,” Devona said. “A guest would never point out the foolishness of their host calling themself a god, even if the heavens have somehow not struck them down for it.”

Mikhail was not alone in wincing at her words, but Thor only laughed.

“No, a guest would never! Nor am I so small a man as to take insult from those who have not witnessed my deeds,” he said. His mirth subsided, and he took another bite of his meal. “But we were speaking of what drove your house to risk this approach.”

Devona did not answer plainly, not at first. “Grigori has told us much of his time with you, of your words and more fantastic things,” she said. Her eyes gave away little of her thoughts. “He and Mikhail speak of your deeds at Skraevold, and of your challenge to the Enemy. Your claims have men of Tor come to lay eyes on you for themselves, but many could think such claims a scheme to gain power. We saw the deeds of your followers, but we have witches in our own lands.”

Some of the casual cheer faded from Thor’s face, but he said nothing. Devona had been careful to make no accusation, and even if he felt some inkling of offense at the doubt, he had only to think of how the him of the past, before Midgard, would have reacted to such words to dismiss it.

“If we want to know you and yours, I have to see for myself,” Devona said. She was watching him with a cautious eye, but it was stern also. “A true partnership between yours and mine could be…very profitable. But only if we can be sure.”

“You speak of trust,” Thor said. He was halfway through his snack now, getting closer to the bone as he considered the woman across from him. A true trade deal with a merchant house like the one the Rozevs seemed to be would save lives and greatly improve the lot of the people of Vinteerholm - but only if it could be relied upon. “I would give the word of the God of Thunder to you, but that is part of the trouble, is it not?”

“It is,” Devona said. “But you saved my favourite baby cousin, and so I am here with an offer. A deal.”

“I will hear it.”

Devona paused to wet her lips with another sip of mead, then leant forward, as is unwilling to be overheard, even in the loud hall. “I have another cousin,” she said. “This one I do not like so much. In fact, if I saw him in the street, I would beat him near to death with my coinpurse.”

One of her companions, about Devona’s age, grimaced at her words, but held his tongue.

“Family,” Thor said, commiserative.

She huffed. “Not even that sort. If I saw a rival family beating him, I would let them.”

Thor felt his brows rise. That was serious.

“It is he who we have to blame for the loss of our ship, and of the men who crewed it,” Devona said, expression turning sharp and harsh. “He sold the information to Norscan raiders, and he fled to them when we found out.”

Grigori and Mikhail wore expressions that said they wished to spit, and they were not alone.

“You want revenge,” Thor said.

“Yes. But Lorik also knows the schedule for the next four months of shipments for our consortium. If he shares them, the Rozevs will be ruined,” Devona said. She swallowed reflexively. “If word then spreads, the Rozevs are dead.”

“You risk much, sharing this with me,” Thor said, looking her in the eye.

“Yes.”

“Then we will live up to your trust,” Thor said easily, his cheer returning. “Where is this ‘Lorik’?”

Devona blinked at him. “I - Skogenberg.”

“How convenient,” Thor said, smoothing his beard. “That is almost upon our doorstep.”

“And in return?” she asked, narrowing her gaze on him.

Thor shrugged. “A fair deal, profit for Vinteerholm and Rozev both.”

Devona blinked at him again, but then Grigori was reaching across the table to another of the Kislevites. The man grumbled, but reached into his jacket and slapped a few coins into the outstretched hand.

“I told you he was a - not as you expect,” Grigori said. “I have not even told you all there is of the dragon.”

“I would see Lorik before me to answer for his deeds,” Devona said, attention still fixed on Thor. “Not simply a twisted corpse.”

“Of course,” Thor said. It was a small pleasure, but he would always find amusement in simply agreeing with a negotiator girded for arduous discussion. “I will go myself. Tomorrow.”

Whatever confusion had beset Devona was cast off as she seemed to come to some understanding. “Then once you return, we will discuss a deal.”

“That is for you and Tyra,” Thor said, waving her off. “I am here for my impressive physique and my stunning good looks; the business of ruling is the business of others.” He posed for a moment in his seat as his words caused the Kislevites to gaze upon him. He had well and truly shed the unpleasant weight he had borne upon his arrival, even if he had not bothered to return to the sculpted magnificence he had once held. Now his form was solid and strong, his belly supported by thick slabs of muscle, the kind of build that would have Volstagg nodding with approval. It was for the best - the awe he inspired in passing was enough as it was, and he did not wish for the bother and attention that would follow a return to his peak.

“Of course,” Devona said with an incline of her head to him. “A man like you must focus on fighting, feasts, and…the like.”

“There are other matters as well, but you will witness some of that later,” Thor said. “Now, I would beg you for a hint as to what my faithful did achieve in Praag, but Tyra has made me promise I will wait for her retelling. I bid you farewell!”

He rose and departed, leaving behind only a thoroughly gnawed bone, and taking with him the impressed and reassured gazes of those he had spoken with. For the price of an errand and a morning of his time, Vinteerholm would have a deal that would not just allow them to ward off hunger in the lean times, but would allow them to grow and expand in the good. Truly, he was good at what he did.

But praising himself could come later, and was a very Loki thing to do besides. He would have to pass time with someone who would bring him back down to earth. He brightened as he saw a particular young boy sitting with his mother and father, though his mood evened out as he saw who they were speaking with.

Attempting to chide Kirsa was one thing, but if the priests of Tor thought to take issue with little Ragnar, they would be having words, and they would not be as polite as those already shared.