Chapter Text
A month before his Maturation, Thor decided to go to Jötunheim.
He was able to argue Father and Mother into allowing him the time before the ceremony to go and celebrate with his chosen companions in Álfheim, provided he promised to conduct himself as befit the prince of Asgard. He made his assurances without an ounce of guilt, for surely there was no act more princely than a daring expedition into a dangerous realm to vanquish monsters that had once terrorized the realms!
On Álfheim, it had been easy enough to convince his friends to accompany him, once he’d had them all in their cups so he could ply them with tales of heroic deeds and exotic beasts with succulent meat. A few rousing renditions of “The Giant Slayer”, copious mentions of his upcoming naming day, and a reminder or two of the support Thor had offered each of them, and even Volstagg had forgotten his objections to the venture.
Securing passage to Jötunheim had proven only slightly more difficult. It was an open secret that Álfheim still traded with the savages, a point of strife and tension for many a noble of Asgard, who already viewed the elves as a mercantile and deceitful lot.
Most balked at doing business with the Crown Prince of Asgard, but eventually, Thor found an álf who cared not where the gold came from - so long as there was plenty of it. They had agreed to supply for Thor a portal key, with the warning that the portal was located in a sparsely populated region and would not be large enough for any vehicle or vessel to pass through.
Thor had thought it no issue. They were not looking to enter whatever pitiful excuse for civilization the jötuns had, and he and his companions were hardy enough to travel as far as they needed to on foot.
Oh, how wrong he was.
Thor’s first shock was the sunlight.
Thor had been taught – as had they all – that Jötunheim was a realm of perpetual darkness: a gloomy place of eternal night where the moon rose and fell but the sun did not. What they found instead was a realm of almost unbearable brightness, where the sun’s light was magnified tenfold by the way it reflected off the pristine white snow covering the ground as far as the eye could see.
The cold was more expected, but its intensity still took them all by surprise. It clouded their breath and seeped through their armor near immediately, making them chafe their gloved hands together while hopping from foot to foot to keep the soles of their feet from freezing. Too late Thor realized that he'd dressed poorly for the weather, as the metal in his cuirass robbed his leathers of what little warmth they were able to preserve.
His second shock was the vastness.
It was not that the realm itself was large: thinking on it, it made much sense that the home of giants would itself be giant. It was that it was so large and empty. Wherever Thor looked, there was an endless sea of snow. There were no rocks, no trees, no birds or other animals in sound or sight. Nothing but white. The only notable landmark he could make out was a range of mountains looming some distance to the east.
As that was their only marker, they set off towards it with light gaits and laughing hearts. But their good humor was short lived.
They had trekked for perhaps three viker when the sky grew dark with clouds and the winds rose all around them. Thereafter, there followed a blizzard the likes of which they’d never encountered before. The cold wind tore right through their clothing and lashed ice and snow at their faces with such force that they were as blinded by blood dripping into their eyes as they were by the storm.
They pushed on until they grew tired, but there was no shelter in sight. The situation seemed hopeless, until Hogun thought to suggest they dig and pack their own shelter from the snow. They built for themselves a crude hut in which they hid from the elements, huddled close together for what meager warmth they could find. Sif had packed with her a burstcoal, which they activated and set alight in lieu of a proper fire. The magical flames did little to ward off the blizzard’s chill, but it was better than nothing.
Once the worst had passed and they could once more see the mountains looming in the distance, they stumbled on. Each of the Warriors Three suggested turning back, and each time Thor would have none of it. He was too embarrassed to admit he no longer knew their position, as the storm had wiped clean their tracks and their instruments had proven incapable of withstanding these harsh temperatures.
Besides, he didn't want to leave until he had tested his mettle. He would slake his thirst for jötun blood and sup on the largest beasts this realm had to offer, even if it meant traversing the whole of Jötunheim.
His third shock was the green field.
After so much unending white, coming across a field covered in vibrant green plant life was a welcome respite. It was a passing strange sight in the midst of all the ice and cold, to be sure, but Thor found he had not the wherewithal to question it overmuch.
“Do mine hungry eyes deceive me? Look there!” Volstagg exclaimed, pointing at something in the distance.
Thor squinted, trying to make sense of the vague shapes. At first he was incredulous – the green he would not question, for weeds could sprout most anywhere, but trees? – until the shapes moved.
What he had thought bare branches were, instead, antlers; what to his stinging eyes had seemed misshapen trunks were in truth the grey-white bodies of grazing animals. They moved at their leisure, bending their crowned heads down every now and then to feed on whatever it was that sprouted from the ice.
“What are they?” Sif whispered, shading her eyes.
“Dinner,” answered Volstagg, and set off towards the green field.
Thor had no objections to the proclamation. They had walked a long way, and though they had rations aplenty, nothing could match the taste of fresh meat brought down by one's own hand and roasted over an open fire. They stepped onto the field with all haste, eager for their first chance at felling a beast of Jötunheim.
The green of the field was no grass or moss, but some form of seaweed, washed onto the ice and frozen. It crunched loudly under their feet, no matter how carefully they deigned to step. Fortunately, the beasts they were after either couldn’t hear or felt no threat. They continued grazing without care for their approach - even when ahead of Thor, Volstagg faltered to a halt with a loud yell. He was yanking on his right leg, seemingly stuck in something.
Thor traded looks with his companions, and they all ran as one to Volstagg’s aid.
By the time they reached him, Volstagg had pulled himself free and was staring down at the hole that had trapped him. “It seems to me like a warren. What manner of rabbit could burrow through solid ice, I know not,” he mused as Thor drew near, swinging his hand around himself in a wide arc as he continued, “though by the looks of it, they are many.”
He had the right of it. Now that Thor cared to examine the ice more closely, he noticed it was pockmarked with deep holes both large and small.
“Hymir’s bleeding pisspot!”
Thor turned back to see Fandral stomping his feet and stabbing at the ice with his rapier. “It seems you’ve finally found an opponent you can land a blow against,” Sif quipped, stepping further from the swordsman to avoid his irate flailing.
Fandral stopped his stomping to answer with a rueful laugh, “Nay, I fear this foe escapes me.” He gestured down at his feet, which rested near a hole roughly the circumference of Thor’s palm.
There was a bloody tear in the leather of Fandral’s left boot. “It came out of one of the holes, a furry little creature with a beak as sharp as an ice pick. It was gone near as soon as I turned to see what bit me,” he explained.
They all looked around themselves uneasily. “I suppose this answers the what of it,” Sif stated dryly. She had unsheathed her glaive, and now kept a wary eye on the ground.
Thor silently cursed himself for haring off on this fool’s venture.
“Well, there’s no helping it,” Fandral stated, “we must tread lightly and keep a ready blade. With luck, we might manage to catch one in the act next time such a creature surfaces.”
“Step on bare ice, if you’re able,” Hogun added, “the kelp seems more abundant nearer to the burrows, and it surely hides some holes from sight.” Thor took note, wondering if these creatures were responsible for the seaweed covering the field.
Thereafter, they proceeded with greater caution. Twice more they were attacked – first Sif, then Fandral once again – and neither time could they retaliate, though on the last Fandral managed to leap away before more harm was done. The pests were swift, and there was no end to their escape routes. Thor could hear them scuttling underneath, which left him tense and ill at ease.
Fortunately, the scuttling faded as they made their way closer to their intended target, until it seemed to cease entirely. Thor understood why a moment later, when one of the biters popped out of its hole near a grazing mouth and was promptly eaten.
This close, he could see that what he and his friends were after were massive – twice as tall as any of them, with legs as thick as young tree trunks and antlers so long it was no wonder Thor had first mistaken them for branches.
To Thor, the beasts resembled unusually thick-set elk, but with goat-like orange eyes, wider and blunter noses and long, tufted tails. Their shaggy fur was a mix of grey and brown on their undersides and white on all else, and the hair at their throats was long and beard-like. Thor could just make out a curious black marking on the necks of the elk closest to him, a slim triangular wedge with a striped circle drawn around its sharp point and a wavy line at its round end.
“This herd is a hundred strong, at least, and each looks well capable of trampling us through the ice. We should find a one that has wandered off on its own,” came the assessment from Hogun.
Thor scoffed – he could best a herd of these beasts a thousand strong! – but followed Hogun’s suggestion. With the trouble they’d had on this journey, it would serve well not to push their luck.
Once they’d singled out an individual more isolated than the others, they set about to plan their approach. It was decided that Sif, Fandral and Hogun would come at their quarry from behind, shaking their weapons and making enough noise to spook the giant elk into fleeing away from its herd. They would try to steer it towards Thor and Volstagg, who would lie in wait with spears at the ready.
It seemed a sound plan, but before they could execute it, the air was split by a piercing whistle. The beast in front of them lifted its head, ears flicking in interest and eyes scanning its surroundings, before it set off at a steady trot towards the noise.
Thor moved, thinking to intercept before their prey could flee to safety, when something came flying at his head.
Snow burst against his face in a flash of green, blinding and staggering him.
He yelled out a warning to Sif and the Three right as the ground buckled from underneath his feet and he was buried to his thighs in ice. He struggled, trying in vain to lift himself with one arm while the other was busy scrubbing at the cold powder that clung stubbornly to his eye lids.
He had barely managed to blink one eye open when he saw another white sphere hurtling towards him.
Thor’s fourth shock struck him senseless.