[ Once as a young man Thor lived some of his years in the kingdom of winter, in the embrace of his lover the winter lord, at his table and in his bed at night, warming the cold slick sheets and heavy drape of furs with his own body. Though the cold pierced and abated by turns, though his own kingdom was washed by rain and wind in his absence, and eventually by soft falls of snow, the beasts and the dryads and all the subjects of his own realm made to shore up their resources and do without plenty while they waited for their lord's return, still he stayed and loved and brought warmth and laughter to the cold halls of winter, brought passion and sweet yielding to the king's bed.
And though he had once imagined the lord of winter swelled and ripe with the fruit of his seed, it was he who eventually was sown; when he felt the life beginning to grow within his body, Thor saw at last his own terrible weakening: saw how the stark beauty of winter and the cold touch of his lover leeched the warmth and life from his body, turning him pale and sleepy and pliant, how he slept long hours in Loki's bed, waking only to offer himself in love and desire to his beautiful, beloved king. Here he was no king of his own right but Loki's consort, and the winter was killing him.
As it would kill the life within him, if he let it. As it would kill all the realm of summer.
And so Thor, without guile, one dawn simply kissed his sleeping lover farewell and left his bed, left his palace, walked staggering down the mountainside until at last he felt the sun warm and golden upon his skin, and its strength lend itself to his.
There was warmth and peace in summer again, but not so much laughter; his heart broken, his body aching in its hollow desire for his cold lover, Thor eventually bore their two children, a son and daughter, Autumn and Spring.
When the children have grown and left his kingdom to found their own, Thor is alone again, a man in the prime strength and years of his life: broad and virile, the antlers proud upon his head, his beard thick, his hands devastating in their brutal strength and unerring gentleness. But he does not take another lover, his heart yet unmended, his body yet hollowed by the hunger of the one he has loved and lost, as Loki had once warned him: an inevitability, that Thor should someday know the pain of parting.
And so when the winter intrudes upon his kingdom, the borders crossed in what could be called an act of outright war, his whole body lights in grieving fury and savage joy.
He strides from the greenwood palace with Mjolnir in hand, the beasts who have never feared their gentle, loving king scattering before his ground-shaking steps. And there is Loki upon the fields frozen by his malicious seidr, naming him betrayer, and Thor stands to meet him, clad in deerskin and gold as once he had met him before: but where Loki has grown whip-lean and hollow-eyed, Thor is even broader and taller than he once was, the antlers proud upon his brow. What would it be like now, if they were wrapped in one another's arms; whose strength would prevail? ]
I am here, Loki. [ he calls to him, his voice deep and resonant. ] By what right do you call me betrayer?
<3! ten thousand edits sob
And though he had once imagined the lord of winter swelled and ripe with the fruit of his seed, it was he who eventually was sown; when he felt the life beginning to grow within his body, Thor saw at last his own terrible weakening: saw how the stark beauty of winter and the cold touch of his lover leeched the warmth and life from his body, turning him pale and sleepy and pliant, how he slept long hours in Loki's bed, waking only to offer himself in love and desire to his beautiful, beloved king. Here he was no king of his own right but Loki's consort, and the winter was killing him.
As it would kill the life within him, if he let it. As it would kill all the realm of summer.
And so Thor, without guile, one dawn simply kissed his sleeping lover farewell and left his bed, left his palace, walked staggering down the mountainside until at last he felt the sun warm and golden upon his skin, and its strength lend itself to his.
There was warmth and peace in summer again, but not so much laughter; his heart broken, his body aching in its hollow desire for his cold lover, Thor eventually bore their two children, a son and daughter, Autumn and Spring.
When the children have grown and left his kingdom to found their own, Thor is alone again, a man in the prime strength and years of his life: broad and virile, the antlers proud upon his head, his beard thick, his hands devastating in their brutal strength and unerring gentleness. But he does not take another lover, his heart yet unmended, his body yet hollowed by the hunger of the one he has loved and lost, as Loki had once warned him: an inevitability, that Thor should someday know the pain of parting.
And so when the winter intrudes upon his kingdom, the borders crossed in what could be called an act of outright war, his whole body lights in grieving fury and savage joy.
He strides from the greenwood palace with Mjolnir in hand, the beasts who have never feared their gentle, loving king scattering before his ground-shaking steps. And there is Loki upon the fields frozen by his malicious seidr, naming him betrayer, and Thor stands to meet him, clad in deerskin and gold as once he had met him before: but where Loki has grown whip-lean and hollow-eyed, Thor is even broader and taller than he once was, the antlers proud upon his brow. What would it be like now, if they were wrapped in one another's arms; whose strength would prevail? ]
I am here, Loki. [ he calls to him, his voice deep and resonant. ] By what right do you call me betrayer?