Chapter Twenty-Seven

Thor watched the mercury in the hammer flow back and forth.  He was unused to the applications of aether technology, and it amused him to no end this piece of glass was stronger than his old hammer.  Used to being taken for slow because of his size, he enjoyed the satisfaction of not only being able to physically dominate his opponents but think circles around many.  Irian, he wasn’t so sure about.  If it came down to it, he thought, I do not want to be on the receiving end of that wrath.  Not even Mjolnir would stop him, he with no history or home, no village to belong to or family to claim.  He was like some kind of fell spirit, strong, fierce and without limits.  Thor mused that serving beside him was likely the biggest thing he had done thus far, and wondered why?  Had he not killed the fell wolves of the north, those get of Fenris?  When Jormungandr had reared its head, who had gone to fight?  If the monster had retreated, was it not show of his prowess?  Irian was strong, fast and smart, but Thor considered himself a rival, if not an equal.  In this estimation, he was not far wrong.  Irian had already regarded Thor as a sparring partner, and had noticed his willingness to play with new technology.  He did grieve for the man’s hammer, though-one does get attached to a good weapon.  He spoke in Englic, finally.

“I’m sorry about your old hammer, Thor.”

Thor recognized in a moment that he truly was a warrior after his own heart.  There could be no rivalry with a brother, even if that brother was from the bogs of the north, and not the frozen wastes above them. 

“Thor my namesake sends me this, and bids me tell its designer that he could do scarce better himself!”

“I’ll take that for what it is, and say thank you.  Shall you call it Mjolnir?”

“Aye, and I shall.  Shall you call your blade Fafnir?  It would be fitting, for one who may as well be the forgemaster of the gods!”

“If I be forgemaster of the gods, let me be Gofannon, and let my blade be Caledfwch, forged in the earth itself!”

“Hah!  Spoken like a true warrior.  If I fall today, place my hammer in my hand, so I will see Valhalla!”

“If I fall, place my sword in mine, that I be there with you.  Mayhap there they would take me, for Annwn is feared of me…” 

“Aye, they take all the valiant.  We would be brothers, though I daresay Magnusson is easier to say than your name!” 

Irian, who was coming out of his fugue, laughed and clapped the giant on the back.  He could work with this man, and he counted on Namid as his right hand.  The others were a puzzle yet.

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Published in: on August 20, 2009 at 5:57 pm  Leave a Comment  

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