Asgard,
Palace Hall
Odin had been waiting for Frigga's return from Vanaheim. Ever since learning that Skirnir was searching for suitable marriage candidates for Aegir, he'd seen an opportunity too perfect to ignore.
Excellent goddesses were always rare—there were only a handful of truly suitable candidates across the Nine Realms. And as soon as Odin had heard about Vanaheim's search, he'd immediately thought of the Enchantress sisters who'd given him headaches for centuries.
Amora and Lorelei were beautiful, powerful, and dangerously ambitious. He'd briefly considered raising them as potential wives for Thor, back before they'd grown so troublesome.
Until they'd dared to use charm magic in an attempt to forcibly seize power. After that incident, Odin had dismissed them entirely as candidates for anything important.
Too much trouble.
But now? Sending the sisters to Vanaheim to sow discord among the Vanir? That was an excellent use of problematic resources.
Frigga finally entered the palace, her expression thoughtful.
"How did it go?" Odin asked immediately.
Frigga considered her words carefully. "Half successful, I'd say."
"Half?" Odin frowned. "He didn't agree? Amora is remarkably attractive—I find it hard to believe he could resist her charms. Unless he's too young to appreciate such things?"
"I think he might have sensed something," Frigga said slowly.
She'd disagreed with this plan initially, but Odin had insisted. Later, she'd reconsidered—the Enchantress sisters, despite their troublemaking tendencies, were genuinely talented. Beautiful, skilled in magic. If one looked past their ambitions, they were objectively good candidates.
And with Aegir's demonstrated strength, he should be able to handle the sisters without too much difficulty. So she'd finally agreed.
Odin shook his head dismissively. "Impossible. I've already ordered that information about the sisters' past activities be suppressed. Given Vanaheim's limited communication and navigation capabilities, how could Aegir have learned about them? They can't have received accurate intelligence from Asgard. Perhaps... he's simply being cautious? Testing Amora before making any commitment?"
"That's possible," Frigga admitted, thinking back to their conversation. It had felt that way—measured consideration rather than outright suspicion.
The choice of a queen related directly to a pantheon's stability. It made sense to be careful rather than hasty.
Odin smiled with satisfaction. "Then it's mostly accomplished! In that case, I'll add fuel to the fire. Heimdall!"
"All-Father! All-Mother!"
After a moment, Heimdall entered the Golden Hall, his expression neutral and attentive.
"I need you to go to the dungeon," Odin ordered. "Bring out Lorelei. Tell her that her sister Amora has gone to Vanaheim and is enjoying glory and riches there. Offer her the chance to join Amora—if she's willing to go, transport her to Vanaheim as well."
Lorelei's voice was extraordinarily seductive—ordinary people couldn't resist her influence and would become her willing servants within moments. Odin had to send the iron-willed Heimdall to handle this personally.
"Yes, All-Father."
Heimdall wouldn't question orders. His loyalty to Odin was absolute. He turned to leave immediately.
"Heimdall, wait," Frigga called out, stopping him. "How is Thor doing?"
Heimdall glanced at Odin uncertainly.
"Tell her," Odin said with clear displeasure. "That boy has been down there for days now. Why hasn't Mjolnir recognized him yet?"
Regarding Thor, Odin genuinely didn't know what to do anymore. Perhaps giving his son that hammer had been the worst decision of his long reign.
Thor had become so dependent on Mjolnir that without it, he lost all sense of security and purpose. He'd transformed from the God of Thunder into the God of Hammers—a warrior who couldn't function without his weapon.
And his character had grown conceited and reckless. Beyond fighting with his hammer and drinking at banquets, Thor seemed to have no interests or ambitions.
Compare that to Aegir. At twenty years old, he'd awakened the Sea Lord's power, defeated the vastly more experienced Thor, used that victory to gain his people's support, and smoothly unified nearly all of Vanaheim. Now he was working tirelessly for his realm's future.
He wasn't greedy for fine food and wine. He wasn't tempted by beauty. He moved freely between diplomatic conversations with wisdom and confidence.
Intelligence and strength combined perfectly.
What an ideal ruler!
Meanwhile, Odin's own son—over fifteen hundred years old—seemed to have wasted all those centuries. It was infuriating!
Heimdall cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable. "After Thor arrived in Midgard, he immediately went to Mjolnir's location, attempting to regain its recognition."
Odin's expression brightened with satisfaction. "Good. That's my son—still motivated."
"However..." Heimdall hesitated. "After many unsuccessful attempts, Thor appears to have... given up. He's currently drinking in a Midgard tavern. And because he lacked currency to pay his bill, he was detained and forced to wash dishes to settle his debt."
The silence in the hall was deafening.
Odin's smile froze on his face. A flame of pure rage began building in his chest, threatening to explode.
"That BASTARD!" Odin roared. "Useless son! I should have—" He continued with a string of curses in Old Norse that made even Heimdall wince.
Frigga placed a calming hand on her husband's arm. "Perhaps this will teach him something valuable."
"It had better," Odin growled. "Or I'll extend his exile indefinitely."
-----------------------------------
Midgard
New Mexico
A dimly lit bar in a small New Mexico town hosted an unusual patron that evening.
Thor sat hunched at the bar, nursing the cheapest beer available—purchased with money he'd earned through several days of menial labor. He gulped it down with barely suppressed fury.
Thinking about everything he'd endured recently made his blood boil.
He took another long drink.
"Damned Midgardians," Thor muttered darkly. "Making such a fuss over money. In Asgard, I never paid for anything! Food, drink, entertainment—all provided freely as befitting my station! When I return to Asgard, I'll bury them with money."
He shifted in his seat, wincing slightly. "And their so-called warriors swarm like cowards! No honor, no single combat! They all attacked at once when I merely asked for directions to Mjolnir. Cough—"
Thor choked on his drink, sputtering. After recovering, he glared at the glass. "This swill! This isn't even proper ale! Watered-down garbage! Me, Thor Odinson, son of All-Father, reduced to drinking this peasant poison! Where's the conscience? Where's the decency? Damn them all!"
"When I reclaim Mjolnir," Thor continued, his voice rising, "I'll round up every one of these dishonorable merchants and shock them a hundred times with lightning! A HUNDRED TIMES!"
He drained the glass and slammed it down. "And Aegir! That arrogant bastard! I remember you! If not for you, I'd never have ended up like this! Even Mjolnir won't recognize me anymore because of your trickery! Damn you! Glug, glug... ahh, at least the alcohol still works. I'll drink you all under the table!"
At a nearby table, a man in a suit whose hairline was fighting a losing battle twitched at Thor's ranting. He pressed one hand to his earpiece, speaking quietly. "Director, are you certain this individual has useful intelligence? He rambles about children's stories constantly. Mjolnir, Odin, Asgard, this 'Vanir king Aegir'—is there even an Aegir in Norse mythology? I've never heard of him. I strongly recommend contacting psychiatric services. This man needs professional help."
The voice on the other end of the call was silent for a long moment.
Finally, Nick Fury spoke. "Keep watching him, Coulson. He tried to retrieve that hammer multiple times with genuine desperation. His emotional reaction was real. Continue surveillance, document everything he says. We need to analyze it carefully."
Fury paused, then added, "If necessary, assist him with minor problems. Approach naturally and gain his trust. All expenses will be reimbursed by S.H.I.E.L.D."
"You're the boss," Agent Phil Coulson sighed. "But for the record, I think we're wasting time and resources on a drunk vagrant with delusions of godhood."
He watched Thor order another cheap beer, then signaled the bartender. Coulson purchased two glasses of significantly better whiskey and approached with his best friendly smile.
"Hey there, friend. I'm Phil Coulson," he said, settling onto the stool next to Thor. "Looks like you're drinking alone. Mind if I join you? These are on me."
Thor looked at him warily, his instincts—dulled by alcohol and depression—still functioning enough to assess threats. This mortal was no warrior, posed no danger.
Then his eyes fixed on the quality whiskey, and his throat worked involuntarily. Real alcohol, not the watered garbage he'd been choking down.
"My good brother!" Thor declared with sudden enthusiasm, clapping Coulson on the shoulder hard enough to make the agent wince. "I am Thor Odinson, God of Thunder, Prince of Asgard! The future King of Asgard and rightful ruler of the Nine Realms!"
He grabbed one of the whiskey glasses. "If you have questions, ask away! Tonight we drink until neither of us can stand! But you're paying—I'm temporarily without funds due to unfortunate circumstances!"
Coulson's smile became slightly strained. This was going to be a long night.
"So," he said carefully, "tell me about this Aegir you keep mentioning. I'm not familiar with that name from the usual Norse stories."
Thor's expression darkened immediately, his grip tightening on the glass. "That bastard! The Vanir king who humiliated me through dishonorable tricks! He—"
And Phil Coulson settled in to document every word, wondering if any of this would make sense to anyone back at headquarters, or if he was just babysitting a very elaborate lunatic.
Either way, S.H.I.E.L.D. was paying for the whiskey, and that was something.