Chapter Text
Brunnhilde’s throne room is less of a throne room and more of an office space. The door is embossed with her name and in a crisp gold cursive, her desk is dark oak and her chair is cushioned with plush crimson velvet. This, in Brunnhilde’s mind, at least, makes it as good a throne room as any. Her citizens have never complained to her face about it, and frankly, given how imposing and inaccessible Odin’s throne room had been, Brunnhilde imagines that her cozy little office is the favorite of the two.
But, of course, every interplanetary diplomat they host has complained that she isn’t a “true royal” because she doesn't have the necessary equipment. (Furniture-wise and organically, she suspects. They simply don’t have the balls to say it’s because she doesn’t have balls.)
One good lightning-fueled stare down from Thor is usually enough to get them to shut up. That’s his main duty as her advisor, which is his official title, and is the only thing that keeps him from being solely an unemployed stay-at-home parent (although, Love is really a job in and of herself). That, and the occasional paperwork he completes for her when she can’t be bothered.
She’s in her “throne room” now, sitting criss-cross in her rolling chair, thinking. She should be writing yet another email to the SHIELD correspondent that’s been bugging her about Thor’s effect on Norway’s climate. The effect is nothing, not anymore. Maybe they should’ve been worried about this when he was depressed, and they had about ten thunderstorms a week. Not now, when Thor was happier than ever and only used his powers to help the farmers sometimes or to accidentally fry their microwave.
But she isn’t writing that email, she’s staring at her dim desktop screen, and ironically, she’s thinking about the subject of that email. The man that was currently at their house—she checks the time—probably getting ready to go pick Love up from school.
Brunnhilde isn’t sure when the respect she has for Thor turned into something… more . But if it wasn’t always there, it came when she watched him with Love. They lived in the same house, all piled on top of each other because the house wasn’t meant for more than two people; she could hear him at night. He’d been an insomniac as long as she’d known him, and it turns out Love is, too. When Brunnhilde can’t sleep, which is less often these days, she listens out for her two roommates. Thor’s heavy tread inevitably makes its way out of his room and into Love’s. From then, it won’t be long until the two of them end up in the kitchen or the living room.
There was one morning, when Brunnhilde had a ridiculously early meeting to go to, that she woke up before light hit the sky. She crept past Thor’s bedroom, only to see that his bed was empty. Love’s room, too, was abandoned. A jolt of fear ran up her spine. She rushed into the living room to find them both passed out on the couch, with Love sprawled on top of Thor’s chest. And her heart swelled with something she couldn’t pretend was just relief.
So maybe she lied. She does know when she fell in love with Thor.
It was when she knelt down beside him that morning to move a stray lock of hair out of his eyes and felt the urge to kiss him. Because, when her fingertips brushed his skin, she swore she felt sparks. And because when Thor’s blue eyes cracked open, she almost said, “I love you.”
She’s fucked, really.
Thor does not love her back. That much she knows. It’s been a few years since Jane died, but she knows all too well what it’s like to lose someone who meant that much to you. It’s something that took her millennia to get over, and she won’t force Thor to move on for her sake. She loves him too much to ask that of him. She’d rather stand back than risk losing him.
There was a night, though, years ago. When they were on the Statesman , Thor had said…
But no, they were wasted and grieving. It meant nothing. Thor probably didn’t remember it anyway. If she hadn’t been so used to alcohol by that point, she probably wouldn’t remember it either.
The knock on her door startles her. Brunnhilde jolts in her seat, then plants her feet firmly on the ground. She has just enough time to roll forward and type a few nonsense words before Darryl sticks his head inside.
“Your majesty…you, uh, you have some visitors,” he says, voice shaky. A few beads of sweat appear on his pale forehead. Worry stirs in Brunnhilde’s gut. Darryl isn’t easily spooked. Any man that was roommates with Thor can’t afford to be. But something has him trembling. “They’re at your house.”
“They’re what ?” Brunnhilde stands with so much force that her chair goes flying into the wall behind her. The blinds in her windows rattle, the shelves lined with succulents and picture frames quivers. “Who is it?”
Darryl opens the door fully, then, and the sight of him answers her question. His business casual polo and slacks hang around his body in blackened tatters. But there is a uniformity to the scorching, an intentionality about the way the polyester has been melted. There in the center of his soft belly is a lightning bolt.
No , Brunnhilde thinks, and her stomach drops with the realization, A Thunderbolt.
Zeus stands, infuriatingly alive, on Brunnhilde’s front lawn. His asshole of a son is at his right side, square-cut jaw jutted out in a try me kind of way. The fact that they’re still here and New Asgard hasn’t dissolved into chaos confirms that Thor wasn’t home when they arrived. Despite the truly shit situation, Brunnhilde counts herself lucky for that.
“Hello, lady-king,” Zeus sings. The bastard smiles at her like she’s an old friend. He widens his arms like he wants to hug her. Brunnhilde folds her arms over her chest like she’d rather die than have him touch her. “I have come to declare war on you.”
She should’ve seen this coming. Well, she had seen this coming, hadn’t she? She seems to remember a conversation with Thor just after they left Omnipotence City, something about consequences for the whole universe?
When she’d warned him, she had no idea that this would affect New Asgard. It was supposed to affect Thor, affect herself—it wasn’t supposed to threaten her kingdom. She glances briefly behind her at the glistening rooftops of downtown, the ant-sized smudges of her people milling about on the hillside. These people can't take another war. The nation wouldn’t survive it. The dull ache of dread pulls at her belly.
Brunnhilde will do anything to stop a war, but what’s anything? What could Zeus possibly demand of her?
“On what grounds?” she asks, poking the bear just enough to get answers. “I wasn’t the one that tried to kill you.”
Zeus’ smile widens. “You are correct! That is why I do not declare war on Thor. I declare war on you .”
Brunnhilde really hates Zeus. Even before the shit went down at Omnipotence City, she’d hated him. She can remember, even know, being a teenager hearing gossip all the way from Olympus about the kind of shit Zeus was doing on Midgard. Her and a few of her sisters had half a mind to go put a stop to his antics after the swan incident, but once they sobered up, they remembered the chaos they’d cause if they interfered with almighty Zeus ’ ridiculous wiles.
But of course she had to go and fall in love with a man without much regard for chaos.
“For thievery?” Brunnhilde asks, arching an eyebrow. “That’s a little reactionary, even for you.”
Zeus shakes his head. He’s grinning so wide now that she thinks it has to hurt.
“I can’t declare war on the Odinson because he has relinquished his crown to you,” he says, savoring the taste of each word, “I cannot declare war on you for taking my Thunderbolt because, you’re right, the other realms will not be up in arms about some petty thievery.”
Maybe Gorr was right, maybe they should have let him destroy all of the gods. At least New Asgard would be safe. Without their God of Thunder, sure, but safe.
“I declare war on you because you have stolen something even more valuable than my Thunderbolt.”
Brunnhilde feels her nonplussed facade crack. Accusing her of murder is one thing (she’ll admit to being an accomplice, certainly), but her mind spins to come up with an item Zeus believes to be more valuable than his beloved weapon. Something valuable enough that, if stolen, would unite the realms in war cry.
Then, as if placing the final touches on a masterpiece, Zues says, “You’ve stolen the crown of Asgard.”
Brunnhilde bares her teeth and takes a step forward, arms dropping to her sides. “How dare—“
“You have no blood claims to the throne,” Zeus interrupts, holding up a ringed finger, “There was no official coronation, not as far as I can tell, and I’ve heard from various sources that you do not even have a real throne. And what a shame! Thrones are so comfortable, yes? But you would not know.”
Brunnhilde’s cheeks are flushed with heat. Her hands are balled into fists so tight that her nails dig into her the plump skin of her palms. There is a tightness in her chest and a fog in her brain that if she can’t break free of, New Asgard will fall.
“This way, too, not only will my allies fight alongside me,” he continues, “ Your allies will, too. As soon as they find out your power is illegitimate. And you will fight alone. I don’t know if your little thunder god will be enough to protect you, then. Your army is so small these days.”
Zeus’ words have her feeling as small as her army. She wants to turn tail and run, or smash a beer bottle over his head the way she loved to do on Sakaar. But that won’t work. None of the plans that come to her will work. No bottle smashing, no running, no begging.
Her only hope is for Zues to be wrong. That maybe she’s a distant cousin of Frigga, or that she’s some affair-born bastard of Odin, or if she was married…
If she was married to Thor, that would legitimize her claim to the throne.
Her heartbeat quickens. That… that could work. It’s backwards, of course, that her relationship to a man is the only thing that can save her. It makes her grind her molars and glare, but she has to do it. At least she’d be marrying Thor, lover of woman a little too much . Oh, and she loves him, so it works, right?
(Except, to love him from afar is one thing. To love him when she’ll have to accept his proposal, kiss him, hold him, is something else entirely. How can her heart be expected to survive that? If only she was selfish, her heart could stay intact.)
“You’re wrong, Zeus,” she says bitterly, taking a step towards him. “Thor and I are engaged. As soon as we’re married, I’ll be just as legitimate a ruler as you are.”
A flicker of belief flashes across Zeus’ weathered face. It’s just enough. He doesn’t have to be convinced, not yet, he just has to leave her alone.
It’s Hercules who speaks next. “You lie.”
Brunnhilde doesn’t take her eyes off Zeus when she says, “I’m not lying. Look at me, Zeus, you know.”
“Why haven’t I heard of this?” Zeus asks, as if being stiffed out of a royal wedding invitation is worse than when Thor stabbed him in the chest and Brunnhilde stole his ancient weapon. Maybe it is, to him.
“We haven’t told anyone. It was an intimate proposal. We’re planing on a more public one soon, though. We’ll be sure to send you the pictures, and an invitation, of course.”
“If you are lying…” Hercules says. Brunnhilde finally turns to face him as his dark eyes narrow, and he takes a step forward. He’s almost twice her height, and he uses every inch of it now. The sun hits his back and she is shrouded in darkness, but she doesn’t flinch. She meets his gaze with a steady one of her own. “We will burn New Asgard to the ground.”
Brunnhilde gives him a placating smile. “The wedding’s black-tie. We’ll expect to see you both there.”
Brunnhilde’s heart still races, even after Zeus and Hercules have gone. She’s standing in the doorway of their house, hands folded over the bridge of her nose. A headache thumps behind her eyes.
She counts herself lucky, though, since Thor has yet to arrive home and find her in this state. For this, she sends a thankful prayer up to Jane. Of course, she knows Jane has no more sway in Valhalla than Brunnhilde has on Midgard, but with both Jane and her sisters watching…Well, it gives Brunnhilde confidence, anyhow.
It also makes what she’s about to do a little easier.
The thought of Thor makes her chest ache. For years, she has convinced herself that anything but a platonic relationship with Thor couldn’t happen. She’s too messed up, he’s too good for her, there just hasn’t been a right time for them. All of the excuses she has cooked up over the years have been thrown out now by necessity.
She must marry Thor. This, of course, isn’t a problem. More than once (maybe even way more than once), Brunnhilde has caught herself fantasizing about marrying Thor. It’s always a joyful escape, something to help her sleep at night when the longing becomes too much. But the idea of marrying him like this, forced into a marriage of necessity (forget convenience!), breaks her heart.
Because Thor deserves better than to tie himself down to her. Brunnhilde is messy and broken, still. Better than she was, even with all her self-loathing she won’t deny that, but still much too Brunnhilde for her taste. It isn’t fair to ask Thor to have her. It isn’t fair that he can’t say no.
The door handle turns and the sound of Love’s voice reaches her ears so suddenly that she jolts forward. She turns away from the hallway to see Thor stepping inside. His head is turned to his back, facing Love as she prattles on about some school related something or another.
“I just think that paper maché volcanoes are cliché,” Love says, still hidden behind Thor’s broad frame. “I want to do something with rats.”
“No live animals…” Thor’s voice trails off when he turns his head to see Brunnhilde standing in the hallway. Confusion registers on his face, then delight. “Brunnhilde! You’re home early.”
Brunnhilde can barely muster a smile. “Hey.”
Love steps from behind Thor and squints at Brunnhilde. “Something’s wrong.”
Thor’s face twists in concern. “Brunnhilde?”
This isn’t fair, and for the first time since Zeus showed up on her lawn, she allows herself to admit that it’s unfair for her, too. She loves this man. Before, if he found out things would be a little awkward for a while. But now, if Thor finds out she loves him…there’s just too much on the line. He can’t find out. She can’t risk it, not when the worst possible outcome is disaster.
“We have to get married,” she says, and she keeps going even when the shock registers on Thor’s face, even when his mouth drops open to say something back. ”Zeus threatened us— me —with war because I have no blood ties to the throne, so I told him we’re engaged. I’m sorry.”
Thor blinks at her. He slides Love’s bag off his shoulder and hands it blindly to Love who stares at her with a slack jaw and unabashed glee in her eyes. Brunnhilde wants to thump her on the forehead.
Thor hasn’t said anything. But he hasn’t closed his mouth, either.
“I’m sorry,” Brunnhilde says again. This can’t be what happens. Thor has to say he understands, has to accept. In all her worrying, she never doubted that he would do this for her, for Asgard. “We can’t take another war. I didn’t…”
Thor shakes his head and comes to stand in front of her. He reaches for her hands, and she gives them to him freely. They stand like a bride and groom already. But instead of vowing to stand by her in sickness and in health, Thor pulls her close to his chest and holds her there.
“You don’t have to apologize,” he whispers, breath warm against her hairline. They haven’t been this close in ages. Despite the circumstances, Brunnhilde savors it. “Don’t apologize.”
Brunnhilde takes what feels like her first real breath since Darryl burst into her office an hour earlier. “It’s May 6th, by the way.”
Thor squeezes her once, tight, and pulls back. His hands rest on her biceps, just above her elbows. “Then we’d better start planning.”
Thor pulls back from her and turns to Love, taking a shaky breath as he looks away from Brunnhilde.
Her heart plummets.
In all the years Brunnhilde has known Thor, she has come to know his idiosyncrasies. The subtle shifts in his face or body language that signal shifts in demeanor and mood. She knows the way his nostrils flare when he’s angry, the pink tinge that rushes to his ears when he’s embarrassed, and she knows that a shaky breath like that means he’s heartbroken. She has heard those shaky breaths in hundreds of drunken conversations aboard the Statesman , heard them now when he speaks of Jane.
Her heart snaps inside her chest. How foolish, she thinks, that she had any hope that he felt the same way?
“If you two get married does that make me a princess?” Love asks, temporarily startling Brunnhilde from her spiraling thoughts. Love’s staring at her with wide, hopeful eyes. “If so, I want a crown.”
Thor shakes his head and rustles Love’s hair. “Asgardians don’t wear crowns. We’ll get you a helmet.”
“Princess Love has a nice ring to it, though, doesn’t it?” Brunnhilde asks, forcing a smile. She takes a breath, and she can actually feel the knot in her chest blocking the oxygen from getting into her lungs. “I have to head back to the office, I guess.”
Love pokes her bottom lip out. “Do you have to?”
The answer is probably no. She’s her own boss anyway. But she can’t stand here in this hallway much longer, not when Thor has become a bit too focused on getting Love’s backpack straps adjusted and won’t look at her. Not when she’s about three seconds from crying.
“Yeah, sorry kid.” She went to ruffle Love’s hair, too, only for her to duck out of reach. “I’ll be back for whatever burnt dinner Thor makes for us.”
The sound of Thor’s laugh relieves some of the pain in her chest. “That’s not a nice thing to say about your fiancé, Brunn.”
“I’ll be back later,” she says, and she knows her voice is clipped and she can feel tears stinging her eyes and all she can do is hope that no one notices. “Don’t burn the house down.”