Chapter Text
“Is this all you’ve got?”
You side-eyed the dwarf beside you like he’d spoken gibberish.
“What do you expect, Durl? Fimbulwinter’s rough out there.” You gestured to your snow-covered garments for good measure.
Durlin’s lips formed a thin line as he watched you drop unceremoniously onto his office chair, your legs folded underneath you in a completely unladylike fashion. It was an odd quirk, but he’s since gotten used to it over the many years he’s known you.
“I know, I know. All I’m saying is that your loyal customers are going to be disappointed…”
“Well, sorry, but I only have one pair of arms to work with!”
He sighed at that, opting to ditch the rucksack of food you’d brought and join you on a chair of his own.
“Something on your mind, kid?” You drawled, taking the words right out of his mouth.
He gave you a look, “Well?”
“Ugh, you know how it goes.” You ran a hand down your face, expression tired. “It’s just – Dad’s gone on a bit of a bender again, and I don’t know if I can deal with it this time. It’s getting harder to manage the trade on my own, you know.”
That and it’s not what I want to do anymore, you carried on in your thoughts. You couldn’t leave him to fend for himself, however, despite the growing resentment you held towards him.
“You want me to send Lúnda over there? Straighten him out?”
You managed a half-smile at the thought of the heady female dwarf handing your father’s drunken ass to him. “Nah, I’m sure she’s got better stuff to do with the resistance…”
He shrugged, lifting a tankard of mead you don’t remember him having to his lips. “Don’t say I didn’t ask.”
“Where the Hel did that come from?”
“What?”
“The drink? When…” You rolled your eyes after a small pause. “Dwarves.”
“Hey, none of that.”
“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”
He chuckled as you proceeded to pet Dìnner, enjoying the amicable silence until the sun reached its peak outside. Though ridiculously muggy, it was a welcome change from the freezing cold weather of Midgard. Once you were able to feel your limbs again, you shrugged off your outer layers, leaving you in a plain white long-sleeved tunic, dark brown pants and your favourite pair of knee-high winter boots.
The front door creaking open behind you snapped out of your reverie. You went to turn, but Durlin practically leapt from his seat and grasped you by the shoulders with shaky hands, eyes wide with what seemed like apprehension.
This can’t be good…
“Hey, tell you what,” he laughed nervously. “Why don’t you go see your father, and I’ll send Lúnda over as soon as she returns.”
“Wha-I just got done telling you that I can’t deal with him anymore.”
He wasn’t having it, however, and began dragging you from your seat to push you through the back door. The one that you never used.
“I’ll. Send. Lúnda.” He insisted.
By now, you were more than confused and fumbling to gather your things. You weren’t ready to go home just yet. The previous hunting session was a long one, and it didn’t help that you nearly got jumped by a bunch of raiders parading the realm under the guise of ‘protecting their kind’.
Right. Because attempting to mug your own kind is ‘protecting’ them so damn well.
An exaggerated cough reverberated throughout the room, halting the two of you in your tracks. With your back to the stranger still, Durlin finally resorted to shooting you a pleading look. It was effective in making you pause. You'd never seen him act this way before. He was usually so-
“Tsk, tsk. Have you really become so uncultured that even a simple introduction is beneath you, dwarf?”
The rude comment had you turning on your heels instantly, heckles raised.
It was safe to say the smooth voice certainly matched his appearance. He was tall and fair-skinned with braided dirty blond hair held back from a begrudgingly handsome face. Too bad it was marred with an irritating smirk that was quickly grating your nerves. It was the glowing bifröst eyes that really stood out, though, and you immediately understood why your friend was so unsettled.
This was that asshole he’d told you about – the one that burned him as punishment for trying to rebel against the Aesir all those years ago. It was a sore subject for him and quite often the topic he revisited most when in a drunken stupor.
“Of course,” Durlin resigned, slowly making his way back to the centre of the room. He mumbled your name so quietly you almost didn’t hear him, but the asshole certainly did.
“Heimdall,” he offered, a little too proudly for your liking.
The God of Foresight and Surveillance, Herald of Ragnarök, and one of Odin’s many sons. You knew of him. From what you’ve heard and, frankly, could already tell, this guy had an ego the size of Asgard itself and was a giant pain in the ass to deal with.
“Pleasure,” you grit out, unable to hide your distaste.
To your dismay, your comment only served to widen that stupid smirk of his, and he prompted the two of you to join him outside, most likely so he could actually stand upright. You were surprised he even entered in the first place, what with how tall he was. Nothing in comparison to many other gods you’d met, sure, but still enough to hinder smooth movement within a dwarf’s dwelling (not that you didn’t struggle with it yourself, but you were fairly smaller than him).
The three of you stepped out onto the street, and you glanced around, confused. The settlement was usually pretty busy around this time of day, with plenty of dwarves moving about to work on their current projects or open up stalls. Right now, however, it resembled a ghost town. Was this guy really that much trouble?
One glance at Durlin’s scarred head told you yes, he really is that much trouble.
Heimdall’s bifröst eyes once again landed on your form. His own distaste became increasingly evident as he observed your painfully simplistic attire. It was a far cry from his own luxurious clothing, well-adorned in quality leather, armour, and a multitude of gold threading and accents to boot. Not to mention, he looked like he’d had a full night’s rest, unlike yourself.
Soon enough, his eyes met yours, and you shuddered involuntarily at the strange pulling sensation tickling at the forefront of your mind. Was this what it felt like to have the God of Foresight poking around up there? It wasn’t overly unpleasant, but it still irritated you – like he was snooping through your private diary without permission.
You clenched your fingers tightly, feeling your own powers rise in an attempt to guard yourself. You’re not entirely sure how it happened, but you felt when his grasp slipped, denied from any attempt at getting a full read on you.
“What’s this?” He muttered, that obnoxious smirk fading into a frown.
One moment he was more than eight feet away, and now, your senses were completely overwhelmed as he invaded your personal space. His height hardly intimidated you, but you could feel the raw power emanating from his form as he glared down at you, growing more and more pissed off as he tried and failed to enter your mind once more.
He definitely didn’t like that.
“And just who are you exactly?” He seethed through golden teeth.
He grasped your wrist in a tight hold before you could step back, tugging you forward so that your chests were a mere breadth apart. Durlin was stammering over his words somewhere behind you, attempting to calm the situation before it escalated.
“I’m afraid you’re gonna have to be a little more specific than that.” You responded poorly. Where your sudden bout of courage was coming from, you had no idea.
His jaw tensed, “Must I dumb it down for you, filth?”
You so badly wanted to call him a name, too, but you weren’t that stupid. You knew you were already walking on mighty thin ice as it is, what with him being related to Odin and all. If the old codger caught wind of your true origins, you’d be screwed to Hel and back.
“I believe I was already introduced, Heimdall.” His hold finally loosened enough for you to wrench your arm back and create some much-needed space between the two of you. “Anyhow, I’m taking you up on your offer, Durl. Tell Lúnda she is more than welcome to stay for dinner.”
You shot one final glare at the Aesir god before leaving the pair of them to it. Even as you turned away, you knew he still regarded you with a sour expression on his face. If it weren’t for whatever business he was on, you were sure he would’ve kicked up more of a fuss, but you clearly weren’t his priority at the moment, and you were more than glad for it.
What a shitty day…