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The Stormborn - Chapter - 72
🕑 Added 2025-11-13 15:24:58 +0000 UTCThe sun above Asgard was bright, but its light seemed swallowed by the sheer mass of soldiers gathering in the palace courtyard. Shields gleamed like a field of stars. Spears caught the light and threw it back in brilliant streaks, and banners snapped sharply in the wind. The air was filled with the scent of steel, leather, and the sharp ozone tang of enchantments.
Above them, perched on the golden spires, Odin’s ravens screamed in excitement, circling in wide, hungry arcs.
They knew what was coming. Asgard had not marched on Jotunheim in centuries.
Harry stood beside Frigga at the courtyard’s edge, unable to deny the flutter in his chest when he looked upon the army. Odin had called together nearly every fighting force not already stationed in Jotunheim’s moons: Einherjar veterans, Valkyries mounted atop winged steeds, dwarven siege-masters hauling cannons, and runesmiths chanting over crates of explosive spells.
And at the center of it all stood Odin.
Clad in the armor Harry had forged—his armor—the All-Father looked like a storm wrapped in metal. The eight spectral tendrils behind him moved with a mind of their own, swirling blue and black like the tips of some celestial beast. His helm cast a long shadow over his one good eye, but the eye itself burned with anticipation.
He was not a king today.
He was the God of War.
“Your grandfather is too eager for this,” Frigga muttered, folding her hands tightly. “Ever since you gave him that armor, he’s been pacing like a caged wolf.”
Harry tried to smile. “It’s… flattering? I think?”
“It is dangerous,” Frigga corrected.
But she didn’t get to say more.
Odin stepped forward.
“Warriors of Asgard,” Odin said, and the entire courtyard fell silent. Even the winds stilled.
His voice was not shouted—it didn’t need to be. It rolled through the air like thunder, heavy and commanding.
“Jotunheim has forgotten honor. They have spilled the blood of our workers and soldiers. They have attacked without warning, without cause, without mercy.”
A growl rippled through the lines of soldiers.
“We showed restraint,” Odin went on, raising his spear, Gungnir. “We mined peacefully. We honored treaties old as the branches of Yggdrasil. But now?”
The tendrils behind him flared with bright blue light.
“Now we strike. Not to conquer. But to end what they began.”
The shout that followed shook the courtyard.
Odin let it roll for a moment, then lifted a hand—and silence returned instantly.
“We march on Jotunheim itself. What Thor and Loki hold at the moons, we will take at the heart. And I—Odin Borson—will lead the first charge.”
At that, even the sky seemed to tense.
Then Odin turned his head slightly.
“Harry. Come.”
Harry approached the raised platform, every step echoing in his ears. Odin reached out, resting a heavy hand on the boy’s shoulder. The gesture alone silenced every whisper in the courtyard.
“During my absence,” Odin said, voice steady as stone, “this prince shall act in my stead.”
Gasps swept the ranks.
Harry blinked at him. “M-me? But—”
“You showed wisdom at the council table,” Odin said. “Courage in battle. And restraint where it mattered. These are the qualities of a ruler.”
“But I’m not—”
“You are,” Odin interrupted, “and you must be.”
Harry swallowed hard. He could face trolls and frost giants with his fists, but ruling all of Asgard? That felt like lifting a mountain.
Frigga’s warm smile reached him from the sidelines. It steadied him more than Odin’s grip.
Finally, Harry nodded. “I will do what is needed.”
Odin’s eye gleamed with pride.
Harry took a breath. “Grandfather… if I’m to protect Asgard while you’re away, I’ll need soldiers.”
Odin raised a brow.
“Most of our armies are marching to another realm. If Jotunheim retaliates here—Asgard must not be undefended.”
The murmurs that followed were surprised… but approving.
Finally, Odin nodded. “A sound request.”
He gestured to a towering general with a braided beard.
“Captain Hrólf! Detach two thousand of your best. They shall serve under Prince Harry’s command until further notice.”
Hrólf thumped a fist to his chest. “As you command, my king. The prince shall have my finest.”
Harry exhaled in relief.
Odin leaned closer, speaking softly so only Harry heard:
“Well said. A king must think of danger before it arrives.”
A horn sounded at the far end of the courtyard. The Bifrost’s energy crackled, spiraling toward the ground like a heavenly drill.
Frigga stepped forward, clutching Odin’s gauntleted hand. “Please… do not do anything reckless.”
“Reckless?” Odin echoed. “My dear, I am far past the age of recklessness.”
“You say that, and yet—” Frigga gave a pointed look at the glowing spectral tendrils. “—you are practically vibrating with excitement.”
Odin coughed, ignoring the comment.
He faced Harry one last time.
“Lead well. Learn well. And above all—do not disappoint Asgard.”
“I won’t,” Harry said quietly.
A smile tugged faintly at Odin’s mouth.
“Good. Then Asgard is safe.”
With a stomp of Gungnir, the Bifrost erupted beneath his army.
The ground shook. Light swallowed the soldiers.
Magic boomed like rolling thunder.
In a flash of color and power…
The All-Father and his army vanished into the rainbow fire.
Silence fell.
Harry looked at the empty courtyard, the shimmering air where the army had stood moments before.
Frigga touched his arm gently. “Are you afraid?”
Harry exhaled. “Yes.”
“Good,” she said. “Fear guides wisdom. Now come, my boy. Asgard awaits its acting king.”
Behind them, two thousand soldiers fell into formation.
Harry straightened his shoulders.
The throne room doors opened.
And for the first time in his life, Harry walked forward—not as a student, not as a smith, not as a fighter—
but as the ruler of Asgard.
Asgard’s throne room was too vast, too silent.
Harry sat on the gilded seat—Odin’s seat—feeling its weight seep into his bones. His armor lay dormant on a nearby pedestal, runes flickering faintly. The generals had already dispersed. The palace had settled into an uneasy quiet, waiting for the next order from a boy who wasn’t sure he deserved any of this.
He rubbed his face and exhaled.
He needed to talk to someone who wasn’t a god, a general, or a political adviser.
He needed his mother.
Harry unclipped the small, round mirror from his belt—a gift from his mother, enchanted to communicate anywhere in the universe.
He tapped the glass.
It shimmered.
Her face appeared—red hair messy, eyes sharp, voice a mixture of hope and anger.
“Harry! Where have you been? Two weeks, young man. Two weeks!” Wanda burst, hands on her hips even inside the reflection.
Harry smiled softly. “Hi, Mum.”
“Don’t ‘Hi, Mum’ me,” she snapped. “Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been? If America hadn’t reassured me that you were fine, I would’ve opened a portal myself and—wait, why are you wearing royal robes? Why are there guards behind you? And why,” she narrowed her eyes, “do you look like someone dropped an army on your head?”
Harry winced.
“Mum… there’s a war in Jotunheim.”
Wanda blinked.
Once.
Twice.
“A what?”
“And I might have been there when it started.”
Wanda’s jaw dropped. “HARRY!”
“And now I’m acting king of Asgard.”
The silence that followed was long, heavy, and dangerous.
Harry braced himself.
“…America,” Wanda said in a calm, utterly murderous tone.
“Yes?” America’s voice answered from off-screen.
“Open. A. Portal. To. Asgard. NOW.”
“Uh—alright!”
Harry sagged. “I should’ve told you after the battle, but I was—”
“You were what?” Wanda hissed. “Busy being a king? Busy fighting frost giants? Busy risking your life in a foreign realm while your mother is quietly aging from stress?!”
Harry scratched the back of his neck. “Well… yes?”
Wanda disappeared from the mirror.
Harry sighed. “This is going to be a long day.”
Outside the palace gates, a star-shaped portal ripped open with a thunderous crack, swirling red and blue like living lightning.
Three figures stepped through.
Wanda, glowing with protective fury.
America Chavez, grinning widely like she belonged in any inter-realm landing.
And—
Sirius Black, cloak flapping behind him, shouting before he even crossed the threshold:
“HARRY JAMES POTTER-BLACK, YOU BETTER NOT BE MISSING ANY LIMBS! IF YOU’RE BLEEDING, I’M GROUNDING YOU FOR CENTURIES!”
Harry groaned. “Oh no…”
The guards scrambled, spears raised—until they saw Frigga glide forward from the palace entrance, calm and warm.
“Lower your weapons,” Frigga instructed. “They are family.”
Relief flooded the guards. They stepped back.
Wanda marched up, grabbed Harry’s face between her hands, and inspected him like he was a glass sculpture.
“You’re not bleeding… no frostbite… you still have all your fingers…” She shot him a death glare. “I am going to kill you, but later.”
Sirius reached him next—
swept him into a bear hug that cracked his spine.
“You stupid, brilliant boy,” Sirius said, voice thick. “Don’t scare us like that again.”
Harry grinned. “It’s not like I planned a war—”
“DON’T,” Wanda snapped. “Finish that sentence and I’m hexing you into a goat.”
America burst out laughing. "A very adorable goat.”
Frigga stepped toward them with a serene smile.
“Welcome to Asgard,” she said. “I am Frigga, Queen of Asgard.”
Wanda immediately bowed her head. “Your Majesty.”
Frigga shook her head gently. “No need for formality, my dear. You are family.”
That sentence alone nearly made Wanda tear up.
Sirius placed a hand over his chest. “I still remember the food I ate last time. If you give me some of again, I may never leave.”
Frigga’s lips twitched. “We shall see.”
She led them inside the palace, speaking softly as they walked.
“I know you must be frightened for him. But rest assured—Harry has been dutiful, wise, and more responsible than any child his age should be forced to be.”
Wanda sighed, brushing Harry’s hair back. “I know he’s capable. I know he’s strong. But he’s also my son.”
Harry leaned against her shoulder. “I missed you too, Mum.”
“This is not about missing me,” Wanda muttered, “this is about you fighting an army of giants without telling me.”
America raised a hand. “In Harry’s defense, it was a big army.”
“NOT HELPING.”
When Frigga announced that Harry’s mother and guardians would be staying in the palace, the court reacted like someone dropped a live thunderbolt into the throne room.
Whispers spread through the gilded halls like wildfire.
“A mortal woman? Sitting with us?”
“She should not be near the throne.”
“Mark my words, she intends to control the boy-king.”
“Control? She’s his mother. That is worse.”
By the third hour, nobles were already writing complaints on parchment.
But Frigga only smiled, unbothered by the murmurs. Asgard’s queen had seen jealousy, fear, ambition, and pettiness for thousands of years. Mortal gossip did not impress her.
The throne room was filled with the usual grandeur—towering columns carved with ancient runes, a floor of polished obsidian, and the massive golden throne at its center.
But today something was different.
Beside Harry’s seat—smaller, meant for the acting regent—Frigga had placed a cushioned chair.
Wanda sat on it.
She didn’t look uncomfortable or intimidated. In fact, she sat with quiet confidence, legs crossed, her fingers tapping lightly on the armrest as she observed every Asgardian counselor like she was evaluating potential threats.
And the room noticed.
Some council members stiffened. Others scowled openly. A few muttered between themselves, unable to hide their disdain.
“Outrageous…”
“An outsider, here?”
“The All-Father would never—”
“She has no right.”
Harry sat straight-backed, pretending he didn’t hear any of it.
Sirius stood behind him, arms crossed, expression daring anyone to complain out loud.
America lounged casually beside a column, kicking her boots against the golden stone and giving every noble who stared at her a cheery wink. That only made them more uncomfortable.
Frigga observed the room with the serene expression of someone who had once tamed a dragon with her tea recipe.
“The council will come to order,” she said lightly.
Silence fell.
The first speaker—a tall, thin man with frost-white hair—bowed stiffly toward Harry, then pointedly ignored Wanda.
“My prince,” he began, “Asgard faces a delicate political moment. With the All-Father at war, the realm looks to you for… leadership.”
Harry nodded. “Of course.”
“But,” the man continued, voice dripping with insinuation, “leadership also requires independence. The throne must be free of… external influences.”
Several eyes flicked toward Wanda.
Wanda raised one eyebrow. Just one.
The man paled slightly.
Harry’s voice sharpened. “My mother is not an influence. She’s here for me.”
“Yes,” another counselor interjected softly, his tone smooth as oil, “but appearances matter. For the stability of Asgard, it may be wise to restrict who sits near the throne.”
This time he didn’t look at Wanda—he stared.
Wanda leaned back in her chair, smiling faintly. “Oh, please continue. I’m curious how you plan to phrase the next insult.”
The man swallowed but pressed on. “We simply believe… the prince should rule alone. Otherwise, some may believe that a foreigner rules Asgard by proxy.”
“Foreigners,” Wanda repeated, nodding slowly. “Yes. Because unlike frost giants, witches, elves, dwarves, visitors from Muspelheim, or random dragons—I’m the dangerous one.”
Sirius choked on a laugh.
Frigga hid a smile behind her hand.
The room tensed.
Harry stood up.
Not loudly, not aggressively.
But with the steady posture of someone raised by warriors, trained by gods, and loved fiercely by a mother who would burn the universe for him.
“My grandfather asked me to rule,” he said clearly. “Not as a puppet. Not alone and afraid. But wisely.”
His eyes traveled across the council.
Stern. Steady. Uncompromising.
“And wisdom means knowing who I trust.”
He motioned toward Wanda.
“This is my mother. She is staying. She is welcome. And she has a seat here because I want her here.”
A stunned silence followed.
One elder tried again, voice tight. “But—”
“No,” Harry said firmly. “Enough.”
Wanda blinked, surprised. Proud.
America pumped a fist silently.
Frigga’s gaze glimmered with approval.
Sirius looked like he wanted to cheer but settled for a small, smug smile.
The councilman bowed stiffly. “As you command, my prince.”
“One more thing,” Harry said.
The entire room froze.
“Anyone who believes I am a ‘figurehead’ is welcome to challenge me. Right here. Right now.”
The silence that followed could have frozen fire.
No one moved.
Harry sat again, and Wanda gave him a small nudge with her elbow.
“Not bad, baby,” she murmured. “Still grounded, though.”
Harry groaned.
Comments
jonah suer
they have been to Asgard quite a few times already, and definetly met freya before, why does she still need to introduce herself, makes no sense
