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39 Soul Bound
🕑 Added 2024-11-08 18:15:01 +0000 UTCThe grand hall of Asgard brimmed with laughter and clinking goblets as a feast raged in full swing. Long tables were filled with the finest of meats and mead, surrounded by warriors and nobles alike, their spirits high after the victory against the Destroyer, The Frost Giant’s Attack on Asgard and Loki’s betrayal. Among them sat Harry, Thor, Sif, and the Warriors Three, their company at the heart of the feast.
Hogun, the ever-stoic warrior, sat wedged between Fandral and the boisterous Volstagg, who was in the middle of recounting their recent battle.
“And then,” Volstagg declared, his voice booming across the hall, “with a mighty bellow, I flew at the great metal beast and laid it low!”
Fandral chuckled, raising an eyebrow as he took a swig of mead. “Is that another way of saying you fell on your huge a—"
Volstagg cut him off, his face flushed with indignant pride. “As a matter of fact, falling was a tactic! I was lulling the Destroyer into a false sense of security!”
Fandral leaned forward, a smirk playing at his lips. “Well, I was the one who had to drag your enormous carcass off the battlefield. That makes me the real hero, doesn’t it, Hogun?”
Hogun, ever the man of few words, glanced between his two companions. He pointed at Volstagg. “Big stomach.” Then, with a flick of his finger, he motioned towards Fandral. “Big mouth.”
Laughter erupted from the gathered Asgardians, echoing throughout the hall. Even Volstagg and Fandral, despite their mock contest, couldn’t help but join in the merriment. Hogun’s grim features softened ever so slightly, the smallest trace of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
Fandral’s eyes widened in exaggerated surprise. “Well, how about that? A smile! I’d say that calls for another drink!” They roared with laughter once more, raising their goblets high in celebration.
The King and Queen of Asgard were the last to join the feast. Queen Frigga's face, though composed, betrayed the sadness she struggled to hide. The lively atmosphere around her felt distant, her thoughts consumed by the recent events. Ever vigilant, Sif noticed her Queen's quiet grief and approached with a respectful bow.
“My Queen,” Sif began, her voice gentle. “I am so sorry for your loss.”
Frigga’s gaze softened as she took Sif’s hand in hers, appreciating the warrior’s compassion. “Thank you, Sif.”
Her eyes drifted toward Thor, who sat amid the clamour but seemed untouched by it. His face, usually full of life, was now heavy with sorrow. He stared into the distance, lost in his own thoughts, the revelry of his companions feeling like a world apart.
“How is he?” Frigga asked softly, her heart aching for her son.
Sif’s gaze followed the Queen’s to Thor. “He mourns for his brother. And he misses her. The mortal. However, he feels guilty for destroying the bridge that could have taken the Midgardian wizard home.”
Noticing that his parents had arrived, Thor strode through the grand hall with Harry at his side, the Asgardian warriors and nobles parting before them. As they approached, Thor straightened, his voice resonating with pride. "Father, Mother, allow me to introduce you to a worthy comrade and friend I met in Midgard—Harry Potter, a Seiðmaður of great power."
“I wouldn’t say of great power” Harry mumbled beside Thor as he kneeled in front of the king and queen of Asgard.
At the mention of the title, Odin's single eye narrowed, a flash of surprise flickering across his weathered face. "A Seiðmaður?" he repeated, his voice deep with curiosity. "I believed your kind had vanished from existence, driven to extinction centuries ago." His gaze sharpened as if trying to peer through Harry, to see the truth buried within him.
Harry blinked; his confusion evident. "There were others like me? On Earth?"
Odin leaned back on his throne, stroking his beard, his expression contemplative. "Yes, long ago, your kind walked among the realms. They wielded great magic, even helping us Asgardians in our campaign of peace in the Nine Realms. But they were wiped them from existence due to internal conflicts of your kind, leaving only whispers of their power." His voice was heavy as if weighed down by memories of a distant past. "That you stand here now, Seiðmaður is... unexpected."
A ripple of unease passed through Harry. "What happened to them?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Odin shook his head, "That is a tale for another time, young Seiðmaður. Tonight is for celebration, not for shadows of the past. But know this—your presence is always welcomed in these halls as it was for your forefathers."
Harry frowned, his mind racing with questions. He felt an odd, creeping dread at Odin’s words as if some dark mystery lay just beyond his reach. But before he could ask more, Odin rose from his throne, raising his hand.
"As King of Asgard," Odin declared, his voice booming through the hall, "I thank you, Harry Potter, for aiding my son in his trial. Without your help, the outcome may have been far darker. Now, let us feast! For today, we celebrate victory!"
The hall erupted into applause, but Harry couldn’t shake the unease that had settled in his chest. Odin's words hung over him like a storm cloud—what had happened to the witches and wizards of this universe?
Harry bowed respectfully to Odin, his mind still spinning from the cryptic revelation about his kind. The weight of unanswered questions pressed on him, but he pushed them aside for now, turning his attention to Queen Frigga. She stood beside the All-Father, her gaze fixed on him with a curious intensity that made him feel slightly exposed as if she were seeing right through him.
"Mother?" Thor asked, sensing the shift in the atmosphere. His voice was cautious, a hint of concern laced through his words.
Without a word, Frigga raised her hand, her fingers moving gracefully as she murmured an incantation. A soft, shimmering light shot from her palm and rushed toward Harry.
Startled, Harry reacted on instinct. A barrier of shimmering magic snapped into place around him, the familiar hum of his shield spell vibrating in the air. But to his surprise, Frigga's spell passed right through it, as if his defences were nothing more than a fragile illusion. The light wrapped around him, and he tensed, expecting pain. But there was no pain. Instead, the magic felt... gentle. Like a warm, comforting blanket wrapping around his very soul, easing the tension in his body. The sensation was so foreign, so unexpected, that Harry blinked in surprise, lowering his defences as he realized he wasn’t in any danger.
Opening his eyes cautiously, Harry found Frigga standing before him, her expression soft but thoughtful. She was studying him closely as if she could see something far deeper than the surface of his physical form.
Harry’s confusion gave way to awkwardness. "Uh... I’m still alive, right?"
Thor chuckled beside him, and even Frigga’s lips quirked into a small, knowing smile. "Quite alive," she replied gently. "I was merely checking for something."
Harry blinked, caught off guard by the lightness in her tone. "That was a medical spell?" he asked.
Frigga laughed softly, a warm, motherly sound. "Indeed. You may have shielded yourself from harm, but no barrier can hide what lies within the soul." She gave him a gentle smile.
After assessing Harry thoughtfully, Frigga finally broke the silence, her voice soft yet laced with a depth of curiosity. "Why is your soul broken?"
The question hung in the air like a lingering echo. Harry blinked, exchanging a confused glance with Thor, who looked equally taken aback. Even Odin, for all his wisdom, appeared momentarily perplexed. His expression remained neutral, but he offered no guidance, merely giving a slight shrug of his shoulders in response to his wife’s question.
"What did you do to your soul for it to be fractured?" Frigga pressed, her tone more thoughtful than accusatory, though a hint of concern coloured her words.
Harry hesitated, caught off guard by the nature of the question. His mind raced, searching for an explanation. Broken? How could she tell? After a moment, he spoke, his voice uncertain. "Well... there was this dark wizard—Voldemort. When I was a baby, part of his soul got stuck to mine, like a parasite. Maybe it caused the damage?"
Frigga's eyes flickered with understanding. "So, your body was used as a phylactery, a vessel for a split soul." Her tone was calm, and deductive, as though she were piecing together a puzzle. "But I can sense the absence of this parasite. You no longer carry it. When did you rid yourself of it?"
"I was... eighteen," Harry answered, his brow furrowing as he tried to piece things together himself. "It was destroyed back then."
Frigga nodded thoughtfully, folding her hands in front of her as she mulled over his words. "At that age, your magical core had fully developed, yes? Witches and wizards of your kind experience their first magical maturity at around eleven, and their second by seventeen." She spoke as though reciting ancient knowledge. "With your core's strength, any damage caused by that parasitic soul should have been mended. If it had been present after your maturity, perhaps there would have been lasting scars... but nothing so severe as what I sense now."
Harry shifted uncomfortably, his uncertainty growing. "So... you're saying it’s not the Horcrux that damaged my soul?"
Frigga’s gaze softened as she considered him. "No. The parasite is not the reason your soul remains fractured." She took a step closer, her voice dropping to a gentler tone. "I believe something else—something deeper, perhaps even older—is responsible."
"Something else?" Harry repeated, more to himself than anyone. The idea unsettled him. What else could it be? He had always thought the Horcrux had caused whatever damage lay within him. The uncertainty gnawed at him.
Frigga nodded; her expression thoughtful but patient. "Your magical core is potent, more so than most. Any damage caused by an external force like a parasitic soul would have been healed by now. But your soul carries a different kind of fracture. Something more subtle. Something that cannot be easily mended by magic alone."
Harry’s stomach tightened as he processed her words. "What could’ve done that?"
Frigga’s gaze lingered on Harry, her expression one of deep contemplation. With a soft murmur, she waved her hand, casting another spell, her magic shimmering in the air like the soft glow of twilight. The enchantment wrapped around Harry; its warmth was almost tangible as it probed deeper into his very essence. And then, suddenly, a faint red light began to emerge from Harry’s chest, like the first rays of dawn breaking through a thick fog.
A glowing, translucent red thread slowly took form, floating between Harry and some invisible point far beyond. The thread pulsed faintly with a soft glow, but its beauty was marred by its state. Frayed at both ends, the thread hung broken, the severed strands gently swaying in the magical aura Frigga had conjured. Where it should have radiated a sense of completeness, a connection between two souls, it now dangled in sorrowful silence, its once vibrant energy now dulled by loss.
Frigga’s face softened, her lips pressing together in a mixture of wonder and sadness. Her eyes glistened with empathy as she observed the fractured connection before her. “You have a soul bond,” she whispered, her voice a tender blend of awe and melancholy, as though she were beholding both a miracle and a tragedy at once.
Harry blinked, confused. “I have a what now?”
But Thor’s eyes widened with excitement, and a broad smile broke across his face. He clapped Harry on the back, his boisterous laughter echoing through the great hall. “A soul bond!” he repeated, his voice booming with enthusiasm. “It is one of the most sacred and revered connections in all of Asgard! It means you are tied to someone—someone who is destined to be your other half, in this life and beyond. This bond… it transcends time, even death itself. It’s said that when two souls are bound this way, they were once one soul, split apart at the dawn of time. And they will seek each other through every life, every world, until they are reunited as one.”
Thor’s excitement grew, his voice brimming with wonder. “Soul bonds are rare, even among us Asgardians. They are the stuff of legends! This is glorious news, my friend! No wonder you were not taken with Ms Darcy’s affections—you have already found your soul’s match! You are fated for someone.”
But as Thor’s voice rang out, full of wonder and joy, Harry’s heart sank. His gaze never left the broken thread, the blunt red now a painful reminder of what he had lost. The bond had once been whole, full of promise and connection, but now it dangled, severed as if mocking him with its shattered hope.
“Yeah, well… not anymore,” Harry muttered, his voice low and filled with anguish. Without another word, he turned away from Frigga and Thor, the festive sounds of the feast around him fading into the background. His robe swirled around him as he left the grand hall. He didn’t look back as he disappeared into the dimly lit corridors of the palace, his mind a tangled web of grief, loss, and unanswered questions.
Thor and Frigga watched him go; the lightness of the moment was now replaced with a sombre stillness. Thor’s face was etched with concern, his earlier joy now clouded with a deeper understanding of the weight his friend carried.
“Poor lad,” Thor muttered softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “To have found such a bond… and to have lost it.”
Frigga nodded, her gaze lingering on the spot where Harry had stood. “Fate is rarely kind,” she replied, her voice filled with the wisdom of ages. “But perhaps his journey is not yet finished. The bond may be broken, but it is not the end.”
Frigga’s heart ached for him, her gaze following Harry’s retreating form. “He will need his friends now more than ever,” she murmured.
Thor’s eyes remained fixed on the doorway where Harry had exited, his expression resolute. “I will see what I can do
Frigga turned to Thor, understanding the unspoken words behind his support. She put a gentle arm around her son, grateful for his growth and loyalty, knowing that Thor’s journey was far from over and that he would need all the strength his friends could offer too. She was glad that her son was growing up.
Harry rushed out of the Royal Palace, the grandeur of Asgard’s architecture fading into the background as his footsteps echoed against the gleaming bridge. His chest heaved with the weight of emotions, each breath a battle to keep himself steady. The cool air bit his skin, but it did little to soothe the storm raging within. Frigga’s words echoed in his mind—a soul bond. It was something he had always felt in the depths of his being.
His magic had always been attuned to her. He had felt it from the first time he had seen her. The way his magic seemed to hum and sing in her presence, as though it had found something it had been searching for all his life. Every glance, every shared moment of silence between them had felt right. She made him feel whole in a way he had never known was possible. The sense of completion when she was near like the missing piece of his soul had fallen into place.
It made sense, didn’t it? There had always been something more between them—something deeper than mere attraction, stronger than any friendship. He had suspected it for so long, felt it in every fibre of his being, but he could never bring himself to say it out loud. After all, who could he have talked to about it? There was no guidebook for this sort of thing. He had no one to explain why the air around him always seemed charged when she was near, why his magic reached out for her like it recognized a part of itself within her.
Now he knew. They had been bound, connected in ways neither of them had ever fully understood. The knowledge should have brought him some sense of closure, some peace, but all it did was add to the ache in his chest. Knowing that they were fated to be together should have made him happy. It should have filled him with hope. But instead, it only deepened the sorrow, the weight of their separation pressing down on him like a physical burden.
He stared out into the cosmos, the stars twinkling like distant beacons, but they offered no comfort. Natasha was gone. She had left him, and with her departure, a part of him had been torn away. The thread Frigga had shown him—frayed and broken—was a perfect representation of what he felt inside. His soul, once whole and vibrant, now felt fractured. He hadn’t just lost her; he had lost the part of himself that she had awakened.
The pain was sharper now, more defined, like a blade twisting in his heart. But beneath the agony, there was something else. A warmth, a flicker of memory that brought a bittersweet smile to his lips. He remembered the nights they had spent together, side by side in quiet companionship, her wry smile, the gleam in her eyes when they traded banter. She had understood him more than anyone else ever had. They didn’t need words to communicate; a glance, a raised eyebrow, or even the faintest of smiles could convey everything they needed to say.
And yet, it was the silence between them that had meant the most. The comfortable stillness where he felt safe, grounded, in a way he hadn’t known he craved. Her presence had given him a sense of belonging, a place in a world that had always felt too large and too chaotic for him to grasp. And now, that place felt emptier than ever.
He swallowed the lump in his throat, the bittersweet memories swirling with the pain of her loss. How could something so right feel so wrong now? How could the universe be so cruel as to bind them together only to tear them apart?
And yet, he couldn’t hate it. He couldn’t hate the bond, even though it hurt. Because it had brought him her. It had given him those moments of connection, of love, even if it had been fleeting. And for that, he was grateful, even if the cost of that love was this unbearable grief.
Out of the jagged, broken remnants of the Rainbow Bridge, the Bifrost energy flowed like ethereal ribbons, disappearing into the vastness of space. Harry made his way to the very edge, where Heimdall stood tall and resolute, ever watchful. The towering guardian’s golden eyes, like molten amber, reflected the swirling cosmos.
Harry came to a stop beside him, his gaze fixed on the stellar void. The expanse stretched endlessly, reflecting the emptiness he felt inside.
"Heimdall," Harry greeted. His voice was distant, and his gaze seemed to drift through the golden expanse of the Bifrost, weighed down by all he had just learned.
“Harry Potter,” Heimdall’s deep voice was calm but carried an undeniable tone of disappointment. His eyes, piercing as ever, held Harry’s for a moment before he continued, “I am disappointed in you.”
The words struck Harry harder than he’d anticipated, cutting through his haze of thoughts. He opened his mouth to respond, to explain, but Heimdall pressed on.
“When I entrusted you with safeguarding the Bifrost, I told you that it was not about swords and spells, but about your will. Yet, you ignored my advice. After all the training and the battles you’ve faced, you still charged headlong against Loki with neither thought nor strategy.” Heimdall’s gaze sharpened. “Did your defeat by the Destroyer teach you nothing? Did you feel so compelled to prove your worth and strength to your own self that you forgot the very essence of what you have learned?”
Harry’s shoulders slumped, a pang of shame mingling with the ache of guilt. He knew Heimdall was right; he had let his pride and emotions cloud his judgment. "I... I’m sorry," he murmured, the apology quiet but sincere.
Heimdall’s gaze softened slightly, though his tone remained firm. “Your magic has boundless potential, Harry Potter. But it is you who holds it back. Let it flow through you instead of hindering it.”
The words were meant to guide him, yet Harry felt them like an admonition, a reminder of how much further he had to go. As he lowered his head, struggling with the weight of his own self-doubt, Heimdall’s expression softened.
Sensing Harry’s turmoil, he placed a steady hand on Harry's shoulder. “It is natural to falter, Harry Potter,” he said, his tone gentler. “Even Asgard’s greatest warriors have faced their own moments of recklessness. But each misstep brings wisdom if you allow it. Strength will come not from proving yourself to others but from understanding yourself.”
Seeing how his words were impacting Harry, Hiemdall changed the topic, “You seem troubled by what the queen revealed,” Heimdall observed, his tone gentle yet direct, like one who had seen such burdens many times before.
“Wouldn’t you be?” Harry’s response was quiet, almost bitter, as he continued to stare out into the abyss. The revelations about his soul bond, the broken thread that still dangled in his heart, and the weight of knowing Natasha was out of reach—it was all too much.
Heimdall’s golden eyes softened ever so slightly. “You are not the only one who suffers, Harry Potter. She is too.”
Harry blinked, a jolt of pain tightening his chest. “Natasha?” he whispered, almost afraid to ask. He felt a flicker of hope, but also dread. The thought that she might be hurting, too, was unbearable.
“Yes,” Heimdall replied, his voice as steady as the stars. “Your bond may be fractured, but it is not gone. Even across realms, her heart feels your absence, just as you feel hers.”
The words sent a wave of sorrow crashing over Harry. “Volstagg said you watch over ten trillion souls across the Nine Realms,” Harry said, his voice low. “Did you watch mine? Did you watch Natasha's life too?” There was a vulnerability in his tone now, a need for answers.
“I did,” Heimdall admitted. “I have watched you closely ever since you first shimmered into this reality. At first, I viewed you as an anomaly—a potential threat to your realm, perhaps even to all the realms. Your magic, your presence… it was unlike anything I had ever seen.”
Harry glanced up at him, surprised by the admission, but Heimdall continued.
“Yet I watched as you made choices that proved your heart. Your actions showed me that you were not here to conquer or to harm, but to protect. To help those who could not help themselves. That is why I entrusted you with the observatory’s protection. I knew you would do whatever it took—even sacrifice your life—if it meant keeping the Bifrost safe.”
Harry fell silent, the weight of Heimdall’s words settling over him. He wasn’t sure what he had expected, but the guardian’s trust in him stirred something deep inside. It was strange to think that someone who could see everything had chosen to place that kind of faith in him.
Harry's gaze remained fixed on the stars, but his mind was far from the celestial beauty before him.
“How is she?” Harry asked softly, his voice carrying both hope and fear.
Heimdall turned his gaze toward him, his expression grave yet calm. “Ever since she left you... broken,” he replied.
Harry’s breath hitched, and his magic pulsed uncontrollably, reacting to his concern. The mere thought of Natasha being in pain made his chest tighten. His protective instincts flared up immediately, emotions swirling with his power.
“What happened?” he demanded, his voice tense, laced with concern.
Heimdall’s lips curled into a small, knowing smile. He had seen countless bonds between warriors, between lovers, but the depth of Harry’s care for Natasha was striking, even after their separation. “She is not physically hurt, as you fear,” Heimdall assured, sensing the distress in Harry’s aura. “Your magic need not worry about that.”
Harry exhaled slightly, but the tension didn’t leave him completely.
“Since she left you,” Heimdall continued, his deep voice steady, “she has walled off her emotions, burying them deep within her mind. It is how she copes with the loss, with the weight of her choices. But this suppression comes with consequences. In her work, she has become more ruthless, colder. She takes out her anger, her frustration, on herself—by becoming even more brutal in her missions.”
Harry’s hands clenched at his sides, his heart twisting painfully at the thought of Natasha hardening herself, punishing herself. “So, she’s hurting herself through her work,” he muttered, a wave of sorrow washing over him.
“Yes,” Heimdall replied. “She believes it is a way to control the storm inside her, but in truth, she is merely fueling it.”
Harry’s mind raced his thoughts a chaotic mix of anger and sorrow. Natasha, the strong, fiercely independent woman he loved, was breaking herself apart—because of him, because of what had happened between them. It was a pain he knew all too well.
“But when she is alone,” Heimdall added, his tone softening, “away from the eyes of the world, she weeps. Uncontrollably. She rationalizes her actions, trying to convince herself that this was all for the greater good.”
“The greater good,” Harry repeated bitterly, his voice tight with suppressed anger. That phrase—the justification for so much pain, so many sacrifices—was like a curse to him. Dumbledore had used it as his moral compass, guiding Harry through years of hardship and trials.
He could still hear the old man’s voice echoing in his mind, reminding him that the greater good was worth any price. And now, Natasha had taken up the same mantra, suffering under the weight of that cruel philosophy.
A dark, frustrated sigh escaped Harry. He could almost feel her pain, her conflict. He knew Natasha too well—knew that she would always put duty first, even at the cost of her own heart.
“She's sacrificing herself for what? Some misguided sense of righteousness?” Harry muttered bitterly, his fists trembling. “She doesn’t have to do this.”
“No,” Heimdall said gently, “but she believes it is necessary. She feels that leaving you was for your own Happiness, for the greater good of both of you. She convinces herself this pain is worth the cost, but it tears her apart.”
“Thank you, Heimdall,” Harry finally said, his voice quieter now, but filled with resolve.
Heimdall nodded, his golden eyes reflecting the weight of Harry’s words. “You have more strength than you realize, Harry Potter. The strength to heal not only yourself but others, even across realms.”
Harry’s introspective silence was broken by the sound of footsteps behind him. Thor stood together with Harry at the edge of the broken Rainbow Bridge, staring out into the vastness of the cosmos. For a moment, neither of them spoke, simply taking in the beauty and the solitude of the stars. The silence was not uncomfortable, but it was heavy with unspoken thoughts.
“I am sorry for this predicament,” Thor finally said, his deep voice low with regret. “Father has told me that he is looking for a way to send you home, but until then, you are a guest of the Royal Family here in Asgard.”
Harry glanced at Thor, catching the sincerity in his friend’s eyes. He knew Thor felt responsible for his current predicament, and though Harry’s heart was heavy with everything that had transpired, he didn’t hold any ill feelings toward Thor.
With a soft chuckle, Harry shook his head, trying to lighten the mood. “I guess you’re stuck with me for a while, then,” he said with a wry smile.
Thor raised an eyebrow, then let out a hearty laugh, the sound echoing across the bridge. “Ah, well, there are worse fates than being stuck with a wizard from Midgard,” he grinned, clapping Harry on the shoulder. “Though I must warn you, the Asgardians can be quite… rambunctious.”
Harry laughed at that, the weight of the earlier conversation lifting, even if just for a moment. “Rambunctious, huh? So, what do you do for fun out here?” he asked, his tone teasing.
Thor’s eyes gleamed with excitement, the somberness from earlier melting away as he leaned in with a grin. “Well, since you ask, there is quite a bit we can do! Have you ever tried boar wrestling? Or perhaps you’d enjoy our training sessions with Sif and the Warriors Three? And of course, there’s the ale—Asgardian ale is unmatched!”
Harry chuckled, shaking his head. “Boar wrestling? Really? I’m not sure that’s quite my style.”
Thor grinned wider. “Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong, my friend. You’ve faced dark wizards and magical creatures—what’s a boar or two compared to that? Besides, it would be a good distraction.”
Harry smiled, appreciating Thor’s attempt to lift his spirits. “Alright, alright. Maybe I’ll give it a try. But no promises.”
“Excellent!” Thor boomed; his enthusiasm infectious. “Tomorrow, we’ll see if you have the strength to handle an Asgardian boar! And after, perhaps some sparring? I’d like to see how your magic fares against Asgardian steel.”
Harry rolled his eyes but couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across his face. “I’m pretty sure your hammer could take me out in one hit, but sure, why not? I could use the exercise.”
Thor laughed again, his mood lighter, and together they stood at the edge of the broken bridge, the stars above reflecting off the shimmering remnants of the Bifrost.
For a moment, amidst the uncertainty, Harry felt more at peace. Even in a realm far from his own, surrounded by gods and legends, he had a friend. And though the road ahead was uncertain, perhaps with Thor’s companionship, it wouldn’t be quite so heavy to walk.
