GOT Thor Travelling

"What are you doing?" Suddenly, a voice broke my concentration. My breathing was labored, and the heat was killing me.

"Dancing..."

"Dancing? You're not training?" asked the little she-wolf, squinting her eyes.

"Quite observant of you." I replied, but anyone but a child could tell I was being sarcastic.

"Why are you naked?" she asked with big eyes. I almost lost my footing while swinging the hammer.

"I'm not... I'm wearing pants," I replied, irritated.

"Half-naked, then."

"Sigh, yeah, half-naked."

"Why?"

"Because it's hot when I train. It's not the North anymore to keep me cool," I said while going back to training. We had long left Winterfell.

I ultimately ended up accepting Ned Stark's request. I'm getting paid for it, of course, but I didn't want to do it initially. The South, especially King's Landing, is full of deceitful unmen. Not my words—Benjen told me. Surely, those words came from experience. If it were my father and brother who the Mad King burned, I'd feel the same—after killing the damn dragon myself, that is.

There was only one reason I decided to go along. The North needed help to counter what was coming. We were unaware of how strong the Night King was, how many undead he commanded, when he would attack. What were his weaknesses, and what was he truly after? If I knew that, I could shorten the war that was sure to come.

If only I had watched the later seasons of Game of Thrones, then I would have known how they killed the Night King.

However, as it stood, when the war came, it would be a prolonged one until I found answers to those questions. The North alone wouldn't stand that long. Ned Stark was right—we needed help.

"Thor?" she suddenly spoke, breaking me out of my daze.

"Pardon?"

"Did the bear do that?"

"Bear?"

"They call you Bear Slayer now." Arya smiled as she said this.

"Do they? Quite an improvement from Hammer Lord," I rolled my eyes. Those at Castle Black started calling me that behind my back. They thought I didn't hear, but they underestimated Asgardian senses.

"Hammer Lord..." Arya perked up like she had heard something funny. I shouldn't have said that.

"So, did he do it?" Arya asked again.

"Who?"

"The bear... the mark on your back. Did the bear do it?" Arya stared at the strange scars on my back, intrigued.

"No... They're birthmarks."

"Never seen birthmarks like those before."

"Well, now you have. Run along, little lady. Let me train in peace." I smiled and went back to training.

"I'm no lady," Arya protested with a defiant look.

"But you're little, and you shouldn't be here alone, this far away from the King's entourage."

"I'm not alone, you're here. You'll protect me?" she asked, ignoring everything else I said.

"Says who?" I couldn't help but look at her with a strange expression.

"Father. He told me to look for you when he's not there." Arya chirped.

"Damn him..."

"What?" Arya looked at me with suspicious eyes, even after I just whispered that last part.

"Will you teach me how to use a sword?" Arya suddenly asked.

"A sword? Do I look like a swordsman to you?"

Arya looked at me, then at my hammer, and then back at me again. "A hammer then."

"What in Surtur's name was I thinking, agreeing to Ned Stark's request? Turning me into a nanny..." Muttering, I went back to my training.

"Who's Surtur?"

"Fire Demon."

"Demons exist?"

"Most certainly."

"Where?"

"Hell."

"Where is Hell?"

"Muspelheim."

"Musplehm." Arya couldn't even pronounce the word.

"Muspelheim," I repeated.

"Where is that?"

I stopped.

Would murdering a highborn lady of Winterfell land me in any trouble? I'm seriously wondering that now.

"Arya, what are you doing here?" Suddenly, another voice broke out, saving Arya from learning what Valar Dohaeris meant this early in the show.

We both looked to see it was none other than Sansa with that idiot Joffrey.

"You..." Sansa was about to speak, but her eyes landed on me, and a sizable blush appeared on her face. I was currently sweaty and topless. Even a dense person like me understood why she was blushing.

Seems like I wouldn't be getting any more training today. Sighing, I walked up to my shirt and put it on. Finally, Sansa, who had been blushing and looking away—though I was sure she sneaked a few peeks here and there—relaxed.

"Disappointed? I got to see him train like that for hours." Arya looked at Sansa and boasted, maybe catching the disappointed look on Sansa's face unlike the rest.

More like disturbing me for hours, I thought with irritation.

"She's been talking about you all night. Talking about how handsome you—"

"Arya!" Sansa's face flushed red, and she all but shouted, stopping her sister from revealing more.

Joffrey, on the side, scowled when he heard this.

"Go back to the camp now," Sansa said, wearing a face too much like her mother's.

"I don't wanna. I got nothing to do there, even Bran isn't here. I can't play with anyone," Arya protested.

"Bran can't come. Maester Luwin said he has a fever. He couldn't travel with us." Sansa replied in frustration.

This was another thing on my mind. Bran suddenly fell ill just before we were about to leave Winterfell.

Coincidence?

I don't think so. Someone didn't want Bran to leave Winterfell. I might have an idea who, but I couldn't be certain. And I had an inkling that if I wanted to learn more about the White Walkers and the Night King, I had to find this certain someone soon.

"What are you doing here?" Joffrey scowled at me. Seems like that lesson from before was already forgotten. Can't blame him—incest causes brain problems. What's a little memory loss? I wonder if hitting him on the head would fix it.

"Something you don't—training my body," I replied with distaste. I tried to act civil around him and his mother, I really did. But that wasn't possible with them being a pair of insufferable fools.

"Ha, I'll be king one day. I don't have to train anything," Joffrey scoffed.

"How do you know you're going to be king?" I asked, a smirk appearing on my face. Though I was taking this talk casually, Sansa on the side was getting worried.

"What? What kind of ridiculous question is that? My father is the—"

"He's the king, I know." I cut him short. "Why do you think he is the king?"

Joffrey was getting frustrated now. He wanted to lash out, but he remembered what happened last time. His memory wasn't that bad.

"Because he took it. He killed the dragon and took the Iron Throne..."

"Exactly. How do you think he did it? By asking nicely?"

Joffrey had nothing to say, he wanted to come up with a good come back but beat him to it, I doubt he would have been able to even if he had time though.

"He fight his way though. He was an warrior. I wonder what would have happened if he was like you, let me tell you what... You'll be Royally Fucked Up." And he was shut completely, though his face looked like he was about to throw with most unlogical fuss the loyal child could.

"You... you can't talk to me like that. I'm your Prince." Joffrey shouted.

"No... 

You're not my prince. Your mother is not my queen. Your father is not my king. This is not my lands and they are not my people...

And make no mistake, I'm not afraid of you or your's royal status. You'll face pain so insufferable that dead would look like mercy, so make sure you keep your distance." I walk upto him and put my hand on his shoulder, gripping it hard enough to almost make his face distort in pain and whisper to him. 

The last few parts Arya and Sansa didn't hear.

xxx

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