Author's notes:

This piece of fiction contains: violence, strong language and sexual themes.

You've been warned, read at your own discretion.

Any explanations about certain things in the story, references and other important details will be at the end of each chapter.

Chapters 1 – 23 were revised and re-uploaded on August 2016

Whims of Ice

Chapter one

The collision of two antitheses

He stood on the highest tower of the crumbling Jotunheim palace. Bravely lingering on the edge. It was exceedingly rare for the strong winds of the Ice Realm to be this calm and soothing; his slickened back, black hair swayed slightly and caressed his shoulder blades. The young man was uncaring for the highpoint that he stood at and the long fall that threatened any living being. It was not only great but also mortally perilous – the abyss beneath extended well beyond the underground of the Cold World. If a creature survived the fall, then without the gift of flight – they would never leave the chasm alive. However the possibility did not faze him, he remained in his position unmoving.

The red eyes of the male observed the heavens. Somewhere on the horizon the clouds seemed to have been shredded. The sole sun-star of Jotunheim was beginning to peak through. Its cold white light illuminated the corners of the tearing fabric of the sky in a stunning electric blue tint. Seeing this happening was a marvel all on its own, the occurrence of a true Winter Solstice, taking place in this snow-buried realm every millennia or so. This was a first in his lifetime witnessing this event. However it had more significance than that – it was the dawning of a New Era.

Behind him laid the slain King – the one who had called himself Laufey. He would have scoffed, this was such a twist of fate – the former Ruler had died in the very spot Odin had defeated him so many years ago.

The father's head had been severed from his shoulders by his own son.

There was no remorse, none whatsoever, the only thing that led him was cold calculation. It was time to bring his schemes to fruition, scraps gathered and stitched bit by bit for well over a millennium.

The small Giant that had murdered the King – committed patricide, was none other than the Jotunn Prince Loki.

The sole son of the Asgardian Rulers – Thor Odinson entered the great Hall of Gladsheim. He was greeted with loud cheers and happy faces. Holding up his weapon of power – Mjölnir, the heavenly hammer forged by the craftiest of Dwarves and enchanted by the magic of the Allfather himself, he called forth a reaction that was not unlike that of the element he ruled – thunderous roars of approval rose from the crowd.

This was his day, his day of highest triumph. The coming into reality of his lifelong dream – the apogee of his existence. It was the very reason of his birth – this was his destiny. To him – this was the pinnacle of his glory and it was well deserved, he planned on pushing even beyond this limit of greatness. He was the Ruler of the stormy skies and they were bound by none. Therefore, what was attested to his domain also extended to him – the God of Thunder, the Thunderer.

This majestic day was when the inhabitants of Realm Eternal would rejoice. He would ascend to the Throne and he would reign over all. The Crown Prince allowed himself to revel in the moment.

This was the coronation of the Mighty Thor.

His stride was wide and confident. The light of the Bright Home had never been brighter, the gold and adamants shone more brilliantly than ever before. The pride everyone felt for the soon-to-be-King was overwhelming. The eyes of everyone present gleamed in wonder and appreciation; his family, his friends, his subjects – all were there to give their respects at the time of his absolute magnificence.

The son stood before his father. The former Ruler's staff of power – Gungnir was brought down to the ground – all was silent. The action commanded utter obedience and the self-satisfied man-child believed that he would control his people even better. The marvelous ceremony was stunning – it was rightly so – the days of his Kingship would soon begin.

The predecessor began the rites, the succession began. The young Aesir bellowed his replies to every oath presented. He swore himself to his world – to forever care and protect it.

The perfection was shattered violently, a visage of horror dawned on the Godling's face. His fate was ripped from out of his grasp when it was just a hairsbreadth away. A fateful whisper from the Odinfather's lips had torn his lifelong-sought grandeur asunder – 'Frost Giants'...

Long tables adorned with feast of Gods were upturned and tumbled down in a fit of rage. The de-crowned had-to-be-King displayed his frustration in loud roars. The heated epithets spewed were not born from heroic sentiment as they should have been, it was the Storm God's wounded pride beneath it that spoke in unconscious falsity.

The other Asgardians present – the Warriors Three and Lady Sif were all upset by the turn of events. Their greatest friend as well as their leader was supposed to be celebrating his ultimate victory – the coming into power. Alas thus did not occur.

The threat was silenced before it even touched its goal, but the appearance of it in the first place was more than unsettling. The infiltration itself should not have been possible. However Asgard – the safest and greatest of realms was breached by a band of rogue Jotunns. The fact that they were all dust now did not soothe anyone that was aware of it.

The conversation was livid on the Prince's side, while his closest of allies tried in vain to calm and reason with him. It did not matter which but one of the warriors present had uttered a phrase meant in jest – no one knew what terrible consequences a few carelessly said words could have. Thor took it to heart in all seriousness – claiming it with desperate clutches seeking retaliation. He voiced this transgression to be an insult to his Kingdom, an open threat of war, although in reality, deep down inside his arrogant mind, it was truly an insult to him.

To the Throne Heir it was a suggestion and he immediately took to convincing his weapon's brothers (the woman warrior included). If the Allfather would do nothing, then he – as the meant Ruler, would take the matters into his own hands.

No one believed in the success of this preposterous offer (command). Everyone told their opinions on the matter and they opposed the royal Aesir's wishes, all treading carefully, not meaning to drive the storming man more. But he was all joyful now – as if the battle was already conquered, he did not doubt that this 'decision' was already settled in his favor.

It was Fandral who dared to express himself louder than others, he named this task a 'suicide mission'. However the Golden One would have none of it. He did not take offense in what the gallant male had voiced aloud, everything just went through his ears unheard and ignored. The God of Thunder was no master tactician, but he knew how to sway his friends to join him on this quest (but that was not how he understood his actions). He addressed each one separately, addressing by name and reminding of the impossible things they'd achieved together and how he always offered support when they were in need.

Sooner than anyone could have expected they conceded to the Thunderer. The said man observed his friends, each wore an expression of grim concentration, only he was less moved by the impending. His emotions towards that were born from his immense self-assuredness, which was not empty – his prowess as a warrior was indeed something frightfully potent. As unbeatable as he was in battlefield, the Aesir Prince did lack in the area of prudent approach – that was his father's position. Alas Odin was none the wiser to this outrage.

Thor glanced to Lady Sif, she looked to be deep in contemplation. He had grand plans for her. She would make a wise Queen one day; someone who shared his views and his understanding – the right person to claim the right to be beside him. But those thoughts were the furthest thing from his mind, he had a score to settle.

That was how the Crown Princes of Jotunheim and Asgard had come to power; one over the realm, the other – over himself. Both took it by force, although just one had planned it that way. They were destined to be enemies before they were even born.

The first move had been made and it would bring forth the collision of the two antitheses.

A/N

Gladsheim – in Norse mythology is a realm in Asgard, where Valhalla is located; in other sources it is the name of Odin's meeting hall. In this fic it is the name of the Asgardian Palace itself. Gladsheim in old Norse means "bright home", that is why in some places I refer to it as the Bright Home.

To those who may not know Norse mythology well, then that part where Thor thinks of Sif as his future queen are not ramblings of a Thor/Sif shipper (in all actually I couldn't care less). In the myths Sif is Thor's wife. To be clear this is quite the AU story, so it will soon stop taking bits of the first movie, therefore Jane Foster will not be part of this.

Feedback is very appreciated and responded to!