Title: Laughing As I Pray
Rating: PG-13
Author's Notes: Third in the series The Great Subconscious Club, sequel to A Villain State of Mind and directly follows Cover Up the Sun. This is not the end of The Great Subconscious Club, but it is the end of Thor's part in it - for now.

The King returns.

Though he had spent nearly three weeks on Midgard, he had been gone from Asgard but two days only. There was no reason to expect, Thor thought as the roar of the Bifrost settled around him, that anything here would have changed in so short a time.

And yet to Thor's eyes, it was almost a jarring dissonance that it had not. Asgard loomed above him, the spires of the palace arching golden above the glittering city. The fading afternoon light painted it in shades of yellow and rose, and it seemed all at once clear and solid, yet far away.

It was strange how Asgard could at once seem so much smaller than when he had left it, and at once so much larger. The boundaries of the world, of the ever-falling sea beside him and the Void behind him, seemed to crowd close, hemming in the seat of Aesir power on all sides. And yet Thor could also sense the boughs of Yggdrasil stretching below them, tracing out to connect this realm to each of her sister realms. Asgard was beautiful, perfect, the crowning flower of the Realms - yet still only a small part, in the end.

"Welcome back, Prince Thor," Heimdall greeted him as he unsheathed his sword from the plinth. The Guardian's voice was calm and steady, no hidden censure in him for whatever he had witnessed of Thor's activities on Midgard. "No major crises have occurred in your absence, brief as it was. Your father still Sleeps. All business awaiting the attention of the crown is on hold. No doubt you can resume it at tomorrow's court."

Thor nodded acknowledgement, and set off across the rainbow-hued bridge towards the city. Truth be told, his mind was far from the day-to-day concerns of the court; his thoughts still lay elsewhere, scattered across space and time behind him.

His departure from Midgard had been unremarked. With Loki's disappearance, and Jane still in her house in the woods, Thor found himself left without transport. Mindful of Maria Hill's injunction on flying great distances with Mjolnir - lest he pose a danger to the flying craft that mortals used to get around here - Thor chose to use the Bifrost to bring him first to Asgard, then back to Midgard at the forest house to say his goodbyes.

Jane was, naturally, sorrowed to see him go (honestly, he might have been a little hurt if she was not) but very understanding: as Darcy pointed out from the background, the acting King of a realm couldn't just skip off on vacation indefinitely. And Jane had a certain fervor of intensity about her eyes that warned Thor that she was slipping back into fascination with her science again, ignoring all else in the world about her; Loki's comments had lit a fire in her about new applications for her beloved machines.

Drawing upon their hospitality one more time, Thor had borrowed Darcy's telephone to relay his intentions to the others on Midgard who had need to know of his doings: Steve Rogers, Tony Stark, and Commander Fury. His friends had expressed disappointment, but understanding, to hear that he was leaving; Fury, if Thor was any judge of his mood, was simply relieved to have the Prince of Asgard out of his hair.

So that world turned on without him. Midgard had need of a great many things - wise leaders, clever scientists, builders and healers, but it seemed not, at the moment, to have any need for legendary warriors. Or for kings.

Thor made his way to the palace, men and women calling out greetings or bowing in respect as he passed. The great audience chamber was standing empty but for the guards, the court adjourned; Thor passed by the great golden seat with none of the brooding mixed emotions that it had once inspired in him. It would be his, one day; if not now, then at a later time. He need neither flee it, nor seek it out; a better use for his energies must be to decide what to do with it.

Beyond the throne room, Thor passed into the private family chambers of the house of Odin. Servants and guards made up most of the company here, these days; with Frigga gone, and Loki gone, and Odin still in the Sleep, the place sometimes felt more like a mausoleum than a home.

With measured tread Thor made his way into Odin's fastness, the guarded chambers where the All-Father slept. Once, Frigga would have sat vigil at his side, guarding him with sword and seidr alike, and in the darkness left beside the golden glow of the Odinforce, Thor saw the mirage of his mother's figure turn and smile at him, before dissolving. He came to the side of the bed - the opposite side - and sat.

For a long time, he simply sat there, regarding his father's still form in measured silence. Even with the potency of the Odinforce about him, his father looked small, and frail. Old, and yet small and fragile as a child. Thor felt a strange mix of emotions; the usual respect and fearful awe mixed with… something else.

In his time serving as prince-regent during Odin's long Sleep, Thor had felt constantly overshadowed by the legacy of his father and the kings who came before him. Their presence hung about him on either side, hemming him in; he felt at once reluctant to step outside the bounds of their established precedent, afraid of making mistakes, and yet also overwhelmed by the knowledge that he could never live up to their greatness. He felt none of that now, and it was oddly freeing at the same time it made an even more heavy burden. For as Hank McCoy had said, they were only men, as he was now. They had been capable of great things, but also terrible mistakes - as was he.

"All my life I have been raised to believe that Asgard stands above all other realms," Thor said softly, breaking the heavy silence. "Our warriors the most strong, our people the most brave, our leaders the most wise, our legacy the most noble. That our greatness set us apart from the others, obliged us to a heavy burden of protecting and guiding the lesser folk below us, those in need of our strength and our wisdom. A shining beacon atop the Tree, alone, broadcasting our light into the darkness.

"All my life I have watched you rule and believed that the King of Asgard stood above all, the wisest, strongest and most powerful man in the universe, and that by virtue of his great power and terrible obligation, he must stand alone.

"You are wise, Father, but I think you are wrong. We are not better than the other realms. They are not weaker than us, they are not more stupid than us, they are no less brave nor honorable than us. If Asgard possesses anything in greater measure than the other realms, it is arrogance and pride only. If Asgard is set apart, it is because we have set ourselves apart. If Asgard stands alone, it is because we have driven away all those we considered below us, even our friends and our kin.

"There are so many ways of being great, Father, there are many ways of being worthy. We are different so that we may complete each other, so that we may lend our strength to others and receive in return. We are only as alone as we choose to be.

"I am King, Father; and I choose otherwise."

Thor went out on the balcony, and stood for a time overlooking his kingdom. The damage done to the citadel from Malekith's attack was almost completely repaired, and the damage done to the town below during his and Loki's harrowing flight from the city with the Deepness was already gone as though it had never been. The Realm Eternal did not long suffer scars upon its skin.

During his visit to Earth, Thor had seen many signs of ruin and destruction still remaining from the Chitauri attack: damaged buildings abandoned but not yet demolished, empty lots of crumbling scaffolding, streets still blocked off from traffic. Though many more days and moons had passed on Midgard since the Chitauri attack, still they had not yet recovered from the damage, because they lacked Asgard's easy flow of magics, and even where they possessed the technology, they lacked Asgard's abundant wealth.

In Jotunheim, centuries had passed since the last great war, yet even in that time they had not been able to repair their shattered cities or rebuild their great citadels of ice, let alone heal the damage done by the attack on the Bifrost. For all the great endurance of their people, their power to heal and rebuild was less even than the mortals who lived a fraction of their lifetimes.

Asgard was a great realm, Thor had always believed, and believed it still. It was a land of plenty, with great stores of natural beauty, magic and wealth; it was home to a strong and vibrant people, gifted with great strength, resilience and power. Over time the land had birthed many great heroes and great accomplishments, and never suffered defeat or hardship for long.

Asgard was a blessed land indeed; but blessed, Thor was just beginning to understand, was not necessarily the same as worthy.

Even in the calm and quiet of Asgard at peace, Thor could not be at peace; words and phrases echoed round and round in his head endlessly, itching him to move again.

What about the Jotuns?

This was an actual literal act of state, carried out by government leaders using national infrastructure. What part of this was not Asgard's doing?

"Do you swear to guard the nine realms?"

I swear.

Not every problem can be solved by hitting it with increasingly mighty blows of a hammer.

"And do you swear to preserve the peace?"

I swear.

That's the thing about fighting wars against your own people: all the casualties are yours. So even if you win, you still lose.

"Do you swear to cast aside your selfish ambition and to pledge yourself only to the good of the realms?"

I do swear, Father. I do.

You are the prince of a sovereign realm. Everything you do becomes an act of nations.

...What about the Jotuns?

It was not such a mystery, after all. Thor tilted his head back, inhaled deeply of the Asgardian sunlight, and laughed.

Footsteps sounding behind him broke him from his reverie; he turned and smiled to see Fandral, his old and loyal friend, coming up behind him. Fandral clapped a hand across his chest and bowed shallowly, but he smiled as he did. "Your Highness," he said. "Welcome back."

"Thank you," Thor said. He glanced down over the balcony back towards the citadel, the site of Malekith's attack not three months prior. "Tell me, how go the repairs?"

"They are all but finished, Your Highness, except for the finishing touches," Fandral said with pride. "In another week, Asgard will be as good as new."

Thor nodded. "And the injured?"

Fandral gave a little shrug, grimacing; the lives lost in the attack could not so easily be brushed away. "Those who can be healed have been healed," he said instead. "Too many were beyond hope, but for those who survived, their scars and injuries have been erased."

"Good," Thor said. "Send word to the builders, the craftsmen and the healers; bid them to rest, and then gather their tools and their energy for another job. We leave in one week."

"Leave?" Fandral said, startled. "Leave Asgard? Where are we going?"

"To Jotunheim," Thor said, and turned his gaze out onto the horizon. One week, he hoped, should give him enough time to negotiate their passage - if Laufey's heirs would hear him. "There is much work to be done."

~end.