His hand was shaking.

He was no worrier by no means, it was visible in his eyes.

He had killed before. He had been cruel before.

But piercing someone's flesh with his own blade, feeling how the body of his victim fought back, bend and broke under the pressure of forged iron, that was something he had never felt before.

He had tricked them.

He had deceived them.

He had dominated them, had been smarter.

But he wasn't like his brothers, raw, brutal.

No, he was oh so different from the other Odinsons.

Maybe that was why his father treated him like a dog. Or why he always was the object of mockery.

How he hated them. And yet, it was all he ever knew.

All his life up until he had stumbled upon you.

A simple human.

With a mixed expression of anger and fear on his face, Heimdall curled his lips and shook his head.

"If the Allfather finds out...", he stopped himself. "No. No, he can never find out. He'll doubt my abilities."

With caution you dared to raise your hand and lean the sword away from your neck.

His hand sunk.

As in trance, he did not react when you came closer to take his face gently in both hands.

His eyes trembled. He breathed as if someone had chased him through all of the nine realms.

When your skin touched his you could feel him sweating. What a strangely disconcerting sight for a god.

"The All-Father will show understanding.", you said in a gentle voice.

His gaze fell on you.

Pulsating pink merged with your (E/C), which was clouded with worry.

"He is a monster.", he managed to force out. "Once I'm no longer of any use..."

He did not dare to end his sentence.

All he could do was press his lips into a thin line and shake his head.

It disturbed you to see how a son could fear his own father so much.

It was obvious that Heimdall, though of divine origin himself, feared the Allfather as much as Ragnarok itself. Probably even more.

There was so much panic in his eyes.

All at once he was no longer the grown man, as he could not be more haughty and proud. Suddenly he was just a boy, with the deep-rooted fear of being cast out by his inability.

Or perhaps his fate would be worse since he seemed to consider dropping dead right on the spot.

"Heimdall.", your voice saying his name cut through the clouds of his mind like a sharp blade through flesh.

All at once his gaze seemed to be crystal clear.

"You...", he sounded like he was about to yell at you again. "It's all your fault. I was fine until you came along."

"And you still are."

"Your mind is blank! I can't hear a single thought. I can't feel what you feel. I can't tell if you- I- I cannot tell if you will betray me or not."

You smiled gently to calm his nerves.

"But you still can read minds.", you reminded him.

He hesitated.

"I... Thor's head is still as loud as ever. And Sif... she's the same snake in the grass that she always is."

"So the only mind that you cannot read is mine."

His lips curled.

The vanity returned.

"You.", he pulled back to free himself from your embrace. "Well, we will find out why you seem to be immune to my abilities."

With a soft smile you let go off him.

It was only then that you realised the two of you weren't in the great lodge anymore.

This place smelled different. Instead of the sweet smell of mead and the burned wax of candles it smelled of fresh flowers and wood.

Soft sunlight fell through a large window to kiss your face.

It was warm, felt soothing.

Somehow this place immediately made you feel at ease. As if you finally had found a place that came close to what other people said felt like home.

Confused, you blinked, raised your chin and looked around.

Everything in this room seemed so big, from the wardrobe to the bed that was kind of hidden inside the wall and the desk that was trashed with pieces of paper.

It was the only messy spot in this entire room.

Splashes of ink covered the dark wood as if someone had smashed a quill down in a fit of rage.

"This is my room.", Heimdall said, audibly exhausted all of a sudden.

With slumped shoulders, he had settled on the edge of the bed and rubbed his face. The only thing that was missing was him letting out a deep sigh.

He was still visibly restless.

But the anger had faded. Instead, there was now quiet desperation mixed with the acceptance that he would never get out of this mess.

"It's...", you looked around.

"Pretentious? Conceited? Laying it on too thick, probably.", Heimdall made a motion with his hand to get you to shut up. "Whatever it is, save your breath. I've heard it all before."

A soft huff escaped your lips as you couldn't help but smile.

"It's cozy.", you said and dared to approach the desk to take a peak at what the many torn papers had to tell. "I'd love to have a home like this."

He pulled a face.

"How pretentious those words are.", he growled, obviously annoyed at the fact that he couldn't respond to your thoughts in a cocky manner since there was nothing he could have listened to. "There's no need to pretend."

"Words truly mean nothing to you?"

He glanced at you from the corner of his eyes.

"They are roots of lies. If you know what people really think, their words loose all meaning."

"But you don't know my real thoughts. Which means my words do need to be meaningful."

"It means you cannot be trusted. Even less than others."

You frowned.

"Does it bother you so much to give up control?", your eyes wandered over the many pictures that had been painted with ink.

"I didn't give it up, it was taken from me!", he hissed.

"Then let me give it back to you. Just... put some trust in my words. Since that's the only thing you can get from me anyways."