Word spread that the All-Father Odin desired a companion once more. Whispers spread through out the realm, as well as the others. No one questioned his place, only his heart. Frigga's star continued to burn brightly. Thor knew naught of it and rumours were just rumours, unsubstantiated, unproven and imprecise. If Odin has chosen someone, they will never know for what and why, for the King remained secretive and kept his knowledge close to his breast.
A young man, with starlight in his veins (the wanderer of mists, they mumbled to themselves, both suspicious and awed. It has been many eons since Asgard considered travelling beyond the realms) arrived some years later in Asgard and Odin had his counsel. He was never far from Odin and tongues wagged, but none dared. No one dared. Thor met the man, the Kirk briefly, shook his head at him and his father before leaving.
If he had doubts, they were not said to the other.
The man of Kirk, son of George and the captain of stars had settled in easily enough. His laughter was bright and infectious and his tone was one the Asgardians knew as their own; merry and spontaneous, quick to anger, quick to sorrow, quick to burst forth from the barrels. Yet, there was an age in his eyes, a mortal human age, that held them back from truly knowing him.
And the King demanded much of his time and expertise.
In the long nights, for cold touched Asgard's moons and suns, the people saw the light in the King's tower and felt the brief stab of hope. A stab that hurt and a stab that they carried with them.