Part 2 of 2
"God, I call on thee to heal me. Remember me, mild one Most we need thee. Drive out, O king of suns, generous and great, every human sorrow from the city of the heart."
"Watch over me, mild one, Most we need thee, truly every moment in the world of men. send us, King Russ, good causes, all aid is from thee, in my heart."
Thor shook his head as he looked at Ragnar's back; if that hymn speaks of your faith, then your faith is enough to tame a mighty wolf. It sings of human impotence and dependence. Yet at the same time, the Asgardian knew he could rule out the possibility of Ragnar coming from a world which worshipped the Norse pantheon; we ennobled those who venerated us, we did not demand their servitude. We fought alongside them. Whatever faith you profess, it is akin to that servile carpenter religion.
And today, that faith nearly drove you to take innocent lives. He remembered the chainsword in Ragnar's grip; it was the weapon of a holy warrior. It still sat embedded in the floor of the sublevels' corridor. Those Midgardians who worshipped me considered me their protector; I shall do just that he thought as he began to approach the taller man.
The irregular light of the flames made his hair look redder than usual; the sound of his footfalls would have been overheard by the Space Wolf already. "What God do you sing to?" the Asgardian asked in a surprisingly soft voice. The thunderer's expression remained inquisitive and neutral.