Wrapped in tense silence, Heimdall sat on the wall with one leg dangling over the edge. He had pulled the other leg to his chest to rest his arm on his knee.

Although it was his job to watch the world outside the wall, he couldn't help but glance over his shoulder every now and then.

Something in the back of his mind drove him to stand up and take four steps back towards the gondola.

But when he could see over the other side of the wall to Asgard he remembered again what his task was.

He stopped. But his eyes could not tear themselves away from the houses in the gorge.

Even though he was standing so high up, looking over the whole of Asgard, he knew exactly where his eyes had to go to see the house he had chosen to hide you in.

Everything was quiet.

The streets were hardly busy and the ordinary people were working.

Why had he found it so important to take you to another place?

He couldn't remember the last time he had cared about anyone. If he ever had.

And yet.

As soon as your face appeared in his mind's eye, that gentle smile on your lips that he had hated like nothing else when you first met, he couldn't help but get nervous.

He had to keep your existence a secret. At least until he found a better solution.

Now that he had the opportunity to experience silence without loneliness for the very first time in his endless existence, he wanted to guard this gift as if it were worth more than gold.

But he knew very well that his father would never allow that. Not as long as the fear of Ragnarok held him hostage.

Now that he thought about it, Heimdall could not remember the last time he had faced his father without him obsessively trying to connect the end of the world.

He smiled bitterly at the thought.

No, the All-Father did not want to prevent the end of the world. He wanted to prevent what would inevitably happen through Ragnarok. His own death. And even though Odin always found the most beautiful words to justify his obsession, to make it look like he was doing it for everyone, his son also knew that it was all nothing but a lie.

After all, Heimdall was born with the curse to read minds. That did not exclude his own father. Even if he probably would have liked to try to avoid it.

As if in a trance, he suddenly raised his hand to hold it to his ear. As if it would help him hear better, Heimdall listened.

There were so many voices. So many thoughts.

He could hear everything. The cries of the birds, the rustling of the clouds. And he could feel it too.

Only what he would have liked to hear was denied him.

The soft sound of your voice.

How strange.

Why did he suddenly crave the company of a creature that was not an animal?

Even magical creatures sometimes gave him no peace.

He hated humans because he knew that their words never reflected what they thought or felt.

But with you it was different.

He enjoyed it when you whispered words to him, even if he didn't believe in them. And when you told stories, he didn't care if they were true or if you just made them up to humour him.

In the end, what mattered to him was that he didn't go to bed alone, and he didn't have to wake up alone any more.

He had lived like this for too long.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he sucked in a deep breath and shook his head.

He had to return to his work. The All-Father would be angry if he didn't.

The thought sent shivers down his spine.

He had not taken two steps back to the edge of the wall when Heimdall suddenly stopped.

A sweet scent rose to his nose.

Surprised, his lips opened a crack as his gaze caught on some round shapes that had been placed on a stone.

Apples.

His mouth watered at the sight.

Heimdall hated to admit it, but apples were among his favourite things the nine realms had to offer.

They were simple fruits, neither particularly sweet yet sour when he felt like it. The skin was hard but the core soft and if the flesh was a little juicy he could also quench his thirst.

He didn't want to believe it, but you must have put the apples there before you returned. After all, you knew he would return to the wall.

When it dawned on him that this was a gesture of care, just for him, he had to fight back a wave of anger.

Gritting his teeth, he grabbed one of the fruits and closed his fingers around it so tightly that cracks appeared through the deep red shell.

Juice dripped out and ran down his fingers. It was sticky.

But at the same moment the rage disappeared and a hint of despair appeared in his eyes.

His mind did not want to understand why you had left him apples.

He didn't want to believe that you had done it to take care of him, whether he was hungry or just craving apples.

Whatever it was, it meant you were fond of him.

The thought frightened him because not only had it never happened before but he feared it could be a trap. He did not want to make himself vulnerable.

And yet he lifted the fruit to his mouth and bit out a piece.

It was strange, but Heimdall had never eaten such an apple before. It was sweet, sweeter than he had expected from an apple, but not so sweet that it made him sick.

As soon as the first bite was swallowed, he felt the urge to take another bite. The skin was hard but not like wax and the flesh juicy but not moist. It was the perfect apple.

He frowned in mesmerisation.

But he didn't have a moment to wonder why your fruit was so tasty.

At the next moment, his ears responded to a sound.

Someone was climbing the wall.