“This Duplicate will be him... but he is a Duplicate made off the soul of you, my Lord. Thus, he is you, he will always be you and connected to you. With a single touch between you, all that you know and that he knows will be exchanged between you. Your souls are one when you touch.

“But he will be this personality woven by your Father that you and your soul brought to life and made something unique. He will not be Thor; he will be Doctor Donald Blake.

“Furthermore, he will be a mortal tied directly to the soul of a god. That is irrelevant now, when he IS that god, but on his own... that means he can rise and grow to great things on his own merits and skills, if he should choose to do so!”

Thor’s lifted eyebrows indicated he found the idea interesting, and he glanced down at his own hands. “I would know nothing of medicine and mortal science without my time as Donald Blake,” he admitted softly.

“Those things, and the mortal perspective, are precious insights to a god, for it is very difficult for a god to evolve and change. Consider your own history and how long it took you to climb to being Worthy of the Hammer you bear, and consider more how hard it would be for you to take the throne your father sits upon, were today the day you would have to do so.”

He took a deep breath, clearly shocked at the very idea. “Art thou casting aspirations upon the throne for me, woman?” he asked softly, almost growling.

“No. I am telling you to look at yourself and see how very, very much you do NOT want to be king. This has nothing to do with your father, and everything to do with Thor.”

He lowered his head, brow furrowing at the very idea of taking his father’s throne. The very idea of desiring it was disloyal and unworthy, but if he HAD to take it, were something dire to happen...

He shuddered despite himself, and found himself hoping very much that such a thing was long years away.

“Also, and I mean this most respectfully, your father made Dr. Blake lame as a lesson in humility for his mighty son, learning what it is like to feel weak, even for mortals. Having your Duplicate suffer this, knowing it is an arbitrary decision by your father, well, that is grossly unfair.”

Thor’s eyes widened. “Canst that be changed?”

“We’ll be making him with my magic and the power of Thor. I think you could give Dr. Blake any level of power you think is suitable for him... including superhuman power, if you deem it fit.”

His expression was thoughtful, and he pondered the situation, hopefully from the mortal perspective he had, and he nodded slowly. “This shall I do. What needs be done to make this so, fair Ursula?”

His compliment flew right past her. She had to listen to Fandral whenever he stopped by, after all.

“Not much, really. I need only Cast the spell, and you need to tap down Mjolnir as if you were returning to mortal form. Will this to happen, and it will be done.”

“Very well!” He rose to his full height, Hammer in his hand and waiting. “Let us be about this!”

---

His Hammer came down, and there was a seething hiss of lightning and magic. Instead of his form changing, the already gathered magic coalesced and formed into something completely new kneeling next to the God of Thunder.

Dr. Blake, his hand on Mjolnir, met the eyes of Thor in both surprise and acceptance. They stared at one another for a moment, and Thor laughed and clapped his hand over the smaller grip of the mortal he had been.

“Best of luck, Donald!” Thor grinned encouragingly, and Dr. Blake smiled despite himself.

They both got back up, and Dr. Blake was noticeably standing taller and straighter than before. He clenched his hands in satisfaction, and naturally had no walking stick to lean on, or need to do so.

“One minor point before you depart for Asgard, Lord Thor,” Ursula smiled at the both of them. “Dr. Blake, a two-digit number divisible by seven. Lord Thor, a two-digit number divisible by four.” She waited a moment. “Shake hands,” she directed them.

Surprised, the two men did so, and both of them blinked at the same time.

“Twenty-four!” Dr. Blake said.

“Forty-nine!” Thor nodded.

“Every time you touch. You are Bound by Thunder.” Ursula smiled again. “Safe journey, Lord Thor.”

“Your Grace,” smiled the god in return, earning a pleased smile in return. Mjolnir whirled in the room, forming a Portal to the Shining Realm, and Thor stepped through promptly and was gone.

As the Portal dissipated, Ursula turned to Dr. Blake, and asked knowingly, “I have my suspicions on what that look between the two of you entailed, Doctor!”

He shook out his sleeves and smiled meaningfully. “I think I just might ask Jane Foster to marry me now, Your Grace.”

Ursula’s eyes sparkled, as she clapped in delight. “How wonderful! I shall be pleased to oversee the ceremony, if you are willing! Where might I send you? I do not want the curious to see you exiting the temple alone.”

“I think I would like to make a phone call, and then if you could send me off to Central Park.” His smile only grew wider.

------

One call to a certain lovely nurse wondering if she might want to join him on a walk around the town later, he was whistling as he was teleported away. He also had a golden ring in his pocket which Ursula had adjusted on the moment to include Jane Foster’s name in Nordic Runes.

In the back of Ursula’s mind, Amora’s dissatisfaction radiated at seeing this mortal sliver of Thor about to become so happy without her involvement, and at how Ursula had arranged for so many matters for Asgard without tweaking them to her own benefit.

But the Enchantress had no influence over Duplicate Thrice whatsoever, and was out of the game while she was merged with a mortal who did not let her out. Given Ursula’s magic overwhelmed Amora’s, as did her mental Stats, it was clear who was the master of their joined state. Amora’s Asgardian heritage was allowing Ursula to masquerade as a part-Asgardian herself and allowed her to use Asgardian magic, although Amora’s style was completely dominated by Valence magic. Being an Ur-Priestess meant she could wield Faith Magic from any god without their permission, let alone with it...

Amora could only approve of being the high priestess of the burgeoning Church of the Aesir on Earth, and only remonstrate that Ursula was not exploiting her status, THEIR status, to get closer to Thor... and eventually, the throne of Asgard...

=============

Speaking of abuse, ahem harrah...

If you're not reading this on Royal Road, you're helping pay a thief. Please read it in its original home, it's still free! You get the foreword and afterword, author comments, and comments from people with questions! I have not given permission for this story to be posted ANYWHERE ELSE.

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Dealer popped up on the Great Seal in Wakanda, set aside in a secure but quiet section of the Royal Compound. A beeping alarm went off quietly at the dimensional folding, signifying someone had arrived there on it, and she waited politely for a guard to arrive to investigate.

Pashtela, one of the Dora Milaje, arrived soon enough, dressed all up in her vibranium-laced armor. Dealer smiled at one of the elite bodyguards of the King of Wakanda, drifting back and forth in the air as she waited there, hands clasped behind her back.

“You are... The Dealer?” the bodyguard asked curiously, eying the dark-haired and very fair-skinned woman in front of her, dressed in a modified croupier’s outfit and a plain white mask that clung to her face without straps or strings, only seeming to accent her deep blue eyes.

“I am!” Dealer replied cheerfully, sketching a short partial bow. “Greetings to a Guardian of the King! I am here to see Lady Ororo, and was told she was in the capital. It is concerning a one-time magical opportunity of some urgency.”

“I see. A moment.” The Dora Milaje turned away, and spoke into her commlink in Wakandan. Although Human had swept the world and even come to the reclusive nation of Wakanda, the old tongue was still maintained, and was even more effective in a world where knowledge of other tongues was dying out.

Dealer made no sign that she understood everything being said. Polyglots learned every language they could as a matter of course.

“There have been some difficulties in the north.” That was polite speech for ‘zealot raiders coming in and shooting things and people because Wakandans are weak and have stuff we want, rarrgh.’ “Ororo is preparing to depart with the King to address matters there.”

“Oh, so you want me to tag along while I talk to her. Good enough.” It was actually a ‘come back when we aren’t so busy’, but in terms of relative importance, one was a once-in-a-lifetime chance, and the other was a stupid military action by idiots the Wakandans could stomp with both hands tied-up. “We’ll have to leave fairly quickly, that’s why I came in person.”

The bodyguard gave her a look, spoke some more, and finally nodded in resignation. “Please follow me.”

“Certainly.” Dealer maintained her hands-clasped posture, and if the Dora was really wondering how she was managing to levitate above the floor in a Stillflight Field, it was not her problem. Steps of a Mage didn’t trip Stillflight, being geomagnetism similar to the levitation of a Disk, after all.

------

The hanger area was a few minutes away, and feeling pressured despite herself, the Dora trotted the whole distance, Dealer effortlessly keeping exactly two paces behind her the whole way.

They came out into an open area with several advanced aircraft ready to depart, one transport with two escorts. Wakandan soldiers were filing into the latter, while a pair of Dora were ready in one escort, and the King of Wakanda and his unofficial consort were standing by the other.

Heads turned at a Caucasian suddenly showing up here, but Dealer ignored them all easily, zipping on up to greet the King. “Your Royal Majesty,” she bowed deeply in greeting, smiling cheerfully at the handsome Wakandan King in his black battle armor. “You are looking as magnificent as normal, King T’Challa,” she said with her normal unhurried calm and sincerity.

“Dealer,” he greeted her with a bow of his head, crossing his arms and smiling slightly in return. “You are far from your normal tables, and your restaurant. Have you come to steal more of my cooks?” he asked of her.

“The Wakandan cuisine line has found some great fans among the alien races, and your supplies of fresh ingredients has been timely and astute. T’Moga and his people are having a good time, and their other activities have, I trust, been productive for Wakanda.”

Using the credits gained from their sales towards acquiring an array of subtler technology was one of the jobs of the ‘helpers’ to the chefs sent off with her on the Colosseum. In the interests of sharing the technology gained, Dealer was also letting them use her funds, and if they asked, even dipped into the Baxter funds, and as there were a couple Tribal agents among her servers, even those monies if needed.

“They have been having great fun, and the workouts are exemplary, I have been informed,” he laughed, finding Dealer as easy-going as always. “You have come to see Ororo?” he asked, looking at his unofficial consort. Unofficial because she had not agreed to it, rather than him not offering the position and even the queenship to her.