It was no matter of principle, nor pride for Thor to drop everything—figuratively and literally—and chase after you. The bitter condemnation of his father was heavy, the Homeworld was a dead world, what concern was it of Asgard’s that one of their own was taken? What concern but Thor’s as that which he admired most was taken. His father could argue semantics about the Homeworld all his long life, but Thor would not falter.
None dares stand in his way. He made no secret of his departure, his steps to the Bifrost louder than the thunder he commanded. Heimdall stood before him, sword poised from its usual stance. “Shall we draw blood before I depart?” Thor hoped it would not come to that.
“Nay, no might will halt you,” Heimdall responded, “I only ask your ear, for your own sake. Wherever he was taken, I cannot see, should you follow, my eyes may not do the same.”
Thor acknowledged the words spoken as greatly as he cared for them, he patted Heimdall’s shoulder as he passed. “Inform my mother last,” he attempted to jest, the All-Mother’s wrath was second only to the All-Father, her sorrow first. Thor only hoped her tears would not reach him wherever he was to be, he’d rather his mind honed on finding you.