Odin awoke feeling fresher than he had felt in years. Sleep was not exactly new to him, but he was doing it far more frequently now than he did on Asgard. At first he had pretended to sleep each night, so as not to alarm the Midgardians. That was before he'd realized that people of his age were not, in fact, expected to sleep all that much. But lately sleep came more and more naturally. It was peaceful, but the Brother of Villi was not unaware of the implications. Death was creeping closer and closer. But the Ruler of the Slain was not one to wallow in such worries. He had learned to enjoy waking up every morning, made all the more precious by the knowledge that one of these days, perhaps, he would not.

Today was different, of course. Frail as he was, the One-Eyed One was still a god, and the future was not as opaque to him as it was to others. He spent the morning gossiping with Doris and Matilda, making them blush with his war stories. He had to change the names and dates and places, of course, but the Master of Spears had become well enough versed in contemporary Midgardian history to do so effortlessly, and it was not for naught that he had been called the Delight of Frigga. The thought of her still brought a stab of sorrow, but it was no longer as overwhelming as it used to be, and it was certainly better than the other stabs he felt every now and then. He went on to play several hands with Joshua and Reggie and Matthews, all three veterans of Dunkirk, a battlefield somewhere south of here. They, of course, thought the Father of Songs was full of it, but they humored him nevertheless. The God of Runes knew a charm that let him make friends of the most implacable enemies, did he not?

For lunch, the Son of Bor ate a boiled vegetable salad and a thick chicken soup. He'd worked up quite the appetite, working on his little garden, but was soon feeling rather full. He was restless through the afternoon's ritual of gathering around the television and kept sneaking out to the balcony and staring at the sky. It was a dull, cloudy grey now, so much unlike the bright blue of the morning. Little old Jennifer followed him out on the fourth visit to the balcony.

"Everything alright, Ethan?" Loki's little joke was to enter his name as Ethan Branson. Odin hadn't had the heart to correct the poor Midgardians. He looked down from the sky and said distractedly, "My son was supposed to visit today."

"Your son? I've never seen him here before."

"Yes, well, he is a rather busy one," the Son of Bestla smiled. He knew the corner of his eyes crinkled when he smiled, and he knew it made people feel better just to see it.

"Yes, they do that, don't they?" Jennifer took his arm and led him to a lawn chair. "I haven't seen my little Jenny in two years now, can you believe it? She'd be 12 now, I reckon. Or was it 13?"

"Your daughter comes to visit every month," it was simply a statement.

"She never brings the little ones, though. What was the name of the tot? Harry – no, Henry, I think," Jennifer sighed and sank into her chair, shrinking under the weight of her years. Odin Mimir's-friend stared at her for a few moments. Through her he could see her people – James Connors, who'd died when his plane crashed into the Atlantic, his son, Kevin, working as a junior scribe in a large advocating agency; Barbara Brigham, the overworked single mother of two, Jenny and Harry Brigham, bright children with fair hair and grey eyes. There was danger in their future. A shadow lay not only across their lives, but across all of Midgard, and they were none the wiser.

Wisdom was a terrible burden. Jenny and Harry and Kevin would live their lives oblivious of the threat, and when it came, they would be swept away before the tide before they ever heard the surf. But the Gallows-god was not to be given such comfort. He knew it was coming – the twilight of the gods, the end of all good things, Ragnarok –and there was nothing he could do about it. But the Raven-tester was not so easily dismayed. All things must die, but death needn't be the end. Perhaps he would leave a legacy yet. His eye spotted a blur passing across the clouds. It landed beyond the trees surrounding the compound.

The Odinsons had arrived.

Odin was waiting expectantly in the common room when Loki walked in, followed closely by Thor. Heads turned as they made their way across the room. Odin raised his eyebrow at their Midgardian guises – Thor with the leather jacket and jeans, Loki in the tailored silk suit. "You are late," he said, turning his eye from the one to the other, "I have been expecting you."

"I came as soon as I was sure of Asgard's safety, father," Thor pulled out a chair and sat down. The chair creaked dangerously under his weight. Loki remained standing. Thor shot him a sideways scowl and said lowly, "Loki will pay for his treachery, this I assure you."

Odin waved a hand magnanimously. "None of that matters now."

"Indeed," Thor straightened in his chair, prompting more creaks, "We will leave as soon as you are ready, father. The realms will rejoice to see their liege returned."

"I won't be going back to Asgard, Thor."

Thor looked at him incredulously. Then he turned and snapped, "Loki, if you do not remove your spell, I shall-"

"No, Thor," Odin said soothingly, then added to Loki, "I broke your spell nearly a year ago. It was well done, boy. Frigga would have been proud."

Loki blinked, trying to hide his reaction, like always. He is more like me than he will ever know, much less admit. "Life on Midgard has its appeal," Odin continued, "I see now why it brought so profound a change in you so very quickly. We of Asgard measure our lives in Cycles – the turning of the universe itself about the trunk of great Yggdrasil. Yet in little more than two such cycles, the humans of Midgard have gone from mud hovels and foraging to skyscrapers and microwaving. Life moves fast here – as it should. A thing isn't beautiful because it lasts," he paused, looking at the faces of his sons, waiting for them to understand.

Loki got there first. It was fascinating, watching his carefully sculpted composure darken in confusion, then make way for disbelief, break into shock and then relapse into studied calm. Thor was not so subtle as that.

"You cannot mean what I think you mean," Thor nearly stood up, "Tell me I misunderstand, father."

"It is my time, Son. I can hear your mother calling to me."

"No," Thor whispered. "No, no," he held Odin's wrinkled hand in his own, paused as he reflected on their weakness, then looked into his eye. "The realms need you, father. I need you. Surtur-"

"I felt the seal on Muspelheim break," Odin mused, "It is a sign of Ragnarok, Thor, as is my passing. No, no, do not grieve for me; I am old, older than even you could understand, my son, and death is but an old friend. No, you must be strong now, stronger than ever before, to shoulder the burden I am leaving you. Forgive me, Thor, that I could not be a better father."

"No," Thor's voice broke and he looked at his feet for a moment, "You were a great father. It was I who defied and frustrated you. I failed you, both as son and subject, and for that I am sorry." Thor lowered his head on Odin's hand. Odin placed his other on his head in consolation.

"For what it's worth," Loki broke in, "I fear I made a terrible mistake in banishing you. In my defense, I truly believed it would help you cope with your grief. Had I known the future, I should not have done what I did."

Thor looked up, his eyes filled with angry tears. "You! It was not enough that you tried to murder me and my friends and enslave those under my protection, but you had to usurp our father as well! Were it not for you-"

"Enough, Thor, Loki," Odin grimaced as another stab of pain shot out from inside him. "Do not blame yourselves or each other. As I have said, it is my time," he closed his eyes and took deep breaths to bury the pain. "There are more important matters to discuss now. Matters of state. Matters of life and death."

Thor turned to Odin again and took his hand in his own, his eyes pleading. "Father, please," he implored, "We can discuss all of it back on Asgard, after the healers have looked at you. Whatever happens, surely you would wish to return to the Golden Realm."

Odin looked at his son and sighed. "I am afraid, Thor, that it will no longer be possible for me to return to Asgard. Besides, there is nothing on Asgard that I need anymore. No, I wish to spend my last moments here, in peace, with my sons."