Chapter 10
Imogen was angry.
Fury blazed quietly in her steely orbs as she stood outside the palace gates, watching the flames of her son's funeral pyre spiral up to the dark sky. In her heart, it was not so quiet. In her heart, she was screaming.
She'd done a lot of that. Screaming. She woke from nightmares screaming. Then came the crying and the praying. A constant endless cycle of despair since her son's death, a neverending life of misery. It never dampened her pain. She'd hoped it would fade with time... but a week later, she was just as broken as she was that night she'd first seen his dead body, still linked to hers.
Her little boy...
Thor was at her side, looking grave and solemn. His hands were tucked behind his back, wisely not touching her. His instinct was to comfort her, Imogen knew.
But she sent him one warning glare and he knew that was not what she wanted. As much as this agony burned, she didn't want comfort. She wanted to feel it; it was the only reminder she had of her child. She didn't want to share that pain with anyone, selfishly holding it for herself.
The kingdom was laid out before them. Not just the city, but the people, crowds coming in masses to grieve for their passed prince. Candles and grave faces faced the mourning King and Queen across the pyre, offering their sympathy.
Imogen didn't want them there. She didn't want any of this.
Naturally, it had been the court's idea. The public funeral, to unite the kingdom, they'd said... they'd wrenched her dead son from her arms the very morning after he was born. Then that had been it. The matter was taken out of her hands. She never saw him again, not until his little body, wrapped in cloth, was set alight in the fire.
They'd done it to burn her, cast her aside and make her feel useless and unimportant... and stood her here now, displaying her failure to the kingdom.
But she didn't care.
The court could do whatever they wanted, and right now Imogen just didn't care. They could hate her if they wanted to, but they couldn't hate her more than she hated herself. They could shame and ridicule her, but it couldn't make her feel any worse. She didn't want to be liked, or cared for, or to be Queen - she just wanted her son back.
It was all her fault... all hers...
The magic. Imogen was no fool. While others pitied them for their 'misfortune' only Imogen knew the truth and knew it was no accident she'd lost her child. He'd been taken from her. The gods were punishing her for using magic, in the most cruel way possible.
The family were behind her and Thor, blissfully innocent of the reason their beloved grandchild and brother had been taken from them. The court had long since departed. Shelby was with her grandparents, Odin and Frigga cradling the infant like she was their lifeline as they watched the burning from behind Thor and Imogen. Vovla and Aevar were beside the former rulers.
Imogen didn't dare turn to see their miserable faces, just wrapping her arms around herself. She didn't wear her usual gowns. Creams and white were beautiful on her, but today she wore black drapes; the black dress hugged around her body, and a black shawl was draped over her shoulders, concealing every bit of her skin save for her face and hands under a cover of darkness. To match the colour of her heart.
She was supposed to be in bed. The labour had weakened her and her heart was still not recovered, let alone her bruised womb and nether regions. She'd spent every moment since losing her son in bed, but she'd push herself for this, for him.
Imogen didn't know what to do. She'd never felt like this, never lost anybody to death. And the baby who she'd carried and cared for for seven months had to be the first? It was cruel. Too cruel.
She stood diligently before the pyre, watching silent and still. Thor couldn't cry, even though he'd spent plenty of time behind closed doors doing just that. He had a face to maintain in public. Looking grave was the most he was allowed. He was still Asgard's proud, strong king.
Tears streaked shamelessly down Imogen's face though. She didn't have such restrictions - not that she'd let that stop her. One thing she would never let the court do was tell her how to weep for her dead child.
She didn't sob or gasp; tears rolled silently down her cheeks with a deadly beauty, even her eyes not betraying the usual shimmer. They were hard and firm, full of resolve. Resolve for what though, she didn't know. She was trying to hold herself together, in any way she could.
The light started to fall, but Imogen didn't move. The darkening sky only made the flames more bold, more... inviting.
She itched to just walk into the fire and perish with her baby. This pain was unlike anything she'd ever imagined... and she wasn't sure if she could bear it. It broke her. She wanted to be with her boy, wanted more than anything to hold him. She'd never felt such heartbreaking despair, like she truly couldn't face the next day. She wasn't sure how she would do it.
Thunder rumbled darkly in the sky and Imogen's lips pursed. If Thor didn't hold back the rain, she would kill him. He was not going to ruin their son's only moment. Lightning crackled dangerously, betraying the Thunder God's distraught emotions but not a drop of water fell, saving the already saturated ground from his wrath just a while longer. It had rained relentlessly the last week.
Hours had passed and sympathy could only soothe so far, last for so long. One by one, people began to understand that: as the flames fell, the crowd numbers fell with them. Imogen ignored their departure, not caring about the thinning crowd. Who were they? They didn't know the boy. Who were they to grieve or console his parents? Imogen resented them for that, for their familiarity. It was none of their business.
Finally though, the flames started to fall. And people began to leave. One by one, hour by hour, the crowd slowly thinned, until precious few remained.
And then her parents left too.
And Loki.
And Odin and Frigga, taking Shelby with them.
Imogen's hands started to shake, clutching at her upper arms. Her lip began to quiver. She fought to hold herself together; she wanted to stay strong, to hold together...
Then Thor's gentle hand touched her shoulder as he turned his back to the pyre. Imogen hugged her arms tighter around herself, as if it would hold together the pieces of her broken heart. "I'll see you later." he breathed simply, eyes dark as they stared troubled over her shoulder. "Take your time."
Imogen wasn't sure what 'see you later' really meant, but she didn't really care, just wishing he would go. She just wanted to be on her own.
Her teeth dug into her lip as she waited for Thor's footsteps to fade, feeling her spirit crumple with every second. She screwed her eyes shut. She'd fought to hold herself together, refusing to break in front of her family, in front of the whole kingdom... but now it was just her.
Her knees thudded to the ground as the first tears breached her eyes. She choked back the sob that was fighting it's way up her throat, feeling like she was suffocating. She couldn't breathe. They stuck in her throat painfully, like her body knew she shouldn't be here. She should have died. She should have. Not him.
She wasn't sure if it was true or not, but maybe if she had died, the spirits wouldn't have taken her child too. It was her job as his mother to protect him.
And she'd failed.
Her hands fell forward into the mud, fingers curling into the wet dirt as rain began to fall again. She didn't care. She didn't care about anything. Not a thing.
It was all her fault. This was her punishment for using magic, what was strictly forbidden in the land. She knew it was wrong, but she'd done it anyway, selfishly. Not because she wanted another baby, but because she'd wanted what the baby would give them. And the price she'd paid for her selfishness was her son's life.
How could she live with that?
Her hair clung to her face and her clothes to her body as the rain fell back in torrents, and Imogen knew there was no way Thor could be peacefully in their chambers.
Her muddied hand flew to her mouth, eyes wide open as she couldn't hold back an agonised whimper, flooded with guilt.
It was all her fault.
XXX
Imogen knew where she would find him. Not in the bedroom. He was too distraught to simply turn over and sleep.
He'd be in the training room.
She was still wet from outside, dragging a trail of water along the floor with her as she walked through the corridors, but no one stopped her. No one would dare.
Her eyes were glistening still with tears as she moved, feeling numb. In the back of her mind, she knew she ought to go to bed. She'd been up for too long already, and though nothing hurt, her heart ached poignantly. If she pushed it, the pain would come soon enough. And she was definitely pushing it, feeling as weak as she was.
But she wasn't going to go back to that bed alone.
He wasn't there. She knew Thor wasn't in their chambers. There was only one place he would be when his emotions were as torn up as the thundery skies betrayed.
And Imogen trudged there, feeling lifeless.
The only thing she could thing about was him. He didn't even have a name. They'd never named him, and Imogen wished they had. It might dampen the horror somehow, make it feel like not all trace of her child could be swept away. She didn't want to just forget him. Feeling the ache inside her, she wasn't sure if she ever could.
She didn't need to look to where she was going. It was like she was drawn to Thor on tightening elastic, pulling them together again.
She hoped she would find him. The thought that he really could be back in their chambers, ready to sleep, as if nothing had happened.. no, she couldn't bear that. She wanted him to be just as destroyed as she was. It wasn't fair. Perhaps miscarriage would have been easier, but a stillborn... she'd not known anything was wrong until it was too late. So close... so cruel...
Her hand touched at the door to the training room, snapping herself out of her thoughts. Or maybe it was the noise from inside that did that.
Her eyes blinked to life - and another almighty crash drifted through the thick wood of the door. She sucked in a breath in shock, but her eyes watered with relief; he really did care...
Her hand pushed the door open, despite her best instincts, and she slipped inside. She flattened her back against the door in a heartbeat.
Imogen held her breath: he was...outraged.
She saw Thor in the middle of the room, not even noticing she was there as his hands grabbed whatever he could reach and hurled it around the room until it crashed and shattered against the wall. She glimpsed his face - twisted in a snarl, in such absolute rage it hardly looked anything less than animalistic.
He threw everything: swords, racks, hammers, spears, armour and cabinets. Glass shattered against the walls, littering the floor. Everything was a mess. Nothing stood upright, and yet he threw it all still.
There was nothing sane in his face. Dressed so dignified in his armour andred cape, but he didn't act like the king he was. He was insane.
Imogen backed up against the wall, and knew it was all too easily she could be hurt or slain by a flying weapon, but she didn't leave. It made her heart ache with relief to see him like that, as cruel as it was.
The tears were running down her cheeks before she realised it, leaning her back heavily against the door. She couldn't take her eyes off him.
The pain in his heart was written all over his face and Imogen felt her heart beat with longing for it, glad of it. She was happy seeing her husband in pain. It was wrong, but it made her glad. She didn't want to be alone in this grief. She wasn't sure she could bear Thor being just indifferent to their loss of child, not caring...
But he did care and the training room was getting destroyed for it.
He roared as he hurled, such agonised, wounded sounds. He screamed and yelled, and all sense of the gentle god Imogen knew as in there somewhere was gone. This was a beast.
A faint smile touched her lips.
Her knees felt weak and she let them slide her to the ground, never taking her eyes off her husband's brutal display of power.
He'd lost his mind, she breathed in her head, heart flickering with fear as a flung blade clattered to her side, the metal sharp and deadly. It could have hit her, killed her. Her husband had no idea what he was doing.
Yet a part of her didn't mind. Her heart was still glowing at his anguish and she knew she was a horrible person for wanting him to feel this pain but she revelled in it. She'd been so scared he wouldn't care, even though she'd seen him cry in their chambers, seen the hurt in his eyes... but it was a relief to know that he was feeling the same tidal wave she felt inside.
Her legs pushed her shakily to her feet, sliding slowly back up the wall. Thor had fallen to his knees at last, head in hands. His back rose and fell quickly and Imogen knew he was gasping for breath.
She stepped forward. Thor was still, his hands not throwing anything for the first time since Imogen had come here. He was hunched over, head and hands nearly on the floor. Everything was silent, except for the quiet groans and moans that left the crumpled King.
Imogen walked numbly, knowing she should be going in the opposite direction, but she didn't care. Thor was broken, and he needed her. It gave her a sense of purpose, distracted her almost. The pain bubbled and cacooned around her heart but this time it wasn't something she wanted to fight. Like when she'd been on her own in the courtyard with her son's ashes, she let it engulf her.
Her heart ached with a numb pain as she walked forward, until her husband was in reach. She was pretty sure he still didn't know she was there, not making any sign...
She reached out and touched his shoulder.
It was only in that heartbreakin second later she realised how dangerous it was to touch a raving god without warning. He could have hurt her, have turned and attacked her... she wouldn't have stood a chance against him if he'd reacted badly.
She didn't really care. She still felt just as suicidal as she'd been watching the flames of the pyre. Maybe a part of her wanted Thor to hurt her.
He didn't though.
He froze.
Imogen held her breath.
Her hand cupped his shoulder, fingers squeezing at the hard metal snakeskin armour. It was tough, but she knew Thor felt it beneath the molded metal, felt her touch. It was confirmed seconds later - when he turned into her, knelt on the floor and buried his face in her stomach.
She groaned quietly, fluttering her eyes shut; her stomach was still tender, aching, just like the rest of her. It was hardly a normal birth she'd had, destructive to both her baby and her body, feeling ripped apart inside.
Still, she gritted her teeth and weaved her fingers in her husband's hair as his arm hugged around her hips, holding her to him.
She felt his tears moisten though her dress.
XXX
Imogen didn't let anything stop her as she strode through the streets, black drapes billowing back from her body at the pace of her stride like a deadly cloud. She weaved between people, eyes cold, hard and focused ahead as she moved.
There was only one place she wanted to be, one person she wanted to talk to right now.
The anger simmered in her heart again and she let it fire through her veins, consuming her. It guided her steps all the swifter. There was nothing that could stop her now.
Finally, the door came into sight along the line of buildings and Imogen as good as ran for it, ignoring the fact that it was closed. Locked or not, she was coming in. She'd scream and shout if it would get her inside. She was not to wait now, not for this.
The woman's face ghosted in her mind and venomous hatred bubbled to the surface - the witch. If Imogen had not sought her services maybe her son would be here today. The gods wouldn't have taken vengence on her for her lack of faith. She'd taken nature into her own hands and now the gods were punishing her by taking away the fruits of her labour. It was no less than she deserved... but her son...
Her fist pounded on the closed wooden door harshly, over and over again. She expected it to be locked, like it had been when she'd been consulted, but to her surprise the door swung open.
She didn't hesitate to stride through it, gathering her black skirts in hand and pulling them with her.
Two pairs of eyes found her in the doorstep; the witch's big amber orbs, and an innocent customer's brown ones, frowning.
Imogen glared at the spare woman, and saw fear dig into the customer's heart. "My Queen-"
"Get out." Imogen grated in the calmest voice she could muster. She wanted to grab the girl and throw her out the room herself but...still the girl didn't move though, frozen with fear. Imogen didn't have the patience for that today though: "Get out!" she near screamed. "Now!"
She was hysterical, dangerous. Imogen could feel the violent emotions rage through her and knew as the woman scampered out the door that if she'd have hesitated just a moment longer, then some sort of blood would have been drawn.
The second the girl was out, Imogen slammed the door shut and pulled down the board to lock it, barring them from the outside world. They were alone, her and the witch.
The witch stood at the end of the counter, the desk between her and the rampant Queen. If she thought that made her safe then she was wrong, Imogen thought.
The witch's amber eyes were big as ever, gleaming innocently, though a subtly glint betrayed her, a hardness. "My Queen." she said, Imogen only just biting her tongue. Her fists curled at her sides, tangling in the black draped of her skirts, clinging to her control. "I'm so sorry for your loss."
Something panged inside Imogen, something crippling. She resisted the urge to wince at the pain in her heart. The woman's eyes gleamed; she wasn't sorry at all.
Imogen held herself back though, fighting the instinct to launch herself at the witch. She probably wasn't strong enough for that. She'd only collapse, get ordered back to bed for another week... she couldn't have that. She was done lying around.
Her lip curled with hate though as she stared at the witch, trying desperately to restrain herself. "The son you promised me is dead." Imogen spat. "Your magic didn't work." And as trivial as it seemed: "I want my money back."
It was something. Like withdrawing her consent; it made her feel better, like she was trying to redeem herself. Maybe the gods would see it too and take pity on her, not curse her future children too. It was all she could do now.
The woman's dark eyes held firm though, not shaken in the slightest by Imogen's miniature rant: "It worked." she said in a deadly quiet voice. Her eyes glittered and Imogen felt sick, knowing she was about to hear more of magic's trickery. "You asked for a son." she went on calmly. "I gave him to you... it was you who failed to specify the living state you wanted him in."
Imogen's heart stopped... then pounded back again in a rush of hate. No...no, she lied. The witch lied. She had to be...
The Queen's head shook. No, not something else. Not something else that was her fault. The idea she could have saved her boy if she'd been smart enough to add that tiny detail... her fault. All her fault. She was a curse, a demon for that to her child, assuming...
She screwed her eyes shut, and for a moment her guilt washed down her vehemence. In the darkness of her mind, she condemned herself. She hadn't thought it was possible to hate herself any more than she did already, but...
No, something cut off in her head. No, it was the witch. She'd known. It was her fault.
Imogen's heart ached, and she wasn't sure if it was more of the bone crushing guilt or just pure exertion. For her first day out of bed, she'd pushed herself too far... but she'd had to. For this, she had to.
Her eyes hardened as she stared at the witch. The amber orbs stared back mercilessly, uncaring. Her magecraft had helped kill an innocent baby, and yet she didn't care...oh, Imogen longed to make her care. She wished she could report her to Thor. His rage would be furious, his vengence magnificent. The witch would burn for all of Asgard to see if she exposed her to her husband.
But.. so would she. She'd used magic. She'd be condemning herself just the same as the witch. She couldn't expose the woman without exposing herself. And while using magic was bad enough, Imogen - as little as it may seem - didn't want the shame of the kingdom knowing her fertility problems. It would be so horrific. So shameful...
And the court would get what they'd wanted; to shame her and get her out of the way. Law was law.
As much as Imogen hated it, to keep her own life, she had to let the witch get away with it.
Her fists clenched at her sides and she forced herself to bite her tongue. What good could it do now? She could do nothing. Nothing. And the witch knew that, the knowledge secure in her subtly smug amber orbs.
Imogen loathed her...but she could do nothing.
She stepped back, ready to leave. Thor would be looking for her soon and... well, what else could she do here? Her orbs held the woman's though, her promise gleaming. She would get revenge. She didn't know how and she didn't know when... but her little boy would get justice somehow.
That promise gleamed in Imogen's orbs, and even more so in her words; "You'll regret this, witch." she hissed.