"Is that it?" Amund asks, pointing ahead at a small cottage.
"Yes, that is it." Narvi smiles to see Hela waiting outside. He introduces her to his companion, and they enter the house, waiting for Narvi's parents to join them. Surely they are not far behind.
Sigyn and Loki's home is much more simple now that both Hela and Vali are on their own. She has decorated it with Loki's signature green, still as much in love with it now as she was while growing up. The doting admiration she still has for her husband is echoed all over the house.
Vali's room, now Narvi's guest room, has been cleaned somewhat. He enters with Amund to raid the bookcase, and possibly find some to take back with them. Narvi is eager to take all of them off the shelf, but he is embarrassed at the very likely possibility that when he opens their bindings, he will not be able to read the contents inside.
"I will help you, Narvi. Pick whichever ones you want."
He nods, and searches the titles for anything the might look familiar. He is struck with the understanding that he can hardly read the titles themselves. Narvi wants to choose two or three about weaponry, and one on magic. This green one seems to be authored by his own father, which is fitting. Loki was spectacularly brought up in the old Asgard, and is well suited as an authority on the subject. Narvi is wishing he had the pleasure of continuing his education with Loki, despite his more comfortable interest in spending time with his mother as a child. Vali's room is full of reminders that tell Narvi how far behind he is.
But on the bed is a surprise, wrapped in an unassuming gray blanket. Sigyn comes up the stairs and sees both Amund and Narvi going through the bookcase; she does not sense Narvi's apprehension. Her presence interrupts the selection.
"My loves, I am preparing a meal in the kitchen. Amund, why don't you join us, and Narvi, why don't you open your gift before coming downstairs?" She glances to the wrapped bundle on the bed, and leads Amund to the kitchen. Sigyn smiles at her son with a raised eyebrow, anxious to see how he'll take to it. Narvi is still staring at the pile of blankets when she closes the door behind her.
Narvi unwraps the gift, not sure of what he'll find. On top is the cape that Grid made for him, embroidered with careful patterns along the edge. He lifts it up and spreads the sheet out again, admiring it. Narvi hasn't been familiar with purple in many years, as it is not a natural shade on Einheim, or Narvlheim for that matter. But he does still love it, and is flattered that his nanny would work so hard to make such a fantastic show of color.
Beneath the cape is another grand gesture: his father's old golden armor. Or, at least an altered replica; the metal is true yellow gold, and it has been puckered with tiny hammers. Someone spent years on this piece as well. It has wide clasps at the top, clearly meant to fasten the cape.
But Narvi is again behind with this, for as he stares at the armor, he has no idea where to begin with putting it on. The revelation makes him feel sad, adolescent, and left out. The black underarmor and boots that accompany the outfit are the only pieces that Narvi understands. He weeps quietly in Vali's room, unsure how he will get out of this mess.
...
Amund and Sigyn go downstairs to the kitchen to meet Hela and wait for Narvi. Hela is keeping to herself, writing in a journal. Their interaction is awkward, because Amund cannot speak and Sigyn does not know his sign language. But she tries the best she can to make the elf feel welcome.
"I am so glad my son has you, Amund, and that he has not been alone. Thank you for all you do for him."
Amund smiles, and responds with a simple gesture that clearly means, "you're welcome."
"I see that you both were admiring the books in Vali's room. If you want to take some with you, I am more than happy to let you have them!" Sigyn is overexcited at the prospect of welcoming the elf into the family. To her, this is just the sort of opportunity she needs to pick up where she left off in having Narvi close by.
Amund gives Sigyn a sad look. He makes some gestures that she does not understand. She tilts her head.
"I'm sorry, Amund, I don't understand. Is there a problem with the books?"
He nods. Amund points and looks towards the doorway, then back at her.
"A problem with Narvi?"
He nods again. Sigyn pries, and asks him what the problem is, as Narvi used to love the books when he sat with her as a child.
Amund thinks for a moment how he should communicate with her, and debates if he should say anything at all. But when he sees the honest concern in Sigyn's eyes, he figures she is the only one who might be appropriate to tell.
He puts his hands in front of him, the outside edges of the palms and pinkies together. It is an obvious pantomime of a book. Amund moves his head from side to side in an animated fashion, mimicking reading, using his fingers to trace the invisible writing. He then looks back at the doorway and back again, and nods side to side, very slowly, to say 'no.' The gesture alone is almost crudely simple, but Amund's message is clear:
"He can't read."
Sigyn sits back in her chair, and moves her eye contact from Amund to the wall. She didn't consider that Narvi's time away would have left him without the basic skills she wanted so badly to teach him. Sigyn asks Amund more questions.
"Are... are you sure? Anything at all?"
"A little. He can read a little."
"And... and writing? Anything?"
"I don't know."
Sigyn is disappointed with herself. She somehow thought that Narvi's age would gave been enough, but obviously forgot that the boy was isolated from real civilization for such a long time. She takes Amund's hands in hers, and looks at him with genuine appreciation.
"Thank you, Amund. We will have to do something about that."
Amund nods, clearly valuing the same skills that Sigyn does. He smiles at her, and says a simple statement, one she is able to piece together like the rest:
"Thank you. I love to read. I would love the books."
...
There is a quiet knock on the door of Vali's bedroom. Narvi turns away from it, not wanting to face anyone who might enter. But his father Loki comes in anyway; it is the first time he has been alone with Narvi since the boy's arrival.
"Do you need help, Narvi?" The boy does not respond; he is wiping his face, embarrassed.
"Narvi, please turn around." Loki walks to his son, and places his hand on Narvi's shoulder. The boy does turn to face his father, but cannot look him in the eye. He has dressed in the underarmor, but still holds the golden breastplate, unsure what to do next. His meekness has made him somewhat overly modest, not wanting to ask for help for fear of looking inadequate and out of place. Narvi already feels as if he doesn't belong here, and this realization that his family's status is so high above his own makes him feel like running back to the Bifrost and never returning.
"It is my honor to help you with this, my son. I know you are unfamiliar with such things. But I promise, you will look grand." Loki smiles, almost with an expression of mischief, which he hopes will draw Narvi out of the childlike shell and into the rights he was born to.
Narvi is still apprehensive, but his father makes him feel assured that he will learn this, too, in time.
Loki helps his son get dressed in the armor, first showing him the hidden clasps along the side. Narvi raises his arms but still can't look his father in the eye. Loki stops before wrapping it around him:
"I taught Vali to do this as well, though he was much younger than you are now. Don't be embarrassed, son." Narvi finally meets his gaze, and nods quickly; such words are a comfort but they cannot make him feel whole just yet. Loki then hands the gilded plate to Narvi, instructing him how to hold it shut while he examines the fit. Like a glove, it fits him precisely. The shape accentuates Narvi's young body, much in the same way it did Loki years ago. His father fastens the purple cape to the top of the golden cage of metal, and gives Narvi a quick lesson in how to walk without tripping before presenting the boy down the stairs to his mother.