Many heart-felt thanks to DarthxErik for showing me the song I've been searching for to fill this first section!
First Section: "Heyr Himnasmiður" (Try to find a male chorus, singing slowly, and resounding. You can find this on youtube, as well as the translation); then Gladiator Soundtrack: "Sorrow."
Second Section: Return of the King soundtrack "Into the West"
Third Section: Braveheart Soundtrack "Murron's Burial."
Fourth Section: Thor 1 soundtrack "Science and Magic."
VVVVV
CHAPTER TWELVE
Lay down your sweet and weary head
Night is falling
You have come to journey's end.
Sleep now, and dream of the ones who came before.
They are calling
From across a distant shore.
Why do you weep?
What are these tears upon your face?
Soon you will see
All of your fears will pass away.
Safe in my arms,
You're only sleeping.
What can you see
On the horizon?
Why do the white gulls call?
Across the sea
A pale moon rises
The ships have come to carry you home.
-Into the West
Jane paused in the middle of a dim, empty corridor, her gaze gradually drifting up toward the cathedraled ceiling. Her long robes settled around her as her footsteps slowed and halted. She drew in a deep breath—and held it.
The flames of the torches ensconced in the cedar-thick pillars cast a steady and solemn light upon the white polished marble floors, up the sides of the ancient supports into the arms of the arched, stony rafters, casting it all in dulled gold and rich, fragrant darkness.
Jane held her breath.
And listened.
After the eerie incident in the throne room, one of the graceful, white-clad healing apprentices had finally drawn a muddled Jane into one of the small rooms in the palace and wordlessly, with listless eyes, had performed tactile magic on both of Jane's ears. After two quick snaps and flashes, her hearing had faded back in. She had begun to detect her own breathing first, then the rustle of skirts, the breath of wind at the curtains…weeping in the far corners of the palace…
Now, after the apprentice had cleaned the blood from her neck, Jane had been set loose to wander wherever she wanted. None of the healers or guards seemed to mind or care what she did, and Thor wasn't anywhere to be found. And so she had left the little white room, and ventured out into the vast, looming silence of the fortress, the swish of her skirts rising all around her…
Until she heard it.
Singing.
Perhaps only a handful of men's voices—but such a chamber as this caught and amplified and wafted the song through the halls and wings. The song's ancient and ageless stoic sorrow swelled all around her, and held her captive.
"Heyr, himna smiður,
hvers skáldið biður.
Komi mjúk til mín
miskunnin þín.
Því heit eg á þig,
þú hefur skaptan mig.
Eg er þrællinn þinn,
þú ert drottinn minn."
Jane bit the inside of her cheek, her whole chest clenching with an agonizing cocktail of joyous relief and…a terrible, heavy ache. She swallowed, and wrapped her arms around herself. Keeping her feet as quiet as she could, she started forward again, her eyebrows drawing together as she searched the unfamiliar passageways for a face she knew.
"Guð, heit eg á þig,
að þú græðir mig.
Minnst þú, mildingur, mín,
mest þurfum þín.
Ryð þú, röðla gramur,
ríklyndur og framur,
hölds hverri sorg
úr hjartaborg."
A tall carved door in the wall ahead to her right stood slightly ajar. She blinked, hesitating as she studied the spill of light. Biting her lip, she edged toward it, rested her hand on the wall and peeked around the doorframe into the room beyond.
The whole universe—and her heart—stopped.
A simple, small, brown-stone chamber filled with torchlight waited there. She could hear the faint trickle of running water, and the whisper of clothing in some adjoining room.
And upon a low marble bed lay Loki's body, a lavender velvet cloth embroidered with gold covering him from the waist down. The bare skin of his chest, arms, throat and face, bearing a pallor whiter than snow—
Except for the black, spidery, vein-like scars that trailed down his neck, across his shoulders and down the back of his right arm, which was the only one she could see from here. And the great wound in the center of his chest. His profile; handsome, grave and peaceful—as if asleep. But all of him utterly still.
And beside him, on a short wooden stool, sat Thor.
"Gæt þú, mildingur, mín,
mest þurfum þín,
helzt hverja stund
á hölda grund.
Send þú, meyjar mögur,
málsefnin fögur,
öll er hjálp af þér,
í hjarta mér."
Thor wore servant's clothes. A linen kilt and wrap-around, sleeveless tunic bound by a sash. He was barefoot, as well. His long hair was bound back, away from his dark, frowning face. And his broad hands…
Worked gently and steadily to stitch Loki's heart wound shut.
His left hand grasped a rag, which he pressed against Loki's skin to hold it in place. The other drew the needle and thread through, up, and back down. He never turned his attention from his work, painstaking and careful.
Jane pressed a hand over her mouth.
Movement.
She sucked in a startled breath—it hurt.
Another woman healer, around the queen's age, with fiery red hair, wan face and shining eyes, came into the room. Jane recognized her instantly—she was the one who had rushed in, seen Loki, and started to sob…
Her long robes flowed behind her as she carried a large bowl of steaming water in both hands. She set it gingerly down on a wooden table that she then picked up and carried over to the stone table, just above Loki's head. She then drew up a stool and settled on it like a swan, then reached out with both hands and began combing her fingers through Loki's long black hair. Carefully tugging it out from beneath his head and shoulders, letting it fall down into the bowl of water. She took water in her palms, lifted it, and poured it over his hair, then worked it into his scalp and his locks with soothing, methodical movements. The scent of roses flooded the air. And as she worked, the woman took a breath, and quietly began to sing.
"The sky is dark and the hills are white
As the storm-king speeds from the north to-night;
And this is the song the storm-king sings,
As over the world his cloak he flings:
'Sleep, sleep, little one, sleep;'
He rustles his wings and gruffly sings:
'Sleep, little one, sleep…"
Jane gasped, her trembling hand moving from her mouth to her throat. Neither Thor nor the woman heard her. At least, they didn't act as if they did. Thor didn't look up at the woman—he just kept stitching, and she kept washing Loki's hair, even as she sang. The gently singing water accompanied her soothing voice.
"On yonder mountain-side a vine
Clings at the foot of a mother pine;
The tree bends over the trembling thing,
And only the vine can hear her sing:
'Sleep, sleep, little one, sleep;
What shall you fear when I am here?
Sleep, little one, sleep…"
Jane sank down onto her knees onto the cold, hard floor, unable to pull away, unable to look anyplace else. The woman lifted Loki's hair out of the bowl, squeezed it out gently, and set the bowl aside. Then, she picked up a golden comb, and began pulling it through the knots and tangles, working each one out with infinite patience. Thor kept stitching, his hands never shaking. And the woman kept singing.
"The king may sing in his bitter flight,
The pine may croon to the vine to-night,
But the little snowflake at my breast
Liketh the song I sing the best.
'Sleep, sleep, little one, sleep;
Weary thou art, anext my heart;
Sleep, little one, sleep…'"
Jane turned around, turned away, squeezing her eyes shut. She faced that dark corridor and leaned back against the doorframe, pulling her knees up to her chest, desperately wondering if that young healer could undo her magic, and leave Jane without her hearing after all.
VVVVV
Jane closed her eyes, and took a deep breath.
Fresh, spring morning flooded her lungs.
And the scent of the sea pierced her through.
She opened her eyes, swallowing hard, and gripping her hands together. She stood at the back of the warm, golden, stone banquet hall, which was bordered by stairs, then a far landing that led to a surrounding balcony supported by broad pillars. Beyond those pillars shone the brilliant, pure sunshine which spilled down over a spectacular view of the colorful city of Asgard, and glimmered against the ribbon of Asbru bridge that stretched out toward infinity.
Crowds of silent courtiers filled the hall, dressed in elegant, dark, draping robes, their heads covered, their beautiful heads lowered. Jane, wearing a long, simple black dress with a silver belt, hesitated behind all of them, leaning her left shoulder against a pillar, remaining where she was: on the opposite landing from the one where he lay.
Upon a white marble bier, which had a forest of trees carved into its sides, Loki lay in state, his noble head resting upon an emerald pillow, his bluish-black hair spread softly upon it. The rest of his body was clad in his polished black armor, his hands resting one upon the other just below his silent heart. Every movement of light, every flicker from the courtiers, reflected in his armor, making it appear as if subdued rainbows swam beneath its surface. And Thor stood at his feet.
A halo of light surrounded Thor's golden head, and the sunshine behind him swept down his scarlet cape, and glittered against his dress armor—and the tears that trailed down his face. He gazed steadily down at Loki's face, as if no one else existed.
No one spoke. Jane, pressing a hand to her chest, could only watch.
Thor slowly turned to his right, casting his eyes down. Two servants approached him, each bearing a deep, wide basket. Thor reached into one of them, and slowly drew out a leafy branch.
The courtiers watched, and drew in a breath as Thor purposefully held out the branch for them to see. Then, he stepped close and laid it down next to Loki's left leg. Jane shakily frowned.
It was a branch of oak leaves.
Recollection suddenly flashed through her.
"It is a kind of…dictionary. Used for sending flower messages. I…learned the language from the Light Elves, and introduced it among the Asgardian court."
"Flower messages? We used to do that! I mean, people in Victorian times. I took a class on it in college!"
Loki glanced at her, then avoided her eyes and studied the flowers.
"These are purple violets," Jane observed. "So, what do they mean in Asgardian?"
Loki's mouth tightened, but he answered.
"They mean 'You are ever in my thoughts."
"That's what they mean on Earth, too! How is that possible?"
He glanced down at her out of the corner of his eye—and gave a minute, mysterious smirk.
"Where do you think Queen Victoria learned it?"
Jane swallowed again.
Oak leaves.
Bravery. And humanity.
Thor turned again, and drew out a beautiful, full sprig of purple Canterbury Bells. He set them solemnly near Loki's right leg.
Gratitude, and Constancy.
Again, Thor reached into the basket.
A branch winking with bright white honeysuckle came into view. He carefully laid it across Loki's legs.
Devotion.
Jane kept swallowing, but it hurt worse. She tried to keep breathing.
Thor reached down inside that basket again. Hesitated.
He gulped, and Jane could see him bite the inside of his cheek. Finally, with both hands, he pulled out a long branch from a cinnamon tree.
Forgiveness of injuries.
He lay this across Loki's legs, too.
Thor turned back, reached down—and new tears spilled when he pulled out the next flower.
A gorgeous purple hyacinth.
Please forgive me.
A few women made soft, stifled cries. Thor leaned closer to the body, and set this down by Loki's left hip. He reluctantly drew back, gazing down at Loki's motionless face, as if waiting for something. Then he ducked his head, turned, and reached in again.
A short-leafed branch, weighty with olives, lifted out in his hands, and he lowered it down to Loki's right side.
Peace.
Jane squeezed her hand into a hard fist, and pressed it to the center of her chest. If she put enough pressure there, maybe it wouldn't feel as if her ribs were breaking…
Thor swiped hastily at his face, and reached into the basket again.
This time, he took out a bunch of small, soft pink flowers.
The entire court sighed with a tight pain.
Phlox.
United hearts.
Thor rested them by Loki's left elbow. He paused there, breathing heavily, again watching Loki's face. His brow twisted, and when he reached in again and pulled out the next flower, Jane's brow did the same.
Lovely purple strands of tiny purple blooms. Heath.
Solitude.
Thor laid this down by Loki's right elbow.
The first basket was empty. The young boy carrying it bowed and stepped back. The next boy lifted his basket up for Thor to take from it, earnestly watching his prince's demeanor with his big, bright eyes. Thor's majestic face ran with tears now, and when he pulled out the next flower, the whole court shuddered under the weight of his grief.
A branch of cedar.
I live for thee.
This, he shakily left next to Loki's left shoulder. And, coming back to the basket, he pulled out three very small purple flowers with his fingertips. He stared at them, and his body quivered.
Colchium.
My best days are past.
He came back, stepped closer, and gingerly scattered these next to Loki's right shoulder.
Jane couldn't breathe. At all. But she couldn't move, she couldn't pull back, and she couldn't tear her eyes from those two brothers at the far end of the hall.
Thor set his jaw, reached in again with both hands, and gathered up several pieces—
Pieces that flashed like sunlit gold when he brought them out. Brilliant yellow blooms of Crown Imperial. He moved around, his cape whispering, to stand behind Loki's head. Thor carefully set each bloom on the pillow beside Loki's head, encircling it with flowery brilliance.
Crown Imperial
Majesty. Power. Pride of birth.
When his hands were empty, Thor sniffed and wiped at his face again, then returned to the basket. No one could pull their eyes from Loki's splendid face, with those flowers shining all around it.
Until Thor began to sob.
The cry shook his great shoulders, rattling everyone's hearts—he covered his mouth as he looked down into the basket. Jane could feel tears swelling through the room.
At last, he reached his broad hand down inside…
And pulled out a splendid bouquet of red clinging woodbine.
Brotherly love.
Thor came closer, reached down and lifted Loki's left hand. He pressed the bouquet into Loki's limp grasp, and the brilliant vines lay easily down across the shimmering breastplate. Thor left his right hand upon Loki's for a long moment, his eyes fixed on Loki's face again. Then, without turning, he held out his right hand to the servant.
The servant reached down, and pulled out the final bunch of flowers. He held it high, for the whole court to see.
And the whole court wept.
Vivid red cyclamen.
Goodbye.
The servant set the delicate bundle in Thor's hand. Thor's fingers softly closed around it. He held them there for a long time, his arm outstretched. Then, at last, he lowered the flowers down onto Loki's heart.
Thor's frame became heavy, and he bent, weary, his hand spread over the red blossoms. He didn't speak.
At long last, he straightened, reached down, and pried open a blue velvet pouch that hung from his belt.
Jingling.
A bright flash and a sparkle.
He lifted a necklace out—a silver chain, and a glittering pendant. Jane could not quite make out its shape…
Thor did not present this to the court, or hold it so they could see. He had eyes only for his brother's unmoving features.
Trembling, he took hold of each end of the chain, lifting it in both hands. He took a shuddering breath.
"As long as the east…" he murmured roughly. "Stands across from the west…"
He stopped—could not go on.
He swallowed violently, and fresh tears dripped into his beard.
He bent, slipped the chain around Loki's neck, and fastened it. He carefully tucked the pendant down inside Loki's collar.
Then, as his golden hair hung all around Loki's face, Thor closed the distance, and gently kissed Loki's white forehead.
A ragged gasp rang through the room.
Jane's eyes darted toward it—it was Eir, clad all in black, breaking into weeping. Next to her, the other healers suddenly joined in, covering their faces. Moans and sighs wandered through the chamber—many courtiers hid their faces or embraced each other. Thor did not hear them.
He raised up, and lifted his face, staring ahead of him at nothing. The sun twinkled across his tears, and lit his distant eyes. And Jane, her heart aching so badly she could barely stand, stood silent, with her head bowed low.
VVVVV
Jane wandered listlessly through the corridors outside of the feasting hall, watching the courtiers filter out in small groups. Weighty silence draped all the chambers. The footsteps of the mourners echoed hollowly, and drifted away like ghosts.
Jane paused by one of the wide doors. Thor had not come out. He hadn't moved from Loki's side for several hours. Jane bit her lip, hesitating on the threshold…
New footsteps.
Light, but purposeful.
A woman's.
Jane pulled back, and hid in the shadow. Carefully, she leaned around and peered inside the hall.
From here, she could see Thor, utterly alone, sitting on a bench on the floor of the hall, his elbows braced on his knees. The late afternoon sun, subdued and rich, swept in and across him, deepening the shadows that hung around his features.
And the tall, willowy woman who had come in from the other side…
Lady Sif.
Her long black hair was unloosed, and she wore a black dress very much like the one Jane wore. She strode toward Thor, but slowed down as she neared him.
She stood in front of him, her fair head tilted to one side, her dark eyes filled with light, her eyebrows drawn together. Thor didn't say anything. He didn't move.
Sif reached out a strong, graceful hand, and stroked the stray hair back away from his brow. Slowly.
Thor sighed. His eyes drifted shut.
Sif eased nearer to him, resting her hands on his neck. He sat up slightly as she moved, giving way to her, his eyes still closed. Then, Sif bent at the waist, and pressed her forehead to his. She shut her eyes.
Thor's whole bearing tightened with pain. His hand twitched up—and then he took gentle hold of her wrists, and sucked in a sharp breath.
Sif turned her head and kissed him.
She pressed her lips to his—fiercely, tenderly. She broke the kiss, only to press back in—insisting, relentless.
Thor instantly sat up. He desperately reached for her, then pulled her down into his lap, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her back. She encircled his neck with her arms, both of them giving kisses and receiving them like waves on a shore.
Finally, Thor's mouth loosed from hers and he buried his face in her neck and started crying. She held him tightly, pressing her face into his shoulder and winding her fingers through his hair.
Jane blinked slowly, then started breathing again. She took two steps back…
And her gaze wandered across the hall, toward the dark one who lay on the bier, draped in brilliant flowers. She swallowed, turned, and walked away.
VVVVV
As the daylight receded and twilight took its place, Jane walked alone through hallways, up stairs, down narrow corridors. The great house felt hollow. Not even the servants stirred. Nobody paid attention to her, nobody told her where to go, or what she ought to do. The King was lying in his bed, stricken with some sort of deep, unshakable sleep. The queen was dead. The prince was dead. And Thor was hiding himself from everyone but Lady Sif.
Jane slowed and stopped on a landing. This corridor seemed darker than the others. The torches burned lower. And there was only one door, off to the right. It stood open. Candlelight from within lit the threshold.
Jane wandered forward, halted in front of it, and looked inside.
A very large suite, done in black and green tapestries, and hung with half-lit chandeliers and two lamps. But most of the space was filled, floor to ceiling, with all kinds of medieval odds and ends.
Odds and ends that Jane recognized immediately.
It was all of Loki's things.
All of the things that had suddenly materialized when Thor laid him down in the throne room. They'd moved them all up here, stacked them neatly…
And were doubtlessly allowing everyone to take one last look before shutting and locking the room forever.
Before Jane knew what she was doing, she started forward. She went in—
And instantly caught the scent of earth...
And night wind…
And smoldering oak…
And frost.
She clapped a hand over her mouth and screwed her eyes shut.
She didn't want to remember it—didn't even want to acknowledge it. She'd never tell anybody, ever.
But she'd had a dream, too.
Back there, in that timeless library vault, after Loki had sobbed all of his strength away and fallen asleep….
She'd dreamed she was walking barefoot in a warm, bright, lush summer garden. Holding hands with someone.
Holding hands with him.
She'd glanced up at him, up and to her left. The sun had glimmered all around his head, and his eyes had lit like the morning. He'd smiled down at her, and winked.
Her heart had flipped over three times.
"What is it?" he'd asked, watching her. He had stopped, and so she'd done the same. He'd pulled her hand up and pressed it against his chest. She could feel his heart beat through his black shirt. He'd studied her, very closely—and somehow, Jane hadn't been able to look away from those stunning green eyes. Eyes that saw her completely, all the way through her.
He had halfway smiled—and his fingertips fiddled with the diamond of the wedding ring on her hand.
And her heart had started to pound.
"She'll be fine with Mother, you know," he had assured her. "She has, in fact, taken care of babies before. Though…I'll admit, it has been rather a long time."
Jane had opened her mouth, but hadn't been able to make a sound. He had chuckled—which lit his entire face—reached up with his left hand and taken hold of the back of her head—
And briskly, deeply—sweetly—kissed her lips.
His mouth was soft and delicious and perfect…
And he smelled of earth…
And night wind…
And smoldering oak…
And frost.
Jane blinked her eyes open. Two hot tears ran down her cheeks.
Her knees weakened, and she eased down onto the thick carpet, feeling faint and hollow and out of breath.
Every single bone in her body ached. And inside her chest somewhere, a sharp, prickling pain needled through all her ribs.
Reflexively, though her fingers shook, she reached inside her skirt pocket. After fumbling for a minute, she pulled out the little purple stone that had popped into existence at her feet in the throne room. She lifted it up, trying to see it in the light from the candles.
It hardly twinkled at all. In fact, it almost looked black.
She let out a strangled breath, and two more tears fell. She closed the stone in her fingers and pressed her hand to her lips.
For a long time, she just sat there, breathing him in, the silence pressing down on her like a weight. The pain in her chest got worse, flaying her insides. Gritting her teeth, she turned and put both hands on the carpet, bracing herself to get up.
Click.
She stopped.
Just inches away from the fist that held the stone sat that little broken mantle clock.
And out from the circumference of its base had just shot seven little trays.
Trays that each bore an oval-shaped indentation…
And a word in runes.
Jane bent closer, her brow furrowing…
Her heart thudded.
There. That one said Sif.
The next one said Eir.
Odin.
Frigga.
Balder.
Thor.
"Thor," Jane gasped, swiping at her face. "Thor…" She got up, her knees still weak, and hurried out into the corridor.
To be continued…
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