3 months later

A black storm cloud bore down on Asgard, merciless and unending. Crops were drowned, the people dismal, the streets like small rivers. No one had seen the sun in weeks.

Harmony had been busied with a new unofficial position as Loki's errand girl, or dog's body. It was only right after she had requested so much of him; she barely had the right to look at him, let alone make demands, and he often reprimanded her for rising above her worth. Her real master cared not for her frequent absences. When she did return to the royal chambers, her existence diminished to that of a phantom, and her tongue was no longer of use to her.

What she had felt that night, which seemed so long ago, was nothing more than a memory. She didn't feel the torture, or the betrayal, or the terror; she lived to serve. Loki had re-clad her heart with the lessons every slave learned from the day they were born. It was easier to become what everyone expected of her than to delude herself and suffer so much for it. Thor's love had protected her for a time but now that was gone, it was time to return to reality. What had happened to her now felt as though it had happened to someone else. Why hold onto her heart when she no longer needed it?

The King always left early and returned late. Seeing her reminded him. Of what he had lost, what he had done, and what she had become because of him. He no longer held his own eyes when he looked in the mirror.

While the slave worked until her knees were sore and her hands were worn, he busied himself in business and trained relentlessly, sending several soldiers to the brink of death. Royal duties were dreary. Talk of taxes and other revenue were more dull than ever, diplomacy provided no peace of mind and talk of conflict, either internal or external, set him on edge like a cornered beast.

The boldest of his advisors had whispers on their lips about replacing the late Queen. It was no secret that Ingrid had not been loved, or even liked, by the people of Asgard and it had been a crucial error for her to hold a completely apathetic attitude to that fact. They had learned from their mistakes. When one of them was finally courageous enough to broach the matter with the King, his face set like stone.

"What did you say?" Thor's voice was little more than a grumble.

The advisor who had spoken took a long deep breath before repeating broadly, "Perhaps it would be in the kingdom's best interest if you were to begin searching for a new Queen, your Grace."

"Surely, it is not an appropriate time," a second advisor interjected. "His Grace and the kingdom must be allowed time to heal."

"Nonsense, Wilhelm," the bold advisor, Dagr, spoke sharply, "It was known very well that the Queen was not beloved. Now is the time more than ever to give the people a Queen worthy of their loyalty and love."

"Indeed a new Queen is needed, but now is not the time. The situation is delicate," a third member spoke.

"Lord Dagr only suggests that his Grace begin his search for a suitable partner; it would be a significant time before a new Queen ascended the throne," countered Lord Yngvarr. "It would be unwise to hold off this matter."

"You speak as if time is short," Wilhelm said. "Is there something you lords fear, or wish to gain? So much so that your hearts are numbed to the matter at hand?"

"What is it you insinuate?" Yngvarr snapped, rising to his feet.

"Enough!" the King nearly bellowed.

The council chambers fell deathly silent with nothing but his violent echo ringing off the walls. When scouring their faces, the councillors and advisors reminded him of scolded children, and sighed heavily. "I did not appoint you to bicker and squabble like adolescents."

"And we did not watch you climb to the throne to wallow and ignore the needs of your realm and people," Lord Yngvarr responded icily, not missing a beat. He immediately expected a storm to come down on his head.

But the King appeared pensive. He took another heavy sigh, leaning back in his grand chair. The air was thick enough to choke on. Even Yngvarr's rivals took no pleasure from his expected sudden demise.

"You are right," Thor finally uttered gravely. "I cannot allow my personal sorrows to tarnish my duties as sovereign. But, Lord Yngvarr, address me in such a manner again and you shall be suspended from this council until I see fit and you, and your family, cast in shame. That is a stain hard to wear off."

Saying nothing, Lord Yngvarr bowed his head, a wave of relief washing over him and many of the councillors exhaled silently. And with no small amount of tension, the business of the council continued. In spite of his word, Thor had no intention of keeping an open mind when it came to seeking a new potential partner; his heart was closed to the notion of romance, and much else. But he had to try and keep some semblance of unity among his nobility.

The King was well aware that a number of ladies were starting to push themselves forwards, vying for his attentions in a way that had been forbidden to them for some time. Yet every time his response was the same – nothing. Passion had died in his heart, any hope or desire for intimacy, of any sort, gone entirely. He wished he could just stop.

The council chambers were suffocating. It was only training grounds or his own chambers that he could bear to be in, alone or with a weapon in his hands. There was even genuine hope for some war to dawn so that he could go far away and try to exhaust himself on some godforsaken battlefield, and with any luck his newborn demons would no longer be waiting for him when he returned.

Thor dismissed the council shortly after and dragged himself to the training arena, staying there long after dusk had fallen. While he had been there, his mother paid him an unexpected visit; he'd just thrown another opponent to the floor with merciless brute force when he noticed her. Sighing, Thor collected himself, "Mother," he greeted more tensely than he would have liked.

The graceful lady offered her hand, and when her son seemed reluctant to pull out of his battle haze, she cajoled, "Humour me."

Thor withdrew to the outskirts of the quietened training arena. Always his mother, Frigga curled a stray lock of damp hair from Thor's face. "I hear tensions are rising among the nobles. I wanted to see how you were."

"I am fine, Mother," the King lied, forcing a smile.

Frigga's lips curved sympathetically, shaking her head, golden curls swaying, "Not even Loki can fool me with deception. What makes you think you can, dear one," she placed a hand on his arm, rubbing tender circles. "It's your…slave, isn't it?" Frigga couldn't stand the word.

"What would make you think that?" Thor said quietly.

The comfort of his mother's gentle hand on his cheek was welcome. It was how she cupped his cheek when he was a lad, he remembered fondly with something close to fondness.

"You are keeping something to yourself, a secret you're carrying. And it could never be their passing; no King or husband would hide that. This is something else," the Queen Mother deduced.

Thor managed a small smile. Loki and his mother shared a talent with words, but Frigga was different in the way that she used them. Her talent was persuasion by encouragement and reassurance with genuine care and concern. The King sighed again, knowing it would be futile to try and hide anything from her.

"I have wronged her, in ways she could never have deserved. I fear I will never right my wrongs," he confessed. "Her heart has stilled, and I am to blame."

"Then perhaps the child needs coaxing," Frigga suggested. "She has been at your side for some time now, and her influence has done you well."

"Aye, yet I have forsaken her," Thor slumped against the edge of the training area. "I have done a great many things in my life, but I never thought I would corrupt a child so."

"Do not give up," Frigga whispered. She kissed his cheek and drifted away, ever ethereal and beautiful.

Her words repeated themselves in his mind as he returned to fight, drumming into his mind with every hit of his weapon against every opponent.

Grime and dust coated his tanned skin by the time he dragged himself back to his room. There was a small comfort in finding the room lit with candles and firelight instead of being cold and dark. It was then that Harmony appeared, carrying a bundle of his folded shirts, seemingly oblivious to him. Taking a moment to watch her, Thor only then realised how much older her face looked, how her hair had lost its vibrant colour and bounce and now fell in dull waves over her shoulders. She even walked with a slight limp now.

Nearly sick with the guilt, Thor prowled away into the bathroom to wash away the filth. After filling the large stone bath, the King sank into the steaming water, which lapped at him in small waves, leaning back with his eyes closed. How had it come to this? A year ago, he'd had everything he could have wanted. Power, comfort, friends, a tender lover and a bright future before him. Now all of it had died with his wife and child.

Shameless tears rolled down his cheeks and into his bearded jaw. Now at least he was as alone in reality as he felt on the inside.

He had not even loved Ingrid, but he had loved their union which nearly brought a son of his own into the world. He had looked forward to the young lad or lass growing fond of Harmony, and she of them; he'd imagined them playing together, going to see Gyllir, and Harmony reading to them as if they were family. Of course Ingrid would not have allowed Harmony near the child if she'd had her way, but that remained the happy image in the King's mind. He couldn't even hold onto that anymore.

Something inside him abruptly snapped. Climbing out of the bath, Thor slung a burgundy silk gown over his thick shoulders and tied it loosely, leaving much of his chest exposed and glistening in the light. His footfalls thudded on the floor as he strode, in something akin to desperation, into the main chamber. "Harmony," the word fell from his lips like a prayer.

The automaton slave straightened her back and turned on her heels to face her master, with eyes so glassy they didn't even appear real. Her features were fixed like marble. It was the first time she had ever frightened him.

"Harmony," he repeated, coming to stand before her, wishing life back into her. He needed her.

"My lord," she spoke monosyllabically.

The King stared distraughtly into those russet eyes. Even they had lost their brightness, their shine. He was staring into the face of a worn porcelain doll. Searching, Thor tried to find any flicker of life and emotion in those orbs, and found none.

"Stop, just stop," he didn't care at all as his voice cracked, taking her by the shoulders. She didn't respond to his touch, not even with a flinch. "I will not lose you as well."

"I am not lost. I am here," Harmony replied.

"You aren't though, are you? I look in your eyes," Thor bent to her height, "and I see nothing."

"What did you think you might see?"

"Life!" he gripped her tighter, the word tearing through ground teeth. "And love, and innocence." He stroked her cheek before cupping it, drawing her limp body closer. "I know it is still within you, somewhere. Don't let it die as well."

A thin layer of ice glazed over those glassy orbs, and yet that sparked a flicker of hope in his aching heart. It was short-lived. "It is not by my hand."

"I know," he pressed his forehead to hers, "I know," his voice lowered to a whisper.

The slave remained totally unyielding.

He wasn't foolish enough to dream of her throwing her arms around him with complete forgiveness. There just had to be something. He had to awaken something in her, whatever it was.

"I am sorry; and I am unforgivable. I," he pulled back, stifling the lump in his throat, "I wish I had never brought you back with me. You would have been much better off."

Her small dainty hand connected with his cheek barely before he finished the sentence. And he felt it.

Dead, blank rage consumed her pale features, eyes stone now instead of glass.

Rendered speechless, Harmony slapped him again. It felt good. She did it again, and again. Thor sank to his knees before her, willing to let her do anything. Her hits didn't hurt physically, perhaps stung a little; it was the reality that she wanted to.

Each time her hand came down on his cheek, sparks simmered along her veins, waking something up. Her palms were starting to burn but she didn't care. She knew she'd sooner shatter all the bones before she left a reddened patch on his skin. Before she could comprehend her actions, her hands had curled into tiny fists, her attacks morphing from frustration to violence. Under frail skin her knuckles quickly bruised.

She heard the crack before she felt it. Pulling away by instinct, Harmony nearly doubled over, cradling the wounded appendage to her chest, groaning through her teeth. Thor leapt to his feet, holding her lightly by the upper arms, brow furrowed in worry. The slave hissed, and focused on the pain. Pain.

She could feel something.

Without thinking she lashed out with another punch with the same hand. Thor caught her wrist, realising what she intended to do. "No," he told her, "No."

He stared into her eyes, noting the flickers of red-brown that had come to the surface. When he was angry, his eyes flooded with white hot ice; with her a dark, deep fire burned.

"Please, let me help," the King murmured softly.

Harmony let him lead her into the bathroom and watched, trembling with pent up emotion and pain, as he filled the basin with cold water and guided her hand under the surface.

The sudden, unexpected closeness between them was foreign to the both of them. For weeks they'd been so distant, uncaring for each other's existences, surviving each day at a time, and both just about succeeding. The sensations had been practically second nature to them both; neither knew quite how to respond, uncomfortably unfamiliar. Thor wouldn't have blamed her if she'd tried to hurt him again, although hoped it had been enough to reawaken her heart.

Seeing a soul like that – so still, so comatose – was in violation of nature.

"Why aren't you angry with me?" Harmony asked after a couple of minutes.

Though he could not show it, Thor's heart lit up. Slaves were not meant to question like that. Harmony had learned that from the lenience Thor granted her.

"Because I deserved far worse," he said gently.

Their eyes met, truly, for the first time in what felt like years. Something stirred.

"Thank you," Harmony whispered.

I'm so sorry that this chapter was kind of rushed but I hope it was okay :)

Again, please (I'm actually pleading with you) go read my new Pan/OC story, it's called "Sabre" and can be found on my profile. You guys have been so amazing and supportive for this story and I hope at least some of you will support me just as much on my new story. Thank you so much for reading, please review!

Love and hugs xxx