Part Two: The Descent

In which Loki falls prey to gravity and suspects the inevitability of it all. Or, Thor arrives.


XXXI

Excerpt from The Ballad of the White Horse by G. K. Chesterton, published in 1911

The Northmen came about our land

A Christless chivalry:

Who knew not of the arch or pen,

Great, beautiful half-witted men

From the sunrise and the sea.

Misshapen ships stood on the deep

Full of strange gold and fire,

And hairy men, as huge as sin

With horned heads, came wading in

Through the long, low sea-mire.

Our towns were shaken of tall kings

With scarlet beards like blood:

The world turned empty where they trod,

They took the kindly cross of God

And cut it up for wood.

Their souls were drifting as the sea,

And all good towns and lands

They only saw with heavy eyes,

And broke with heavy hands,

Their gods were sadder than the sea,

Gods of a wandering will,

Who cried for blood like beasts at night,

Sadly, from hill to hill.

They seemed as trees walking the earth,

As witless and as tall,

Yet they took hold upon the heavens

And no help came at all.


XXXII

The water sluices off the edge, a shimmering cascade. Thor watches, and all he can think is, where does it go? What lies beneath, in the abyss?

Such flights of fancy had never occupied his thoughts before. He was not a pensive child, and as a young man, the inside of his head was a place he did not linger overlong. Why would he, when it was the outside world which held daily wonders? The call of a hunt, a new, gleaming sword, entreaties from friends and comrades, always clamoring for his attention.

It had been a joyous, blissful time. And now it is past, and all he has left is inside his head. Happy moments like so many gossamer threads, easily torn asunder. He has to hold onto them, fiercely, lest they slip away. But the fear eats at him – that perhaps he's already forgotten too much, that he'll never recall precisely the grass green shade of Loki's eyes, the carefree lightness of his mother's laugh. The mornings they spent under the tree at the center of the Sun Garden, its boughs heavy with golden-skinned fruit, chasing each other round the massive trunk.

Sif finds him after awhile. She speaks, and Thor has to shake his head, to quiet the memory of childish laughter echoing through the branches.

"Apologies, Sif. What did you say?"

The warrior maid purses her lips. "I asked if you were coming to the sparring yard today."

His limbs feel heavy and listless. "No. I don't believe so."

Sif glances to the waterfall that forms the southeastern border of the realm. The sun hides behind the city in the west, casting a premature twilight over this grey landscape of stone and sea.

Thor cannot see the falls from his chambers, and so he descended to the courtyard, made his way through the Hall of the Slain and the gallery that holds effigies of Asgard's fallen nobility. He had avoided the Royal Gallery altogether.

There is a path, little traveled, which winds around the brink of the world, set high among the granite cliffs. The gleaming palace of Gladsheim looms behind. It is here Thor likes to stop and watch the silver sea dissipate among the stars. No one comes to this lonely spot. He doesn't have to pretend here, to put on a regal face as he must in the throne room, or to smile and share jests as he does in the feasting hall.

No one except Sif, once she discovered where he has been disappearing to. Thor thinks she must have followed him. He would be annoyed at the presumption, but he can't help admiring her skill at stealth. She has always been the better hunter. If Loki had but applied himself to the endeavor instead of complaining, Sif could have had a real rival. The thought makes him smile, but his mirth melts away quickly, like snow in the warm spring rain.

"It is as if you never came back from the funeral," Sif says suddenly.

Thor turns, frowning. Sif gestures at the waterfall. "We sent Loki to his second life over that edge. It might have been an empty boat, but it was supposed to settle his spirit. It was supposed to be a farewell – and yet, here you are, week after week, still staring like you're waiting for the ashes to rise on the breeze and reform the boat and Loki both."

His ire surges like it hasn't in months. "You would have me forget him? Toss away his memory like so much refuse?"

Sif stomps her foot and hisses out a breath. "No, you idiot, listen to me! I ask you not to forget your brother, but to remember yourself!" She narrows her eyes at him. "It has been months. You might be able to fool the court, to fool Fandral and Volstagg, to but you cannot fool me. Nor Hogun, I might add. You have hidden yourself away, Thor, and you won't let anyone find you."

Abruptly as it came, his ire disappears. "How? How do I find myself if I do not know who I am without him? Do you know, I cannot remember a time before he was there?"

Thor's fingers dig into the flesh of his palm. "He was a constant in my life, constant as the stars and the moon. And, it's -" He struggles to articulate the depth of his feelings. This had never come easily to him. "I just keep expecting he'll be around the next corner I turn. That he'll appear one night, slipping from a shadow, returned from some long journey. It's - the moon may hide its face for a time, but you know it will always return, if you only wait. I keep thinking Loki will return to us – and every time he doesn't, I have to remind myself that he's gone."

Sif grips his shoulder tightly. He looks into her wide, hazel eyes, and sees a portion of his grief reflected there. "I know, Thor. I know."

They are silent a moment, encased in sorrow. Thor feels it constrict his lungs and chest, wind around his heart.

"That is why I believe you have the right of this. Descending to Midgard, I mean," Sif continues.

Thor is taken aback. "I thought—"

"You thought I would disagree?" She smiles softly. "It is good to know I can still surprise you after all these centuries."

"But why?"

"It is as I said, Thor. You have hidden yourself away. Perhaps you needed to. To manage the court, the envoys from Jötunheim. To be there for your mother."

"And my father," Thor points out.

Sif looks at him and hums noncommittally. Before Thor can ask, she goes on. "But now it is time for you to heal yourself. And you cannot do it here in Asgard. There are too many eyes on you, expecting you to be a prince when you should be a brother."

Thor's throat is thick. He has not the words to express his gratitude. He hugs her instead. Sif pats his back when he releases her. "I must say, your last visit to Midgard did improve your temperament immensely."

He laughs, a small, rusty sound. "Yes, I suppose it did. It is a curious realm, with curious creatures."

"The humans certainly did capture your interest."

"They did," Thor muses, thinking of a woman who studies the stars.

"Will you return to the palace with me?" Sif asks.

With one last, lingering glance at the black edge of space, Thor agrees. "I must attend Mother anyway. I would like to thank her. I believe she is the one who finally convinced Father to grant me leave to travel to Midgard."

They meander along the path in companionable silence. Despite his shieldsister's presence, his thoughts drag and weigh at him too much to allow for idle conversation. She leaves him at the foot of the grand, sweeping staircase that leads up to the royal apartments.

"I will see you in the feasting hall tonight." It sounds more like a threat than a promise, but he acquiesces. Thor plods up the steps slowly. Frigga will likely be at her wheel, or reading, or sitting in perfect stillness, her eyes far away.

His mother often lingers in her chambers, of late. Thor has found her on many occasions gazing up at the skyscape from her balcony, at the twining colors of the nebulae and brilliant pinpricks of stars. She holds her peace, but Thor can see that her thoughts lie with her second son.

Her second son, lost to the Void.

No. Thor pauses on the threshold, swallowing harshly. He will not taint his visit with his mother by dredging up such sorrow.

Entering without knocking, Thor sweeps into the room and is brought to a halt at the sight of the Queen with an audience. "Oh, er – my apologies, Mother. I did not know you were entertaining guests," he says quickly.

One of the company, a weedy young man in apprentice's robes, had dropped his teacup upon Thor's sudden arrival and the loud thud of the door slamming into the wall. He winces, thinking of his mother's constant reminders to mind his strength. A quick glance at least reveals none of the mosaic is damaged. The motif of delicate pale blue and purple willow-fly blossoms faintly glimmers with magic, petals waving in a nonexistent breeze.

Frigga gives him an even look. "Perhaps if you had announced your presence, my son."

"Of course. I do apologize – I was distracted," he repeats sheepishly.

An elderly woman, also a mage by the look of her enameled silver cuffs, rises from the chaise gracefully. "It is no matter, my prince. Our audience was near its end."

The rest of the guests stand as well. Thor realizes they are all mages, dressed in the livery of the Academy. He cannot recall his mother meeting with more than one or two fellow seiðkona at a time.

Frigga joins them. "Please, come to me when you have discovered more. I will spend the night at my loom. Perhaps the weave will reveal an answer."

The elderly woman nods. Thor feels that he should remember her name, but it escapes him at the moment. "Of course, my queen. May your Sight stretch a thousand leagues." She and Frigga wear identical grim expressions. "I fear we may have great need of it."

Thor frowns. "What answers do you seek, Mother?"

There is a moment of quiet and a round of exchanged glances. The assembled mages all appear reluctant to speak. He is unpleasantly reminded of being an ignorant child, ushered away from the talk of his elders.

He asks again, with an edge of irritation. "It must be important enough to warrant such a gathering. What is it?"

The young seiðkonur, the only male amongst the group, pipes up, his voice high and uncertain. "It is – we sensed an unnatural shift high in the atmosphere, over the southern fields. Such an anomaly would have required a great deal of power to –"

The woman cuts him off with a stern look. "There is no need to trouble yourself, Prince Thor. We only thought to bring it to the Queen's attention for the sake of thoroughness. I am sure we will resolve the matter."

Her tone is perfectly polite and deferential. Thor tries to push down a petulant response, but does not succeed. "I am not troubling myself. But if this matter is worth bringing to the Queen's attention, I would like to know of it."

Before his banishment, Thor would have shrugged and not given it a second thought. But now, he has no desire to be coddled. He wonders just how long the court has been stepping carefully around him, with condescending reassurances and platitudes, while they approach his Mother or Father to discuss their true concerns.

Did – did they come to Loki, as well? He had never noticed, but he had also never paid very close attention.

Was Thor only brought in for war councils, for sessions relating to military strategy? Did they all just see him as a weapon, to be wielded as he wields Mjölnir, simply directed at a battlefield and loosed?

I cannot be a king who speaks only the language of war. My lust for battle drove me to Jötunheim, cost me my father's trust and my mother's peace. Cost me my younger brother.

Frigga's brow creases ever so slightly. "Thor," she says softly. He tries not to bristle at her conciliatory tone. "I would have asked you to attend this meeting had I known you were concerned with matters of seidr. I simply thought you would be occupied with preparations for your sojourn on Midgard."

Thor is chastened with her words. He has never shown much interest in the Academy of Mysteries, nor the study of magic. Outside of admiring the more useful of Loki's tricks while on a quest or campaign, he cannot remember the last time he'd mentioned it.

"I have not given you cause to think differently, Mother," he admits. "But if you would – the next matter that arises concerning such subjects, I would like to be included. If I am returned from Midgard."

His proposal raises eyebrows amongst the mages, but none speak. Frigga studies him for an unnerving moment, before nodding. "Very well, my son."

The head mage glances between the two members of the royal family. She inclines her head to Frigga, then Thor, and the rest of them follow her example. "We shall take our leave, my queen. My prince."

"Thank you, Isli."

They file out. Thor is left alone with his mother, and suddenly struggles to meet her gaze. She ushers him to a cushioned seat. A curtain of warm yellow light falls across the room, casting long shadows. His mother sits beside him and sips from a delicate silvered cup. Thor can feel her regard and tries not to squirm.

"Why the sudden interest in the Mage's Council?" Frigga asks lightly.

"I -" Thor pauses, and sighs. He had told himself he would not speak of Loki, but he is helpless to stop his thoughts from circling back to him. "I never realized how little I knew of magic. I always just… relied on Loki to explain or cast workings. Perhaps if I had…"

"Thor," his mother says gently. "Loki's fall cannot be reduced to portions of guilt, to be doled out amongst us like so many horns of mead. We may never know what might have been. But you cannot burden yourself with the weight of words unsaid."

"But – I was his brother—"

"And I his mother."

At the sight of his mother's shadowed face, Thor's grief over his brother turns swiftly to rage. How could Loki – how could he do this to their family? He had to have known exactly how much pain he was inflicting. The selfishness of such an act takes his breath away.

Frigga smooths a hand through his hair. "I think some time on Midgard would do you well."

"Sif said the same."

"I knew I liked her."

"You always did say she was the wisest of my shieldmates."

She smiles at him. "Will you see Jane?"

A flush rises in his cheeks. "I thought perhaps I might seek her out."

"A visit should be in order. You deserve any share of happiness you can find, my son. And I have never heard you speak anything but praise for her."

"I think you would like her. She is kind." Jane had taken him in when he had nothing, banished and shamed, and sought no reward, demanded no recompense. He had promised to return, but failed in that as well. Thor hopes to see her, to thank her. He does not think past that. He does not dare to. Jane might well be angry and hurt at his absence. He will not force his presence on her if she does not wish it.

"True kindness is as rare as a dewdrop in winter, and should be treasured where it is found," Frigga says. "If you see that in her, I know I will like her."

Thor glances down at his lap. "How did you convince Father to let me go?"

"In many years of marriage, Odin has learned to heed my counsel. Drawing the wrath of the Queen of Asgard is no trifling thing," Frigga teases.

"As I well know. Thank you, Mother."

"Will you attend the feast tonight?"

"I promised Sif. I should probably go to my chambers and bathe if I am to be ready in time." Thor stands, and presses a kiss to his mother's cheek. "I will see you there."

"Until then, Thor."

He crosses the room, but hesitates at the door. "What do you seek at the loom?"

Frigga sighs. "Something stirs. Something hidden in the darkness. I seek the shadow it does not cast."

Thor's brow creases with worry. "Shadow?"

"I will know when I see it. Have no fear, Thor. Summer is nearly upon us, and the days are long. Shadows have no power here in Asgard."

It is comfort given to a child, succor for that untroubled lad he once was. He smiles at his mother, but privately disagrees.

There are shadows at the heart of Asgard. It is only that this place shines so golden and bright, they are all but impossible to see.