The flora was different here, but no less interesting, he thought. This was his first time ever on Midgard. He could not help but feel bubbles of excitement at this, despite that he had always assumed his first trip away from Asgard would be under much less traumatic circumstances, and that he would get to return afterwards. Still, like the other families remaining, he and his parents cherished whatever joys they could scrape together on their new planet.
He finished his chores at the dock today early, so his mother gave the nod that sent him shedding the briny overcoat and hurrying back to their cabin. Theirs was with the scarlet roof that caught the eye of anyone entering the settlement, if they were ever to have any visitors. The town sign was visible through his bedroom window upon waking every morning. He could only see its back but knew what it said after he had helped paint it. Welcome to New Asgard.
A quarter-hour later with a full satchel over his shoulder, he was in the shade of the half-forest that stood away from the ocean as if supervising the infancy of the town. On his first time exploring, he had admired the then-unfamiliar shapes of the leaves and sea salt flavour of the air. Today it was not the wildlife or scenery that drew him there.
He stopped at the first tree. It took him a moment to find the names, discreetly pressed in gold into the bark as if grown into the tree itself. He remembered the family that used to bear those names before Thanos arrived.
Carefully, he swept away the wilted ferny garlands at the foot of the truck. He took from his satchel a fresh one his mother had woven last night. Before laying it down, he admired her handiwork. She had woven the word rest with the stems.
When they had all but crash landed on Earth what felt like a lifetime ago, Asgard had not the resources, nor the bodies, to create a true cemetery, but they made do.
He moved onto the next tree. And then the next. He had known nearly every family in the sparse half-forest. He missed them all.
The last tree grew at the edge furthest from the docks. He dwelled for a minute over its three names. He had known every family except for this one. Even though everyone had known of this family.
He cleared away the withered blossoms that someone else had arranged at the base of the tree. But when he reached into his satchel, he found he had no more garlands left. He did not know what exactly made him do it – he placed his fist across his chest in the royal salute, and fled.
This is it. This is as much as he can do before he lets go.
Thor stumbles towards their makeshift cemetery as if in a dream. He clutches sprays of wildflowers, so perhaps he makes a fitting image for a dream. The mighty god of thunder with his axe on his back and arms full of flowers.
Brunnhilde had asked for his help with something earlier. Probably to do with the establishment of a stable food supply, or maybe more secure housing for their remaining citizens still grappling with the trauma of Thanos. Thor does not really remember. He does not quite care.
He moves towards the half-forest at the edge of their makeshift town.
This. These flowers, or at least what he is planning to do with them. This is something he finds he still cares a little about.
He finds the tree with their names. It is the furthest from their new village – New Asgard, or something like that, Brunnhilde had picked the name – as if hiding the names it bears from the son who had let them down.
This, these names. They are something Thor finds he still cares a little about, before he lets go.
Bizarrely, quietly, he relishes the act of carefully selecting each flower from the bunch. As though it is a favourite meal or book that he is giving – that it will actually be received by someone he cares for.
For his mother, Thor takes a long-stemmed, cream-coloured blossom with its petals swirling down its length like a gown. He surrounds it with jade fronds as he places it at the base of the tree. Beside it, he lays down a flower with crown-shaped petals for his father. He had plucked it from the top step of a porch in their new town. It had caught his eye with the way it held itself up against the endless gusts from across the ocean. For his brother, Thor places a blue one that had swayed on the step below.
Thor stares down at the three gifts at his feet. After a moment, he replaces the blue flower with one of the clovers that grew across the mountainside in a wild carpet. His mouth twitches slightly as he realises it is probably a weed.
This is it – flowers for three non-graves. This is as much as Thor can handle before he must finally collapse in on himself.
He mouths to the tree, the names, the flowers, I'm sorry
I'm sorry for what I'm going to do
He shuffles away as if in a dream. He drops the rest of the flowers unceremoniously somewhere along the way back.
He needs to drown everything in drink. He needs to forget all of this before it finally kills him too.
