The dim sun of Jotunheim peeked eagerly through the curtains, like a child watching a party from afar. The king rose out of his slumber as the light hit his left eye, blinding him for a few minutes.
Dag sat up and eventually stood up. He stretched and gimmaced at the recient scratch marks from his wife. He could feel them bleed crimson over his blue skin. He could remember the night prior even through his still-drunken state. They had made the sweetest love the pair could muster but had to end when she complained that her heart felt strained.
As of late, his wife's heart had grown sensitive to daily things. She could not use the stronger magic she once could. She couldn't swing a blade without collapsing to the ground. She handed power to him and remained by his side as a dutiful wife should. But there were some days when she couldn't sit out of bed and just slept. Dag assumed the weeks and months of insomnia had finally caught up to her, the stress taking it's toll but her will would quickly rebuild.
Asgard had also fallen. All of their comrades and allies, dead or unreachable. Jotunheim stood a good chance of taking over Midgard. But, that wasn't what the queen wanted. She wanted to remain at peace with the other realms and keep from war as their enkindling realm blossomed like one of her blue roses. Dag thought that the news put the most strain on his little wife.
He turned to the other side of the massive bed. A small figure was curled up beneath the sheets. Dag smirked and crawled over ot the figure.
"Dearest, I am surprised the sun has not touched you yet." He put his hands over the figure's small shoulders and turned her over.
The figure below him was still and colder than even himself. Her eyes were closed, her skin as pale as his own. Her lips were slightly parted, as though taking a breath. Her chest was still and bare from the previous night. Dag placed her gently down, feeling something welling up inside of him. He quickly put his hand over her heart and started hitting the area. After several minutes and no response, he ceased. He felt himself whimper and tears fall from his eyes as he stared at his wife. Only hours prior was she alive, warm, all-loving. He opened her eyes, the glassed rubies staring into nothingness. Those eyes that had been filled with lust and love and kindness to him were now empty. He quickly closed them with a shaky hand and lifted her body into his lap. She held her close to him as he sobbed out her name. He weaved his hand into her long, dark blue hair that he had treasured. No other being in all the nine reals could hold a candle to his wife, he always thought. From the moment she waltzed into his father's court, to the moment of their marriage, she was always a beautiful being to him.
His screams intensified as he started to remember their time together. She had a whole life in front of her, but her time had come to a sudden end. He couldn't bear to be without her, without her by his side and in his lap. To be without her laugh and her blunt view on things, to her talks of having children they would never bear. She was a rose that was meant to be cut. But that didn't stop his pain from coming out through his tears. His father and uncle always taught him and his siblings to never cry as it showed weakness. His bastard father and uncle, who had always ignored him because he wasn't the eldest. He wasn't even the youngest, he was the middle child.
He felt himself slipping into a blank state. He placed his wife's body under the covers next to him and curled up around her tiny form, tucking themselves in. He closed his wet eyes and slipped into his dreams.
Dag sat alone on the throne. His face was sullen from the recent burial of his wife. There were no more enemies, only those who expressed sympathy for him. They told him he could remarry, but how could he? No one could replace her sense of right and wrong, her small form, her eyes, hair. She was never of Jotunheim, like the roses that were planted and grew along the walls in her memory.
He felt another storm swell within his chest and travel up to his eyes. He choked back tears of loneliness as they flowed from his eyes quicker than he could catch them. The other guards- his former comrades- watched him and turned away. They knew his pain. Once he set his heart on something nothing could ever stop him. They had found their king asleep with his wife's corpse that morn, had helped keep him from the edge of the cliff overlooking the massive sea beneath them, had helped him even get up this morn. He had lost his will to continue, and it was his wife's want of her people's happiness that kept him going.
Finally, one of them broke from their assigned post. Ulfred, Dag's closest friend, his shield-brother, came to his side. He ignored Dag's command of returning to his post and embraced him. Dag couldn't hold back his chokes and sobs as the others came to him and comforted him, wiping away tears and giving him kind words of encouragement. His tears and sobs and cries of regrets weren't restrained anymore by his title. He was back with his comrades and seeking comfort. The Asgardians always doubted a Jotun could love. But as the late queen always said,
"The coldest hearts can be the ones who love the most."