Author now declares: I hold no ownership over the quotations taken from Charles Dickens's A Christmas Carol which is in public domain, nor do I claim ownership over Thor. This is written for the purpose of fan entertainment only.

Chapter 4
The Last of the Three Spirits

The Phantom slowly, gravely, silently approached. Odin took note of its gloomy nature, took note of the deep black garment the Phantom covered himself in and how easily it had him blend into the darkness.

"I am in the presence of the Spirit of Christmas Yet to Come, am I not?" Odin asked. The Phantom nodded. "You are about to show me shadows of the things that have not happened, but will happen in the time before us,'' Odin pursued. "Is that not so, Spirit?''

The figure covered its head in the fabric which seemed to make him be one with night, leaving but an outstretched hand as Odin's only guide in the shadows as the Phantom slowly mentioned for him to follow. Odin complied and together they had seen a Christmas far less joyous than the ones he had come to see before.

The Phantom showed him cruel men speak of another's death with such distaste Odin felt his blood go cold.

"What I'd like to know though is what became of all his money. He sure didn't give them to me now, did he?" Laughter accompanied that last statement.

"I hear the old man had some kids out there somewhere. Does it not go to them?" Another inquired.

"Probably, but if your da' happened to have been this one, would you want to have anything more to do with him?"

"Well, I could never quite say 'no' to an extra pound in my pocket."

The Ghost had showed him another side of man Odin was much aware of, yet never could quite gaze upon it with unclouded eyes. He found that now as that veil which deceived his eyes was no longer set in place, he could understand. He watched those man speak ill of the poor soul, as well as the scavengers make do with what he presumed were the last of a dead man's earthly possessions, and Odin could not help but understand that it was wrong.

He found, most oddly, that he was sorry for this man whom he knew not by name or shape. But this man, whom was dead this Christmas day... The man must have had a family, no? He must have had a person out there to mourn his death. Those men spoke of children... He just... must have had someone. No?

He felt a strong urge to see his sons.

Odin turned to the Phantom which till now had not spoken a word. "I fear you more than any specter I have seen. But all you've showed me thus far made me realize that you seek only my own good fortune. I can see now, for you tell me with no words that this poor man's fate can be my own. But if I have learned one thing from your brothers is that one's value is set not by himself, but by the people around him... which is why kind Spirit, I need to know..."

"... I see a vacant seat by the fire and laughter of less joy then that of now about this house..."

"... I need to know Spirit. What has come of my sons?" Odin pleaded, for indeed it was a plea. The dead man un-mourned by kin, the scavengers and men whom spoke of a man's death with so much ignorance - somehow, he knew that this was to be more than just a fate Odin could suffer, but one he would. He was not as vain as to believe that he was immortal. He was already an old man; to die and join his beloved Frigga in the afterlife would be a blessing. Death will come for him one day, Odin knew, and he embraced his fate. It was as it should be. Yet still, as a father, he needed to know...

"... a vacant seat by the fire..."

The Phantom took him to the little cottage him and Frigga made home and Odin's lips almost formed a smile. But his years picked on the sound of silence, and worry came to him. Where was the laughter? Where was the sound of little Sif's giggles? Of Thor's booming voice? Where was Jane with her scoldings or Loki with his quick remarks?

"... laughter of less joy then that of now about this house..."

No.

He shot from the Phantom's side ad went right through the door. The magic of walking through walls was no longer new to him.

He found the mother and young Sif by the fire. They were waiting, it seemed, for none busied themselves with anything.

Sif held a little pink pony doll in her hands, silently playing with its mane. Odin then caught sound. Sif seemed to be humming a song. But then the words took shape, and Odin recognized it.

"God rest ye merry, gentlemen
Let nothing you dismay
Remember, Christ, our Savior
Was born on Christmas day
To save us all from Satan's power
When we were gone astray

O tidings of comfort and joy,
Comfort and joy
O tidings of comfort and joy."

Jane then rose to her feet and paced the space in front of the fireplace. Had the situation been a different one, Odin would have noticed that the dress she wore was far nicer than the one he saw her in last. But alas - now he saw not the dress, but the stray tears which rolled about on her cheeks.

"Mama?" Little Sif asked. "Why are you crying?"

Such a simple question, but one Odin himself dreaded to hear the answer to. He saw Jane brush the tears away, attempting to smile for her child.

"I am not crying dear. It's just that... my eyes grow week in the dim light as if of late. I fear... I may need myself a pair of eye-glasses soon."

Eye-glasses? But... Oh no...

Odin ran from the two, searching wildly for a sign, a lie - any kind of indication which would nullify his fears. But all he saw only made the dread grow further within him. There was no Christmas tree this year, he noticed, nor was the goose roasting on the fire. Odin feared the worse when his thoughts were interrupted by a loud caught which came from upstairs. With a heavy heart, he slowly took the stairs to the source of it. He followed the sound, the Phantom now forgotten, and saw but one open door, from which week candlelight came through. He hesitated in entering for but a moment, but as the coughs stopped, he found the courage to keep going. He needed to know.

Inside he saw Thor, seated on the edge of a bed upon which laid a long, black form with a snow-white face. Its chest was rising and falling slightly, tiredly, and Odin recognized him.

It was Loki.

"No..." the sound escaped Odin's lips without his notice. Volstagg's words came back to haunt him, and Odin came closer to the bed.

Loki's skin was sunken and white as the bed-sheets. Hair which lay in an ebony halo beneath his head and across his white sweaty brow made the dark eye-shadows below green orbs to stand out even greater on the skin. Odin also saw the gray which appeared around the temples. A small voice told him that Loki was far too young to grow gray hair.

His emerald eyes stared straight up at the ceiling, though they were unseeing. Odin knew such a look. His dear Frigga had that look right before... No. Odin could not believe that eyes once so bright with mischief would ever come to be this dead.

Sif's sweet, soft voice came from downstairs, and in the silent little room, it sounded like the voice of an angel.

"From God our Heavenly Father
A blessed Angel came;
And unto certain Shepherds
Brought tidings of the same:
How that in Bethlehem was born
The Son of God by Name.

O tidings of comfort and joy,
Comfort and joy
O tidings of comfort and joy."

"Sif is getting better." Thor said, a spark of pride in his voice. Loki have a small, weak nod as a response. It appeared to be the only thing he could still do.

Odin simply did not know what to think, let alone what to do! Where was he? Where was his future self? Why was he not here? How could he not be here? Had his actions grow so ill towards his children that they would deny him this? Had he denied himself this? Had he denied them this?

He watched helplessly as Loki twitched, and his throat spasmed. He saw those eyes widen in pain before rolling back. He coughed - once, twice, frail body shaking with the force of them. Blood now stained those once colorless lips and Odin found his heart was breaking.

"Thor?" Loki asked, voice so small, so tired. In an instant, his brother took his shaking cold hands in his.

"I am here, Brother." Thor said, and his voice was the gentleness Odin had ever heard of him. Like in a daze, Loki searched for the speaker with his eyes. "I am here..." Thor said again, and green eyes finally rested on the form of his brother brother, if barely seeing him.

"You know what I just thought of?" Loki murmured. Thor shock his head. Loki, though was probably unaware that his brother even attempted to answer, continued in a broken voice: "Remember that t... that..." Loki tried. "That time... we quarreled?"

Thor's splintered smile must have hurt. It must have hurt terribly. But Thor smiled and faking the most cheerful voice he could mutter, or just trying to keep his voice from breaking, said "You will have to be more specific, Brother. I do believe we tend to quarrel on all matters... daily."

Loki laughed—the broken sound tore through Odin's very soul. Hot tears feel from his eye and he let them do so. He couldn't afford to lose sight of his son for a single second.

"I mean... with fa-father... It was when..." Loki breathed. "... e' moved out. I think... a bit after m... mot... mother died."

Thor nodded once. "Aye... I do, little brother."

A sound of acceptance. "Do you... remember..." Loki paused, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, his brow tightening. "... why we fought?"

Thor scrabbled closer to him and squeezed the icy fingers hand harder.

"I think..." Loki whispered."It must have been something... important... but I can't remember... what..." He frowned, searching his memories. "It was something... blue? Blue hands? Wha... Was it... important?"

Tears blinded Thor, as did Odin. But the eldest brother didn't dare take his hands away from his brother's, even to clear his vision.

"No it wasn't." the voice that answered sounded odd to Odin's ears, for he did not yet comprehend that it was his own. "It wasn't important it all."

Loki's trembling hand shifted from its place. He pulled free of Thor's grasp and reached up toward Thor's face—the blond bent closer so his brother in all but blood could reach, and Loki touched tears.

"Are you crying, Brother?"

Thor shock his head, slow enough so Loki could feel. A faint smile grew on blood-soaked lips.

"Liar.."

Odin wept.

A jerk traveled through Loki's frame and he began to caught with a force so great his poor body shock from head to toe.

"Thor!" He cried between wrenching coughs, and his brother had him by the shoulders, strong arms lifting his brother up. With all his remaining strength, Loki searched to rest his head on his brother's chest. Slowly, the coughing stopped, leaving the younger man gasping for breath.

"It's all-right, little brother..." Thor was saying, arm going up and down his brother's back. "It's all-right... I have you. It's all-right."

"Brother..." Loki shuddered. "I'm scared..."

Instinctively, Thor hugged him a little tighter, and laid the side of his head against Loki's. "I know, Loki..." he soothed. "I know. But it's going to be all-right. I'm here, little brother. I am here... It's going to be all-right. Everything will be all-right..."

Thor's breaking voice continued to make false promises. At his side, Odin could do nothing but watch as his youngest son's life was draining away by each shuttering breath. Reaching closer, he tried, though he knew he could not, to touch his son's cheek.

This feeling inside, he could not name. But he knew it to be there, destroying him. It felt like pain, but not quite; it also tasted of horror, yet not quite that. It was the feeling of a father looking a son. It could not be described any way else, and maybe it needn't be any other way. Odin knew he was a father, but along the years, he had forgotten how it felt to be a father. Now, more than just remembering the feeling, he understood it. Finally, what Frigga was trying to teach her for so many years, he understood. It was never about money, never about name, never about fame, it was not even about choices - it was about certain something inside of you which would make you do anything for another.

Odin loved his sons. In his own way, he loved his sons, yet little by little, he was loosing them. Standing there, by this shadow's bedside, he understood that he just couldn't - nay - wouldn't be able to carry on in this way.

"It will be fine, Loki." Odin promised. His hand touched cold skin.

Because a father would always love his children.

"...Father?"

Green eyes turned to him and Odin stared. This was not supposed to happen. This was supposed to be nothing but a dream! But nonetheless, be this dream or not, Loki was looking at him. Not just looking, but truly seeing him. His eyes were on him a long while; he looked and looked and Odin could do nothing but look back. His son's lips then shifted in a smile, a smile Odin could swear was just for him.

"Now to the Lord sing praises,
All you within this place,
And with true love and brotherhood
Each other now embrace;
This holy tide of Christmas
All other doth deface.

O tidings of comfort and joy,
Comfort and joy
O tidings of comfort and joy."

And thus, Sif's song had now come to an end. His son sighted, and it sounded like he was now finally contempt. Odin listened for another breath, but none came. He waited and waited, but the breath he so wished his son would take would never come.

"No..." Odin breathed as the room grew dark and the figure of his sons died from view. "No!" He cried as the Specter appeared to have brought Odin to a churchyard. "NO!" He screamed at the heavens and turned to the Ghost. It was pointing at a headstone. "You would not have showed me these shadows if it were past all hope. The future is not set in stone!" Odin challenged. The Specter still pointed at the headstone.

"Please, kind spirit!" Odin cried. "I will not let it come to this. Hear me, for I am not the man I was. I will not be the man I must have been for this to happen!"

The headstone still. Drawing a grave breath, Odin made himself look at the stone. He was fully prepared to read his own name upon the stone, would have welcomed it in fact, for at least some justice would have taken place. Instead the name upon it was unfamiliar to him. He gazed to the Spirit, confusion shining in his tear-stained eye, and the Ghost pointed again. Odin turned back to the headstone and read the name one more time.It had yet to ring any bells in his mind.

Quite the irony to speak of bells just as the ones from the nearby church began to ring, signaling dawn.

It was then that Odin saw an inscription below the name. He read it once, read it twice, and turned back to the Spirit whom now had taken off the fabric which had engulfed him in night.

The sun was rising over tombstones, slowly at first, then faster by the moment.

The face of a man Odin saw briefly that night smiled at him, and Hogun the Grim nodded once before Odin was blinded by the light of the morning sun. The old man searched to shield his eyes, but found himself catching a handful of bed sheets - his own.

Greetings, to all and one! Oh, finally, the hardest part is done at last. One more chapter to go, one which would most probably come this Saturday. Oh, man, was this fun (yes, author knows something is seriously messed up in the brain) but I wonder, had all the Ghosts' work truly caused Odin to change, or will he embrace the belief that this was all nothing but a dream? And if he will, what will come of his sons? Well, we shall see in the next chapter. Until then, stay safe!

MINI CONTEST!
Congratulations to TheNewWinterSoldier who spotted the most references used in the last chapter. As stated before, the art will come soon enough. Probably sooner than latter. And now, for one last game:

Question of the day: Why was Sif singing "God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen"?