Hm, I'm not really happy with the way this chapter turned out, but it is important to the story. No warnings for this chapter.
The day of Thor's funeral is grey and overcast; a fitting atmosphere, you think while dressing. It is a long day with much to be done.
You spend the morning going over the procession: the route, the security, the rituals. Noon holds the final fitting for your funeral gown - the widow of a dead king must look the part. Lunch comes late, and Lorelai forces you to eat more than you would have chosen. There is concern in her eyes, but you can barely look at her. Odin's demands hang over you and weigh you down - you cannot think straight. Finally the meal is over and you go to the chambers you once shared with Thor.
Once there you pick many things, a handful of servants swiftly following your orders. Clothing, keepsakes, jewellery, little pieces here and there... All are to go onto the boat to be sent to Valhalla with him. The red tunic goes, as does the rich red bedspread, a bottle of fine perfume he had brought you for yule joins them. The process is cleansing, and when the room is nearly fully stripped you feel almost like a weight has been lifted.
It's an illusion - but one you let yourself believe in for a few moments, before returning to the crushing sadness of reality.
The servants follow you down to the antechamber where Thor lies. The bier has been taken down and the boat has been crafted. He lies in the middle, still surrounded by flowers. His skin is deathly white. "Leave me," you tell the servants. Your hands are numb. "I will prepare the boat myself."
They do as you say, and back out of the room. When the door is closed, you cross to the boxes and begin the process of loading the boat with funeral goods. His boat is truly beautiful; evidently handmade and oiled to a pristine shine, the deep wooden oak holds all without even a creak of protest. You stack the items slowly around him as the sun slowly begins to descend in the sky.
Once you have finished, you stand back. The boat is huge - even all the possessions from your rooms do not fill it. You know that once it reaches the waters at Asgard's shores tonight, it will be brimming with gifts; tokens from the people who loved Thor so dearly.
Moisture gathers in your eyes, when you hear the door gently move behind you. You turn to see Frigga, standing with her arms overflowing with items. She smiles at you weakly. "Some things from his childhood," she says quietly.
You step back to allow her to add them to the pile; a small pair of woolly boots catch your eye and the tears in your eyes spill. You brush them away hastily. Frigga's hands are gentle and tender as she tucks the keepsakes into the corners, and her fingers seem reluctant to release a small soft animal. She lingers, holding it uncertainly.
Respectfully, you volunteer a solution. "Perhaps Magni could use that."
The relief in the old queen's frame is evident, and she holds the small toy with steadier hands. "A wonderful idea," she agrees. You smile, and turn to leave when she speaks again. "Have you decided yet?"
Your shoulders sag. Of course she knows. "No."
"Sweet one," Frigga's voice is quiet. She is braiding a thin strand of Thor's hair, combed to be made presentable. "I know you miss him, I do. We all share your pain." Suddenly you feel selfish for being so consumed by your own grief when Thor's mother stands right in front of you. "We loved him, and nobody will ever forget him," you look at her and see the wetness in your own eyes reflected in hers. "But my dear, he is gone. And you have a son who needs you." She clips a small hair bead onto the end of the braid before neatly cutting it and beading the other end.
"I fail to see how this helps my son," you reply, but your voice is weak.
She cocks her head and shifts closer to you, Thor's braid cradled in her hands. "Your own mother has given her blessing." Your eyes widen. They had involved your mother? Frigga holds up her hands when she sees your expression. "She came here by her own admission, to assist you in your time of grief."
Your voice cracks with anger, "This is completely unacceptable-" your mind spins; your mother has not been well, she hates court life - "who spoke to her? Odin?" the bitterness in your tone is evident. The thought of the old man bullying your poor mother makes you feel sick.
Frigga looks taken aback. "It was only for your own peace of mind. The future is long and uncertain. It is hardly a burden we can expect you to carry alone my dear... Think of your own well-being." You say nothing. Her blue eyes are soft. They remind you of Thor. "This arrangement solves everything; your burden will be lifted, the kingdom will have stability, and your son will have a father." Your lip curls. "He can have a childhood, guidance and time, surrounded by his family. Don't you want the best for him?"
The insinuation stings. You draw away. "Of course I do," you reply immediately. "But..." The words do not come. She waits patiently, but you cannot bring yourself to air your suspicions to her. How do you tell a mother about to bury her child that her other, sole surviving child is the cause of her sorrow? Slowly, you begin to accept defeat.
Frigga senses it. She lays a gentle hand on your shoulder as you speak. "Did Odin tell you to say this?"
Despite your accusation, she smiles gently. "Whatever my reasons, my words are sincere. This family cannot afford a war with itself. The casualties would be too great." She presses the toy into your palm; the softness of it warms your fingers. "We must get ready," Frigga looks towards the windows. The sun is low in the sky. "It is time." With a kiss to your cheek, she leaves you there.
When you return to your rooms to change, your mother is waiting for you. Her small frame fills you with a deceptive sense of security, and you bury yourself into her embrace. Allowing yourself to weep, she hushes you. "Oh my poor daughter..." She pulls back to look at you fretfully and you see her hair is starting to grey. The thought of Odin involving her in his schemes fills you with renewed anger.
With difficulty, you stand tall again. "I'm sorry mother - truly, I'm fine, I will be fine..."
"It is a hard thing to lose someone so young," she says sadly. "I never imagined you would have to endure it." She takes your hands in hers; yours are larger but she feels solid as a rock. "He was a good man, a kind man. Thor would not want you to suffer so."
You nod in agreement. "But I cannot be blamed for crying."
Your mother sighs. "No, you cannot." The two of you sit on your couch in comfortable silence. "I've seen my grandson," she tells you. "He is strong, like his parents."
The thought of Magni makes you sick with worry now that you must consider that there are those who would harm him. You force a smile, "Yes, he is." Examining her closely, you take note of fresh lines on her forehead and the paleness of her cheeks. "Mother, you did not have to come. I know how you dislike all this."
She shakes her head obstinately, "Of course I'm here, you need me." You do not deny it. "I can't promise that I'll stay long, but I will be at your side in this."
You give a small smile. "How is the village? The farm?" As recompense for the frequent deaths of their soldiers, the royal family gave bereaved families something to sustain themselves with. The modest farmstead where your mother spent her time was what she had received. A thought occurs to you and you frown. "Are you still being given extra aid?"
When you had married Thor you had asked that he allot her a small sum every month, to help with the maintenance and running of her home. As a child you had never gone without food, but only because she struggled - selling scarves and socks in the market, cleaning people's homes, and raising a child alongside chickens and cows had been hard work. It had delighted you when you were finally able to repay her and ease her burden.
Thor had rode out personally to see where you grew up, and sometimes even delivered her special wines and meats from the capital. Every year, he had inflated the money sent to her. When she had begun to protest the extravagance, he only argued back. A small price to repay for your husband's sacrifice, he had told her. Too often our wars leave behind widows and starving children. The crown should be held accountable.
"I've not yet, but it's no matter," she says, "Young Sigurd, the farmhand I hired to work the field, lodges with me now."
You shake your head angrily. "But it's the principle of the thing, mother. You're the queen's mother - the crown prince's grandmother." She sighs and you swallow down your ire. It rattles you that Frigga can live in silks and satins, mistress of a grand palace with too many rooms and servants abound without ever having to doubt whether she deserves it, but your mother relies on the charity of Odin to simply hire helpers and run a two-bedroom house.
Thor would never have let this happen, you think. "I will fix this," you assure her. She looks tired of the conversation already, and you quickly let it drop. She has never understood your love for the city and the palace - the gossip, the parties, the politics, the people; it all thrills and entertains you. You love the busyness. Your mother only finds it overwhelming and intimidating.
Gratitude for her presence washes over you again, and suddenly you miss her even though she is beside you. "I would like to see it again," you say wistfully. Your mouth twists downwards and she brushes hair from your face. "You are young," she says tenderly, "There will be time enough for such things."
Time has become a depressing concept to you and you seek to change the subject. "I hear Odin spoke with you."
"Yes." She falters, looking unsure. "He wanted my opinion on your wellbeing."
Your fingers curl, "And your cooperation in bullying me into his ridiculous demands."
Her teeth worry the edge of her lip. "Don't be angry with me... it would pain me to see you grow old all alone, to see my grandson without a father. I only wish for your happiness."
"I could never be happy with a man like Loki," you state emphatically. She blinks at you sadly, and she looks so vulnerable. Like your son, she is ignorant to the intricacies of the world. Abruptly, the fear is back, and you seize her hand. "Mother, I think... I think he killed Thor."
Her eyes widen. She looks around nervously. "That's absurd... he's his brother."
"He hated Thor! He was always-"
She shushes you frantically. "No more - you must not speak of such things!" There is clear fright in her voice and she is even paler now. "I did not raise you to spread such lies."
Indignation flares in your chest and you clutch her hand. "But it's not a lie! Everyone says-"
"Enough, please! Enough!" Her breath catches in her chest and she wheezes rapidly. You quickly rise and fetch her a glass of water from the jug on your table. She drinks it hurriedly. Once her breathing is even again, she deflates. You stay quiet. Finally she speaks again. "Listen to me. You are in an uniquely difficult position. I cannot tell you what to do, I don't know myself. But you are a mother now - whatever actions you take, you must consider Magni."
"I am," you whisper despairingly. Your mother closes her eyes heavily and pets your cheek. When she opens them again you know she has no answers for you. She opens her arms in a silent gesture of comfort and you lean into her embrace, desperately seeking shelter from the terrible decision you must make.
The procession begins at sundown. People line the torchlit streets in silent crowds, holding small things to place onto the funeral boat as it passes, lifted on the shoulders of Thor's generals. The royal family follows behind, stone-faced. Odin leads the way, Frigga at his side. You come next, Magni in your arms, and Loki is behind you. The boats bearing the corpses of Sif and the Warriors Three take up the rear. The quiet cries of the youngest of Volstagg's children echo through the streets.
The path along the procession is long and bleak - the streets have been swept clean, and people watch from windows and doorways as their king passes through them one last time. Some crane their necks to get a good look. You are grateful for your mourning veil; the thick black lace shields you from their prying stares. By the time the boat reaches Asgard's shores your feet are numb from the walk and there are throngs of citizens behind you. They gather on the beach and cliffs to watch the ceremony begin.
You shuffle into place, between your mother and Frigga in the wide semi-circle around Thor's boat. The sun disappears beneath the horizon as soldiers light huge bonfires along the shoreline, and the glow of thousands of tiny floating orbs speckle from coast to coast. A breeze picks up, and your veil stirs in the air. Magni is fussing, drawing some attention and you whisper to him, pleading for him to stay behaved just a little longer.
Mercifully, he quietens as you bounce him in your arms.
As the sky darkens from blue to black, Odin stands on the outcrop of the beach beside the boat which is fixed to the shore via a thick rope. As you had predicted, it is filled to bursting with mementos and honours from the asgardian people. The tears that prick your eyes are not wholly sad; the display of Thor's popularity moves you more than you had expected and it fills you with pride for the man who had been your husband.
Odin turns and bring gungnir down onto the ground. A hush falls over the city.
"We gather here this night to witness the passing of a good man into Valhalla," he starts. "You knew him as your king, and he served you well." Murmurs of agreement rise into the air and somewhere, someone cheers; an oddly uplifting moment on an otherwise somber occasion, "The love he held for every one of you was a testament to his nobility, his strength, and his duty. But Thor was more than a king." Odin falters. His face glazes over. "He was a husband, a father, a son. My son-" his voice breaks suddenly and you recognise the gleam of tears in the stern blue of his faded eyes. It makes you uncomfortable to see the Allfather, a man usually unbearable high and proud, display such emotion. He clears his throat and continues. His voice has regained its strength. "My son. My first boy and my greatest achievement, do not dishonour his memory. Remember him with pride, with awe. He deserves no less."
He turns to the boat and climbs the few steps into it. The high priest of the Norns follows close behind. Odin places a hand on Thor's forehead, his back to the crowd, before he turns away and leaves the boat to take his place at the beginning of the semi-circle.
Frigga steps forwards, her frame unbearably delicate as she traces his footsteps. Once she comes to her son's body she leans down and kisses his golden forehead. She stands there for a long moment, speaking so softly and quietly that nobody can hear her. Nobody wants to; it's a private moment, and she kisses Thor gently once more before eventually returning to shore.
Now it is your turn, and your mother takes Magni from you before you also go forward. You have decided that you didn't want him to be much a part of the funeral rites; he was too young to understand, and in truth you didn't want him to. Not you step into the boat the priest bows as per the ritual, and you nod to acknowledge his authority over matters of death. In the corner of your eye you can see the people watching - but there are so many that they all blur into a meaningless mass and become easy to ignore. With a deep breath you reach down and take a strand of Thor's hair. Your fingers work quickly to plait and tie the braid, and the priest hands you a small knife.
The metal slices through the silken strands as if they were butter and you step back, holding the braid tightly in your fingers. You take a moment - closing your eyes, you soak in the absurd peace of the moment. Then you open them. You have nothing to say to Thor; all you've said you already have, and he will not reply. You return to your place, and Magni is placed back into your arms.
Loki is last to go forward. A strange feeling settles over you; all of Asgard is watching closely, and the air thrums with taut expectation. Loki barely looks at his brother - he goes straight to the priest and they converse lowly. The priest nods, and waves a hand. Then Thor's generals step forward and also board the boat. You can hear people whisper as they gather and then lift Thor's corpse.
You gasp. It is only a quick thing, and Loki lingers for a moment beside his brother.
Then he turns and you see the cause of the disruption. In his hands, Loki holds Thor's red cloak. Your heart lurches and your blood roars; you don't even notice that you've stepped forward until your mother grabs your arm and pulls you back. She shakes her head desperately and you breathe heavily. You can see in her eyes that she remembers what you said to her earlier. You stare at Loki, at the thing he holds. A trophy, you think, feeling sick. A celebration of his greatest kill.
Just as Loki disembarks from the boat, someone cries out from the crowd.
"Murderer! Traitor!"
You hear Frigga gasp beside you and she clutches onto Odin with a vice-like grip. He strikes the ground with gungnir, "Silence!"
Begrudgingly the crowd settles again as Loki steps back into the semi-circle. Sideways, you glance at him from under your lashes. His face is still and undisturbed, and he turns his head ever so slightly to look you directly in the eye. In that moment you know, if it were not for Magni you would have thrown yourself at him, spitting poison and raking your nails across his eyes. Instead you only hold his stare, trying to tell him that you know.
His gaze moves back to the proceedings. Along the beach, the families of those who are also being sent to Valhalla say their own speeches and pay their own respects. You can hear weeping.
Finally the high priest leaves the boat to stands at the very edge of the water. He raises his hands high. "It is time! Our ancestors call their children, and the Norns have cut their threads." Behind him Thor's boat is untied, and Odin walks forward with a bow in hand. As the boat bobs forth, Sif's and the Warriors Three's funeral barges are also set afloat; after them the boats for the soldiers who had died on the battlefield. They follow their king as faithfully in death as they had in life.
Odin lights an arrow in one of the bonfires - he aims it high and squints. It soars through the air in a wide arc; bright against the night sky until it lands with a soft thud on Thor's boat.
The priest begins the prayer. "Lo, There do I see my Father..." All of Asgard joins his words, their voices shaping into one. It echoes through the city and rolls over the hills as Thor's boat nears the edge of the great waterfall, the blaze shining in the water.
You whisper the last words as the barge tips over the edge, and you watch as golden vapour ascends into the air,"...rejoice, for those who have died the glorious death." Thousands of tiny balls of light rise to join Thor's spirit, followed by those of his comrades, and your eyes are wet as you watch the final vestige of your husband drift high and out of sight, to enter Valhalla.
At length, people begin to disperse, although you can see the families of the slain hang back. Loki stays on the beach when Frigga asks him to return to the palace.
Oddly, it is only during the walk back that you feel everyone's attention. They all turn to watch you, whisper and mumur. Some eyes are full of pity, others curiousity. You follow close behind the Allmother and Allfather.
You are almost home when someone taps you. It's a middle-aged woman, short and dark-haired. "Can we see him?" she asks. You blink in confusion until you realise her eyes are on Magni. You clutch him.
"Aye let us see him." Someone else steps closer and you abruptly continue walking.
But the crowd is stirring and you are tapped and waved at many more times. Frigga quickly wraps a protective arm around your shoulders.
"Let us see the prince!"
"Let us see Thor's son!"
Only when you are back inside, safely ensconced in your rooms, do you ease your grip. Your hands are shaking and you stare down at Magni. The babe stares back at you widely, and you bring him to your neck to hug.
You go straight from the nursery to the solar. Odin is alone - he pays attention when you enter.
"Very well." You can scarcely believe the words you are saying.
The old man doesn't look surprised. He lowers his quill and looks down his nose at you; quite a feat since he is sitting and you are standing. But you are not finished.
"I have one condition."
Odin glowers. "Who are you to ask favours of me, girl?"
"Your son's widow and the mother of your heir," you shot back, unrelenting. The old king's lips press into a hard line and you take that as a sign to continue. If you're going to be bullied into something it will be on your own terms. "I want you to continue to send my mother an allowance every month, just as Thor did. She has every right to it."
He scoffs. "A waste of funds, but very well. However," Odin leans forward. "Now you've given your consent I will make some things clear. This marriage is for the family; you will do your duty to it. You will smile in public, you will support Loki in public, you will cease to wear black, and any suspicions you may have regarding the manner of my son's death, however... understandable... must never be made public. Do you understand?"
You nod curtly even as fury runs through your veins. Odin sits back in his chair, pleased. He begins to write again - a sure cue for you to leave, but there's one last thing you must ask of him.
"Do you believe it?"
He does not raise his grey head. "Believe what?" he questions briskly.
"You know what," you whisper.
Still, Odin does not look at you - but you notice he's stopped writing. His fingers are tight on the quill. "I raised my sons," he says quietly. "I know the kind of men they are. I know what they're capable of."
You swallow in despair. "So why are you making me do this?"
"I told you. I will not endanger the legacy of this family." You stand in silence. There's no point in demanding further answers from him now; you know that is the cold and simple truth. Slowly, he begins to write again and you move to leave.
When your hand touches the door however, Odin calls your name. "Do not think I am ungrateful." He raises his head. His one eye is uneasy, and it strikes you that this is the first time he'd looked at you without either indifference or annoyance. "I would advise you to be wary. These are dark times."
The engagement is announced on the final day of funeral feasting. Odin sugarcoats it with words of loyalty and family, compassion and selflessness. After, people clap, but it is lukewarm and you hope for a moment that someone will step forward and challenge it. Nobody does.
And there we have it, Reader's made her decision. You may have noticed the line of the prayer which Reader says is identical to the prayer Thor (and Loki) recite in Thor: Ragnarok - I researched and it's actually based off an old viking prayer for the dead! Next chapter will be the wedding, and it looks like it'll be a long one. Thanks for reading!