[ His wife keeps her secrets, and Thor keeps his as well, safely locked away into his heart; even he can lie, now and again, and put on a brave face and a brave smile, and keep the keen pain of loss to himself. If it does not fool Esja, she gives no indication. There is the business of Asgard, and of being husband and wife, to occupy them. Thor took the daughter of Njord of Vanaheim for what she was, a gift for his kingship, and never asked for more than that. She, with her dark hair and pale skin, her lithe frame, her deft mind, is a solace to him.
He senses her waking before he himself has left the realm of sleep, her consciousness calling to his; it is strange to be so attuned, as though they have known one another all their lives, as though she is a part of him like blood and bone.
Thor stirs, rolling to his back and reaching for her across the mattress, his eyes still closed against the watery glow of early sunlight. He is familiar, by now, with his wife's tendency towards nightmare, with mornings waking to her gasps or even her cries. As she lays beside him trying to still her breath, he touches her arm and then her shoulder, cupping his hand over the curve of it, inviting her into whatever solace his arms could provide. ]
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He senses her waking before he himself has left the realm of sleep, her consciousness calling to his; it is strange to be so attuned, as though they have known one another all their lives, as though she is a part of him like blood and bone.
Thor stirs, rolling to his back and reaching for her across the mattress, his eyes still closed against the watery glow of early sunlight. He is familiar, by now, with his wife's tendency towards nightmare, with mornings waking to her gasps or even her cries. As she lays beside him trying to still her breath, he touches her arm and then her shoulder, cupping his hand over the curve of it, inviting her into whatever solace his arms could provide. ]
What is it? [ His voice is sleepy. ]