[ The cold upon his breast is something he might give more attention to if he were not lost in the annals of memory and wandering in his grief; as it is, he looks as Esja with confusion as she climbs up over him to take her face between his hands. Doesn't she understand? The thing that he confessed to finally, that he should have told her long ago: that he was unworthy, in the end, of his brother, and Loki knew it long before he did, and hated him too much to let him try and make up for it. ]
No. You are wrong, wife, my love.
[ His voice is a vast weariness. He takes her hands and pulls them to his mouth and kisses them one by one. He does not deserve her beauty either, he thinks, or her comfort, and he cannot understand what has brought her to him or why she offers him her quiet love. ]
He was not a beast, he was my brother. He was the cleverest I have ever known, and there were no sharper or sweeter words than those from his lips, and seiðr from his fingers was an art. I did not know enough to admire him so when we were younger, but even when he was my enemy I loved him. [ He tries to smile. ] Did they truly tell you of him when they taught you sorcery? But, wife, none of the Vanir knew him as Thor son of Odin did.
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No. You are wrong, wife, my love.
[ His voice is a vast weariness. He takes her hands and pulls them to his mouth and kisses them one by one. He does not deserve her beauty either, he thinks, or her comfort, and he cannot understand what has brought her to him or why she offers him her quiet love. ]
He was not a beast, he was my brother. He was the cleverest I have ever known, and there were no sharper or sweeter words than those from his lips, and seiðr from his fingers was an art. I did not know enough to admire him so when we were younger, but even when he was my enemy I loved him. [ He tries to smile. ] Did they truly tell you of him when they taught you sorcery? But, wife, none of the Vanir knew him as Thor son of Odin did.