[ Sleep holds no appeal for him, not anymore. The light comes soft and golden into their bedchamber, lighting upon the cold hearth, the basket of apples on the sideboard, the jars of mead, the vast stretch of the bed and Esja herself. Asgard is golden like the sun, but Esja is the moon, pale and dark; among the Aesir she looks like a daughter of another realm, moving among them and apart from them, the best kind of Queen who could follow Frigga who was beloved by all: one who captures their awe. Except to Thor, who never had a chance to reverence her mysterious beauty because she fell into his hands like she had belonged there all their lives. He pulls her over him now and buries his face in the subtle hollow between her shoulder and the curve of her breast, and nuzzles her there with lips and beard. ]
It didn't seem a trifle. [ He lifts his head to look up into her face. ] You can speak of it, if you like. There is nothing you need keep from me.
[ But he doesn't insist. He doesn't demand her secrets, for he keeps his own. She knows that he had--has--a brother, in passing, but not what he has meant to Thor. He does not think she knows he ever loved a mortal woman, or that he made his home on Midgard for a handful of years until the quick passing of every mortal friend he had known made grief too great a burden to bear. He does not know what she knows of his own fears. Odin is gone now, Thor no longer has to prove his worth to him, yet he still feels as though his father watches, and every day is a day to be vigilant, to be a better king than he had threatened to be, in his unwise youth.
What he is is lonely, terribly so, but something in her eases that pain. He cherishes her for it, and tries not to demand more than he ought. ]
no subject
It didn't seem a trifle. [ He lifts his head to look up into her face. ] You can speak of it, if you like. There is nothing you need keep from me.
[ But he doesn't insist. He doesn't demand her secrets, for he keeps his own. She knows that he had--has--a brother, in passing, but not what he has meant to Thor. He does not think she knows he ever loved a mortal woman, or that he made his home on Midgard for a handful of years until the quick passing of every mortal friend he had known made grief too great a burden to bear. He does not know what she knows of his own fears. Odin is gone now, Thor no longer has to prove his worth to him, yet he still feels as though his father watches, and every day is a day to be vigilant, to be a better king than he had threatened to be, in his unwise youth.
What he is is lonely, terribly so, but something in her eases that pain. He cherishes her for it, and tries not to demand more than he ought. ]