Every time he thinks he could not love her more, she proves him wrong. Her respect for the old ways, if only on principle thus far, speaks to her care and reverence for his people's wellbeing. She understands the constant struggle they have faced since coming to live on Earth - what does it mean to be of Asgard? What old ways are important to keep and cherish, continuing on millennia-old traditions to bind them to their home and each other? What traditions are rooted in blood and conquest, and deserve to be forgotten? What traditions have simply become irrelevant by the passage of time and the change of circumstances, and do they still have value regardless? And how can Asgard hold onto their culture in a way that matters, without setting themselves apart from the humans nor assimilating into theirs?

It's a complicated question with a thousand different opinions, and Thor is certain they will be grappling with it for centuries to come. But it is now that the seeds will be sown, and decisions they make now will ripple forward to those distant days, shaping the future of their people.

"Of course," he agrees again. "No tree grows tall til it roots itself in solid earth. I'll ask the school if there are any lessons we could borrow, perhaps. Our children are not born knowing how to mark the seasons either, after all." And though he means the children of Asgard as a whole, a quiet part of him can't help but picture a more intimate interpretation of our. Might they have her hair? His eyes?

He strokes the back of her hand again, an absent soothing circle, his metal hand's touch as light and gentle as the living one. "And what of your expectations?" he asks softly, raising his eye from their clasped hands to meet hers directly. "My duties to you?"