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Growth Begins From a Tiny Seed
Jul. 10th, 2019 01:28 am[OOC: Set after this thread.]
Thor sleeps until nearly noon, undisturbed by nightmares or visions, or the sounds of Harley and Pamela getting breakfast in the kitchen. Pamela is gone when he finally wakes, and for a long moment, Thor frowns up at the ceiling, unable to put his finger on what is different but positive that something is.
It's the first time he's slept through the night sober in weeks.
Today, he needs no coaxing to get off the couch and bathe, letting his hair dry on its own instead of being smothered under a hat. He feels... odd, almost detached from himself, as if he's forgotten how to exist in his own body. But it isn't like before, when numbness had consumed him from the inside out, and left him feeling like a shell. Rather, something has been put back inside that shell of a man, and now he must relearn how it fits, for however long this will last.
It may be temporary. Thor does not know. But for once, the constant guilt gnawing on his bones is lessened, held at bay by something he cannot name. And, for once, he finds that he has something to look forward to, a reason to leave the house without being prompted, wolfing down a sandwich before venturing out into the village.
The sun peeks through gray clouds as he makes his way towards the greenhouse, and some Asgardians bow their heads to him as he passes, a gesture he reflexively returns. The Valkyrie does a double-take when she sees him, her eyes sweeping up and down as if checking for something, and she looks faintly pleased not to find it. "Majesty," she greets him, giving him a friendly thump on the shoulder. "Good to see you out and about." There's more, but she bites her tongue, and he doesn't ask. Their conversation is brief, but oddly normal - no awkward questions, no lingering looks - and when Thor finally reaches his destination, he is surprised to realize that he's actually smiling slightly.
The greenhouse is pleasantly warm inside, the soil in the plant beds dark and moist, and faintly glowing with life in his senses. Without even touching them, he can feel the fragile, tender roots that are beginning to burrow into the earth, seeking water and nutrients. Thor lightly trails his right hand over the soil, and wisps of seidr pool around his fingers, trickling down to the young seeds and whispering their encouragements. Drink deep. Grow your roots. Reach for the sun. And under his fingers, life begins to take hold, slender green shoots pushing up through the crumbled earth.
Looking back now, Thor does not know why he feared this part of himself. Why he would be embarrassed to bring life, to balance all the death he has dealt. It is not only men who have wielded swords in Asgard's defense. Sif, the Valkyries, Thor's own mother. Their blades had been sorely needed, and none had cared that they were women, when they were all that stood between Asgard and disaster.
But weapons are not what Asgard needs now. They need food, and peace, and nurturing. A refuge, Asvera in truth, not just in hope. Thor is no seidrmann, and he never will be. Nor will he ever be Odin. And he is not the king that he had wanted to be. But Asgard is burned to ashes, and so has the man he once was. But maybe something can yet grow from that desolation, as a forest regrows after a wildfire. And if that growth comes from the magic of a man... why does it matter, if it is what's needed?
Thor does not yet know who he is, this person he has become. Broken, beaten, unwell in ways that seem like he will never heal, forever haunted by the losses he can still scarcely comprehend. He has brought death to the universe on an immeasurable scale, and that can never be undone.
But as he kneels in the dirt and watches green sprout between his fingers, coaxing these simple little lives to grow and flourish under his touch, it feels like a step in the right direction.
Thor sleeps until nearly noon, undisturbed by nightmares or visions, or the sounds of Harley and Pamela getting breakfast in the kitchen. Pamela is gone when he finally wakes, and for a long moment, Thor frowns up at the ceiling, unable to put his finger on what is different but positive that something is.
It's the first time he's slept through the night sober in weeks.
Today, he needs no coaxing to get off the couch and bathe, letting his hair dry on its own instead of being smothered under a hat. He feels... odd, almost detached from himself, as if he's forgotten how to exist in his own body. But it isn't like before, when numbness had consumed him from the inside out, and left him feeling like a shell. Rather, something has been put back inside that shell of a man, and now he must relearn how it fits, for however long this will last.
It may be temporary. Thor does not know. But for once, the constant guilt gnawing on his bones is lessened, held at bay by something he cannot name. And, for once, he finds that he has something to look forward to, a reason to leave the house without being prompted, wolfing down a sandwich before venturing out into the village.
The sun peeks through gray clouds as he makes his way towards the greenhouse, and some Asgardians bow their heads to him as he passes, a gesture he reflexively returns. The Valkyrie does a double-take when she sees him, her eyes sweeping up and down as if checking for something, and she looks faintly pleased not to find it. "Majesty," she greets him, giving him a friendly thump on the shoulder. "Good to see you out and about." There's more, but she bites her tongue, and he doesn't ask. Their conversation is brief, but oddly normal - no awkward questions, no lingering looks - and when Thor finally reaches his destination, he is surprised to realize that he's actually smiling slightly.
The greenhouse is pleasantly warm inside, the soil in the plant beds dark and moist, and faintly glowing with life in his senses. Without even touching them, he can feel the fragile, tender roots that are beginning to burrow into the earth, seeking water and nutrients. Thor lightly trails his right hand over the soil, and wisps of seidr pool around his fingers, trickling down to the young seeds and whispering their encouragements. Drink deep. Grow your roots. Reach for the sun. And under his fingers, life begins to take hold, slender green shoots pushing up through the crumbled earth.
Looking back now, Thor does not know why he feared this part of himself. Why he would be embarrassed to bring life, to balance all the death he has dealt. It is not only men who have wielded swords in Asgard's defense. Sif, the Valkyries, Thor's own mother. Their blades had been sorely needed, and none had cared that they were women, when they were all that stood between Asgard and disaster.
But weapons are not what Asgard needs now. They need food, and peace, and nurturing. A refuge, Asvera in truth, not just in hope. Thor is no seidrmann, and he never will be. Nor will he ever be Odin. And he is not the king that he had wanted to be. But Asgard is burned to ashes, and so has the man he once was. But maybe something can yet grow from that desolation, as a forest regrows after a wildfire. And if that growth comes from the magic of a man... why does it matter, if it is what's needed?
Thor does not yet know who he is, this person he has become. Broken, beaten, unwell in ways that seem like he will never heal, forever haunted by the losses he can still scarcely comprehend. He has brought death to the universe on an immeasurable scale, and that can never be undone.
But as he kneels in the dirt and watches green sprout between his fingers, coaxing these simple little lives to grow and flourish under his touch, it feels like a step in the right direction.
