The silence seems an almost tangible thing between them, broken only by the sound of the waves against shore and the hull of the little boat, and though Sif's emotions lay strangely bare upon her face, he can't venture a guess what she must be thinking right now. If some part of her yet remembers what her memories do not, or if she mourns what she's unknowingly missed, with no faces to put to the names of those she called friends for hundreds of years.
Thor clears his throat, finding it difficult to do so, as if his very body is reluctant to let go of this last link to the fallen. But delaying will do nothing to change their fates, and the Warriors Three have waited long enough for the rites to usher them safely to the golden hall. He could do nothing to save them. This, then, is the last respect he may pay to those he loved.
He nods, and together they guide the funeral boat into deeper waters, scraping free of the gravelly seabed until the waters embrace it fully, and gently draws it out of their reach with a quiet finality, a dark silhouette against the faded remnants of the sunset deepening into night.
They return to the shore, and Thor's hands tremble minutely as he retrieves the bow and arrow, and offers it to her with a solemn smile that doesn't touch his eye. "You always were the better shot," he murmurs, a hollow ache in his chest as he imagines how Fandral would have teased him for admitting it. How Volstagg would have laughed, how Hogun would have solemnly offered to arrange archery lessons. But Thor will hear none of those again, not until he himself passes through the golden hall's gates at the end of his days. Perhaps tomorrow, perhaps in four thousand years, only the Norns can say for certain.
He swipes at the dampness on his cheek, and though the storm churns within him, Thor holds the clouds at bay through sheer force of will. No rain will douse the last goodbye of the Warriors Three.
He takes half a step forward, facing the darkening sea and its precious cargo, and speaks the words every warrior must know, a slight waver in his voice. "Fandral the Dashing, Volstagg the Valiant, Hogun the Grim. We bid you take your places in Valhalla, where the brave shall live forever. Nor shall we mourn but rejoice for those who have died the glorious death. For there do I see my father, there do I see my mother, there do I see my brothers and sisters, and there do I see the line of my people back to the beginning."
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Thor clears his throat, finding it difficult to do so, as if his very body is reluctant to let go of this last link to the fallen. But delaying will do nothing to change their fates, and the Warriors Three have waited long enough for the rites to usher them safely to the golden hall. He could do nothing to save them. This, then, is the last respect he may pay to those he loved.
He nods, and together they guide the funeral boat into deeper waters, scraping free of the gravelly seabed until the waters embrace it fully, and gently draws it out of their reach with a quiet finality, a dark silhouette against the faded remnants of the sunset deepening into night.
They return to the shore, and Thor's hands tremble minutely as he retrieves the bow and arrow, and offers it to her with a solemn smile that doesn't touch his eye. "You always were the better shot," he murmurs, a hollow ache in his chest as he imagines how Fandral would have teased him for admitting it. How Volstagg would have laughed, how Hogun would have solemnly offered to arrange archery lessons. But Thor will hear none of those again, not until he himself passes through the golden hall's gates at the end of his days. Perhaps tomorrow, perhaps in four thousand years, only the Norns can say for certain.
He swipes at the dampness on his cheek, and though the storm churns within him, Thor holds the clouds at bay through sheer force of will. No rain will douse the last goodbye of the Warriors Three.
He takes half a step forward, facing the darkening sea and its precious cargo, and speaks the words every warrior must know, a slight waver in his voice. "Fandral the Dashing, Volstagg the Valiant, Hogun the Grim. We bid you take your places in Valhalla, where the brave shall live forever. Nor shall we mourn but rejoice for those who have died the glorious death. For there do I see my father, there do I see my mother, there do I see my brothers and sisters, and there do I see the line of my people back to the beginning."