A Private Funeral

[pirateangelbaby]

Blue-gray waves lap at the gravelly shore of the sea, glinting with the last glimpse of red sunset as the skies darken with twilight, strange stars tracing out unfamiliar constellations in the blackness above.

It's not the same as home, the skies too dark without the glow of Asgard's nebula to illuminate the night, but perhaps that's for the best. In this darkness, Thor can almost pretend that the Great Waterfall lies just beyond the range of his sight, carrying endless waves over the edge of the world into the void.

A small wooden ship rests on the beach, only large enough for one warrior rather than the three it represents, but he has little in the way of resources and the Warriors Three have long traveled as one company. Perhaps it's fitting that they should be carried to the golden hall of Valhalla the same way. Their grave goods lie together, a small offering of blades and armor, the closest to his friends' favored arms as he could find, swathed in silks of black, red, and blue.

It doesn't feel like enough. But their bodies burned with Asgard itself, and Thor has nothing else of theirs to send to the sea and stars. It will have to do.

A small stone-circled fire burns a little further up the beach, accompanied by a pair of camp chairs and a small cooler of ale, for after the burning. Across the arms of one chair rests a bow, and an arrow properly prepared to carry flame.

The Warriors Three deserve far more than this, but Thor is not certain he could bear to hold such a massive burning for all those who were lost, not if he is to be the strong king that Asgard needs in these uncertain days. Just the sumbel aboard the Statesman in the week after Ragnarok had been difficult enough, as those who remained had moved from shock to grief, grasping at what little tradition they could uphold to ease the pain.

No, Thor cannot grieve in front of them, not when he must be the king. But he is not entirely without friends, and for those... for her... he can still be Thor, instead. No matter how little she remembers what she's lost, just yet. She will. And he would not deprive her of this chance to say goodbye, too.

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[pirateangelbaby]

She doesn't finish her sentence, but Thor hears her anyway, and he would be lying if he said he didn't also wish he had her here fully, with all her memories restored. It's as if there is something just out of joint, centuries upon centuries of camaraderie hidden from her beneath this spell that's stolen her away, yet the core of her still remains. Still Sif, even if she does not remember.

Thor smiles faintly at her in understanding. "I wish," he echoes, and does not finish his sentence either.

It's been a while since he's had reason to raise his voice in song, and most times he'd been far less sober than he is now. But there is ale aplenty and it's not a proper funeral without at least one tune raised to remember the lost, and he scratches at his beard as he considers what song would best fit his friends. "The Ballad of Kvasir, then. How did it start..." It takes him a moment to recall the opening stanzas, stumbling over his words a little as he begins, but his confidence grows as he continues on, each line reminding him of the next in turn. It's not an overly complicated or lengthy tale, but it had been one of Hogun and Fandral's favorites, a tale of a warrior seeking fortune beyond his home in order to impress a maiden. Volstagg had never minded much what songs were sung, as long as there was plenty of food and drink for the feast to make merry with his friends.

[lady_sif]

Once Thor begins to sing, Sif finds herself humming along with the melody of the song, even finding the harmony in some places. She can't quite relate to the lyrics but she appreciates the tune all the same, and it brings a warm feeling to her chest. That might also be the ale, but who's to say it isn't both? Or maybe it's the company, and her admiration for him. Maybe it's all of those things. She can't quite find the words to sing along, but the song satisfies her all the same.

When it's done, she reaches around the fire to take a hold of Thor's hand once more, for solidarity's sake of course.

"In spite of aught else... at least we are here together." He can interpret that as he wishes, but her voice is earnest and soft. The odds were against them, but here they are, alive and able to send off those who perished.

[pirateangelbaby]

As Thor sings, and Sif finds her voice in the familiar parts, the tight knot of grief in his chest uncoils a little, letting him breathe easier. A small smile starts to linger on his lips, and whether it's the drink or the company or just the comfort of familiar ritual, it doesn't really matter in the end. Nothing will take the burden from him fully, nothing but time and patience, but it helps to have another to shoulder it with him for a while.

Perhaps for the first time since Ragnarok, it occurs to Thor to be grateful that their friends were ushered to Valhalla together. The Warriors Three, together in all their adventures, even beyond the golden gates of the heavenly mead-hall. If their end had to come, better that they can keep each other company on the other side than to leave one lingering behind.

Thor squeezes her hand, grateful that he is not left alone either. "Maybe it was Fate that you found this place, or just a coincidence, but I'm glad you're here with me, Sif. I think our friends would be, too." There's a comfortable silence for a moment, and he looks into the flames, lost in thought. "It's going to be difficult, moving on without them. But we'll see them again, someday, if the Norns are willing."

[lady_sif]

In an unguarded moment, Sif very nearly tells Thor that she will always be with him, but she holds that comment back as she squeezes his hand. If the loss of her memories is proof of anything, it is that life is full of uncertainty. She might make a promise now with the best of intentions, only to find herself swept up in circumstances beyond her control, be it tomorrow, or the next day. Nothing can be taken for granted.

"I'm glad, too," she says instead. "No matter what happens in the future, I am glad to be with you here, in this moment. And..." The mellow light of the fire casts her angular features in a sharp contrast, but her eyes are soft and dark as she looks at him. "I cannot take their place, nor would I want to, but... I will do the best I can to be there for you."

That is an easier promise to keep (if a less satisfying one to make), but she won't offer things she cannot give him. She wouldn't want to hurt him like that, to break her word to him. "And I am certain we will see them again. They were sent ahead to prepare a place for us there."

[pirateangelbaby]

There’s something in the way she says it that has Thor turning more closely toward her, his one good eye meeting hers. “You take no one’s place but your own, and I wouldn’t have you anywhere else. I’ve missed you just as much.” Maybe under other circumstances, it would be awkward to keep holding her hand like this, but if he is honest with himself, he needs this reassurance for himself, if nothing else. He’s always been a tactile person, touching his friends and family at the slightest whim, and never thinking anything of it, never imagining for a moment that one day they might not be there for him to hold.

He knows better, now.

The Aesir are long-lived, but that does not mean that all will meet their ends after they’ve gone old and gray. Ragnarok alone was proof of that, and Thor now knows that death may come for any of them, at any moment. He’d thought to worry about the short lives of his human friends, their lives so fleeting compared to his, and never thought to turn that same worry to his own people, assured that he would have centuries to prepare himself. But even with his own dreams of prophecy warning him for more than a year, he still hadn’t been ready. Still hadn’t believed it would really happen, that nearly everyone he loves would be gone after its passing.

All he knows for certain now is this moment, right here, right now. He will not take that for granted again.

So though the grief of his losses still tangles in his heart, there’s a lightness there too, knowing that he’s not alone and that one day they will all be together again, though he knows not when. Maybe tomorrow, maybe in four thousand years, but it will happen, someday. Nor shall we mourn, but rejoice. “We’d better have some stories to tell, when that day comes. They would be disappointed if we didn’t.”