"Ay, my King," she remembers her manners suddenly and gives an awkward half-curtsy, but even if she's effectively a commoner in the presence of her king, she's also a healer and disinclined to be dazzled by power when there is work to do. Her gaze is drawn right to the prosthesis, flicking up it to his shoulder as if to judge where the flesh ends and the metal begins. "Fǫnn Hauksdóttir. I'm...we're all relieved you've returned to us."

That's the bottom line right now. There may be criticism of Thor's actions coming from some quarters sooner or later. Some of the angrier adults may even feel he should have died in battle with his people, like a captain going down with the ship. You can't control emotions and there's a lot of rage and anguish to go around. But at least in Fǫnn's opinion, better to be a decimated people with a king than a decimated people without one. And in the end, hers is likely to be the prevailing sentiment.

"You should come inside. Prince Loki told me you wanted me to look at your arm." Which is fucking terrifying for a half-trained adolescent, but she looks determined.

And as if mentioning his name twice has summoned him, Loki appears in the cottage doorway. He's...he's soaked. His hair is up in a messy man-bun, and he's got a towel over one shoulder, and he looks ruffled and cranky. "Hello, Brother. I'm never bathing a toddler again."

"You said that two days ago, too," Fǫnn tells him soberly.

"Yes, well, I never claimed to be a man of my word."