Thor fights down his initial reflex to jerk away from her touch and protest that he's not an invalid who can't walk into the house on his own two feet, knowing damn well that it's because his pride is bleeding as much as his heart. It's not fair to take that out on someone so young, someone who's suffered the same immense loss that he has, for just trying to help. Or reassuring herself that her king is alive and.. not well, but present, at least.
Eir would have done the same, anyway, without a care as to what he thought of it, caring only for the well-being of her patient. The uncertainty of her survival grates at him, a nervous twisting in his belly, just waiting for the axe to fall. Waiting to find out who has lived, and who has died, and who has turned to dust.
While he does little to shake Fǫnn's touch, Thor relaxes into Loki's, his voice momentarily strangled by a lump in his throat as he remembers anew that this is not his brother, that this Loki is no less dead than the one whose body was left in the debris field of the Statesman, just one of hundreds lost. He would have thought by now, he'd be used to the grief, the odd moments of turning to share an amusing thought with his brother only to find an empty space where he used to be, or the moments where he casually speaks as if Loki is alive only to realize what he's said after. But mourning Loki will never get easier, it seems, no matter how many times he must start again.
If these little moments are all he has left, then Thor will cling to them for all that he is worth.
He struggles a moment to force those thoughts down, hidden underneath the mask he's still learning to present to the world, the only way he knows to cope with everything that's happened. But he smiles, a little, and manages to strangle any tears before they fall. "Hug me at your own peril," he answers, though he wouldn't mind much if Loki did, too used to rain to terribly mind getting a little wet. Still, it's a kind of normal banter that he needs, a moment where he can pretend that everything is all right, even if reality must intrude on it almost immediately.
"How is everyone doing?" Thor asks, stepping into the cottage at Loki's silent invitation, Fǫnn still at his elbow. It's a question part of him doesn't want to ask, because he knows the answer already, but his people are still his responsibility, and he can't abandon them no matter how much he hurts.
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Eir would have done the same, anyway, without a care as to what he thought of it, caring only for the well-being of her patient. The uncertainty of her survival grates at him, a nervous twisting in his belly, just waiting for the axe to fall. Waiting to find out who has lived, and who has died, and who has turned to dust.
While he does little to shake Fǫnn's touch, Thor relaxes into Loki's, his voice momentarily strangled by a lump in his throat as he remembers anew that this is not his brother, that this Loki is no less dead than the one whose body was left in the debris field of the Statesman, just one of hundreds lost. He would have thought by now, he'd be used to the grief, the odd moments of turning to share an amusing thought with his brother only to find an empty space where he used to be, or the moments where he casually speaks as if Loki is alive only to realize what he's said after. But mourning Loki will never get easier, it seems, no matter how many times he must start again.
If these little moments are all he has left, then Thor will cling to them for all that he is worth.
He struggles a moment to force those thoughts down, hidden underneath the mask he's still learning to present to the world, the only way he knows to cope with everything that's happened. But he smiles, a little, and manages to strangle any tears before they fall. "Hug me at your own peril," he answers, though he wouldn't mind much if Loki did, too used to rain to terribly mind getting a little wet. Still, it's a kind of normal banter that he needs, a moment where he can pretend that everything is all right, even if reality must intrude on it almost immediately.
"How is everyone doing?" Thor asks, stepping into the cottage at Loki's silent invitation, Fǫnn still at his elbow. It's a question part of him doesn't want to ask, because he knows the answer already, but his people are still his responsibility, and he can't abandon them no matter how much he hurts.