It's something they should have talked about years ago, truth be told. Back when the Avengers were still in their prime. But they had been so sure of themselves, so confident that as long as they had each other's backs, they would make it through anything.
They were naive, then. All of them.
But they know better now. Skill and training and companionship did not save the Avengers' dead from their fates. Anything can happen, anyone can die, men and gods alike. And if the worst should happen, there should be at least one last thing they can do to honor one another.
He nods, rubbing his metal thumb across the peeling label on the bottle. "There's a... prayer, too," he says, haltingly, not sure if he is even worthy of the words anymore. He hasn't recited it since the days after Ragnarok, not even after the culling that left Asgard as a mere remnant of what they once were. "Val can tell you what it is."
There's more, of course - what silks to use as his shroud, what flowers and personal effects to burn with him, who he wishes to light the pyre - but the details may be forgotten now, before they have a chance to write them down. He nods a little, accepting the wisdom of making sure there is a record, and the plan to ask the others for their own final wishes.
He doesn't know much of human mourning rites, but what Steve says is so unexpected that Thor nearly sputters on another mouthful of mead. It's not funny, not in the slightest, but maybe there is a touch of morbid humor in how closely it echoes something his friend had once said years ago, when a city had risen into the sky and threatened all life on Earth. Thor has never forgotten it, and it warms him a little to recognize that glimpse of his old friend still inside of Steve, that fighting spirit that Thor has so admired since they met. "If you get killed, walk it off?" he quotes, the corner of his mouth twitching in a faint smile.
no subject
They were naive, then. All of them.
But they know better now. Skill and training and companionship did not save the Avengers' dead from their fates. Anything can happen, anyone can die, men and gods alike. And if the worst should happen, there should be at least one last thing they can do to honor one another.
He nods, rubbing his metal thumb across the peeling label on the bottle. "There's a... prayer, too," he says, haltingly, not sure if he is even worthy of the words anymore. He hasn't recited it since the days after Ragnarok, not even after the culling that left Asgard as a mere remnant of what they once were. "Val can tell you what it is."
There's more, of course - what silks to use as his shroud, what flowers and personal effects to burn with him, who he wishes to light the pyre - but the details may be forgotten now, before they have a chance to write them down. He nods a little, accepting the wisdom of making sure there is a record, and the plan to ask the others for their own final wishes.
He doesn't know much of human mourning rites, but what Steve says is so unexpected that Thor nearly sputters on another mouthful of mead. It's not funny, not in the slightest, but maybe there is a touch of morbid humor in how closely it echoes something his friend had once said years ago, when a city had risen into the sky and threatened all life on Earth. Thor has never forgotten it, and it warms him a little to recognize that glimpse of his old friend still inside of Steve, that fighting spirit that Thor has so admired since they met. "If you get killed, walk it off?" he quotes, the corner of his mouth twitching in a faint smile.