Fallen From Asgard

Regret, Remorse, Reform-- Retry

"This is my old chamber," he says, eyes roving around the room. His gaze is distant, telling me he is seeing something else, a place and time much different than where he and I stand. "Nothing has changed. Nothing at all."

I look at the walls, gilded sconces overhead radiating the light from the flames within. The tapestries gracing the room tell tales of the royal family, images of beauty depicted in regal embroidery.

"As you can see, no trophies or evidences of hunting and war are hung on the walls or displayed on shelves, unlike my brother's chamber." His voice is unreadable, emotionless.

"Oh?" I say, curious as to what his point is.

"I don't know," he returns, his previously flat voice giving way to sorrow, wistfulness and bitterness. The mix of emotions is one I never knew could be portrayed, yet here they were, spilling out of my husband in a blend of brokenness. "I just couldn't bring myself to do it, to kill. The hunt was never something I could join without a pain in my stomach, a bruise to my conscience."

"Loki--" I can clearly see where this is going, and it breaks my heart.

"But those people," he continues, ignoring my quiet plea. "I slaughtered those people. Men, women, children. I'll never know how many." His face is turned from me, but I know tears are coursing down his face. I place a hand on his shoulder. I can feel the slight trembling under my touch, silent sobs making frequent recurrence.

"Loki," I say again, my voice steadier than I feel.

"You've always known what to say, my love, and it is one of the things I love about you. But this..this stain is something that no words can remove."

What delivers the final blow for my heart's complete cave-in is that I know, I know that he is right. I gently turn him by the shoulder to face me and my own tears, fiercely trying to steel myself for Loki's sake.

"I know I haven't the words to heal this," I begin, bitingly truthful. "But I do know I have the words to tell you that I--"

"Grace. I don't even know who I am, anymore." His interruption encourages more moisture to pool in his eyes. He drops his gaze, stronger sobs rolling from his chest. I gather him to myself, holding him close as I contain my scattered thoughts. Tears wet my bodice, my shoulder growing warm from his shaking breaths.

"Listen to me, now," I soothe, humming a few notes from an old lullaby. I don't know why, but the song comes into my mind like a little bird, beating frenetic wings in an attempt to get out of my mind and memory. I breathe deeply and try to speak again. "I do know this, darling. I know who you are, what you can do and what is in your heart. And I know that I love you; all of you. I will hold nothing against you. What is done has been done, and there isn't a thing you nor I can do about it."

He breathes shudderingly. "But, the families..the people you've lived among for so many years. The kind who practically raised you.."

"No," I say, not unkindly, but firmly. "Don't go down that road, love. It's in the past, and the past cannot be meddled with."

He coughs. "That makes me feel all better," he says sarcastically, coaxing a wan smile to appear on my lips.

"It's not supposed to," I say calmly. "But it is supposed to tell you that those who love you and know your remorse will never label you as a murderer. You're mourning these people, my love. That reveals the obvious change in your heart."

He is quiet then, and I know he's thinking seriously about what I've said.