Your Hand To Hold

Chapter Three: Respect vs. Humor

          In my resting nightmares, I dreamt that I had not managed to stop the giant. Rendered useless, bleeding out on the sandstone floor of the corridor, I could only watch helplessly as the giant and several of his friends slaughtered those I cared for before leaving with Loki. My meager cry rang out not only in my dreamscape but in reality as well. I came to then, gasping for breath, his name still on my lips.

   Beside me, someone moaned softly as a healer worked to knit back together their wounds with a combination of soul instruments and healing stones as several were doing to mine. Frigga floated nearby, overseeing the care of all, and helping where she was needed. It appeared as though several tables were in occupancy as the healers worked tirelessly to do what they could, though I watched somberly as three could only shake their heads, not wanting to voice that there was little even their abilities could do to heal the person before them.

   Sweat soaked my brow and my dress had been removed, offering the healers a better ability to see the damage externally as well as internally upon the glowing projector of the soul forge. They had tried to cover me with a sheet, yet I still felt as though I had been left out for all to see.

   "I heard you took on a Frost Giant all by your lonesome." I lifted my head slightly, wincing as one of the healers working to assist me poked my side with an odd instrument. Fandral sat only a few feet away, shirtless as a healer worked to close a shoulder wound. He looked about as rough as I expected I did, his typically perfect coif looking unkempt and plastered to his forehead by sweat. "It's impressive if you did, there is no shame in your injuries."

   "I did not take them as shame, only a lack of skill. What is your excuse though?"

   He attempted a chuckle that became a cough, groaning as the healer forced him back up straight so she could complete her work, allowing me to return my head to a more comfortable position. The silence in the room outside of the soft clinking of instruments or the grinding of mortars and pestles as they crushed healing stones, followed by the occasional hiss of a patient in pain was unnerving. I wanted to be released, to go and get dressed; such seemed impossible though.

   "You know, you are lucky to be alive after a wound like that. Most would not have survived such a blow."

   "Are you impressed, Fandral, or disappointed?"

   "Perhaps a mix of both," he sighed. I waited for his snide remark, yet it never came. I had just about plucked up the courage to ask why that was when he sighed again. "I am not disappointed in you being alive, despite what you may be thinking. For all the torment you suffer at mine and the other's hands, I hope you know that we truly would never wish harm to you."

   "Your actions speak contrary to your words. Still, I suppose I am glad that despite calling for my demise, you do not wish such upon me. What are you disappointed in?"

   "That I was not there to assist, naturally."

   I rolled my eyes. "Naturally."

   "You know he is well and safe, yes? We all were because of you, Odin, and The Destroyer."

   I felt my cheeks grow warm, taking a breath as I calmed myself before I turned my head once more to look over at him as he sat up, a healer helping him back into his shirt. "Explain?"

   Fandral shrugged. "There is little to tell. We met with a few Frost Giants on our way to the vault, and while we were working to dispatch them, The Destroyer handled most of the dirty work. That bright light I imagine you saw as well," I nodded; "that was it doing its job I suppose. It certainly made quick work of the Frost Giants nearest it; I've never seen something turn to dust quite so fast."