The Victory

Seven

The dim light of the moon spilled through the windows of Thor's chamber in Asgard, casting a soft glow upon the room. Thor cradled her in his arms as they lay in bed. It had required a sleeping potion to help Namira past the trauma of what had happened to her and then to Aphrodite, but at least she slept now.

He hadn't bothered seeing anyone, he'd gone straight to his home, to his warded bedroom and locked the doors. The day of their wedding had come and gone, but at least she lived.

Thor's eyes were fixed on Namira as she lay peacefully asleep, noting how her face held a serenity that sharply contrasted the storm brewing within Thor's heart.

A heavy weight rested upon his broad shoulders, a burden he bore with a crushing guilt.

Aphrodite had somehow managed to infiltrate Asgard and, in her devious machinations, not only stole Namira away but inflicted harm upon her after that, meaning to end her life.

Thor's strong hands clenched into fists as he thought of the wounds, both physical and emotional, that Aphrodite had inflicted upon his wife to-be.

If she hadn't been dead already, he would've killed her himself.

Briefly, there was a thought of how she had nearly killed his brother too, but the thought was too brief to linger, too brief for him to care about now.

Gazing at Namira's slumbering form, Thor's eyes flickered with a mixture of tenderness and regret. The room was filled with an oppressive silence, broken only by the soft sounds of Namira's gentle breathing. Thor could hear the echoes of their laughter, the vow he had made her, and the dreams they had woven together. Now, those dreams seemed distant, overshadowed by the reality of his failure to protect the one he loved.

A single tear escaped Thor's eye, tracing a path down his weathered cheek. The weight of responsibility bore down on him as he blamed himself for the pain Namira endured. He reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair away from her face, his touch light as a feather.

"I failed you, Namira," he whispered, the words laden with sorrow. "My duty was to protect you and I let Aphrodite's schemes unravel the joy we shared."

Thor's heartache echoed through the empty chambers of his soul. The silence around him seemed to amplify the regrets that whispered in the recesses of his mind. He vowed silently to make amends, to mend the wounds that scarred Namira's spirit.

As the moonlight continued to bathe the room in its soft glow, Thor remained vigilant by Namira's side. A fierce determination ignited within him, a resolve to undo the damage wrought by Aphrodite's deceit. He would fight not just for Asgard but for the love that bound him to Namira, vowing to himself to be her shield against any threat that dared to shatter the tranquillity of their shared dreams from here on out.

In his mind, a plan started to take form. A final step in their union next to their oncoming marriage.

Gently, he pressed a kiss to her lips even as she slept, then returned to simply keeping watch while she rested.

Ares lay in his bed, the dim candlelight casting flickering shadows across the room. His normally stern countenance softened as he cradled Freyr in his strong arms. Freyr trembled against Ares's chest, the weight of grief and guilt palpable in the air. The room echoed with the distant sounds of muffled sobs, a symphony of sorrow that filled the silence between them.

Ares's gaze lingered on Freyr's tear-streaked face, his own expression a mixture of empathy and concern. The God of War now held Freyr with a tenderness that belied his fearsome reputation. The weight of loss bore down on both of them, each grappling with the aftermath of Aphrodite's tragic demise.

In the hushed stillness, Ares contemplated the unbearable burden Namira and Freyr carried—the gruesome details of Aphrodite's death, etched into their minds like scars that refused to fade. Ares knew the power of the Lethe, the spirit of forgetfulness of the river in Tartarus that carried the same name, and the merciful release she could offer from the haunting memories.

His thoughts turned to sparing them the trauma, to shield them from the vivid and painful recollections that threatened to consume their souls.

However, a conflicting turmoil gnawed at his own heart. Ares wrestled with a desire to keep the memories locked away, trapped underneath the weight of his own guilt. He wanted to remember the pain, the loss, the haunting image of his sister's life ending abruptly by his hand. The guilt he felt for not foreseeing the danger Aphrodite would bring on them and not being able to keep her from it, clawed at his conscience.

As he held Freyr closer, Ares grappled with the internal struggle. He yearned to preserve the memory, to carry the guilt as a constant reminder of his failure as a brother.

Ares closed his eyes, the conflict evident in the furrow of his brow. In the depths of his soul, a decision took root—a choice to spare Namira and Freyr from the burden while allowing himself to carry the weight of the past. Lethe would take the gruesome details from their memories, leaving only the pain of loss and the ache of guilt etched into Ares's own heart.

As the room remained cloaked in sorrow, Ares tightened his embrace around Freyr, who had fallen into a restless slumber, vowing to protect and support him through the aftermath of Aphrodite's tragic end.

TBC...