The throne room descended into an eerily silence, the air thick with a palpable electricity. A foul smell of burnt flesh overwhelmed the senses, casting a grim aura over the assembled crowd. Each hesitant breath seemed to echo against the walls, amplifying the weight of the moment.
Despite their reputation as warriors, the Asgardians stood motionless, their eyes fixed on the floor as if unwilling to confront the reality unfolding before them. Regardless of their feelings for Loki, things weren't supposed to turn that way. The Aesirs were not cold blooded murderers outside of the necessities of wars. The irony wasn't lost on them.
In the astonished calm that followed, Tony, still disguised, emerged from the crowd, his deliberate stride cutting through the stillness. With a sense of urgency, he bent over Loki's body, ignoring the shiver that ran down his spine. Fingers trembling slightly, he reached out to check for a pulse. He could not find one. It scared him a little. Even though he believed Loki to be capable of such a deception, the scene was almost too close to reality for comfort.
"He's dead," the words fell from the lips of the genius, devoid of emotion.
The crowd, a sea of disbelieving faces, remained eerily still. They didn't dare to do anything. Since Thor was still their king, and his words and decisions were law. Some among them showed signs of slight relief and satisfaction seeing that Loki had finally met his end, their contempt for him clearly visible on their faces. The majority was simply uncomfortable, a nervous tightness taking hold of their hearts. The Aesirs were fierce warriors who were apparently afraid to speak their minds.
"Loki is dead," Tony broke the silence once more, rising to his feet. His words, turning accusatory, reverberated off the gold walls of the throne room. "And Thor killed him!"
The statement finally jolted the crowd from their stunned stupor. A wave of whispers went through the crowd, growing in intensity until it became a collective cry. A sense of urgency took over the Aesirs. They could not do anything themselves. Odin needed to be awakened from his regenerative slumber. With sudden clarity, it became clear to all that Thor was not acting as a kind and unbiased king, no matter how justified his actions appeared at the time. The Asgardian people realised, in their sadness and indignation, how dangerous it was to put such important decisions in the hands of the first son. No one would expect Frigga to rule over her own boys. It would be quite unjust to the grieving mother.
As if driven by a singular purpose, a significant part of the crowd moved as one man toward Odin's quarters, their footsteps echoing in unison as they marched forward.
Frigga had stood vigil at Odin's bed since the beginning of his sleep. She would be there to awaken the Allfather. The older monarch had made a mistake by appointing Thor as his successor. The queen, regal and composed, appeared to be waiting for them. Was it because of her abilities, or because of the noise they made? Nobody dared to ask.
"My lady," a brave soul stepped forward to address the queen, with sadness in his voice. "We come bearing sad news. Loki is no more, killed in front of us by his brother Thor."
Frigga remained frozen in shock, her silence hanging thick in the air. The weight of the news, delivered with gravity, seemed to render her speechless in the face of such unbelievable news. Across the room, the crowd exchanged uncertain glances, watching everywhere but directly at Frigga. They were unsure how to proceed. They did not dare to say anything.
Usually sacred and exclusively used for the most private family affairs, the Queen's rooms were now being intruded by the masses. The intrusion, born out of necessity rather than audacity, left the gathered crowd at a loss and uncertain of their role in this strange environment. Should they leave the mourning mother alone or should they stay and help during this period of grieving?
