come out to the edge where it is quiet

There is no funeral for Loki. No mourning. Life on Asgard returns to normal, with the exception of the Bifrost’s destruction. Most don’t know what happened to Loki. Those who do are too enraged to grieve. 

Odin stops acknowledging Loki’s  existence the second he pulls a struggling Thor away from the edge of the Bifrost, drowning his grief in a sea of rage at Loki’s betrayal. From the moment he unleashed the full power of the Bifrost on Jotunheim, Loki gave up his right to be a son of Odin. No child of his would attempt genocide. Not again.

The Warriors Three, if they are bothered at all by the loss of their childhood friend, their comrade in arms, do not show it. Volstagg returns to his decadent feasts, Fandral to his women, Hogun to his family on Vanaheim. Sif places a sympathetic hand on Thor’s shoulder upon his return from the battle on the Rainbow Bridge, but the pain in her eyes is for him, not for Loki. After hundreds of years of fighting side by side, not a word is spoken about Loki’s bravery in battle, the countless times he saved every one of their lives. He died a traitor, and a traitor he will always be.

Even Frigga, who Thor sometimes believed loved Loki more than him, returns to her calm, unflappable self almost immediately after receiving word. Every attempt Thor makes to corner her and make sure she’s okay are met with bland smiles and flippant reassurances. Even she can’t find it in her heart to forgive her son enough to cry for him.

Thor knows he should follow suit, cut Loki’s memory from his mind like dying flesh from a wound. The future King of Asgard cannot afford to harbor sympathies for a traitor to the throne.

So he shuts out his grief, tamps it down under his search for a way back to Jane. That is what is important now, finding a path back to Midgard so he can make sure she’s safe. His days consist of hours at a round table in the palace gardens poring over a map of Yggdrasil, sometimes alone, sometimes with Heimdall. Most of the time, nothing comes of it. But it keeps his mind off his grief.

The nights are the problem. He can’t sleep, so he wanders. And one night, many weeks after Loki’s fall, he finds himself wandering out of the city, toward the Rainbow Bridge.

He hesitates at first, his hand tightening convulsively on Mjolnir’s handle as a wave of pain rolls over him. He hasn’t set foot on the Bridge since he destroyed it, and seeing it again ushers in a fresh crop of painful memories. He almost turns back, almost decides to force himself to sleep. To accept that he is the only one shaken by Loki’s death and that maybe he is wrong to mourn.

And then he sees the figure silhouetted against the light of the stars at the ruined edge of the Bridge, hunched and small and alone.

He chooses to walk instead of fly, adopting a heavy gait so he can be heard coming long before he reaches the edge, as even from this distance he can see the figure shivering and he doesn’t wish to frighten her. She doesn’t turn, staring out at the endless spread of the cosmos until he slows to a stop behind her right shoulder.

“My lady,” he begins uncertainly, reaching out to touch her arm, “Are you alright?”

She places her hand over his for a few seconds, drawing in a deep breath before reaching up to lower her hood.

He recoils involuntarily when he sees the clothes hanging off her gaunt frame, her sunken eyes, the translucent skin stretched too tight over the bones of her familiar face. Seeing her like this is nearly a physical blow, and he resists the urge to back away. Instead, he gathers her silently into his arms, holding her up as she dissolves into broken sobs, no longer strong enough to support her own weight.

“I should have stopped him,” she wails, clutching desperately at Thor’s shoulders like she’s afraid of losing him too, “I should have known what he was planning. I could have made him see-” she can’t finish the sentence, instead letting out a high, keening shriek of mingled grief and anger that reverberates in Thor’s ears long after it is over.

“There was nothing you could have done, Mother,” he murmurs, pulling her closer to his chest, “he was beyond any of our help. He was mad.”

“He was my son!”

“I know. But you can’t blame yourself for his actions. He strayed from the path you wanted for him a long time ago.”

She doesn’t respond for a few long minutes, weeping silently into the shoulder of her last remaining child and staring out into the cosmos through tear-blurred eyes. “There is no stronger grief than that of a mother who has lost her child,” she whispers after a long lull.

Thor doesn’t respond, afraid if he tries to speak his voice will convey his pain. He needs to be strong for his mother now. She needs him.

“There was another,” she says, so quiet he can barely hear her, “Before you. A girl.”

He tries to conceal his shock, but he was never able to hide his feelings from her, and of course she knew this revelation would come as a major blow.

“She died, many years ago, when she was very young,” she lies, fighting to contain the shudder that passes through her at the thought of her daughter, her beautiful baby girl, and what she became. “She was troublesome. A trickster. Maybe that’s why it was so easy to accept Loki, to love him as my own. Because he reminded me so much of her.” Her eyes are glazed, distant, seeing not stars but Hela’s eyes as she was cast from Asgard. She still remembers the shock there, the rage… the fear. “To lose a child is a horror no parent should ever have to face. To lose two…” she lets out a deep, shuddering breath. “That’s a fate worse than death.” She gently disentangles herself from her son’s embrace, turning to gaze into his eyes, so blue like his father’s. Like his sister’s. She places a hand on his cheek with a watery smile. “I used to come out here after Hela… died,” she says, turning her attention back to the stars. “Of course the Bifrost was still there then, but the Bridge was nearly always empty at night. It’s so quiet out here. Nothing to remind me of…” she trails off, letting her hand drop to her side. “I was out here when I first knew I was having you. It saved me. You saved me. It’s the only reason I didn’t meet the same fate as Loki.” She takes a step toward the side of the Bridge and Thor panics, hauling her frail body away from the edge with a shout and knocking the air out of her lungs.

She smiles up at him, catching her breath. “Don’t worry about me, Thor. I’m not going anywhere. Not while I still have one son left to protect.” She pushes a strand of golden hair behind his ear and reaches up to kiss his cheek. “You’re still saving me, Thor. Every day.” She gives him one last smile before rebuilding the illusion around herself and walking back down the bridge, leaving him to stare silently at her retreating back.

When he can no longer see her, he lowers himself onto the surface of the bridge, letting his legs dangle over the edge. And he realizes she’s right, there’s no quieter place in Asgard than out here, alone with the stars. He closes his eyes and sends a silent prayer for his brother’s soul before following his mother back to the loud reminders of the city.