Brothers

Somehow he ended up in his room, throat aching and hoarse, face streaked with tears, and an immeasurable, impossible weight on his chest. He closed his eyes and had a single dream, a memory of the simpler times, when there was no throne to contend for, no attention to compete for, no substantial things to divide over. Just his darling brother reading from a children's book of history.



"The first world was that of Muspellheim," Loki had a gift for reading, Thor always stumbled where he had weaved and created and imagined.
"Skip to the Frost Giants, Loki!" Thor was watching disjointed, his much younger self laying on his stomach on his brother's bed in their shared room, watching him read from the book.
"Alright, alright," Young Loki sighed, flipping the pages, "'When the cold from Niflheim and the heat from Muspellheim met, Ymir the Frost Giant was born-"
"Okay, now skip to the part where dad kills him!" Thor interrupted.
"Brother," Loki whined, "You can't just skip around like that, it's a narrative."
"Well, narr-narra-narrontibies are boring!" Thor bemoaned. Loki sighed heavily and set the book aside.
"You'll understand some day."



Thor awoke in the present with a start, and the realization splitting another deep crack into his sore heart. The rain and the tears began again.



When the God of Thunder awoke again, dusk had just begun to spread it's tendrils across the land. The sun was shining in through the high windows of Thor's room, though it was obscured by the slowly dissipating clouds. He rolled onto his side to avert his eyes, not wishing to see light just yet. A short while later there was a knock at his door. A pageboy entered and informed Thor that his brother's funeral was starting soon.
Dressers then came in and groomed the woebegone prince into something presentable-light armor, silver jewelry and helm, muted scarlets and dark blues and blacks. Funerary clothes. A funeral. Thor shivered at the thought, heart-wounds reopening. They then attempted to move to his hair, but he snarled and bade them back from his brother's parting gift, the short braid down his neck. After they had retreated from his side, Thor moved towards the door. Sif appeared in the doorway, dressed in her mournful attire as well, although she wasn't in as bad a way as Thor was.
"Thor, my prince and my friend," Sif placed a fist over her heart and lowered her head.
"I am in no mood for formalities, Sif," Thor replied monotonously, "what do you seek?"
"I come not to receive, but to give." She held out a black comb.
"What's this?"
"You know what th-" the pageboy interrupted them, telling them the ceremony was fast approaching.
Thor grabbed the comb and stowed it in his pocket, marching away from Sif and down into the courtyard, where chariots and carriages awaited. He took a small, enclosed carriage alone and drew the blinds, basking in memories until they reached the sea. The shoreline was covered in deep green forests, with the sun setting and reflecting onto the calm waters. The rhythmic beating of the waves and the tide drowned out the horses' hooves on the forest floor, and Thor emerged to join the procession on the beach.
He found Loki quite quickly, way at the back, still among the small caravan of carriages, folded serenely on roofless palanquin, decorated with gold carvings and ivory inlays. The dressers had obviously taken the Thor's comments to heart about Loki's simple clothing. He now had on a finer over vest, and his gorget had been replaced with a brighter golden one, inlaid with jewels. His slim fingers and wrists we now adorned with gold and onyx and emeralds. Threads of gold and small jade beads had weaved themselves into his soft black hair, accompanied by tiny leaves crafted from soft gold.
The Trickster's face was peaceful, like he had met no trouble and looked to be asleep, ready to stir at any minute. Thor's heart soared as he thought this hope might be real, but sunk to new lows as reality cruelly swept it away from him. He reached up and touched Loki's newly decorated hands, flinching back at their new levels of frigidity. Then he realized how ghastly white his brother was in death, almost blue and blending in with his funeral attire, and new tears brimmed at his blue eyes. He stepped back and looked towards the guards designated as pall-bearers.
"I wish to carry my brother." Thor told them sluggishly. They all nodded, and the funeral director whisked around to tell them it was about to start. The four of them all took hold of a handle and lifted the light prince, beginning their slow walk down the small hill. While still far from the gathered crowd, Thor observed the small handful of people that had shown. Sif and the Warriors Three, only there for Thor, some of Loki's caretakers and teachers and trainers, the ones that still regarded his deceased brother as worthy of their time, and Frigga. There was no Odin, and there was no personal friend or spouse of Loki's. Thor felt the ever-present tears well up again, and he dropped his gaze to avoid their spillage.
The palanquin finally connected with the floating pyre, Thor and the other pall-bearers wading into the frigid water to set Loki upon the vessel. The other men moved back to the beach, but Thor could not leave his brother's side yet. Flame was set to the boat and it was pushed out into the cold ocean. The fire spread quickly, but then ship moved slowly, Thor splashed through the water after it, keeping his eyes transfixed on his brother's eternally sleeping form. slowly being encased in flickering fire. When he was waist deep, he felt the comb in his pocket and took it out. It was small and made of ebony, shiny and exquisite, the one made by Loki in order to braid his hair the day before. Upon closer examination, the handle had been inlaid with one tiny ruby and one tiny emerald, and on the other side, the word brother was carved and set with gold-leaf in Loki's slanted hand.
Thor dropped to his knees, his heart aching over the simple, meaningful comb and the image of his burning brother disappearing into the setting sun. He stayed there until the ship was out of sight and the frigid tide had come in. Sif stood next to him, rubbing genteel circles into his back, with Frigga still behind on the sand. All the people and carriages were gone, save for one intended for their ride back. Thor took Sif's extended hand and pulled himself out of the freezing sea, physically and emotionally numb. He staggered, and Sif wrapped an arm around his waist and helped him to shore. Frigga supported Thor on the other side, and all three of them moved in a silent group to the waiting carriage. Thor slumped against the inside of the carriage as they made their way back to the city, nobody making a sound.
The God of Thunder stared up at the moon, brightest thing in the sky with the stars covered by new inky black clouds. It was a crescent, and it suddenly reminded Thor of his lost brother's bronze gorget, hanging from his neck and beautifully complimentary to his armor. Thor's golden braid brushed the back of his neck.
Quietly and peacefully, he continued to mourn.

Notes