The two walked out the door and back through Valhalla's Throne to Helheim. Elle didn't notice anyone or anything on her way. All she saw was the look in Thor's eyes when he realized who she was. Nothing had ever cut her so deep. Not even a beating from her father had hurt as much as the pain and rage in Thor's eyes.
"Would you like me to take you to Thor's so you can talk?"
"No," Elle said. "Thank you, but I think it's best that I give him some space."
"He'll come around," said Frigg as they walked onto the street. "He's in shock. But he will realize what he feels for you is real, and he'll calm down. If he can forgive Loki for everything he's ever done, Thor can forgive you for not telling him who your father is."
Elle's gut clenched, and tears welled again. She wasn’t so sure.
They walked down the dark street, and with every step, a sense of dread washed over her. She didn't know what to think. What to feel. What to do.
"Thor's always had a lot put on his shoulders, and the destruction of Asgard is something he's never been able to forgive himself for."
"But it was prophesied. Nothing could have changed it."
"True. But you must also realize Thor isn't used to losing. He was the golden son. Odin's favorite. That meant in his eyes to keep favor, he had to be the best, always."
"No one can do that."
Frigg nodded. "That's the pressure Odin placed on him every single day. To be the best. To be the hero of Asgard. The savior of his people. And in Thor's eyes, he failed."
"No wonder he's cut himself off so much."
Frigg sighed. "I've tried for centuries to get him to realize he is more than Thor Odinson. I had hoped coming here and getting out of Valhalla would help him find his own path. Be who he wanted to be. And in a small way, it has, though not completely. But when you arrived... For the first time, I saw the possibility of a future for him. You are exactly what he needs, Elle. He will see that."
Elle gave Frigg a stiff smile as they reached the entrance to The Raven Weaver. She hoped more than anything Frigg was right, but she couldn’t bank on it. In the whole of her life, she’d never gotten anything she dreamed of.
Elle walked through the portal to Midgard. She hiked up the stairs, her body heavier than ever. She paused, noticing Heimdall wasn't in his usual spot, but didn't think much of it. Even Heimdall needed a break every once in a while.
She continued heading to her apartment. Halfway up the stairs, she took off her heels, giving her feet a much-needed break from the torture.
She stared at the floor as she headed toward her door and paused, remembering what lay inside. Her unmade bed. Memories of making love to Thor. The scent of him on her pillows. The emptiness where his arms held her close. All things that would pummel her until there was nothing left.
She thought about going to Val's room instead, but decided against it. She didn’t want to be a burden if Val brought Loki home with her.
Elle pushed open her door, and the scent that hit had her backing up in a heartbeat, but she wasn't fast enough. Before she could scream, strong arms covered her mouth and yanked her into the apartment.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Thor sat on the shattered edge of what remained of the Bifröst and stared out at the remaining floating shards of Asgard.
The bridge beneath him lay a ruin of fractured prismatic crystal, each broken slab still humming with residual energy that vibrated up through his thighs. Where the Bifröst had once stretched in an unbroken arc of rainbow-hued brilliance, now only jagged stumps jutted into the void, their edges dulled to a milky iridescence like old bruises on glass.
Beyond them, the remnants of Asgard drifted in silence- towers snapped at their midsections, golden domes caved inward, whole sections of palace wall tumbling in slow, weightless rotation through a sky that wasn’t sky. Just an endless expanse of deep indigo streaked with veins of silver dust where stars used to anchor themselves.
Thor pressed his palms flat against the crystalline surface, feeling the cold bite through his calloused fingers- hands roughened by centuries of gripping Mjölnir's handle and, more recently, by wrenches and engine grease. His boots dangled over the edge where the bridge ended, into nothingness. A colorless void of metal and stone, but tasted like death and grief.
The absolute silence pressed against his eardrums and made the blood in his own veins sound deafening. The only motion came from the continued drifting fragments of his former home: a carved lintel spinning a hundred yards out, still bearing the rune for protection in flaking gold leaf. A chunk of courtyard flagstone, trailing soil, and the withered roots of what had once been his mother's garden.
The cold wasn't like Midgard cold, wasn't weather. It was the absence of temperature, as if the place had lost its reason to generate heat. It settled into his shoulders, crept beneath the jacket collar against the column of his neck. It burrowed in his knees, and in the old ache along his left side where Surt's blade had found a gap in his armor during Ragnarök itself.
Thor’s hands curled against the Bifröst's broken edge until the crystal bit into his skin.
It'd been a century since he'd been there. At first, he'd not been able to bring himself to see it after it'd happened. But while in Valhalla, he'd found himself there often. Staring off, trying to figure out what he'd done wrong. How he could have fixed what happened. After centuries, he'd finally stopped. But strangely, when he'd left the family dinner, the Bifröst was where Mjölnir had taken him.
He blew out a deep sigh. Surtr's daughter. Elle was Surtr's daughter. Were they all planning on keeping it from him? If it hadn't been for Hödr...
Thor threw his hands over his face and lay back on the Bifröst. A fire giant. His mortal enemy. The one being he was unable to beat. And the one woman who'd opened his heart after being closed for so long, ends up being the daughter of his enemy.
