for "mini_nanowrimo" hence no friends lock 30
20800 ♥ 18000 (115.56%)
thanks for indulging me for a month, everyone. :)
Asgard: Frigg is holding the cloth wrapped bundle tightly in her arms. Her husband is stoic and serious as more and more creatures and Gods show up on the beach. He stares out over the ocean. Only some, it seems, know why they are there, other simply followed the crowd put of curiosity. Everyone talks quietly amongst themselves. Frigg, ever tenderhearted, weeps softly as the crowd turns to watch Thor walk toward them carrying a miniature Viking ship over one broad shoulder. Odin does not move, says nothing, does not even glance at the body of the dead elf. Huginn and Muninn fly down to the sand covered ground and exchange glances. Muninn makes a noise, heard once before by a little elf. Huginn flaps his wings one time and makes a similar noise of agreement. Frigg shushes them. The boat made for Nissa hardly makes a splash as it’s placed in the water. Frigg leans over and places the body down the way one would lay a baby down to sleep. The illusion is shattered as a flaming torch is placed in the coffin ship and Nissa begins to burn. The perfect Asgard weather weeps huge, warm raindrops and the sun dims respectfully, although the azure blue sky never fades.
Eventually everyone leaves the beach, heads off to make a feast together and drink to whatever it was that was burning so brightly. Odin stays and Frigg stays with him. Her pale, long slender arms wrapped around his neck, her forehead pressed to his shoulder. Neither speaks for a long time. Eventually there is nothing left to watch out in the ocean and the moon is not full enough to see by. Frigg pulls herself away and takes her husband by the hand.
“I did this,” Odin whispers.
“I know that you think you did,” Frigg agrees and Odin turns to give her a stern one-eyes stare. She slaps his cheek with three of her fingers, sharply. He almost smiles, despite himself.
“I gave a cursed rune to her.”
“No,” Frigg shakes her head, blond hair flowing around her waist. “She took a cursed rune from you.” Odin looks back out to the ocean, says nothing in reply. “There was nothing you have that this little elf would not have taken willingly. Yes, she was charmed to love you but after all this time you still do not understand the heart of a woman. I love you and there is nothing you have that this little Goddess would not take willingly. Love is to die for.” Odin still does not answer but his hand squeezes hers, tightly, for a moment.
Howls of laughter float from the halls, out into the air to be heard distantly on the beach. Loki is, as always, the centre of attention, shifting from shape to shape. The gasps of horror and delight, thrill him and he plays the fool for his amusement first and foremost. Thor and his brothers are just finishing their first keg of mead. They roll another out from storage and two more for good measure. The women gather round at the end of the hall, busy themselves over cooking pots and keeping the fires ablaze. They become giddy and full of gossip after cup fulls of mulled wine. The funeral party flirts and sings and dances, unsteady and stomping around the wooden floors. Jokes and exaggerated tales bounce from one form to another, never quiet finding their aim. Everyone shouts over top of everyone else and everyone is happy to all be home together.
On the beach Odin still stands, holding his wife’s small hand in his own. She kisses the spot beside his empty eye and then kisses his cheek and tells him she loves him. In the darkness he begins to tell her the story of his long journey, alone on the shore of the beach, their soundtrack is the distant laughter and the waves of the water.