WHO: Thor, Loki, and open WHAT: Funeral proceedings WHEN: Backdated to shortly after returning to Kirkwall WHERE: House Asgard, Wounded Coast NOTES: Grief and loss
Thor spent the day hauling and stacking logs. As the sun fades off the Wounded Coast Loki escorts Frigga’s wrapped body, carried by slaves, to the pile. Jointly the brothers ease her up onto the top of the pile and then there’s a pause, a short wait. Only when sky and sea turn dark does Thor lift a hand to light the pyre with a massive fireball.
The atmosphere tonight is less serious and guarded. Tradition has been met, the ritual was at least attempted, and now it is time to remember Frigga for who she was in life before turning attention fully to revenge and making Corypheus regret everything.
Thor is shirtless and a lot more alert-looking than at the Vigil as he actually mingles, while Loki looks like he’s in a trance.
Alexandrie had been keeping herself distracted during the funeral itself gliding about as the lady of a residence ought to: quietly observing the greater ebb and flow of the guests and quietly marshaling the staff as necessary. Once the ebb had been the greater, she had thought to leave the brothers to their own time, to perhaps coordinate the return of the mansion from gathering place to home.
But then, tiredly and perhaps unthinkingly, Thor had looked at her with the same sort of expectation of her departure that might be rendered a guest who lagged behind. Loki had both remained in the music room and looked absent besides, and so, having been a great deal more than unprepared, she had murmured some manner of appropriate thing (or at least she trusted she had) and... left.
She wasn't going to leave Frigga's final farewell unattended, when the time came for it, but her attendance is thin-lipped and remote, and she will eventually slip away down the coast with a pilfered bottle of wine to sit straight-backed and in profile on a large piece of driftwood just at the edge of the pyrelight, watch the glittering reflection on the sea, and drink melancholically.
She is Being Alone, and making sure she can be seen doing it.
Maybe it's an Orlesian thing, sitting at a distance and drinking. Thor doesn't know. Or if he did, he's tired out enough that little cultural tidbits are being forgotten. Throughout most of the burning he stays near to the pyre, keeping an eye on it as if it could somehow go wrong, but as the end approaches he comes over to Alexandrie.
"Is this the way it is done in Orlais? I would think most would be closer so they can be seen and see. With masks on." No, he's fairly certain that his schooling did not cover Orlesian funerals.
"We are not in Orlais, my lord," Alexandrie replies with the utmost propriety. A polite distance that had not been there when she had been pouring tea for him in her dressing gown in the small hours of the morning. "Nor would I disrespect the Lady Asgard or your custom by behaving as if we were."
There really is nothing so frustrating as being in a purposefully palpable sulk and having someone notice and not ask why. Especially when that person is the cause of it. Coming in close second is being forced to remember by their presence that you know very well how tired they are, know that they just lit their mother's funeral pyre, which still burns, casting its flickering shadows about the beach so that it cannot be forgotten, and know that perhaps they also feel alone and cut adrift, so that you are forced to recognize you are perhaps being unreasonable.
(Of course she was being unreasonable. That was half the point of indulging in such things as this.) There is else to it, though, and things she wishes to say, and she cannot game Thor into inquiring after them at the moment. So after he takes a few steps, she gives over and speaks.
"I have cast my lot in with your family's, my lord. To the disapproval ranging from mild to rather severe of my own and those I have made acquaintance of since arriving. I do not find fond welcome among the families of Hightown, and perhaps due to my willful disregard of that as time progresses my mother the Comtesse De La Fontaine may very well prevail upon my Lord Father that it is truly in the best interest of my future happiness and that of the family to make arrangements for an ...appropriate marriage, regardless of my feelings on the matter."
She'll drink to that. The bottle sloshes along with the sea as she lowers it again.
"I think I would refuse it and risk their displeasure, even knowing neither they, nor the Empress, nor your Lord Father would readily allow any else. I risk everything I have ever known for him. Do you yet disapprove?"
He is quiet as she speaks, letting the words sink in and feeling them out. There's a silent stretch after, filled with the crackling of wood and waves lapping on the shore.
"I cannot disapprove," he finally says, quietly. "He is my brother, and I believe you make him happy."
She's lasted longer than any of Loki's other conquests, and Loki actually seems... fond of her. Thor would not name it love, not yet, but there is affection and real affection from his brother is rare. That being said, Loki has always been a schemer and Orlesian nobles are known for their scheming as well. It could be that there's a second snake now living in the house with him.
...granted, he loves snakes.
Thor looks over at Lexie. "Know that my Lord Father may disown him for staying with you." If he chooses to do so. "My mother has always softened his anger toward Loki. Now there will be no one at my father's side to do so. And we are in a land where we are seen as the enemy, even as we aid. You may be in for a very difficult time should you choose to stand beside Loki. But so long as he does not betray me," again, "I will not cast him aside, and so long as you stand beside him you will be welcome as well."
It is enough to lance the hurt she'd been so assiduously nursing since she'd left the estate. Thor spoke truly of it: there was not, save he and perhaps Gwenaëlle, a single acquaintance of hers within or without the Inquisition who was not given to expressing anything from light disapproval to overt hostility about her choice in companionship. Family included. Evie made faces and comments that were only half jest and looked concerned sometimes when she thought Lexie wasn't watching, her elder siblings expressed brief concerns in their letters, and her mother was only kept from vapors by the mild hand-patting assurances of her father that certainly this was only another of her brief and eccentric flings with inappropriate suitors and should soon be finished like the rest had been.
As unexpected as it had been, Frigga's brief approval—for it had been that, not simply acceptance—had stood unique and shining and had said near everything she had needed to know about the kind of woman, the kind of mother, she had been.
"I grieve," she says, finally proferring the bottle, should he wish it. "For your loss, and his. My own, much smaller in comparison, for what more I might have known of her."
"The painting you have, of the sea by Val Royeaux—if you remember it? The grove of trees in the background that run along the edge of the beach to frame the sand? They were cut down, the following summer." She folds her hands in her lap carefully, watches the pyre's flickering in the sea. "There are things that pass from this world and never come again, and that would be enough sorrow without loving them and being loved."
He accepts the bottle, intending to take a drink. Then her words hit just the right note that Thor swallows hard and tightens his jaw in an attempt to show nothing. Everything is acceptable here except showing said sorrow or grief.
After several slow breaths, Thor sips from the bottle and holds it back out. She's not looking at him. That small mercy does not go unnoticed; she likely does not know many of their ways at all yet, but that tears are a weakness seems to be universal. When he speaks his voice is rough.
"The things that are the most precious are the most fleeting, it seems. Perhaps that is why there is always war and hostility. We can only see what is lost to us." The Imperium saw their lost lands and lives, the South saw lost lives, the Dalish saw lost history... and if Corypheus was who the South said he was, he saw the loss of the Golden City and potential power.
"And we know that its like will not return." But that does not stop the pain of it. Corypheus has taken something from Thor, and there is no way to inflict a matching hurt on the creature.
The roughness of his voice means she will continue to watch the sea, rather than bear witness to what ought remain private. Sharing that manner of raw honesty with Loki had been difficult enough for the both of them, and they were lovers. Had been in private. Had still fumbled awkwardly with it. Whatever tears Thor sheds will remain his own.
"You are right," she says, "We remember the wounds we have taken far more than the wounds we have not. But such a thing is not too strange." And is is everywhere and always. After a moment, she speaks quietly.
"Whatever such things have passed between our countries, I do not suffer any to speak ill of the two of you in my presence. You have lost as much, have as much to lose, have as much desire to wreak vengeance and end his threat as whoever it is who opens their mouth. It is little, perhaps, but... do not count yourself entirely friendless."
One magister, himself, Loki, Benedict, some slaves-posing-as-servants, Resa, and Lexie. That is... Well. It is certainly more than nothing. There are a few others who might be more friendly than neutral as well, Gwenaelle, Galadriel, the necromancer who escaped Minrathous with them, he cannot count everyone out.
"Thank you." His voice is grave and back under control. "Being in hostile lands was easy, before. Now... We will teach them that the Imperium is not weak, despite how it looks, and that this is only temporary. Corypheus has sealed his fate with this attack."
Now his country is weakened. His house is hurting. He does not feel the strength that he's carried with him previously; the sense of conviction that they are right is feeling a little threadbare. But he is Thor of House Asgard, and he will find his strength again even in these cold lands.
Resa hadn't ventured near during the Vigil, save what felt absolutely mandatory, standing in their general direction, faced somewhat near the body, muttering something that sounded like condolences, and then leaving.
Mortality is ever a stranger to her, as is the celebration of death. Celebrating something inevitable is such a human thing to do, really. She knows death, she's aware of it, but it's not something her people celebrated--and when she left to live amongst humans, she rarely became friends with anyone long enough to care whether they lived or died.
But now she's here, and while she never met Frigga, and doesn't particularly care about her any more than any of the others, here she is, anyway. Wine glass in hand, and still looking a little lost about the whole thing. But she ought to do something, so she finally approaches Thor.
"Are you...doing okay?" A stupid question, but the only one she can think of.
"Yes," he says automatically. It's the answer one gives. Especially the heir. He's in territory that is hostile to his people, under the command of one who would casually murder civilians, with no idea who may be spies or enemies. Yes is the answer he has to give.
But he's not good at that sort of thing. Misleading has always been his brother's art form, constant suspicion Loki's garb, and it does not sit well on Thor's shoulders. Thor exhales heavily after a few moments and looks down at her.
"Would you look down on me, my lady, if that was not my answer?"
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Fire - Open
The atmosphere tonight is less serious and guarded. Tradition has been met, the ritual was at least attempted, and now it is time to remember Frigga for who she was in life before turning attention fully to revenge and making Corypheus regret everything.
Thor is shirtless and a lot more alert-looking than at the Vigil as he actually mingles, while Loki looks like he’s in a trance.
no subject
But then, tiredly and perhaps unthinkingly, Thor had looked at her with the same sort of expectation of her departure that might be rendered a guest who lagged behind. Loki had both remained in the music room and looked absent besides, and so, having been a great deal more than unprepared, she had murmured some manner of appropriate thing (or at least she trusted she had) and... left.
She wasn't going to leave Frigga's final farewell unattended, when the time came for it, but her attendance is thin-lipped and remote, and she will eventually slip away down the coast with a pilfered bottle of wine to sit straight-backed and in profile on a large piece of driftwood just at the edge of the pyrelight, watch the glittering reflection on the sea, and drink melancholically.
She is Being Alone, and making sure she can be seen doing it.
no subject
"Is this the way it is done in Orlais? I would think most would be closer so they can be seen and see. With masks on." No, he's fairly certain that his schooling did not cover Orlesian funerals.
no subject
She does not offer him the bottle.
no subject
"All right." And with that he starts to walk away.
no subject
(Of course she was being unreasonable. That was half the point of indulging in such things as this.) There is else to it, though, and things she wishes to say, and she cannot game Thor into inquiring after them at the moment. So after he takes a few steps, she gives over and speaks.
"I have cast my lot in with your family's, my lord. To the disapproval ranging from mild to rather severe of my own and those I have made acquaintance of since arriving. I do not find fond welcome among the families of Hightown, and perhaps due to my willful disregard of that as time progresses my mother the Comtesse De La Fontaine may very well prevail upon my Lord Father that it is truly in the best interest of my future happiness and that of the family to make arrangements for an ...appropriate marriage, regardless of my feelings on the matter."
She'll drink to that. The bottle sloshes along with the sea as she lowers it again.
"I think I would refuse it and risk their displeasure, even knowing neither they, nor the Empress, nor your Lord Father would readily allow any else. I risk everything I have ever known for him. Do you yet disapprove?"
no subject
"I cannot disapprove," he finally says, quietly. "He is my brother, and I believe you make him happy."
She's lasted longer than any of Loki's other conquests, and Loki actually seems... fond of her. Thor would not name it love, not yet, but there is affection and real affection from his brother is rare. That being said, Loki has always been a schemer and Orlesian nobles are known for their scheming as well. It could be that there's a second snake now living in the house with him.
...granted, he loves snakes.
Thor looks over at Lexie. "Know that my Lord Father may disown him for staying with you." If he chooses to do so. "My mother has always softened his anger toward Loki. Now there will be no one at my father's side to do so. And we are in a land where we are seen as the enemy, even as we aid. You may be in for a very difficult time should you choose to stand beside Loki. But so long as he does not betray me," again, "I will not cast him aside, and so long as you stand beside him you will be welcome as well."
no subject
As unexpected as it had been, Frigga's brief approval—for it had been that, not simply acceptance—had stood unique and shining and had said near everything she had needed to know about the kind of woman, the kind of mother, she had been.
"I grieve," she says, finally proferring the bottle, should he wish it. "For your loss, and his. My own, much smaller in comparison, for what more I might have known of her."
"The painting you have, of the sea by Val Royeaux—if you remember it? The grove of trees in the background that run along the edge of the beach to frame the sand? They were cut down, the following summer." She folds her hands in her lap carefully, watches the pyre's flickering in the sea. "There are things that pass from this world and never come again, and that would be enough sorrow without loving them and being loved."
no subject
After several slow breaths, Thor sips from the bottle and holds it back out. She's not looking at him. That small mercy does not go unnoticed; she likely does not know many of their ways at all yet, but that tears are a weakness seems to be universal. When he speaks his voice is rough.
"The things that are the most precious are the most fleeting, it seems. Perhaps that is why there is always war and hostility. We can only see what is lost to us." The Imperium saw their lost lands and lives, the South saw lost lives, the Dalish saw lost history... and if Corypheus was who the South said he was, he saw the loss of the Golden City and potential power.
"And we know that its like will not return." But that does not stop the pain of it. Corypheus has taken something from Thor, and there is no way to inflict a matching hurt on the creature.
no subject
"You are right," she says, "We remember the wounds we have taken far more than the wounds we have not. But such a thing is not too strange." And is is everywhere and always. After a moment, she speaks quietly.
"Whatever such things have passed between our countries, I do not suffer any to speak ill of the two of you in my presence. You have lost as much, have as much to lose, have as much desire to wreak vengeance and end his threat as whoever it is who opens their mouth. It is little, perhaps, but... do not count yourself entirely friendless."
no subject
"Thank you." His voice is grave and back under control. "Being in hostile lands was easy, before. Now... We will teach them that the Imperium is not weak, despite how it looks, and that this is only temporary. Corypheus has sealed his fate with this attack."
Now his country is weakened. His house is hurting. He does not feel the strength that he's carried with him previously; the sense of conviction that they are right is feeling a little threadbare. But he is Thor of House Asgard, and he will find his strength again even in these cold lands.
no subject
Mortality is ever a stranger to her, as is the celebration of death. Celebrating something inevitable is such a human thing to do, really. She knows death, she's aware of it, but it's not something her people celebrated--and when she left to live amongst humans, she rarely became friends with anyone long enough to care whether they lived or died.
But now she's here, and while she never met Frigga, and doesn't particularly care about her any more than any of the others, here she is, anyway. Wine glass in hand, and still looking a little lost about the whole thing. But she ought to do something, so she finally approaches Thor.
"Are you...doing okay?" A stupid question, but the only one she can think of.
no subject
But he's not good at that sort of thing. Misleading has always been his brother's art form, constant suspicion Loki's garb, and it does not sit well on Thor's shoulders. Thor exhales heavily after a few moments and looks down at her.
"Would you look down on me, my lady, if that was not my answer?"