The night was accommodating as per usual, but tonight it entertained unaccustomed guests. It was easy on the Asgardian people, allowing the stars to shine, projecting glimmers of hopes and dreams, even if it were staged. It's reason held no foul intent, but it offered it's imaginative canvas for their moment of solace.

I followed the twinkling lights down the bifrost, straying further away from the commemorations of the city until they become background noise to my breath. The night's gesture had already been surprise enough and my presence could provoke it to change.

I have been replaying the conversation I overheard last night in head. They should have the opportunity to mourn without concern of my attendance.

Heimdall stands in his expected position, yet more earnestly, as if he does not dare to move his eyes from the bifrost's entrance. He holds a grip on the sword that shouts grievous danger, popping the veins in his forearms.

"You're not at Frigga's funeral?" He speaks. I'm surprised he was able to spare some of his attention to my entry.

"I believe it best to give my prayers from afar." I settle next to him, looking out into space as he is. "I could ask the same to you."

It is quiet for a few moments before he smiles ahead of us. It is not one not of happiness. It seems he finds his own anguish amusing. Perhaps he finds its reason ridiculous, but nonetheless, he cannot help the feeling.

He releases his grip on the sword as he steps down to my level, maintaining his stare into the expansive void. "I will spare us the conversation I've been having with myself. Where I declare I am to blame for the death of the one I held at such high regard. She would understand my absence, as she knows my shame comes from a place of admiration."

I nod understandably. The days to follow and how we feel as the hours pass need no justification. The air is too heavy with the weight of our guilt. Everyone feels they could have done more. The actions they take will be for them more than it is for her.

There is a comfortable silence that we bask in, appreciating the sorrowful feelings we share. A state of permissive behavior. Cheers from Frigga's funeral provoke us to turn and face the scene. We watch the city of Asgard from a distance as lanterns start to float in memoriam.

"Do you think about them, in times like this?"

His sudden investment catches me off guard.

"I'm sorry?"

Heimdall stands still, but relaxes his stance. His eyes remain on the city. "You know I do not mean to overstep. And this knowledge will not leave the space between the two of us."

I frown, now understanding what he makes mention of. Although, the distaste is in myself and how he may resent my harsh answer.

"Is it horrible of me to say I don't?"

I take away his moment to reply. More realistically, the feeling that he is obligated to assure me of my morality.

"They did not care about the consequences they would leave me. They even stole my chance to send them off properly. Like this."

"They were remarkable physicists. They did wonders for Midgard."

"They were awful parents." I move to cross my arms on my chest. "They should not be given any other title than that of their work. They became their own experiment and that is all."

Heimdall looks to me, not daring to show any sign of pity, but rather one of his attentiveness. "I hope you see them in some form of esteem."

"Both of them volunteered as test subjects. Both of them. To a prototype of theirs that they were not sure would even work. They chose to enter an uncharted realm with no solid plan on how to get back. No concern for what they would leave behind." My heated face catches the sight of Frigga's apparition as she soars through the night sky, up to Valhalla. Her liberation tempers me. Her peace bringing temporary solace. I turn my head away from Asgard.

"I cannot sympathize with them. I don't know how it feels to lose someone that dear."

"She is your loss as well. She admired you greatly."

His words of consolation are appreciated, but they are a worthless expense. I smile softly, hoping he does not see through the force of it. The attention on me has lasted too long, and it has brought nothing but a burning anger.

"Thank you for enduring my rambling."

He smiles back. "Thank you for standing with me, Ms. Natalle."

I laugh slightly as I start to make my way down the bifrost again. "Ms. Natalle, so formal!"

The born roar in his voice negates the need to shout. "Goodnight, Ms. Natalle."

Those from the funeral have made their way to the town center, swarming the streets in efforts to make it back home. I try to shuffle through the flow of traffic, but it's as if I am the only resistance. The sea did not encompass me, nor make me water myself. I'm driftwood, not given the ability to sink or the fortune of floating unrecognized.

I find my opening at the palace steps, now free of the crowd to look down on them.

A summit is always clear, yet it is the crisp of loneliness that makes things more apparent.

The crowd holds a dense sadness, one that is only made worse by their value on community. They pledge to it together and bond over its loss. This is not my sadness to hold or my loss to prize, that is clear. But it's guilt will find me regardless of my bearings. I had lived instead of an innocent, and that is incentive enough.

Thor had been up all night talking to me and Jane about his visit to his brother. He was troubled by the response he had gotten. It was cold, detached, unaffected. His wonted self. This was more than the death of his mother. Thor had finally accepted the death of his brother, the one he used to know.

It was an act of course, its viewing only accessible to black hearts. It is a form of reserved empathy between us those who live similarly. It is how I would be. How I am. I can understand how the god feels, but I do not dare feel for him.

Perhaps in defense of my own indifference, I take this as an opportunity. It is cruel, truly wicked, but I do not hold myself to any such esteem.

The loss of a mother brings vulnerability and that is irresistible blood in the water.

... ... ...

There was no more screaming. No more chaos. The dungeons were silent, empty, and almost tranquil. The other prisoners were in a specialized infirmary and they were not due back to their cells for another day or two.

This whole dungeon held one man. Perhaps it was built solely for him at his birth in the way it seems so fitting. As if Odin had recognized who he was from the first look. Pure opposition. A challenger for the throne.

He was more than eager to throw him in here, as if he were just waiting for him to finally show a little of his power.

My footsteps tread lightly across the floor, almost soundless to anyone other than myself. That was proven true as I neared the gods cell.

I stopped slowly at first glance, keeping outside of his sight. The walls, the furniture, his being...He had torn himself apart.

The furniture had been broken against the wall, leaving marks that had chipped away at the paint. The bed was broken, having been snapped apart piece by piece and used to as a weapon against anything else that had been laying around.

He sits against the wall with a bleeding foot, clothes torn, and cuts around his face. He had done a number on himself. His raven hair was not only tangled, but severely unmanaged, as if he had been pulling at it in his fits of rage.

It was not just at the loss of his mother, as it was the spark to the hidden flame.

He had not been there to stop it. He had let it happen, yet it was a consequence to his very being.

A feeling we—I know all too well. When you've realized the war you've been fighting is against yourself. When every battle, despite success, becomes a losing one.

I start closer towards the cell with heavy steps as he casts an illusion to hide his true state. In front of me now stands the clean god I expected with a tidy room, as if nothing had happened.

"You asshole." I rage, bringing myself the closest I could to the glass. "You should have shown him that. That's what you're supposed to do."

His back faces me as he brings his hands together behind him. He stands unresponsive to my presence.

"Your brother is more concerned about how you are more than he is of himself. And Odin, ha-Odin has gone certifiable."

He huffs in amusement, looking over his shoulder gently. "Is this supposed to pull a string?"

"He's your brother." I say antagonizingly. "Whether you like it or not, you have a duty right now. He needs you to show some kind of emotion that will comfort him."

"I owe them nothing." He snaps.

"Then leave me utterly confused." My voice becomes a deep contrast to the one he seems to keep tempered. "There is something in this life that you obviously thought value enough to live for. You bargained for it, you fought for it, felt for it."

His hands turn to fists at his sides as he starts to slowly turn in my direction.

"Your brother means something to you. Something beyond what this world can comprehend and your going to let him suffer alone? The love he has for you is something I can not understand. You are not worth that love. He thinks of you in an everlasting journey for redemption, yet you choose nothing that does not serve your self interest."

His eyes darken as he draws closer to the cell wall, piercing his eyes into my skin. "Is that what you would have done? Hm? Shared that with him?"

I tilt my head to my side, battling him with challenging eyes.

"We are not children." He spits. "He should realize when his emotion is beyond his own good."

"His emotion has started to tell him you are beyond saving."

He gives a soundless laugh under his breath before rubbing his hand along his jaw. "It's about time, isn't it?"

Why he continues to fight is beyond me. It will never be said aloud, but he and I know that I might as well be looking at a reflection. His feelings do not need an illusion or a mask of his infuriating arrogance. Darkness is not without a conscious.

I push my teeth together to keep my composure. Somehow, I have been the one most affected by my own ambush. 'And your father-"

"He's not my father." He interrupts, keeping down a calm fury.

I raise an eyebrow as I step only an inch away from the glass. "And she not your mother?"

His emotion finally starts to creep to the surface. It's time to hit.

"Do something for your brother who I know you care for. Do not push him away as you did Frigga."

His eyes erupt into flames as he slams on the glass, making me take two steps back. "You know nothing of my mother. We have lived centuries before your existence and you dare let her name slip from your lips so freely?"

He was certainly right, but this was a time for strategy. He cuts me off as I go to persist.

"I never wanted the throne. It needs me. And I will pursue it devotedly. She knew it, and I'm afraid you still haven't grasped that yet."

I try to regain the steps I had lost, but his stare scares my feet from making any sudden movement. A deep, raspy chuckle comes from the bottom of his chest as he sizes me up.

"You will not have to wait much longer. The moment is coming when my hands find their way around your neck, embracing all the ways to take my sweet time. Savoring every scream for mercy and beg for forgiveness. You will run and find it useless. I will be there, relishing in the pretty self assurance leaving your eyes as you realize you are no match to those outside of your pathetic realm."

His words had brought me up against the glass to meet him. If there were no boundary, I would be able to feel his breath on my skin.

"Safiya Natalle, I dream each night of your head in my hand. Lifeless and submitted. I will play it over and over until the day comes where I am able to do it myself."

My mouth had unconsciously fallen gaped as if the words have given me an edging pleasure. His darkness had now enticed my core.

I looked at danger and gave it a wink.

"I want nothing more then the look of vanquish as you fall to my feet." I look directly into his eyes with a kind of pure ignorance that I know he finds so appealing. "Come find me. I invite you."

His eyes take in my words, spreading its irony up and down my body, charmed by our murderous play. Our time was coming.

I took my steps back slowly, not breaking the stare until I turned to walk out of the dungeon.

The gods promises did not sound empty. Whether it be immediate or centuries later, he will find his way to my death. They will walk hand in hand through my door, too eager to show me what they have planned. What could be more exciting then the grandeur of death?

... ... ...

I make it halfway to my room before my feet are stopped in their tracks. I spot the one place in the palace that is absent of light, yet the doors hold wide open to its invitation.

Thor's silhouette stands on the balcony, overlooking Asgard in all its glory. His hands rest on either side of the railing in front of him, as if the weight of his guilt has him off balance.

I lean against the doorway for a few moments, watching him try to find the golden beauty he had once saw. I thought it best to save him from his own thoughts.

"I worked with the healers all night. I tried to use any knowledge I have of cosmic hosting, but we could not find a way to extract it. I'm sorry."

He shakes his head in protest. "Do not apologize. You have kept Jane sane through this. That is all that matters."

I move from the doorway and settle next to him on the balcony.

"I feel this place will fall." He starts. "She held us together, made us believe in that beyond who we actually are. She fought our demons for us."

Silence. Appreciative solace. It went on for longer than I expected, yet it seems we feel comfortable in each other's presence. I decide to corrupt the quiet before I accidently make a friend.

"I thought she was crazy," My words sounding more uplifted than they should have. It earned me a soft side smile, but I immediately tone down my manner with a deep sigh.

"I still do, respectively. Perhaps her hope in me is not to fix that around me, but that I will fix myself." He turns to look to me, but I keep my gaze straight. "She puts hope in my growth. That is a trust I do not deserve, yet she gave it anyway."

Silence. I continue, hoping he doesn't feel obligated to speak with the nature of my words.

"She may be the only one in the nine realms capable of such humility."

He laughs sincerely into the night sky. "It is a dark world, made worse with her gone."

Silence. He was hesitant to speak this time.

"I'll be releasing Loki tomorrow morning."

My head stays still, looking forward, as if the words have no effect on me. My knuckles start to turn white from the tightened grip on the railing.

"He's the only one that knows how to make it to the dark elves without Odin noticing. Heimdall will have to betray my father-"

"Heimdall will do it." I grin. "For the good of the realms."

"I have no question." Thor's smile at the mention of his devoted friend quickly fades.

Silence.

"He will come for you."

My eyes make effort to seem unwavering. "I know."

Silence.

He turns to me, grabbing my hand. The crisp wind blows the hair from my face, revealing my stone look.

"You will stay hidden until we return tomorrow night."

My words turn wrathful. "What? No-"

"There is no debate here, Safiya. He will kill you. And if Odin sees you're still here, he will kill you if Loki is too late."

I move my hand away from his as he continues.

"I need him, just for this mission, and then he will go back to the cells. I need him focused. If he sees you or even hears your name in the wind, he will push another agenda."

I huff, knowing it's the right thing to do-- but god. This was the time to start the great fall.

But this was not for me. It was for Thor. It was for the Queen.

As if he read my thoughts, Thor looks back out on Asgard. "Her death will mean something. If not everything."

Minutes pass as we stand on the balcony before he takes me to a small and secluded room on the top floor of the palace. Not many are willing to make the effort of the journey, which I now understand why. It had taken half an hour to get there.

He leaves me in the cold, drafty room, but not without an excessive amount of blankets and Asgardian newspapers. I lie down on the bed as he leaves, already with no expectations to rest. It's the beginning of another sleepless night.