Chapter Text
Perhaps they are destined, either to live by the knowledge of the others’ existence, or to die by the hand of one of the two.
Sometimes they’re unfortunate enough to end up suffering the second fate, for no matter how hard they try to succeed in changing the way they’re supposed to live, one of them will always end up dying.
Sometimes though, it is Thor who suffers less, watching only from a distance, slipping under the sheets at night without so much as a glance to the still living corpse that awaits his passing. Nights like that are spent in resting tussling, only to be awakened by the news of a royal death.
Ropes. Thor remembers binding his hands in seidr, sending the Norns a prayer that he would resist his own hands if they start to tear, to pierce, to dig in deep into warm flesh.
Thor would visit the gravestone, plant his fingers above the name engraved on the stone, reminisce the familiar emerald irises and how they had bled in cold crimson at the first stab.
I could’ve done more to stop myself, he whispers, just in his head, for no one would appreciate seeing the living not mourn the dead.
Especially the living who are cursed with guilt.
But it wouldn’t have made a difference.