17260/More than Sight

More than Sight
Date of Scene:	24 February 2024
Location:	Palace - Asgard
Synopsis:	Thor is restless, and Frigga seeks out the source of her son's pain.
Cast of Characters:	Thor, Frigga

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Thor has posed:
The 'favorite' son of Asgard--favorite, at or least, the one that usually comes to mind first, should you ask many of the denizens, or even Odin perhaps--has not often been seen within the walls. Various reasons keep him away. Darkness, lately: loss and missing out in long, lonely places. The extreme happiness of the realm at learning Thor was alive caused feasts and festivals to flow through all of Asgard, yet Thor was not present for a lot of it. Keeping away, or busy...

Or some other mix of reasons, as he needed to work through his own measure of growing up, and a layer of denial, perhaps. Or to sort through the anger and confusion.

While Thor is home at the palace today, he has not found ease or relaxation at the visit. Instead, it is the middle of the night, and he restlessly prowls the area outside the palace, finally winding in towards the gardens. A failed attempt at hunting leaves him restless still, though his visage is that of exhaustion and the haunted look of one that isn't sleeping, or remembering to shower as much. Something eats the prince, dulling his luster of gold to wheat under an overcast sky.

Frigga has posed:
All are asleep to their beds, slumbering in peaceful repose except for a soul that lurks, restless.

A mother knows. She sleeps lightly, a manner born of the days when her children were young and needed her at any and all hours of the night. Frigga, then, lies half between slumber and wakefulness, the brush of something just touching her awareness. 'There is peace but there is need' that soft, calm voice speaks to her mind; an awareness that is still active, though her children are grown.

Rising from her bed, the Queen of Asgard sets a robe around her sleeping gown, her hair down in waves formed by those braids she wears in the day. Walking the corridors with a sure foot, her stride is a little quicker in the perceived need. It's not a premonition of danger, and it's not riding on the wings of magic, so...

Reaching the archway that leads to the garden, Frigga smiles at the form and figure of her handsome son, present finally in the palace of Asgard where so many believe that he should remain. The smile is short-lived, however, as her head quirk and a frown begins to crease her features.

"Thor?" A step is taken to the marble steps that lead into her domain.

Odd how her children find their way here. She's taught them well, or rather, it's a place of 'home'. Contentment.

Thor has posed:
Thor heard the steps before he noted who it was, so he automatically rolled his shoulders back, just to fix his stance if necessary. Thor will be what he needs to be for their people, and shield them from fearing or worrying about this prince. But the voice immediately changes that, since he catches immediately that this is Frigga. This is not a situation where he has to keep things from her, and the relief of knowing that rushes through his spine with a shudder, since the muscles are ill prepared to be anything other than tight.

"Yes," Thor answers. No games with Thor. He's there. Such as he is, or fears that he is, in current state. He is aware that in some ways, he is not himself.

"My mind is... ill at ease this night, mother," Thor says, with a deep release of breath, but he pulls a smile to the surface. It comes up tiredly, but naturally, not fake. Just a little battered. "But I did not rouse you, did I? My paced footfalls are not so heavy as to echo through to your chamber, I hope," Thor asks, with a note of gentle mirth, as he crosses towards her. Even if he's exhausted, he's pulling reserves together for her, to smile at her.

Frigga has posed:
Frigga takes the steps in fluid motion, looking all the world as if she simply floats above them as she descends. It's easy to feel in the air between them a weariness, and his tired tones tell some of the story. Concern is there in those blue eyes, fully awake and present regardless the hour.

She crosses the distance between them as he explains his ill-at-ease, her arms coming to wrap him in a hug. It may not solve all, but it is a beginning? "You did not wake me," comes with that gentle smile. Of course he did, but she'd never admit it, or tell him otherwise lest he feel a bit of guilt over it. "Your presence here is very much like your father's. All know when you are in," is the tease in return. "And there is an emptiness when we are without."

Thor has posed:
"Oh dear. /Do/ they?" Thor asks, with a concerned cough and grit of teeth that doesn't block out any of the smile. "Please do tell me my presence does not cause that degree of needing to sit up straight and proper. I would not wish that on our people, to feel that in double," Thor teases back. He hugs her securely and without pause or hitch, leaning his chin down to touch her shoulder. It's a warm, comfortable embrace, where he holds her, and allows himself to take in the support and emotional strength from her hug as well.

"But nor would I wish you to feel half full," he adds, half-releasing the hug, and turning his head towards her some to face her. It's a little further than he'd like to -- due to that still-fresh eye injury, with the painful red bruising around it, deeply down towards the ear on that side. Up close, the tension in his cheek from it is more apparent, expression there held to try not to pull on the wound.

Frigga has posed:
Their voices are hushed, as befits the night's air, the moon above allowing mother and son at least some illumination without the need of torchiers. From the hug, Frigga pulls back just a little in that half-release, and she looks at his face, a thumb tracking some of the lines, turning it to the child's memory of mom cleaning dirt of a smudge from an errant boy's face before dinner.

A soft laugh sounds and she shakes her head with a touch of humor. "I'm only half full when I dine with you all." Her hand drops from those lines, the insults to her son's features. "Allow me to help you," is whispered. "There are things that you need not bear alone. Things can be mended, what is wronged made right."

Thor has posed:
"Some of it, I think ... is deserved. They say scars teach us. Remind us," Thor answers, after a long pause. "...But I cannot sleep with these intense headaches. It is like the injury finds me anew whenever I try to rest. While I have the most hardy of constitutions, this is..."

Thor breathes out, but holds the breath in his throat and mouth, before finally just blowing, allowing every shred of air to leave his body in one go. Empty, exhausted, for that instant. And letting her see; fearless of her judgement.

"A mountain wearing me down."

Thor stays still and watches her; from that alone she may sense that she could look or inspect or remove the bandage as she chose. Perhaps he's too tired to make brave face now, or perhaps he doesn't feel it is weak to bravely allow her to take the measure of his pain.

Frigga has posed:
Frigga's judgement is based purely upon the recipient's conscience; at least in terms of her sons. She can show displeasure, absolutely, but know in the ned that they will do as they are wont, regardless of being shown what some would consider 'a better path'.

Life lessons.

"But they should not torment us," Frigga offers softly. "Come and sit with me." From her spot with him, she's stepping out a little and running her hand down his arm to take his own to lead him to a spot a little further in. Once she's away from potentially prying eyes, it is here that she finds the seat and offers it to Thor before standing before him. It is from this position that she inspects the bandage herself, her hands assured and gentle. There is no weakness in showing pain; she's a firm believer in that. It's what is done in the face of pain, the persevering, that tells of men's hearts and souls.

"Have you spoken to the healers?"

Thor has posed:
"I suppose that would depend on if torment is... character building," Thor says, with a thoughtful attempt at trying to find some value in the pain. "Which I must say I do not feel is happening, it is making me more irritable with others when they do not merit such ire from me." So Thor does recognize that what he first thought was appropriate punishment may not be so. Wisdom enough to not wallow entirely.

Thor sits when guided, sinking down into it, so that he can tilt his head up towards Frigga instead of the opposite. He rests his palms open on his kneeds, fingers slowly easing open as he tries to stop tensing so much. Pain causes those natural retractions of muscle.

"I visited, but I... did not like seeing the despair -- from telling me they could not help. I did not linger long." Thor explains. "They recommended large quantities of ale, and that did help, but drunk is not the same as sleep, I /suppose/." It wasn't healing sleep.

Frigga has posed:
There is a disapproving cluck of her tongue; not at Thor, but at the response that the Crown Prince received. "That wasn't helpful," Frigga commiserates. "And not something I'd advise others to do." There is a pause, and a gleam in her eye before before conceding, "There is a time and a place for such things."

She doesn't have to instruct her son to look at her; he did so instinctively, not hiding his visage from her view, her scrutiny. Frigga's lips press together, and once the bandage is completely removed, she can see fully the disfigurement. "I see," she says finally, and unironically. "I am certain I can find something that will aid in your sleep, and this," again, her hand rises, fingers touching his cheek lightly, and perhaps Thor can feel a tingle of warmth, the edge of the ache removed.. should he allow for it. "I may also have a remedy for this." A heartbeat passes before, "And it's not mead."

Thor has posed:
There's a large lack of healing with the wound, and that is the clearest issue. It just hasn't settled, and sticks to the bandage, bleeding anew when opened. No wonder he's having such a hard time with it: it has to feel like it keeps being reopened, and being torn again and again. But then, perhaps there's hope with the flesh still being torn in that way, that it has good memory, for restorative works of magic.

"I would like to feel like myself again. ...Whatever that entails," Thor sighs, smiling a little into the warmth of the respite offered. He isn't too proud for it: a big dose of humility from the injury has given him perspective. And that edge of ache, sensing it relax? "I will try to sleep - without the mead," he says. He fears it may spike again, that pain, but even just a little nap would be very restorative right now. "And thank you for anything you can do, mother." He smiles at her, with a slower breath, trying to stay in a place where he could find some rest shortly.

Frigga has posed:
The warmth does its duty, and Frigga can tell that some relief, at the very least, is gained from the magicks. It's temporary, but not fleeting. "That should allow you some respite, anyway. At least until morning."

Taking a step back, Frigga offers her hand to her warrior son. "Let me walk you back to your chambers. Then we both can get some sleep in before the day begins anew. I can look at that again, and find some poultices that should pull whatever is in there out." And put back what has been removed? Her lips thin at the unspoken thought, and instead, she smiles warmly and encouragingly at her son. "You are very welcome, Thor. I would do anything for you if it were in my power." A soft sound emerges from her throat and she inclines her head in a quick nod once more, "Come on."

Thor has posed:
"I can see the way well enough," Thor starts to grumble, but catches himself. "Forgive me, mother. That's the lack of sleep talking. Though there is no excuse for rudeness," he appends, and accepts her hand, and that she did not mean to prod at him. He does not want to be difficult, though pain can twist even the best intention.

With his other hand, he replaces the bandage, unwilling to bleed freely, or to cause any guard to have unnecessary concern. Once that is back in place, though some of that returns pain to the front in a shadow, he moves as Frigga guides, to return to the attempt at rest.