~One month later, Asgard~

What was that phrase the Midgardians used?  Oh yes.  

You never know what you’ve got til it’s gone.  

Oh how sad, but wasn’t that always true?  Loki’s death had been nothing short of disastrous to Asgard.  The people were genuinely grief stricken for the loss of the king who had battled courageously against their mortal enemies, for the king who had saved Odin and Frigga from sure death, for the king who had, supposedly, killed Laufey.  No one knew the pivotal role that Sigyn had played in the Jotun king’s death, and she preferred that.  She had no desire for accolades.  She had no desire at all.  Nothing mattered—Not anymore.

All of Asgard knew now that they had misjudged Loki entirely.  Suddenly every little honorable thing he had done, no matter how small or seemingly insignificantーconjuring butterflies to release at weddings, writing Odin’s best political orations, producing the fireworks for the harvest festivals, for instanceーwas brought to light.  It was as though he’d never been the dark prince, the mischief maker, the prankster.  Everything now suggested he’d been loved even more than Thor.  Too little, Asgard.  And far too late.

The citizens, typically clad in every color of the rainbow, had become a sea of green.  Banners embroidered with serpents hung from the windows.  Children wore little homemade golden horns on their heads.  Loki’s favorite drink, equal parts persimmon cider and single malt, which had been dubbed ‘The Trickster’ was the most purchased drink, even more so than mead, in every tavern across the city.  People bargained for daggers rather than swords.  Barbers even reported an increase of black henna dye requests at their shops.  And to think…all he had to do was die.  

Sigyn stared across the Eternal Sea, watery eyes glazed over, at nothing in particular as a funeral pyre worthy of a king was prepared on Loki’s sailing vessel at the palace gates.  It had been a month since his fall.  Apparently, Asgardian funerals required lengthy preparations.  That, and they’d had to throw together a coronation ceremony for Thor—that bastard.  

Not that it had been a celebration in the slightest.  He certainly wasn’t receiving praise for breaking the bifrost and killing Gylfi’s entire regiment, Loki along with them.  He’d obliterated the frost giants, but at what cost?  No, that ceremony had been about as somber as a funeral, and he’d known it.  She’d almost felt sorry for him—almost.  

Thor’s entire demeanor since Loki’s death suggested contrition.  He seemed lonely.  The once arrogant prince she remembered, the prince who’d been banished to Midgard was all but gone.  He had looked genuinely pained when his mother had told him that Loki was dead.  

Shuddering against the cold winter gusts, Sigyn scowled.  But what right did Thor have to feel pain or grief?  He had the hammer!  He could have saved Loki!  She’d hit him so hard, she’d broken her hand when she’d first seen him upon returning from the battle, and she’d continued her assault on him despite the broken bones.  He’d not put up a fight, knowing he’d earned the attack.  He’d been lucky that she hadn’t roasted him right then and there.  His mother’s presence had been his only saving grace.  The guards had hauled her away from him, actually kicking and screaming as she’d hurled a long slur of curses at him.  

“Was it worth it?!” She’d screamed nearly unintelligible expletives until her vocal chords had given out. “Was it worth it, you scoundrel?!  You killed him!  He’s dead now because of YOU!”

It wasn’t her most shining moment, but what could they have expected?  Stalking toward him in the great hall, she’d heard him defending his actions to his mother!  Breaking the bridge had been, in his genius opinion, the only option, and when it had exploded, he’d flown straight to his mother.  Understandable.  Somewhat understandable, she corrected herself.  How hard could it have been to swing by and grab his brother on the way?!  

Oh but where had he gone once he’d discovered that Frigga and Odin were safe?  Had he returned to the bridge to aid survivors?  To possibly save his friends or his own brother?  No, of course not!  He’d gone straight to Jane!  To that mortal he’d been fucking on Midgard!  Sigyn wasn’t altogether sure why she hadn’t killed the tiny little human yet.  Jane deserved no less.  The runt had yet to leave Asgard not only because of the broken bifrost, but apparently, her pathetic body required ages to recover, and she had taken up a seemingly permanent residence in the healing rooms.  Oh that she could find a secret portal to Midgard and throw the weakling right back where she’d come from.  

And speaking of Midgard, how had that been a proper exile?  Thor had returned practically as soon as he’d gone, and he’d found sexual gratification during his short stay!  What sort of justice was that?  After starting a war?  A war that Loki paid the ultimate price for?!  No—she refused to feel pity for Thor.  She didn’t care that he apologized profusely every day, and his eyes glistened incessantly with unshed tears, as well.  He wasn’t sleeping, he had no appetite, he was bested by weaker opponents in the arena regularly, and he received more than a few cold hard glares from the nobles daily.  Good—that murdering miscreant deserved it.  Perhaps it was cruel, but she would never forgive him.  Not for killing Loki.  Not for murdering her only reason for living.  Saving one measly mortal did not make him, in her opinion, worthy of the hammer.  

Wait—furrowing her brow, she narrowed her eyes at the sea before her.  He no longer carried the hammer with him.  Not since that horrible day.  That was…odd.  Had he decided for himself that he was no longer worthy of its weight?  Or, more gratifyingly, was it stuck in his chambers because he could no longer lift it?  Hmm.  That was worth exploring.  Another time. Thor didn’t deserve another second of her thoughts.   

Straightening her shoulders, she refocused her thoughts on the day at hand.  This was a day to say goodbye to the love of her now miserable and too long life.  Typically Loki’s body would have been laid upon the pyre and set off to sea.  Of course, there was no body, so Frigga had insisted that something of import be the place holder.  Sigyn had very nearly suggested that she lay in his place.  She did want to die, after all.  Truly, she had no idea how to go on.  

‘One foot in front of the other’ was what everyone kept telling her.  She scoffed.  Oh was it that easy?  Well maybe if she cut off her feet, their advice would be rendered useless, and they would just shut up and let her die already.  Regrettably, that wasn’t an option.  Frigga had made it quite clear that Sigyn was the closest thing she had to a daughter, even more so than Sif.  The queen had hardly left her side over the past thirty days.  Sigyn didn’t understand how her woeful presence could be a comfort to Frigga, but somehow it was, and she hated the idea that she was the only thing keeping the queen from falling apart.  She adored Loki’s mother, and for certain, Frigga would have become her mother since Loki had offered her his hand.  What an utter waste.  What an utterly devastating waste.  She’d been looking forward to having a real mother.  Freya had been nothing of the sort.

After much discussion, the decision had been made.  His horned helmet was to be burned in his place.  Sigyn wasn’t especially pleased with the choice, for she had no wish to part with any of his things.  She’d even considered sleeping with the damned thing, cold and hard as it was, but wrapping herself in his unwashed clothes was the better option anyhow.  They still carried that peppermint and woodsmoke smell that was so uniquely him.  It wasn’t as though she’d left his bed yet, and she had no intention to…ever.  Each night, tangled in his black sheets, she practically drowned in his scent.  She found herself reaching for him, craving his arms wrapping around her, his hips settling between her legs.  She shook her head.  Never again—she would never have that again.

All of Asgard stood solemnly across the plains, the hills, the shores of the sea, gathered in the streets of the city, atop balconies.  The entire realm, save for the still sleeping Odin (she rolled her eyes at the thought) was paying their respects as Loki’s boat was ushered from the palace to the sea.  Hundreds of white Muna lilies, native to Asgard, were cast by the onlookers onto the largest and most tragic pyre she’d ever seen—a pyre meant for a king.  If she’d watched the procession (she kept her eyes on the sea) it would have broken her already shattered heart further.  She would have said it was the saddest thing she’d ever seen, but nothing could be sadder than seeing Loki falling from her.  She’d died that day.

Horns sounded mournfully across the city and through the valleys down to the shore and across the sea as the boat came to the final dock.  Thor’s new black cape, which he favored now over the brazen red one since Loki’s fall, tossed about in the cold wind.  He’d planted himself on the dock, face hidden under his silver winged helmet, right fist across his heart, left hand curled around Gungnir.  Frigga mirrored him on the opposite side, clad in a dark green dress and similar black cape.  Furrowing her brow, the queen shook her head at the empty pyre and placing Loki’s helm atop the dried ash branches, she raised her hands and gold swirled around the boat, the white lilies transforming into the exact shade of Loki’s emerald eyes.  The queen and Thor made the final push, and the boat sailed into the sea gracefully, fitting for the most elegantly graceful man Sigyn had ever known.  Asgard lit up in the night at that moment as memory lanterns, thousands upon thousands of them, were freed from the hands of the citizens, floating into the cold atmosphere.

Sigyn watched the lanterns as she sat astride Sinir for she’d sent her mare back to Vanaheim under her sister’s keep.  Loki’s horse should have been released into the wild.  It was the Asgardian way.  One horse.  One rider.  For life.  But she would have none of that.  Sinir was hers now.  She’d claimed the dark brown stallion as her own the moment she’d returned from the bridge.  Despite her extensive injuries, she’d forgone the healing rooms and had marched straight to the stables, seeking out the wounded steed.  He’d looked lost, his black eyes shining with tears, somehow knowing that his master was gone. His injuries had been great during the battle, and he’d been separated from Loki, unable to get back to him.  The explosion had sent the horse flying, too.  He’d survived, amazingly and thankfully, landing on the soft sandy shore, but he hadn’t been able to get up and run to save Loki when he’d heard Sigyn’s cry for help, and it was clear that the horse felt as though he bore some responsibility for his master’s death.  She’d sobbed into his blood streaked mane, trying to reassure him that none of this had been his fault.  It had been to no avail, though.  She’d seen it in the beast’s eyes.  He, too, was devastated, feeling the sting of failure, of survivor’s guilt.

Despite the sorrow that clearly plagued Sinir, he was a living reminder of Loki, which she needed desperately, and she was thankful, to no one in particular, that he’d lived because the other of Loki’s beasts had not been granted that same mercy.  In the aftermath of the battle, after she’d claimed him as her own, after she’d attacked Thor, after the smoke had cleared, she’d helped clean up the massive destruction in the palace.  Taking survivors to the healing rooms, removing corpses and burning them, delivering the ashes to family members.  She’d been the unfortunate soul who had discovered Theoric, covered in his own blood.  Remembering that he’d been alone, with no family to speak of, she’d personally seen to his careful and respectful cremation.  He should have had a vessel of his own to send off to sea, but the dead were too many.  It would have taken a solid year to give proper funerals to all of them.

So much worse than finding Theoric, though, she’d found her personal protector.  Fenrir’s broken body had been sprawled amidst the scattered corpses in Loki’s corridor.  She’d struggled to pull the beast’s heavy head into her lap, and had sat there for a day—A full day…unmoving.  Holding the great wolf that had been as much a savior to her as Loki had been in Vanaheim, she’d sobbed into his soft, albeit matted, black fur.  Somehow she’d known he was dead.  Calling for help on the bridge and receiving no answer, she’d known.

Now clothed in her black Vanir armor, her quiver slung across her back, on a boulder twenty yards from the dock, she fixed a black and jade arrow to her longbow.  It had been her charge, at her request, to light the pyre.  How oft had her fire amazed Loki?  Was it not fitting that she amaze him one last time?  The horns ceased their tragic bellowing finally, an otherworldly silence enshrouding the realm.  Naught but the rush of the sea could be heard.  Frigga’s eyes alone moved to her, all other eyes fixed on the boat that was sailing to the edge of the sea beyond the broken bifrost.  

Cheeks soaked with tears, grey green eyes struggling to focus past them, Sigyn brought the bow up, pulling the string taut.  Smoke seeping from her fingers, the sharp black arrowhead lit ablaze, and she released it high into the air.  Her black hair whipped about her face as a sudden gust of frigid wind rushed across the shore.  The arrow landed right between the horns of his helm, lighting the branches instantly, and her breath caught in her chest as the boat made its way to the edge of the sea and tumbled over.  There was no essence of his body, of his soul, to float into the sky and become stars.  He wasn’t there.  He was still just…

Gone.  

The horns sounded again, signaling the end of the ceremony, and the citizens made for the city.  Frigga and Thor stood in their spots, not looking away from the sea.  Sif and the warriors three, all of whom had miraculously survived as well (why had Loki been the one who had to die?!) hesitated at the shore, but turned soon, trudging through the white moonlit sand back to the palace.  

Hours later, Thor squeezed his mother’s arm, silently beckoning her to return with him, but when she refused, he simply nodded and went on his way.  She turned then to Sigyn who seemed frozen to her boulder, bow still in her hand, her knuckles white from the tight grip.  Slowly, with careful steps, Frigga climbed to her would be daughter.  Shivering, Sigyn didn’t move.  She couldn’t.  Her body, like Sinir’s, was fixed in its place.  It was all so final.  So tragically final.  Loki was no more than a memory to Asgard now.  They’d said their goodbyes.  They could now wipe their hands clean and move on—oh that she had that luxury.

Frigga stood beside her, her gaze following Sigyn’s to the edge of the sea where the fiery boat had plummeted to its end.  They remained silent, not daring to touch each other lest the contact break their stoic resolve.  The two women who had adored Loki.  The two women who would have died in his place in an instant.  There they stood.  Helpless.  Unable to turn back time.  Both wondering when the pain would stop.  Years?  Decades?  Centuries?  Millennia?  

No—it would never stop.  

That was, not until Sigyn finally died, most likely by her own hand.  Maybe she would meet him in Helheim.  Maybe he would remember her.  Doubtful at best.  Hela wouldn’t let them near each other.  Loki had fallen.  Loki was dead.  He was given a beautiful ceremony and honored as a king, and it was enough.  

For today.  

She couldn’t think of tomorrow.  Or the day after that.  Or the day after that.  Or the day after that.  

Or the day after……

FALLEN CONTINUES IN CHAPTER TEN: GREEN IS FOR LIFE

Visit the Trilogy main page HERE.

Fallen Chapters: ¹ Come Back to Me, Sig. ² I’ll Protect You From Everything ³ Let’s Just See How This Plays Out ⁴ When Did I Get So Soft? ⁵ Bring Me Home (But Not to This) ⁶ Death is Everywhere ⁷ The Bridge ⁸ The Desert ⁹ Remember Remember (It Hurts Like Hel) ¹⁰ Green is for Life ¹¹ I Don’t Make Deals With Monsters ¹² Rain Rain, Go Away ¹³ Are You Ready? ¹⁴ I Will Find You

CHAPTER NINE THEME SONG:

“Hurts Like Hel” by Fleurie

What Readers Have Said

About CH 9 “Remember Remember (It Hurts Like Hel)”

“Oh thank god! I was praying that this story wouldn’t go through the common… ‘And now I marry Theoric’ Thankyouthankyouthankyou!!! I wonder if she will sense he is alive. I certainly love that Thor is forever shamed! And even though I don’t like jane, I hate Sif more… So I’m kinda glad for everything, hehe…”

-Pixelerrante, on CH 9 “Remember Remember (It Hurts Like Hel)”, 14 Jul 2017 (AO3)

“Gosh Jen, This truly brings tears to my eyes, such an emotional chapter!”

-Maïté on CH 9 “Remember Remember (It Hurts Like Hel)”, 22 Sep 2019 (AO3)

“Ya know that part in Brooklynn 99 when Captain Holt is giving a funeral speech and all he says is ‘Pain’? That’s how I feel about this chapter.”

-Harrypotterfreakie, on CH 9 “Remember Remember (It Hurts Like Hel)”, 26 Aug 2021 (AO3)

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