His visit with his mother was little different from the one he'd received from his stepfather. It raised more questions than answers. He wanted to take her word for things; Sif would most certainly not have made up something of this magnitude, and he had no doubt it was what she believed. Yet he had a very difficult time imagining the scenario she had presented him.

Thor and his mother. The notion still made his head spin.

He couldn't even remember a time when the two of them had been able to stand in the same room together without shouting, flinging accusations, or simply sitting in bitter silence. They had shared little other than their children. Now he was just supposed to accept that they had found love and were happy with one another?

Not likely.

But she had his hammer!

Skadhi walked through the door of her hall in Thrymheim and dropped her purse on the first table she saw. It was the equivalent to a mortal dumping whatever they were carrying the second they entered the door, such as keys. But Skadhi didn't have keys for her doors, there was no necessity for locks that keys were required. No one was brave enough to enter with malicious intent.

At least no one she'd met so far had been bold enough. They'd all respected her and her abilities far too much and if they didn't respect her, they certainly respected Ullr, who would not put up with unwelcome intruders either.

( She had been thinking on the things the Greek, Apate, had said. )

If there was one thing that still drew the Thunder God to Germany after the way he as portrayed during the Second World War, it was Oktoberfest. The raucous music and insurmountable kegs of Oktoberfestbiers reminded him of older times, as the event seemed to broadcast him into the past, even beyond the original 1810 marriage and commemoration of Crown Prince Ludwig and Princess Therese of Saxe-Hildburghausen. Specifically, the event reminded him of ancient times when he boasted and drank with men openly around great fires, exchanging stories of triumphs and enemies laid low. In that time, such feasts were only rivaled in his great hall at Bilskirnir.

( Thor had to carefully step over several prostrate Bierleichen to enter the Käfers Wiesen Schänke )

It took Thor some time to finally leave Midgard, and longer still to return to his ancestral home. The recent, brief, discussion with Loki had unearthed certain things between himself and Sif that he thought they had finally settled. It was not as though she lied to him, as she had in the past concerning her relationship with Loki, so much as she had not exactly told him everything that had happened between them when they last met. He was divided, torn between frustration, wonder, and in no small part, rage. There was also the feeling and conviction running through him that he would not make the same mistakes with her that he had made so often in the past.

( This time would be different. )

The old city of Jerusalem, though small in size, houses key sites for three of the largest religions in the world; those being the Temple Mount and its Western Wall for Jews, the Church of the Holy Sepulchre for Christians, and the Dome of the Rock and al-Aqsa Mosque for Muslims. Called the Holy land, nothing could be further from the truth, with civil strife and civilians slain in terrorist attacks more or less an every day occurrence. For three supposedly peaceful religions, the people that occupied the area certainly did not know how to get along. Even now, there was talk of building a wall to keep Palestinians out of Jersalem altogether, in response to a rampage by an Arab driving a bulldozer.

When would it end?

( Better yet, what was a Norse God Doing in such a place? )

Bragi stood at the top of the hill, gazing for a moment at the home before him. So what he'd heard was true. And if the new home was a fact, then the rest must be, too.

He had to admit he was impressed at its layout. Thor really had outdone himself. While Frigg may have turned a blind eye all these years, Bragi himself had often had the ear of his brother, and knew what this meant to him. It was time to congratulate the lovers. He'd brought a dozen roses for the lovely bride, and a fine bottle of cognac for the groom, and though he really couldn't be sure Thor would appreciate the quality of the beverage, he would certainly not turn down alcohol.

That was how he thought of them, as newlyweds.

Even now, it was all still surreal to him, all still new and grand in spite of all the years that had passed. Long had Sif been his wife, but only recently had Thor begun to feel any particular attachment to her when he was away from Asgard, and as he made his way through Thrudheim now his only desire was to take her into his arms. To hold her close. Simply to merely look upon her. No longer was he a returning warrior, full of boasts and trophies from his latest exploit, but simple a husband eager to see his wife.

And he would waste no time.

( After all, he had something to show her )

He could not stop crying. For the life of him, the god could not stop the tears from tracing the lines of his face.

So much had happened. So much, so fast. The tears were wept silently, though with no lack of gravity. With no lack of regret, and with no lack of remorse. So much, and so very fast... Bellona had come, Enyo, and had decimated countless people in the city of Detmold, Germany. Countless. People who had nothing to do with her, nor her rage. People who had been slaughtered, and a once-proud monument destroyed simply to catch the attention of a Norse deity she thought to settle a centuries-old score with.

Him.

They had died for no reason, no reason other than that Enyo had not the fortitude to seek him out without bullying the weak in the process. There could be no other reason, not with the way he had found her and Dysnomia in the nearby forest after her carnage had reached its peak. Tyr had defeated Enyo twenty centuries ago now, two thousand years, and she chose to wait until now to destroy the statue that his people had built in honor of the grand victory. Dysnomia had been the one to do the deed, as well as kidnap an expectant mother and her young children, binding them with rope, terrorizing them while they waited for Tyr to arrive. Like monsters. They could be described as nothing less.

Everything had gone wrong. So very, very wrong, from the absolute start. ( To the absolute finish. )

She couldn't face Thor. Not yet.

The talk with Loki had been necessary, and while it was meant to finally close the book on their history, it left a strange emptiness behind. If Thor saw her in this state, right after leaving the Trickster, he would be sure to know something was up. And she just wasn't sure she wanted him to know what that something was. For all his understanding and love, could he really accept her sitting in a cafe with the one who had claimed Sif's heart for so long?

She popped into Bilskirnir just long enough to drop off her samples from the furniture stores, then immediately left again. There was really only one place to go, a place Thor would recognize immediately. They had recently spent a truly memorable night here, on this particular beach. She walked for a bit, feeling the warm sand between her toes, the warm sun on her bare legs that were topped by a pair of tan belted shorts and a plain white cotton t-shirt. 

The bright side of Enyo's plan was that there was no way her victims expected it. Victims... as in plural. Centuries upon centuries after the incident at Teutoburg Forest was hardly when someone would expect a first blow of revenge. Which is precisely what it was – revenge. They had destroyed her Romans... at least their ancestors and one of their gods had. Now, of all times, she would avenge the stab at her pride.

Filthy mongrels they all were. Filthy mongrels who wouldn't expect the Greco-Roman goddess to come back now. But Enyo was glad she waited. So incredibly glad. With her recent exile from Olympus, she would take neither side in their war and would wait out her time to step in until everything was perfect... or she was asked nicely. This inconvenience gave her time to think, to plan and above all... to piece a very interesting puzzle together.

The barbarian had called himself Tiwaz, a name that still sounded like a venereal disease to Violence. Some abhorrent burning rash that even the best healers couldn't cure. Though, that wasn't what amused her. It was his symbol. The little arrow thing that was probably some phallic idol when one looked at it in the proper context. Like cave paintings where men such as that Tiwaz (and even though she knew his popular name, he would never be anything but to her) would drag their women to by the hair to make zug-zug.

( Disgusting. Scandinavian gods really were the missing link in the evolutionary map, weren't they? )

"A charming fellow..."

Frigg's mind was absolutely boggled. There were words that never were used to describe her half-brother; words that no one familiar with the definition of it and with having met Thor, would pair together. Charming was the first in a long list. Dashing, cunning, sly, regal, lovely.... Not a single one should ever, or had ever, been used to describe the Thunderer in any form other than jest. Thor was likable, but the preceding descriptors made Frigg think fairy tales and the whole 'knight in shining armor' thing.

As it was, with Thor, it was far more like a Viking in a shining chariot pulled by his noble... ruminants. There was nothing 'charming' or 'dashing' about a chariot pulled by goats; no matter the man guiding them. There also was nothing all that... alluring in the classical sense, of a brute of a man who always ate far more than his share, drank more than a fish and belched with a ferocity enough to shake the heavens. The latter being one of her first memories of Thor.

She had been but a teenager when Odin came to her mother; not yet woman enough to seek her own husband, but not child enough for Odin to adopt her as his own. Which, considering who won out in the marital area; Frigg outshined her mother, Jord, quickly. The Lady of Asgar's only negative memory of baby Thor releasing their mother's breast to rattle the walls of their hall with his belch was that the vile Trickster had already woven his way into Odin's life.

Disgusting it was to her that Loki was around before, and often more important to Odin, than she.

It wasn't to Bilskirnir Frigg went. Sif had asked that the Queen not mention her arrival, as peculiar as that was, so it would be to Valhalla she would call him. Ironic that both the last time she had seen her brother and the first time upon his return took place in Odin's hall of fallen heroes. "Brother," she called sweetly with a large bundle in her delicate arms. "Do not keep me waiting or my maidens and I shall think you do not want our gift."

As long as the years had gone, not a single one had passed where the sons of Odin did not receive a Fensalir-made sweater. Usually something gifted over the solstice, Thor had simply not been around. It never mattered to Frigg what any thought of her and her maidens crafts, just that she knew they were made and given with nothing but love for the receiver. Well, almost nothing but love. If Frigg was delivering gifts off season, alone and away from personal halls... it could be assumed she was out for information. It was her way.

And really, who described Thor as charming?

It may have only been a couple of days since she'd arrived at Fensalir, but Sif was all unpacked, settled in, and getting antsy. She decided it was most definitely time to check in on Thor, and let him know of her arrival. It had only needed her asking a couple of questions to find out he had been spending his days in the dense woods of Thrudheim. Apparently, it was no secret that he had returned to Asgard, which meant the word would soon be out that she had as well. And she wanted to be the one to let him know, not one of the many gossip mongers around Asgard.

Grabbing a large basket of food and a generous pile of furs, she headed out. She had one stop to make before she saw him. She just hoped he was still in the woods when she got to Bilskirnir. She had decided a picnic was in order. Who said you couldn't have a picnic in the middle of February? You just needed someplace dry and warm. And the right companion.

She began preparing his breakfast, as she had countless times over the years. This, however, was the first time she had actually wanted to do it, rather than looking on it as a duty. It also the first time she had done so in her own apartment. Before, he had always called upon her to join him in Thrudheim. While he was well aware of where her apartment was, of course, this was the first time she had ever had him as a guest in her home.

OOC note: Warning! NSFW-pronz!

She awoke to sunshine filtering through the draperies in her bedroom. Smiling, she turned her body carefully, trying not to wake him. She gazed on her sleeping husband, lying beside her with the blankets pushed down to below the waist, to that dented spot where his legs joined his torso. Her eyes traveled up to his chest, his well-muscled chest, with a fair smattering of hair. Enough to look masculine, but not so much that he looked like some sort of animal. His arms, arms that had held her long after they had both been spent, and sleep finally came to capture them. Her eyes continued up to his lined face, so content in sleep. His mouth...the things he had done with his mouth last night still took her breath away when she thought on it. His eyelids, moving in his dream state. His long, blond hair, in a tousled array on the pillow. She reached up carefully to gently lift the few stray strands laying across his forehead.

Her agent had come through for her once again. They had a standing arrangement that she would call him when she was looking for work, rather than waiting to receive a call when something was available. Being a goddess definitely had its perks. She had never once been turned down when she called. And her agent had the foresight to pre-book her for this event, knowing she never missed it. To think, she had almost forgotten about it, while she was wasting away in her self-pity.

She had made good on her promise to herself. That night had been an all-time low for her. She hadn't been sure how she would ever face Eir again, embarrassed as she was, but the other goddess had been quick to assure her all was well the next day, as she had made breakfast for the less than perky Sif. But she had done it. She pulled herself out of the slump she had been in, called her agent, and got on with her life.

Stockholm Fashion Week had always been the highlight of the winter season. Especially for someone like Sif. The chance to wear the latest fashions, under the spotlights, where all eyes would be on her. She could feel glamorous, sophisticated, all the things that reminded Sif that she really was a desirable woman. She thrived in this world.

"Fifteen minutes, ladies!" The announcement put all the other girls in a flurry of activity. Sif, however, took her time, putting the final touches on her make up, before turning to slip into her first gown. This particular event showcased Lars Wallin's haute couture designs, a personal favorite of Sif's. She slipped on the little black number of silk, the flirty chiffon skirt teasing well above the knee. Nothing showed off her golden tresses like black, she mused, giving herself a final once over in the mirror. She was truly in her element. Hearing the opening music, and the master of ceremonies welcoming the elite guests at this invitation only event, she took her place in the lineup. Tonight may be for Lars, but as far as she was concerned, it was all about her. A new Sif was emerging, a happier one than she had been in some time.