Thor drew in a breath when he saw his mother standing in front of him, regal and fierce and beautiful and all the things he never thought he would see again. His chest tightened, that heavy sensation of grief that had rocked through him, wracked his body ever since the vision of Loki's throat being crushed by Thanos' hand was briefly soothed.
He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly, his fingers clasping at the fabric of her clothing before he caught himself, cleared his throat and withdrew from her embrace, stepping aside slightly to let Sif approach as he pushed his hand through his hair and scratched anxiously at his beard. Should he have shaved before entering his mother's chambers? Probably.