Forged by Fate

By the time their sight had cleared again, he was gone.

Thor sat in the great hall of Asgard, his head bowed and eyes closed. It had been a full day since he had returned. Odin had not spoken to him except to welcome him home, not even going so far as to suggest he see to his wife. The old raven croaked at him from the back of the Allfather’s throne and Thor sighed, opening his eyes and staring into the mug of mead in his hand. So much for peace.

He drained the mug and rose. Even if Odin had not said it, Thor knew his duty. Sif waited, and the longer he put off approaching her, the more suspicion would arise. Loki still had not returned from his expulsion into the world of men. His sentence would last another 18 years. It reassured him, nonetheless, that he need not fear finding the dog in his home, making love to his wife.

His wife. His heart twisted in agony. He had left his wife in heaven to take one on earth, and she had been more goddess than Sif would ever be. True, Sif’s beauty had no match among mortal women. What he had seen of Aphrodite could not put his wife to shame either, though the Olympian was beautiful in her own right. Once Thor had looked upon Sif as the loveliest creature he would ever behold. But the eons had changed her, distorting her beauty into pride and vanity. What depth she had once possessed was gone, and that was made more apparent by the time he had spent with Eve.

What a fool he had been to think a single lifetime with Eve would be enough. He could not prevail on Odin to change him again, and the only others with the power were Loki and Sif. Even if they would—an impossibility— they could only change his form, not take away his immortality. He would be lucky if he could spend ten years in her company before her people began to notice he did not age. And his temper alone would wreak havoc on the illusion of humanity. Storms rolling in from clear blue skies did not go unnoticed, even by the most oblivious of humans and gods.

The cottage was dark when he got there, his goats not even stirring. Of course. He had not paid any notice to the darkness. Sif would be asleep. He shut the door behind him as quietly as he could and entered the bedroom.

Sif was curled on her side in the wide bed, one hand beneath her flawless cheek, the other curled loosely beneath her chin. Her hair, long grown back, was neatly plaited in a braid, which coiled over her shoulder and disappeared beneath the blankets covering her. In sleep, she was as beautiful as the day he had first laid eyes upon her. There was no cruelty in the half smile which curved her lips, no vanity in the arch of her brow. He touched her skin lightly, trailing his fingers over her cheekbone and down her jaw. She stirred, rolling onto her back and falling into a deeper slumber.

Perhaps it would be possible to be satisfied by his true wife once more. Perhaps if he simply turned his thoughts from Eve, he could love Sif again as he ought. He would try. He owed her that. He owed them all that much, to be content with his purpose in this world. His people needed him. Odin needed him. It was long past time he focused on the lands which belonged to the North.

He did not disturb her by joining her in the bed, but left her to sleep and went back to the main room of the cottage. He sat facing the window and waited for the sun to rise. In the morning, he would make amends with Sif. For now, for the last time, he closed his eyes and searched for Eve’s presence on earth. He brushed her mind, a squalling infant, and soothed her cries, comforting her thoughts until she fell into a slumber.

Thor sighed, rubbing his forehead with his knuckles, and withdrew. He buried his love for Eve away where Sif could never find it.

The only thoughts he would permit himself now would be those involving his report to Odin. There was much to tell the Aesir of the world in which they lived.

Chapter Sixteen: Present

The manor overflowed with DeLeons for weeks after the wedding. Eve could only be grateful the Watsons had felt no need to stay. Eve’s parents left almost immediately. Mia however, begged permission to stay for another month, and under pressure from her mother, Eve reluctantly granted it. Garrit shrugged and gave her a room at the opposite end of the manor house, near his parents’ room, and Juliette promised to keep an eye on her. The portrait of Lady Anessa, Eve’s previous DeLeon incarnation, was removed from the hall for the duration, replaced with a framed photo from the wedding. There was no point in tempting Mia’s curiosity.

“Won’t you go on a honeymoon, Abby? Didn’t Garrit plan some exotic vacation for you?”

Eve stared into her coffee cup. Facing her sister first thing in the morning was a trial. With the addition of Mia’s unfailing ability to raise all the most awkward subjects, Eve was starting to hope Jean would marry her just so that she would go somewhere else for a while. Poor Jean. He wouldn’t know what hit him.

“Unfortunately, Garrit’s business forced us to cancel it. Maybe in a few months.” Or never. Until they were sure Adam had given up on trying to infiltrate her life, an exotic vacation seemed incredibly unwise.

Eve picked a fresh croissant off a platter and began pulling it apart. Mia had already devoured one, and judging by the dirty plate beside her sister, Jean had already come and gone. The crust was a bit rubbery. She could’ve made better breakfast breads, if the man Garrit had hired to cook while the manor held guests would let her near the ingredients or the oven. She wasn’t sure if that had been Garrit’s idea, or the cook’s.

“What a rotten job, then. Even if he is worth a fortune.”

“The kind of work that makes that kind of money usually is rotten. Money isn’t everything, Mia. The sooner you learn that, the better off you’ll be.”

Mia rolled her eyes. “Because you’re learning it so well now, what with being disgustingly rich.”

“I didn’t marry Garrit for his money.”

“That’s what everyone says when they marry rich men.”

She sighed. “Mia, really. Do you really think Garrit would ever marry a woman who was only after his fortune? He’s not stupid. None of the DeLeons are.”

Mia snorted, but then Garrit joined them, stopping whatever else she had meant to say.

He kissed Eve on the forehead as he sat down. Plate, silverware, juice and water glasses were set before him by one of the staff. Eve had only allowed him to hire them on the condition that they did not serve her. Garrit took a danish, and the newspaper appeared by his elbow. He smiled at Eve, but she looked away. If she met his eyes she would only frown, and it really wasn’t his fault her mood was so foul. Keeping a staff when the manor was acting as a glorified hotel made sense, but it didn’t make her want to smile back and exchange pleasantries.

He cleared his throat. “Bonjour, Mia. Are you enjoying your stay?”

“Oh, it’s wonderful. Jean is taking me sightseeing today, in town.”

“Is he?” Eve asked. Garrit glanced at her sidelong. She ignored him. “Did Jean happen to run that by his Aunt Brienne?”

“Abby, you’re so ridiculous. Why on earth would he need to ask his aunt for permission?”

“Oui, Abby.” Garrit smiled. “Why does he need Brienne’s permission?”

She glared at him. “Brienne did mention that she needed some supplies from town. I’m sure that if Jean is going, she’d appreciate if he picked them up for her.”

“Ah, naturellement.” He hid a grin from Mia by sipping his coffee, but Eve saw it and scowled. He cleared his throat again and opened the paper to the business section, seeming to have realized his error.

“Abby said your job is keeping you from your honeymoon, Garrit.”

He shot Eve a look, and she pretended not to notice. It was his turn to fend off her sister’s questions. “Oui. Regrettably.”

“But I don’t understand. How could you let them keep you? It’s your honeymoon.”

“I’m at the mercy of my clients. And while you would think a wedding and honeymoon are life events deserving some time off, not all of them are so reasonable. The rich rarely are.”

“Your family is perfectly reasonable.”