The walk back to the guest room from the library seemed much longer than the way there.
Frigga's words, Thor's silence, the phantom of Loki falling, and the newly acquired knowledge about runes and the nature of energy swirled and lingered heavily in Artoria's heart.
She had intended to return to her room to sort through her thoughts, but her footsteps seemed to have a will of their own, drifting off course as she approached the area where Thor's bedchamber was located.
Thor's bedchamber was located in a relatively secluded wing of the Golden Palace; there were no guards outside the door, only a faint defensive light screen imbued with the aura of thunder separating the inside from the outside.
At this moment, the light screen appeared dim and unstable, much like its Master's current state of mind.
Artoria paused outside the door for a moment and looked back at Minerva, who stood quietly behind her.
A blue light flickered in Minerva's optical sensor, and she nodded gently.
Artoria took a deep breath, raised her hand, and condensed a faint trace of magic at her fingertips, imbued with the intent of "understanding" and "penetration".
It was not an attack, but rather, like a knock on a door, she touched the thunderous light screen gently.
The light screen rippled slightly, did not block her, and quietly parted to form an entrance.
Clearly, Thor had not completely sealed himself off, or perhaps Frigga had made arrangements in advance.
The light in the chamber was dim, with only a few faint crystal lamps on the walls emitting a weak glow.
The air was filled with the strong smell of alcohol, the bitterness of ointment, and an indescribable sense of decadence, like the dead silence after a storm.
A tall figure sat on the floor in the center of the chaotic room with his back to the door.
Scattered around him were overturned wine jugs, shattered cups, and several pieces of armor that had clearly been discarded carelessly and were stained with blood.
Thor was not wearing his battle armor, just a wrinkled dark shirt.
His long golden hair had lost its usual luster and hung messily over his shoulders.
He kept his head lowered, his broad shoulders slightly hunched, remaining motionless like a solidified statue full of sorrow.
Artoria did not approach immediately, nor did she speak.
She just stood quietly at the door, watching the back of the once spirited and thunderous Thor, now crushed by heavy self-reproach and the pain of losing a loved one.
She could feel the almost tangible despair and self-loathing permeating the air.
After an unknown amount of time, Thor's hoarse voice broke the silence without him turning around: "...You are here."
"Yes," Artoria replied softly, walking slowly into the chamber.
She stopped a few steps away from him, and instead of choosing a chair, she sat down on the floor as casually as he did, separated from him by the mess.
Minerva stood silently by the door like the most silent barrier.
Another long silence followed.
Thor grabbed the wine bottle with a little left in it, tilted his head back, and took a large gulp, the liquid trickling down his chin and dripping onto his shirt.
"Why don't you speak?" He set the wine bottle down, his voice tinged with self-deprecating irritability.
"Here to comfort me? Tell me this isn't my fault? Tell me Loki deserved it? Tell me... I destroyed the Bifrost for the greater good?"
Artoria shook her head, her gaze resting calmly on Thor's lowered, bloodshot eyes: "No. You know the answers to those questions in your heart, and Her Majesty the Queen must have said them already."
"If those words were useful, you wouldn't be sitting here."
Thor's body stiffened almost imperceptibly.
"I was just thinking," Artoria's voice was very soft but exceptionally clear in the spacious chamber, "if it were me, at that moment, facing the Bifrost that Loki had activated, capable of destroying a World, facing my brother about to let go of my hand... what would I do."
Thor jerked his head up, his blue eyes churning with pain, confusion, and a hint of shock at being touched in his most painful spot.
"I don't know if your choice was correct," Artoria looked him straight in the eyes and said frankly, "Destroying the Bifrost and severing the path of the Nine Realms came at a huge cost."
"Watching Loki fall was bone-deep agony. But I know that in that instant, you made a choice."
"You were not acting as Thor, not as a prince, and not even... entirely as a brother. You were just Thor, making a choice you believed had to be made, a choice only you could make, and you were prepared to bear all the consequences."
"There was anger in this choice, there was resolve, and perhaps there was also... a trace of something even you didn't realize: a final stop to Loki's crazy plan, perhaps even a kind of... alternative 'protection' for him—not letting him commit the crime of destroying the World, not letting him be completely beyond redemption."
Artoria's words were like a scalpel, calm and precise.
"But the consequences of this choice, whether for Asgard, for the Nine Realms, or for you and Loki... are too heavy. So heavy that any comfort or excuse seems pale."
Thor's lips quivered, wanting to say something, but in the end, he only let out a painful sob, covered his face with his hands, and his shoulders shook violently.
The dams he had forcibly built, wrapped in alcohol and silence, were chiseled open at this moment by these words, which were not meant as comfort but pointed directly to the essence.
He didn't need empty advice; he needed someone to understand the weight and tearing behind that choice.
"Pain, self-reproach, remorse... these are all things you deserve," Artoria's voice remained steady, devoid of pity, only a kind of almost cruel honesty.
"Because you are Thor Odinson, the Thor who lifts mjolnir, the Son of Odin. You have power, so you have responsibility; you made a choice, so you must bear it."
"Hiding here drinking, torturing yourself, solves nothing, nor does it smooth out the cracks in your heart, and it is unfair to the lives that survived because of your choice, and unfair to those who are still alive and care about you."
She paused, looking at Thor's wet, struggling eyes peeking through his fingers, and her tone softened a little: "But pain does not mean you must be consumed by it. Bearing it does not mean you must kneel before the consequences forever. Thor, did you only learn how to put down the hammer while on Earth?"
Thor's body shook violently.
"You also learned what it means to protect, what it means to sacrifice, what true responsibility a king should have, and... a benevolent heart."
Artoria continued, "The Bifrost is broken, but Asgard still exists, the Nine Realms still exist. Your father has awakened, your mother is worried about you, and your people are watching you."
"Loki... chose his path, and whatever the outcome, that was his choice. And you, you chose your path. This road is now full of thorns and pain, but the road is still under your feet."
She stood up, walked to the window, and looked at the eternal starlight of Asgard and the floating islands outside.
"Is it to let pain and self-reproach turn you into a walking corpse that only knows how to lick its wounds, or to stand up, face the situation you created, use your power, your wisdom, and everything you learned on Earth to repair, to rebuild, to protect those who still need you, and become a... Thor truly worthy of mjolnir, worthy of your father and mother's expectations, and worthy of that 'benevolent heart' in your own heart?"
She turned around, her gaze falling on Thor again: "The choice has always been in your hands, Thor. Just like on the Bifrost, when you chose to smash it."
As the words fell, silence returned to the chamber.
Only the sound of Thor's heavy breathing and the faint sound of Asgard's repair work drifting in from outside could be heard.
Thor slowly lowered his hands from his face.
The tear tracks on his face had not yet dried, but his eyes were no longer filled with dead, blank emptiness.
They were churning with more complex emotions—pain remained, self-reproach had not vanished, but there was a hint of struggle, a hint of... shock at being forcibly pulled out of the mire and forced to face reality, and a trace of an extremely faint, deep-seated glimmer of soul that did not want to sink just yet.
He didn't answer immediately, just lowered his head, looking at his own open hands—hands that had once tightly gripped mjolnir and had also desperately gripped Loki's wrist—and remained silent for a long, long time.
Artoria did not urge him, just waited quietly.
Finally, Thor spoke in a hoarse voice, dry but no longer completely broken: "...What should... I do?"
"That is something you need to figure out for yourself," Artoria shook her head, "But at least, you could start by walking out of this room, taking a bath, eating something, and going to see your mother."
"Then... perhaps, you could go check on the damage to the Bifrost, talk to the craftsmen, think about how to repair it, or... find a new way to connect the Nine Realms."
"The Prince of Asgard shouldn't just be a brawler who only knows how to fight, right?"
Thor was silent again, but this time, he slowly braced his body and stood up, somewhat shakily.
Although still decadent, his back seemed to straighten a little.
He gave Artoria a deep look, his eyes complex, filled with gratitude, being touched, and a sense of heaviness and clarity after being "awakened."
"Thank you," he said in a low voice, very softly, but more powerfully than any of his previous words.
"Don't thank me," Artoria smiled slightly, "I just said some truths. You have to walk the path yourself."
She didn't stay any longer, nodded at Thor, and turned to leave the bedchamber with Minerva.
This was all she could do; the rest would require Thor to digest, struggle with, and eventually walk out of on his own.
On the way back to the guest room, Artoria's mood was not much lighter.
Comforting Thor was one thing, but another matter had been lingering in her heart for a long time, and now it was becoming clearer and more urgent.
Returning to the quiet room, Artoria closed the door and turned to look at Minerva, who was standing quietly by her side.
The silver-haired battle doll still had that calm, waveless expression, her optical sensor looking at her quietly, as if she could discern all her unspoken emotions.
"Minerva," Artoria said, her voice carrying a hint of imperceptible tension, "The battle with the Destroyer... the injuries you sustained... were very serious."
"Body damage has been fully repaired, efficiency is unaffected," Minerva stated calmly.
"I know you repaired them," Artoria walked a few steps closer, reached out, and her fingertips gently brushed the spot on Minerva's chest that had once been pierced and was now as smooth as before, her movements carrying a kind of almost cherished caution, "But at that time... I was very scared."
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