Frigga walked into the infirmary, meeting Eir's solemn expression. "How is she?" Frigga asked, studying the young girl's face, skin so pale she feared she already knew the answer to that. Eir was sitting in an armchair next to her, guilt evident on her face and grief there too, Lyra and Eir were very close, The Queen knew.

Eir bowed her head at Frigga, both in respect and in grief. "No signs of life, Your Majesty," Eir said silently, Frigga almost didn't hear her, but her heart dropped all the same. Lyra laid on the bed, her arms limp at her sides, gnarly bruises and welts littered her neck, her lips had lost all of its red, almost taking on a blue tint, and her skin was pale from the lack of blood that was reaching her. Frigga stiffened and wearily walked forward. "You couldn't heal her?" Frigga asked, her voice heavy with emotion. She said this kindly, more inquiring than demanding. Eir continued to look down, shame evident in her eyes. "Something blocked my magic, Majesty. I couldn't, but I tried so hard," Eir slowly stood, she touched the young girl's head lightly, as if still hoping some evidence of life would remain.

Frigga's heart twisted, not just for Eir and Lyra.
Her thoughts were of her son, Loki, what would he take of this? The woman Frigga knew he loved dearly killed in such a way, dishonored by Odin by throwing her in the prisons for something as petty as caring for someone, and killed in her sleep.

Even if she was in the prisons for more than just caring for Loki, it didn't matter now. Odin's reasoning wouldn't save Lyra.

"How did it happen?" The Queen asked the healer. Eir slowly lifted her eyes toward Frigga again, tearing her gaze from the young princess of another realm. "My best guess would be dreamscaping, she was acting as though something were still attacking her when she arrived into my care, and my magic couldn't reach her, as if someone was actively holding it back. I tried various methods to wake her, but she was already gone seconds after she arrived," Eir informed Frigga, Frigga nodded sadly in understanding.

Slowly, the Queen stalked forward. She approached the girl wearily, seeing Lyra's ghastly face from closer up and being able to see the full extent of the horrid damage done to her. A few tears were shed for the girl she had cared for as a child, had taught her magic and had seen fall for her son. Lyra had always been like a daughter to her, and now another one fell to the likes of Death.

She touched Lyra's cold forehead, then lightly pressed her lips where her fingers were, a muttered a soft farewell to the warrior-hearted girl. She turned to a guard that stood by the chamber door. "Alert the Allfather. He has been inquiring after her health all day," she said silently, feeling anger towards her husband at the moment. Then, as an after that, she added "And my son, Loki, as well, he deserves to know more than anyone."

-Loki-

Dead.

His Lyra, gone.

He couldn't believe it, not for one second. He would know if she was dead. He would know, he reminded himself. Those wretched gaurds were wrong, she wasn't dead. She's too goddamn stubborn to die, she would claw her way past any sort of barrier that kept her from this world and would fight through it.

His warrior, his goddess, his love, was not gone.

Because she had made a promise to him, that she would always wear his bracelet, that she would always stick by him, that no matter what, she would stay with him. He had witnessed firsthand how adamant that promise was. Even after he did horrible things..... she was there. She didn't break promises, no matter what happened to him or to her or anyone Lyra never broke her promises. She was a woman of her word, so he knew she would not leave him. She would never do that to him, so they were wrong.

She wasn't dead.

Dead, the guard had said. Had told it to him flat out, barely any sympathy in his voice for him, but mourning for the girl who had been the guard's admiral. But there was no reason to mourn, he reminded himself, because she wasn't dead.

He didn't know what to do, he just stood there, staring at the spot where the guard once stood. Telling him that she did not arrive to the healers' in time, that she passed away before ever opening her eyes again. What was the last thing he had said to her? He couldn't recall, but it didn't matter, because he would see her again, he would be able to tell her other things. She wasn't gone.

He repeated that, willing it so.

She isn't gone.
She isn't gone.
She isn't gone.
She isn't gone.
She isn't gone.
At one point he said it aloud, repeating it so frequently until it was all he could remember, hear, or even see. "She isn't gone," he told himself silently, then he said it again, his hands trembled as he said it again, again, again, again, again, and again. Hoping it so, willing
it so, because he couldn't live without her. He fell to his knees, his hands shaking, there was no strength in him, he expected himself to lash out, to scream, to destroy everything in sight, but Loki couldn't move.

She isn't gone.

He couldn't even form the words, couldn't even find it in him to breath right, the air had been knocked straight out of his lungs, all strength in his joints gone, his hands bracing the floor to keep himself upright. His arms trembled, his fingers and lips and entire body shook, he pictured her face, pictured her smile, her laugh, her voice, her hope.

She isn't gone,

He reached deep inside his head for any trace of her, her emotions, her voice, her presence, anything that said she was alive. He tried to speak inside her mind, tried to hold on to that mental bridge that always connected them, but he might as well have been grasping at air, searching for any proof of her remaining alive. He found none.

She isn't gone.

His body lost all strength, he wasn't even sure how is arms held out to supporting his weight, his breathing was so shallow he barely took in breaths, his body convulsed and shook violently and he reminded himself that she couldn't leave him, but the reality hit him all at once, the full weight of it all struck him in the chest forcefully and mercilessly.

"She's gone," he choked out, and his tears fell like drops of rain

-Eir-

Eir walked back into the infirmary, staring longingly at the girl that no longer held life inside her, her limp hands still resting at her side. The Queen of Asgard had told her that Lyra's death was not her fault, that she did everything she could, and Eir had believed Frigga.

In fact, she blamed Odin himself entirely. Blistering hot rage had enveloped her, had scared her mourning feelings into a dark corner of herself, quivering in fear of the fury that ripples through her endlessly. Lyra had told her long ago, almost two years ago, of the feelings she had developed for the God of Mischief, and if Odin hadn't incarcerated her for the mere reason of falling for the wrong person then she would've received immediate attention, and may be with them right now. A water basin would've been all they needed to wake her up, then Eir could've patched her up completely, and she would've been fine.

Eir clenched her fist so hard her fingernails pierced the skin on her palm. Lyra and Eir had bonded over their shared ability, and Eir had confessed many things, they had been close, very close. And now Eir would love nothing more than to see Odin rot in Helhiem, she would delight in it. Seeing her friend once again lying there, lifeless, her rage was replaced with the sorrow and desperation once again, and Eir took a seat in the armchair next to her, not quite ready to remove her from the infirmary to be prepared for her cremation. She balled her hand into a fist once again, she had been dead for merely a day now, and already Odin had ordered they prepare her for a proper sendoff, most likely to ruin the bad blood between his army and their king, because it was obvious the entire army (who also loved Lyra, their admiral) blamed Odin as well.

She sighed, gazing at the window of the garden, needing one small break from the overwhelming grief that consumed her. Frigga had even confided in her Lyra's true heritage, the reason for her abilities and what awaited her.

A Queen who would never see her kingdom, and a realm who would never see its true heir.

Lyra never even suspected it, and here she was. But maybe it was for the best, Lyra would be ashamed of her powers if she knew why she had them, and exactly what her heritage was.

Eir slumped over her friend, studying her face. She lightly touched Lyra's eyelids that were drooped closed, kissing her forehead lightly. "Be at peace, Lyra," Eir said softly. "No one deserves it more than you,"

Eir then stood, not quite ready to remove Lyra from this place where Eir could pretend she was just sleeping. She then turned toward the corridor, leaving Lyra to the sunlit room to one last time bathe in the rays of the sun, when a gasping noise rang through the room.

Eir stopped dead in her tracks, her eyes widening. She whipped around, hope flooding through her and wrecking away any negative emotion that she felt before.

Sure enough, bent over and coughing, Lyra was, still pale as the moon, but alive.

Eir rushes to her side, seconds later Lyra slumps back onto the bed, her eyes closing again and falling back into slumber. But this time, her chest continues to rise and fall with steady, even breaths.

Not even death could keep Lyra away from here.