It’s an odd thing for Loki to be the one taking the more optimistic path, insisting on moving forward to greater things despite the downfall. At least one of them is. Thor cannot see a way out of the pit he’s found himself in, but knowing that Loki has found it first, all he can do is trust in his brother to know what to do. It’s a tiny, fragile hope, a candlelight burning in a downpour, but not extinguished yet.

And if all is lost and there is no path back to the sun, then at least they will do it together.

Thor raises his eye to meet Loki’s, and if he can feel anything besides the black emptiness threatening to devour him whole, it’s gratitude. He does not want others to see how low he’s fallen, but neither can he stand the thought of being entirely alone. Even if Loki’s presence is a constant reminder than his brother is dead, his absence would be far worse. “Thank you, Loki.”

The temperature of the water makes no difference to Thor. Divested of his armor, he also unbuckles the replacement arm and removes the patch from his eye, as vulnerable and scarred on the outside as he feels on the inside. Battle wounds like these would have made him the center of attention at any feast, once, surrounded by those who would ask to hear the glorious tales. But there’s no glory here, just a weary man who has never felt less of a king than he does now.