We do not speak often of lost Asgard and its people, though always they are in my mind as I know they are in hers. But on one night each year, the night of that doomsday eve when we feasted in Valhalla before the coming of the enemy, I pour wine into two glasses and we drink a toast. And our toast is in the words that Thor spoke from dying lips.
"Skoal to the Aesir, to the great race that is gone forever!" I say as I raise my glass.
And from across the table comes Freya's sweet, sorrow-filled voice, whispering her reply.
"Skoal!"
And we drink in memory of the greatest people Earth has ever known.