Story [Thor] "all our winters to pass", Loki/Sif - Movie Quote Challenge response - Part 12 up 5/13!

Nyota's Heart: I'm thrilled that you thought so. There is still quite a long path ahead of them, but just as long as I get them going by the end of this . . . Well, I'll be a happy author then.

To that end, we have this update - which is twice the length as normal, seeing as how I did not have a clean 'cut-off' point. But, I was quite happy to post it as-is, seeing as how the scene to come is one that I first had written in my notebook, and have been itching to type ever since. You'll know what it is when you see it. After this, there is one more chapter of 'action' to go, and then a 'wrap-up' chapter, most likely.

As always, I thank you for reading, and hope that you enjoy.

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Part XII​

It came as a whisper across her senses; an unease that bit into her bones and slithered along her throat to fill her lungs with every breath.

Sif awakened before Loki could move to stir her, already alert and ready for whatever the night would bring.

“They are here,” Loki announced crisply, the green of his eyes very bright as he turned from her to were Ullr was awakening – his senses too informing him of the wrongness on the air, the danger approaching.

She stood, extending her glaive with one hand and settling her shield about her forearm with her other. She looked to her left, and saw where Loki waved a hand to summon a shadow, and from that shadow he pulled the same helmet Ullr had worn in Andvari's halls. He tossed the Tarnhelm to their son, and said with the utmost seriousness in his voice: “You are to wear this, and not remove it once – no matter what happens. The wraith will not be as Nihhus, nor as Andvari, and you will only be in the way if you interfere.”

Sif did not bother asking Loki where he had found a moment to secret the helm away, simply grateful as she was that Ullr would be hidden while they fought the brothers for Thor's soul, relatively safe underneath the helm's cloak of invisibility. She leveled a hard look at her son, not ready to be disobeyed on this – but she needn’t have worried. Ullr was brash and impulsive, but he was wise enough to know when it was better to stand down – and he had drained his stores of seiðr one too many times since leaving Asgard. Though he frowned, he put on the Tarnhelm with a slow hand, dislike warring with acceptance on his features before he winked from view.

Though she could see him no more, Loki watched as Ullr hid himself behind one of the boulders in the cavern, before nodding, satisfied with his hiding place. He looked to her then, and bowed low from the waist in an overly courtly gesture.

“Shall we, my lady?” he bid, offering his arm as if he asked her to waltz, rather than battle. Sif raised a brow at what once would have been an endearing gesture – fighting back an exasperated smile where it still was, if she was being honest with herself – and turned to sweep out of the cavern ahead of Loki. She did not glance to see if he followed.

Outside of the cave, night was thick upon the land. The purple skies were flush with darkness, and the three full moons lit the billowing mists with a silvery light. She glanced at their settings with a tactical eye, mapping out the wall of catacombed stone to their backs and the great, thundering waterfall that carved out the western edge of the cliff to the right. To their eastern side, the ground sharply climbed further into the mountains, and a thin blanket of sparsely growing evergreens clung stubbornly to the rock. Through the mist the trees looked to be grey half-shapes, not wholly bearing form.

It was cold, she thought next, but not cold enough to detour a pair of Jötunn adversaries. In her veins, her blood ran hot and hungry, eager for the fight to come. When she glanced to her side, the verdancy of Loki's gaze was eager enough to mirror her own.

They did not have to wait long before their visitors arrived. She braced herself against the low vibration underneath her boots, the land itself trembling from the Frost Giants' steps. She grasped her glaive more tightly in hand, and when she could at last spy out the two shape coming towards them . . .

“Sons of Ölvaldi,” Loki opened his arms wide in a mocking gesture of welcome. His hands were empty, with not even his long knives drawn, but such would be a foolish thing for a foe to notice, and take comfort from. “After hearing so much about you, it pleases me to at last make your acquaintance.”

Sif watched, and from the mists two massive figures emerged, the moonlight tellingly highlighting the grey-blue skin and dusk-red eyes that proclaimed them as Jötunn-kind. Standing nearly five heads taller than she herself – who was tall, even for a woman of the Aesir - their bodes were massive and deceivingly cumbersome at first glance, rippling with heavy muscle and dense bones. Those bodies were little clothed but for minimal plates of bronze armor and scattered coverings of fur and leather. Their main decoration instead came from the strings of stones and bones looped about their necks, boasting of their victories in battle. Unlike the majority of Jötunn she had faced before, these two had many lines of black and silver decorating their skin in both sunken and upraised patterns – proudly declaring their honored place amongst their people. For a moment she wondered what tale such markings would have to whisper upon Loki's skin if he ever wore the true form of his people. Perhaps, the thought was a sudden, unguarded one within her mind, she would know if -

- but no, she called her mind back to the task at hand. She focused, for while neither Jötunn brother carried a weapon, the sons of the Ettin were well versed in the natural magicks of their kind, and she knew better than most to trust seiðr for the dangerous weapon it was.

She glanced to see Loki staring, though his bored expression and forced indifference tried to suggest that he was not. She then wondered if he had seen a Jötunn warrior since slaying his birth-father by Odin's bedside. In Asgard, many thousand centuries of hatred were carefully being addressed at Thor's hand. For the role Jötunnheimr played in slaying Thanos' armies, Thor returned the Casket of Ancient Winters as a gesture of good will, saying that he wished for an ally equal in might, rather than a people conquered and beaten down to serve as Asgard's footstool. His efforts were possible with the newest King of the Jötnar - for violent Helblindi Laufeyson had fallen in that same battle against Thanos, and Býleistr his younger brother was eager for peace and rebuilding for his people once more. He swore a blood oath, promising never to turn on Asgard in vengeance for his father - binding his son and further descendants to that same vow - and so far both their peoples seemed to know a hesitant cessation of hostility – which, potentially, could turn to a true peace in the centuries to come.

Sif had an uncomfortable moment, reflecting that Býleistr's kinship to Loki was truer than the blood-tie he had long thought himself to have with Thor, and again wondered if that was one of the guiding reasons that drove Thor to seek peace with Jötunnheimr for the first.

“Odinson,” one of the Jötunn stepped forth, distaste shaping his mouth. Gangr, Sif identified him as – recognizing the broad, square shape of his face when compared to the smaller features of his brother. His voice was a rich, rumbling bass, one she could feel vibrate in the stones underneath her feet.

“Ah, Laufeyson, technically,” Loki held up a finger, enjoying the scowl that decorated both the brothers' faces in reply.

“Kinslayer would we better call you, then, if you insist on clinging to such names,” Iði gave instead, and Loki's mouth thinned.

“Trifles and technicalities, really,” Loki waved a hand, as if brushing the words aside. “Yet, it is for kin that we are both here now, is it not? You,” he let a note of power enter his words, turning them into a blow of their own, “have something of ours.” He gestured, and Sif watched Gangr reach up to one of his necklaces, revealing where one of the plain, unassuming stones was but a container for something greater – something more.

Though her veins were dead to seiðr, she could feel the rise of power on the air – a hungry power, a ravenous power. Ever did the Infinity Stones burn against her senses like stars, but only this stone reached out as if wanting to consume, to devour. It was an unholy twist of creation, the Soul Gem, and she cared for it not in the slightest.

“We could say the same of you, Sly One,” Gangr rumbled. “While we have reassembled the Soul Gem – seemingly to completion, we thought – there is a shard missing, and you have that shard now. If you would give it to us without protest, we would leave you in peace. It is not your blood we have need of.”

“You may have no protest with us,” Loki inclined his head, “But, unfortunately, I am unable to say the same in return. You see, the soul you have claimed I, unfortunately, have some attachment to. I would not see him given to the likes of Huld if I could prevent it.”

Iði snorted. “Thor Allfather freely gave of his soul in recompense for Odin's unjust punishment. For Þjazi our brother we do this deed, and you would do well to stand out of our way.”

“Þjazi serves his sentence for true a crime committed,” Loki returned thinly, “And Asgard already repaid your family for your loss, even when they needn't – or was not Skaði Þjazi's daughter given in marriage to Njorðr Vanir-king? Some would call that more than generous on the Allfather's part, when he could have imparted Þjazi's sentence on the entirety of his family.”

“Yet, we all know how that marriage played out,” Gangr returned testily, “which is another ill we shall address once our brother is free.”

“Brother,” Loki let the word out slowly, drawn from his tongue as if it were a holy incantation, filled with power. By his side, Sif carefully watched the two Jötunn, wary for the first move that promised violence. “By your own argument you know why I cannot give you the shard you seek. I will not surrender Thor; I will not let him unjustly languish where your own brother serves his sentence for a crime he was fairly convicted of.”

“Such silver words you speak,” Iði snorted. “And yet, any kinship you once bore with the Thunderer you've long since spat upon.”

“You've known not the true meaning of brotherhood, of family, in many years - if you ever knew it at all,” Gangr thundered impressively, the red of his eyes banking with a fierce heat. “To Hel and back would we travel for the one born of the same womb as we, and such loyalty is something you cannot possibly understand.”

“Can I not?” Loki returned. Sif recognized the low, dangerous shape of his words, even if the brothers did not. “It is a dangerous assumption you make, so I would bid you to tread carefully.”

“Tell us truly, Trickster,” Iði mused thoughtfully. “Is it your brother's soul you are so eager to save, or is it the Infinity Stone, and its power, you covet? Because we yearn only to return Þjazi to his place. Give us the shard, let us exchange Thor for our brother . . . and we will give you the Stone - freely, and without contest. For this is your true desire, and we would surrender the Soul Gem should you agree.”

For a horrible, debilitating moment, Sif thought that Loki paused – that he considered. Was that not the same accusation she herself had leveled at him when they first reached the moon? She knew what she wanted to believe, what path she wanted Loki to chose, and yet . . .

She watched where Loki swallowed; where he held his jaw tightly, as if ignoring a bone-deep pain.

And Gangr smiled, showing rows of white, sharp teeth as he did so. “Kinslayer . . . Kings'-bane . . . Titan's-end,” he slurred the titles together, his deep voice alight with a terrible, sing-song quality. “Prince of Asgard? Son of Odin? No. Your heart has forgotten those words, and you will accept the Stone – be it out of a simple lust for power, or vengeance over the brother who was always your better. Even if you wish to cling to some idea of goodness in your heart, you will take the Stone to prepare for that which is returning - that which Huld Star-keeper will not forever be able to keep within her ranks, no matter how naïvely she thinks she may. Either way, you will see that we have no quarrel here.”

Sif took in a fortifying breath, now watching Loki as closely as she'd watched the brothers. She was fairly certain that she could fell the pair of Jötunn without assistance, but if Loki too turned, and accepted the Stone . . . She was less sure of a victory over him, but she would not let him have the Stone – and Thor - so easily. She would not let him go until she had not of her own breath left within her.

She held her shield more tightly in hand, but Loki would not meet her eyes. He was looking down, clearly weighing what the brothers were offering him. His brows were knit together, and though there was no joy in his expression when he waved his hand to free the last shard of the Soul Gem from the shadows, he did so nonetheless.

“Loki,” she finally let herself speak. She was not sure what to say – not sure what she could say outside of the words she'd already spoken - but she could not stay silent. Was it not just hours ago that he had looked her in the eye and hesitantly asked for everything once more? She had wanted so badly to believe him, to accept such of him, and she had not realized just how tightly she had let herself grasp that hope until she saw her returned visions for the future fading before her eyes. For she would not forgive this of him, she could not forgive this of him, not even if Ragnarök were nigh and burning the very heavens above them. No.

“Sif.” She did not have to speak, for Loki smiled a sad smile in reply to the look in her eyes. For a heartbeat, she was reminded of the second before he cut her hair, all of those centuries ago – seeing that same assurance, that same understanding and awe for her trust, and -

“ - trust me,” Loki bid of her now, a low, plaintive quality to his voice. His expression then thinned into something sharp and cutting, but it was not for her – for when he turned back to the brothers, the shard of the Soul Gem was alight before him, and he held his palms out and open as if summoning. The Infinity Stone lurched violently in Gangr's hands, and Sif needed no more invitation that that to rush forward and meet Iði head-on from where he thought to intercept her.

“Fool!” Gangr's booming voice thundered out to rattle in their bones. “Be it on you, then – I shall simply have your souls to offer to the Star-keeper, as well. You leave me no choice.”

But then there was nothing but the thrill of engaging a well matched opponent, and she smiled a feral smile when the steel of her glaive met with the shield of ice Iði summoned. It was a much needed outlet for the low fury and impotent frustration within her, to turn and duck and attack, over and over again, in a dance as old as time. Though he was twice her size, she was War itself in that moment, and there was little Iði could do to keep up against her onslaught. He would need his brother's aid.

Which Gangr quickly understood – for not even a moment later he was touching the Soul Gem to his bowed head, and muttering . . .

Summoning.

. . . and, a black voice replied. A shadow was cast from the green glow of the Infinity Stone, before breaking away – joining the night and merging to become one with the mists, unnoticeable but for the feeling of coldness and death it brought with it.

The wraith had come, Sif knew as a low, hollow sound filled the air around them – a screech of lost souls and desperate, agonized hunger. She looked, but could only see the mists and the three sister-moons of Niflheimr shining brightly in the sky. Yet, she could feel the suddenly frigid grip upon her heart. Her skin crawled; her senses called in warning; and she looked for Loki, wanting him at her back when -

- she felt a shadow swipe at her feet, and she stumbled. She would not lose her balance, though, not when she could feel -

A black cloud seemingly settled upon her mind, attempting to cripple her. It plucked at her soul as a minstrel upon harp-strings, and warmth of heart was the first thing to leave her – taking her determination and confidence and love, and leaving her instead with her doubts and insecurities and fears. The wraith tore through her mind to rip her down to the psyche of a child - scared of storms, and seeking out Gná's bed for refuge - before moving on to the insecurities of youth and the doubts and regrets she bore as a woman grown. I wish that I knew my father, even for a moment, the wraith found that mournful thought, and so brutally pulled.

I hope that Týr is proud of me, and toasts my name in Valhalla, her own voice echoed terribly in her mind, I hope that Ullr does not feel the same as I did, and oh, I can change that for him now. I can give him a family – a whole family, but only if -

She could feel the wraith grin against her spirit, glee being the only way she could describe the twisted sort of euphoria she felt from the specter as it dug its clawed fingers deep inside that wound upon her spirit. Those claws then twisted, showing her every moment . . . every word spoken and left unspoken . . . illuminating her regrets and what-ifs and longings. Over and over again, she saw where she could have said he is mine, he is mine - and my pride is in my place by his side. Mercilessly, the wraith illuminated every time she could have tightened her fingers about him and kept him for herself – safe from himself. How many tears would have been spared, both his and her own and her son's if she only . . .

The wraith opened its unseen mouth, and she bared her own teeth as if she had fangs to match. No. Those were her own thoughts and fears, and she would not allow her innermost self to succor anyone else. She would not.

“No,” she hissed aloud, and brought her shield to cover her heart – feeling, rather than seeing, the enchantments within the metal break off the wraith's hungry attempt to siphon out her soul. Loki's spells of old leaped into being, angry and stirred from their slumber, and the golden light then illuminated a black shape – darker than midnight, absent of all color where the night around them was a natural shade of violet and the deepest of blues.

. . . there.

“Loki!” Sif exclaimed, unable to do more than point him to the wraith when she had to face Iði's renewed onslaught – this time joined by Gangr – and her world once again narrowed down to attacking and defending, ducking and spinning and meeting steel for ice again and again and again.

She looked, and found Loki with the unnatural light of the Infinity Stone setting his face aglow with its power. The natural green of his own might swam with the electric shades of the Soul Gem - like verdant spring warring with a witch's poison - and yet, Loki's attempts to ensnare the wraith appeared to be futile to her untrained eye. Her heartbeat hammered, wondering how their people had drove the wraiths to extinction so many thousands of years ago – in the time of Búri First-father, long before even Borr Odin's father was born. The arts they used to drive the wraiths to the shadows . . . she knew not of them, and she could only hope that Loki, in all of his readings, had remembered something which had been forgotten by the vast depths of time and history.

How, she wondered furiously, did he think to . . .

Then, something unexpected happened . . . Loki stilled. He stopped his attacks, and stood unmoving – verdant and alight as the shadow surrounding him seemingly smiled. Then, with a blinding flash of light that bathed the mountainside in its glow, he winked from view.

He disappeared.

And the wraith shuddered; its shadow flickered, suddenly impossibly full and seemingly lit from within – allowing her to see how Loki's power illuminated the blank orbs of nothingness the creature bore for eyes and casting light over the long, silvery fangs that protruded from its formless mouth as it screeched, angry and pained . . .

. . . what had he done? For a moment, Sif could not process what she saw. Did the wraith absorb him, or had he allowed himself to be absorbed? Where . . .

A low sort of desperation filled her, one that she in turn used to inflame her own battle with the Jötunn brothers. Come on, her mind growled, appear - let me see you! Loki, damn you . . .

He would not . . . he could not . . . not so easily. She could not see the wraith, she thought next. The un-being was now one with the night – either for that moment stalled, or worse, she thought with a near crippling pain piercing her chest, it was simply digesting its meal, and recovering, before -

- Sif flinched, and told her mind to calm, lest it do the fight she had at hand a true ill. She would simply cross that bridge when she came to it. And yet, until then, she met Gangr with her shield before turning on Iði once more, grimly pushing on ahead . . .

. . . and let herself war as she was the very essence of.



.

.

That was, admittedly, not one of his better thought plans.

But, he had known such an annoyance for the craftiness of the specter. It toyed with him, brushing against his senses, dancing close enough to touch before leaping back from his grasping fingers – drunk and gorged on the power of the Soul Gem as it was, at last freed from the shadows where it had long been cursed to slumber, and reveling in that freedom.

From its gleanings into Sif's mind, the wraith knew right where to hit him – right where to scour its claws and turn its mouth to devour. It pulled strings, it summoned memories; and it was all Loki could do to keep his mind his own as he saw Odin's face, frowning in disappointment and fear for the monster his changeling child could someday become. Every childhood doubt, every adolescent struggle, every foul deed and dark moment . . . It was overwhelming, and the wraith had much to search through and feast upon - too much, really. Down that path there would be no victory for him, not as fresh and bleeding as so many of those wounds already were.

And so . . .

It had been thoughtless, in a way, to bring the great seed of the Mother at the core of his soul to bear, giving too much to the wraith, too quickly. Stunned, the specter had not been able to absorb him, and Loki instead passed through him . . . through him, and into . . .

In theory, he knew that the Soul Gem was a gateway to an idyllic pocket-universe, where it stored the souls it stole in a hazy sense of belonging and peace. This realm was an individualized paradise – if one could look past the illusion and wrongness of such a place to enjoy it, that was. What he'd first known as a hazy concept, he now experienced in actuality as he blinked his spectral eyes and looked on his surroundings with a curious gaze.

He was surprised to see Asgard. Yet, this was not the Crown City of the First Realm, but rather, a great valley in the Trúfinr mountains – one Loki knew from his happiest memories, this being where Odin had his Summer Palace built as a gift to Frigg upon their wedding. Oftentimes, Odin would journey here with his family and hold his court in the peace of the wild, away from the glimmer and gilt of Glaðsheimr. Loki blinked upon seeing the familiar tall grasses and white summer flowers, swaying in the gentle breeze from the mountains. He could hear the babble of the river and the roar of the waterfalls plunging down into the valley – feeding the fjord that flowed in through an opening in the massive cliffs beyond. Both Loki and Thor had learned to swim, and later sail, in those calm waters, and looking out over the dark blue, glittering expanses, now, he felt a bittersweet tightening in his chest. There were great ash trees dotting the floor of the valley, mimicking the height and breadth of Yggdrasil herself. Fondly, he remembered one in particular he and Thor would sit under - where they would try to coax the spirit of the tree to come forth and speak with them. They would leave treats and trinkets, sitting quietly in the branches and waiting until, one day . . .

The tree had been struck with lightning when Thor first learned how to wield Mjölnir, but rather than killing the tree, the ash had continued to bloom all the more verdantly around its scarred branches. Loki had made a wand from that scarred wood – a powerful tool, forged as it had been in contentment and his fierce love for his family. At the time, he'd thought to teach Thor an enchantment or two - wanting his brother to understand the power that seemingly flowed through his veins as wildfire. Thor had proved an obtuse student, however, and Loki distantly wondered what had become of the wand after his fall. Most likely Odin had it placed in the Vaults with the rest of his more powerful belongings . . . most likely.

Loki could see that tree now – with its twisted black limbs, and bright, thriving leaves - happily turned towards the evening sun above. He walked to it without first understanding his longing, and found, in the shade of its boughs . . .

“Thor?”

Surprised, the name slipped from his mouth without his first realizing his intention to speak. The sound was a choked thing, and he felt his eyes burn when he'd rather them not. Loki swallowed, suddenly unable to breathe around the fierce bubble of missing that had swelled in his throat, depriving him of further speech.

There, lounging in the tall grass, carving a whistle from one of the fallen branches, was Thor. He was dressed simply in a loose, russet colored tunic and deerskin leggings; wearing neither armor nor trappings of state - there was not even the simple circlet Odin had worn amongst his family upon his brow. Messy, with strands escaping their tie, his golden mane of hair – longer now, much longer than Loki remembered – was loosely bound back from his face. He had a full beard to match, which Loki swallowed to see, knowing that he now saw his brother content in his place and his years. Wisdom and compassion had grown alongside his role of husband, father, and king; setting him so far beyond the brash young man who had delighted in war and its glory – headstrong and arrogant in all of his ways.

Loki swallowed, and looked away from his brother – from Thor, he corrected himself – only when he heard the laughter of others, just beyond. He glanced to see where a table was being set underneath the boughs of another sweeping ash tree in preparation for supper. He blinked, taken aback to see Sif, just as comfortably attired as Thor, her head of black hair making her stand out amongst those gathered. She was conversing in a merry tone with Jane Foster – who was admittedly resplendent with her lengthened years, the stars even brighter in her eyes for her place as Allmother upon the Yggdrasil's highest branches. At first, it was odd to see the formerly human woman in Aesir dress, but she wore it well – unlike the awkward way she had the one time Loki knew her to visit Asgard before certain . . . events forced him far from the First Realm.

As their mothers set the table, Loki looked to see where Ullr played a game of knattleikr with two strapping, tall boys - each bearing Jane's soft brown hair and Thor's bright blue eyes. Their identical faces proclaimed them as Móði and Magni, whom Loki looked on in curiosity for, having known them in name only. He felt a pang for missing out on watching his brother's family grow – not as acute as the one he felt for missing out on Ullr's birth and subsequent days, but a pang, nonetheless.

Also joining the in on the game was a girl with a snarled mass of red-brown curls, and two older boys with the same red-brown hair - who were making a merry match for Ullr and Thor's sons as they tackled each other and laughed over their efforts to get the ball away from the other team. Their laughter was bright on the sweet summer air, and Loki stared for a moment, entranced.

He knew it was a vision, however – an illusion, no matter how kindly set - when Frigg herself stepped out of the garden gate, carrying a basket of bread in her arms. Loki stared at the specter without blinking, greedy and wanting to see his mother – his mother – alive and whole once more. With his eyes burning, he wanted so very dearly for her to look on him and smile, smile as she would not truly until he too fell asleep in death, and made his apologies in the next life.

Loki blinked to see Odin at Frigg's side, moving to aid her with her load, even when she swatted his hands away, a fond smile upon her mouth. Such was how she must have smiled at him when their marriage was still young, Loki imagined, before half-truths and the burden of ruling took that closeness away. She insisted that she needed no such help, even as Odin took the basket from her anyway and threatened to carry her as well if she continued to protest. Loki snorted, amused and off-balance from the surreal moment - and when Odin glanced over his wife's shoulder to look his way . . .

. . . Odin inclined his head in greeting, fondness in his eyes, before turning back to his wife. And Loki stood – staring - unwilling to breathe lest he ruin the tranquility of the moment, so perfectly created as it was.

And then Thor blew an experimental note from his whistle, smiling when it produced its tone. “A little too high pitched, I'm afraid,” he judged the whistle thoughtfully. “I never quite had your skill with crafts.”

“It sounded well enough to my ear,” Loki said after a moment, coming to sit down next to Thor. His back pressed to the familiar bark of the great ash tree, and the branches above seemingly swayed in welcome.

Thor snorted. “You lie as prettily as ever, brother.”

Loki did not have a reply to that, so he instead remained silent. Idly, he picked a long blade of grass and fiddled with the seed pods upon the crown of the stem. Beyond them, the children laughed, and Loki fought to keep his gaze down at the sound, telling himself that it was false – forcing himself to instead focus on the faint glimmer of green at the edge of his senses, whispering about the false cast of such an illusion.

He inhaled deeply, and let his breath out slow.

“It is a peaceful ending here, is it not?” Thor remarked into the silence. Loki looked over to see his eyes bright and sharp – aware, in every sense of the word.

“It will not be so in Huld's keeping,” Loki warned, his voice dipping for a dark tone. “This pretty world will be nothing more than the mist of memory then.”

Even so, Thor's eyes crinkled as he smiled. He reached over to clap him on his back, his massive hand still able to effortlessly cap his shoulder. “It is good to see you, Loki,” he said warmly - as if he had merely been gone on some extended journey, rather than a self-imposed exile with so much left said and unsaid between them. “Truly, it does my heart well to have you here. I could ask the Nornir for nothing more.”

“Stop it,” Loki hissed, unable to take the affection in Thor's gaze, striking across his heart as a wound. “Do not sit there and pretend that all is well, when you know -”

“ - I pretend what, precisely?” Thor returned. His voice took on a slight edge, but his eyes remained bright – little impressed by his rancor. “Do I pretend that my soul is not trapped here, with only one final destination to free me? Do I ignore that I have looked on my family – my true family – for the last time, with even an honorable death and Valhalla itself denied to me? No, I am not ignorant to that, Loki. But I am grateful to see you, one last time, before I am traded to Huld; indeed, I am most grateful for that – truly I am.”

“More the fool you, then,” Loki returned, his voice sharpening so as to cut. “Better you next time pray for something more practical as a last request.”

“Then why are you here?” Thor countered easily, returning to carving his whistle. “I was content with my choice to give myself for my family; I did so with a clear mind and a willing heart. I needed not of any interference.”

Loki looked down at the blade of grass in his hands, and popped off another seed. Were he still a youth, and the vision true, he would have thrown the pod at his brother. But he was not, and he simply cast the useless stem away.

“I did not first intend to come this far,” he at last admitted in a low voice, the truth a sour taste in his mouth. “I thought to retrieve the shard . . . take the Infinity Stone . . . and then disappear before returning it to Huld for your soul. I thought myself more than capable of doing so, at the first. Yet, now . . .”

Now he had Sif with hope in her eyes and a son he so desperately wanted to be a father to. Now he had Thor - Thor - looking on him as if they were both still young men with all the Realms open before them. Loki swallowed, and felt as if he did so around a stone.

Thor's face darkened at his words - but not for the reason Loki first thought. Rather, his next words were a surprise when he said: “No matter what, you must not allow Huld to have the Stone. To do so would be an unthinkable trade – dangerous for my family, for Asgard, for the Nine Realms, and the Universe itself. . . No. You must leave this place, Loki, and take the Soul Gem far, far away – no matter the price.”

Loki blinked, taken aback by the fervency with which he spoke. “Thor -” he started to protest, though he knew not precisely what he objected to, knowing Thor's words to be a truth in every way imaginable -

“ - No,” Thor interrupted harshly, speaking with the voice of a King who'd spent decades ordering his court and expecting their obedience in return. “In this I am absolute; there will be no swaying my mind. My life is not the equal of such a price, and I will not allow . . .” he faltered, and had to begin again for the weight of his words.

“It was not for misplaced hope that I rejoiced to see you,” Thor at last continued. “It was so that I may make my last request of you, and see it honored in return.”

He turned back to the illusion of his family – their family - and Loki did not need to look to know that his gaze found his sons, laughing as they played.

“Móði is soft of heart; generous and giving in all of his ways,” Thor began, his voice full of feeling as he said so. “And while these are traits I now know to value, they are traits that may also be taken advantage of as he grows. As my heir, I wish for someone to guide him as he comes into his own; to be a shield for his interests until he learns to temper his compassion with wisdom and the necessity of justice. He is all his mother in mind, and someone shall have to pull one – or both of them – from their books in order to ensure that they see the world beyond that which they study.” Thor gave a pointed look to him, one which Loki would have pretended ignorance to, had such weighty words not been passing between them.

“Magni is much as I was,” Thor continued. “He shall have my skill with battle, but there are times when he lacks empathy, and he views all the world as a jest. I would ask him to be guided towards compassion and temperance; once learned, he will be a great force at his brother's side, standing as both sword and shield to the wisdom of Móði's rule.”

Thor paused, and his eyes found Jane in the silence to follow, something soft glittering from their depths. Loki blinked, and felt as an intruder upon a private moment, looking where he had no right to look.

“If my daughter is born to be half as fair as her mother, then you will have your hands full with suitors in the years to come – I ask only that she not do so as a pawn of the court. I wish for her to wed in love – if she wishes to wed at all. Please, I ask that you tell her how much her father cherished her, even without the gift of knowing her,” Thor's words began as a whisper, his words picking up strength and conviction as he spoke. “Can you do this for me?”

“Why are you telling me this?” Loki did not wait a moment to reply. His voice was little more than an exhale, a hesitant breath of sound. “I do not . . .” yet, even his great words failed him, and he had no way to shape the turbulent spin of his thoughts aloud.

“If I cannot be there, I need someone to look after them in my stead,” Thor answered in a firm voice. “I believe no one else to be more equal to this task than you.”

“You trust me?” Loki returned, his tone baffled – hesitant and hopeful and disbelieving all at once.

“I have always trusted you,” Thor replied without blinking, as if the thought was such a truth that he needed not give it a moment's thought. “It was you who lost that trust in others, but now . . .” he sighed, and continued. “I have made it known to Jane and the Diar - who will ensure the cooperation of the Jarls – that you are to be regent until Móði comes of age. I know that you will do right by our people, if your regency is anything like the scepter you held when you posed in our father's stead.”

For that, Loki did blink, taken aback and slow to process what he heard. “What nonsense,” he scorned his brother's decision. “How can you have a wanted criminal - ”

“ - I pardoned you as soon as I was given our father's crown,” Thor clearly enjoyed interrupting him – his eyes glittered, no doubt triumphing over the surprise and dubious disbelief that left Loki speechless. “You more than balanced out any of your past crimes when you defeated Thanos – in more eyes than just my own, at that. Merely my love for my brother would not have been enough to sway the Diar into accepting my decree, and their decision to back me was unanimous. No, your name is not as feared as you think it to be – well,” he amended thoughtfully, “it is as feared as it ever was, but reviled? The Aesir respect strength, brother – you know that more so than most - and few will dare to cross you to do harm to my son's rule in the years to come.”

And still Loki gaped, unable to process what he had heard. Perhaps, he doubted, this was simply one of the illusions of this pocket-universe, and when he awakened once more -

- lowly, Thor chuckled, and gave his whistle another try. This time, the sound was more clearly pitched. “Ever do you look for shadows on sunny days, brother,” Thor chided. “Had you tended my summons years ago, we would not be having this conversation here, of all places.”

Loki frowned, silent as he pondered – his eyes turning from Thor to seek out Sif at Jane's side. She was smiling truly, with joy and easiness to her countenance, and for a moment his eyes were taken, unable to look away.

“Why . . .” he at long last started, still struggling to find his words. “Why did she not -”

“Why did Sif not mention this to you?” Thor finished for him. “I suspect that her reasons are the same as they have ever been: she wants you to return home for you, not for any skewed sense of duty - in any way. I cannot say that I fault her for her silence.”

Loki took in a deep breath, centering himself for what he knew he had to say next – but as always, Thor knew his mind, and beat him to speaking.

“Years ago, I offered to claim Ullr as my own – but she would hear nothing of it. And I was glad when she refused,” Thor confessed. “It kept the possibility of your return as real, and I was all but greedy for the idea of that day to come – nearly as much as she was.”

“It would have been better for all had you done so,” Loki did not quite agree, feeling weary as he spoke.

“Better for whom?” Thor countered, “For you? You, more so than most, know the harm – and the blessing – a father's love can be. I did not want my claim to have the slightest possibility of keeping you from returning home out of some ridiculous idea of it being better for Ullr in the future.” His eyes lightened, and after a moment, he could not help but wryly smile and say: “There is but one question I have to pose to you, in that regard. I had known about you and our shield-sister for many years, and yet -”

Loki's eyes widened, and he went to speak – to instinctively defend himself, and Sif – when Thor merely shook his head and gave a low chuckle. “You were never as clever as you thought yourself to be - nor was I as thick as you commonly perceived me to be! And Sif has not your talent for subterfuge with those she knows best . . . not at all. Such knowledge was my main reason for refusing her suit when it was thought that I would never be able to have Jane at my side – though Sif did not know my mind to be so at the time,” this he said thoughtfully, his eyes lost in memory before his gaze sharpened once more. “Which leads me to my question: for all of those centuries, never once did a child result of your affair. Why then? Why, out of all the possible times . . .” Thor let his voice tapper off, sure that his question was fully understood.

On cue, his face flushed – which only seemed to make Thor smile wider. “That was the first time since . . . certain revelations about my heritage were made,” Loki found himself stammering an answer, surreal as the words and their speaking were. “I no longer thought us to be . . . biologically compatible for a child.”

At his reply, Thor gave a booming laugh, slapping his knee in his mirth.“Biologically compatible?” he repeated, shaking his head. “Always does your sight tend to fail you when your eyes are turned to yourself, Loki, no matter the great scope of your perceptions otherwise.”

Thor's words were so close to Frigg's parting speech that Loki was silent for a moment, unable to properly speak. He merely nodded, accepting Thor's humor – and insight – for the truth it was.

“Well, I am glad for your lapse,” Thor calmed from his mirth to say. “Ullr is a blessing, and I have enjoyed the privilege of watching him grow.”

Loki only nodded, unable to disagree with his words. Thor glanced, and instantly understood his feeling. “It pains you,” Thor stated, confident in his understanding, “that I know your son better than you. Yet, you are the only one who may change that, Loki. The opportunity to set old wrongs to right stands before you now. You need only reach out and take it.”

Loki was silent to his words – neither agreeing or disagreeing. When his thoughts turned to heavy to bear, he turned back to the game of knattleikr, hearing an exclamation from the children when the red haired girl stole the ball from Ullr after sweeping him from his feet. Yet, Ullr did not look at all miffed to lose to her. Quite the contrary, in fact . . .

“Who is she?” Loki asked, knowing his efforts to distract himself from the heaviness of their conversation to be transparent, but caring not.

“Volstagg's youngest daughter, Saehildr,” Thor answered, allowing him his distraction. “The two elder boys are her brothers.”

“Saehildr?” Loki asked. “I do not know that name from Volstagg's brood.”

“She was the Thanos victory,” Thor said simply – for all of Volstagg and Illna's children suspiciously had begetting days that coincided with their greatest of triumphs. “With thirteen children then born, they finally decided to enjoy raising their progeny, rather than having any more – though you never know what the future may bring.” This he grinned mischievously to say.

Loki snorted at the thought, looking at the girl – Saehildr - in a new light as she helped Ullr to his feet. “She has been a favourite of Ullr since they were toddlers,” Thor revealed, but would say no more than that.

Loki continued to watch them – and a moment later he heard Volstagg's booming voice when the strongman came out from the garden-gate, caring a platter laden with food. Behind him, predictably, were Fandral and Hogun, each carrying platters to match. Yet, to his surprise, he saw a fourth figure carrying food to the table Sif and Jane had set. He saw . . .

. . . he saw himself, carrying a plate of smoked fish and smiling in good-humor at some joke Volstagg was uttering – no doubt at his expense. Startled, Loki watched this possible version of himself – with more weight to his normally too-lean form, and lines crinkling about his eyes from years of smiling. This other him wore his Jötunn markings about his hands and face, though he still bore the pale skin of the Aesir; while around his neck was a string of tokens and talismans, easy as he was for his skills as a seiðrmanðr being open for all to see. He watched as Sif came up to take the platter from the other him – offering a barbed comment of her own to defend him from Volstagg's humor. Easily, she accepted his kiss in greeting, and his hand remained at the small of her back as they called the children over to take their seats.

Loki stared, taken aback by the unexpected jolt of wanting that clenched his chest for observing the happy family as they sat down for supper. He looked as one greedy, knowing only that he longed, and for that longing . . .

“Now,” Thor said, his voice low and rumbling from his chest, his eyes not on the illusion beyond – but on him, “As I have watched your family these past fifty years, you must now watch over mine. Do you promise me this, Loki? Will you give me this last peace of mind with your vow?”

“You do not seek to warn me away from any trickery to come?” Loki snorted, still unable to keep a note of bitterness from his voice – for, no matter his wanting, he did not know if he could . . . How could he ever count himself as worthy, as equal to the task of . . . He swallowed, and had to inhale deeply to calm the suddenly rapid pace of his heart. “Why do you not threaten me with dire consequences for the failure any such guardianship should inevitability result in?”

“I do not need to,” Thor answered simply, his eyes firmly locked on his own. “I trust you,” he said once again, his words slow and firm, “Now, much as I ever have.”

Loki swallowed, and in that moment he would not . . . he could not speak.

“I was not the best of brothers when I should have been, just as you were not – and I would leave it at that,” Thor finally said lowly – softly, but with such a strength to his voice. “Yet, your path shaped my own for the better, and without you, I would not be the man I am today. I . . . I hate that the Nornir had to so twist your fate to ensure the success of my own, and now . . . now I would see your path next to mine once more. I would have my brother back, even if only to say farewell to him once more. I wish this with everything in me, and, Loki, if you do too . . .”

Thor fixed him with a serious stare, and reached over to grasp his forearm in a sure grip. Loki could feel the strength in his hand, and knew his gaze as the heat of a sun for the fervency with which it burned.

“If you do wish as I wish,” Thor repeated, “leave me to the wraith; leave me to Huld. Take the stone and run . . . do not look back, do not mourn for me, and, someday, I have every hope for our meeting again - no matter how many thousands of years I have to wait.”

Loki swallowed, and this time, when his eyes burned, he did not fight to keep his tears from falling. He simply reached out to cover Thor's hand with his own. He squeezed, and knew that when this was done, he would find the words he could not utter now. He looked back over his brother's family, seeing their family – all of their family - and for the first time in far too long . . .

He wanted, and knew that he would once again reach out with hands wide open and gamble . . . gamble so that he could take, and through that taking, have returned . . .

Everything, he finally admitted the truth to himself. He wanted everything.

Slowly, he held his opposite hand to his neck, where he could even now feel the low, burning thrum of the orange shard of the Time Stone. And . . . slowly, an idea wove itself in his mind. It was a desperate idea . . . an idea with few chances of actual success, and yet . . .

Just this once, if the Nornir could look on him in kindness, and with that kindness weave . . .

“What if I had another option?” Loki asked slowly, delicately. Beyond them, he could hear their children laugh, and he breathed in deep on the sound of their joy. He made it his guiding purpose – his reason for trying once more. “What would you say if I had a foolish idea - and most certainly a dangerous one . . . but one that, if you trusted me . . . just could work?”

“I would say,” Thor replied just as slowly, storm-light seemingly filling his gaze, “that I am listening . . . I would hear you out, brother.”

So, as the great boughs of the ash tree swayed above them, Loki leaned forward, and detailed his plan.



~MJ

 

Nyota's Heart: I thank you so much! As always, your taking the time to read and leave your thoughts is an absolute joy for me.

Alrighty, one down, one to go now . . .

---

Part XIII​

As time passed, and Loki still did not appear, Sif only knew that she fought as she had not fought since Thanos himself walked the cosmos, and the very boughs of the Mother trembled in anticipation of his step.

She spun and turned and struck, over and over again until she had one giant felled before her. Swiftly, she placed an armored boot down on Iði's chest, supporting her stance as she held her blade to his neck. She leveled a fierce look at Gangr - for now the Jötunn was merely unconscious, but if she willed it . . .

“Call off the wraith, or I swear to Hel herself that I will offer your brother as a gift for her keeping,” Sif's words were hissed through her teeth. She tightened her hands about the hilt of her weapon, deadly serious in her intent.

She looked, and saw where Gangr paused; he hesitated. The ice about his hands melted, and he stilled in his place. The matching embers of his gaze flared with a fierce heat, but she was unaffected, and little moved. She pressed the flat of her blade down until it drew the faintest kiss of dark violet blood.

“I would not trade the soul of one brother for another,” Gangr ground his teeth together to say, his hands flexing uselessly at his side.

“Then,” Sif bared her own teeth cruelly to reply, “it seems that we have an understanding. Now: the stone, if you please.”

Slowly, Gangr lifted the Soul Gem, and Sif tensed, raising her shield just slightly in anticipation of any trickery on his part. She held herself defensively, ready should he decide to set the wraith upon her again – the wraith, who must surely have recovered itself by now, and Loki, by the Nornir's teeth, but where are you?

For she refused to believe that he was lost to her just yet. He couldn't be, not when she was so close, so close to finally . . .

The thought was a breathless, soaring sensation within her chest, so much so that she pushed her thoughts aside lest they distract her from the moment, seeing how Gangr's face twisted, and for that twisting . . .

“Even if your wraith succeeds,” she promised with deadly certainty, “my aim is not so slow that I could not take Iði with me. I would not test my resolve, Ölvaldison.”

“Yet,” Gangr returned harshly. “There is a reason that Ölvaldi speaks with gold in his mouth; for greed and determination were the founding coins of his wealth. And so, I too will -”

He did not finish speaking before a jet of ice surged forward to greet her. Reflexively, she lifted her shield to defend herself from the wave of cold frost – which would most certainly have stuck her glaive, costing her those precious seconds while she freed herself. Yet, the heartbeat she had to recover was a heartbeat too long as she again felt the shadow bearing down against her – flinging her away from Iði's body as she scrambled to find her feet again. The wraith was back, she knew with a grim certainty as its unnatural coldness tried to latch upon her heart once more.

She lifted her shield, trusting Loki's spells to protect her, but she was unable to defend herself against Gangr and the wraith at once. She had to choose, and for ducking the one while deflecting the other she gave up ground. She was slowly pushed back and back and back – to where the shelf of the cliff ended and plunged down alongside one of the thundering white waterfalls of the Andvara-river.

Sif frowned, and dug her boots into the rocky soil, unwilling to be moved any further as she quickly weighed her options.

But a particularly fierce wave of ice had her grip on her shield faltering, and that half a second was all it took for her to feel a black pall settle over her shoulders, seemingly slipping between the plates of her armor to find her pores and sink down, down to find . . .

She stood still, numb as the wraith tried its best to nestle itself in deep and tear – searching for anything, everything to succor itself upon – memories and warmth and love all failing her as they rushed towards the wraith's insatiable mouth. She stumbled, but managed to keep from falling as she deflected Gangr's attack again and again, until -

- she felt where she missed that pivotal step, where she was knocked backwards, too far back, too quickly. But she was kept from falling into the yawning nothingness over the cascade by a hand at her back, holding her upright. That touch, the familiarity of that hand supporting her - keeping her from the edge - was all she needed for warmth to bloom anew in her heart as relief flooded though her. He was alive, he was alive, and -

Sif glanced at her side to glare at Loki crossly, feeling as the green flare of his power fought the wraith back and back – freeing her as the un-being reared violently away, already looking to gather itself again.

“What took you so long?” she could not help but hiss crossly, even if only to mask the giddy, breathless sort of joy she felt for seeing him whole once more.

“Chivalry truly is dead,” Loki sighed through his teeth, exasperation heavy in his voice. “You are welcome, my lady, for saving your life.”

But Sif was kept from retorting when Gangr's renewed attack was interrupted . . . and thwarted by a very familiar power, at that.

She felt the familiar thrum in her bones from Mjölnir singing in motion; her ears all but ringing with the sweet sound of the hammer striking, violently throwing Gangr back from the force of the blow. Which could only mean -

- sharply, she turned, her eyes immediately fixing on Thor – dear, returned Thor – with hunger in her gaze. Her friend was just as she had seen him last, dressed comfortably as he had been with his family the evening he was taken, but with rage sitting righteous upon his brow and the battle worn, bright as storm-light, in his eyes. His anger was a palpable thing, and she responded to and fed off of his battle-lust in kind – ready as she was to follow her shield-brother, her commander, her King, to the end if need be – as she ever had been, and always would continue to be.

She looked to Loki, and no matter that the wraith was still circling them, no matter that Gangr had turned aside the blow of Thor's hammer to stand and attack again, she felt hope fill her, certain that, now -

“Do not yet look so overjoyed,” Loki warned grimly. “We still have the tiny matter of a soul-sucking demon to see to. And then there's your Jötunn friend – who looks quite unhappy to see Thor freed from the Gem's keeping.”

And yet . . .

“I trust you,” she stated simply as she raised her shield again. “I know no fear now; not any more.”

“I am glad that you are so certain,” Loki gave wryly in reply – but she caught the pleased glow to his eyes, no matter how quickly he moved to hide it away. “I, on the other hand . . .”

But he fell silent, his features stilling into a cool mask of concentration that Sif recognized from long experience. She understood, and moved to join Thor in battering Gangr's defenses – Gangr, who would fall in but moments now, whose only hope was the wraith that was shimmering with greed and want, staining the night's shadows while watching, waiting . . .

And Loki called it forth to make its move.

He dropped his shields; he stood open and bare before the wraith, opening his arms wide in invitation as his eyes glittered with such a green light. He bared his teeth in a snarl of a smile, and blithely welcomed the wraith with a harshly whispered, “If you dare.”

His eyes flashed in that insufferable way that always had violence heating in her blood when such a look was turned on her, and the wraith was no different. She heard an unnatural sound – high and mourning and hungry – wail through her bones, and, uncertain but faithful, she watched as the shadow fell on Loki.

She watched as Loki unfisted his hands, revealing where he held a familiar chip of orange stone between his fingers. She blinked, curious and wondering as he brandished the piece of the Time Gem, wondering what he could possibly think to gain by -

- but her questions were answered when he threw the gem up, and the glowing shard expanded mid-air. There it lingered before imploding on itself, the shock-waves of its doing so opening to reveal a gateway – a door, she understood – and through that door was . . .

Niflheimr, she recognized the primordial world of ice and mist, then understanding what he intended to do with a bright flash of insight and knowing. Niflheimr, the realm where, too many centuries ago to count . . . Blinking, she took in sight of Búri First-father – Odin's grandfather, who ruled the First Realm at the beginning of all things. His was a likeness she knew only from busts and paintings and tapestries within Asgard's capitol, but now she saw him fearsome and resplendent in might and glory as he felled first one shadowy specter and then another, this being a battle where . . .

. . . the wraiths were hunted to extinction when the universe was still young, and balance was just settling upon Yggdrasil's mighty branches, Sif remembered her histories – not for the first time that day. The warriors of Asgard had bespelled weapons crafted by the Dwarves of Niflheimr's moons, specifically made for slaying the un-beings – an art which had since been lost – and now she looked with understanding bright and awed within her as the wraith floundered. Its momentum and greed was then its undoing as it was unable to steer its course, as it was unable to turn aside, and with a terrified scream it fell past Loki, unable to fight against the massive pull of the gateway he had opened.

The wraith struggled, but it was no use as it was sucked back into the time from which the brothers had summoned it. She saw where Loki made a fist of his hand, satisfaction bright on his features as he went to shut the portal – the portal, which now seemed to teeter on the brink of collapse, dangerous as it was summoning gateways through time and space with but a fraction of the Time Stone. The portal was unstable, she noticed with growing discomfort, but she was saved from further worry when Thor rushed forward to tackle Loki and hold him secure when he would not move to defend himself for his concentration in closing the gateway. Which left, for her -

Such was the high she felt for the idea of success, and such was Gangr's shock that it took but a flurry of blows to subdue him, and when he at last knelt before her she held her glaive to the pulse-point of his neck, wondering if she should continue through on her blow, or -

“ - we need him alive, Sif,” she heard Loki speak behind her as the air settled and the mists billowed back to fill in the disturbance of the dissipated portal.

She frowned, but accepted his wisdom as she instead struck Gangr across the back of the head with the hilt of her blade, pleased when he fell into a heavy unconsciousness to join his brother.

Then, all was silent in the clearing once more, all but for their labored breathing as they stood, shocked for the fact of their victory. She turned, and saw Loki still kneeling on the ground, his features pinched and the pale cast of his skin more pronounced than usual. But he was smiling a satisfied smile as he clinched the shard of the Time Stone within his fist - a look that held even as Thor offered a hand to help him to his feet. A moment passed, and then Loki accepted the assistance, his smile slanted on his face as he looked on his brother.

His brother, who -

Just as she looked again at her friend, needing to assure herself that all was well, that all was as it should be, a blur of dark colour shot past them to wrap his arms about Thor's torso.

“Thor! You are well!” Ullr exclaimed, and for the youth's exuberant greeting, Thor chuckled and returned the embrace, all but swallowing her son as he patting a massive hand against his back in reply.

“Aye,” Thor soothed the youth in a rumbling voice, “It would take a bit more than such black trickery to fell me.” His eyes glittered as he said so, and he turned a significant look on Loki – Loki, who flushed with a small, pleased expression for the gratitude in his brother's eyes.

Loki's gaze then turned to Ullr, making sure that the child was well and untouched from the battle. Besides a matching paleness – the wraith having no doubt rubbed his senses raw, even from a distance – Ullr was untouched, and she too breathed out a sigh in relief at the sight, only then allowing the frantic tattoo of her pulse to still and calm.

“That was amazing,” Ullr next turned to Loki to gush. “Using the Time Stone, letting the wraith absorb you, even. For a moment, I thought that I would have to -” Ullr glanced to her, and she knew then that her near-brush with falling – no more worse than the hundreds such instances she had lived through and triumphed over in her time, though her son would not know that - had left him more unsettled than he would have liked to admit.

“I would have returned from Valhalla to haunt you for the rest of my days had you stepped out to help,” Sif promised ominously. “I thank you for not giving your mother that fright.”

Ullr ducked his head, suitably abashed, and Sif shook her head as she leaned down to retrieve the Soul Gem from Gangr's grip. The giant's fingers unconsciously clenched about the Infinity Stone, even in his sleep. He made a strained sound in the back of his throat, and Sif gazed critically at him, making certain of his slumber.

She then walked back to the others, and after a moment's pause, she gave Loki the Soul Gem. He watched her as she did so, the green of his eyes painful bright and weighing as she released the Stone and then took a step away, unsure how to process the intensity of his gaze. She felt a tremble trace up and down the dips of her spine, yet such a sensation was not a bad one, per se, only . . .

She bit her lip, and instead watched as Loki joined the missing shard of the Soul Gem to the whole, watching as the stone flared bright and blinding before settling into a low, pulsing glow – like that of a heartbeat. The Stone still thrummed against her senses, and she stared at it, ill at ease for its near sentient power – even when held by a friendly hand.

“Now what?” Ullr was the one to ask. “We have the Stone, the wraith is gone, Thor is returned . . .” he frowned, and tilted his head to the side. “May we now return home?” he asked, his eyes flickering to all of them in their turn. His gaze lingered on Loki, for which she watched a muscle high in his cheek jump. And she blinked, curious, wondering when – how – Ullr deducted what she had not yet spoken of, before thinking of it no more. Her son was bright, just like his father, and such a knowing should not have surprised her.

“Ah, but that is the tricky thing,” Loki sighed through his teeth to say. “For a deal with Huld is not so easily turned aside as that.”

“Yet,” Ullr said slowly, “she does not have Thor's soul, nor will she. She has nothing to trade.”

“But she did lead us here,” Loki inclined his head to say. “Huld can still make an argument for the Soul Gem on that alone, and rather than having Thanos' Keeper angered – to the detriment of all - I would play the game properly.”

Sif frowned for hearing so. “You will not give her the Soul Gem,” she spoke a statement rather than a question.

“No,” Loki agreed, “but I must see that she understands that too.” He smiled sharply to say so, as a glow, familiar and verdant, entered his eyes.

Thor tilted his head to the side, asking aloud even as Sif wondered: “How do you propose to do so?”

Loki rolled his shoulders, and took out his knife again – presumably to return the Time Stone to its place, nestled underneath his flesh, she thought. Yet, to her surprise, he handed the blade to Thor, and said, “If you would aid me – this is a rather tricky bit of spell-craft, and I'd like to be absolutely certain that it's done right before we greet the Star-keeper with our claim.”

Gingerly, Thor accepted the blade, and silently, they listened as Loki outlined his plan.



.

.

The dancing nebula gases and shifting firmament of Huld's Keep greeted them in billowing and spectral shapes once more.

As ever, Sif took a moment to ground herself – her stomach turning sickly at the swift suddenness of inter-dimensional travel, no matter how often she had used it over her centuries. Ever did she care for real worlds – solid and whole – underfoot, and the ominous beauty of the Star-keeper's hold was never one that swayed her for long for the sense of wrongness in the air – for the eyes staring down at her from the writhing soul-stars above them.

She found one red star, however, and settled her expression into an indomitable mask, unconsciously stepping closer to Loki and her son as she did so. She imagined that the star shifted – amused, rather than threatened, even now – and she made a fist about the hilt of her glaive in reply to Thanos' awareness of their arrival.

At her opposite side, Thor stood just as stiffly as he dumped his load of the two Jötunn brothers at his feet with a low grunt of effort. His mouth was set in dislike as much as her own was, and he too found the stare of the red star before firmly looking away – determined to give Thanos' spirit no more attention than that.

And, even as they gathered themselves, the mists billowed – they shifted – and the room rearranged them in a disorienting lurch as it shifted again to a pantomime of a King's court – with Huld sitting on her throne, washes of silver and blue starlight giving the illusion of one royal form after another – from elderly king to matronly queen and child-prince blinking down at them with wide, owlish eyes. Through it all, her stars for eyes blinked, glimmering with hunger once she sensed what they carried with them.

“You were successful,” Huld spoke in the child-ruler's voice, leaning forward in thinly veiled anticipation.

Loki turned, and raised a dark brow. “You sound surprised, Star-keeper,” he clucked his tongue in a chiding manner.

Huld shimmered, her form swimming with a moment's annoyance as she said, “I knew better than to doubt you, Laufeyson, but with the forces stacked against you – few are those who have been able to hold up to the power of the un-beings since Búri's time. So you may forgive me my dubiousness.”

“Such is a fact I took full advantage of,” Loki smiled to say, and Huld inclined her head.

“So I see,” her eyes flickered over them all, lingering on Thor and the Jötunn at his feet before she frowned, and said, “I am happy to see your foster-brother returned to you, yet there is still the matter of the debt standing unpaid between us.”

“Is there?” Loki returned, a deceiving blandness to his voice.

“Indeed there is,” Huld's voice took on a warning note, given in a warring man's voice. “Which you know as well as I. I do not have Thor's soul to trade, but my leading you to the shard of the Soul Gem still carries a price.”

“For which I am more than willing to give you these,” Loki looked to the side, and at his brother's glance, Thor shoved the two Jötunn bodies closer with the toe of his boot.

Huld raised a brow, her face swimming between forms quicker than Sif could follow. “Hardly are the Sons of Ölvaldi a prize equal to the one I first sought,” she finally said, distaste plain in her voice.

“Are they not?” Loki did not quite agree. “They are a matching set with Þjazi, and for their love and determination to see their brother returned – no matter the wickedness of his ways – there should be something of worth about their souls.”

“They will be a fine addition,” Huld gave with a serpent’s hiss, “But an addition is not the whole. No, I bartered for something more – something worth the equal of Thor Odinson, Allfather and King of the First Realm, the Eternal Land and Crown of the Mother's boughs. And equal,” Huld all but sneered the word, “they are not.”

“But you do not have Thor's soul to trade,” Loki returned blandly. “You were nothing more than an informant, useful and serving your purpose, but an informant, nonetheless.”

Sif could feel the exact moment when Huld's anger rose. The star-mists shimmered and seemed to press in against them. The air turned thin as their gasses burned hot, and Huld's form grew to take on a great shape – any attempt at astral beauty leaving her as the faces she chose turned pointed with sharp brows and narrowed eyes and mouths bearing fangs for teeth. When she waved a hand, the tips of her fingers were clawed.

“You tread on dangerous ground, Laufeyson,” she snarled in the deep voice of a massive man, “It is the Soul Gem I require from you, and if you do not give up the Infinity Stone peacefully, I will take my boon where I may.”

Her presence pressed in against them – warningly – brushing against all of their souls with a hunger nearly equal to the wraith they had earlier defeated. With the Soul Gem in her hand . . . Subtly, Sif turned, putting Ullr behind her even as Loki stepped forward, a rising danger in his eyes to match the Star-keeper's unconquerable gaze.

“I offer you the equal of the aid you gave,” Loki stated on a low whisper. He did not raise his voice in anger, nor did his tone leave the deceiving geniality he had held since they first arrived. “And yet, even for your whole cooperation and aid I promised you the Soul Gem – nothing more, and nothing less.”

“What is it that you are saying?” Huld hissed, her form still pulsing angrily around them.

“I am saying that you can have nothing more than the Soul Gem, and nothing less,” Loki stressed his words. “That was the exact wording of our bargain, was it not?”

“Where is the gem?” Huld suddenly fumed, understanding a bright and terrible thing in her excuse for a throat.

But Sif only watched, feeling satisfaction fill her as Loki held his arms out, letting Huld's senses look him over, and through that looking see -

Only they knew that there were now runes running up and down the left side of Loki's abdomen, hiding where they had hidden the whole of the Stone away. There Loki shielded the gem with his own innate abilities – wise, Sif thought, for even with the barest sensing of the Infinity Stone's proximity, Thanos' presence was already swimming above their heads, straining against his bonds with a new-found rage and wanting.

“No less,” Loki repeated sweetly, “And no more.”

Huld snarled, and her faces shifted quicker than Sif could follow. She held up a hand, as if wanting to strike and dig out the stone by force if need be, but she could not move her hand to follow through on the blow. Her oath constrained her – caring only about the exact wording of her vow – and she could not act contrary to it, not without losing her place and power as a Keeper.

And Loki knew that, wordsmith that he was. Unconcerned, he only continued to smile a sharp smile, full of teeth.

But Huld was not done. Her presence pressed against them all, and she snarled in a voice that was first bear, then dragon, and then hissing world-snake, “If I cannot have the Soul Gem, I will simply have to take the next thing I can. If I am deprived of the purity of the Thunderer's soul, I will take one that strikes into the deep of you, just as you have struck so at me.”

Her form turned hungry and seeking, and only then did Sif realize that she meant Ullr – Ullr with his pure child's soul and his already unfathomable power. Instinctively, she knelt before her child with her shield brandished and her own face contorted into a mask of rage to match, even as Thor stood next to her, ready to fight against the intangible for his family once again.

But it was Loki who stepped forward to meet Huld, rather than standing his ground to passively defend. The power of the Soul Gem merged with his own innate abilities to swirl as a living aura from his skin – in that moment pitting him as an equal to the Star-keeper in a way he had not been before.

“Touch him,” Loki promised in a low threat of sound, his voice almost as inhuman as Huld's own, “And it shall be the last thing you do.”

But Huld only snarled – a wordless wailing of souls - before charging forward again. But she was met by a wave of power from the Soul Gem as Loki waved a hand, fighting her back again and again and again while her stolen souls clamored and cheered above them. Sif pressed closer to Ullr, and felt when he wrapped a hand tightly about her wrist in reply – his eyes wide and trusting as Loki pushed the entity back and back again.

And finally he rebuked: “Cease this,” in a low voice, filled with power. Huld had lost her ability to hold onto a tangible form, and she flickered before their eyes as a massive wash of star-gasses and astral power, unable to draw on the forms of her souls with the badgering her might had taken. “I offer you equal recompense for the favor you did us, and, what's more than that, I offer you this one last thing – only to maintain your continued good-will out of my respect and appreciation for your continued keeping of Thanos.”

Huld merely looked at him warily. As she recovered, the first face she was able to summon was that of a young man, with his face reddened by tending to the fields and his sweet eyes the color of the cloudless sky. “What more could you think to offer to repair the insult you have paid me, Odinson?”

“A boon of my own,” Loki inclined his head to say. “You are right: it was through your efforts that Thor was returned to us, and I shall not forget that. So, in the future, I shall owe you a favor – one favor - for us to part in peace and friendship this day.”

Finally, Huld paused; she considered. Her eyes sharpened to star-light once more as she took on a form of a woman, great in beauty and grace. She inclined her head, and finally, she said: “I do not like it, but you leave me no choice to accept.”

She waved an incorporeal hand, and the two Jötunn brothers disappeared. When next they blinked, two more stars shown down from next to Þjazi's place above them.

“I thank-you,” Loki inclined his head crisply to say, and only then did Sif relax her hold on her shield, slowly bringing herself to trust the idea of them walking away with all they sought in hand. Though Loki's boon set ill with her – really, it sat in her stomach like a stone, heavy and impossible to pass – she forced herself to accept that whatever Huld asked of them would simply be another trial they would face and overcome together. That was, if he . . .

She glanced, but Loki was still intent on holding Huld's gaze, ill as the Star-keeper was to let them go just yet.

Mockingly, Huld inclined her head, and bowed a courtly bow. But when she spoke, it was Thanos' voice she chose, and Thanos' form of stone and stars that she held. “But know better than to double-cross me again, for I know what thirsts for you, what hungers. You think that you move to set your pieces upon the board to fight the Mad Titan once he gnaws his way through his bonds, and yet, I have seen his mind and even now do I feast upon his anger and rage. Bright and potent things are these, Odinson, and if you fear him, I say you do not nearly fear him enough.”

Yet, Thanos was not the only one who hungered, for even Sif could feel the yawning, empty void of Huld's presence as she pressed down upon all of their souls. There was a warning in that movement, a threat, but the threat was for a far off day. For now . . . Sif looked, and saw Thor standing on her left, while Loki stood with his shoulders squared and head held tall before her. Just maybe, they had the better of the Star-keeper this time.

“Consider that,” Huld continued in her Thanos-tongue, “when I ask my favor of you.”

Then her form shifted, and she was nothing more than starlight over an indecipherable face. Sif blinked, but even when she could not see the Keeper, she could feel the formless entity, even so. Sif squared her jaw, and glared into the formless space, even as she looked at Loki, seeing where his strong face in front of Huld's threat was but a shield, the same as her own steel was. He swallowed, for a moment his eyes shadowed – refusing to reflect the spectral play of light around him - and when he waved a hand . . .

. . . The swirl of the cosmos and the iridescent dance of nebula gases gave way to the warm bronze walls and softly fluttering tapestries of a familiar room in Asgard's halls. She blinked, and inhaled the spicy smell of the fire in the pit, blissfully feeling the familiar golden light of her home wash over her once more. Even before she could see them, she could hear children talking softly with a woman from the ring of plush cushions around the fire, and it took but a moment for Móði and Magni to understand what was happening, and rush forward to greet them with ecstatic exclamations of surprise and joy bubbling from their mouths.

Only centuries of practice dodging countless foes upon too many battlefields to mention had her moving out of the way of the twins. Just as instinctively, Thor dropped to kneel so that he could embrace both boys at once – the twins were only two summers younger than Ullr, but they seemed very, very young to her eyes as they welcomed their father back home. Sif felt her heart turn with satisfaction at the sight, every trial and tribulation of the last few days then worth it for the warm triumph of a family made whole before her eyes again.

Patiently, Jane rose, and waited while her sons exclaimed their due over their father's return, and though her pregnant belly made it difficult, she then embraced her husband with no less gusto when it was her turn. Sif turned away from the couple when she realized that her queen was weeping – the stress from holding together Asgard and solidifying her son's claim to power should the worse come to worst, all the while thinking her mate to be forever gone, having finally taken their toll on the other woman as she let go of her grief.

So Sif stepped back, and after her eyes found Ullr – who looked weary to her mother's gaze, but no worse for the wear - she looked, expecting to see . . .

Perhaps she was not surprised when she did not see Loki's familiar shadow within the room. And yet, even expectation and experience were not enough to do away with the low form of disappointment that filled her at his absence. She had thought . . . no, she had wished . . . so very dearly . . .

When she blinked, her eyes burned, and though she tried to tell herself that she felt only frustration and annoyance, the truth was that it was more than that. She could not lie to herself, not this time, and the sad truth of the matter was that her heart was heavy in her chest. Her hand fisted over the strap of her shield, even though she had not of a foe to face; her armor was a steadying thing about her body, but she still felt vulnerable and open and bare to any wound to come. She tried to feel the pulse of marching armies in her veins, but felt only the open and oppressive weight that was the silence of the fallen on a battlefield following a melee's end. There was naught of war in her veins; not in that moment.

She had stood looking at the place Loki had filled for too long, it seemed, for when she looked up, Ullr was looking at her expectantly. Thor was too, she turned to find, with an understanding light turning the clear blue of his eyes bright.

“Sif,” Thor started gently, still holding Jane against him while he rested a heavy hand on Magni's shoulder.

“I am fine, truly I am,” she interrupted before he could say anything more. And she would be – again – after she collected herself and pushed forward – again. She tried to smile in assurance, but she could not quite form the expression she wished; her mouth would not aid her.

She then turned, knowing that she only would stand as a black stain when Thor deserved nothing more than to revel in his family's joy and relief for his return. That aside, she wanted so very dearly for solitude and silence then. And yet, she found that her way was blocked. She blinked, but Ullr would not move, not even when she moved to walk around him.

“No,” her son said simply when her eyes narrowed, and when she opened her mouth to speak, he beat her to it. “This is not right, you know that as well as I.”

“Ullr,” she sighed through her teeth, but her voice conveyed only weariness, rather than the annoyance she had first wished.

“No,” Ullr repeated again. “You heard Huld; you know what threat haunts his steps – even if he wanted to, he would not come home with us. But, if you made him see . . . if you made him understand that, together, we can - ”

“ - no one can make Loki do anything he does not want to do,” Sif finally snapped, “And I am tired of waiting and missing, while - ”

“ - but you deserve this,” Ullr returned just as hotly, his eyes flashing with a familiar green fire. “You have been strong for me, for Thor, for Asgard and all Nine of the Realms, for so long; but you deserve something – someone – for you. And my mother as I know her is not a coward to stand in the shadows and wait when all she has to do is reach out and take what she wants.”

She gaped at him, surprised by the sudden fervor in his voice - for while she knew such to be in her son's character, rarely had he ever turned such a tone of force and command on her. She frowned, even so, and said, “It is not that simple.” But the defense – the feint – sounded weak to her own ears.

“It never is,” Ullr shrugged, little impressed. “But you can make that first step now. It will not, I think, end as poorly as you think it shall. And . . . if it does, then at least you'll have the peace of knowing that you tried.” His eyes softened, and there was such a small, hopeful look in his eyes then – so much so that she knew that he asked for himself as much as he did for her.

And she had never been able to deny her son anything that was in her power to give. So . . . she breathed in deep, and let that breath out slow.

“When did you become so wise?” she finally asked. She intended for her voice to sound wry, but she was aware of the softness that came instead. Her heart was hammering – thundering, really – and she felt the need for movement take ahold of her limbs. The want to battle rose fierce in her heart – this time for her heart.

“It is in my blood,” Ullr returned cheekily, and at the heartbreakingly familiar glint in his eyes, she reached over to embrace him, even as she rolled her eyes and sighed in fond exasperation. He knew, she understand absolutely then, he knew, and it was for more than just herself that she fought for now.

She felt Ullr's arms wrap around her as he returned her embrace, and she breathed in the scent of his hair before letting him go, using that moment to hide how she blinked away the onset of tears.

“Knowing Loki, he has already respelled his wards in a dozen different ways,” Sif finally recovered herself, feeling the steel return to her voice. She tightened her grip about her shield, and felt fit to march again. “So, if you would be so kind as to open a path for me . . .”

And Ullr only smiled a full smile, one that reached his eyes in its brilliance. “It would be my pleasure.”

---

And only one chapter to go now - though I am not discounting any meddling further in this verse somewhere down the line.

I only have one note for this chapter -

Loki's Loophole: Is pretty much an exact replica of the one he used with the Dwarves he tricked into forging Thor's hammer, Odin's spear, and Sif's hair. He promised the Dwarves his head as payment, but he said nothing about the rest of his body. If they could figure out a way to take his head without harming his neck, they were welcome to it. But only then. You gotta love Viking senses of humor!


Now, until next time!

~MJ