Loki stood on his balcony, one hand resting on the elaborate stone railing, the other holding a steaming cup of coffee to his mouth as dawn crept over the horizon, the ebony sky fading into rich blues and pale yellows.  He took a careful sip, lest he burn his tongue, then frowned a little.  Definitely not as good as Stark’s coffee, but not bad.  It warmed him up a little, at least.   Beyond the golden spires and towers of the city that had been covered in a new sheet of thin ice yesterday—apparently the hardcore training had gotten under Thor’s skin—the calm Eternal Sea reflected the ever so slowly rising sun.  It was a shame that the freezing storm clouds of the past three months had finally broken to let the sun’s rays shine through, only to have everyone be forced to leave.

His father had sent formal sanctuary requests to Vanaheim and Alfheim after he and Heimdall had restored the bridge.  Both realms had immediately approved the requisition, and Odin had then ordered a mandatory evacuation of all civilians other than healers and essential palace staff.  From his high balcony, Loki could see people already entering the streets and dividing themselves into massive, but neat and cohesive groups.  He sighed, relieved to see everyone handling the situation so calmly.  Clearly the high council knew how to navigate a logistical nightmare.  Good on his mother for delegating the task to them.  Moving a hundred thousand people efficiently off world was nothing to scoff at.  

Squaring his shoulders, he inhaled deeply through his nose.  His sinuses balked at the biting air, making his eyes water a bit, and he sniffed as a shiver shot up his spine.  Shit, he should have pulled on one of his long hooded coats instead of the thin jacket that didn’t even have closures in the front, exposing his tunic beneath.  He hadn’t expected to freeze out here.  So much for his Jotun heritage.

All things considered, he should not be up and showered and dressed already.  Last night, he’d drunk enough liquor to fill a small swimming pool while he and Sigyn pawed at each other until midnight on that gloriously wicked dance floor.  Then he’d dragged her back to the south wing, barely making it into his chambers before his pants came off for the next two frenzied hours.  Norns, he ought to be in a damn coma for another four hours, followed by another two in a cold sweat, curled up into a shaking ball on his washroom floor, periodically pushing to his knees to hug the toilet.  But thankfully, Fiora and ten assisting healers had stood outside the grand hall’s main doors last night and forced everyone to drink a vial of…something…upon leaving.  What had she called it?  Oh, right.  Halcyon Withdrawal Tonic, HWT for short.  Gods, Vanir medicine was something else.  

A clock tower far in the distance tolled, and he squinted to see the time.  Eyebrows shooting to his hairline, he turned on his heel and walked back into the warmth of his chambers.  He hadn’t intended to be out there for half an hour.  Setting his empty coffee cup down on his desk, he saw a note on top of his open journals:

Loki,

Gamora is here to collect us for breakfast.  I would come out there to tell you, but you look so peaceful, and I don’t want to disturb you from whatever is running through that beautiful mind of yours.  That said, I’m STARVING, so I’m going to the dining hall with her.  See you when you’re done sungazing.  Love you.  Always always always.

-Sig

He smiled wide at her typical erratic penmanship.  She’d defended it once, saying it wasn’t messy, just fiery , and she was right.  Her signature even looked like a thumbnail sketch of tiny flames, and he adored it.  Placing the note inside a desk drawer, he turned to walk to his chamber doors and pocketed his hands.  His magic rolled over the heavy ash wood in a translucent green wave, and they swung open then closed behind him, the magical click of the deadbolt echoing loudly down the south wing.

The corridor that looped to the dining hall was abuzz with excited energy.  He passed dozens of soldiers, hawks, palace workers, aides, and healers, all of whom stopped to acknowledge his presence with toothy grins and bows and curtsies.  His eyebrows knit together, not rudely, but in confusion.  Why was everyone so abnormally smiley right now?  Sure they had all been spared massive hangovers, but that didn’t change what loomed on the horizon.  It dawned on him thenーthose HWTs had been laced with mood boosters.

Well done, Fiora.

He dropped his eyes to watch where he was going once more, smiling at the busy staff members.  Striding casually into the dining hall, hands still in his pockets, his eyes swept over the room, looking for Sigyn.  The place was far more lively than was typical for first meal, with a hundred or so people laughing and eating as though they’d gone without food for a week.  He spotted Gamora, Thor, Sif and Fandral (oh wonderful) in line at the buffet table, so he started toward them, suddenly thrilled at the prospect of eating a proper greasy post-drunk meal.  He was delayed every step by voices saying “your grace” or “Prince Loki” , which was frustrating, since he was extremely hungry now.  Nodding to each of them, trying not to roll his eyes at those who blushed and batted their eyelashes at him, he managed to get to his destination without growling at anyone.

Arms wrapped around Sif, Thor looked up from the other side of the table, behind a gigantic platter of fresh piping hot breakfast meat and waved. “Brother!  Finally, you’re here!  Sleep well?”

“Like the dead,” Loki answered, wrinkling his nose when Thor bent down to kiss Sif.  

He didn’t care if his brother had romantic relationships, or necessarily seeing a slight public display, but Odin’s ravens , he could not stand Sif.  He had an awful history with that woman, as did Sigyn.  Telling himself to shake it off, he came up next to Gamora who stood on the opposite side of the table from Thor, shoveling forkfuls of scrambled eggs into her mouth at a comical pace.

He nudged her shoulder with his. “Morning, friend.”

Looking up at him, she pointed to her full mouth, and Loki nodded, chuckling at her over-stuffed cheeks.  He snatched a piece of bacon from a serving platter just as Sigyn appeared next to him.  Before he took a bite, he wrapped his free hand around the back of her neck, his thumb smoothing over the hinge of her jaw, and leaned down to give her a peck on the lips.

“That’s the dress from last night,” he whispered, smirking at the obvious wrinkles in the fabric. “It’s a long walk of shame all the way to the dining hall.”

Grabbing a plate, she raised an eyebrow. “Shame?  Ha .  Do you have any idea how many people would kill to be in my position?”

“Which position?” his voice dropped an octave. “Tied to my bedpost?  Bent over my desk?  Sitting on my face?  Riding my c-”

“Oh gods, shhh!” she hissed, clamping her palm over his mouth as his shoulders shook with suppressed laughter.  Pulling her hand away, she blew out a breath.  It was suddenly far too hot in here.

“Admit it,” he grinned, his tongue poking through his teeth, “that was a good one.” 

“Yes, bravo.  You’re a comic genius,” she deadpanned, annoyed that he’d actually turned her on with that ridiculous joke .  She blinked to clear the steamy images in her head.

“I’ll be here all week,” he winked and kissed her temple then finally took a bite. “Sweet Valhalla,” he groaned, his eyes rolling back into his head.  He might just take that entire crisped to perfection platter for himself.

Standing next to Sif on the other side of the buffet, Fandral pursed his lips than leaned forward, eyeing Loki from under his brow. “All these women are going to start throwing their underthings at you if you continue making orgasmic sounds.  Leave some for the rest of us, dream boy.” He laughed, reaching out to lightly punch his shoulder.

Loki glared at him, swallowing the bite quietly. “Call me dream boy one more time.”

Chewing her bottom lip, Sigyn looked back and forth between the two men, noting Loki’s clenched jaw, his chest rising and falling faster while Fandral continued to grin like a smug brat at him.  She’d wondered how much longer Loki would be able to bear hearing that insipid moniker come out of that idiot’s mouth before he absolutely lost it.  Apparently time was up, and after her experience during battle prep yesterday, she hoped Loki would absolutely throttle him.

Fandral chuckled, smirking at Thor and Sif who looked less than amused, then turned back to Loki. “Good heavens, if it’s that big of a problem, I’ll hold my tongue.”

Loki sucked in his cheeks, a bit disappointed that he didn’t have an excuse to pommel the man now.  Whatever.  It was probably for the best.  Gesturing for Sigyn to follow him, he turned to walk to the head table, and she grabbed both their plates since he had forgotten his.

“I’ll call you dream boy all I want,” Fandral muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes when Thor shot him a look.

Loki stopped dead in his tracks, spinning on his heel so abruptly that Sigyn collided with his chest and dropped their plates.  The porcelain shattered into jagged pieces across the stone tiles loud enough to silence the hall.  Putting a hand to her forehead, she opened her mouth to apologize for causing such an ear-splitting disruption, but she cried out in shock instead, as did everyone else, when in the blink of an eye, Loki was on the other side of the table, grabbing Fandral by the collar with one hand and slamming him into the wall behind him.  Half a second later, he curled his free hand into a fist and punched Thor’s friend right between his eyes.

Fandral’s mouth fell open, his head lolling to the side, and Loki wrenched his hand away from his neck, sidestepping him as he fell forward, landing right smack on his oh so dashing face.  Loki cocked his head sideways to each shoulder to crack his neck and swiped the inky strands that had fallen loose from his hair tie out of his face.  In his periphery, he saw the shocked faces staring at him, and he rolled his eyes.  This epic prick had deserved far more than one hit to the face—everyone should be grateful he hadn’t made a blood-spattering mess while they were eating.

Hands over her mouth, Sigyn gaped at Fandral, then slid her eyes up to the future king of Asgard, his head high as he glared down at the unconscious cretin at his feet.  When he turned around, straightening the lapels of his open jacket, she bit into a smile wider than a Cheshire cat.  Loki had taken him down in one hitー One ーand of all the people he could have hit, it had been the man perfecting his skills on her yesterday.  Oh this was too good.  Could she see the replay please?  Would it be completely inappropriate to jump up and cheer?

Eyes sweeping over the crowded room, Loki mustered a charming smile. “He took the last slice of toast,” he gestured to Fandral. “I was merciful.”

Everyone seemed to get a kick out of that, either laughing openly or smiling and nodding before returning to their meal.  His brother approached him then, eyeing his conked out friend lying on the ground.

“He is going to wake up with the worst headache,” Thor said, a hint of a smile tugging at his mouth, “dare I ask what that was really about?” 

“Straw that broke the camel’s back,” Loki said flatly, quickly filling a new plate to replace the shattered one, not caring what food he picked.  He was vaguely aware that Gamora was grinning at him, and sighing heavily, clearly annoyed, he looked up at her.  “What?”

She pressed her lips together and shook her head. “Nothing, I just know not to call you any names now.”

Giving her a slight smirk, he returned his eyes to his plate. “You should’ve already known that, Gamora.” He looked up again when he saw his father approaching him out of the corner of his eye.

“You handled that well, my boy,” Odin said, clapping him once on the back. “I would do the same if someone pestered me incessantly.”

Endless mocking of his son aside, Odin had seen (through the beady eyes of Huginn and Muninn) what the unconscious man on the ground had done to his soon-to-be daughter in the training arena yesterday.  Brutal fighting orders or not, legal and permissible or not, Fandral had been out of line.  With near certainty, Odin could guess that Sigyn had not said a word of it to his son, otherwise the passed out man on the floor would be bleeding out right now.  Since their army couldn’t afford to be short even one fighter, especially one as competent and skilled as Fandral, it was for the best that Sigyn kept that experience to herself. (For now)

Loki blinked, still not used to his father agreeing with him, much less grinning and winking at him over something like punching a man at breakfast.  Lips in a thin line lest he give the old man a grin that would be the very definition of dopey , he nodded his thanks.  He wanted to say more, to actually talk to his father and be listened to with this new found ease, but a quick glance at the oversized wall clock above the main dining hall doors stopped him.  Not that first meal technically needed to wrap up, but each tick of the second hand looked so…ominous.  Despite only being here for ten minutes at most, he felt like he was purposefully avoiding the inevitable.  Appetite plummeting, he set his plate down on the used dishes tray at the end of the buffet.  Bacon and coffee would suffice.

“We need to get moving if we’re to stay on schedule,” he gestured to the clock with his chin, and Odin followed his eyeline.

Taking one last sip of his water, Loki grabbed a slice of toast to take with him because he’d changed his mindーbacon and coffee would not suffice.  He gave his father and friends a wave, then walked with a purpose to the exit as his father announced the end of first meal for healers and soldiers.  While Odin ordered the Hawk commanders to gather up their troops and prep the horses, Loki stopped short just as he passed through the doors.  He hadn’t said goodbye to Sigyn, and it made his stomach twist uncomfortably.

She had a slightly different schedule than him today, so it wasn’t as though he could keep her by his side at all times, but he still wanted to give her a quick kiss and hug before having to separate from her for the next few hours.  Spinning on his heel, he squinted, scanning the dining hall and corridor.  The faint lines on his forehead deepened into a frown when he couldn’t find her within the crowd, and the obsessively protective (and possessive) part of him reared its pesky head.

Neither of them used the bond at all times anymore.  Wild magic though it was, they had learned how to use it to their advantage, and more importantly, when to turn it off with ease.  It was almost always better to keep it closed off for the sake of privacy…and sanity .  No one wants another person constantly inside their head, incessantly feeling every little thing they feel.

To be sure, the bond had, in his mind, been the main culprit in the absurdly rapid “falling” stage of falling in love with her, giving him the emotional insight that most men never develop with regard to the women they love, and he knew it had been the same for her.  But they weren’t falling anymore, were they.  No, they’d crash landed hard months ago, though it felt like years, and more often than not, the bond created unnecessary shared pain, both physical and psychological.  So they’d agreed to be especially wary of it ever since her surgery, not allowing any mutual negativity to transfer back and forth between them.  That would have been a vicious cycle.  Gods, he could conjure up enough anxiety on his own without hers thrown on top of it.

But in this second, standing just outside the dining hall and not seeing her anywhere during a time when he was already on edge about that damn ticking clock, he couldn’t shake the “I don’t know where she is, and that means something is wrong” feeling deep in his gut.  She’d been right there next to him before he’d attacked Fandral, and within seconds she’d disappeared, and he hadn’t even noticed.

Jaw clenching as his heart pounded hard and fast in his chest, he opened his mind to their bond despite the very real possibility that he might suddenly feel like his stomach was on fire, or a surgical wound had somehow ripped open, or maybe he would have the urge to vomit, or…something worse.  Maybe she had decided to give up on him after all this time and had run off toward the Vanaheim portal.

It came on him quickly—a sensation of warmth low in his abdomen that (oh thank Odin) remained at a simmer rather than boiling over.  There was a hint of nervousness to the heat, similar to that time he’d had one too many espressos in Stark Tower Two.  His chest was a little tight, but he could feel that she was safe and in no physical pain.  There were also no second thoughts in her head about fighting alongside him, or about marrying him (eventually)… about loving him.

Eyes rolling at his entirely unwarranted insecurity, he slammed the bond shut in his mind as though it was someone else’s journal that he’d stolen, then turned away from the dining hall.  Sig was fine , and he had business to attend to in the weapons vault before training.

---

The horses were supposed to be on the field in an hour, and since Sigyn obviously would not be riding Sinir, she had sent for her mare yesterday after Odin had called for the legal use of the portals.  Her beloved sister had brought Moda through the Vanaheim portal during battle prep session 1 so that Sigyn would be able to ride with the hawks during today’s cavalry training.  She’d been more than a little sad to have missed the opportunity to give sweet Nanna a hug, but everyone had been on a far too tight schedule.

It’s fine, you’ll see her after all this over ーSigyn sniffed, blinking back tears as she followed Fiora through a side exit from the dining hall.

She would have followed Loki through the main doors if the healer hadn’t suddenly grabbed her by the arm and pulled her aside, asking to speak with her in a private healing room.  The look of concern on the woman’s face had scared her, and without hesitation, she’d hurried after the healer despite the disruption to her schedule for the day.  Grabbing her armor from the restorative cleaners could wait.  Gathering her weapons from Loki’s chambers could wait.  And hurrying to the stables?—that, too, would just have to wait.  She had no idea what to expect from this meeting with the woman, but she sure as Hel didn’t think it was a simple “ good luck with training” type of thing.

Fiora breezed through the healing corridor, and Sigyn frowned, looking behind them.  They’d passed probably a hundred unoccupied rooms, any of which would have provided the privacy Fiora said they needed, yet they were still walking.

“Fiora,” she started, eyeing the healer sideways, “I don’t mean to sound rude, but I’m running on a rather tight schedule.”

“As am I, Sigyn,” she responded, her voice suggesting sheer boredom , and Sigyn didn’t believe it for a second.

No way in Hel is this NECROMANCER bored— Sigyn narrowed her eyes at the back of Fiora’s head as they neared the end of the hall where it split into two directions.

“Come along,” the woman said, gesturing for her to hurry up. “We’re nearly there.”

Chewing her lip, more nervous with each step, Sigyn breathed harder. “Nearly where?”

“The east soul forge examination room.”

“Soul forge?” Sigyn’s fingers twitched, a wisp of smoke seeping from them. “I thought we were just going to discuss something.”

The mere mention of a soul forge made the fire under her skin burn hotter.  The last time she’d been under one had been right before a significant part of her body had been removed… permanently .

Why in Odin’s name would Fiora need to examine her again?  She felt fine .  Had yesterday’s training caused the old wound— the wound she’d sustained and nearly died from twice —to rip back open?  Certainly didn’t feel like it, but maybe her fire once again stepped in and masked the pain. No no no, that didn’t make a lick of sense. If her magic had stepped in, she wouldn’t have needed Loki to heal the cuts and bruises last night in the shower.

Norns, remembering him stretching his arms up to show his impressive lack of wounds on his torso, with that steam enshrouding his naked lower half, was making her break out in a sweat. Speaking of naked, maybe he’d been too rough with her last night after the party, and that was the purpose of this little health exam.  But how would Fiora know anything of their bedroom…activities? She rolled her eyes at the obvious answer. They weren’t exactly shy about their interest in one another.

But that was beside the point. The actual point was that there hadn’t been the slightest hint of pain with him last night, unlike the initial sting that she’d experienced each time prior to her surgery.  Last night, there was only an “oh god, don’t stop, don’t stop, right there” sensation.  Oh, if only she were experiencing a pleasant sensation right now , as well.  Unfortunately, as they neared the examination room, the most glaring thing she felt was nausea.

Trying to control her breathing, she swallowed down the influx of saliva in her mouth.  Fiora must have sensed that she was on the verge of losing her breakfast (which consisted of maybe four bites of buttered toast) because she reached out to rub her shoulder soothingly, much like a mother might have when her child woke up from a nightmare.

“Fear not, Sigyn,” she said, finally reaching their destination and leading her through a set of double doors, “I’m not concerned for your physical well-being.  That’s not the purpose of bringing you here.”

Sigyn ran a hand through her loose hair, not remotely calmed by those words. “Then why the Hel would you bring me here?” She did not want anything to do with a soul forge for the rest of her life.  Never ever ever .  Her body was already responding horribly to the sight of the damn thing, as though her nerves were on edge— as in, her actual central nervous system wiring, not just emotionally nervous.  She would have sworn up and down that a hundred needles were pricking her skin, starting at her neck and spreading out in all directions faster than Sinir charging out the gate in a championship race.  Oh, the bile was rising.

Don’t get sick, don’t get sick, PLEASE DON’T GET SICK.

Quietly closing the doors behind them, Fiora waved her hand, and a silvery light engulfed the room in an eerie glow.  When Sigyn shot her a look, the woman clasped her hands in front of her, thumbs circling each other slowly.

“Just a silencing spell over the room, nothing more,” she pressed her lips together, approaching the forge where Sigyn was standing still as a statue, though her heart rate was clearly escalating with each second by the sound of her rapid breathing. “If you’ll recall, I examined Prince Loki the morning after your operation-”

“You gave him the all clear,” Sigyn spoke over her, voice straining, “ clean and clear and good to go , you said.  Verbatim.” Oh gods, she could hear the blood rushing in her ears.  Fiora had lied, hadn’t she.  She’d fucking lied about him.

“I wasn’t lying to you,” Fiora hissed, unable to keep her calm exterior. “Whatever Thanos did to him was completely gone, and my forge showed exactly that.  And my forge is never wrong.”

Struggling to contain the fire, Sigyn crossed her arms. “Your forge?  Since when does an Asgardian soul forge belong to you?”

“I brought it with me from the academy at Queen Frigga’s request.  It’s far more advanced technology than anything Eir has used in over a century.” She swished her hand in a circle over the table, and the forge transformed from a hazy glowing thing into a blinding monstrosity .

Sigyn turned her head away, throwing her arm up over her eyes. “Good gods, warn a girl first!”

“Quite impressive, I know,” Fiora said wistfully, then laughed quietly.

“Not the word I would have used,” Sigyn muttered as her eyes adjusted to the light.  Hesitantly, she lowered her arm and looked at it.

She had never seen a soul forge in use without a person lying under it, be it her or someone else being subjected to the examination.  Alright, so “subjected” was a bit hyperbolic, considering the device usually spared patients from excessively painful physical exams, but she couldn’t help that her personal trauma had now distorted her view.  Distorted views or not, there was no denying the fact that what stood in front of her was completely antithetical to the natural laws of physics— why in the nine was there a golden translucent image of a body floating above the exam table when there wasn’t a person lying beneath it?  Head tilting sideways, she approached it carefully, her eyes narrowing at the form.  After a moment of scrutiny, her gaze went from confused to angry, and she pointed at the moving image.

“That’s Loki!” she shouted, so enraged that she feared her own skin might melt off from the heat in her veins. “You are not supposed to keep these scans just so you can stare at people’s bodies whenever you damn well feel like it!  And don’t you dare try to defend that whole ‘you must remove your shirt’ bullshit that you did to him with those stupid girls ogling him.” The smoky scent of her magic filled the room, and she slammed her eyes shut, yanking it back into her body.

It was Fiora’s turn to cross her arms, and she shot a glare at her. “His is the only image that I have ever kept, and I assure you, it is not because I’m remotely interested in ogling him-”

“Oh come off it-”

“I enjoy the company of women , my lady!” Fiora snapped, slamming her fist down onto the table so violently that Sigyn jumped back. “Not that it’s any of your godsdamn business.”

Shit— Dropping her eyes, Sigyn sucked in her cheeks.  She’d already known that about the healer, come to think of it, not that she could recall exactly how she knew, and like Fiora said, not that it was any of her godsdamn business.  Vanaheim was far more progressive about these things, which had no doubt put a serious strain on this woman’s life while being stuck in Asgard.  For a moment the only sound in the room was the slight whirring of the forge and their shared heavy breathing.  Then Sigyn finally spoke, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

“I hope you can believe me when I say that you’ll receive absolutely no judgment from me on such matters, and-” she ran a hand down her face “-that you shouldn’t receive any judgment at all…ever…from anyone …because there is nothing wrong or unnatural about it.  I’m sorry for yelling at you.  It had nothing to do with that.  I’m just-” she let out a heavy breath “-beyond protective of Loki.”

Fiora sighed, waving a hand. “For heaven’s sake, of all people, I know a Vanir wouldn’t bat an eyelash over a woman’s attraction to other women— that’s hardly my concern.  I was merely attempting to end a completely unnecessary and tedious argument when time is of the essence.  And of course I know there’s nothing wrong with my romantic interests.  I don’t care what closed-minded Asgardians think of me.  All that matters is my healing and magical abilities.  Now, back to your man.”

One eyebrow raised, she turned to the undulating translucent image of Loki, and put her first finger and thumb on the vaporous ribs.  Twisting her wrist, the ribs expanded, now taking up the entire image.  It reminded Sigyn of looking through the powerful microscopes in Stark’s lab, suddenly able to see a multitude of cells invisible to even the most visually-blessed naked eye.

“Note the markings within the bone marrow,” Fiora said, pointing to one rib, “the fibers are evenly spaced lines, rather than the random sponge-like patterns that we would expect to see on an Asgardian. Also, they are blue, rather than reddish-brown.”

Sigyn’s heart rate shot through the roof.  As far as she knew, forges were not supposed to show these microscopic differences between species.  They could determine between mortal and immortal bipeds, yes, but unless one’s outer appearance showed an obvious difference (a twelve foot tall blue person, for instance), even the most advanced healers couldn’t distinguish between say, a Vanir or an Asgardian.

Oh shit…Fiora knows he’s Jotun.

She cleared her throat, hoping she could play this off. “I see a strong, healthy-looking rib,” she said, shrugging one shoulder.

The woman scoffed. “And I see that our intergalactic species anatomy classes on Vanaheim failed you miserably.  Or perhaps it’s the other way around.”

Jaw clenching, Sigyn put a hand on her hip. “Or maybe I can’t recall everything I read in textbooks five centuries ago.”

“Fair enough,” Fiora chuckled, returning her eyes to the image. “You are certainly right about this being a strong rib.  Exceedingly strong.  See this?” She zoomed in further, and pointed to a thick membrane surrounding the marrow. “That’s the endosteum.  Loki’s is a good half inch thicker than anyone’s I have examined in all my years.  It may not sound like much, but that half inch makes a huge difference in his strength, his stamina, and his rapid recovery time.”

Sigyn pressed her lips together, because the gods only knew how badly she wanted to squeal that phrase that she’d learned on earth— “that’s what she said!” —however, this was hardly the time or place.  But come on, the woman was talking about inches and bones (Loki’s, to be specific) and stamina …and recovery!   If Tony were here, he would have crumpled to the floor and given himself an aneurysm from laughing so hard.

Fiora sighed, eyes rolling. “I realize now just how very sexual that sounded.”

“Mm.” Sigyn nodded, unable to suppress a smirk. “At least it was complimentary.”

And accurate.

“Anyhow,” Fiora said, giving her a knowing look. “I had my suspicions about him when he came to see you in the healing rooms during the Jotun battle, when you’d received a near fatal wound.  I wasn’t present in the room, but you’d be surprised how much healers talk .  He had a four-inch gash right down his side under his armpit where the armor was vulnerable.  His lung was punctured a good two inches deep.  Dev, the first healer to look at him, had turned away just long enough to grab salve, bandages, setters—the basics—because otherwise, Loki would have bled out or suffocated from the traumatic pneumothorax.  However , ten seconds later, his lung had all but knit itself completely back together with barely a scratch visible under the ice crystals forming over the wound.  The ladies thought the crystals were because an ice dagger had pierced him.  Dev cauterized it because the cold, theoretically, should have hindered his healing.  And his ribs?  Almost the instant Dev reset them with the salve, the same thing happened—ice crystals.”

Sigyn kept a neutral face, unwilling to pretend to be shocked because clearly Fiora had come to the correct conclusion.  Honestly, what was the point in letting the healer continue talking?  She let out a heavy sigh as the woman went on.

“And no one should survive falling a light year through deep space.  No one .  Odin himself would be dead within minutes.  Surely, you know what I’m getting at.”

Nodding once, Sigyn pocketed her hands. “I already know he’s not Asgardian.”

Fiora’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline, her jaw dropping. “You knew? For how long?”

“Since the day Thor was banished for starting a war with Jotunheim,” she replied shakily, the memories of that day seeping into her bones painfully.  She met the healer’s eyes. “So…a while.”

“Well,” Fiora started, swiping her hand over the forge, the image of Loki’s body disappearing with a whoosh, “you’re only half-right.”

Sigyn frowned. “What?”

“Loki is half-Asgardian, so it’s not technically correct to say he’s not Asgardian.”

Blinking mutely, Sigyn stared at her, completely dumbfounded. “Oh my gods,” she breathed, running a hand through her hair.  He would be over the moon . “He feared that he was some sort of Jotun runt that his father cast aside because of his size.”

Fiora looked sideways, her lips pursing. “A Jotun runt would still be a good four feet taller than the tallest Asgardian, not to mention blue and icy enough to give you frostbite all the time.  Prince Loki is neither of those things.  Clearly, he can call forth frost giant powers, and has the added sturdiness, but his default state is Asgardian in appearance, and certainly to the touch.  He does run cold, though.”

“That he does.” Sigyn slid one hand out of her dress pocket and rubbed the back of her neck. “So was this all you wanted to tell me?  And why not tell him first, so he could choose whether or not he wanted to tell me?  This is incredibly private information.  If this were the other way around, I’d be pretty godsdamn upset if you told him my secret heritage first.”

“I wanted you to know because if by some miracle Loki was one hundred percent Jotun, it would mean you couldn’t bear his child,” Fiora spoke plainly, as though that sentence made perfect sense to her when it was absolutely absurd, given her post-surgical circumstances.

Sigyn’s lips twitched. “I can’t even begin to imagine what is happening in your brain right now that you would think that saying those words to me was anything short of fucking offensive.” She didn’t like swearing at people who she had a great deal of respect for, but Fiora had crossed a line—a fucking huge, bold-print, unmissable line.

“We have artificial wombs in the fertility division at the academy,” the woman said, giving her a pointed look, “and I don’t share that information with just anyone .  My most talented colleagues and I work in expert conjunction to flawlessly fertilize the mother’s egg, after ovarian hyperstimulation and extraction, with the father’s contribution-”

Sigyn stared blankly at the woman as she continued talking, and not only because Fiora had actually said the phrase “father’s contribution”.  Either her brain was shorting out from the deluge of impromptu medical fertility…biology…or maybe she was stunned (literally) at the possibility of carrying his baby after all.

Oh my gods —she put the hand that wasn’t in her pocket up into her hair, fingers clinging so tightly to the thick, dark strands that she might have pulled out a chunk of it, trying to focus on Fiora’s words again.

“-embryo has had about a week to mature, we implant it into the endometrium, which is produced organically using the-”

This can’t be happening…

“-mother’s estrogen and progesterone.  Once implantation is successful, we use blood donated by the mother to nourish the embryo for two more weeks to be sure it is growing properly.  We then perform an open surgery on the-”

It would be…part him…part me…but…no…that is INSANE.

“-mother’s abdomen, insert the artificial uterus, attach it carefully to connective tissue, and close up the wound with the healing salve.  Nine months later, we surgically remove the child and discard the uterus.”

Norns, help me —she put a hand to her chest, unable to catch a breath since the air was suddenly too hot and too thick.

“It’s a lot to take in at once, I know,” Fiora said quietly.

You think?!

“But you have two centuries of child-bearing years left, Sigyn, so there’s no rush to decide any time soon.  I just wanted you to know that it’s an option.  And it is only an option for you because Loki only half-Jotun, otherwise the fetus would literally break you.  Vanir women just don’t have the capacity to carry a frost giant’s offspring.  Trust me, I’ve seen enough supposedly immortal Vanir women die three months into such pregnancies to know.  But your child would only be a quarter-Jotun, so…” she grinned, eyes unconsciously staring at Sigyn’s stomach, “…no problem at all.”

Both hands over her mouth, she turned away from Fiora.  Why would this woman tell her all this now?  Thanos would be here, according to Gamora’s calculations, in only a few days!  Of all things that she should be thinking about at the moment, growing the soon-to-be king’s baby in an artificial womb inside of her “some day” was perhaps the last .  For Odin’s sake, they had only just agreed to adopt a wolf, and that felt like a gigantic zero-gravity step!  She had just gone over this baby stuff with him, and she was not going to go over it again.  At least, not until Thanos was out of the picture, Norns willing.  Wiping her fingers over her wet cheeks, she blinked repeatedly until her eyes no longer burned with tears.

“I just need to live through this week ,” she whispered, not looking at the woman. “Anything beyond that is no closer than the horizon— ever-receding from me no matter how fast I run toward it.”

“There is no guarantee that I will live either,” Fiora eyed her back, “and then there would be no one to tell you about this option.  With your fire and his ice, imagine the power your offspring would-”

“So that’s what this is about!” Sigyn barked, whirling on the woman and thrusting a finger at her. “This isn’t about pragmatism, wherein you simply provide all the options so I can make an informed decision.  This is you trying to get your hands on some powerful magical hybrid ,” she sneered, staring daggers at the woman.

“Sigyn, that’s not what-”

“We’re done!” she shouted over her shoulder as she left the room and ran back down the hall, not stopping until she made it to the south wing where she burst into Loki’s chambers and slammed them behind her.

Back against the doors, she pressed her wobbling lips together, and slid down to the floor.  Her cheeks were soaked as she drew her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, her shoulders shaking with restrained sobs.  She lost the willpower to hold the cries back after a few minutes of staring blankly ahead of her, an image of Loki laughing and lifting a child of their making onto his shoulders filling the empty room.  She dropped her head to her knees, crying heavily into them, three words playing over and over in her head.

Please don’t die.

---

Loki hadn’t been in the weapons vault since he’d watched his father fall to the ground and into the Odinsleep.  It felt like years ago now, but in reality it had only been just under four months.  At least this time around he wouldn’t feel the sharp sting of betrayal, of gut-wrenching “my life is a lie” screams going off like sirens in his head.  No, he had an altogether different purpose today.  A good purpose.  A heroic purpose.  A savior’s purpose.

Okay, reel it in before your gigantic head explodes —he rolled his eyes.

Walking down the steps quickly, he kept his eyes on the prize at the end of the long hallway.  He hadn’t considered using it until he’d been standing on his balcony, sipping coffee quietly earlier, and he would have kicked himself if it was physically possible to do so for being so godsdamn slow to think of something so obvious .

He wasn’t here to drop off the tesseract.  No, that was staying locked up in its Wakandan shield in his dark astral dimension until he’d had the pleasure of decapitating a certain purple devil.  He came to a stop, gaze narrowing and ears perking at the sound of nearly silent shuffling behind him.  On instinct, he ducked and spun on his heel, green translucent light glowing around his hands that were stretched forward in front of his face.

“Easy , darling, it’s just me,” his mother said, a small smile appearing on her face when he let out a heavy breath, dropping his hands (and his magic).

“Why the Hel would you sneak up on me like that?” he scoffed, standing upright once more. “I very nearly slung a dagger when I turned around!”

“An understandable response,” Frigga said, shrugging slightly. “I followed you, yes, but I was not sneaking.  It’s just in my nature to step lightly.”

His jaw quirked. “Why are you following me?”

“I had a hunch you would come here for that,” she said, pointing to the casket of ancient winters on the pedestal behind him.

Lowering his head to be on her eye level, he glared. “Were you planning on stopping me?”

She gave the slightest of huffs, then stepped around him and reached out to touch the casket’s golden side handle. “I absolutely was not going to stop you from using a weapon powerful enough to eliminate an entire squadron of enemies with one burst, and I’m not happy to be accused of it.  You know me better than that, my love.”

Eyes sliding closed so he wouldn’t roll them, he sighed. “Mother, I don’t have time for your mind games.”

“You do have time,” Frigga whispered, her azure eyes shining with fresh tears when she looked up at him. “And you will continue to have time.  Days, months, years, decades, centuries…”

Her words trailed off into soft cries, and she put her face into her hands. The words weren’t for him.  They were for her .  She had faith in her son to do everything within his powers to kill the monster who had tortured him, and take out the rest of his army along with him.  But that didn’t stifle the nagging voice in her head questioning that faith.  In fact, her partaking in the beverages last night had everything to do with trying to shut that voice up for a few hours and forget the possibility of losing him again—of losing anyone she loved.

Swallowing the sudden lump in his throat, Loki reached forward and pulled her into a tight hug, his heart breaking as her shoulders shook against him.  He spoke quietly then.

“We’ll get through this, Mother.  But only because we are fighting together .  I can’t do this on my own anymore than Thor could have defeated the frost giants during that jaunty trip to Jotunheim after the coronation.  That means I need you to be strong.  Just as you always have been.  Being afraid is one thing,” he pulled away to look her in the eyes, “but we can’t give in to fear.”

She nodded, sniffing back her tears. “I won’t.  I’m here for you.  I have your back.  I always will.”

Taking several calming breaths to stop his own tears, he forced a smile. “I know you will.”

It hit him like a ton of bricks then—he wouldn’t be able to protect her during the battle, Sig either, and it made him feel like falling to his knees and absolutely sobbing .  Reality was a wretched thing.  Dear gods, he hoped his mother wasn’t listening to his thoughts.  He’d perfected his poker face long ago, but his mind was too fucking honest for its own good.  Reaching down to give her hand a squeeze, he squared his shoulders then let go.

“Go now.  I recall Father requesting your presence at the council meeting in fifteen.”

Sighing heavily, she gave him a grin that didn’t reach her eyes and turned away.  He watched her disappear through the doors, waiting until the guards closed them behind her before he looked once more at the casket.  He took the last step toward it and carefully grasped the handles.  Its power flowed into his hands, and his head fell back from the amazing sensation.

Bringing his head back up when he felt the ice creeping too far up his arms, he looked down and glared at his blue hands, then focused on pulling the icy magic back into his veins.  No one, save for a select few people, knew of his Jotun heritage, and he wished to keep it that way.  Therefore, turning entirely blue wasn’t an option.  His hand and wrist guards would hide his hands well enough, but obviously his face would give his little (huge) secret away.  It was a bit of a strain, but he was able to return his skin to its normal pale hue.

Oh thank the Norns.

This meant that he could wield the casket without scaring the Hel out of his own people.  With a twist of his wrists, he released the weapon, and it disappeared, joining the tesseract in his astral dimension.  Straightening his lapels, he walked quickly back down the hall and climbed the stairs two at a time.  When he reached the top step, he vanished in a wave of green light and reappeared in the washroom in his chambers to grab his bloodied armor that he’d discarded on the floor yesterday after battle prep because he still couldn’t remember the bloody design.  Yes, he could have conjured up something similar, but he wanted it to be identical.  It had been so unbelievably meaningful to create something new that represented the man he had become over the past few months, and he wanted to wear only that.  He rolled his eyes.

Gods, I’ve become nauseatingly sentimental.

“Ah, yes, that’s right,” he said quietly to himself as he picked it up.  He set it aside, and under his magic, new armor materialized on his body.  Giving himself a once over in the mirror to make sure everything was in the right place, he twisted the outer protective thick leather tunic a little so it covered the underside of his arms better.  At the sound of Sigyn’s voice, he looked toward the door.

“There’s a shortage of perfectly tight armored trousers in this world,” she started, pulling her bottom lip through her teeth. ”It would be a pity to damage yours.”

He flashed her a crooked grin. “That was your best Princess Bride quip yet.  Well done, clever girl.”

She beamed, giving him a barely-there bow, and he eyed her up and down.  She was dressed and ready for the next round of brutal training, and even though he wanted to spare her from it, he had to admit that seeing her shoot flaming arrows and slinging that razor sharp black dagger of hers that was lucky enough to be flush against her thigh all day long was such a turn on.  He was overwhelmed with an urge to get his hands on her suddenly, so in one long stride, he closed the distance between them and bent down to her height so he could easily slide his arms around her waist.  When she hugged his neck, he stood up straight, her feet coming off the ground and dangling beneath her.

Kissing her temple, he whispered into her hair. “I didn’t like leaving first meal without saying goodbye.  Where did you run off to earlier?”

She leaned her forehead against his. “Are you going to let me down so I can answer?”

“No,” he smirked, tightening his grip on her, “you can talk right where you are.”

Laughing quietly, she flexed her stomach muscles and brought her legs up to wrap around his waist.  It was difficult to breathe shoved up against his chest awkwardly, and if he was going to insist on keeping her up in the air, this was a much easier position to maintain.  She smirked at his responding hiss.

“Whoops!” She feigned shock, then wiggled her eyebrows. “I am so sorry.”

“Sure you are,” he mumbled, giving her an unimpressed look.  Good gods, speaking of tight trousers.  He eyed his bed, trying to calculate how much time they had before they needed to be on the field. “So…where did you go?”

Despite wanting to burst into tears from the overload of information Fiora had given her, she smiled brightly. “Just talking with Fiora.”

He loosened his hold, lowering her to the ground once more.  Eyes narrowing, he sucked in his cheeks.  Not only was that smile fake as Hel, but he could feel her pushing against the bond, and there were far too many things that could go horribly wrong in the next few days for her to be hiding from him, literally or figuratively.  He put a finger under her chin, forcing her to lean her head back and meet his eyes.

With dozens of questions on the tip of his tongue, he opened his mouth, but before he could ask what his chief necromancer who had a vital role in defeating Thanos had discussed with his fiancée, Sigyn grabbed the back of his neck, pulling his face to hers, and grazed his already parted lips with hers.  Two seconds later, he was lost to what rapidly turned into a heated kiss.  Eyebrows knitting together, he pressed his hips into hers, a deep groan rumbling in his chest when she threaded her fingers into his hair.

She pulled just out of reach of his mouth and leaned her head back, her stormcloud eyes roving over his features. “We don’t have time for this.”

Giving her a dark look, he caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger, then bent forward, stopping only millimeters from her mouth.  He felt her chest rising and falling faster against his, the burning of her cheeks and neck betraying her words.  As though they couldn’t make time for this, despite the irresponsibility of doing so.

She was right, of course, specifically if the “this” that she was referring to was full blown sex.  Oh godsDAMMIT , he desperately wanted to throw her over his shoulder, toss her on his bed, and rip her leggings off, but there was something else he needed to do to her…or…with her, more like.  And he had plenty of time to do it.

Sliding his free arm around her waist, he closed the last inch between their mouths, and kissed her again, deep and slow.  He held her upright as she became heavier, the very definition of weak in the knees , and just as she started to pull away to catch her breath, he pulled her bottom lip between his teeth and bit her.  Hard .

“AHH!” She cried out, eyes blown wide in shock, because he was still biting her!

She could have burned him, hit him, scratched him, anything to inflict enough pain to make him release her, and then she could slap him hard across the cheek for actually splitting her lip open; rather, when he removed his teeth, she growled angrily and bit back, just as hard as he had.  He didn’t seem to mind, even going so far as to lean further into her, and she let go, red-faced and pissed, turning on her heel to leave, but he grabbed her from behind by the waist, stopping her before she took even one step.

Yanking her back against him, he carefully wrapped one hand around her throat, not squeezing it, just forcing her to lean her head back against his shoulder.  He turned her face towards his, and he bent down, licking the cut in her lip.  Against her better judgement, her eyes slid closed, and she snaked her hand up into the hair at the nape of his neck, opening her mouth for him.

Norns, how could he still do that?  Piss her off in one second, and make her toes curl in the next?  He kept his hand tight around her throat as he kissed her, and despite the coppery tang of blood on her tongue, she would have been lying if she denied absolutely loving it.  That’s when it hit her—a memory so sacred and intimate that it made her eyes wet:

Their first time.  His bed.  Her legs wrapped around him.  Him moving within her.  Her nails down his back.  The fire in the hearth glowing brighter and brighter.  Kissing him like she was drowning, and he was oxygen.  A fierce meeting of lips and tongues that escalated to teeth, unintentionally granting them powerful access to each other’s minds and hearts.  Wild magic—a deep bond between a sorcerer and sorceress.  His ice, her fire.

It was how he’d so easily pushed her over the edge.  More importantly, it was how he pulled her back…over and over .  His refusal to say he loved her would have sent her running back to Vanaheim if she hadn’t known deep in her bones that she was everything to him.  Oh gods, his mouth on hers right now wasn’t just another Loki-typical mind-blowing kiss, was it?  It was far more than that.  One burning tear escaped from the corner of her eye, sliding down her overheated cheek, her breath hitching on the sob at the back of her throat.

Feeling the emotional shift in the air, in her, he retracted his tongue from her mouth slowly, but kept his lips a hair’s breadth from hers. “I’ll not have you pushing me away when we need each other, now more than ever.  I know we agreed to give each other space, but I cannot take any more of it.  Not now.  And if it takes a little painful blood magic to remind you, to reinforce the bond, to stop this incessant secrecy you insist upon—if that’s what it takes to keep you safe, to keep you alive , then I’ll fucking do it, Sig.”

Her chest tightened, and she let out a shaky breath. “That’s a dangerous road to go down, Loki.  What else would you do?  In the name of keeping me alive?”

“You know what I would do,” he whispered, lowering his forehead to hers.

I’d sooner let Asgard burn than I would let anyone or anything hurt you...

“I meant it then, and I mean it now.  With every inch of my being, I mean it.”

Eyes red and shining with fresh tears, she turned in his arms, and reached up to hold his face, her thumbs stroking his prominent cheekbones.

“Then go ahead and come inside,” she said, referring to her mind , her voice low and laced with a faint warning, “but fair warning, the water may or may not be fine.”

Taking a deep breath, she dropped the veil, letting the bond do whatever the hell it wanted without her standing in its way.  She’d been protecting him, or thought she was, from the unrelenting, dopamine-flooding hope that Fiora had given her, from learning that his mother was Asgardian after all, from all things unrelated to getting out of this week alive.  She’d been afraid any of it, or all of it, would be a damning distraction from what mattered right now, but maybe all of that did matter right now.  Maybe all the wires were supposed to cross.  Maybe none of it was a distraction, but would instead bring everything into focus.  Maybe all of it was the kick to the gut they needed, the kick into a yet-to-be-designed higher gear that would accelerate their fight to survive into a fight to kill .

Narrow eyes boring into hers, he felt an eerie calm settling into her bones, replacing the earlier anxiety.  He tilted his head sideways, his unseeing emerald gaze growing wider by the second with the plethora of images flooding his brain:

Sigyn lying on an oddly colored soul forge at the academy in Vanaheim, Fiora cutting her belly open and pulling THEIR baby out of a glowing womb. A faceless Asgardian woman giving birth on the icy plains of Jotunheim. Odin bringing the abandoned boy home.

Why the Hel she’d been hiding any of that “oh thank the Norns!” information from him, he didn’t care to ask.  He also didn’t care how that first scene could even work.  All he cared about was how godsdamn perfect he felt now.  He wasn’t some pathetic Jotun runt after all—just half Asgardian .  And he and Sigyn could still have a child of their own making one day, in addition to the adorable little troublemaker they would adopt?!  Gods, this was better than sex and enders and pizza, in no particular order.  Gods, he loved her.  Needed her.

Now .

Blinking lazily as the here and now came back into focus, his eyes dropped to her lips, a smirk tugging at one corner of his closed mouth.  She looked more than a little confused and let out a soft cry when he suddenly bent to wrap one arm around her waist, the other under the backs of her knees, then literally swept her off her feet.

She swallowed, breathing harder as he crossed the room and dropped her on his bed, “Uh …what are you doing?” It was pretty obvious.  

Leaning over her, he hooked his fingers into the waistband of her leggings, and yanked them and her barely there underarmor shorts down her legs and over her feet in one fell swoop, her boots magically disappearing in a flash of green light.

“Uh …I’m going to fuck you, woman,” he answered simply, unfastening the front of his trousers with one hand, “then we’ll put our fake halos back on and go to the arena like good sports.” He smirked when she whined his name, arching up into him as he lifted her right leg over his armored shoulder.

“That makes no sense…you have horns …” she moaned, head falling back onto the duvet because this angle was to die for, “…not a halo.”

“Stop talking,” he breathed, lowering his mouth to hers.  Shit, they had exactly seven minutes before they needed to leave, which had been fine and doable in theory, but now that he was buried to the hilt, there was no way in Hel they were going anywhere until he’d had his fill of her.  Which would be never .  Hm, they might be a bit tardy to battle prep.  The horror.  

---

Squinting down the field, annoyed with the blinding sun right in his eyeline, Loki loosely wound a clump of Sinir’s mane around his left hand as he absently rubbed circles with his right thumb over the smooth gold horns of his helmet that was hanging from his belt loop.  He and Sigyn had made it to the arena barely in time to stand alongside five thousand infantry soldiers and Hawks astride their thousand horses, waiting anxiously for First Hawk Brynjar to call the cavalry charge.

Not that anyone would have scolded their soon-to-be king for arriving a little late to the party, but it sure as Hel wasn’t a good look.  Even for the god of mischief.  Which is exactly why he had, to his extreme frustration, cut things short with Sig in his chambers.  As in, he didn’t even finish .

She did—oh he’d made sure of that—but now he was about to ride into battle with blue balls thanks to his body’s ill-timed extra stamina.  Bloody fantastic.  He heard her mumble “sorry” next to him then, and he leaned toward her.

“You should be, vixen,” he whispered, eyes narrowing, “after all, you’re the one who lifted me into your arms, threw me on the bed, ripped my trousers off, and had your way with me.” He winked as she covered her mouth, muffling her responding laugh.

“You are ridiculous,” she said under her breath, letting go of the pommel to tighten the crossbody strap of her quiver.

In her post-orgasmic haze, she’d rushed through the saddle check in the stables, skipping the extremely important “secure all armor and weaponry properly to your person” step for battle-riding.  Swearing quietly at her less than stellar effort, she leaned back into the cantle and raised her leg a bit off the seat, so she could rotate the strap of her thigh holster to the outside of her leg.  If she left it in its normal position on her inner thigh, the friction of the sheath against the flaps would jostle it too much and dig into her skin.

Ugh, where was her head?  What else had she missed?  Boots firmly planted in the stirrups, she stood up a few inches off the twist and leaned forward, giving a few experimental tugs to Moda’s breastplate.  She groaned, eyes rolling when the left side gave too much, then reached down to fasten it more tightly to the D-ring.  Unbelievable.  What kind of self-proclaimed horse master gets in the saddle without ensuring the damn thing won’t fly off at full gallop?  Her horse nickered, ears flicking back and forth, softly stomping her front legs as Sigyn tested the cinch behind her elbow.

“Everything is fine, my girl,” she shushed her, massaging Moda’s neck gently.  At least she got the bridle right the first time, good gods.

Next to them, Sinir bobbed his head, snorting noisily, and Loki ceased mindlessly toying with his helmet to grab the reins, pulling them taut, saying “vertu kyrr, Sin” sharply.  Sinir sighed heavily, then fell silent and ceased his anxious shuffling, and Loki gave a bit of slack to the reins.

“Pesky stallion,” he said under his breath, flashing a crooked smile at Sigyn when she turned to frown at him, “Getting all worked up by the pretty girl next to him.”

Crooking her jaw, she shook her head then faced forward again. “No, I’m pretty sure he’s getting worked up because he knows he might get stabbed shortly.  He’s ridden into battle enough times to know that by now.  He deserves more credit than you’re giving him.  And Moda’s not even in heat.  Trust me, she’s not giving any come hither vibes.”

“Not how stallions work, love,” he laughed quietly, resisting the urge to shout at Brynjar to get on with it.

What the Hel was the commander waiting for?  All the horses were getting antsier by the second.  As was he.  His seidr was prickling like tiny needles underneath his skin, aching to be used.  Brow creasing, he looked down at his hands.  Huh.  Come to think of it, that was his ice, not magic.  It was the thawing of numb fingers upon returning to his chambers and standing before a roaring fire in the hearth after a snowball fight without gloves.

Wretched sensation.

“You’re confusing stallions with human males,” she said, attempting a joke despite her nerves making her want to lean over and vomit.  Even though she and Moda were excellent partners, making the fight look effortless, it had been a good three, or maybe four, years since they’d charged head first into battle.  The next several hours would be challenging, to say the least.

Jaw clenching, Loki merely hummed in response.  The building tension in his gut was enough to impair his silver tongue.  Good gods, the waiting was maddening.  Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad if it weren’t for his Jotun half trying to claw through the skin of his arm, but there was nothing to do about it.  Speaking of clawing through skin, Sigyn looked as though she was about to burst into flames next to him, her cheeks and neck flushing deep red with miniscule beads of sweat giving her an otherworldly radiance as the setting sun cast a vivid vermilion and pink glow across the western sky.  He knew she would be fine and had used her fire enough to know how to avoid heatstroke in even the worst cases, but he was still tempted to reach over and wield a hint of ice across her forehead.

Even if his vision wasn’t superb enough to see the other five hundred strong hawk cavalry stomping nervously on the opposite end of the field, the echo of horses snorting and squealing was evidence enough of everyone’s increasing anxiety.

He growled, two seconds from telling Sinir to charge at Brynjar and punch the man’s lights out for screwing with everyone’s heads like this. “For the love of everything, what are we waiting f-”

His mouth snapped shut as a scream pierced the tense silence twenty yards to his left.  Everyone turned sharply, thousands of pairs of eyes scanning the ranks for the source of the nails-on-a-chalkboard sound.

Gripping the reins more tightly, his jaw nearly unhinged at the sight. “What the…?”

“Oh my gods…SHIT!” Sigyn shrieked next to him, and eyes blown, he turned back to her just as the hawk next to her fell from his horse, blood spraying from his neck and splattering her cheeks with bright red streaks.

More screams.  More shouts.  Horses started neighing aggressively then, hooves stomping the snow-covered dirt.  Suddenly, in an epic replay of that worst of all days when the Jotuns invaded Asgard—the day he’d fallen from a bridge into deep space and lost everything—the war sirens blared across the city out of nowhere.

“COVER!”

“SHIELDS UP!”

Heads down, and teeth gritting, the pair eyed each other sideways, shouting three words— NOT A DRILL! —through their bond as an intricate web of gold mesh light shimmered into existence across the sky above them, spreading out a mile in all directions, just in time to catch the fire raining down from the dark clouds overhead.

FEARLESS CONTINUES IN CHAPTER SIXTEEN: THE STORM

Visit the Trilogy main page HERE.

Chapter links: ¹ You’ll Have Answers Later ² Talk Some Sense to Me, Sig. ³ Interlude in Asgard (Endless Grief) ⁴ Wild Magic (It’s All We Have) ⁵ Heat is My Specialty (What is Blue For) ⁶ Storms Pass, Loki. ⁷ Trust Me, I’ve Got This. ⁸ A Heavy Gift ⁹ Sick and Tired ¹⁰ Hold On, We’re Going Home (Green Is for Life Part 2) ¹¹ Home is Chaos ¹² Looks That Kill ¹³ Living Ghosts ¹⁴ No Rules (Tick Tock) ¹⁵ The Calm ¹⁶ The Storm

Chapter 17 Coming October 2021

CHAPTER FIFTEEN THEME SONG:

“In Your Arms” by Illenium and X Ambassadors

What Readers Have Said

About CH 15 “The Calm”

“Please let them live, pretty please with sugar on top. If Fandral survives he’d better move to Musplheim or something. Sooner or later Loki will find out about the training incident and it’s gonna be ugly.”

-Ferbette, on CH 15 “The Calm”, 01 Feb 2021 (AO3)

“Excellent cliffhanger!!!”

-Mischief76, on CH 15 “The Calm”, 03 Feb 2021 (AO3)

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