Norns, she couldn't feel her face anymore. The muscles in her thighs burned as she endeavored to move forward through the snow, each lunge draining what little energy she had left. She estimated that without the protection of a cave, she had an hour until her body succumbed to the elements. The Dökkálfar were not built for the cold.

With a grunt, Petra tugged her hood and scarf closer and forced herself to take another step. She squinted as snowflakes pelted the deep blue-gray skin of her cheeks, her eyes scanning for anything resembling a shelter. The girl's heart stopped when she caught sight of a faint black mass outlined against the sky. A place to keep warm? Maybe she had a chance at making it through this storm. From the dregs of her energy stores she summoned the willpower to trudge forward.

Several hundred feet of slogging through the snow and she found herself facing a dense tree line. It wasn't a cave, but it was better than nothing. If she was lucky, the pines would block some of the wind and cold, which she loathed. She rather loathed her entire situation, but that didn't change anything.

Being cast out of Svartalfheim wasn't the worst thing to ever happen to Petra. That was a tie between losing at a juvenile game of hnefatafl, the penalty of which was having to kiss a Eldjötnar boy that tasted like stale sulfur, or watching her mother condemned to death and dismembered by trolls. Both were awful experiences to which her banishment to Jötunheim didn't compare.

However, being stuck on a frozen rock wasn't pleasant. Petra sighed, breath exiting her lungs in a puff of steam as she peeled back branches, slowly making her way into the forest. Immediately the gusts of wind died down, and she became aware of her burned cheeks. She moved slowly, eager to get out of the storm but with such little remaining stamina that each step felt as if it were her last.

When a twig snapped, she froze. She knew very little of the beasts on Jötunheim, but she was quite sure she wanted nothing to do with them. Tree limbs rustled, two wet thumps sounded, followed by a hearty thud. A celebratory hoot and a cry pealed from her right and, with as much grace as a body packed in layers could, she turned with her hand on the hilt of her dagger. She didn't know how to use it, but she wasn't going to die without a fight. Hooves battered the snow and a pair of mounted blue-skinned riders emerged, arrows drawn.

Frost Giants. Known for their short tempers and brutality, not unlike her own people. They looked at one another in confusion when Petra wasn't an animal, but kept their bow arms high.

"Hva er du?" inquired one of the men.

"What?"

"Hva er du?" the same rider asked suspiciously.

"I don't understand you."

"Det er dumt. Det er en Dökkálfr." said the other giant, motioning at her.

The first man grunted with a nod. He lowered his bow, which prompted the other to strike him and point at Petra. They argued in a foreign language, one clearly adamant that she was a threat while the other seemed nonplussed.

Exhausted and slightly baffled, she squeezed her eyes shut and regrouped.

"Do you have heat? Fire? Food?" she asked uselessly.

The giants stopped their arguing long enough to stare calculatingly at her, and the first man nudged his horse a few steps forward.

"You're alone?" he asked.

Ah, they spoke the common tongue. Her tense shoulders relaxed, which only informed her of how sore her body was. Hesitant to admit her vulnerability, but desperate for help, she nodded.

While Petra and the first man spoke, the second grumbled and dismounted. He stalked into the trees, returning a moment later with the carcass of the elk they'd killed over his shoulder. She stopped mid-sentence at the sight of the potential meal, mouth watering.

The second grunted at the first, hoisting the body of the dead animal over the back of his horse and pushing up into the stirrup. The first giant released a string of words, only pieces of which Petra understood. He seemed to be arguing in her favor.

With a sigh, the second man glared at her.

"Kongen vil ikke like dette," said the second giant.

Vague memories of language lessons from her childhood flashed in her mind.

"Kongen? King? You have a king? I want to speak with him."

Clearly displeased with the first, the second man turned his horse and kneed it into a canter back the way they came.

"Come," invited the first, offering Petra a hand.

She took it gratefully and he pulled her up behind him. Clenching her thighs, Petra hesitantly wrapped her arms around his waist. He was a stranger and it felt awkward, but she was tired and not a strong rider. She needed all the stability she could get. Clucking, he urged the horse forward through the forest.

They rode long enough that Petra was struggling to stay awake on the back of the horse. Neither rider would speak with her, whether they merely lacked conversational skills or interest, she was uncertain.

Eventually they broke through the forest, ambling into a camp. Rows of erected tents lined the snowy ground, creating a square around an open section in the middle filled with pens for animals, a massive bonfire and groups of gathered Frost Giants. Swarms of blue-bodied giants decorated in simple leather clothing sat around smaller fires, eating and talking to one another.

As she slid off the horse, Petra was shaken out of her observations by a cold hand shoving her shoulder. Stumbling, she looked behind her to find the second rider pointing to the largest tent in the area. The first rider seemed to have wandered off, leaving her with a giant that blatantly protested her presence.

"Go," he waved with his hand.

Scrunching her lips in annoyance, she turned and plodded through the snow to the draped tent opening, hoping it led to their king. Another push sent her tripping into the structure, and when she turned to glare at the giant that propelled her forward, he smirked in response.

A deep, sonorous voice sounded from deep inside the tent.

"Hva er dette?"

Petra felt the giant behind her stiffen and bend in a crude bow.

"Min konge."

Near the back of the tent, torches lit the space, revealing an ornate wooden chair decorated with carved serpents. A throne, she supposed. In it sat a regal Jötunn slightly smaller than the riders that had delivered her, but infinitely more intimidating. The lines and ridges on his face and upper body were more pronounced, black horns sprouted from his skull and his crimson eyes were colder than even the second rider's. Herding Petra further inside, the rider behind her rambled something off in the language she hadn't heard for decades, his speech hurried and uncertain. The man identified as their king sternly examined her while she shifted uncomfortably. His ruby gaze was penetrating, as if he could interpret every nuance of her body language. While the rider continued, pointing at Petra as if accusing her, the other giant interrupted.

"Enough," said the man on the throne.

Maroon eyes focused on the woman before him, sweeping up and down her body before meeting her own gaze. He studied her for a moment, tilting his head in thought. He drummed his fingers on the arms of his throne thoughtfully.

"Leave us," commanded the King.

The rider and several servants filed out of the tent, leaving her alone with the barbarian king. He lifted his chin, smirking down at her and he leaned back in his chair, casually grasping the arms.

"Are you lost?"

Lost? She wished.

"Not so much lost as… released."

He took in her wind-tattered clothing and lack of supplies.

"You look like a beggar."

"How-That's really how you treat your guests?"

"I'm not sure you count as a guest. A vagrant, perhaps. Definitely an outsider. But not a guest."

Petra fumed. Dark elves were not known for their manners, but his were atrocious. Even her people had social standards.

"You've come to us for help," he stated.

She nodded warily.

"I suppose we can take you back to the city. Heimdall should be able to see you there. You'll call for him and he'll bring you home, wherever that may be."

Petra scoffed, "Does 'released' sound like a temporary situation to you? I can't go back to Svartalfheim."

The king's brows rose in angered amusement at her tone. Petra bit her tongue, embarrassed that she'd let it get the best of her.

"I'm sorry, that was uncalled for."

His lips curled into a sardonic grin and he nodded, granting her forgiveness. "It was. Now, what's the problem with returning to the city?"

"The problem is even if Heimdall found me, he couldn't return me to Svartalfheim. I've been… forbidden to return. The wards won't allow it. I need to find a new home." She shifted her weight and broke his gaze, "Maybe… Yours?"

"You want to stay with us? Like this? You must think us barbarians."

"I could… live like this," she gestured around the camp, eying discarded bloody weapons and drying animal pelts.

The king threw his head back and laughed. It wasn't a good-natured chortle, rather an amused cackle

"How desperate you are to want to live like this! This is a temporary hunting camp, skapning. You think so little of us, of our way of life, do you? We're not savages." He paused and rethought his statement with a grin. "I take that back. We are savages, but not entirely uncivilized. Some of us, at least." The amusement in his eyes evaporated, turning into a darker lust. His gaze slowly raked over her face and body, lingering on the outline of her breasts and hips. "You don't want to be caught outside alone once the sun goes down, I guarantee you that," he intoned, leering at her.

Petra wrapped her arms around herself. Though she was dressed in layers, she felt her cheeks heat as if he'd seen her naked.

"A modest thing, aren't you? How sweet. You won't last long here. Where is it you'd like to go, then?"

"I'm not merely… traveling," she snapped. "I'm looking for refuge."

The king's gaze narrowed, again his eyes searched her as if her body would provide clues.

"You should have the means to travel from realm to realm, shouldn't you? Why are you stuck here?"

"If I had the power to leave, I would. I don't have the abilities most of my kind do."

"You don't possess magic? What kind of elf are you?"

Petra's desperate expression grew cold. "A runt, of sorts. One born without a love for sadism and suffering. A disgrace unworthy of life on Svartalfheim."

The Jötunn ruler shrugged his shoulders, "Well, you can't stay. We don't have the resources to feed a freeloader, and you have nothing to offer us."

Petra's jaw worked as she glared at him indignantly.

"How dare you suggest—."

"I'll have one of the women get you a bedroll for tonight and feed you in the morning, but you must be gone by sunup. I'll not have you lingering and wasting out resources."

"You can't just send me back out there! I'm literally out of my element. I'll die. Even if I make it to a different realm, what then? There's no guarantee I'll survive."

He looked down his nose at her, "Death is an honor—."

"Dying of exposure and starvation isn't an honor and you know it."

He smiled grimly and crossed his ankle to rest on his knee.

"I'll admit it's not a glorious method of demise. But I'll not have my people suffer from lack of supplies because a useless elf can't care for herself. It's a morbid and cruel ruling, for which I apologize. It's not personal."

Uncrossing his leg, he pushed up from the chair and refastened his belt. Intent on his task, he ignored Petra as she blinked at him. She panicked. He was sentencing her to death by not allowing her to stay and he didn't seem to care. There had to be something she could offer the heartless bastard. Something that made him see her as a being rather than a hindrance. She was a hopeless hunter, she couldn't even do that in Svartalfheim. But maybe she could be assigned a different task.

"I know I'm not skilled enough to bring down one of your beasts or forage through your land, but I could… I could mend clothing? Or care for the little ones while you're out hunting? I'm good with children."

To her surprise, he hesitated for a moment, his hand resting on the scabbard of his sword. He examined her, his face almost open and receptive at the mention of the young Jötnar. Silence echoed between them as his gaze slowly deviated from her face to her torso. When Petra brightened hopefully, his expression morphed back into a scowl and he narrowed his eyes.

"No. The older children care for the younger. We do not need an outside presence interfering in rearing our offspring."

Petra opened her mouth to argue and he shot her a silencing look.

"Besides, there are only three children. An adolescent and two almost grown. The older watch the little one while the adults are out." He sighed, crossing his arms and peering out the tent opening at his people. "The entire clan depends on those three. They'd give their lives for any one of them. They're our future," he murmured offhandedly.

Petra's brows furrowed as she followed his gaze into the camp teeming with bodies.

"But there are hundreds of you, how are there only three children?"

The king's stoic façade fell briefly as he grimaced. Stalking towards Petra, he pushed her towards the tent entrance, shaking his head.

"That is none of your business. All that concerns you is finding a host for the night that's willing to give up a ration of food in the morning."

Petra stumbled as he herded her, sputtering and twisting in his grasp.

"Please. You know the Dökkálfar! We are a proud race. We don't beg for anything."

He sneered and cocked a brow, "If you have nothing to beg for, then be gone."

"I'm begging for my life!" she growled, wrenching her arm out of his iron grasp. Wincing at the animosity in her tone, she ran her fingers through her silver hair in exasperation.

"What I mean is you have me completely at your mercy. My life depends on your decision to let me stay. It may not be of value to you, but I promise you I know the worth of life. It's a gift I treasure, despite the hardships."

The king paused a moment, closing his eyes and exhaling heavily.

"You are stubborn. Perhaps you would fit in with us more than I realized. What is your name, skapning?"

"Petra," she said, standing tall. "What is yours?"

"You may call me Loki," he said with a hint of a smile.

"Does that mean you'll allow me to stay?"

He studied her, eyes narrowed and lips pursed. "Only for the night."

She released a sigh of relief, grateful for even one night of relatively safe sleep.

"Thank you. I'll do anything to stay."