All started, really started after the insufferable assault on Asgard led by Malekith the Accursed.

Thor, the smiling heir to the Aesir throne. Thor, Odin's first born and true heir had left the Realm Eternal to settle on Midgard. To protect Earth and its feeble citizens and to enjoy life by his lady the mortal known as Jane Foster. Odin had not banished his son though he could have done so. It was the rebellion of his eldest child with the complicity of his adopted other son which had saved Asgard from the Darkness. As such Thor was a traitor; as such Thor was a hero.

The All-Father could not find in him to forbid his child the few minutes. fleeting years of happiness he could get by the side of a mortal whose lifespan was but ephemeral. Thor left Asgard, ready to stand by its side in battle. Ready to join the friends he had called the Avengers.

Earth had sustained two severe blows in its cities of London and New York. Asgard had been badly hit by the Dark Elves. The time for reconstruction had begun. The time to face the consequence of loss had also come.

Frigga, the Queen, the gentle mother to two young princes had died to save the Golden city. It seemed but yesterday when two boys one as blond as his younger sibling was dark haired were running in the palace corridors. These were happy days when the House of Odin harbored no traitor. Then like a cliff slowly yet steadily devoured by relentless waves, the Royal family had sustained loss upon loss.

First, there had been the discovery that Silver-Tongue the prince grown in the shadow of his sunny brother was adopted. The revelation that not only Loki had Jotun blood but tried to kill his adopted brother came to no surprise. Loki had few friends; Loki was jealous at Thor. His fall brought few tears in the people of Asgard. Few were those who shared the grief of his parents and brother. So few. After all, he was a wizard, neck deep in the Dark Arts... Not a mean warrior; yet unable to understand that the song of the sword is nobler than mere words to fight for one's honor.

Then came amazing news: Loki was alive. He had survived the wormhole and had managed to reach Earth. Survived he had; but madness had seized him. To rule Midgard was his plan. Many mortals were killed in the battle of New York. The heroism of the feeble Midgardian Avengers was applauded by the people of Asgard. Thor himself who fought along them put a muzzle to his brother's ambitions. A muzzle like one puts on rabid animals.

Lastly, the fallen runt had been thrown into the deepest cell of the darkest recesses of Asgard dungeons. As it should be and Asgard was hoping nobody would ever mention his name again, unless these traitorous friends of his be named themselves. Not that there were many. But this was not to be.

The vengeful Lord of Svartalfheim had struck the family of Odin Borson. The Queen as the first to fall; then the misbegotten son she had not rejected fought for Asgard along his brother. The criminal, the mass murderer, the snake in the bosom of the House of Odin had redeemed himself as he had helped to save the nine realms from the Darkness. Loki had saved his brother's life and died a hero.

Odin had sent a detachment on the planet of the Dark Elves hoping to save in time his two foolhardy sons along the mortal known as Jane Foster whose body was playing reluctant host to the Aether. All the Einherjars had been able to bring back from the Dark World was the lifeless body of the Trickster. Loki had finally been checkmated. Odin who should have rejoiced to see resolved in such elegant and satisfactory way the conundrum of an adopted son turned traitor turned hero turned dead, did not rejoice.

The royal widower took no joy in being able at long last to be proud of his errant young son. Honor had been restored to his house. All it seemed Odin could perceive, was that he had lost a son.

The Queen had been mourned; was mourned by all. Her funeral was accompanied by all her people. Nobody or so few would have come to the funeral of the mischievous Loki. Nobody or so few would care to be known as Loki's friends. There was no public funeral held. Silver-Tongue was buried without the fracas his last years had caused.

Asgard was licking his wounds like an old tired lion.

- "My king, the ambassador of Vanaheim would like to discuss trade… and the ladies of the Order of Njord would like to ask the permission…"

- "Not today. I have done my duty to the Realm. I want… to be left alone. I have to think… about Thor."

- "Yes, my king. Your wish is our command"

Asgard Vizier and all the counselors of the Throne left after deeply bowing to the All Father. Then the guards left, following the cue of a nervous sign of dismissal. Odin was alone in the Throne room. The king had aged. It took time longer to walk down the steps despite the help of his staff. Slowly he reached a column, similar to all the columns. A flick of fingers revealed a small darkened entrance. The king entered the dark hole while the door closed silently behind him.

Inside, lighted by flickering torches, laid a turning staircase going downward. The royal instep underwent a transformation. Gone were the tired back and the slow moves limited by age; the king seemed young again, running down the stairs to reach another secret door.

The door was leading to another room. A room where Odin entered with the same tired achy moves he had left the throne room with. A woman was waiting for him. Eir, the most skilled healer of the nine realms was waiting for him. But not looking at him.

The object of her attention was placed at the centre of the room. There floating in the air, connected to wisps of flame and occult smokes, was Loki resting. Loki or Loki's body. The difference was significant. The princely skin was paler than usual and no air lifted his lungs. He was asleep and a thick dressing was covering his chest wound.

- "How is he doing?"

- "Still comatose, my King. That our soldiers brought back him alive must be counted as a true miracle. The wound was so deep. It must have entered the heart but by the width of a hair. And so much blood was lost."

- "Will he ever awake?"

- "Who knows? The thread of his life is so frail; yet he fights. Maybe … he hears us. Prisoner of his own mind… Unable to wake up. Eternally asleep."

- "He has caused enough damage… he certainly was quite busy before Kurse calmed him down for good. Rest cannot harm him. … And Asgard is safe. If he hears us, this will be a consolation to him. Asgard is safe in my hands; just as much as Midgard is with his brother Thor now living among his ... entertaining friends."

Eir raised her eyebrows. She knew Odin since at least two millenia still after all these years, she was unsure on what the All Father stood. His youngest son who had fallen so low to rise so high as to die a hero was lying there about dead and probably no better than dead yet the king was almost flippant. Almost rejoicing at the enforced immobility of his far from innocent child. No surprise then if the son was known for his cruel tongue when his adoptive sire thought it a matter of jest as to witness his child distress. The healer retired to another room where one of her assistants was pensively looking at a sparkling dust. Odin was again alone but for the sleeper lost in a world where probably nightmares were more frequent than sweet dreams.

- "Sleep well, father… Thor is happy with his mortal woman and his vulgar friends. As for Asgard, I rule and frankly… nobody is missing you. I hope you do not mind the little trick I pulled by switching bodies. The soldier who collected my bloodied envelop has been sent far away; his mind is… I am afraid to say… slightly confused by the experience. But you… you, I am sure, you must enjoy every second as to what it feels to be locked in!"

Eir and her assistant whose eyes were downcast had come back. The Queen had a project; indicated a direction for the healers' research assistant but with the Queen gone, Odin has ordered to stop to look into it. Odin, these days, wanted to build more defenses. More weapons; more warfare to develop. The Dark Elves war had barely ended and Odin was pining for another war. Against Jotunheim… What was the king thinking?

The curious thoughts held by Odin were mercifully not heard by the two women. Odin left by the exit door of Eir's personal rooms; this time, going to another hall where later he was to meet his generals.

- "Your bow to the king was … economical, child"

The assistant shrugged; her dedication belonged to Eir. Odin was her king. Not her prince.

- "Tonight, my sister has begged for my company. May I retire early?"

The assistant was hard-working and devoted to the healers' halls. When she had not been day and night available to treat the wounded and close the eyes to the warriors, she had been pursuing the Queen's command of a secret spell. Even Eir knew naught about it; except it would change drastically Asgard. For the better… or the worse. It was sorcery at its most delicate yet powerful. Odin had been too busy to pay much attention to his wife's pursuit. Later, he had approved of it without bothering to learn about it. Anything which was distracting the Queen from her grief at her son's loss was meeting his approval. Frigga might be dead; the assistant was following her Queen's lead. Eir was not sure whether Odin would approve where said research was going; the King was asking no question; thus the matter was closed. The Queen still held sway a year and more after her death. Odin was asking no question; Eir was glad that she had been spared from providing the answer.

- "You can leave; our patient is quiet…. Eerily quiet. He will not wake up tonight. Go, child"

The assistant left and went on walking briskly to the changing rooms. She quickly removed the dress of the healers and undid the severe hair bun letting down a ginger blonde mane. As she combed and dressed her hair in soft braids while looking at the reflection in the mirror, she smiled at the absence of any resemblance with her sister. One was tall, gracefully yet strongly limbed, and extra-verted with locks as raven back as her younger sister who was certainly not tall, but shy and by all means not a warrior. Yet the two were true blood sisters. Sif and Sigyn. The lady whose sword was legendary and the child whose life was dedicated at healing wounds her sister had caused.

As the night was falling on Asgard and Odin was struggling to keep his temper in check while the ministers of trade of some distant allies were droning at obscure references about the exchange rate on something or another; the light steps of Sigyn were taking her back to her ancestral home.

Hidden in the shadows, something was moving closer to the hall where Eir and her sleeping charge were all alone.