Prologue
The shining hall loomed in front of her, and it occurred to her, not for the first time, that her entrance should be as unobtrusive as possible. Walking in to this huge assembly and attracting immediate attention, as was usual, would defeat her purpose. It was not in her plans to make a major error this early in the assignment; her king would be greatly displeased. That didn't matter greatly as she was the only one who could be trusted to be completely successful with something this delicate, but she didn't intend to make anything more difficult than it had to be. Worlds hung in the balance.
Accordingly, she found a small entrance towards the rear of the hall and slipped into the back unobserved. Even so, she had cloaked herself in the Mist and a plain blue wool robe, so that all that showed was the face of an unusually pretty woman, possibly only human, with honey blonde hair that curled about her face and neck. Most of the inhabitants of this hall would not give such women a second glance, as they were commonplace. Gods had their mortal dalliances, and nothing would ever stop that. Her identity was safe until she made it known herself.
She knew that this particular kind of campaign was almost always winnable if her subject was unaware of her actions, or that he'd been captured. Catching, binding to herself, and keeping were her goals and worked so much better with the subject unaware. It was for the good of her prisoner-to-be, and was always used to save a life, or perhaps millions of lives.
She entered the brightly lit hall – was this Valhalla? She hadn't had time to study the names of the buildings, but it didn't matter now. The hall was brightly lit, so much so that to human eyes it would have been painful. Everything was gold, golden tables and walls, golden talk and laughter, golden gods and goddesses. There were, perhaps, a thousand people in the hall, and their clothes were mostly gold and white. The room shimmered with light and color. She was certain, that if she looked closely enough that even the food would be gold.
Quite a distance from her, in a far corner of the great room, stood a group of warriors, both male and female, clearly superior to the rest. They talked, laughed, and drank with great good humor, and though she could not distinguish their words, their laughter filled the hall as if it came alive on its own. The sound broke in waves throughout the hall, and brought joy to those fortunate enough to hear. She imagined that if it were to continue indefinitely, that Asgard itself would rise and float freely into the cosmos, borne aloft on sheer joy.
Amongst the warrior band stood a god who was head and shoulders above the others, not necessarily in height, though he was huge, but in beauty and strength. Clearly, this was Thor, the Thunder God himself; the beauty of his soul shining in an aura around him. His hair and beard were golden, and his eyes were a deep blue. She had a quick intake of breath, his beauty and masculinity caught her off guard. She smiled to herself and turned away. What need would she have of Thor, or he of her, if she was to complete her mission?
Her quarry lay elsewhere, and he was no golden warrior. But he would make himself known before long for he could not bear for long for his brother to be the center of attention. He would get it for himself, by playing jokes on others, or wittily insulting his brother, so that in that good natured hall, all would laugh, including Thor. Thor's brother was vain, jealous, wildly intelligent, witty, sarcastic, burdened with grief and guilt, and unbalanced. He was quick to turn any situation to his advantage.. If his tricks and mischief went wrong, he cleverly explained away his guilt, and everyone forgave him, a thousand times a thousand because they all knew what he knew better than any of them; that he was broken, perhaps beyond repair. Over thousands of years, he had gone too far many times; he was responsible for the death of his brother Balder. He had paid for that death dearly, but time passed, and the old wound was forgiven. However, in recent years, he turned from the Trickster God of Mischief and Magic, into a god of evil. Again he had been punished, but the memories were still fresh, and the wounds open.
It was no trouble for her to find him, and when she did, he was not what she expected. He was a physically handsome and beautiful god, as tall as Thor, but not as big in the body, his limbs long and elegant. In contrast to Thor, his hair was deepest black, and his skin pale; no golden god he. His face in repose was handsome and appeared introspective, but when he smiled with real humor, his face was transformed, and became beautiful. He possessed a magnitism and style that none around him had; she found it deeply attractive. His was as graceful as a dancer, where Thor was a graceful athlete. Thor possessed strength and speed, where his brother possessed greater speed and magic. Both were dazzling in their turn, but it was no doubt, that if both were present, all eyes would turn to the golden Thor and stay there.
She could envision them in their helmets. Odin All-Father's framed his one-eyed face into the face seen for millennia on temple walls. Thor's winged helmet enhanced his beauty – how could wings do anything else? But his brother's helmet, with huge narrow horns rising straight from the front before bending back into a curve, carried a very ancient symbolism. To the primitive humans who first worshipped the Asgardians, and spent much time in the presence of horned male animals, bulls, rams, goats, and the huge mountain deer, the horns were a symbol of a potent and intrusive masculinity. No god could wear a helmet that did not reflect his nature, and this young god would be no exception.
For a moment she closed her eyes and wished it could be otherwise, but it had always been so; men who are happy and whole had no need of her. There was no bleeding to staunch, no insane mind to pull back, no deep cracks in the personality to fill, no guilt to assuage, or lost love to fulfill. Whole and happy men cause no damage, unless it is unintentional; they freely give of themselves. She belonged to the wounded, as she had always done. She'd had a broken husband and an insane and violent lover for years beyond counting. Wounded men and gods caused humanity the most pain, Because of her lover, millions, perhaps billions had suffered and died over the entire history of the human race.
Her husband Hephaestes was hurled from Olympus by his father immediately after his birth, because Zeus found him ugly. Her lover was Aries, God of War, responsible for blood lust in battle and the murder of anyone who fell in the warrior's way. Without her to distract him, humanity's wars would have been constant, with no break for the mortals to plant their fields, raise their families, or create civilizations. Perhaps she had more experience with angry and difficult men than any woman in history. Still, her identity had its compensations, amongst them tremendous power over the gods who attempted to possess her.
Her assignment, given to her by Zeus himself, was to enfold Thor's brother in her love, beauty, and all-powerful sexuality, distracting him from his desire to destroy everything he touched. Something had to happen – the Nine Worlds could not be destroyed, the Trickster God had gone too far. She was Aphrodite herself, the Goddess of Love and Beauty. Her assignment was, of course, Loki.