Chapter 4
Of Furs and Frozen Things

Jane awakens to a warm - albeit uncomfortable - belly, and a splitting headache. She opens her eyes to see the rugged, frozen ground merely inches below her face. Alarmingly, it is swaying wildly. Or perhaps it is she who is swaying wildly. Her body rolling with the movement of the beast she has been draped across. The animal's pungent, earthy scent invades her nose and she tries to push against it, to draw her head upwards and take stock of her surroundings. Her efforts only serve to produce a growl from the beast, and she flinches with a gasp as it turns to gnash its teeth at her arm.

A voice rings out, snapping a command in the sharp foreign tongue of the giant blue-skinned hunters she had tried so hard to outrun. Turns out that plan was a fail. The dog-beast ceases its snapping, though it gives a low growl deep within its chest before returning its attention to the journey ahead. Defeated, Jane sinks her face into its flank. At least, she thinks to herself, the creature is warm.

It's still night, Jane observes. Or rather, that strange ever-present almost-night which casts this world in tones of blue yet never seems to become daylight or full darkness. She wonders if this realm has ever seen the early morning crest of a sun. Certainly, it's people seem to survive well enough without need of sunlight or warmth. Or even clothing, for that matter.

Returning her attention to her surroundings, Jane notices the uneven, fissured terrain has given way to large cobblestones of ice - each block as smooth as glass. She frowns and tries again to raise her head enough to look around. Have they reached one of the distant still-standing towers she saw from the hilltop? Because if that's the case, they're now miles away from the portal.

Finally they draw to a halt and Jane finds herself being lifted from the animal and dropped to her feet. She falls. Ungracefully. Sprawling to the smooth ice floor. The impact as painful to her dignity as it is to her frozen nerves. "Ow…" She grits her teeth and sucks in a breath to hold in the pain; adamant she will not display weakness to these beings. At least, no more than she already has...

Without the beast to share its warmth, the icy cold assaults her once more. Her body rocks with long shudders as she pushes herself to her knees and stares through damp locks of hair at the five sets of bare blue feet that surround her. From her current vantage point, she daren't risk raising her eyes much higher - those are small loincloths they wear after all.

Ducking her head, she wills herself to rise; one leg moving until she can place her foot flat on the ice. She can barely flex her toes. Her feet are hard and pale and almost entirely without feeling. It's then that the slow-coiling thread of fear that has been undulating through her stomach now sends static shocks of panic through her body. She remembers an arctic trip to study the Aurora Borealis. And an ill-equipped student who spent a day lost in the snow. Frostbite. Second stage. If she doesn't get warmth to her extremities soon...

"I can't…" Shame flooding her cheeks, Jane drags her eyes to the blue-skinned giant standing directly before her. He wears more decoration than those who flank him. There is greenery attached to his shoulders as if fused to his skin, and a ridge of short horns circle his brow. Like a crown. The mob boss, she figures. "Please, I need to get warm. I need..."

Unmoved by her plight, the leader watches in impassive assessment until she feels her frayed nerves cannot hold her any longer. She draws a long breath. C'mon Jane, you're stronger than this! She tries again to push herself to her feet. Jaw aching with determination. Body shaking with cold. And when she manages to hold her balance, she juts her chin defiantly to study him in turn. Her eyes drawn to the raised patterns on his face; noting the half-circles on his forehead and thin lines that accentuate his cheekbones and etch his chin.

The hunter to his left mutters something. His tone sharp and quick. The one with the sword arm, she thinks, if the angular features are anything to recognize him by. His markings bear similarities to the leader's, and she wonders if it's a sign of family or rank or manhood or - her eyes slide to the formidable spears each warrior bears - or how many kills they've made.

Finally the giant grows weary of his assessment and flicks a dismissive hand before turning away. His companions follow suit, but for Sword Arm, who steps forward to seize her.

"Wait!" She tries to throw herself towards the retreating figures, but Sword Arm is a solid rock against her thrashings as he proceeds to half-hold her upright and half drag her towards a wide corridor of carved ice slabs.

"No! You don't understand!" She's desperate now, fighting against her giant captor. "I have to get back to Earth - to Midgard! - Malekith is going to destroy everything! He'll destroy your planet too!"

Sword Arm stops moving. His grip on her arm tightens as he swings her around to face the group. She wonders, hopefully, if these beings can actually understand her.

The leader has made no further effort to approach, but given that he's no longer retreating, she figures he's willing to hear her out at least. "My name is Jane. I'm from Midgard." She clears the rasp from her throat and begins again, slower. "Malekith has the Aether, and he's going to use it against all of us."

One hunter-warrior mutters something to the leader. His words low and guttural. She looks up at the one who holds her steady. There is nothing in his stoic expression to give any indication he understands.

Testing her weight on her feet, she pushes herself taller and calls again to the leader. "Malekith's taking the Aether to Midgard. He's gonna use the Convergence to unleash it through all of the realms - and I'm the only one who knows! There are people on Ea- Midgard that can stop him, but I have to get there and warn them!"

This is getting nowhere, she realises. "Your world is gonna go BOOM!" Her bellow rebounds around the hall as she throws her arms out in mimicry of an explosion.

A snigger at her side causes her to snap her attention to the one who holds her. "Are you laughing at me?" She cries, outrage replacing any last vestiges of caution. "Excuse me, but this is not a laughing matter!"

"Male-kith?"

The voice that rings out from the shadows is unexpectedly feminine. Jane turns to find the mob boss and his companions have been joined by one who wears a white fur cowl and holds a staff carved of ice in place of a spear.

"Yes," Jane says. "he's a Dark Elf. From Svartalfhiem."

"I'm familiar with this." The words echo off the high vaulted ceilings, carrying to Jane in a tone is sharp and quick and heavily accented.

"He's going to destr -"

"I'm familiar with this tale, also." The giantess flicks a finely-etched hand; a dismissive gesture that is becoming disconcertingly familiar. Jane opens her mouth and closes it wordlessly as the cowled figure steps forward. "It would not be the first time our world has been ravaged. We rebuild."

"No, I don't think you understand -"

"It is you who does not understand, little one." When the giantess smiles, Jane can see rows of neat, sharp teeth. She steps back - into the ice-cold chest of the warrior who holds her.

"Fair enough." Jane stutters, desperate to end a conversation that feels less like a conversation and more like a slow-building threat. "Then maybe you could just… Let me go home?"

"Maybe." The giantess echos. "Or maybe we keep you here a little longer. I'm curious to see who might search for you."

"No one's searching for me." Jane's voice breaks on the words as she thinks of Thor; dead and discarded on Svartalfheim. And of Darcy and Erik; probably pacing her London flat, awaiting her return. "Least, no one who could ever hope to find me."

"Hmm." The giantess's red eyes narrow, though her smile glitters. Uncomfortably so. "Then I, Skadi, will grant you accommodation while I think on this."

With a nod to Sword Arm, Skadi turns on her heel and rejoins her group. Jane's heart sinks as the warrior push her onwards. This time, as she's led down the wide corridor, she doesn't bother to protest.

The definition of 'accommodation' appears to have been lost on Skadi, Jane suspects. She has been led into a large room, but everything within it is carved of ice or stone. Hardly accommodating, she thinks. And colder than a freezer box.

"Please, is there anywhere warmer than this?" Desperation piques Jane's voice as Sword Arm crosses to a high arched window. She moves to intercept him, drawing herself as tall as she can - an effort which brings her pathetically level with the giant's torso. It's difficult to look up and meet those blood-red eyes, but she forces herself to do so nonetheless. "You don't even understand what freezing means, do you?"

The warrior's angular features give away nothing as he stares down at her, impassive. Ruby orbs unreadable and so utterly alien. Finally he places two great hands upon her shoulders and shifts her without effort from his path. Then with a sweeping move of his hand, casts a thin layer of ice across the window like a pane; blocking out the glacial wind that stirs the room. She gapes in astonishment as he shoots her a look that cannot fail to be interpreted as smug, and despite herself, she feels something furious start to thread up her throat to form sharp words upon her tongue. Then the blue-skinned giant reaches into a pouch at his waist and withdraws a small vial. Removing the wooden stopper, he offers it wordlessly.

A string of protests stick in Jane's throat as she stares at the vial. At best, it probably holds a form of alcohol. Something that will trick her body into feeling warm. At worst…

Sword Arm says something in his strange sharp tongue that, despite her utter inability to understand, carries the universal message of "drink the damn thing or I'll tip it down your throat."

"Fine then." She croaks, accepting the small bottle and taking a tentative sniff. More like rocket fuel! Recoiling at the sharp bitter odor, she spares another glance towards the giant. His eyebrow has risen a notch. Shrugging, she knocks it back, wincing as the burn steals the breath from her lungs.

Satisfied, the warrior strides to a box carved of ice, pulls out a fistful of brindle furs and throws them to her. Clutching them gratefully, she buries her hands into their soft warmth.

She doesn't care then, that he steps out into the hallway. She doesn't even care as he draws his palms in the air and causes great shards of ice to rise from the floor and form a barricade. Her body is filled with a glorious fire; her feet and hands tingle as warmth rushes into them to defrost the nerves.

"Thank you," she mumbles to an empty room as she draws the furs around her shoulders and sinks to the ground. She's not safe here, she knows it. She needs to regroup her thoughts and figure out a way to get out of here. Certainly, she shouldn't give in to the alluring warmth that beckons her to lay down amid the furs and sleep. But... Her eyelids are so heavy. Each blink lasts longer and longer. Surely if she just takes a moment to close her eyes and consider her options...

"I sent an embassy to the Dwarves of Nidavellir. Their mages confirm the urgency of your story."

Jane's eyelids flutter open. Her sight comes into focus upon a length of white fur that pools around Skadi's feet. She pushes herself up from the pile of brindle furs she lies burrowed within. "Good." She says groggily. A small niggle in the back of her mind wonders how long she's been out. She swallows back the growing surge of panic. "Good. Will you let me return to Midgard now?"

"You speak of Midgard, yet you wear the stink of Asgard. We of Jotunheim are friends of neither." Skadi's voice has lost its beguiling softness and now punctures the air like a thousand points of ice."Tell me, little one, why should I aide you?"

"I… Uh..." Jotunheim. That name rings a bell, though Jane can't place it. "Look, I'm the one who found the Aether. And - and somehow it ended up inside of me. In my veins. Then Thor turned up and brought me to -"

"Thor?" Skadi hisses, bearing over her. "You traveled with that oaf?"

"Now you're sounding just like..." The half-muttered retort trails away as she remembers Loki's words as he threw her before Malekith.

"I traveled with Loki. Loki of Jotunheim!" Bolting upright, Jane clutches to the memory. She can't fathom how Loki can be associated with this realm, but if these people are enemies of Thor, then perhaps they're allies of Loki. Though it pains her to betray Thor, right now she'll take whatever she can get if it means returning home...

But barely has Thor's brother's name left Jane's lips before she is lifted from the furs and hoisted into the air. She gasps, but the short intake of air remains trapped in her mouth. Skadi's hands are at her throat, squeezing…

"What do you know of Loki!" The giantess screeches; fingers pressing harder. "What do you know of that bastard runt!"

Jane claws at Skadi's hands. Cold as ice. Hard as stone. Immovable. She cannot breathe…

"Allow me." Beyond the blood thumping in Jane's ears, she hears a new voice.

And then the pressure releases from her throat as she slips through Skadi's massive fingers, to fall in a heap at her feet.

There is no chance to recover. At once she is lifted again and pushed against a wall. The ice behind her crackles as it melts and refreezes around her, holding her firmly in place.

The mob boss stands before now. Or perhaps Skadi was the mob boss all along. Jane cannot be sure. But if the giantess was beguiling with her initial mercy, this being has no such facade. The ridges upon his brow almost seem to rise like hackles as he steps in close, a low growl precedes his words. Like a wolf giving warning before it attacks.

"Where is Loki." It's not a question. It's a command. Given in a voice that sounds like the quaking of the earth itself.

"I left him in Svartalfheim." Jane's eyes widen as he raises his hand towards her; except it's not a hand. It's a sword of ice.

"Býleistr told me of how he coaxed you from that hole." The words rumble in Jane's ear. She forces herself to stare straight ahead - to concentrate on the green leaves fused to the giant's shoulder - as she feels the sword edge trace a path across her cheek. "Perhaps the blade will now coax you to tell us of Loki."

"I don't know what else to say!" She cries, biting her lip as she feels something, her blood, trickle down her neck. "I left him in Svartalfheim, in a cave! I don't know where he is now!"

"Careful, Helblindi." Another new voice. Another new face steps forward. But no, this one is Sword Arm. Býleistr. "She is but a mortal. Her blood will not sustain her if you allow it to pool at her feet."

"Then I will feed her to the Frost Beasts!" The smile Helblindi turns on her is that of a beserker. An alien mirror of the manic images she saw a hundred times across every TV channel when Loki rampaged through New York. "Unless you wish her for your bedslave, brother?"

Jane shudders. Her heart is a wild bird, with wings flapping desperately within its cage.

"Don't be revolting." Býleistr steps back, face pinching in distaste. Now that she can understand him, his words are smooth. Serpentine. "But she will be of better use as bait, than a meal for your beasts."

"Indeed." This from Skadi now. "We need only wait for Loki to come for her."

Loki won't come for me. Jane thinks inside her head. But if it allows her some respite from the threat of being a Frost Beast's meal, she sure as hell won't tell them that.

"Forgive me, my liege. I've returned from the Dark World with news."

Odin turns to his envoy, his nerves a wary knot of apprehension. There can be nothing good in this news if his envoy stands before him with an expression that could curdle milk. "Thor?"

"There was no sign of Thor, or the weapon, but…"

The Allfather waits. The knot tightens. "What?"

"We captured the traitor, Loki. He has told us the whereabouts of the weapon."

Brow furrowing with impatience now, it's all Odin can do to not stride forward and shake the words from his envoy's gammering mouth. "And?"

"He sent Jane Foster through a portal - to Jotunheim." The envoy pauses. "The weapon is now in the possession of the Jotun King, Helblindi."

"Helblindi." Odin's grip tightens on Gungnir. Laufey was a formidable enemy in his time, but at least the millenias had tempered him. The truce between them may have yet remained - may have given him a platform for negotiation - had Thor and Loki not each sought to wage war against the Jotun and destroy their realm. Had Loki not engineered Laufey's death to prove himself a worthy son of Asgard...

Odin shakes old memories from his head and returns his thoughts to Laufey's heir, Helblindi. He is as hungry for war as Thor had once been. Hungrier still for vengeance. What would compel Loki to send the weapon to him? Had he hoped to find refuge amongst his birth-kind using the power within Jane Foster's veins as a sweetener?

Rubbing a weary hand across his brow, Odin leans heavy on Gungnir. Damn Thor and his recklessness! His fool's errand! His son's effort to avoid battle has only landed the weapon into the hands of an old enemy. And there is only one way they can save themselves now.

"Assemble the Einherjar." The Allfather's voice booms across the chamber as he turns his attention to the guards beyond the messenger. "We go to Jotunheim. We go to war."

There is a smile then, that flickers across the envoy's face. It catches the corner of the Allfather's eye and causes him to turn sharply towards him. But the soldier stands with head bowed, eyes cast towards the ground. Mouth a fine drawn line. Expressionless. And Odin turns back towards the door, shrugging the suspicion from his shoulders as he strides from his throne room.

Let the envoy await his return.