Thank you again for the kind reviews guys, really glad people are enjoying it. I'm looking for a Maeve/Loki picture if anyone is feeling charitable enough to draw one? *puppy eyes*


Loki pulled Maeve's hood up for her, cupping her face in his hands.

"We do not have to do this," he said softly, bowing his head to brush his cheek over hers. "We could still go." She tipped her head to kiss his temple and when he looked her in the eyes he had her silent answer. Letting out a low sigh, he pulled her in close to his chest.

"Hold onto me," he said, winding his arms around her waist tightly. "This will feel a little strange." She gripped his shoulders, tucking her head under his chin, her eyes squeezed close. She felt the ground beneath her feet pitch, stomach lurching, and to anyone who witnessed it, they would see the pair twist into light, vanishing in moments, the only evidence the meadow grass they were stood in swaying slightly.

When she felt solid ground beneath her feet again she opened her eyes cautiously, peering up at Loki. His appearance had changed during the teleport, now dressed in full armour. A gleaming helm shadowed his sharp features, huge horns arching from it and a rich green cloak was wrapped around them both. He was looking over her head and Maeve turned slowly, following his gaze, her mouth falling open.

They were on a platform in a domed chamber carved out of glossy black stone, the walls embedded with tainted silver which marked the path of Yggdrasil. Among the cosmic branches were discs denoting the nine worlds, stars and moons spreading between them and strung between it all were endless gossamer threads. They were webbed all over the chamber, taut and gleaming as they spiralled to the centre.

In the very middle of the platform were three hunkered figures, swathed in ratted grey cloaks, their faces hidden, the threads all culminating with them. They were wrapped around theur arms, their waists, their gnarled fingers, endlessly circling them.

Loki slowly released Maeve's waist, saying to her in a low voice,

"Wait here," before he stepped towards the figures. As he approached them they spoke in one voice, echoing around the chamber;

"Laufeyson. We know why you are here."

Loki paused, frowning at the three.

"Then you have seen?" he said.

"Many things. Asgard is hurtling towards ruin."

"Is there anything that could be done?"

Three hoods turned towards him, crimson eyes gleaming out from faceless shadows.

"We see only death."

Loki glanced back at Maeve, hesitation in hisface. She took a step forwards, nodding to him encouragingly, when the Norns spoke again;

"Bring us the female."

The Asgardian's attention snapped back, voice sharp.

"No."

One of the figures rose up, dust spilling from her cloak. She held out an ancient hand, fingers beckoning.

"Maeve Connor. We see your guardian."

Maeve swallowed, stepping forwards, bare feet stinging from the cold stone floor. Loki was hissing for her to stop but she lay her white hand in the woman's veined one. The Norn turned her palm over so it was facing upwards, speaking alone now.

"We see death around you. Your guardian saw it too."

She lay one of the strands in the girl's hand, short and delicate, one end tied in a loop. Maeve looked down at it wordlessly. It wasn't connected to the wall.

"Is this mine?" she whispered.

"It was cut."

Maeve carefully picked the thread up between her fingers, staring at the knotted end. Her exsistance now, an endless cycle, never changing. Eyes flickering to the pinpoints of red beneath the hood, she said,

"You spoke of my guardian. Where is his?"

"Maeve, no," Loki breathed, looking down at her imploringly. She met his gaze, shaking her head.

"I need to see," she said softly, a hint of desperation in her voice. Turning back, she saw the Norn holding up another fine thread, this one webbing between her fingers, the dangling end frayed. Peering at it carefully she saw it was still attached to the wall, rooted in the disc representing Earth.

"He's still alive?" she asked, looking up into the dark hood.

"Yes. Do you want to see?" The girl swallowed, then nodded slowly.

"Maeve…" Loki lay his hand on her arm.

"Touch it," the hag said, the words little more than a hiss. Maeve glanced up at Loki, then tentatively lay one fingertip on the thread.

The next thing she knew she felt as if all the air was being sucked out of her body and when she breathed in again she found herself stood in a dim room, worn green carpet beneath her feet. There was a coffee table strewn with official looking papers, more scattered to the floor and in a corner stood a beaten up armchair, Grayson sunk into it. A golden Labrador was curled at his feet, beside the chair an oxygen canister, tubes leading up to the old man's face and taped under his nose. He was staring blankly out of a murky window, his face bearing more lines than she could remember and faintly blue.

Maeve took a careful step forwards and he looked up then, straight at her, bleary eyes widening.

"Baby girl…"

Maeve felt bile rising in her throat. He could see her.

She walked forwards slowly, sinking to kneel besides his chair, hesitating a moment before touching her fingers to his. He looked up at her, tears welling in his weary eyes.

"Hey, Poppa," she whispered, giving his hand a squeeze. It felt cold and clammy.

"Am I dead?" he croaked. Maeve shook her head quickly.

"But I buried you. You're in the ground…" She could hear fear in his voice, making her chest hurt.

"I know," she whispered. "I… I'm just stopping by." He pulled his hand away from hers, touching her cheek and shaking his head.

"You look beautiful," he murmured.

"I missed you," the girl breathed, closing her hand over his. She wanted to hold onto him, to pull him back with her and see him strong and vital again.

"I ain't got much time, baby," he said hoarsely. "Me and Molly, we're both real tired." Maeve's eyes flickered down to the dog, wheezing at his feet, and nodded slightly.

"It'll be ok," she replied in a whisper. "It doesn't hurt. It's sort of like a big dream."

"I thought maybe you were comin' to get me…"

"Not yet, Poppa." She leant in, kissing his forehead tenderly. "But I'll be waiting, I promise." It wasn't entirely a lie. She would wait and he would pass her by and be born again.

"Them S.H.I.E.L.D, they never would tell me what happened… Was it Loki?" His face looked more lucid now.

"No, Poppa. If I told you the truth you wouldn't believe me," she said softly. "It was just something bad that won't happen to anybody again."

He gazed up at her tearfully and she carefully leant in to hug him, head on his chest, wary of the tubing.

"It's alright. You rest now. Don't worry about me anymore." She could feel something tugging in her, summoning her back. She defied it until she felt Grayon's chest rising and falling slowly, asleep, whispering to him;

"Goodbye, Poppa," before she gave in. Another forced exhale and she was stood before the Norn once more, hand still clasped around the thread. She let go hurriedly, taking a step back. The crimson eyes beneath the hood followed her.

"You see," the voice in the shadows said. Maeve nodded slowly, her stomach in knots, swallowing back tears. The hooded figure knelt with the others once more, Grayson's thread concealed amongst the others. Loki closed a hand on her elbow, looking down at her with concern. She gave him a wan smile and the Norns spoke in unison again;

"The female has the courage to know the truth. Do you, Laufeyson? You did not come here of your own accord, but hers."

Loki hesitated, his fingers tightening on Maeve's arm. He looked into her bright eyes, she returning the gaze levelly. Face grim, he kept his eyes on hers as he said,

"Tell me."

A sigh escaped the three, echoing around the chamber.

"We see only death. You are it's harbinger. You will bring about the end of all things, all lives. You are the Twilight of the Gods, Loki Laufeyson."

Loki tore his hand away from Maeve's arm, wheeling to look at the Norns.

"What?" he whispered, face bleaching.

"Volla saw. Odin saw. You are the progenitor of the Ragnarok, the death of all realms. It is your fate."

Maeve stiffened, her breath caught in her throat. She knew those stories, of three years of winter, Earth being drowned by the Midgard serpent, the whole pantheon of old Norse Gods being killed in battle. And Loki had been at the centre of it all. They had just been stories, but now… He was real, stood before her…

"How?" he said in a chilling voice.

"You will kill a man. He will be the most beautiful and beloved of all men and will die by your hand."

Loki was sinking to his knees, hands on the floor to hold himself up. Maeve ran to his side, falling beside him. She lay her hands on his face, lifting it to look him in the eye, seeing tears spill down his cheeks. He was looking straight through her, spiralling downwards.

"Listen to me," she whispered urgently, "you have a choice. You don't have to be who they say, you have a choice, Loki…"

He wasn't listening to her, it was as though he couldn't hear her. She swivelled to look at the Norns, pulling down her hood as she appealed to them.

"Tell him, please! It doesn't have to be that way, does it?"

"All things are in his hands. If the man dies, it cannot be undone."

"It's Balder, isn't it?" she whispered. "That's his name?"

"Yes."

Maeve looked back at Loki, leaning in to speak to him softly.

"You see? If Balder lives, none of it will ever happen. You have a choice, Loki…"

He looked up at her slowly, green eyes full of pain.

"Did you know..?" he said, barely audible.

"I… they were just stories…"

Loki pulled her hands away, leaning away from her.

"Loki…" she whispered. But he was getting to his feet, not looking at her as he paced around the Norns.

"Balder. I do not know any man by this name," he said as he walked.

"You will, in time," came the echoing reply.

"Then what of Amora?" he asked, pausing.

"She will fall. Asgard will come to ruin by your hands, not hers."

Maeve got to her feet, Loki striding back to her and taking her arms firmly.

"I have heard enough," he said and without warning he teleported them out, landing back in Freya's meadow. It was dark now and as they landed he let her go, striding away swiftly. She ran after him, casting off the cumbersome cloak.

"Loki!" she cried, "Loki, Stop, please!"

He wheeled on her, back in his plain robes, something desperate in his expression.

"You knew," he said as he looked down at her. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"They were just stories, when I was a child. I didn't think…" Maeve lay her hands on his chest, looking up at him. "You have to believe me, please, it never even crossed my mind…" Loki pulled her hands away, holding onto them tightly.

"Do you love me still, knowing what you do?" he said sharply.

"Of course I do," she whispered. "I don't see an evil man before me. I don't believe you would choose to do what the Norns said. And you do have a choice, Loki…"

He brushed a hand over her hair, bowing his head with a sigh.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. "I'm so sorry, Maeve…" She wound her arms round his shoulders, pressing her lips to his neck and he pulled her tighter to him, resting his cheek on her crown.

"I am going to go join Freya when she rallies against Amora," he breathed into her hair. "She brought you back to me. I owe her a great deal. And she has my mother…"

"We'll get her back," Maeve said, resting her forehead on his neck.

"I think I miss the desert," he said with a wry smile. "Things were certainly simpler there…"