A/N: So how 'bout them shitty uploadings? I have no excuse and remain, as always, disgusted with myself about the uploading. I think at this point I get stage fright and run away like a scared bunny then drag myself back to the story that I'm convinced is never going to be "good enough". Anyway, enough author feels.

Disclaimer: I own nothing except that mysterious vial and Theoric's righteous fury.

The Other flinches, barely perceptible; Odin would have missed the tell had he not felt the ripple of disturbance himself. Yggdrasil flares briefly in his mind's eye. The Allfather recognizes his own seidr as the source of the Tree's distress: the same bindings that sap his son's reserves suck eagerly at the Branches, barely more than a fly disturbing a Bildshnipe but enough to draw its attention.

And the Other's.

"My lord," the creature bows low, sudden clarity in its voice as if Odin's refusals suddenly make perfect sense to it. "I would beg your mercy for such a prolonged intrusion. I take the word of the Allfather for truth. My people will seek the traitor elsewhere."

Odin acquiesces, giving polite words of departure and farewell. He is centuries past disgust for exchanging pleasantries with enemies, but bile rises in his throat nonetheless. His grip on Gungir tightens as the Other turns its back. Someday, Odin promises himself, he will seek out the Other and mete out his vengeance on the creature's flesh. Were he but younger and more foolish, he could satisfy his bloodlust now.

Odin dismisses the court and departs for his wife's chambers.


The door is open, waiting for him when he arrives, the soft clack of Frigga's loom echoing in the spacious room. Odin rests Gungir against the wall and takes a seat near his wife, sinking into well-worn leather, shedding the persona of "king" bit by bit with each rhythmic snap of the loom.

"Do you think all will be well?" Odin asks Frigga, because he knows better than to directly question her premonitions. The Allmother's fingers never falter in her weaving as she answers,

"If I know my sons, then all will be well."

And Odin is struck by a familiar pang of guilty grief for that, for he has never known either of his children as his wife does. Over the centuries Odin excused his absences with necessary duties to the realm, and while it was not untrue, the Allfather is beginning to understand that bearing no fault is not equal to being a father, kingship or none. Though he held the responsibility of a realm on his shoulders; had there not been room for the weight of two small boys?

Odin wants to articulate the growing knot of grief in his chest, for him, for his sons, for his lack of failure that was still not a success, for the consequences that drove Loki into the Void. Instead, he watches Frigga bring another tapestry to life under her clever fingers. There would be time for selfish grief later. For once, his duty as king runs parallel to that of a parent. He will not fail now.

Only in hindsight does Odin truly see all. He must depend on Frigga for the future of his sons.


It was remarkably easy to forget, let the memory of smoke and ash and boiling heat fade upon the Red Hawks' return to golden Asgard. (Granted, the copious tankards of ale at their celebratory feasts helped as well.) It is far simpler, Sigyn finds quickly, to remember.

The entrance, a crack in the massive volcanic rock about the length of Sigyn's arm span yawns out of the rock cluster. Inside is pitch, but Sigyn remembers the way the tunnel veers sharply to the right before opening into a wide cavern that the Red Hawks had called home for the better part of a year.

The glassy rock reflects the tiny fire in Sigyn's palm as they enter, casting everything in a flickering light, refracted like water against the walls and curved ceiling.

Sigyn cannot help the chill that runs down her spine as she takes in the familiar scene. In the furthermost corner was the makeshift sickbay, where not a few of their company lost their lives. They had to muffle their comrade's screams of pain, lest any fire Jotnar happened upon their only safe haven in the unforgiving wasteland of Muspelheim. To Sigyn's right is the niche where Theoric and his right hand, Bjarki, had kept counsel. If Sigyn counted her steps, she could reach the exact place where she had slept, near the center of the cave, surrounded by her brothers and sisters-in-arms, all clinging to the fading hope that one day they would see galaxies in the night sky once more instead of noxious orange clouds.

As Loki steps further into the cavern, Sigyn stands rooted to the spot, unable to extinguish her fire, to speak, to breathe. A freezing brand of ice trails across the scar on her cheek and she jumps, clenching her fist and throwing everything into darkness.

"By the Nine…." When she cannot summon the fire again, Sigyn fumbles in her pack for the small lantern. Loki remains quiet. Once there is a little circle of light once again, Sigyn leads them further in.

The shimmer of the rock is deceptive; what appears to be cold is burning against Loki's back. Heat radiates from every surface; the Trickster can almost feel every drop of water evaporating from his body. He must shift his shape now and risk Sigyn's reaction to his falsehood or risk perishing.

Loki closes his eyes and concentrates, reaching for that tiny innate well of magic that allows him to transform. To his horror, what was once a constant source of energy is all but gone, and when he opens his eyes his skin remains Jotunn blue and the world around him burns still. For the first time since this ordeal began, Loki's heartbeat spikes in fear.

"Sigyn," he croaks. Though the movement makes his blistered skin tear, he tugs off the cloak. Sigyn curses, eyes wide in horror.

"Norns, Loki," Sigyn crouches before him, one hand twitches in an aborted gesture to touch. Loki flinches away anyway.

"I can't change," Loki rasps, throat like sandpaper, rubbed raw.

Sigyn lowers her head for a moment, as if searching for an idea in the ash at their feet. She asks,

"If I alter the temperature…?"

Loki nods, relief crashing through him despite the cruel voice of logic that tells him that Sigyn's own resources are depleted, there is nothing they can do….

Sigyn inhales and Loki senses his manacles pull at her magic, and from whence did that flux of seidr come? She stands and presses her hands to the rock above Loki's head, then breathes out in a rush, and the entire cave groans as ice spreads from her palms to the walls, ceiling, the ground. Piles of ash grow tiny ice crystal cocoons. Loki sees his breath in the air, then the blessed coolness sinks into his skin and he rests his back against the stone, unable to stifle a moan.

"Is this sufficient?" Sigyn whispers above him.

"Yes," Loki breathes.

"Good."

Sigyn collapses on top of him.

"Damn it straight to Hel."

Loki manages to haul Sigyn off until she is sprawled next to him, the white cloud of her breath the only signal she hasn't perished. Loki makes to grab the pack on her back, search for the tools that must, that must be there, if he is to escape, but his vision tunnels as his body gives in to exhaustion -or more likely heatstroke- and he only manages to take hold of a leather strap before he falls into cool darkness.


Theoric stands in the cellar for a few minutes after the air stopped shimmering with seidr. He sends a silent prayer to the Norns for his soldier's safety, then makes his way up to the barracks.

A familiar looming shadow overcasts his own the moment he steps outside. Theoric turns and raises an eyebrow.

"Oh my, prince Thor. How truly astonishing that you would seek me out."

Thor blinks, nonplussed. Theoric offers a wry smile.

"Did my mother say anything to you?"

"I'm afraid not, your highness."

"So Lo-the prisoner and Sigyn?"

"Are no longer under my care. What has happened?"

"The Allmother requested I speak to you regarding their whereabouts. I must find them before… It is of upmost importance."

"I am afraid I do not know where they have gone, only that they have left Asgard."

Thor's frown deepens but he says with grim purpose,

"I will speak to Heimdall."

"My lord," Theoric says before Thor can walk away, "With your leave, I would accompany you to retrieve them."

Thor looks as if he will protest, but merely exhales sharply and nods. With a growing knot of dread in his gut, Theoric follows Thor's quick stride to the Bifrost.


In the Observatory, Theoric curses creatively in three different tongues. Heimdall doesn't spare him a blink.

"Of course it would be Muspelheim. Naturally. Inevitably."

Thor waits until Theoric finishes spitting on the ground and swearing in Elvish a few more times.

"I would accompany you," Theoric says at last.

"Very well." Thor very nearly vibrates with contained energy, clearly eager for battle after the tenuous political game of watching and waiting. He turns to Heimdall.

Thor pauses and clasps a hand on Theoric's shoulder.

"Captain, do you…have you faith in Sigyn, to protect Loki from harm?"

Theoric knows better than to bristle at the apparent doubt, for he can read the lines of tension creasing his prince's face.

"I have trusted Sigyn with my life, and will do so again."

Thor squeezes his shoulder once in thanks and asks Heimdall to open the Bifrost.

"As you wish, my prince," Heimdall slides his sword into place and the observatory hums with power. "I would hurry."


"Ngh," Was the most articulate word Sigyn could manage when she came to. She woke shivering, so at least her frost spell was still intact.

Unfortunately, none of her seidr was, if the hollowness in her bones was any indication. Sigyn forced herself to breath deeply, clamping down on the panic that threatened to overwhelm her at the feeling of utter powerlessness. Something shifted beside her and she brandishes her knife before she is fully aware, stopping herself from gutting the Trickster at the last moment.

Loki blinks up at her, exhausted but intact. The bleeding blisters on his Jotunn skin were already scabbing over.

Then Sigyn hears it: a distant scrabble of claws over rock, just above their heads. The guttural language is unfamiliar, foreign even to fire Jotnar.

Sigyn hauls to her feet and her legs only tremble a little, fueled by a burst of adrenaline. Loki scrambles to follow but she places a boot on his chest, as gently-but-firmly as she can. Loki glares up at her, livid.

"They will take me," Loki hisses, raw desperation bleeding into his face behind the anger. "They will find me and I am powerless-"

"Listen to me," Sigyn interjects sharply. "There is only one entrance to this cave; they will not find you without my knowledge. I will be back shortly. Stay here."

For a moment Sigyn thinks Loki will fight her but just as quickly the tension drains from her prisoner's body. She lifts her boot and creeps toward the cave's entry tunnel, sword in hand.

The harsh voices grow louder as she nears the end of the tunnel, and when Sigyn risks peering around the edge of the rock, she can make out three reptilian creatures scrabbling over an outcropping just thirty feet away and ten feet up, energy weapons strapped to their backs. It is only a matter of time before they locate the cave mouth and Sigyn cannot slip out undetected, much less with a weakened Jotunn in tow.

Carefully Sigyn slides back into the gloom, mind whirring with possibilities. There aren't many and few end with her and Loki's survival. She scans the walls as she walks, searching for anything remotely useful.

There- just within her arm's reach, a fissure no larger than the width of her hand. Sigyn digs around the ash at her feet until she finds a rock of suitable size, then jams it into the crack. She makes a small pyre of ash and rock in the passageway to mark the place, then hurries back to the cavern.


Sigyn cannot say she is surprised to catch Loki holding the glass vial, squinting at it in the lantern light. The other contents of her pack are scattered around him.

"What is this potion?" Loki demands without a trace of remorse. Sigyn ignores him and gathers their supplies, snatching the vial from Loki's unresisting fingers.

"There are three of what I must assume are Chitauri not thirty feet from the cave mouth," Sigyn is focused now, impending battle sharpening every sense and quieting her mind. "Go to the far corner and conceal yourself the best you can. I will try to keep the fighting in the tunnel. If the tides turn against me I can create a cave-in to buy us time."

Reluctantly, Loki wraps the cloak around him and retreats into the shadows, becoming so still that Sigyn can barely trace his outline.

Sigyn draws her sword and makes for the mouth of the cave as the sounds of claws scraping over rock become clearer.


It proves lucky to have brought Theoric; the moment the bifrost dissipates around them he points to a rocky outline in the distance.

"There is the cave where we took shelter this past year. Sigyn will have taken him there, if this is where they landed."

As if on cue, an inhuman screech, followed by what Thor knows to be energy cannon fire sounds from the rocks. He whirls Mjolnir and launches into the sky.


Sigyn takes the first Chitauri by surprise, kicking aside its weapon and slicing its throat open before it can call a warning. Which makes no difference when the second fires a shot, barely missing her shoulder but alerting the others.

Sigyn backs slowly into the cave mouth, forcing the Chitauri into a bottleneck as she darts in under their guards to gut them or slice their loaded weapons from their bodies.

One of the beasts fires a shot that glances off the cave wall, sending a spray of rocks into Sigyn. She nearly blacks out when a shard strikes her skull and she draws further into the cave, searching the ground for her pile of ash.

She makes sure the next shot fired is aimed at her, and therefore the fissure in the wall. She dodges the blast, smelling singed flesh as she rolls away, but she can also feel the angry rumble of the cavern as spider web cracks race across the ceiling.

The Chitauri bellow in rage as the tunnel collapses, effectively cutting them off from their quarry. Sigyn crawls away until she senses the cavern open up around her, then stumbles to her feet.

"Loki!"

"Here," his voice is right beside her and Sigyn has enough energy to jump in surprise. She takes hold of his arm, whether to help him stay up or prop herself upright she isn't sure. They limp to the far corner of the cavern, where the makeshift infirmary used to be, Sigyn notes with irony. Now that the cave-in has settled they can hear the Chitauri digging their way in, shrieking in their native tongue.

Loki draws close to murmur in her ear.

"They will take me, but they will not kill me immediately. There might be…. a chance to recover me, later."

Loki cannot meet Sigyn's eyes as he speaks and for all Sigyn knows it must be a lie, there must be a motive…. she cannot see it. Is Loki so resigned to his fate?

Resigned or not, Sigyn refuses to let it end like this. She will fulfill her duty. It may cost her dearly, but she can keep Loki safe with this last, desperate resort.

A burning hand on his jaw forces Loki's attention back to Sigyn. She leans forward and hisses in his ear,

"I can get us out of this alive. But you must trust me completely for three seconds."

His fingers tighten on her leathers in reflex. Is it possible; has his plan succeeded after all?

She stares hard, waiting for his answer, unflinching even as he meets her Aesir eyes with a Jotunn gaze. Loki searches, can detect no guile in her expression, only a steely determination.

"Loki-"

"Yes," he whispers, the word punched out of him.

Sigyn nods sharply and wraps an arm around Loki's shoulders, a parody of an embrace. Loki stills and counts out the seconds.

One.

Two.

Loki waits as Sigyn leans forward, eyes never leaving his, and drives a knife straight into his heart.

A/N: I know, I know! I am scum. HOWEVER, I am also going to post the next chapter tomorrow. Please don't kill me. Please?