Night was always worse. Joan sat up in her bed, coughing harshly. Phlegm rattled in her chest. Rolling out of the bed, she rushed to her bathing chamber and spat into the basin. She braced her hands on either side of it, breathing deeply to catch her breath. The familiar fear crept up her spine, settling into the hollow of her throat.

Illness was nearly unknown in Asgard. Yes, children came down with little colds and things. Old age wasn't always kind. But a regular, reoccurring sickness? The healers (who dealt mostly with war wounds and broken bones) looked at her like she was an anomaly. And maybe she was.

Maybe she didn't belong in Asgard.

Straightening, Joan strode out of the room as if trying to outrun that thought. In a flurry of cloth, she dressed, combing her hair into a haphazard braid. Leaving her rooms, she passed through the dimly lit gardens, the bee boxes black blocks in the shadows. The Palace halls were empty, save for the random servant on a late night errand or a guard on duty. It didn't take long before she came to the new Allfather's chambers.

She hesitated, as she approached. Whenever they were children, Joan would go to Baldur, seeking comfort when her cough would wake her. But now he was the Allfather. Could she come to him as she once did? She remembered the look on his face when he returned from Midgard.

"My lady?" The guard on duty by the chamber door stared at her quizzically. "Is all well?"

She cleared her throat. "Is the Allfather awake?"

"I do not know, my lady. Would you like for me to see?"

She shifted from one foot to another. "Yes. Please do."

The guard bowed and opened the door, slipping through. She heard his bootsteps and then the muffle of voices. After a moment, the guard returned. "The Allfather will see you, my lady."

Joan nodded and stepped through the open door. The sitting room of the chambers was lit by the flames casting shadows from the fire pit. The rest of the room sat in flickering darkness. Baldur stood by the pit.

"Couldn't sleep?" he said.

"I could ask you the same."

His hands came together, the fingers of one picking at the thumbnail of the other. A nervous habit he'd had since a teenager. "It was the cough, wasn't it?"

She nodded, letting him change the subject. "Mother's tonics don't work anymore."

"I'm Allfather now. I'm sure I could find find something or someone who could help."

"You have enough on you, Baldur, without having to worry about me." She crossed the room until she stood in front of him. "Baldur, please. What happened on Midgard? You've been different."

He turned away. "It's not important."

"It's important enough to keep you up at night."

"I'm sending Jor back to Jotunheim."

"What-"

"And you should leave as well."

Joan stared at him. "Leave? Why?"

"Things may become difficult soon, Joan. People are beginning to suspect Father-"

"But why must I-"

"Just go!" His shout rang through the room and, in a moment, the chamber door opened.

"My King?" asked the guard.

"Return to your post."

No one spoke for a few moments after the door banged closed again.

"I don't understand," began Joan.

"It's for your own good. Your protection."

"And Mother?"

"You know she won't go, even if I order her to do so."

"Who says I will?"

He stepped close to her. "You're ill, Joan. You're vulnerable. I couldn't bear the thought of you getting hurt."

"Yes. Because I am completely incapable of looking after myself."

"Joan..."

"No. You're right. I'm ill. I'm always ill. And I have no magic. So, no, I should leave before they start charging the Palace gate."

"I just want what's best for you."

"Is it?"

She stared at him, willing him to be honest with her, to open up to her like he did when they were children. But Baldur only turned away.

"I've instructed Heimdell," he said, "to set you down in Midgard. They rebuilt SHIELD, you know. That Captain America fellow runs it now. He'll look after you."

Joan swallowed, feeling the anger boiling up within her. "Fine." Turning on her heel, she walked away, her skirts flapping against her legs.

"Joan," Baldur called out after her.

She didn't answer, the door banging closed behind her.

OoOoOoO

I hugged Joan. "Be careful," I said. "And Steve is a good man. You can trust him." I smiled at her, my precious girl, and tried to hide my fear.

"And will you be all right?" Joan looked over her shoulder, at Jor and Baldur, who stood at a distance to give them privacy. She turned back to me, lowering her voice. "I don't want to go."

"It's probably for the best."

"Right." She drew back. "Because I'm helpless."

"Don't be like that. You aren't helpless. You're a good a fighter as Fandral, and he would know, as he's the one who tutored you. And you're smart." I smiled. "And you're the apple of your father's eye. You know how proud he is of you. How proud we all are. Your brother is just being cautious. You'll be able to come home in no time."

She grimaced. "I hope so. Goodbye, Mother."

"Goodbye, darling." I kissed her on the cheek.

I watched as the Observatory began to spin and, soon, she was sent away, tumbling down the Bifrost to Midgard to be looked after by a man I hadn't spoken to in a decade. But from Loki's account, Rogers hadn't changed much. If anything, time had made him more cynical.

As it was only Baldur, Jor, Heimdell, and myself, I didn't fear giving Jor a hug, kissing him on the cheek as I had done with Joan. Most people were afraid of being frozen by a Frost Giant's touch but Jor was very good at controlling his magic.

"Be careful," I said. "If you see Loki..."

"It's doubtful I will," rumbled Jor. "But if I do, you wish for me to say you miss him?"

"Yes."

He nodded and smiled, pulling on the harsh lines tracing along his face. "Goodbye."

After Heimdell sent Jor rushing back to Jotunheim, it only left the Guardian, myself, and Baldur. Baldur didn't say anything as he began to leave.

"You're making a mistake," I said. I turned to look at him as he stopped, his back to me. "At a time like this, Baldur, you need your family. I could have protected Joan with no problem. Jormundr could have advised you. What are you doing, my son?"

He didn't answer, only walked away. I looked up at Heimdell, who studied me with serious, golden eyes.

"You will watch over them?" I asked.

"Of course, my lady."

"And Loki?"

"The Quatrain have hidden him from my view."

"Have they? Or do you have some strange alliance with them? Again?"

"That is a serious charge, my lady."

"But not without foundation."

He blinked. "I am loyal to the throne of Asgard. I would never do or allow anything that would endanger it."

"And what of the man on that throne? What of his family?"

He turned his head slightly, as if to look at me more directly. The horns sweeping from his head made him look like an alien breed of stag. And the eyes that looked upon me showed no comprehension of what I said. Sighing with frustration, I turned and stalked out.

OoOoOoO

Loki trailed behind Angrboda as they crossed the frozen waste skirting the side of the Jotun Palace. Two of her maids walked with them, carrying baskets. They were walking to a cave where, deep inside, were heat vents, the remnants of an ancient volcano. Mushrooms grew there and they were to collect some.

Loki, that is, Gudmundr, didn't like it. He felt like it was tempting faith. But when he tried to persuade her to send servants, Angrboda insisted. It was almost as if she needed an excuse to get away from the Palace. A wild thought came to him: would she have been so eager to get away if he had stayed as Bjarte?

He shoved the thought away as he studied the frozen landscape. The music of the land stroked his skin and his soul. It was beautiful and haunting and soothed something he hadn't known was scraped raw until that moment. The muscles and sinew under his skin rippled and bunched as he moved. Loki felt like he had been forced into a small box for a long while until someone popped open the lid. He grabbed hold of a memory of Sigrid and held it close, reminding himself of what he had to return to.

They reached the cave without anyone stopping them. He went ahead, making sure there was no one there. Everything seemed fine and he stood a little ways up the tunnel, watching the women gather the mushrooms. The heat from the vents was uncomfortable and, soon, they were all sweating profusely. They couldn't stay for very long, just a few minutes. Finally, when Loki was about to urge the Queen to return, something moved in the shadows.

Perhaps it was the heat that had kept him from seeing them. Extreme heat muddled a Jotun's sight, after all. Whatever the reason, one maid was killed by the time he reached the two men. The first he grappled with, snapping his neck. Turning, through the haze of steam pouring from the vents, he saw another maid, bloody, on the floor, and the second assassin bearing down on the Queen. She stood with her back to the wall, a small steel dagger clasped in her hand.

Loki charged the assassin. They wrestled, slamming against the walls of the cave. At one point, they fell against the vents, both screaming from the pain.

"Angrboda," Loki bellowed. "Run!"

She ran away, her feet slapping against the stone. The assassin pulled him away from the vent, shoving a blade toward him. Loki grabbed his wrist, summoning his magic, and made the steel turn blazing hot in the killer's hand. He screamed, dropping it. Two blows to the chest and stomach, Loki managed to get his arms around his neck, snapping it.

Heart pounding and his side screaming with pain, Loki stumbled up the tunnel. Something felt strange. Something didn't feel right. But the heat and agony had so muddled his mind, he couldn't place what. The knowledge slipped away from him as soon as he reached for it.

The icy wind felt good as he came out of the cave. He closed his eyes, enjoying the cold.

A soft gasp caused him to turn. Angrboda stared at him with large eyes. That's when he noticed. He was slightly smaller. Shaking, he looked down at his hands. Not as large as Gudmundr's. Not as small as Loki's. His head raised, looking back at Angrboda.

She whispered, "Bjarte."