All of Asgard, it seemed, was spinning with the news of Loki and his conquest.
It had been one of his guards who revealed the relationship, if that's what it actually was. He was one of the younger ones, a man named Havarth, and he happened to mention in a tavern one night that his charge had broken pattern, searching birth records, health records, matriculation records, and only after that did he start browsing his usual obscure magical journals.
That alone would have been enough to send the palace gossips into a speculative frenzy, but young Havarth wasn't done. "Some girl came up and talked to him," he said, voice hushed as he leaned over his pint of bitter. His listeners' eyes widened, and he knew he had them for at least two more pints. "Pretty, too—not stunning or anything, but enough there to warrant a second look. Gobs of hair, big curly mess that went everywhere—oh, and she had a harelip. I hear they've seen each other a couple a times since."
The gossip world froze for a bare moment, then spun about and fixed its eye on Sigyn Astridsdóttir, for there were no other women of noble house with a cleft lip or bushels of curly hair. The rumors spread, and few were complimentary. It was a scandal in the making.
Hogun, of all people, brought it to Thor's attention.
All five of them, Thor, the Warriors Three and Lady Sif, were making a pilgrimage to the finest arms-maker in Asgard, a Svartálfr expatriate living high on the carelessness of Asgardian warrior-jarls. His prices were steep, but his work exemplary, and as Volstagg had sat on Sif's glaive and cracked the handle, it was decided they were overdue for a visit.
They made a jovial, boisterous bunch, the echoes of their exclamations and hearty boasts echoing across the canal as they walked. The citizens of Asgard, karl and bondsman alike, parted to make way for the Crown-Prince and his companions. Not for the first time Thor took notice of his deferential treatment, and the knowledge of the many times before he hadn't set him on edge.
He had seen many things in a new light since Midgard. Since Jane, since his brother's fall. Since his brother's return. Thor wasn't truly interested in visiting the Dwarf craftsman, but he welcomed the distraction from his unsettling thoughts. He laughed when Fandral mimed swooning at a pretty face, and cheered at Sif's rendition of Skald Arvid's latest saga, but his heart was not in it.
If his friends noticed, and their gestures grew broader and their declarations more fanciful, no one made mention of it.
Master Brumi's compound was in one of the finer districts. Fittings and showings were by appointment only and there was no sign outside to indicate his business, but Thor and his companions, courtesy of being both his highest-ranking clients and the most regular, had a standing invitation. Volstagg rang the bell by the gates and burst into the courtyard beyond. The other four spilled in after, high spirits catching.
A bondsman hurried up to greet them. He bowed low. "Master Brumi is with another client at the moment, but he said you were welcome to view the new additions." He gestured toward the showroom. "He will be with you shortly."
"I am slighted!" Fandral cried, pressing a hand to his chest. "Deigning to snub us for another! Surely I shall curl up with a box of sweetmeats and sob." He cast a long look at Sif, who rolled her eyes and whacked him upside the head.
"Be still, idiot, you are scaring the slave."
Indeed, the bondsman was watching them with wide, nervous eyes. It was no small matter for a karl, no matter how fine a smith, to force his betters to wait on his convenience—and woe betide the bondsman who got in the way. The days of casual slaughter were millennia behind, but it was a simple matter to bring an upstart slave to heel.
"Peace, friend," Thor said. "We meant also to view the collection, it is of little import whether we see Brumi now or later."
The bondsman bowed and backed away, retreating a good five paces before turning and scurrying into the nearest longhouse.
"It is me, or do they get twitchier with the passage of time?"
"It is only you who grows more formidable, Volstagg."
"It speaks! Hogun, I had thought your mouth sewn shut."
This time it was Fandral who did the hitting, a solid thunk to the back of Volstagg's head.
Volstagg, red-faced, turned to Thor. "I am sorry, my friend," he said. "I meant only to lighten spirits."
Thor forced himself to relax, and unclenched his fists. "I understand, Volstagg. But I won't have my brother's position mocked or made light of."
The Warriors Three (and Sif) traded looks amongst themselves, but said nothing, and together they trooped to the showroom. For a time they were distracted by the shine of new toys. Sif cooed over a set of gauntlets etched with sprigs of winterswhite, and Hogun poked through the clubs and maces. Thor peered at a set of abdominal plates before deciding against commissioning a set. Fandral and Volstagg were mock-sparring in the corner, the former swinging a hammer much too large for him and the latter wielding a push dagger not altogether unlike a frost giant's shiv.
Their play was interrupted when the rear doors groaned open to reveal the Múspellian gloom beyond, and the stocky man between. He slammed them shut behind him. "My friends! You have come to see me once again in my old age. My heart is lightened! Allow me to return the favor by lightening your purses." Master Brumi stepped forward to greet them.
He was hardly old, perhaps of middle-age, and spry and sinewed as any of his apprentices. His hair was close-cropped to his skull, his beard short and neatly trimmed, and the tribal tattoos stood out black from his cheeks. He wore a leather apron and his sleeves were rolled up past his elbows, and both the apron and his forearms were speckled with burns.
"You overestimate the value of your goods, if you think we will simply hand over our gold," Sif declared, eyes glinting with the thrill of the bargain.
"You say that now, but don't think I didn't see you eyeing those gauntlets," Brumi said, pointing. "And put that hammer down, boy, you're not Thor."
Thor smiled at that, the expression pulling almost unfamiliarly at his cheeks. It felt good to laugh. He was not meant for solemnity. "Indeed, Arms-Maker, you see us truly. We come today to give you our coin, for Sif has broken her glaive."
"Broken it! By the halls of my fathers, I crafted it from star-steel! What did you do, let Volstagg sit on it?"
Volstagg coughed and shuffled his feet, and Sif scowled.
"You mean—you're serious? That's what happened?"
No one spoke. Brumi burst out laughing. "Ha! I should put that in the catalogue. 'Withstands the greatest threats known to Asgard! Note: keep away from drunken warrior princes.'"
Even grim Hogun cracked a small smile.
"Well, let me see this broken glaive of yours, my lady," Brumi said, wiping his eyes. "We'll see if there's not some way I can fix it for you in the most underhandedly money-grubbing way possible." He led her back into the forge, leaving the balance of the group in the showroom.
Thor sighed and twitched the leather strap on the back of a shield. In the void left by Brumi's ebulliency his mustered spirits waned. The Warriors Three traded glances again. It was Hogun who spoke up.
"It is unlike you to be the solemn one of our party," he said.
"Yes, they don't tell stories of Thor the Grim!" Fandral added, immediately silenced by a glare from Hogun.
"I am sorry, my friends," Thor said. "It has been difficult to find happiness, of late."
"We've noticed," Volstagg said, and Hogun, in a rare display of emotion, almost looked exasperated. It was hard to be certain, however.
"We are worried, Thor," he said. "What is it that burdens your heart?"
What, indeed? There were so many burdens. "I don't know where to begin."
His companions said nothing. Hogun waited.
Thor sighed. "It is Loki. I never see him; I fear he is retreating so deep into himself he will be lost to us all."
"That's not what I heard," Volstagg blurted. Fandral buried his face in a hand, and Hogun actually winced. Volstagg frowned, thinking back over his words, then turned red once more. "Oh, dear."
Thor went still. "Why, what have you heard?"
Silently, the Warriors Three elected Hogun to bear the news. "There is much gossip surrounding your brother," he said delicately. "It seems he has been following a woman."
"A woman?"
"Yes. Sigyn Njallsdóttir, who is called Astridsdóttir. She is a researcher on the Bifröst Project. It is said Loki has spent much time with her. That is, if the guards are to be trusted."
The air seemed suddenly too thin to breathe. "You—you think he is using this woman to further plans against Jötunheimr? Possibly Midgard?"
Hogun looked grimmer than usual. "Is is so said." He hesitated. "It... is not all that is said."
He had to go. "Give my apologies to Master Brumi," Thor said, charging for the door. "I would have words with my brother." He left in a clatter of armor. Icy flashes of light flickered in the windows, and overhead rose a peal of thunder that roared to a crescendo before fading into the distance. The ozone silence of spent lightning settled over the compound.
"We should tell someone," Hogun said.
Fandral sighed. "We'll never make it in time. Let's go."
OOO
Loki was in the Hall of Noble Dead when Thor found him. It had been entirely by accident; Loki hadn't been in his chambers, and rather than take the longer route through the hallways to the library Thor had opted for the shortcut.
His brother stood in the exact center of the floor, staring up at the skylight far above. On Midsummer the sun would shine through that skylight to where Loki stood—but Midsummer was weeks away, yet, and the shaft missed Loki by a hairsbreadth. He was almost invisible against the contrast.
The guard glanced over at Thor's approach; Thor shot him a glare. "Leave us," he said, and the guard complied.
Loki jerked at the sound of his brother's voice, head coming down from his skyward contemplation to meet Thor's gaze. His hand made an aborted grab for his belt, but whatever he sought must have been absent, for his hand came away empty. His eyes hardened.
Thor waded in. "Is it not enough that Jötunheimr is fragments of the shadow it was? Is it so little you must finish the job?"
Loki made no reply, merely watched as his brother approached. His eyes were hooded in the gloom, pits of shadow Thor's gaze could not penetrate.
"Bifröst is the only way Asgard can remain a strong figure among the Realms, Loki, you know this! Our trade is hamstrung, forced to go through the Dwarfen ways, and our merchants are crippled by tariffs. Our promises of military aid go unfulfilled. Alliances are crumbling, I am unable to see the woman I love! Would you so easily throw away all our hope for petty vengeance?"
Loki crossed his arms over his chest. He shook his head all through Thor's tirade, his face arranged in masterful condescension. Thor felt his ire rising at his brother's seeming indifference.
"Is it still Jötunheimr, brother, that goads you so? Or is it Midgard? Did they slight you so deeply you must try to destroy their Realm, too? Why would you do this!" Thor ran his hand through his hair, swung his gaze past his ancestors lining the walls, silent sentinels witnessing the confrontation of their heirs. He turned back to Loki; his brother was as a statue, hard and uncompromising.
"You would force me to spell it out for you, wouldn't you. You would have me speak the rumors I hear, that you are seducing a noblewoman to do this. Have you no shame?"
Loki stiffened. His eyes flashed, he dropped his arms. The faint air of puzzlement about him vanished beneath solid realization.
"She is the child of Astrid Leifsdóttir, Loki! Would you so honor the memory of the greatest advisor-chieftan since Hœnir the Great by making a fool of her daughter?"
At this, Loki growled, actually growled through the vartari, and made a slicing motion with his hands. He stepped through the narrowing shaft of sunlight from above, and it illuminated his murderous expression. The stitches pulled black and ugly where they cut through his pale skin.
Thor felt the heat of his anger falter, and his heart quavered. What if he didn't have all the answers? What if he was missing something? He softened his demeanor. "Please brother, tell me it isn't true."
Once more Loki froze, and a flush of color rose to his cheeks. His fists clenched; he raised one to strike. Thor braced himself for the blow, but it never fell. He looked, and saw that Loki was staring at his open hand. It was trembling. He gave a choked sob, swallowed and nasal and full of pain and anger, and began ripping at the stitches. Thor heard the muffled give of breaking thread, and saw the bright bloom of blood on his brother's lips, before he thought to move.
"Loki, stop!" He lunged and seized Loki's wrists, pulling his hands away from his mouth. Loki's eyes were wild, brimming with tears. He snarled and ripped his arms out of Thor's grasp. His breath came ragged and his fingers twitched, but he didn't resume his mutilation; instead, he backed away, glaring at his brother, and made his escape. He turned, and by the time he reached the statue of Borr he was running. The slam of the door behind him was hollow in the vast space.
