II.

TEN

the enchantress

"Set your feet further apart, Alaric, otherwise your opponent will take advantage of your lack of balance."

To prove her point, Sif prodded the boy in the shoulder with her training sword, making him take a stumbling step backwards. Although she had done so in all seriousness, Alaric's younger sister, Gunnhild, let loose a childish giggle. While the sound of it managed to bring a smile to my face, Alaric was far less appreciative of the ridicule.

Within seconds, Gunnhild and Alaric stood inches apart, their voices raised in a cacophony of indignation. "You think you can do better than that?" Alaric challenged.

"I've been doing better than that all day," Gunnhild rejoined.

Sif was forced to intervene—and not for the first time this day. I could see it in the tightness of her expression: her patience was worn beyond thin. I wondered if she was beginning to regret undertaking this task.

Due to an uncommon set of circumstances, Sif and I had been charged with minding Volstagg and Hildegund's children for the afternoon. With the Bifrost's repair nearing completion, a number of events were taking place in Asgard all at once. For one, a celebration was being organized, and Hildegund had been called upon to bake her well-renowned chocolate cakes.

Unlike those full of cheer and anticipation, Odin, Thor and Asgard's warriors had taken to strategizing the reclamation of the Nine Realms. Over the course of a year, many worlds had fallen into chaos absent the Asgardians. Following the siege laid by the Chitauri, a calm had settled upon Alfheim, for which I was grateful. But now my concerns lay with the welfare of Vanaheim.

While Lord Njord and my father yet lived, their forces were flagging. They struggled to defend the southern continent against marauders, as well as their own lands in the north, or so Heimdall had seen. They were to be among the first to whom we would lend aid.

I'd been invited to give voice to the defence of Vanaheim. Hildegund also asked if I could help prepare for the celebration. In the end, I could not bring myself to do either. And, even though Sif had also been summoned to Odin's assembly, she'd opted to grace me with her company instead. Out of worry for me, perhaps. She had been worrying over me since the moment I returned from Midgard. Her care was not unwelcome, and may have been the only reason why I did not insist that she aid the war effort.

So, with both Volstagg and Hildegund occupied, Sif and I had volunteered to take on the task of watching over their three children. Somehow, we'd decided that teaching them the basics of swordplay was an excellent idea.

"All right, that is enough." Standing between Gunnhild and Alaric, a hand on a should each, Sif cast them exasperated looks. "You two, go with your sister, take a drink of water and linger in the shade. I think we've had enough practice for the day." Gudrun, the youngest of the three, was more than eager to comply, springing up from her spot in the grass to join her siblings. Gunnhild and Alaric groaned in disappointment but did as they were told.

When they were lazing in the shade, cups of water in hand, Sif all but collapsed beside me in the grass. "You seem distracted, Eirlys. You haven't moved from this spot since we gave demonstration two hours ago."

Brow furrowed, I glanced down at Silvertongue resting in my lap. We'd shown the children several forms and movements before I claimed that the heat proved too much for me. Without another thought, I'd sat in the grass and watched Sif attempt to tutor the children. I hadn't even sheathed my sword. "I apologize. I should have lent aid wrangling Gunnhild and Alaric."

A chuff of laughter escaped her. "I've handled quarrels between the Warriors Three before. I can handle them."

Twining blades of grass around her fingers, she gave me a careful look. "It's you I worry about. You've been distant these past months, and you look as though you have not been sleeping."

I chewed the inside of my cheek and lifted my eyes to the skies. It had been three months, two weeks, and four days since I last spoke to Loki. In that time, I'd lived an idle life in the palace, reading and sparring and lacking sleep. Under the stars, I would visit the herb garden and look upon the dreamfoil. Or worse, I would walk barefoot in the garden overlooked by my bedchamber and sit beneath the willow tree—on those nights, I found no peace at all.

"My thoughts have not been kind," I told her. "They keep me from much-needed slumber."

"At the least, your lack of sleep has not diminished your skill in combat," Sif said, nodding towards my sword. A small smile pulled at the corner of my mouth, but it never thrived. "You were taught well, even in my absence."

I fought to maintain my smile, as if hoping it would assuage her worries. Castien had been the one to teach me, sword in hand. After so many years, it had become a routine for us: sparring in the morning, then playing at being husband and wife for the court in the afternoon. I hadn't been very good at acting the part of his wife, but I did best him in single combat on plenty of occasions. Driana would laugh every time I knocked him off his feet, and especially so when I sent him flying into the mud. Of course, his deficiency with a sword was more than made up by his skill with a bow. My own skill with a bow had not improved since the day Fandral tried to teach me.

"I was most fortunate to have Castien." I held Silvertongue aloft, its silver finish polished and shining like the surface of a lake. "My father never liked that I yearned to wield a blade in my youth. It was not befitting of a lady, he would always say. After my mother died, he went so far as to discipline the soldiers who tried to teach me." Swallowing thickly, I lowered my sword. "I was his daughter, a hand to be married off, and nothing more."

Sif leaned her shoulder into mine. "That's not true. You have fought alongside the finest warriors any world has ever seen. Your father would be proud to learn that."

I issued forth a sardonic breath of laughter. "For most of my life, I have done most everything in the name of making my father proud. Even... even give up that which I loved most..."

Of late, I often thought about the day my father told me of my betrothal to Castien. I remembered our discussion, how I'd accepted it. I'd agreed to it. Although my reasons for doing so were many, I knew I had, in part, done it for my father. The weight of that never seemed to lift from my shoulders. At the time, that had been my greatest fear: succumbing to the life I was always fated to bear. Married to someone not of my choosing. Forced to leave Loki behind. I should never have left Asgard.

"I keep wondering if things might've been different had I stayed."

Frowning, Sif placed a hand on my arm. She knew to what I was alluding. "You don't mean to blame yourself for what he's done."

"Perhaps. Perhaps not." With a rueful smile, I met her gaze. "But our lives would've been different, would they not?"

Her features fell, and I sensed her desire to refute me, to dissolve whatever blame I'd placed upon myself. But the shrill cry of fury from Gunnhild wrenched at our attention. We both peered across the yard to see Gunnhild and Alaric striking one another with their wooden swords, each blow wild and unfocussed. Sif huffed at the sight. I knew it wasn't the sudden squabbling that roused her ire—it was the flagrant lack of respect for the art of swordplay.

She managed to spare me an apologetic look before climbing to her feet. "Stop that right now, or I'm telling your father that you'll have to wait another decade before I hand you a sword again."

While she crossed the grass to end the conflict, I shook my head and plucked up Silvertongue's enamelled scabbard. Upon rising to my full height, I noticed that Gudrun still remained on the bench ahead, kicking her legs back and forth. Once I sheathed my sword, I joined her on the slab of stone, glad to be out of the sweltering heat. At first, she didn't say anything. But then she gave my blade a curious look, her coppery pigtails swinging as she canted her head.

"What's it like being a shieldmaiden?" she asked.

Her words generated a laugh from me. "I'm afraid I cannot say, for I am no shieldmaiden."

Gudrun furrowed her brow. "Are you certain? Don't you protect people?"

I made to answer, but it seemed I had no answer to offer. I supposed I could not refute her. In many ways, I did fight and defend as the shieldmaidens of the past did. But they were legends, steadfast warriors who vanquished evil with endless nobility and spirit. Unlike them, I wasn't sure if I could find the resolve to wage another day of battle. It had been a struggle to rise every morning. Some days, I had to remind myself to breathe. Shieldmaiden, she called me. It didn't feel right to be equated to them.

Before either of us could speak further, the courtyard's gate creaked open. The sight of Volstagg striding over the threshold initiated a chorus of "Papa! Papa!" His three children went running to him, screaming and shouting their stories of what we'd done earlier in the day.

Shortly behind, Thor entered the yard. Dressed in a dark grey cloak, he carried a sober air. And yet, as he trod across the grass, he graced Sif with a smile—not one of his customary grins, but a weary smile. She moved to meet him, salutations and a far less weary smile on her own lips. He dropped a hand on her shoulder, murmuring a few words, before turning to face me. "Eirlys, would you walk with me?" he asked.

I rose from my seat and joined them amidst the grass. When I shared a look with Sif, she held out her hand. With a nod, I slipped my sword into her palm. She would look after it; the words needn't be said. "You have my thanks, Sif." I hoped she understood the true extent of my gratitude.

Straightening my green tunic, I started for the gate alongside Thor. We paused only to bid farewell to Volstagg and his children.

Our pace was sedate when we entered the corridor, and it remained so as we made our way into the entrance hall. It was for my benefit, for I still carried the ache that came from sparring with Sif earlier that morning. My exhaustion would not have been as notable if I'd been well rested. But I had been restless for quite some time now, in both mind and body.

"As pleasant as a stroll may be, Thor," I said, absently rubbing at the grass stain on my elbow, "you were never one for silences." We stopped in the middle of the long, towering hall, just within sight of Bor and Buri. The All-Fathers of the past gazed upon us in the quietude. "You sought to have words with me, I presume."

There was something about his grave expression that disconcerted me. Is this what we've become? I wondered. Are we to be bereft of the cheery, thunderous prince he once was?

He turned towards me, hesitating before he gathered his words. "I would have you accompany me to see Loki," Thor said at last.

The request had me recoiling. It wasn't fear of Loki himself that evoked such an aversion. It was a fear that my efforts to bury what I felt for him would be undone. Thus far, it had been a very painful, very gradual attempt. I could not bear living with such heartache for a moment longer. I didn't want to think about him day and night. In the beginning, I wanted to cling onto whatever hope I had left for him. A hope that our circumstances would somehow change. But now... now, I was coming to terms with the fact that he would spend the remainder of his life in the dungeons.

"I cannot." His brow cinched at my answer. I did not think I could explain my reasoning to Thor, so I employed the best excuse I could. "The All-Father would not have us paying Loki a visit. I have seen him once, but I do not believe I will be permitted the same again."

"I know. But this will not be a social call, Eirlys." Thor let out a sigh before moving to sit on the grand steps. "You have questions. As do I."

I understood immediately. "You want to ask him about the Mad Titan."

Elbows resting on his knees, he peered up at me. "Someone compelled him to pursue the Tesseract. Whether or not it is the one we've called 'the Mad Titan' all this time, we do not know. I wish to hear the truth from Loki for once."

I saw a great fire in Thor's eyes, a determination that had been absent these past months. With a gentle nod, I paced the steps to sit beside him. "Do you believe he will even be receptive to you?" My question reminded me of our endeavour to garner answers from Nalak, decades ago. Were we interrogating Loki now? Was he just another enemy we had locked away in the dungeon? The thought nauseated me. "Are you of a mind that Loki will actually answer what you ask?"

"We must try. This may be the only opportunity we will have to pose our questions about the Tesseract, about the sceptre... about the one who gifted him these things." Thor met my gaze, his expression darkening. "You told me that you sought justice for your people. For the death of Castien. I wish the same, and when the Bifrost is complete, we shall have that chance."

He was right. I did wish for answers. I did want justice. Even then, I wasn't sure my resolve could return me to the dungeons. "I... yes, that may be so. But you needn't have me accompany you."

The corners of his mouth turned downwards. "I thought you would wish to see Loki once more, while we still can. My father will exercise more caution when the Bifrost is restored. Neither of us is likely to see him again." Despite my insistence that I couldn't face Loki, the reminder of not having a choice in the matter ached all the same.

It was painful to see Loki in the state that he was in. he was a prisoner of Asgard. A criminal. A murderer. And nothing could undo that. There was no altering the past, as much as I wished it.

All I could do was look to the future. I could fulfill the promise I made to Faradei. I could provide Driana some semblance of closure. I could deal with the pain I dredged up every time Loki crossed my mind. And one day, perhaps, I could find some peace.

"How do you suppose we find our way past the guards?" I asked. "Your father has made a point of keeping Loki in solitude. I am not permitted to see him again."

After a moment, he shrugged. "They will let us pass if I request it. We have reason enough to see him. And I am still the Prince of Asgard." While I doubted that such a simple explanation would work on the Einherjar guarding the dungeon, I did not press him any further.

"All right then," I said at last. "I will go with you."

Abruptly, Thor stood, as if knowing my answer all along. "I had every intention of going to the dungeons now."

I hummed and rose with his assistance. "I thought you would."

Together, we ascended the stairs and passed beneath the crossed axes of Bor and Buri. "I have been considering your suspicions about the Mad Titan—or whoever sent Loki to Earth," Thor said as we walked. The air grew cooler when we rounded a corner, crossing the threshold into the north wing. "I cannot help but wonder if this... Titan has skewed Loki's thinking. Loki had little ambition for the throne before my exile. And yet he vied for control over the humans with even less cause."

I frowned, my uncertainty matching his. Though perhaps it was not so difficult for me to fathom Loki's attempts to rule Asgard. He'd always been skeptical of Thor's capabilities as a king. I just never thought Loki would go so far as to take his place. His sudden interest in Midgard, on the other hand, was more difficult for me to understand. Loki never had much care for the humans. Why subjugate them now if not for the Tesseract? Was it possible the Mad Titan had convinced him to further his own ends?

"Do you think the Mad Titan... took advantage of Loki's predicament?" I asked. "Somehow I doubt Loki could be so easily swayed. It would take a shrewd intellect to manipulate him in such a manner."

"That is what worries me most."

The way down to the dungeons had become much too familiar for my liking. It was a dreary path to a dreary abode. As was customary, I warded away the chill with the mere flick of my fingers. Thor didn't seem to notice. He only continued to look grim and weary.

At the gates to Loki's cell block, the guards stopped us. "We have need to speak to the prisoners," Thor declared.

One of the guards glanced my way, a furrow in his brow. "The All-Father would not have us allow any more visitors to pass. Even you, Prince Thor."

Worried that they would go to Odin with reports of our attempt to see Loki, I gave voice to a lie, "It was the All-Father himself who sent us to interrogate the prisoners. You are free to enquire him about the command, though I cannot imagine he would be pleased at the intrusion."

The guards exchanged a wary look before one turned to unlock the doors without further protest. They stepped aside, neither bothering to speak again. Descending one last staircase, Thor and I entered the cell block and paced the lengthy chamber.

As we went, Thor eyed me curiously. I returned his regard, eyebrow raised. "You know your father would never let us down here if he knew," I told him. "It was... easier to lie."

"No, I know." He peered ahead, the corner of his mouth quirking upwards. "I just never expected it of you."

"I've had seventy years of practice. I'm accustomed to it."

We continued onwards, venturing past the cells and the prisoners within.

The Dark Elves were practically dead to the Nine Realms, drooping on the floor, the rise and fall of their shoulders slight. To see them like this, I pitied them. They had followed Nalak into a fool's war at the behest of a titan—he who Nalak feared most of all. Somehow rotting away in a dungeon beneath Asgard was a better alternative to whatever the Mad Titan had reserved for them. In a hundred years' time, would Loki be the same? Bereft of life, yet unwilling to die.

Farther in, Loki sat entrenched in a plush velvet chair, eyes fixed upon the book in his hands. Since my previous visit, his cell had been furnished with a bed, a chair, a footstool, a basin, two small tables, and a mountain of books. Queen Frigga's doing, I surmised. Even in here, he remains the voracious reader I've always known.

When Thor stopped within reach of the golden barrier, Loki's eyes flickered upwards, only to return to his text a mere second later. "After all this time, you come to visit me now?" He turned a page, making a show of disregarding Thor. Upon my approach, however, he sneered and lowered his book. "Ah, of course. Didn't have the courage to face me by yourself, Brother?"

Thor shook his head. "I didn't come here to fight with you, Loki."

Tossing his book onto the footstool with a soft thump, Loki rose to his full height, hands clutched behind his back. As he neared, the partition between us hummed, reminding us all that he was a prisoner kept before us. "To what do I owe this wondrous occasion? Don't tell me you actually snuck past the guards."

"We have come to ask about the one who gave you the sceptre," Thor said, his countenance bereft of the familiar warmth he'd once bestowed upon his brother.

"Of course you need my help." Loki smiled in that mocking way of his. "What makes you think I'll provide the answers you seek?"

Licking my bottom lip, I trod the steps to stand right in front of him. My heart faltered when our eyes met, but I pressed on, desperately shoving the feeling aside. "Why would you not? You hold allegiance to no one but yourself." I wanted to see a change in his expression, but there was none. "If you tell us all you know, we might be able to convince the All-Father to reduce your sentence... or to perhaps provide you with further comforts." Thor shot me a curious look, and I knew I was in no position to be making such arrangements.

Loki scoffed. "Don't be so naive. Odin isn't quite as forgiving as you seem to believe." He drew closer, as close to me as he could possibly stand. "He would have had my head if it had not been for—" He broke off and averted his gaze. If it had not been for Frigga, he meant to say. "There is no boon you can offer. So I suggest you cease wasting your time and leave me to accustom myself to the silence I will reside in for the next many centuries."

My hand lifted, seemingly of its own accord, and clutched onto my pendant. The motion drew his attention, and he stared at the crystal with certain longing. At least, that's what I wanted to believe. "Loki, please. We just want the truth," I said softly. "I wish to learn more about he who provided the Chitauri. I know it was the Mad Titan."

A smirk tugged at his mouth—one of those smirks that I could find endearing or infuriating. On this day, I found it infuriating. "You seem so certain, yet you haven't a clue as to who he is."

I lifted a brow. "But am I wrong?"

His smirk wilted. "Even if I told you everything, it would be of no use. You won't be able to stop him."

Heart dipping, I exchanged a brief look with Thor. "Stop him? What is he planning?"

"No, I rather like to keep you guessing." Loki took a step back. "You were always so much fun to toy with."

While I expelled a weary breath, Thor neared the edge of losing his patience. "Loki, if he is planning something—if he means for something terrible to befall any of the Nine Realms, I would have you tell us," he implored.

In response, Loki turned his back on Thor and paced closer to the table in the centre of his cell. He showed no sign of even intending to offer a reply—I didn't know why we ever expected one. I lowered my eyes and drew back. Could things ever be as they once were? It was a question oft-repeated in my mind. Looking at him now, I realized it was an idiotic, fanciful notion. I had no choice but to extinguish that sense of yearning. It would've hurt too much otherwise.

"If you have no intention of helping us," I said, "then I suppose we shall be forced to seek him on our own."

My remark prompted him to face me as I suspected it would. He made his approach, eyes narrowed, and seemed to consider his words before speaking. "Do you remember what I said about the Mad Titan?" he asked. I canted my head, uncertain. "When we descended into this dungeon to interrogate Nalak, I told you something before we spoke to him. Do you remember?"

The memory was vague, but I did recall Loki's frustration with both Thor and Nalak. And before that, he'd speculated about the being who sent the Dark Elves. The one we soon came to call the Mad Titan. "You said his might would be beyond even us," I replied. "And we would not be able to contend with the purveyor of such a force."

"I'll have you know that I was not wrong." Loki frowned, the shadows under his eyes more pronounced than ever. "Do not seek him out. It is a fool's errand," he told me. "And an errand such as this would mean your death."

His warning surprised me, even if it shouldn't have. The fact that he'd given one made my heart twist. But I would not allow myself to dwell on it. "You may not care, but we do." Letting my hands fall to my sides, I shook my head. "He brings death to everything he touches. We cannot allow him and his many schemes to continue."

"Ever the hero." Loki glanced at Thor, though his gaze did not stray from me for long. "Your words are squandered, as I have nothing that can be shared about the Mad Titan that you don't already know."

Thor pressed closer, muscles taut. "But you know he's planning something."

"Of course he's planning something," Loki retorted. "He's always planning something."

Doubt pervaded my very being. He had to be able to tell us something—anything—about the Mad Titan. "You must know more than we do. You've met him, after all. Why would you withhold information from us?" When he still refused to answer, I crossed my arms across my chest. "You let him convince you to rule over Midgard, didn't you? He persuaded you to retrieve the Tesseract for him."

His eyes flashed at that. "You think me so feebleminded as to be manipulated by him?"

"No, I do not." I swallowed past the lump in my throat. "But I do think, in your moment of weakness and solitude, he saw fit to influence your thoughts. And your actions."

With a frown, Thor glanced up and around the cell. "Even now, he holds sway over you."

For quite some time, I could not discern why Loki would seek to hide what he knew. There was no loyalty there; the Mad Titan did not inspire loyalty. Only fear. Fear of him held the Dark Elves prisoner, even after all these decades. That fear shackled Loki now too. "You're afraid of him, aren't you?" I said. "That's why you won't tell us anything."

Loki lifted his chin a little, almost as if he'd caught himself flinching. His lips twisted into a smirk as he tried to hide it. "You've always trusted me, Eirlys," he said. "Trust me now when I say interfering with the Mad Titan will help no one."

As resolute as I tried to remain, my voice still shook. "Trust you? After all that you've done, I don't know how I could."

He stiffened and drew back a little more, but his eyes never left mine.

Silence blossomed between us.

"Eirlys." Thor placed his hand on my elbow, a gesture Loki surely noticed. "Let us leave him to his silence."

Silence. Centuries worth of silence in solitude. I knew in my heart that I wanted to say more to him. There were dozens of words that needed to be said—hundreds, even. Thousands. An incalculable number. But I couldn't seem to say a single one.

Gently, Thor tugged on my arm, guiding me away from Loki's cell. I wanted to protest, but there really was no point anymore. Loki was never going to tell us anything.

My heart sank further and further with every step we took. "What about the Mad Titan?" I glanced behind, catching a glimpse of Loki one last time before he disappeared from sight.

"Something tells me we will encounter him even without Loki's help."

The day's mood failed to grow any lighter.

Asgard's celebration of the soon-repaired Bifrost began at evenfall. I supposed it wasn't so much a celebration as it was the mustering of morale. With the link between worlds on the verge of being restored, the Asgardians aimed to undo the damage that had been done in their absence. It was of no surprise that copious amounts of drinking and revelling preceded battle.

I found myself incapable of enjoying any of it when Loki sat at the forefront of my thoughts. It was worse now, since we'd paid him a visit. The knowledge that he might have been standing in the way of finding justice for Castien's death did little to help matters. For the past few months, I had feared that seeing Loki would resurrect those feelings of hope I once clung onto. But all I felt was sadness and a strange sense of... disappointment.

Numerous guests mingled throughout the grand hall. There was no dancing this day, for which I was grateful. As I wandered the vast chamber, I spied familiar faces among the revellers. Volstagg and Hildegund laughed over a cask of ale along with several others. Sif and Hogun were competing in a game of tiles, encompassed by dozens of onlookers. Fandral was off flirting with a pair of young maidens—new to the court, I presumed.

I halted in my tracks when I came upon a trio of maidens I never thought to see again: those I once referred to as the Simpletons Three. It appeared they were no longer maidens; each had been wedded and were presently accompanied by their husbands, or so it seemed. They laughed and smiled, delighting in something one among their company said.

My stomach flipped the moment I noticed that Brynlar was heavy with child.

She looked up at me then, brow cinched. I could tell that she recognized me, though her expression did not indicate whether she was gladdened or vexed by the sight of me. Perhaps it was neither. Lowering my eyes, I turned away in search of company that would soothe my chagrin rather than strengthen it.

It was not long before I reunited with Thor. He nodded to me in greeting but did not impart a word. He was one of few in the hall who didn't seem eager to engage in conversation. Nevertheless, courtiers and warriors alike approached, beaming at their prince and paying me little heed. I was the shade at his side, moving only to sip at my mulled wine, which had long since gone cold. He managed his smiles and amiable talk, though I sensed the distant threat of the Mad Titan lingered in his mind.

When two warriors—their names going unremembered by me—parted company with us, a strained silence descended upon us. As he had long been wont to do, Thor saw fit to fill the wordless air. "My mother told me the court wanted to hold a celebration when we first returned from Earth." He paused to take a horn of ale from a passing servant. The golden ring at the horn's rim gleamed in the firelight. "She did not feel it was... appropriate."

I cleared my throat. "After our conversation with Loki, it does not feel appropriate to me now..."

Thor gave me a sad smile. "I will not begrudge them their enjoyment."

The laughter and cheer sloshed over us in waves. Although the gathering was without dancing, the lack thereof was more than made up by the vast amounts of ale, wine, mead, and hard cider. Between the ebb and flow of the crowd, I watched as Sif stood from her seat at the tile table, throwing down a handful of game pieces. Across from her, much to my astonishment, Hogun grinned triumphantly.

When another challenger approached to take her place, she left the table and wended her way through numerous courtiers to join us. "I know not why I am ever under the belief that I can defeat Hogun at tiles." She sighed, accepting a goblet of mulled wine from a servant. "I would likely have better luck besting Volstagg in a drinking match."

I hummed. "More like you'd have better luck drinking yourself unto death before defeating Hogun in a game of tiles."

She gave me a sardonic look before sparing Thor an equally sardonic glance. "I see your humour has improved since this afternoon."

"I fear there is little for me to be cheered about," I replied, peering around the hall. "In spite of the varied attempts to make it so." Among the court, everything seem so... normal. If it hadn't been for the absence of Loki, I might've thought that this was seventy years ago; I was Frigga's apprentice once more, and we were indulging in the usual lavish festivities.

A glint of green caught my eye. My breath hitched before I realized the colour belonged to Amora. She neared, a flute of white wine balanced between her forefinger and thumb. Her smile was wide and bright enough to compensate for our sour moods. "Oh, come now, there's no need to look so forlorn," she said. "We are on the verge of realization. I would have the Prince of Asgard making merry before he must go to battle."

While Thor could not muster a response, Sif deigned to speak, "Amora, it has been many a year."

"Yes, it has," was the reply. Despite Sif's unrelenting glare, Amora graced Thor with a broad grin. "We have had scant occasion for festivity until this day. Eat, drink, find yourself in the arms of a fair maiden, my prince! An ill humour does nothing for the heart."

As though her cheer was contagious, the hint of a smile tugged at Thor's mouth. "Unfortunately, I have had little to revel in as of late."

"But you returned the Tesseract to us." Amora rested a hand on his arm before nodding towards me. "As did you, Lady Eirlys. Here, take a drink—take mine. Ice wine is difficult to procure, which makes it perfect for celebrating with." She took my cup of mulled wine and handed me her flute. "What you have done is no simple task. You should be proud."

I took a sip and savoured the cool sweetness on my tongue. Then I drank a little more, the warmth sliding through me, making my skin tingle, clouding my mind with surprising veracity. When Amora's jade green eyes met mine, my heart seemed to lift a little. "No simple task indeed," I said. "Loki is not an easy foe to contend with."

Her grin only grew wider. "Yes, he is a wily one. There are few sorcerers who can best me in battle, and he stands among them."

My brow furrowed. "You have engaged in combat with Loki before?"

"I was an apprentice in Asgard once, for a brief time," Amora told me. "Loki is a formidable ally and a dreaded enemy, yet he is not nearly as clever as he believes himself to be."

A graceless snort escaped me. It felt strange, but I didn't think twice about it. "I daresay he is not."

"Even with an army at his back, we were still able to best him," Thor boasted.

I gave him a curious look, watching as he downed the remaining contents of his drink. It was odd to hear him gloating about the battle on Earth. Seventy years ago, the Thor I knew would've bragged to anyone who dared listen. But now, it didn't sound right to my ears.

Before I could even think of speaking further, Thor gazed upon his drink and acclaimed, "This is the finest ale I have ever partaken of. ANOTHER!"

I all but jumped when he hurled his drinking horn at the closest pillar. The ivory burst into a dozen pieces, leaving drops of ale on the pillar and shards of white on the floor.

Amora laughed, the very sound of it abnormally pleasing to the ear. "My dear Thor, I think you've had rather too much to drink."

I smiled, albeit with some bemusement. I did not recall seeing Thor drinking much of anything since we arrived from the feast aside from that single horn of ale. And I knew from experience that it required large quantities of alcohol to influence one such as Thor.

Fandral, on the other hand, was obviously inebriated. When Thor was in the midst of procuring more ale, the dashing warrior added himself to our little congregation, his mug of mead sloshing slightly at Sif's feet. She sighed but—to her credit—refrained from expressing any form of ridicule.

"I think I might've been a little too brazen with that last maiden," Fandral chuckled. I took note of the large red handprint on his cheek. It would require more than a slap to the face to dampen Fandral's mood. "Amora! How lovely to see you. I don't believe I've had the pleasure of your company since you returned."

"Indeed, I feel I have been robbed of our time together." Swooping forward, Amora bestowed him with a kiss to the cheek.

At this, Sif cleared her throat and tugged at my arm. "Forgive me, but I would have a private word with Eirlys."

"Oh? You would take the princess from us?" Amora remarked. Her twinkling eyes locked onto mine as she clasped my hand. "It was a delight. Perhaps we shall converse in due course."

I nodded, smiling. "Yes, later."

Neither Thor nor Fandral seemed to notice our departure, for they were too busy sharing in one of Fandral's lewd japes. Just as well, I thought wryly. I have been subjected to an intoxicated Fandral enough to last me a lifetime.

Sif and I slunk through the crowd of courtiers, making our way out onto the terrace. My chest constricted when we stepped outside, a flood of memories overtaking my mind for the briefest of moments: a green cape swaying in the breeze, blue-green eyes darkening in the candlelight, words of love that I thought about too often for my own good.

I slowed to a stop by the balustrade, trying my best not to think about the last time I stood here with him. To my left, Sif leaned back against the burnished bronze. "Of what did you wish to speak?" I asked.

"Nothing of note," Sif murmured, peeking through the terrace doors. "I simply could not withstand another moment in Amora's presence."

My brow cinched. "You take issue with Amora?"

She closed her eyes and shook her head. "Perhaps my bias is born of an old dispute, but I mistrust her."

Curious now, I glanced in the direction of Amora to see her and Thor dissolving into laughter over something Fandral had said. "Whatever for? It appears she is able to lighten spirits wherever she goes," I remarked. "She is quite an amiable maiden. Reminds me a little of the Lady Freya."

The doubtful expression that shadowed Sif's features refuted my claim. "That is precisely why. Mere moments ago, Thor—and you—looked as though you lost the war on Midgard," she said. "Does it not seem odd that you both acted so differently the very second Amora graced you with her presence?"

I could not suppress a disbelieving laugh. "What? Are you suggesting that she's somehow... enchanted us?"

My reaction seemed to perturb her. "I have my suspicions," Sif replied, her tone calm and cool. "Her sister was well known for utilizing such enchantments on men. Enough to have her removed from the realm."

I frowned. "I have heard of such spells. They should not affect me."

She seemed to deflate a little. "But you must admit that Thor's frame of mind underwent a considerable change the instant she approached us in the hall."

Deep down, I knew she was right. It had occurred to me, not moments ago, that Thor was acting unlike himself. But, by some means, I could not assent to her reasoning. Since she first arrived, Amora had been kind and courteous, a sorceress to be admired. I could sense a great might in her. The strength of her magic did not compare to that of Loki, but it certainly surpassed my own. As powerful as she was, I doubted her enchantments could have an influence on Thor, let alone me.

"I... I don't know, Sif." Lowering my half-empty glass, I shook my head. "Has Amora ever done any wrong? You say her sister committed these offences. But she is not her sister."

Something about my remark must have struck her, for she dropped her gaze to the floor. After a moment's pause, she answered, "No, I suppose not. I should not have said anything." The smile she gave me was not much of a smile at all. "I bid you a good evening, Eirlys. I should like to retire early."

Unable to respond, I watched her march from the terrace and meld into the crowd. I lingered in her wake, bewildered by both her indignation and my inability to consider her words with proper rationale. Amora could not have enchanted us. It cannot be done. Unless she found some way...

Sucking in a deep breath, I rotated about to observe the sorceress who was still occupying herself with Thor and Fandral. Even from so great a distance, I could perceive Amora flirting with Thor. With a tender touch, she brushed her fingers along his large arms. She leaned close, her lips almost caressing his ear when she whispered something—some jest, most like, seeing as Thor burst into gales of laughter thereafter, his hands snaking around her waist.

My thoughts turned to Jane Foster. I wondered if Thor cared so little for her when she seemed to care a great deal for him. With the Bifrost near completion, he would have ample opportunity to see her again, something which he'd expressed interest in doing not long ago. Yet here he was, trifling with Amora like I'd never seen him do before.

Perhaps Sif was right. Yet, as I tried to reconsider her suspicions, my head grew clouded. I tried to blink away the disturbance—the strange sensation of a hundred bees buzzing around in my skull. Pressing a hand to my brow, I set aside my flute of ice wine. The world before me tilted. Too much drink, I chided myself. Deciding to follow Sif's example, I took my leave from the hall and retired when the evening was still young.

It was not until the dead of night that I found sleep.

Even then, my sleep was plagued with nightmares.

I dreamt of snakes. Not just any snakes—jorgandrs. They slithered and coiled all around me, threatening to swallow me whole. Then I was running. Running through the deepening dark. They promised me a quick death, an end to all the pain. All I had to do was submit. Submit and give in once and for all. Anger overcame my terror, and I turned to face my pursuers. The last I saw was a wide jorgandr grin and jade green eyes.

In the light of the moon, I awoke, cold and shaking. My heart thundered, the sound of it so loud that I wondered if it were possible for anyone else to hear it. I brought my legs close to my chest and pressed my damp brow to my knees. Sleep had been scarce of late, and the little sleep I managed to find was often filled with nightmares, remembered or forgotten. I bit back the urge to scream out my frustrations in the silence. Instead, I flung my bedclothes aside and rose from my bed.

The marble was chilly beneath my bare feet as I crossed the bedchamber. Throwing on a dressing gown, I meandered into the corridor to begin my nocturnal wanderings.

The guards at my door had become accustomed to seeing me roam the halls while the rest of the realm slumbered. They nodded to me by way of greeting as I passed by, just as they did almost every night for months now. Most instances, I took to spending my sleeplessness in the library in the hopes that reading might pacify my mind. On this night, I found myself heading towards the healing room and its herb garden instead.

There were two healers in the chamber, neither I knew by name. They'd seen me often enough not to question my presence, so I strode past without a word.

The moons and stars were full and bright, basking the garden in a pale blue. It set the dreamfoil aglow, its leaves glistening and dancing in wind. As I approached the familiar flora, I came to an abrupt halt upon seeing another figure amongst the green.

In the daylight, her hair had looked like spun gold, but now it took on a haunting silvery sheen. Amora looked up and met my gaze, seeming rather unsurprised to see me. "You remain troubled, even in your dreams," she said with a knowing smile.

I returned the gesture, albeit halfheartedly, and stood at her side, peering over the squat sandstone wall to observe the churning waters below. "There is much that haunts me. I have lost people that I love—whether I have lost them to death or otherwise, I grieve all the same."

Her cheery facade withered faintly. "It can be difficult, carrying on after the Norns see fit to take the life of a loved one. But I know you'll find the strength to do so, just as I did."

The intimation startled me. "Oh... you have lost someone close to you?"

"Yes, many centuries past, my sister was... killed." Amora turned, sighing. "Her name was Lorelei. I lost her to a terrible accident."

My heart clenched. "You have my condolences, Amora."

"And you have mine," she replied. The smile she donned most often made its reappearance. It was a smile that did not reach her eyes, I noted. Sidling nearer to me, she touched a hand to my arm. Her fingers were unusually warm. "It must be especially difficult to see Loki as he is. I have heard of all the terrible things he's done. I admit I never thought him capable."

A strange fog billowed in my mind. My thoughts seemed to slow and voicing them became a trial. "Yes, it's... I miss him."

With her gaze boring into my own, she leaned closer. "It must be terrible indeed, for you to love him so, even in his madness. You would have it end, would you not? If you could?"

Where her skin touched mine, I felt a shiver run through me. An odd tingle spread up my arm, and the fog hampering my senses seemed to thicken. Through it all, I remembered what Sif told me, her warnings. Amora's spells. How could have her spells worked on me? It was the wine, I realized. She put something in the wine to diminish my defences.

Heart lodged in my throat, I tore my arm from Amora's grasp—a little too forcefully, if her half-second frown was any indication. The moment I stepped away from her, the haze lessened. "I apologize." I pressed a hand to my chest and felt for the crystal. "I—I believe I need my rest. I daresay I have been deprived of sleep long enough."

"Of course." Her smile resurfaced, frozen on her features. "I will not keep you any longer, Your Highness."

The sound of my honorific title was disconcerting, but I managed a smile. "I wish you a pleasant night."

As I turned my back to her, I could feel her staring after me still. That fog... the peculiar dimming of my wits could only be attributed to the influence of magic. I hadn't understood it before, during the celebration. I had assumed the mulled wine was taking effect, but I hadn't consumed enough to muddle my mind in such a manner. I was a blind fool not to recognize it. I should have listened to Sif.

With a shaky breath, I strode through the garden, my head held high with whatever dignity I could summon. I dared not look behind, though I could sense the shadow growing in my wake.

Author's Note: Boy, this chapter sure was a long one. I suppose, in a way, it makes up for the shortness of the previous chapter (or so I hope) :)

A big thank you to everyone who read/reviewed/favourited/followed. To my beta, Hr'awkryn, another huge thanks as always. You're the best.

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