Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who has decided to stick with me through this story. You're the best!
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Under an icy mist, Loki assembled his army, save for one company. That company he bound with spells of silence and deception before sending them on their way. The army was silent as it formed and Loki supposed an inspiring speech, such as Thor would give, would be appropriate at that moment. But he only signaled to the hornblowers to signal the march.
As they crossed the wintry waste between them and Mjolnar's camp, the singing in the ice and the wind increased. It entered his blood, weaving around the steady beat of his heart. It sunk into his skin, down to the marrow of himself until he was one with the song.
The mist cleared and they faced Mjolnar's army coming toward them. He signaled. The horns were blown again. The armies picked up pace until they were running. No shouts. No cries. No bellows. Just the wind and the song and the pounding of a thousand feet over ice and snow.
The two armies crashed into each other like ocean waves, Loki in the frontline. He slew the first Giant with a swipe of his ice dagger. And then the next. And the next. And the next. The song soared through him as his blood pounded, the battle lust filling his eyes with red. The ground became soaked in black Jotun blood. It splattered over Loki in long streaks.
He lost track of time. It could have taken hours or minutes, but he eventually found himself before Mjolnar. It had to be him. He wore a golden band on his arm and he was as big as Theroc.
"Surrender," rasped Loki.
"Never," snarled Mjolnar. He swung his dagger at him and Loki deftly dodged him.
"Look to the heights!"
Mjolnar's eyes went to the high ridge to the west and he froze. Ranged along the edge was the company Loki had sent on a special mission. Each man held a Giantess with daggers at their throats. Mjolnar looked back at Loki.
"Surrender and swear fealty to me and your women will live," he said.
Mjolnar hesitated, then dispersed his dagger and yelled, "Halt! Halt! Cease and surrender!" Grabbing the nearest hornblower, he snatched the horn and blew a series of notes. Gradually, the fighting ceased.
"Wise decision," said Loki. He gestured and a hornblower winded a long note. The women were released and they fled.
Mjolnar slowly sank to one knee. "My king."
There was a rustle and a rumble as all the Jotuns knelt. A chant of "my king" began until it rung through the air. Loki's blood beat hot as he received the adulation of his men. His people.
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A feast was thrown that night. The two camps combined with a large space cleared for eating and dancing. Large caskets of mead were broken open. Old resentments were left behind on the battlefield, for the Jotuns had their king.
Loki drank until his mind buzzed. He still rode the high from the battle. Never before had fighting given him such a thrill. Even then, the low croon of the battle song still rang in his ears.
Late in the night, as Loki laughed at a bawdy song, he saw Angrboda at the edge of the crowd. Their eyes met. After a long moment, she turned and walked away toward his tent. Loki got up and followed, ignoring the knowing chuckles.
He saw her slip into his tent and followed, letting the flap close behind him. She laid on the bed, still clothed in her robe.
"Get up," he said, crossing the room to her.
The door that kept the memories locked away rattled in his mind but he ignored them as he pulled Angrboda's robe off. She was beautiful in a wild, feral way, her body lean and muscled. He traced a path down between her breasts. She shivered. Grabbing her roughly, he yanked her to him and kissed her, burying his hands in her hair.
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When Loki woke a few hours later, Angrboda laid curled against his side. He eased his arm from under her and stood. He felt numb, looking at her. It was as if he was afraid to think or feel. No, he was afraid. He was afraid of what would come to the surface.
His stomach turned and he snatched up his loincloth, pulling it on. He didn't think about it, didn't hesitate. He turned, reaching with his magic, and now he stood in Sigrid's bedchamber. She was sitting up in bed, reading by lamplight.
She looked up and seeing him, clapped her hands over her mouth to hold back her shriek.
"Sigrid, it's me." But the voice that rumbled out wasn't Loki's. Not the Loki of before. It was Bjarte. He stepped into the light, shedding the Jotun form and becoming Loki again. "Sigrid."
"Loki." Tears rolled down her face.
"There was a battle today." He didn't come any closer.
"Loki, come here." She held out his arms.
"I cannot."
"Why not?"
He didn't answer for a moment. "I am king of Jotunheim now."
"That's...good."
"I will be sending an emissary to treat with Father. Or...I may come myself. How is the child?"
"Well. I'm near my time, I think."
"You should be asleep."
"There are days when that's all I do and days when I cannot. Today I can't." She frowned. "Loki, what's wrong?"
He didn't answer. Slowly, Sigrid got out of bed. "No," he protested.
Ignoring him, she began to stagger toward him. He lunged forward and caught her before she fell. The smell of her, the weight and warmth of her in his arms, overwhelmed him. Groaning, he kissed her deeply.
After a long moment, they broke apart.
"You've been drinking," she said.
"There was a feast."
"Loki, what aren't you telling me?"
He leaned close and whispered in her ear, "Sleep."
She relaxed, going limp, and he laid her into the bed. Laying one hand on her forehead and the other on her belly, he sang softly, giving her strength. Slowly, color crept back into her cheeks. He stopped before becoming too weak himself, though he would have gladly given all. But he still had many tasks to complete.
Loki snuffed the lantern and returned to Jotunheim. And to Angrboda.