20 The Aether
There was no time to speak with Amora and discover what was the matter with the enchantress. By the time Natasha reached the ground floor the place was already in an uproar with several Asgardian lieutenants barking orders at the ground troops. The soldiers emerged from an underground bunker to stand in file beside the coil of the Fortaleza's spiral, hair spiked and eyes bleary from being woken up so suddenly.
"The svartálfar have awoken the Aether." Thor strode to Amora's side and put one hand on her shoulder. "Will you help us?"
Natasha watched as Amora pressed her lips together firmly. "Of course, Allfather," she said. "Do you have a longship ready?"
"Nay, a dartship will be quicker if you are to go behind the enemies' backs. Take The Minnow – 'tis the swiftest sail we have in our fleet. And no disrespect, enchantress, but 'twould be best if Loki went with you." Thor wheeled and shouted, "Your Majesty, will you join us?"
"I'm already here, Allfather," Loki snapped, emerging from the heavy fort doors. He crossed his arms and raised one eyebrow. "No need to bellow like an ice-demon looking for a mate."
"Will you go with Amora and see what you can do with the Aether?" Thor signaled to a passing assistant. "Prepare The Minnow for the enchantress and King Loki of Jotunheim. They must depart this instant."
"Natasha could be of great help to us if she came as well," Loki began.
She shook her head. "I'm better in the field," Natasha insisted. "You two go do your thing and I'll work with Sif to coordinate the ground troops. Last one back buys drinks tonight." She couldn't stop a grin from spreading on her face at the thought of hand-to-hand after such a long period of inactivity.
Not bothering to see Loki's reaction, Natasha turned on her heel and went inside to find Sif. The shield maiden was already running down the steps, buckling the sheath around her hips with practiced fingers. "The vermin wish to taste my steel, is that it? By the gods, they chose the wrong day to interfere with me. I'll have their balls for this."
"Sounds good. I'm still in this damn gown though…" Natasha wondered if she had a moment to change.
Sif tossed a limp, black shape at her – Natasha's own catsuit. "Thought you might need this. And make haste! My sword hungers for dwarf blood."
The advance was more of a crawl across the damp fens. When they arrived, Svaðilfari broke away from his line of elf archers. He rode up and shouted to Thor, "They have the throg-cannon trained on us! I'll alert my soldiers to be ready. A welter of silver arrows should take them down a bit and give us room to move." Under his thighs the stallion twisted at a mere touch of the reins before the elf thundered off across the fens.
Sif made a noise of admiration in her throat. "I may be attracted to a completely sort of person, but you can't deny he looks damn good on a horse."
Natasha had no time to voice her agreement. The lines of soldiers – elves, Aesir, and Jotnar – were visible against the horizon. Beyond them lay the enemy with their heavy fortifications as well as the unimaginable power of the Aether like an unseen cancer ready to erupt. A shower of shining arrows arched up from the elves' bows, and Natasha lifted the Eird rifle to her shoulder. Thor had taught her to shoot it during free afternoons at the Stark Tower range. Who would have guessed it would come in handy so quickly?
She raised it to her shoulder, and Sif crouched next to her. "On my count," the warrior said.
And then it all went to hell.
The silver arrows stopped as though they met an invisible, impenetrable force. "The Aether," Sif muttered. As Natasha gaped with disbelief, the missiles turned and shot straight back at the troops who had fired them in the first place, along with the Jotun ice-spears and Eird missiles. The weapons of the Aesir troops were attacking them.
"My god," Natasha said. "We're sitting ducks out here."
Underneath their feet the ground rumbled, and she shared a grim look with Sif. The svartálfar were on the move.
"I've never thought in a thousand years of battle to see a day when I would counsel retreat," Sif said, "but this might be that day."
"Wait." Natasha pointed to the sky. Overhead a slender ship flashed like a larger arrow headed straight for the enemy's camp. "If I'm right, Amora and Loki are on their way."
Sif reached out, found Natasha's wrist, and clamped her fingers around it. "Gods, let them take care. And let their aim be swift and true."
The ship hung in the sky, seemed to make up its mind like a wasp going in for the sting, and darted towards the unseen dwarves. A few moments of tortured waiting passed, and Sif sucked in her breath. A slight tug pulled Natasha into her arms, and she looked into Sif's eyes, bright as stars seen from a dark tower. "You are not the one I want, nor am I the one you want, but this could be our last moment, and I want to say goodbye to someone properly."
Natasha picked up on the sentiment and crushed her lips to Sif's mouth. The warrior moaned, wrapped a strong hand around Natasha's neck, and deepened the kiss. It wasn't the same as being with – well, anyone she truly desired, and yet in that one instant Natasha could imagine having Sif in bed. They were so alike for one thing, invested in battle and weapons.
Still, it wasn't Sif she wanted to kiss goodbye.
Reluctantly Natasha broke the embrace and looked towards the horizon. The ground shuddered again, and she heard a protesting screech of metal against metal. It was followed by a loud 'Thoom'. The world shivered…
And grew still.
"Either we have lost our entire army or The Minnow's quest has succeeded," Sif hazarded.
Natasha reached for the warrior's hand and gripped it in both of hers. "Ready?" she asked quietly. It was time to follow Svaðilfari straight into the dragon's mouth and confront the enemy.
Sif stood and hefted her sword. "Ready."
"Excellent." Eird rifle in hand, Natasha strode forward across the fens. Water sluiced in complex patterns underfoot, but there were enough hillocks poking up to keep from getting sucked into the muck. Rule One of warfare, she thought – always keep your feet dry.
There was a shout from the direction where they were headed followed by another explosion. Green light glowed in the sky, and Natasha nearly slipped into the mud before Sif steadied her. Another cry from the front made the warrior suck in her breath. "By the gods!" she breathed. "Those are my men – Hodur, Volstagg, Baldur – I can hear their scurvy voices! 'Tis victory, Natasha!"
She started to run with frills of shallow water around her ankles. Ignoring the muck, Natasha took after her. The air was cool, so chilled it stung her chest in a good way. The shock was a reminder they were both alive.
Yes, they lived – but who else did? Thor? Amora? Svaðilfari? Loki?
In the distance Natasha saw the dark gray figure of a dwarf, its white hair braided in complex patterns. Her super vision clicked-in, and as Sif raised her sword Natasha shouted, "Mine!" The Eird rifle went to her shoulder, and she fired a blast at the thing. The dwarf hissed something in an unknown language, clapped one hand to his chest, and fell in the mud at their feet.
If the Aether still stood… But the next round of shining arrows was soaring from the elves through the air towards the enemy. Natasha heard another shout of triumph as the missiles shot through the unseen barrier and found their targets.
Several things happened at once. The dwarf she had just targeted exploded in a flash of red and black as the magic from the Eird rifle unraveled his body. Somewhere a horse screamed. Thor's voice was heard over the scream of weapons shouting someone's name.
Then another green flash lit the sky, and it all went still.
Sif and Natasha returned to camp with the army. The Minnow's berth was yet empty, and Natasha stifled an interior ache at the sight, a sharp pain so intense she felt someone was scraping her innards with a bent coat hanger. There was no time to wait for news. Instead, she and Sif headed to the underground rooms to take stock of the army.
The halls below were filled with excited voices, the clink of ale hastily drawn from a huge barrel, loud laughter as the soldiers told their stories and clapped each other on the back. Discarded armor, wet clothes, and dirty weapons littered the rooms.
"Enough!" Sif thundered. "Not another sup until the mess is cleaned off the floors!" Ignoring a flood of protest, she continued, "Where are the wounded? The dead?"
"Casualties were light enough," one grizzled soldier grunted as he picked up a welter of spears at his feet. "The Minnow tipped the Aether afore any dwarf could take the rest of us down. Good thing, since we were ripe for the picking with our own weapons fighting us. Eh lads?"
"And the wounded?"
"Upstairs." A Viking lass with bright carroty curls jerked her thumb towards the stairs. "Healers took in a few of our snipers and that white-haired elf, one what looks like a woman. More than me even."
"Everyone looks more like a woman than you," Volstagg sniggered. He was rewarded with a clout over the head from the red-headed Viking's drinking vessel.
Natasha didn't wait to hear the rest. Svaðilfari! She ran up the steps, her heart thudding in her chest. Red spots blotted her vision. If the elf died she would find the rest of the dwarves herself and pluck out their eyes.
At the top of the staircase she stopped. Loki stood in the main hall holding the elf ambassador. Svaðilfari's neck bent back over the Jotun's shoulder, and his robe was white no longer: now blazoned with scarlet, Svaðilfari bled over Loki's armor and onto the floor.
"He rode straight to the front of the line from what I hear." Loki spoke in a low tone just outside the healing rooms where Svaðilfari lay. "A ridiculous thing to do – brave as well." A shred of admiration twisted his face into an unwilling smile.
"I saw him ride off, but I had no idea he went right for the svartálfar!" Natasha marveled. "What happened?"
"It's all a guess." Loki swiped his face with one arm. "Amora and I negotiated The Minnow so we could fight the Aether and corral its power. She was a true heroine, Natasha. I saw her confront the dwarves and not blink an eyelash before combining her powers with mine to reverse the magicks and turn the Aether against the svartálfar themselves."
"And Svaðilfari?"
"From our position I saw him brought down by a svartál sword. His horse was slain, and yet he picked up a spear from the hewn arm of a companion and drove in on foot."
"Holy shit." Natasha pictured the scene – the elf's arrogant expression as he fought the svartálfar. Probably his face had been filled with distaste as though he waged a task that was necessary and much dirtier than he would have preferred. "Loki," she added.
At the sound of his name on her lips the intent light appeared in his eyes. "What is it, bird?" he asked.
"How did Svaðilfari return here? The truth please," she added.
"Ah. The thing is – there was no one else, and …"
"And you landed The Minnow to save him. Right?" Natasha crossed her arms.
He didn't answer, but the glint in his eyes increased. "Are you angry?"
"Furious." Natasha waited for the tell-tale dimple beside his mouth to appear before she continued. "Tonight there's going to be all kinds of meetings and debriefings. We'll have to answer a lot of questions, figure out our next moves. The whole thing will probably go into overdrive, and I doubt we'll get out before morning."
"Morning," Loki repeated. He tipped his head to one side. "A lovely time in Asgard, even in this filthy swamp. The light pearls the sky, just visible from our quarters upstairs. I imagine it would caress your cheek with the touch of a lover to make your skin look like the softest velvet. Your hair tumbled across the pillow would be all colors in its glow: red of course, but violet as well and blue-shadowed with mystery."
Well, didn't he have the silvery tongue! Natasha lifted her chin to challenge him and was met with Loki's breed of arrogant amusement as he shuttered his lids to look sideways at her through long lashes. She knew it was the time to tell him to fuck off, and yet the words wouldn't quite form in her mouth. "Morning," she said again.
Even to her ears it sounded like a promise.
The night went just as she had described. There was no time even for a bath before Thor herded them into a long room lined with maps and gestured to a Vanir called Hogun to begin. The man spoke with a low voice, but Natasha caught the fierce intelligence behind his shy front.
Sif sat next to her at the table, and Amora was on the other side. Natasha felt she was caught between two electric fields and channeling the current between the erstwhile lovers. Both women answered Thor's questions steadily and added to Hogun's recreation of the battle. Yet once Natasha caught the brilliance of Amora's gaze, eyes bright with unshed tears. On her left she saw Sif's fingernails dug into the warrior's palms, whitening with the pressure. Obviously things were still wrong there, still knotted with desire.
That was the problem with lust, Natasha reminded herself. It made everything appear in a light so bright that obvious barriers dissolved under the force of want and need.
The thought made her raise her eyes to where Loki sat across the table sprawled in his chair with one arm along the back of the chair. In turn he measured her gaze, pausing only to answer a question Thor asked about the future of the relations between the Jotnar and Svartelheim. "We will take our surrender-gifts portion and leave them to their misery," Loki declared.
"And what of the Aether?" Natasha had to bring up the elephant in the room.
Thor twisted his neck and grimaced. "This is the crux of the matter. Naught else compares to the power within, not the dwarves' gold nor their jewels."
"If they commanded such a mighty source of magic," Natasha argued, "I would imagine they could do more than mine metals and make pretty daggers out of them. You have three groups represented here: Elves, Jotuns, and Aesir. Each deserves a powerful weapon in return for risking their people."
"Jotunheim just received the Casket," Amora muttered.
Loki pounded on the table and rose. "Which was ours in the first place!" he shouted.
"This is what I feared," Thor sighed. "We stood together against a common enemy, but it is incredible how quickly such bonds disappear after a victory."
"Why don't we put this to the svartálfar themselves? We want the Aether and two other weapons just as powerful as its force. Once we see what they can create for us you can all have your little argument and decide who gets what." Natasha gestured at the table.
His face pale, Loki sat down. "It seems a good compromise. I accept."
"And I," Thor declared.
"And I'm going to speak for Svaðilfari and say Alfheim accepts as well." Natasha nodded firmly, and the meeting turned to the matter of reclaiming the dead and exchanging prisoners of war.
Once long shanks of meat were produced for the table Natasha stole a roll of bread and an apple. She flitted out of the room with the stolen breakfast in her arms and tiptoed up the stairs to the long hall where they were to sleep.
First she wanted a bath. She went into her room, tossed the food onto her bed, and filled a small tub with cool water since heating seemed beyond the power of the Fortaleza. No matter, she merely wanted to wash off the mud from her flesh and feel human again. The soap sluiced over her breasts and thighs, puddled in her collarbone. She couldn't help tipping her head to sigh with relief as she poured water over her hair and dunked under the surface to rinse off.
Wet ringlets dripped against her neck as she climbed out, wound a towel around hips, and sauntered back to the bedroom.
Loki lay back on one elbow among her pillows, eating her apple. If she were honest with herself, Natasha had to say his appearance was hardly unexpected. As soon as she appeared he tossed the fruit aside, rose from the mattress, and stalked forward to fold her into his arms.
"Hey," Natasha protested. "My bed! My food!"
"Just please let me…" His voice was cut off by a violent tremor running through his long frame. "Firebird," he breathed. "It has seemed an impossible age since I held you thus."
Natasha felt herself get bent backwards into a desperate, messy kiss. Instantly Loki's tongue was in her mouth twisting against her teeth, exploring hard palate and soft skin. Mm, the taste of him. She had nearly forgotten the cool mint, the sharp male flavor, slightly bitter but incredibly delicious - impossible to resist. She slid one arm around his neck, and Loki moaned into her mouth with a rush of warm breath. He flung her flimsy towel aside and palmed the globes of her ass, lifted her to straddle his waist as he carried her to the bed.
"Oh, shit." Natasha flung back her head as Loki flung her onto the pillows and climbed on top of her. "Oh, fuck. Oh, well." Strong as she was, her limbs trembled under his assault.
"Firebird," he whispered. "My firebird."