Author's Note: And here we go! The big fight we were all waiting for starts NOW! I tell you, this is one of my favorite chapters so far! I loooooove writing action, and this chapter is so intense! So hold on to your hats, people; things are going to get crazy! Oh, and please leave reviews. We LOVE reading your reactions to what we write!

CHAPTER 20

Heimdal had watched the various Realms for thousands of years as Asgard's first line of defense against enemies. He had watched a single Realm in the previous weeks almost to the exclusion of the others. He had not seen Jotunheim, Nidhavellir, Midgard, or Vanaheim since the Alfather had commanded him to watch the more treacherous Realms. Alfheim had demanded a few glances when the Dark-Elves had launched an attack but as there was no aid Asgard could give Heimdal was forced to mostly ignore the pleas for assistance. Nornheim was a dark shell and Karnilla the broken queen of a ghost-realm. Heimdal knew not how they would fare in the coming weeks.

It was the fire-realm of Muspelheim that Heimdal had been watching day and night.

The demons had gathered and amassed themselves in the old fortress of the demon-lord himself. Surtur had reforged Twilight and built his horde. The Alfather, and Heimdal, knew it was but a short time until he would strike.

And so Bifrost's guardian held his vigil.

Most unnerving and vexing was how his Sight would often slide away from areas and then be unable to focus for some time after. The Trickster had not let down his guard since the disastrous Feast all those months ago. Heimdal sometimes wondered if he was fully aware of his ability to thwart the Guardian's Sight.

Heimdal had not strayed from his post for days on end now. Nothing could be left to chance.

This evening had begun as uncounted numbers before had – with watchful waiting. But it did not stay that way for long.

Gradually, like a mist clearing before the rising sun, Heimdal became aware of another . . . presence, somewhere nearby. At first he did not know distinctly what, or who, it was; a feeling of power swirled and eddied in the empty air behind him – menacing, but still shrouded so as not to be an immediate threat. He waited patiently for the unknown presence to reveal itself.

When it finally did, his hands tightened on the hilt of his sword.

"You are clever, perhaps, but not clever enough."

A quiet chuckle from behind, black with purpose.

"Is that any way to speak to your Prince, Heimdal?"

"A true Prince of Asgard would never turn on his kingdom the way you have. You are no longer my Prince – you are simply another enemy."

He turned, slowly, to face the danger that had dared to cross into his domain, had dared to come here and challenge him –

Black leather. Gold vambraces and shoulder guards. Steel chainmail visible beneath the long black coat. Covering all, a green cloak that seemed to swirl around the intruder's booted feet.

And crowning a head of long black hair . . . a very familiar golden horned helmet.

"It was a mistake for you to come here, Loki."

The other grinned wickedly, vivid poisoned eyes narrowing slightly as he brandished the naked sword held in his right hand.

"I suggest you stand aside, Gatekeeper, before you make a mistake of your own."

The sword was not of Asgardian make. It was too long, too broad; the hilt was made for larger hands, and evil-looking runes were embedded within the blade. Heimdal briefly wondered why Loki accepted a sword to wield. He had never once seen a blade like that in the Trickster's hands before . . .

The same blade that he saw him cut down the Tree of Asgard with –

"Why have you dared to come here?"

Loki's smile only grew.

"Why do you ask questions you already know the answers to?"

"The Bifrost is not yours to command, Loki."

"No, you're right . . . that privilege belongs to you – temporarily."

"You think you can deceive me."

There was a pause, and Loki's brow furrowed in confused amusement.

"Well, yes."

"You are wrong. You think I do not know your purpose in coming here? You think I have not seen you scheme and plan with your newfound master? Asgard's defenses are sound, and you have used every other means at your command to find your way through those defenses. Now your master wishes for the final attack to begin – and you have no means of allowing this to happen. None, that is, except to reopen the Bifrost."

Loki threw his head back and laughed, a symphony of madness echoing throughout the chamber walls.

Heimdal stood in readiness. Too often had the Trickster tried this deception on him . . .

"Ah, dear Heimdal, still as stalwart as ever," Loki said at last. "You are the only one clever enough in all the Nine Realms to see through my designs."

He was mocking him, he knew that. Another common tactic for the God of Mischief.

"I cannot and will not allow you to carry out your plans," Heimdal said quietly.

"You have no say in the matter, Heimdal. Now," Loki brandished his sword threateningly in a two-handed grip as bright red flames began to lick eagerly at the edges of the blade, "stand aside."

The Guardian of the Realm Eternal held his ground and drew his own sword.

"No."

"Stand aside, Heimdal."

"No."

The two were now circling each other around the center pedestal, eyes locked, feeling out the other's defenses . . . their weaknesses.

Loki's eyes burned, like a starved wolf prepared to spring –

"One last chance, Heimdal. Do not stand in my way."

"I have sworn to protect this realm at any cost, Loki . . . and I am bound by honor to uphold my word."

The Trickster's mouth twisted in a dangerous grin.

"And it will cost you your life."

With lightning speed, the wolf struck.

Heimdal had fought many wars and battled many enemies of Asgard. His skills in the sword, the spear, the knife, and even hand-to-hand combat were almost unequaled in the Nine Realms. Many foolish would-be conquerors had met their death by the hand of Asgard's Gatekeeper.

It did not take Heimdal's Sight to know that this would be a hard-won battle . . . if indeed he won it at all.

Loki was a blur of motion, his attacks enhanced by his own innate magic. Heimdal was hard-pressed to keep pace with the Trickster's motions. A part of the Gatekeeper's mind was puzzled and intrigued by Loki's behavior; the Disgraced Prince usually chose defense over offense, keeping his enemies at a distance to better seize his chances at destroying his enemies. But here, there was little or no defense that Heimdal could perceive. It quickly became apparent, as Loki's blows met Heimdal's sword, that defense was not needed – it would not matter in this battle if the Trickster had no defenses, for his offense was powerful enough on its own.

The clash of steel echoed harshly around the Observatory, almost as if the gold and metal of the Bifrost Portal gave its own voice to the conflict. Both combatants quickly gave and lost ground, Loki charging again and again with an almost animalistic ferocity, and again and again Heimdal pushing him back.

Loki's next blow swung wide, nearly catching Heimdal's shoulder even as he twisted beyond the flaming blade's reach. For only a heartbeat the Gatekeeper was no longer facing his adversary, and that one heartbeat was all Loki needed. In the blink of an eye he vanished, appearing the next moment just off to Heimdal's right. Before he could bring his own sword to bear on the Traitor the image vanished again, this time to remain cloaked in darkness. But Heimdal's vaunted Sight did not abandon him; a flicker of movement from the deep shadows to his left alerted him to yet another attack. And this time Heimdal struck first.

But just as the tip of the blade reached Loki's throat, his image once again scattered, shattering like thousands of black moths and evading his blow –

And reformed into two identical images of Loki.

There was a brief pause in the battle, as each opponent eyed the other. Heimdal felt a split second of indecision; both images looked alike, felt alike and were alike. The auras each image gave off were identical to the other, so much so that even Heimdal was unable to distinguish which was the Trickster and which was the image.

Before he could make a decision, both images rushed at him with a snarl of rage, eyes blazing in determined hatred. Both swords rushed down towards him –

The trickle of magic shifted ever so slightly, and suddenly Heimdal knew.

He met the Trickster's blow easily, allowing it to force him down on one knee before he slashed out with his right foot in a sweeping motion. The act took Loki completely by surprise and he stumbled back as his feet were kicked out from under him. He landed with a cry of startled pain just as Heimdal reached him.

The Gatekeeper stood over the Traitor, his sword held to his throat.

Heimdal had no desire to kill Loki. He had served the house of Odin for time beyond count. He had watched the Alfather's two sons – the son of his body and the son of his choice – grow up together to become the Princes Asgard needed. He had watched when the girl Sigyn had been brought into the Royal Family, befriended the friendless Prince . . . and he had watched as their friendship grew into the purest love that could exist. He had watched from a distance when Loki learned of his parentage, and when he tried to prove his worth to his adoptive Father.

Heimdal had seen Loki's choices – good and bad, yes – but he had also seen his heart. A heart that had been shattered and remade so many times. A heart that until recently he believed had healed.

But seeing the wild fury in Loki's eyes now, the hatred and spite and bitter accusation, Heimdal realized Prince Loki was gone forever.

"I have told you, Loki," he said quietly, "I am sworn to protect Asgard from threats – both within and without. Only my death will break that oath."

The bite of the knife from behind was like the kiss of a serpent – cold, smooth, and deadly.

"Perhaps I can arrange that," Loki hissed in his ear.

The image on the ground faded . . . and Heimdal felt the Trickster's cold hand tighten on his wrist.

The pain was so sudden, and his surprise so great, that for a moment Heimdal was paralyzed. Loki viciously kicked the sword out of his grip, sending it clattering to the side. In the same instant Heimdal felt a blast of magic strike him, crushing him into the golden steps beside the central pedestal.

Loki released the Gatekeeper with a satisfied grunt, taking a few shaky breaths as he tried to calm his breathing.

"You are wise, perhaps, Heimdal," he panted, "but even the wisest . . . can be taken in by a simple trick. Asgard will fall . . . for this one simple reason: With a Trickster . . . there are no rules."

A blast of winter enveloped the Gatekeeper, encasing him, for the second time in his life, within the ice of Jotunheim.

The Trickster moved away from the frozen guardian, panting lightly, and retrieved the sword lying near the base of the central pedestal. Inserting it carefully, he rotated it to the left a few inches, then a few more. It grated slightly under his hand, having been long unused in such a fashion. Only once in his lifetime had the Bifrost been opened so widely, and he had been neither there to see it nor old enough to remember. He continued to press until the pedestal was turned nearly halfway around to where it had started.

It would be large enough to bring the first wave through with one trip.

Loki had told Surtur there was no direct connection between the two Realms. It was not exactly a lie.

The path between Asgard and Muspelheim twisted and turned several times across the Tree. It took more energy, more focus to open it.

Loki had power and energy in abundance for most paths but such a feat would require a considerable amount more than his reserves allowed. It had always been far easier to follow half a dozen small paths than risk a collapse mid-journey.

But with the Bifrost . . .

The Traitor held the key in both hands, slid it neatly into to pedestal, and felt it lock. Immediately the globe around him began to spin, building up the energy needed to reach across the paths of Yggdrasil.

As the sphere turned, he turned the sword slightly in its place in the pedestal until it was turned to Muspelheim. After he felt the sword slide down slightly he turned it again to focus the Bridge's energy onto a large plain in front of Surtur's fortress.

The sphere tilted on its axis and when the stored energy reached the breaking point Loki, by virtue of his ability to see the paths and walk them, saw the temporary path he had never managed to follow under his own power, a bridge between worlds, form from Asgard to Muspelheim.

In an instant Surtur and his army were brought from the fiery plains to stand upon the crystals of the Bridge.

The Demons had come to Asgard by way of her own strength.

The Observatory wound down as the temporary bridge collapsed, its spinning slowing, and then stopping before the Trickster emerged from the golden shell.

Loki's mocking voice rang over the vast space on the Bridge as the crowd of Fire Demons parted to let him through.

"Welcome to Asgard – the Realm Eternal, seat of Odin, dictator and fool, land of shining gold . . . the realm that shall soon be no more than ash and dust."

"You certainly took your time accomplishing your task, Trickster," Surtur growled as the tiny turncoat came to a halt before his feet.

Loki laughed wickedly.

"Late perhaps but done correctly. Would you rather I had hurried and failed? It is no small feat to overcome the Gatekeeper of Asgard."

Surtur stared hard at the Trickster, a small smile tugging at his mouth.

"A pity your comrade Eldfell could not be here to witness your triumph."

The Trickster showed no sign of fear or concern at this quiet accusation. Instead, his own mocking smile grew wider and harder.

"My lord, we both knew that we would not be standing side by side on this day. But now to the business at hand."

"Your plan had better work, Loki."

The air was suddenly thick with tension. For a moment no one moved. But finally Loki turned away dismissively from the Fire Lord with a shrug of his shoulders.

"When has any plan of mine ever truly failed, Surtur?" he called back. "Stay behind me and stay silent – and soon Asgard will be yours."

Of all the places in Asgard that her protectors could afford a reduction in soldiers it was most certainly not the gate to the Bifrost. With so many lost to sickness and many more yet lying in the healing rooms, warriors were spread thin across the golden city. But not at the gate. The large gate, with its doors spelled to prevent the entrance of enemies, had to keep its strength.

All of Asgard depended upon that second barrier in the face of invasion. Should the surety of the Bifrost's protection fail, only the gate would guarantee the safety of her people.

The suns of Asgard had neared the horizon and the brighter lights of her night sky were slowly appearing. The soldiers stationed atop the gate took a moment, as all soldiers with such a duty will do, to enjoy the sight.

The evening was quiet, peaceful even despite the long month of sickness and death.

"How long do you think all this will continue?" the soldier kept his eyes focused outward, watching the sky.

"I know not, Agmundr," the man beside him answered, splitting his attention between sky and multi-colored bridge and now his fellow warrior. "I only know we may not continue if the waiting persists."

"Aye . . . rather there were battle and war to fight than this dimming of Asgard's strength."

"Indeed . . ." Agmundr's fellow soldier responded faintly as his focus now lay far out on the bridge, sky and conversation all but forgotten.

"I would far prefer t-"

"Agmundr," His voice was a quick harsh whisper. "On the bridge. Can you see?" He pointed out over the glittering crystals of ever-changing light.

Far off yet from the gate was a dark shape, too small still to identify for certain.

"I see it, Dag."

Dag was instantly rushing to the other side of the gate. Agmundr made ready his weapons - bow for when the figure approached close, and sword in the event of calamity.

Less than a minute later Dag had returned.

"Hakon and Gunnar have been alerted." He as well made ready his bow.

And then they waited.

No longer was the silence peaceful. It strummed with tension as the dark figure grew larger as it came closer. The hum of the Bifrost rang in the guards' ears as they held bows tight in one hand and fingered the warning horns at their belts.

Closer and larger the figure came.

Almost recognizable.

It stopped at last just short of bow-distance.

Aesir-sized.

Black and gold and green.

"Who approaches the gates of Asgard?" Agmundr called out despite a dry throat and fingers shaking from the tension. It was only a formality. All the guards knew that figure. All of Asgard knew that armor, that ostentatious helmet, and the laugh that issued forth at his challenge.

"Have I been gone for so long to warrant such a welcome?" His arms spread wide, as if proclaiming peaceful intentions.

None of the guards believed for a moment he was playing an envoy of peace.

"Your presence is unwelcome, Traitor," a deep voice from across the gate yelled heatedly. Hakon, who had lost a brother to the Trickster's assault on the Garden and another to the sickness that followed.

"Of that I am most aware, brave soldier. But I am only here to issue a . . . a deal we shall say. Open the gates and you shall live."

"That is not a deal nor an offer any here would take even if it were true. The outcast of Asgard deals only in treachery and lies."

The figure dropped his arms. They couldn't hear him sigh but from what all knew of him, the Trickster would have given a soft sound of disappointment with the gesture.

"So that is your answer? You prefer a brutal death to a chance at life. It has always been so . . ." He brought a single arm up this time, fingers spread wide in the direction of the gate.

All the guards had their bows drawn and ready the moment he was close enough.

"Always has Asgard been fated to this end . . ." his whisper drifted to the guards on the cool wind from the Bridge.

He slowly began to close his fingers.

And from beneath them the guards heard soft movement, felt the reverberations through the stone and metal. A moment later they could see the edges of the doors as they moved outward.

The heavy gate was made to resist all attack: it opened outward to prevent an army from pushing the advantage, it was layered with old spells upon older spells to ensure strength.

They opened at a single gesture from Asgard's Traitor Prince.

Instantly all four guards had the warning horns to their lips. The sound carried to the city, high and clear and terrifying.

The gates slid to a stop, fully open as the last echoes died. For several loud, quick, frightened heartbeats the Trickster remained where he stood, fist outstretched . . .

He brought his hand down slowly.

The gate lay open to him. Only to him.

He watched the guards, the taught bowstrings, the harsh breaths.

Suddenly a triumphant laugh tore from his lips, he spread his arms wide –

"Asgard, I give you . . . your Fate!"

- And behind him appeared an entire army of Fire Demons glowing hot and bright in the growing night.

Before the guards could even issue the warning of a new, different attack, the demons were at the gate and pouring through.

Muspelheim, the very incarnation of hell itself, was unleashed upon the Realm Eternal.

The mood had been peaceful.

A watchful, anxious peace, but peaceful nonetheless. Thor had come back to the Healer's House that afternoon, when the Alfather had dismissed him from the Throne Room, simply to sit beside his ailing friend and provide what little comfort he could. Sif's condition had not improved in the last few days; in fact, she had only grown worse. And Thor had begun to worry that perhaps his friend would not ever recover. With so much sickness and suffering and death surrounding them on all sides, it was difficult to remain hopeful of a favorable outcome.

It had been a still, quiet moment.

The distant call of a warning horn shattered that moment.

Thor's head snapped up towards one of the sweeping windows as the harsh call reverberated on the evening air. His heart leapt into his throat at the sound, a tingling feeling of alertness flooding his senses.

Sif had heard as well. Her pale, tired face also turned towards the window, eyes that had been dulled and glassy for days now suddenly wide and alert.

"The Vanguard's horn . . ." she croaked softly, trying without success to raise herself on her elbows.

Thor stepped away from the bed and quickly rushed towards the windowsill. Though the light was fading, the stars becoming more visible as the suns set, the burning glow of fire away to the south of the city was clearly visible, reflecting in harsh tones off of the gold and stone of the walls and gates. Roars and shouts and the clash of metal rose faintly into the air, growing louder and louder with each passing moment.

It was as if the world had dropped away beneath his feet.

Asgard – Asgard itself – was finally under attack.

Surtur had come.

The horn sounded again, louder and more frantically this time.

Thor sprang back from the window, finding himself screaming words without conscious thought.

"Guards! Guards! Sound the alarm! The gates are under attack!"

Chaos quickly ensued in the Healers House as others took notice of events outside. Cries of dismay from the Healers and curses from the invalid soldiers erupted in the rooms beyond, guards rushed through the corridors, further warning horns were sounded, and Thor began scrambling for the armor he had discarded earlier.

Thor was in the act of fastening his cape and adjusting his vambraces when he saw another movement out of the corner of his eye.

Sif had pushed herself out of the bed, forcing her fevered limbs to support her weight. One of her hands shot out to the chair Thor had been sitting in to keep herself from falling, the other was reaching for her own armor that Eir had placed neatly on the shelf beside the bed.

Instantly Thor was by her side steadying her.

"Sif, you must stay here. You cannot-"

"Asgard . . . Asgard has been called to arms," she insisted, trying without success to shake Thor off.

"Sif you cannot fight this war, not when you are already at war within your body!" Thor replied firmly, guiding Sif back into a sitting position before her legs gave out completely. He could feel her strength waning even as she continued to fight back.

"I will not . . . lie here . . . like an old woman . . . when my people call f . . . for their warriors."

"You are too ill to fight, friend Sif!" Thor cried, only just stopping himself from physically shaking sense into his friend. "Look at you! You barely have the strength to stand, let alone fight in full armor and wield a sword! If you leave this house you will only be killed!"

"Better that . . . than waste away from disease . . ." Sif murmured, pressing her forehead unconsciously into Thor's arm.

Thor felt his throat tighten up in a way he had never felt before. He knelt down facing his friend, holding her gently by the arms so she was forced to look him in the eyes.

"Sif . . . it is no shame for a warrior to admit when their body simply cannot fight. I do not wish to see you throw away your life needlessly simply out of pride. Please . . . stay here; save your strength. The Healers' House may have need of stout warriors here."

His friend opened her mouth to protest, but Thor preempted her speech by placing a finger over her dry lips, silencing her.

"If nothing else . . . do this for me, Sif. Will you do this for me?"

There was a pause, in spite of the chaos and fear all around them, in which a silent question passed from Sif to her Prince and friend. Why was Thor suddenly so worried for her well-being? They both knew she was a soldier first and foremost, and she could no sooner not fight in a battle than she could exist without breathing. But in that moment, Thor knew if he allowed her to leave her sickroom, she would not survive long on the battlefield.

He could not risk that . . . he did not want to lose his friend . . .

Finally Sif nodded. A slow, hesitant, unhappy nod, but it was a nod of agreement. Satisfied – and more than a little relieved – Thor stood just as three guards rushed into the room.

"Prince Thor, there is not much time!" the captain cried breathlessly. "Surtur and his army are advancing through the city. If they are not intercepted the palace itself will soon be breached!"

"Bring whatever men you can find to the Palace gates!" Thor barked harshly, calling Mjolnir to him. "I will lead the counter attack. Send scouts to the Observatory on the Bifrost; if the Fire Demons have come here, they must have come by way of the Bridge. See if Heimdal is still alive. If he is not, you must open the Bifrost to any and all realms that remain friendly to Asgard. And if a message can be taken to Nornheim to ask for aid, then do so."

"Nornheim?" the guard asked, bewildered. "After Queen Karnilla's betrayal in the first assault? With respect, my Prince, what good would two vipers be within these walls?"

"We have no choice!" Thor roared, rushing past the man. "If Asgard is to stand she must have every ally that can come to her aid! Eir!" Here he called to the Master Healer as she moved from ward to ward trying to restore order to her house. "Keep Sif in her room; at all costs, she must not be allowed to join the battle."

"I will be hard-pressed to keep any in their rooms, my Prince," Eir replied breathlessly, her face unusually pale. "Not when my own apprentices are scattered and terrified of what is happening."

"Do what you can!" Thor turned back to the captain beside him. "Who is leading the attack? Has Surtur himself been seen?"

"Yes, Your Highness. He was seen striding through the gates behind his army, but after that he seemed to vanish. No one seems to know where he disappeared to. The Vanguard has thus far been able to hold the army at bay, but I am not certain how much longer they can do so." The man paused, a dark look sweeping over his face. "But Surtur is not alone – he had his pet Traitor open the gates for him."

A mind-numbing cold swept over Thor as a new horror dawned on him.

"Loki is here?"

"Aye, My Lord. It was the Trickster that opened the Gates, shrouding Surtur's army with his cursed magic until it was too late for the Vanguard to respond. No doubt it was also Loki that opened the Bifrost and called the Fire Demons to the Bridge."

At this, Thor felt every last vestige of hope shrivel and die.

Loki – the man he had called friend and companion, the man he had loved for all his life, the man he had called brother – had betrayed them.

There was no hope for the God of Mischief. Thor knew what he had to do.

He had to kill Loki – before all of Asgard burned.

"Then we must stop him," he answered heavily, as if every word was like a knife to his soul. Without another word he rushed through the corridor out of the Healers' House, with a growing crowd of guards and soldiers on his heels.

Eir watched the Crown Prince vanish through the doors, her heart pounding wildly. So it had finally come; the long-awaited and long-dreaded war had finally come to Asgard. With the Alfather and the Crown Prince still standing untouched from the sickness, Asgard still had hope to cling to. Eir, like the rest of her people, held to the faint hope that the Realm Eternal would continue to survive as it had in the past.

But they had never faced an enemy like this in the past.

How this war was to be won . . . she did not know.

That lay with Thor and Odin and the warriors of Asgard in that moment. Her task was to try and restore order to her house.

She turned back to the general ward to gather up her apprentices and try to keep her patients from panicking, but as she did so the door to her left opened quietly. Immediately she sprang forward to catch her patient by the arm before she fell.

"No no, my child, you cannot leave just yet, you know that," she said gently.

"I . . . I must go . . ."

"Hush, dear. There is nothing you can do now. You are not well enough to leave this house yet. You must rest." Eir wrapped an arm around her waist, supporting her while gently guiding her charge back into her room.

"But . . . he needs – he needs me . . ."

"You cannot help him," Eir replied sharply, adding edge to her voice. "To leave to find him now would only spell your death."

"But I must . . ."

"No. I will not allow you to leave this house. You must rest – for your sake as well as the sake of your unborn child."

The woman glanced up at Eir's face, eyes wide and fearful and despairing. But she allowed herself to be helped back into bed without further protest. Eir gently took a hand in hers, checking the bandages gingerly so as not to disturb the raw, charred flesh beneath. But all the while she was conscious of those midnight eyes staring vacantly in her direction, of a soft, tearful voice that whispered desperately:

"Loki . . . my Loki is home . . . Loki . . ."