~~Part V~~

And life is Colour and Warmth and Light,

And a striving evermore for these;

And he is dead who will not fight,

And who dies fighting has increase.

The thundering line of battle stands,

And in the air Death moans and sings;

But Day shall clasp him with strong hands,

And Night shall fold him in soft wings.

-Into Battle (Excerpt) by Julian Greenfell

Thor held his breath as Loki considered the gift, the exceedingly ornate box that had contained it discarded carelessly on the side table of his bedroom. His brother turned it over inscrutably between his long, elegant fingers, and Thor admired how the blade moved lithely over the skin of his palms and between the pads of his forefingers. The sophistication of it was mesmerizing.

"I found it at the Grand Market in Vanaheim. The merchant was asking a reasonable price for it, until he gauged how genuine my interest was. I truly doubt he knew its value at all; rather, he continued to inflate the cost based on how keenly I seemed to want it."

"Oh?" Loki's response was both brief and cryptic. His gaze was lingering on the delicate filigree that spanned the crossguard, but his expression remained unreadable.

"It reminded me of you. I cannot say why, but when I came across it, I knew it was meant to be in your possession. With your name day approaching, I thought that it would be appropriate . . . "

"It's perfect, Thor. Thank you." The literal meaning of his words was still obscured by the flatness of his tone.

Thor scrutinized Loki's face for any indication of his true sentiment. His brother had to like it . . . he simply must. Thor had been up and down that marketplace nearly a dozen times searching for something that would be ideal, and he had ended up paying far more than what he had intended for the weapon. Yet he could practically see it in Loki's hands, being gracefully manipulated as it was now, the perfectly honed edge catching just a glint of the late evening sunlight through the neighboring windows. It even bore an alternating gold and black chevron pattern along the handle, a design that his brother had recently begun to favor in his tailoring.

Exasperated with trying to read Loki's expression, Thor finally made a direct inquiry. "Do you like it? Truly?"

"I do," he replied, although he still seemed hesitant to express his full appreciation. He appeared almost suspicious of the gift, if Thor was reading him correctly.

Still uneasy about his brother's reaction, Thor began to speak arbitrarily in his anxiety. "The merchant said that it was called 'Thorn' by its original owner. I did not think to ask him why. Or maybe it is obvious why, since they are both pointy on the one end - "

"I do not understand."

This statement gave Thor pause, as there was very little that his brother did not seem to understand, and even less that he would admit to not comprehending. "Excuse me?" he replied, restraining his irritation as best he was able. Could he not just accept the offering at face value, without questioning every motive? Surely that was what he was doing while Thor writhed in the agonizing silence.

"Why now?" Loki asked coolly, fitting the dagger carefully back into the box that had contained it. The meticulous manner in which he arranged it within the soft, black cloth inside was perhaps an encouraging sign that beneath all of his skeptical analysis he might actually be pleased with the gift.

"'Why now'?" Thor echoed back as if to emphasize the absurdity of the question. "I told you it was for your na-" He was halted by a dismissive wave from his sibling.

"My name day is still weeks away. Why must you give me this today?" Loki's posture was rigid and unwelcoming, and he gave away nothing either in gestures or in words. He simply stood there resolutely, like a spider waiting for a weaker being to step forward into the snare of his web.

Suddenly, Thor was acutely aware that this conversation was not going to proceed as pleasantly as he had hoped. He would need to navigate a precarious edge in order to prevent Loki from twisting an innocent gesture into a cruel slight that he would eventually turn against himself. He could say that the idea of giving his brother such a clearly ideal gift was so thrilling that he could not bear to delay it, which was not entirely untrue. Or he could give him the more direct truth: that he was going to be absent on Loki's name day, which would inevitably lead to an inquiry regarding the reason - and that was something he did not wish to discuss just yet. In the end, he decided on a blend of both.

"Wait - what?"

Thor flinched as if anticipating a heavy, physical blow.

"You are accompanying Father to Alfheim to negotiate the trade agreements?" Loki's eyes were dark with contempt. "I have spent years studying their language and culture so that I could accompany the Asgardian delegation to Alfheim! I was supposed to be the Senior Delegate for the mediation!"

Tread carefully. "Father decided that it would be more productive if I went to Alfheim instead." Make it about business - unemotional. Loki would respect such a concept. "As his heir, he thinks it is time that I involve myself in the politics of the Realms, which I have always been loathe to do." Now follow it up with some simple flattery. "He feels that you have mastered all the aspects of diplomacy, but he finds my skills . . . lacking."

Loki's eyebrow arched incredulously. "Really?"

Okay, new tactic. "I would much rather remain here in Asgard, I promise you."

Loki's hand began to trace a path across the table toward the box that held the dagger.

"I shall miss you, brother. I only wish that we could go together . . . "

His brother's nimble fingers lifted the lid aside, re-exposing the knife lying within the soft lining of the package.

"You know," Thor said with a nervous hitch, "I am beginning to regret having gifted you a weapon."

"How so?" Loki's hand encircled the hilt of the blade, and he drew it free of its casing, but let it hang delicately at his side for the time being. His eyes crackled with an inscrutable fire.

"Perhaps I should have presented you with a soft, dull cushion with some message of apology sewn onto its face -"

The action that followed was unbelievably skillful, as with a quick extension of his arm and an even faster flick of the wrist Loki sent the dagger hurtling towards Thor, who was so stunned by the maneuver that he had no time to fully react. The finely honed edge flew past his left cheek, the breeze from its momentum fluttering against his skin like a gentle breath, and then the point embedded itself into the heart of a wooden pillar just to left of the older brother's temple.

"Perfectly balanced. A fine gift indeed," Loki declared, but the barren hollows of his eyes did not echo his statement of praise.