Author'sNote: Well, we're back in action! Sorry these updates aren't coming as fast as you all may want, but it's been hard writing these next few chapters mainly because I'm the only one that was able to work on them. But now that Chimaera Chameleon is done with school for Christmas, they'll be able to help me crank out the next few segments (hopefully!). So...this chapter has a ton of angst. And if you love Loki Wump and Sick Loki, then these next few chapters should fit the bill. Look for more frequent updates in the days to come; Chimaera Chameleon and I are trying to get the next few chapters done before Christmas. So read on, people, and leave us a review to let us know what you think! :D
CHAPTER 25
Deep, dreamless sleep was a rare treasure for the Master Healer of Asgard.
With so much grief and fear and wanton death surrounding her on every side, Eir found that sleep was the only refuge afforded to her against the universe. Her resting mind became a welcome sanctuary, a place where she could forget her cares and responsibilities, shut out the world for a time and sleep in blissful ignorance of what was happening around her. Too often dreams had followed her into restful state, unwanted fears and concerns dredging up the black state of Asgard and her people.
Yet, every so often but not often enough, Eir would wake refreshed and ignorant of any dreams at all.
She longed for every night to be so empty of night terrors. The knowledge that this could never be was what kept her thankful when it did happen.
Which was why she was loath to wake at that moment.
Eir had been asleep for several hours, exhausted after tending to the wounded soldiers from the war and the sick and dying patients that had lain in her care for weeks. Her head had scarcely touched the pillow before she had sunk into the comforting oblivion of repose. And it seemed hardly a moment later when her mind resurfaced, disturbed by hands vigorously shaking her shoulders.
Confused, Eir forced her eyes open, trying without success to blink the sleep from her mind and clear her senses. Someone was standing by the head of her bed, saying something in a frantic half-whisper that resulted in the words becoming slurred to her sluggish mind. Her limbs felt heavy as she forced herself up on her elbows, trying to make out whose face it was beside her. As her mind cleared, the words being spoken became more understandable.
"Mistress Eir! Wake up, please wake up . . .!"
"Calm yourself, child," Eir murmured sleepily, her voice hoarse and slurred with exhaustion. "Why are you here? Did I not say none should disturb me unless-?"
"Unless it was of dire consequence, yes Eir, I remember," the girl – Astrid, she identified – replied, her dim outline nodding frantically. "Dagmar would have come herself, but she went to Sigyn after hearing her call –"
"Sigyn?" Sleep evaporated from Eir's mind as she sat up straighter, fixing Astrid with a now-alert and focused gaze. "Sigyn called? Why? Is she in distress?"
"Not for herself, no," Astrid replied. "I . . . It is the Prince that seems to be in distress."
"His wounds have worsened? Have they opened yet again?" Eir demanded, already rising quickly from her bed and seizing her robe.
"N-no, Eir," the girl shook her head, standing there clasping and unclasping her hands as if she was unsure of herself or what to do. It was a posture Eir had seen far too often in her apprentices these last few weeks . . .
"Then what, Astrid? Speak quickly." No one could blame her if she spoke a bit sharply now. She had been woken from blessed sleep for something the girl could not clearly explain.
"It is . . . it is not his wounds that trouble him, Eir. I . . . Sigyn was very distressed when she called for aid but . . . what we were able to understand is that . . . the Prince is ill."
This made Eir hesitate for a moment, eyeing the girl uncertainly.
"'Ill'?" she repeated. "'Ill' could mean anything, Astrid. How exactly is he 'ill'?"
"Please, Mistress Eir, you must come to him yourself," the girl urged, boldly taking her by the hand and tugging her after her anxiously. "Sigyn is beside herself; you will learn all you need to know when you see him yourself."
Eir followed behind her apprentice, her annoyance at being woken at such a late hour quickly fading. Sigyn was her most experienced Healer in that house; the poor girl had seen war and catastrophe and loss of nearly every sort – and as a result it was not easy to arouse her fears. For Sigyn to now have called so frantically for aid . . .
Soon, but not soon enough, Astrid and Eir had crossed the wide halls and were at the doors of Loki's private room. The fact that only three soldiers now stood guard outside the doors barely touched on Eir's mind. She threw the doors open and hurriedly stepped inside –
The sight that greeted them was one that made Eir freeze in her tracks.
Loki was lying on the bed where Eir had seen him last laid, but he was no longer deathlike and still.
The first thing she noticed about him was his color. His hands, arms, and chest were all as pale-white as they had been when she left the previous morning – but his cheeks held an unnatural flush. He was trembling and shuddering erratically, soft moans breaking through pale, deadened lips. The sound alone set Eir's heart pounding fearfully. Every breath he took sounded hoarse and cracked, a horrible rattle echoing within his lungs. But through all this his eyes were closed, oblivious to the world around him.
A tight knot formed in Eir's stomach as she watched him feebly attempt to curl into himself, as if to alleviate some pain inside him. He seemed hardly to have any strength in him at all.
She had seen this too many times before . . .
Sigyn hardly looked better. The dark circles under her eyes matched the sunken eyes of her husband. Her body curved wearily as she brushed dark strands of hair from his face, trying to bring comfort to him but knowing that such efforts were in vain.
Her eyes shot up the instant Eir stepped into the room, eyes that held the outward veneer of calm but concealed within was a swift and terrifying panic.
"Eir . . . please . . ." Sigyn did not need to finish her plea, for in an instant the Master Healer had persuaded her feet to continue forward, and she quickly stepped up level with the bed.
She wordlessly pried Sigyn's fingers from Loki's hand, guiding her gently but firmly to the side to allow Eir to examine the prince without hindrance.
The linen wrappings that had covered Loki's wounds had all been removed, lying scattered and useless in small heaps on the floor to either side of the bed. In her fear Sigyn must have torn them away with little regard to their purpose, though Eir knew she could not blame her. The great black slash still marred Loki's otherwise pale-white skin, but the thread still held true, preventing the wound from opening once again. Eir was loath to even look at it, and she shuddered when her fingertips brushed against it; such a treatment could not still be considered healing, in her mind . . . But she forced her mind back to her task, and she examined the wound carefully.
There was not a trace of infection to be seen.
Eir's hopes for a simple problem were dashed to the ground.
The door opened quickly behind her, but Eir did not turn to see who entered. She kept her eyes on her patient, only able to identify the new occupants when she heard a faint voice call out from behind.
"What happened?"
"Mother . . ." A soft rustle told Eir that Sigyn had broken away from Dagmar's comforting presence, her apprentice choosing to bury her fears and unspoken pleas within the arms of the Queen.
The Alfather and the Almother had come, no doubt alerted by the guard that had been missing from outside Loki's room . . .
The Healer pushed these details to the back of her mind.
Eir continued to examine Loki in silence, the only sounds in the room the crackle of flames in the hearth and her patient's feeble moaning. She inspected every wound she could see, and quickly determined that no infection was present anywhere and therefore could not be held accountable for his symptoms. She gently laid a hand across Loki's forehead, only just holding back a wince at the heat that radiated onto her palm. Loki shivered at her touch, twitching away from her as if he longed to brush her hand away but lacked the strength to do so. With her other hand, Eir gently grasped his wrist to feel for his pulse, mindful of the burns on his hands and fingers. Beneath her skillful hand, she could feel his heart beating . . . but it was much too quick and far too faint.
Her eyes were drawn back up to his face when the invalid gave a weak cry, trying to curl back in on himself. His breathing took on a more panicked note, the horrible grating in his chest becoming more pronounced. It was then that she noticed the flecks of red on the pillow by his head.
"He bleeds?" she asked sharply, not bothering to address any of them directly. Sigyn knew she was speaking to her.
"Y-Yes. He . . . h-he was lying peacefully for a time, and I fell asleep several hours ago. But then he started coughing and it wouldn't stop and when I saw the blood . . ." Sigyn couldn't bring herself to continue, and Eir finally turned to face her, one hand still on Loki's trembling shoulder.
Eir frowned slightly. Sigyn was not at all acting like calm, even-tempered self. The trembling voice, the irrational anger, the panic she saw in her eyes . . . she supposed she could attribute most of it to simple exhaustion, but it still troubled her to see her apprentice affected so. Eir softened her gaze and her voice.
"Sigyn, you cannot blame yourself for this."
"But h-had I been awake-"
"There would have been nothing you could have done to prevent this, child. You cannot be faulted for resting when you have had little or no sleep for days on end. You alerted me at the proper time; you have done well, Sigyn."
Sigyn looked helplessly at her mentor, her hand clutching Frigga's in desperation.
Eir's head whipped back around as a terrible sound broke from Loki's lips – a short, barking cough that caused his entire body to convulse violently. The Master Healer found herself wincing at the sound, quickly placing a steadying hand on Loki's back and helping his already-curling form turn on his side. Sigyn quickly stepped forward, intending to comfort Loki through his pain, but Frigga's hand held her back for a few moments.
The fit seemed to be endless, continuing on and on until his lungs finally allowed a short, wheezing breath . . . only to begin anew. His coughing grew more and more violent, until bright red droplets were expelled from between his pale lips and scattered over the pillow by his head.
Loki's breathing had been reduced to little more than faint gasps when at last his fit seemed to end. His body went limp, boneless against the bed where he lay gasping for air, whimpering piteously in between each breath. He was shivering worse than ever, exhausted by his sudden exertion.
Sigyn tried to come closer again when Eir's hand shot out and caught her own by the wrist. With more force than she intended, Eir pushed her away.
"Stay back!" she barked, feeling a stern fear rush through her veins. "Do not come near him, do you understand?"
Sigyn yanked her wrist out of Eir's grip, anger overshadowing any pain she must have felt at Eir's harsh touch.
"That is my husband, Eir! You have no right to tell me not to comfort my husband and your prince if he needs it!"
Again she strode forward purposefully. And again Eir pulled her away, this time blocking her path to the bed.
"Husband or no, Sigyn, I will not allow you to come one step nearer."
"Step aside, Eir!"
"Sigyn, do not force me to bar you from this room. Loki is ill."
"Of course he is!" Sigyn raged. "And if you think that you can keep me from tending to him when his health is declining so -!"
"It is not his health I am fearful for, it is yours, Sigyn! Yours and your unborn child!"
Sigyn suddenly seemed frozen still, and she looked up with a startled expression.
"Eir? What are you saying?" Frigga asked tremulously, having not moved from her husband's side since they arrived to the sickroom.
"I am saying . . . that the same sickness that has ravaged Asgard for a month is now ravaging Loki from within."
Odin stiffened, his expression both grim and anxious.
Frigga gasped in shock, the hand not tightly held in her husband's covering her mouth.
Sigyn paled, a sudden tremor lancing through her body and nearly turned her legs to water. She caught herself on the bedpost, clutching it desperately for support.
"No . . . no, no . . .!"
There was no need for Eir to say anything more. There was no need for her to point out that none who fell ill with this disease ever recovered. There was no need for her to say how dire this particular case was – with Loki being far weaker than any other that she had tended to. There was no need to tell the royal family that they would be wise to count the Prince's life in days, that there was little they could do to even ease his discomfort, let alone heal him.
There was no need – their reactions spoke to that.
"The Casket . . ." Odin whispered. Every eye in the room turned to the Alfather for an explanation. "The Casket of Ancient Winters. Surtur claimed Loki was using a source of power 'beyond his strength.' Loki was using the Casket to fuel his own innate magic, to make himself stronger than he could ever be otherwise." The King looked up at them all. "When a relic such as the Casket is used for such a purpose, a mage's power can be greatly enhanced . . . but at a heavy price. In the aftermath that power would greatly weaken him . . . to the point of diminishing all of his strength and defenses."
"And that is why he has not awakened yet," Frigga continued, the understanding in her voice laced with fear. "His magic was weakened and his wound overcame him at the same time."
"And it was why we did not know he was ill," Eir finished grimly. "The loss of blood completely obscured the signs of his illness . . . but he must have been ill for weeks to be as he is now."
"But why would he take that risk?" Frigga asked breathlessly. "If he knew his body was ailing, why would he allow himself to use the Casket, knowing it would only make him worse in the end?"
There was a long, heavy pause.
"He did so to prepare himself for the task at hand."
Odin did not need to clarify what he meant. They all knew.
Eir turned to her apprentice, who looked as if she was caught between rushing to her husband's side and sinking down to the ground in a dead faint.
"Sigyn, you must leave."
The young Vanaheim healer suddenly looked up and glared at her as if she was the cause of Loki's suffering.
"No, Eir," she insisted. "My place is beside my husband. NOTHING will dissuade me from that purpose."
"I fear you will be given no choice."
"I have told you -!"
"Do as I say, Sigyn!" Eir snapped. Her concern for both the young man in the bed and the woman before her had shortened her temper. "This is no place for the likes of you."
Sigyn flung her arms up in anger.
"Has the world gone mad?! Have I not made it clear? I will! Not! Leave!"
A flash of fury sped through Eir's silver eyes.
"Do not argue with me! I am in no mood to uselessly banter with you, Sigyn!" In two quick strides she was standing before her apprentice, a strong hand closing over the young woman's wrist. "You WILL leave – with or without my aid!"
The anger in Sigyn's face seemed to vanish all at once, and beneath it Eir saw what it had been covering up; Sigyn was terrified.
"Eir, please, please do not make me go!" she whispered, shaking her head desperately even as Eir glanced over her shoulder to silently ask the Queen to come forward.
"I am sorry, child," she replied gently, softening her hold on Sigyn's wrists. "Truly I am. But I cannot allow you to place your life – and the life of your child – in danger by remaining in this room. It is for your own safety."
"No . . . please no . . ."
"Sigyn, you must – for the safety of Loki's child, if for nothing else. He would not wish you to endanger his child simply to offer him comfort. You are breaking no vow, Sigyn."
At those words, the fight completely left the Vanir healer. And in her eyes, Eir could see that Sigyn was defeated. She knew, as well as everyone else in that room, that Eir was right. Loki prized his family above all else – Eir knew that now. She had often tried to blind herself to it, but she could no longer deny it. All the times she saw the Prince and her apprentice together, the joy she had seen in their eyes, the way he smiled when he saw her, how jealously he defended her . . . no, Loki would not want his wife to take such a risk, even in a time so dire as this.
"My Queen, please take Sigyn outside. Stay with her, but keep her barred from this room." Frigga, pale and clearly shaken, stepped forward and took Sigyn's hand from Eir's.
Just as Sigyn began to turn away Loki groaned, feebly clutching the pillow by his head. A shallow gasp was the only breath he was allowed before another coughing fit siezed him, the horrible sound grating against a throat that must already be raw and bloodied with the effort. Within moments the fit had grown so violent that Eir feared Loki would injure himself. Odin quickly stepped up to the bed, his anxious, worried frown telling Eir without words that he would not be ordered out of his son's sickroom – no matter the danger.
Eir could not see the door as it closed behind Sigyn and the queen – but she could hear Sigyn crying frantically even over the distressed sounds of the sick man lying before her.
Sigyn could not sit. She could not rest.
How could she?
How could she in good conscious rest when her husband lay suffering in the room beyond – perhaps even dying. He could have been, from the sounds she kept hearing from beyond the closed door. The horrible sound of agonized coughing, the brief gasps his lungs allowed before beginning anew were terrible to listen to.
She should be there. She should be there at his side, trying to give him what little comfort she could, and to Helheim with the risk. She was Loki's wife. She promised she would always be there for him. She promised!
But Frigga's loving but firm hands on her shoulders held her back, trapped her in the chair the guards had set out for her.
Forcing her to just listen.
How could one go so long without breath? Those harsh gasps between the agonized coughs could hardly be enough.
On the other side of the door Loki's coughs grew weak as his lungs emptied. There was a moment of silence . . .
Please, breathe, please-
He breathed. A grating, painful sound but he had breathed . . .
Before Sigyn could let herself breath again as well she heard another round begin of the wretched, retching coughs that had not let up for far longer than she thought possible.
She wanted to scream at whatever deity was listening.
It was more than torture.
It was worse than when that demon had her at his mercy.
She held her breath again, waiting . . . until the current fit paused.
Oh, please breathe . . . please!
For what felt like an eternity, there was no further sound.
Loki please breathe . . . please please PLEASE!
She tried to rise to force her way through the guards, to try to go back to his side. Frigga held her still, though her hands shook with fear of their own.
Finally, a sharp wheezing breath that spoke of more blood and more suffering. Thank the Norns, his fit seemed to be mostly over. She could hear her husband panting heavily, moaning in the short spaces his body allowed for.
Then a new sound made her heart leap into her throat.
Crying. Loki was . . . Loki was crying. In pain. He was suffering . . . and she was sitting there idle . . .
She couldn't stand it any longer.
Sigyn lurched for the closed doors once more. Frigga's arms held her back.
"No, Sigyn, you mustn't," she told her.
"He needs me," she wept. "He needs me! Mother please . . . please! Let me go to him!"
"There is nothing you can do to help him, Sigyn!" The queen's own heart was breaking.
"I can stay by his side! Mother . . . please! He thinks I'm dead!"
Faded, muffled moaning seemed to tear her heart in two.
Sigyn nearly wrenched herself free. Strong, trembling hands kept her frozen where she stood.
"No! Please . . . let me . . . He needs me!" She bent double, tears streaming down her cheeks, supported only by the consoling arms of her mother. "Let me go! He needs me! Please, Frigga! LET ME . . . go!"
Her last word lost in spastic sobs of her own.
"Loki! LOKI!"
Eir had feared that Loki's fit would never end.
Though she had cared for dozens, if not hundreds, of Asgardians that had fallen to this sickness, the most difficult thing for her had been to stand by when the coughing overcame her patients and there was little she could do to aid them. But the Prince's illness was by far the worst she had seen; he was far more ill than any other in her care – even those who had passed into Death's arms.
To stand by and watch him as his body convulsed violently, to hear the awful grating sounds tearing through his lungs, to see the bright red droplets spray from between his pale lips – as little love as she held for the Trickster Traitor, it had been enough to wrench a small amount of pity from her.
After nearly five minutes of endless coughing, Loki finally sank back, shaking and gasping, onto the bed beneath him. His eyes were still closed, an expression of pain lining his brow, the unhealthy flush spreading over his face and neck. When he finally had breath enough, he began moaning, feebly rocking back and forth, long pale fingers clasping frailly at his chest, as if it pained him.
Eir nearly looked away.
Outside they could hear Sigyn frantically calling, crying Loki's name, trying to come back into the room. Eir had no desire to make her apprentice suffer so, but she found herself trying to convince her conscience that she had done the right thing. If Sigyn remained with Loki there was a chance she could fall ill as well – the Healers still had no idea what disease was laying waste to Asgard, nor how it was spread.
There were simply too many unknowns.
But however she tried to tell herself she had done right, hearing Sigyn's panicked wailing tugged at her guilt.
Resolutely she closed her ears to what was happening beyond the closed doors. She had a very sick young man to tend to.
As much as Eir was loath to admit it, there was really nothing she or her apprentices could do for the Prince except try to make him more comfortable. Though he was still shivering with force, his skin burned with a fever that seemed to be still steadily rising. The Master Healer knew that somehow they must keep Loki as cool as possible. Keeping her voice as calm and quiet as possible, she instructed Dagmar to help her uncover him while Astrid moved to put out the fire that was still burning in the hearth and to open the window to let the cool night air in. In the end, though the chill in the air quickly filled the room, they were forced to strip him bare, leaving only a light sheet to cover him from the waist down.
Eir winced as she and Dagmar set to work cleaning and rebandaging his wounds once more. Loki little resembled the man he had been only a few short months before. That Loki had been whole and strong, arrogant and sure in his own powers. This . . . this was little more than a heap of flesh stretched over bones. He was far too thin, bruises and burns marring what would have at one time been pale, flawless skin.
Loki had been suffering long before Surtur had wounded him . . .
The invalid's shivering had grown more intense, now that he was fully exposed and the air was cooling rapidly. There was nothing they could do to ease his pain, as he was still senseless to the world around him. A bowl of cool water and clean cloths were brought, and Eir sat down in the chair beside the bed that Sigyn had occupied for the last few days and proceeded to bathe Loki's brow, trying to combat the fever.
All the while Odin looked on, saying nothing . . . but his gaze never left his son's face.
For several long minutes there was silence in the room, the only sounds the occasional soft moan from the sick man on the bed. But from beyond the doors the sound of Sigyn crying brokenly still tugged at Eir's mind.
Dagmar glanced back over her shoulder, listening to the commotion in silence, before finally turning to her mentor.
"Eir . . . do you think you could find it in your heart to-?"
"No," Eir cut her off harshly. "I do not wish to cause her pain, but a woman with child does not belong in a sick room."
"Eir, I know you are only doing what you feel is best for both Sigyn and my son, but in this matter I must overrule you."
Eir whirled to face the Alfather, fear and anger fighting for dominance in her expression.
"You believe I am doing this because I despise your son?" she demanded. "I am doing this to protect your grandchild! Sigyn was lost to us once. If we were to lose her again, this time to sickness, and I could have prevented it-!"
"I do not doubt your heart or your sincerity, Eir," Odin cut her off. "Far from it. You have done everything in your power to heal my son, and I shall not forget. But you believe that by keeping Sigyn away you are protecting her. You forget that all of us have been with Loki since he returned to Asgard. We did not know he was ill at first, the power from the Casket giving him temporary protection. And later his wounds and loss of blood were able to cover up his symptoms, but now that he is beginning to recover from his wounds, the sickness has risen to the surface again. It has been three days since Loki was brought to this place, and it has been nearly a month since Asgard itself fell ill. We have all been exposed, and therefore we are all at risk for falling ill. If Sigyn were to tend to my son now, she would be no worse or no better off than she was an hour ago."
All through the Alfather's explanation, Eir's guilt returned in full force. He was right; of course he was right. But Eir detested not having all the answers, not knowing how to cure and heal. Sending Sigyn away was an attempt to lessen that guilt, that frustration at not understanding how to perform her duty.
But she knew he was right . . .
"Let my daughter tend to my son, Eir. Please. They have both suffered so much in these last few months . . . I owe them this much, at least."
Eir closed her eyes and took a calming breath. Yes. She owed her apprentice – her friend – that much.
She nodded reluctantly.
Dagmar went to the doors and disappeared for a moment. The weeping had all but ceased, and when Damgar reappeared, this time with Sigyn and Frigga following closely in her wake, the Vanir woman seemed to have composed herself; though her eyes were red-rimmed with crying and tear tracks were still visible on her face, her hands were steady. She did not speak, but calmly stepped away from Frigga and took her place beside Loki's bed once more.
"I fear there is little else we can do for him now, Sigyn," Eir confessed quietly. "He is too weak at the moment to take anything for either his pain or his fever. Bathe his forehead and try to keep him as still and as calm as possible. But Sigyn," here she cupped the young woman's chin gently, tilting her head up until their eyes met. "Please call for aid if you begin to feel ill yourself. And try to rest; you will be of no help to Loki if you are exhausted yourself."
Sigyn nodded wordlessly, her expression carefully neutral.
"Do you wish me to remain, Sigyn?" Frigga asked quietly.
The young healer took a shaky breath.
"No, thank you, Mother. If you would all be so kind, I would ask you to please leave. I must have a private word with the Alfather."
Frigga glanced nervously between Sigyn and Odin, who had stood silently by Loki's bedside throughout their conversation. She nodded, squeezing Sigyn's shoulder one last time. Eir and the other healers followed the Queen from the room, sharing uncertain and confused looks.
When the door had closed behind them again, Sigyn rose to her feet and faced the Alfather.
"Sigyn, I-" Odin began.
"Don't!" Sigyn snapped, with more fire and more force than she had ever felt in her life. "Do not speak! You have no right to speak – to me or to your son! Look what you have done!"
It was as if Sigyn's words held a physical weight to them, for at her infuriated cry Odin started back a step as if he had been struck.
"This is all your fault!" Sigyn screamed. "If you had not sent Loki on a suicide mission, forced him away from his family, stripped away every last scrap of his reputation and everything he has tried to build for himself . . . none of this would have happened!"
"Sigyn, please-"
The Alfather sounded close to tears himself but Sigyn rushed on, fueled by a rage she had not felt since Surtur had invaded her mind. She felt out of control, shaking with anger at the man who claimed to love his son.
"After everything you've put Loki through, after everything you have made us all suffer . . . you have no right to still call yourself his father! If you truly loved Loki as you claimed, you would have done something! You would have found another way to end this war! You would have saved him from Surtur's wrath! You would have healed his wounds and found a way to make him wake and see that he is home and his wife is alive and waiting for him!"
Odin sank onto the couch, eyes fixed unfocused on the floor before his feet, silent tears trailing down his cheeks. He seemed dejected, completely devoid of the power of the Alfather.
His weakness only fueled her rage.
"Why Loki?" she demanded. "Why have you always singled him out as the one to suffer for your errors, for your plots and whims and so-called justice? Was it because of Loki's lies? Was it simply because he is a better liar than his brother? You know full well his falsehoods were born from the fear of being seen as weaker than other Aesir! Thor would never have been treated the way you have treated your youngest son! He would not have been called upon to play traitor to his home just to make your victory easier! You claim to love your sons equally, but Thor was always favored! Do not believe me ignorant of how you treated them when we were children! Loki was constantly chided for failing to live up to Thor's standards, but was never praised for his own strengths! That task always fell to me! You cannot possibly love Loki half as much as I do!"
Sigyn paused for breath, pointing an accusing finger at the quietly weeping figure that sat before her. Her voice hardened into ice, anger freezing within the tears of grief that were pouring from her own eyes.
"If Loki . . . d-dies," her voice hitched, and she was just able to hold back the tidal wave that threatened to spill over at the mere mention of the word, "if he dies from his wounds, or this sickness, or from heartbreak . . . I will never forgive you! I will never call you father, or look upon you, or allow you to see your grandson ever again! NEVER!"
She ran out of words and breath, and simply stood there seething, waiting for Odin to answer her, or look up . . . or move at all. But he remained still as a statue, his gaze fixed on Loki's face.
A wave of disgust swept over Sigyn, and she turned her back on the Alfather.
"Leave, Odin. You do not deserve to remain in this room. Get out. I will tend to my husband alone."
There was a long moment of silence. After what felt like an eternity Sigyn heard the soft rustle of cloth and leather as Odin stood and slowly withdrew from the room. As hard as he tried to disguise it, Sigyn could hear the quiet way his breath hitched in his throat. But she did not turn or make a move until the door closed softly behind him.
Sigyn felt her jaw clench and shut her eyes tight. Guilt was rapidly taking the place of her anger. In spite of everything that had happened, everything that had gone wrong, she had no justifiable reason to speak the way she did to her king. In her rage and fear she had accused him of not loving his son, but her conscience knew it wasn't true. Odin had tried to save Loki – and when he found he could not he had brought him to the Healer's House and ordered Eir to abandon all of her other charges to save his life. For a moment she was tempted to call for the Alfather, to apologize for her harsh words.
Tempted . . . but not enough.
A soft moan drew her thoughts back to her husband, and she reached out soothingly when he began shifting weakly under the sheet once more. With nothing else that could be done, she wrung out the cloth again in the cool water and pressed it against Loki's forehead.
She vowed never to leave him again. Not until his fate was decided.
One way or another.