II.

TWENTY-SIX

after the storm

We were on the surface of the sun.

The rush of heat lashed out from the Tesseract, igniting everything in its path, searing the flesh on my hand before I pulled it back. If it hadn't been for Thor, I wondered if I would have been dead.

The light burned, blinding, and all I perceived was white—even when I shut my eyes, I could still see the white. The initial sound of the explosion rocked my ears, a deep resonance that I felt in my heart. A scorching gale twisted around us, washing over us in waves, its roar drowning out everything else.

When it ended, it ended as abruptly as it began.

Slow and cautious, I opened my eyes. The world swam before me. At first, I saw nothing but smoke, a thick grey wafting around us. It soon cleared enough for me to see over Thor's shoulder. I watched the last of the energy shoot upwards, into the sky, disappearing through the clouds and away from this world. All of that energy could've killed an untold number of people. But now it was gone. And now all was quiet.

I heard a caw coming from above. Squinting against the light of the rising sun, I saw two ravens circling over us, large and black and untouched by the blast that had shaken the world. I recognized them. I knew them. But before their names could register in my mind, Agent Romanoff's voice blared in my ear, incoherent, her words in pieces.

While she kept repeating the same indecipherable phrase, I groaned and attempted to gather my bearings. Beside me, Amora was unmoving, as was Thor atop us. And Loki...

Loki.

Heart in my throat, I tried to rise, only to find I'd been pinned down by Thor's heavy arm. For once, I cursed his muscular frame. With what strength I had remaining, I shoved as hard as I could on the mighty warrior, but he would not budge. My stomach churned. Had he not withstood the blast as I thought he would?

Frantic, I shouted his name, begging him to awaken. Inwardly, I prayed to the Norns. I'd often prayed to the Norns in dire times, but never before had they heeded my call. On this day, that seemed to change.

Thor jerked back, blinking down at Amora first before his gaze fell upon me. His golden brow dropped as he surveyed me, himself, and the circle that had been burned into the ground around us. Nothing stood in the wake of the Tesseract's destruction: the stone that lined the square had been overturned, mostly shattered; benches were but shards of rock; and the trees had been obliterated. When I took in the sights, my fear for Loki only grew. Thor seemed to recognize this and immediately drew back to let me stand.

It was a trial, rising to my feet. The ground was uneven—broken, really—and my body was boneless. I fought to take the first step, and the second, down into what was now a crater. The Tesseract acted as a meteorite might have, leaving a gaping wound in the world. Through the swirling dust, I spied the mechanism in which the Tesseract had been perched. The metal was disturbingly untouched, even if the rock beneath may have left it crooked. The machine itself was just as it had been before, save for the shattered pieces of the Cube now laying at its feet. Along with Loki's crumpled form.

He was still. So still. The sceptre remained in his hand, the spear-point mangled, though the blue crystal inside had survived the blast. With Loki curled on his side, I could not discern whether or not he was breathing.

I stumbled through the fog, tripping over numerous rocks on the way down. My foot caught on a slab of stone nearer to the epicentre of the crater. The plunge brought me to Loki's side faster, albeit more painfully, as I fell to my knees at his side. Hands shaking, I caressed his face. He was cold, as per usual, but it was difficult to tell if...

I bit my lip to hold back a cry of panic and instead pushed him onto his back. The side of his face was marred with a burn, the skin red and blistered. The front of his leather attire was similarly damaged: blackened and mottled by the immense heat. Though his skin was cool now, his clothing was warm to the touch. My own breath caught in my throat as I pressed my ear to his chest for a sign, any sign of life.

There was nothing.

I leaned back and shook my head, hysteria seeping into my consciousness. "No... no, Norns, no." With a scarce amount of control over my hands, I managed to place one flat on his brow while I laid my head on his chest once more.

Shutting my eyes, I held my breath and listened—There!

There it was, the mere flicker of his heartbeat. It was so faint, like the flutter of a butterfly's wings, that I almost couldn't hear it the second time either. His heart was weak, struggling to persist, and I knew that he might not survive if it carried on like this. He needed healing, but such healing was far beyond my skill.

When I turned, Thor knelt beside me. "He's alive." My voice cracked as I spoke, making plain that I was on the verge of losing control. "He's alive, but just barely."

Amora came clambering down into the crater. Beyond her, three quinjets arrived, hovering above the ruined land. Agent Romanoff stood on the ramp of one quinjet as it descended upon us. I knew they would not be able to help him. His injury was magical; only the healers of Asgard could save him now.

Without warning, a green radiance swirled around us in a tempest of magic. Before I could comprehend what was happening, the world dimmed and faded away. The sound of my heartbeat thrashed in my ears as I was consumed by the dark, my hands resting on Loki still.

Little by little, the world returned. The dawn was gone, replaced now by day. I blinked twice, slow to realize that we were no longer in Shanghai, resting by the remnants of the Tesseract. We were in a desert. Not just any desert. We were in New Mexico, on the outskirts of Puente Antiguo, sitting right atop the Bifrost site. I was leaning over Loki as I had in Shanghai, Thor at my side. But Amora was out of sight, long gone.

Thor noticed her absence in a matter of seconds. A growl of frustration escaped him as he climbed to his feet. "Where has she gone?"

"Thor, let her go," I said, fighting to keep my voice steady. "She may have just saved Loki's life." I frowned, glancing upwards at the gloomy grey above. "That is if Heimdall can call us home."

Peering down at his brother, Thor furrowed his brow and lowered Mjolnir. He seemed to observe the condition of the Bifrost rune before lifting his head to regard the clouded sky. The sun peeked down at us, between the billows. I could only hope Heimdall was watching.

"Heimdall!" Thor searched the skies, shoulders taut. I caught a glimpse of his watery eyes. "Heimdall, if you can hear me... we need you."

We received no response.

My heart sank with every passing heartbeat. Every heartbeat meant that Loki's was growing weaker. He was dying, and I could not determine what ailed him. He was dying, and I could not help him.

I clutched onto Loki's hand and noticed that his skin was burned: scarlet and blistered and worse than the singe on his face. Stomach roiling, I let his hand go and drew him up by his shoulders, holding him close. It crossed my mind to attempt a healing spell, but I was exhausted. So exhausted.

With a blurry sight, I looked up at Thor. "Do you... do you think the Bifrost has been rendered inoperable?" I asked. With all that had been happening, with all the chaos in the Nine Realms, it occurred to me that Thanos might have sent forces to lay siege upon Asgard. It provided an explanation as to why they did not lend aid to Midgard in our time of need.

Thor knelt on the opposite side of Loki, dropping his unoccupied hand on his brother's shoulder. "Heimdall would never have allowed that to happen again." Loosing a shuddering breath, he tilted his head back and shouted into the Cosmos, "Heimdall, open the Bifrost! We need you now. He's my brother. We can't let him die! Please..."

We waited for the span of a breath.

And then another.

The very moment my hope began to dwindle, the air began to stir. I saw the light glimmer and dance on high, like lightning jumping amongst the clouds. The Bifrost's pull was abrupt. Never before had I been so glad at the prospect of soaring through the Nine Realms at unfathomable speeds. Resting Loki's brow against my mended collarbone, I met Thor's eyes. In less than a second, we went shooting through the stars.

We arrived in the Bifrost observatory not unlike how we arrived the desert of Puente Antiguo: unmoving, vulnerable, mildly unaware. But the hum from the Bifrost as it settled was comforting. The flashes emitting from the pedestal ceased, and I glanced upwards to see the guardian of the gate looming over us.

Heimdall removed his broadsword from the pedestal. The blade was stained with blood. "The mortal remains of our foes litter the bridge and our injured warriors are slow to reach the palace," he told us. "Your path ahead is hindered."

"I shall convey him," Thor said, nearing me and Loki.

He reached out, taking his brother by the arm. For half a moment, I forgot that I had to let go of Loki. I watched, feeling helpless, as Thor drew him away and eased his frail form over one broad shoulder. In the light of the observatory, I could see the sheer resolve in his gaze. "Fly as fast as you can," I said. "I fear he hasn't much time."

Without bothering to waste another second in reply, Thor climbed to his feet, almost buckling under Loki's weight; it was a strange thing to see, but I knew he must've been as weary as I.

I was startled to notice Sif, Fandral, and Hogun lingering in the entrance of the observatory. They all stood back and stared while Thor carried Loki through. Balancing his brother carefully on his shoulder, Thor wound Mjolnir with his free hand and soared from the Rainbow Bridge. They were a flutter of green and red, disappearing from view as they sped towards the golden city.

My body sagged as I remained kneeling on the floor. A vicious pounding reverberated in my ears now that all was quiet; the ache in my skull was like nothing I'd felt before. When I lifted my head again, I saw Hogun standing over me, hand proffered. He was covered in different shades of blood and grime, though not a single hair was out of place.

I gave him a quavering smile, grasping his hand with both of mine. Rising proved arduous, and the sudden rush of blood to my head only added to the pain. Once I was relatively steady on my feet, I looked over at Fandral and Sif, both of them just as bloodied and worn. "You have no idea how glad I am to see you," I said.

To my surprise, Sif marched forward and pulled me into a hug. "As glad as we are to see you, surely."

When she stepped back, I found myself somewhat shaky. She seemed to perceive this and kept a hand on my arm. "Loki... he..." I blinked at the odd spots that danced in my vision until they were gone. "He destroyed the Tesseract."

"We know. Heimdall saw it all," Fandral told me. "Apologies for the delay. We were returning from Vanaheim with a host of refugees when a score of mercenaries wreaked havoc on the bridge—ventured through another hidden passageway, we suspect. They flew straight here on their chariots and attacked us. It seemed they wanted to gain control of the Bifrost." He gestured over his shoulder at the Rainbow Bridge where a massive caravan was travelling towards Asgard. Closer to us, the bridge was littered with the bodies of mercenaries, all sorts of aliens and outcasts.

I frowned, squeezing my eyes shut as if hoping it would make the soreness in my head vanish. It did not banish it, but it did provide a short moment of relief. "I... I need to get to the healing room," I murmured, clutching onto Sif's arm. I levelled my gaze with hers—or tried to. My sight was unfocussed, darkening around the edges. "I need to know that Loki is going to be all right."

I noticed Sif hesitate and exchange a look with Hogun. "Of course," she said. "Are you well enough to ride?"

Standing straighter, I gave a single nod.

Three horses waited outside the observatory. Sif was quick to mount her ivory mare while Fandral offered me his own brown one. It required an effort to sit astride the steed, but I tightened my hold on the reins, maintaining my balance. I peered down at Fandral, Hogun, and Heimdall. "You have my thanks." None of them saw fit to respond as Sif started down the bridge. I followed a few yards behind.

The string of corpses thinned and lessened as we rose onwards. It was not long before we caught up with the caravan of injured warriors. We slowed to weave through them, their worn and begrimed faces staring up at us. Once we passed them by, the path ahead became unencumbered and Sif set off at a gallop. Though it further pained my head, I too raced down the bridge.

As we drew closer to the palace, the curtain of Einherjar that blocked the route parted at the captain's call: "Make way! Make way for our returned warriors!"

At the grand entrance, I came to an abrupt stop just ahead of Sif and leapt from the saddle without a second thought. My body screamed when I landed, but I did not listen. Instead, I stormed through the doors and headed for the house of healing.

In a distant part of my mind, I noted the Asgardians hurrying about the halls—healers, warriors, even a few servants. There was no death lining the marble halls, but the smell of it was difficult to ignore when I reached the healing room.

All of the beds were occupied, and I scanned each of them for a familiar head of black hair. Healers moved to and fro, obstructing my view every so often until I felt a jolt in my heart. There was no sign of him.

I more or less jerked at the sight of Marawen before me, impatient and brusque, as was customary. The instant I opened my mouth, she pointed down the corridor. "You're looking for the prince. He went to the second healing room." Upon imparting her curt words to me, she went bustling into the rows of beds, and I saw her no more.

Whirling about, I almost walked right into Sif, but she managed to dodge my graceless movement and guide me in the proper direction. "This way," Sif said, leading me through the flow of healers and wounded warriors. "The healing room was overwhelmed with those we evacuated from Vanaheim."

My eyes widened slightly as I observed the number of injured shuffling past us. "Were the conditions so grievous?"

She looked my way, her mouth a thin line. "They were, for a time. We've defeated a great many marauders. It's only a matter of time before the war is won."

The chamber that had been transformed into a second healing room was five doors down from the first. I crossed the threshold and came to a halt. There were two rows of beds, each lining either side of the long chamber. The beds were not brimming as they were in the first healing room, thus it was rather easy to locate Loki.

On the lefthand side, at the far end of the chamber, he lay prone and motionless. Two healers were tending to him, both seeming bewildered. Thor stood by the foot of the bed. He appeared to bow under a great weight, his grungy hair hanging on either side of his face. I had never seen Thor so solemn before—not even after seeing what his brother had wrought upon Midgard, not even after witnessing the deaths of so many.

I felt Sif's hand on my arm, drawing me back to let several healers pass us by. They scuttled across the room to relieve Loki's healers of their confusion. My heart faltered when Queen Frigga rushed into the room, her bearing dignified despite her dishevelled appearance. Her gaze barely flickered over me, Sif, and Thor as she hastened to Loki's bedside.

Utterly powerless, I could do little more than stare as Frigga and the healers surveyed him, their brows wrinkled. One of the healers ushered Thor away, and he looked much too tired to argue. Chasing him down the aisle, the healer was soon shepherding all three of us into the corridor.

I continued to hover by the doorway, peeking around the edge when I wouldn't get in the way. Thor began pacing across the hall with long, heavy steps. Closer to me, Sif stopped to engage one of the Einherjar in conversation. I caught snippets of their exchange and gathered that she was enquiring about the situation on Vanaheim.

With a sigh, I leaned against the wall, resting the back of my head on the cool stone. It soothed my head, but not my mind while a stream of healers hustled down the corridor. I felt compelled to assist them, as I had during my days as an apprentice. But the exhaustion and anxiety stayed my hand.

Another pair of healers approached. The slower of the two captured my attention, and I recognized the flyaway grey hair of my first healing instructor. "Hyldir?" I blurted out.

The elder healer glided to a halt before blinking owlishly at me, as if she could not remember who I was. Then her eyes widened. "Oh, Eirlys! It has been much too long."

"Did they evacuate the castle?" I asked.

She took one of my hands into her weathered ones and graced me with a small smile. "No, only Arivag and Austrivik were in need of assistance. However, many Vanir have volunteered to help. Our warriors were led onto the field of battle by Lord Njord and Lord Bjoran."

I stiffened at the tidings. "Is my father here now?"

She nodded. "He is well, last I heard." Patting my hand, she peered around the doorframe to see inside the healing room. "I have been called upon to help mend Prince Loki. I shall seek you out in due course."

She let go and disappeared into the makeshift healing room before I could reply. She'd called him Prince Loki. He would've scowled at that. The thought made me sad. So much had happened in the span of a year since the destruction of the Bifrost. He'd renounced his family—the people who loved him. But now, the people he'd forsaken were the ones caring for him. My heart lifted a little at that notion.

I kept wondering if my efforts had been enough to save him. Memories of the final barrier I'd cast to protect Loki surfaced in my mind. It was not natural, the strength I'd conducted into the spell. I reached to grasp the crystal at my neck only to freeze. Dropping my chin, I looked at the small scorch mark on the front of my breastplate, right where the crystal once rested. I twined my fingers in the silver-white chain and saw that the gemstone was gone, destroyed, not a trace of green left. All that remained now was the little crown, twisted and burnt.

Pushing myself away from the wall, I tugged a hand through my tangled hair. I grimaced and eyed the blood on my hands—from a laceration on my brow, I realized belatedly. There was blood underneath my nails too, which I discerned to be Amora's; I must have gripped her arm hard enough to injure her flesh.

I pressed a hand to my brow with every intention of healing the small abrasion. But, as I attempted the simple healing spell, the endeavour became unbearable. Blinking, I lowered my hand and upturned my palm. For me, such a minor healing spell should have required the least amount of strength. The cut was small, shallow, easily curable. Try as I might, I couldn't—

The first drop of blood in the palm of my hand brought about confusion. As did the second. I reached up to dab my upper lip with my fingertips. More blood. A nosebleed? My eyes snapped upwards to meet those of Thor. I had a mind to voice my bewilderment, but a shadow crept upon my vision far faster than I could comprehend what was transpiring. I managed to read Thor's alarm, plain on his features, before my legs gave way from beneath me.

I was lost to the darkness.

My thoughts were blank.

An empty void.

A nothingness.

It enveloped me, swathed me in its cold embrace.

Somehow, I felt myself falling, plunging through time and space. Like I'd tumbled from the edge of the Bifrost. With nothing to break my fall.

It seemed like hours. Days. Weeks. I couldn't be certain.

And yet, there was light. I perceived a faint luminescence, a single star amongst the infinite black. I strove to pull myself closer, swimming against the current of an angry tide.

I could hear whispers. Whispers that resembled those I cared for. The sound of familiar voices called me home. Thor and Sif and Queen Frigga. They spoke to me. And to Loki.

Then, as if I'd merely slumbered a short while, I opened my eyes.

The sun bore down on me, blinding and hot. My thoughts were muddled and slow.

What happened?

Through a hazy vision, I discerned the open doors to my left, sheer cream curtains wafting lazily in the breeze. The gentle sway was a welcome sight. I found it calming, despite the turmoil in my head. I tried to elevate my hands, but I could not. Weak. Too weak to even curl my fingers around the thin blanket laid over me. When I blinked, I blinked slowly, my lids almost too heavy to lift.

My mouth was beyond parched, and the mere act of swallowing required an unreasonable amount of effort. And when I did so, I was rewarded with the need to cough—feebly, of course, but it was a feat that made waking all the more unpleasant. At the least, it grasped the attention of the person whose face hovered above. A healer, I realized. Though which one, I had difficulty deciding.

She uttered something to me I could not apprehend, but I was aware of her immediate departure thereafter. In her wake, I rolled my head to the right, away from the light. And I saw him there, lying still in the bed beside mine, bedsheets pulled up to his chest, pale hands and arms resting atop them. He was a statue of cold marble—Loki, unmoving and ashen.

A shock ran through me, straight from my heart to my head in the brief moment I thought him dead. But then I saw his chest move, ever so slightly. His breath was shallow, but he yet lived. The wave of relief was pleasant, albeit short-lived when numerous healers arrived to attend me. They were gentle and unhurried, their words soothing, even if I could not make sense of them.

They had me sitting, reclined on a mountain of pillows, sheets tangled in my legs. Sigrun held a tumbler of water to my lips, allowing me small sips. Opposite her, Marawen laid a rough hand against my brow. I had questions—boundless questions—but I could not formulate a remark, let alone speak it. Soon, the cool, soothing liquid was gone from my tongue. Although I wished for more, the healers were easing me back down, urging me to rest.

In spite of my own ailing condition, my last thoughts were of Loki.

I faded from waking to sleep over and again for what could have been hours or days. In that time, I saw a familiar face or two, but I was never conscious enough to speak with them. I was fed water and broth, meagre portions for an infirm body. I revelled in the sounds of a tiny fountain nearby, trilling its tune, the smell of herbs and flowers, and the soft comfort of my mountain of pillows.

One day, without preamble, I was awake. I seemed to startle my attending healers when I pushed myself up on shaky arms to lean against the headboard. Perhaps even more so when I voiced my desire for stew in place of the broth they'd been providing me.

Sigrun was happy to oblige my request, and I sat there, awaiting her return. It was midday, and the healers were never far. I watched them tend to other wounded warriors, all of them wide awake and, for the most part, healed. Shifting in place, I turned my head to observe Loki. His face was as pallid as ever, the rise and fall of his chest near imperceptible.

When Sigrun arrived with a tray of soup and a variety of soft fruits, I was ravenous. In a matter of minutes, I devoured and drank all that had been placed before me. I made to lay the platter on the bedside table between Loki and me only to find that the space was already occupied by our garments. The pieces of armour stood spoiled and scarred, while our cloth and leather sat folded before them. I eyed my cape, which rested atop everything else. The white has been stained, I mused, but most of the cloth remains intact.

A healer swooped down to take the now idle food tray from me. Minutes later, my first visitor came to join me. At first, she didn't say anything. She just perched on the edge of a plush chair, her gaze lingering on the sleeping form of her son before finding mine. With a solemn smile, she leaned forward and clasped my hand in both of hers. "I am very glad to find you've awoken," Frigga said. "You were comatose for eight days. How do you fare?"

Eight days? The thought was unsettling. "Tired, my lady." My voice was scarcely more than a rasp. "I have been... lost... confused. I have so many questions."

"I know," she replied, and her smile vanished like a sun veiled by clouds. "Eirlys, there is something I must tell you."

"Something is amiss." A strange chill swept over me. "Is it about Loki?"

She shook her head. "No, this concerns you." The sinking feeling in my stomach worsened. The queen seemed to sense this, for her hands tightened around mine. "It's... about your magic. Rather, your bond to your magic. Do you remember how I explained it to you?"

Through my trembling, I managed to answer in a small voice, "You... you said that my magic was housed in my centre—the core of my life force." As I spoke, I noted the dip of her brow. "You said it was similar to a muscle, and that it could be one's strongest muscle with enough practice."

Once I finished, she nodded. "I did not tell you that, like any other muscle, your magic can be strained. Those threads can be ruptured."

If at all possible, my heart dropped further. "Do you mean to say... my link to my magic has been... broken? Am I powerless?"

"Yes." Before I could founder in a sea of panic, she immediately insisted, "But such harm should not be permanent. Those broken bonds are capable of reconnecting." I blinked, a multitude of queries scattering across my brain, unable to be uttered. Despite my lack of voice, Frigga managed to provide the answers I sought. "You channelled more magic through yourself than your already weakened form could bear. You repeatedly strained your life force by pushing yourself to extremes until it became too much at once. The heart of your magic has been injured, but like all wounds—"

"It will heal in time," I murmured. Head drooping, I let my eyes trail over to Loki. He was sleeping, motionless. Damaged. But healing. "And what of Loki?"

She looked at me, brow furrowed. She didn't like that I'd changed the subject. Perhaps she wanted me to be more distraught about my condition, more focussed on it. Perhaps I should've been, in that moment. But I needed to know. I needed to know that I hadn't mislaid my magic in vain. I needed to know that it had been worth it—and Frigga might have recognized this, for she humoured me.

"His injuries are less physical and more... magical. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say it is internal." She glanced his way, observing him in his still and vulnerable state. I didn't think he ever looked so frail, not even after we freed him from Johann Schmidt's mountain complex. "The Tesseract expelled a massive amount of energy. It likely would have killed him if you had not been there to protect him."

I turned my head away and pressed a hand to my chest. Now that I knew what caused me to become comatose, it was difficult not to notice the strange emptiness inside. I was a shell, hollow and waiting to be filled again. Time. It would take time, as all things did. With the lift of my chin, I peered at Queen Frigga. "Why has he not awakened?"

"I know not," she told me. "We have treated all of his injuries. However, several of the healers noticed an abnormal warmth in his chest—abnormal for one of Jotun birth, I mean to say. Perhaps it was caused by the Tesseract. We cannot be certain. Whatever prevents him from wakening, it is not visible to us."

I frowned and fell into a contemplative silence. It's metaphysical, I thought. Or mental. The Norns know he's suffered all manner of traumas.

As I sat, staring at the bedclothes swept over my legs, the queen detailed some of what had transpired during my eight days of rest. Thor had been the one to carry me into the healing room after my fall. For several days, he did not leave our side—Loki and me—until he was forced to return to Midgard. Much of Vanaheim had been made secure, although there were several bands of marauders still roaming free. At the mention of my father, I snapped out of my stupor.

"What?" I blinked at Queen Frigga. "What news do you have of my father?"

"He came to visit, some days ago," she said, repeating what she must've remarked upon earlier. "He stayed as long as he could, but he was needed in Vanaheim for a time. He will return soon, of that I am certain."

I didn't know how to feel about seeing my father again. I knew I should've been grateful, that I should've been happy at having another chance to see him after all this time apart. But I could only look at Loki and remember why I didn't feel those things. I remembered the day my father declared my betrothal to Castien and proclaimed that he never would've allowed me to marry Loki, the Jotun son of Odin. He'd never said it expressly, but I knew it was true reason why he would've forbade it. What will he say now, I wondered, when he learns I've sundered myself from my magic for Loki.

"It was worth it." I spoke almost to myself, eyeing Loki's still form. "My magic... It was a worthy sacrifice."

"You will be fine. With time and effort, you will recover your magic. I know you can," the queen assured me, running a hand along my forearm. "You are capable of great strength, Eirlys." From somewhere beneath the bedside table, she lifted a sword. My sword—Silvertongue. Its scabbard was blemished and bloodied, but still in one piece. I watched as she laid it across the two sets of grimy garb atop the table's surface. "Be strong again."

The passing days melded into one another as I remained idle in the healing room. With every other wounded warrior and refugee treated, Frigga found the time to sit in the healing room beside me, watching over Loki more often than not. On occasion, she assisted with my rehabilitation; it was not just my magic that needed care, but my body also, having suffered from over a week of immobility. At first, sitting was a struggle. Then standing. Taking my first steps from the bed were akin to the first steps I'd ever taken in life. It was three days before I could reach the foot of my bed without feeling like I'd run a marathon.

I had several other callers, namely Sif and the Warriors Three. Despite the grim cloud that never seemed to stray from the healing room, they were full of energy and laughter and smiles that never quite reached their eyes. During the liberation of Vanaheim, they'd been charged with leading at the front lines. On the seventh day, Volstagg had acquired a broken arm, which had since been healed.

Once or twice, I caught them shooting looks at Loki, their brows furrowed with veiled frowns. My initial reaction was that of anger, as I had borne witness to Loki's compassion when I thought he had none left. But I reined in my ire and found it in myself to understand their misgivings—after all, he did send the Destroyer to kill them, and forgiveness did not come to them as easily. So, I expressed my need for rest when I was no longer able to endure it, and they departed in their cloud of levity, leaving me to my fog.

Six days after my awakening, the dreamless nights ended and the nightmares began. Although the alarming images never lingered long enough for me to remember, the abrupt jolt, the cold sweats, and the subsequent inability to sleep could not be disregarded. On those nights, I would climb into the chair beside Loki's bed, bathed in soft moonlight, and hold his hand in mine. His skin was colder than normal, but I relished the feel of it.

I took to spending much of my time at his side in the instances his mother was absent. Eight days after waking, the healers released me from the healing room. With sleep being a much-needed commodity, I tried to find rest in my erstwhile bedchamber only to return to the healing room when the nightmares saw fit to rise again.

Loki's condition showed no signs of changing. At the least, I was assured that his health was not deteriorating.

On the tenth day, the healing room's latest visitors caught me unawares. I was sitting at Loki's bedside, my elbows resting on the edge of his bed, book in hand. The sound of a wide, muted stride was the first to catch my attention. Brow furrowed, I lifted my head to behold the new arrival. Much to my surprise, there was not one, but three visitors.

I got to my feet the moment I saw Faradei. Without the crown, the massive cape, and the royal medallion, he looked nothing like the king he was. Seeing his green tunic and leather garments, I would have thought he'd just returned from an expedition if he weren't so immaculate. "Eirlys," he breathed my name as though he'd just discovered that I was not dead. "You look as though you've been to Helheim and back."

I drew him into a hug. "And you haven't changed at all."

"Oh, I am uncertain of that." When we parted, I saw the shadows beneath his eyes, the lines of worry on his face. The stresses of kinghood seemed to weigh on him already—the deaths of his father and his brother surely had not helped.

While I intended to enquire after his well-being, he forestalled me by saying, "We received word from the great gatekeeper, Heimdall, about Driana needing protection. She and your ladies-in-waiting are well and accounted for." I realized that Frigga and Heimdall had not made them aware of Amora absconding with the Soul Stone, but I chose not to remark upon it just yet; he didn't need the extra burden on his mind.

"Perhaps I shall... return to Alfheim in due course," I told him. "The days must have been very challenging for you and for the people."

At that, he shook his head. "You needn't worry about Alfheim. Given all that you have endured, I would not have you return to Alfheim if you did not wish to. You are free now, and Castien would have been glad to see it."

I managed to smile a touch.

My second visitor approached amidst our silence, tottering across the marble floor. I was about to greet Lord Meyrick before I caught sight of the third of three: my father. My gaze lingered on him for the length of several heartbeats. Then I turned back to Meyrick, my veneer of merriment back in place. "For a time, I feared I would never see you again," I told my mentor.

"I never doubted you." As expected, he saw through my mirth. "Even now. The queen has told me of your troubles—your magic. I am certain you will find your way back."

This time, my smile was genuine. "Your faith in me never wanes."

"We will discuss it further in due course." He grasped both my upper arms. "There is someone here with whom you must share words."

Meyrick cast a look at my father who stood, stiff as an effigy, some yards behind. A part of me wanted to refuse, the stubborn resentment from decades past rising to the surface. In a way, I blamed him for my marriage, for my leaving Asgard and deserting the people I loved. But I could not hold him responsible for everything. He wasn't the only person who made choices.

Before I could respond, Meyrick patted my arm and ambled over to Loki to examine him. For a moment, I watched the elderly sorcerer lay a weathered hand on his pale brow. He shook his head and muttered to Faradei, who listened keenly. As much as I wanted to join him and discover what ailed Loki so, I could not turn my back on my father any longer.

I met my father's pale blue gaze and nodded towards the veranda. "I am in need of a refreshing breeze."

Passing through the idly swaying curtains, I led him onto the stone-tiled balcony. The healing room we'd been occupying was not a true healing room, but a chamber that had been made to house two dozen apprentice healers. Most apprentices now lived in the apartments above the house of healing, and the long chamber had since been uninhabited.

I forewent the stone bench and moved to lean against the balustrade. A cool breeze was there to greet me. When it ruffled through my sleeping gown, giving rise to gooseflesh on my arms, I was all too aware of the fact that I could not ward the cold away if I wanted to.

"You have my condolences," he said. I gave my father a sideways glance as he situated himself near my elbow, his hands folded neatly behind his back. "For the death of your husband."

There was a pang in my heart. "He will be greatly missed."

The silence that followed could not be described as anything but awkward. Clearly, we both felt that something needed to be said, but neither of us could say much at all. He then sighed, allowed his hands to drop to his sides, and drew closer to the balustrade where I didn't have to crane my neck to see him. "Lord Meyrick told me about Loki... and about all that has transpired," he said at last.

Running my tongue along my bottom lip, I bowed my head. "What exactly did he tell you?"

"Everything concerning the destruction of the Bifrost, the attack on Midgard, and his subsequent escape from Asgard."

My father was never the easiest of people to converse with. Especially when the subject of our conversation was someone I loved—someone he obviously did not favour. "You knew what he was. You knew all along," I stated. My eyes locked on the city laid out before us. It was golden and gleaming as ever, and it made me forget the devastation I'd seen, if only for a few seconds. "You knew he was a Frost Giant. That's why you said... you said you never would've allowed our marriage."

"I did." Father's tone was matter-of-fact, and I half-expected him to further condemn Loki for all his acts of violence in addition to being a Frost Giant. "I would not have allowed you to be with him. But I only would have done it to protect you."

Tears pricked at my eyes, but somehow a breath of laughter escaped me. "You never would have needed to protect me from him."

"Yes, I know. I see that now," he said. I looked up at him, blinking in surprise. "I was informed of the manner in which he saved your life. And you saved his." His voice seemed to waver, and I became uncertain of how to respond. "When Lord Meyrick apprised me of all that you had done—that you had gone to Midgard to fight—I was furious."

I clenched my jaw, indignant at the notion that he had any right to be cross about my choices. Especially after he'd taken part in driving me towards the life I'd been living. Did he believe I would stand by and allow Castien's death to go unavenged? I wondered. "Castien was dead. I had to do something."

"That is why my anger soon gave way to... to dread."

I stared at him, unmoving. My father was not one to show his sentiments, let alone express them in so many words. "Father—"

He shook his head rigidly, and I remained silent as he pressed on, "I feared this war would be the death of you. Yes, I was furious that you'd gotten yourself involved, but that matters little now. I am grateful to all those who aided you and allowed your safe return."

There was little else he had to say after that. And, for one moment, I wanted to maintain the enmity I had towards him. I wanted to resent him for everything. But I could see that he had only ever wished to safeguard the realms, much as I did. He only ever wanted what was best for me, even if he did not fully comprehend what that might've really been.

He turned from me partway, his gaze fastened on the horizon. There were things, I realized, that my father would never voice. Things I always yearned for him to say. All the same, what he'd already admitted was more than I ever expected.

"I too am grateful." My fingers tightened over the balustrade, and I lowered my eyes. "There are those who care for me... those who would give their life for mine." Letting out a breath, I looked up at him once more. "You should know that I love him still, and he loves me."

To that, he did not utter a response. And yet, he placed his hand atop mine in a surprising gesture of comfort and warmth. Though he never said a word, I felt he understood.

At the sun's next rise, my father left for Vanaheim. As we said our farewells, he asserted that Asgard was the safest place to be and that he would have me stay. Once I expressed my agreement, I gave him the parting gift of a smile before he rode down the Rainbow Bridge.

Early in the morning of the twelfth day—so early that the moons still served as sentinels above—I awoke in the dark, cold and trembling. Nightmares continued to plague my sleep. Nightmares, but never visions. Without my magic, I doubted I would be having visions. In spite of being bereft of foresight, my nights were more haunted than ever. Unable to sleep, I ghosted through the halls of Asgard, my bare feet leading me to the house of healing.

Aglow in the light of the moon, I found Thor slumped in the seat by Loki's bed, his arms crossed, Mjolnir at rest by his feet. He slept soundly, still dressed in his armour and red cape. I'd been told he wasn't due back home for another two days. But here he was, freshly returned from battle, deprived of the fanfare that would've welcomed him had anyone known. He didn't so much as move when I neared, nor when I draped a blanket over him. It was odd to think he might not have slept in weeks, whereas his brother hadn't awakened in the same amount of time.

I wrapped myself in another blanket and curled atop the bed I'd been previously confined to. The shadows in the room roused my anxieties, brought back the waves of fear my nightmares bestowed upon me. So I closed my eyes, listened to Loki's soft breathing and Thor's snores, and reassured myself that I was not alone. It was enough to keep my heartbeat steady and slow, though not enough to induce sleep.

After several hours, I leaned a shoulder against the headboard and began to doze. It was then that Thor awoke. And when he awoke, his first instinct was to crush me to him in a hug. A momentary panic overcame me, and I almost cried out in distress before properly comprehending who was squashing my head.

His presence was a welcome one in the healing room. As the sun rose, he told me of his most recent venture to Midgard. He'd pursued the remains of Thanos' army and helped capture Emil Blonsky who had gone rampaging through the city. Although the struggle to rebuild the damage done to Midgard was only just beginning, our allies were faring well. They were glad tidings, and the room appeared a little brighter with Thor's company.

"Are you well, Eirlys?" Thor asked some time in the mid-afternoon. He'd left when the sun was fully risen and returned midday, clean and radiant despite his sombre mood. I doubted I moved more than an inch in those hours, cocooned in my blanket, perched on an otherwise empty bed.

"I... I'm fine," I said softly, and none too convincingly.

He took up residence in the same chair as before. Slouched and weary, he looked neither like the warrior nor the prince he was. "Sif expressed her concerns to me," he remarked. I tightened the blanket around my shoulders and quirked a brow; it was uncommon for Sif to share her worries with Thor. I couldn't say why, but the thought that she'd done so this time made me glad.

He sighed and leaned his elbows on his knees. "I have similar worries. You look as though you have not rested since returning to Asgard."

I gave him a dry smile. "I slumbered for an entire week, do not forget."

He shook his head, though a small smile tugged at his mouth. "Yes, but you have not found sleep since then."

"Is it so obvious?" Letting my shoulders drop, I pressed my lips together. "Perhaps I have not."

"Do you fret about Loki?" he asked. "Is that why you do not sleep? You seldom leave his side, so I have heard." Another detail from Sif, no doubt.

"It's not that. I just..." I swallowed, my regard falling to Loki. I kept expecting him to awaken, for him to look at me and Thor and say something deprecating. However, it was not his condition that kept me from my sleep. "My nights are beset with horrible dreams. That is why I come here. I feel... safer here."

Thor seemed to nod in understanding, even though I thought it made little sense. I was in no condition to defend myself against that which brought me such fear—neither was Loki for that matter. But being here, with him, made me feel safe, strange as it was.

After a long moment, he sat straighter in his seat. "When did you last dine?" The query evoked a smile from me.

Shifting slightly, I glanced behind to peer through the ever-swaying curtains. "Not since the sun's last set."

When he patted my arm, I nearly jumped, surprised by his touch. Though he did not mention my agitation, I was sure he noticed. "I too am in great need of sustenance," he said, beaming. "I will seek out the servants, and we shall want for nothing."

My words of gratitude stuck in my throat as he glanced down at his brother. Every time he looked at Loki, I bore witness to a medley of emotions. There was care and concern, but I also saw trepidation. It was difficult to forget that Loki had made an attempt on his life. Thor seemed uncertain of how he should feel in the wake of all that had happened. A part of me wondered the same. The only thing I was certain of was that gratitude ranked rather high on my list of sentiments.

Once Thor made his exit, I unfurled myself from the bed and climbed into the vacant chair. I leaned forward to observe Loki's wan face, his cheekbones more pronounced than usual. Releasing my arms from the confines of my blanket, I reached out to curl my fingers around his arm. The very moment I did, I sensed movement behind me.

Heart lodged in my throat, I whirled about and threw out my palm. A shiver ran through me, and I overturned my hand, realizing that it had been my first attempt to use my magic since waking from my coma. Then I lifted my eyes to find a pair of jade green ones. Their corners crinkled with a smile as she spoke, "So it is true. You've lost your magic."

I clenched my jaw and lowered my hand. "Not completely."

Drifting through the wispy curtains, Amora strode into the chamber and made her way past the row of beds to stand at the foot of Loki's bed. "That's very optimistic of you," she said, crossing her arms. "I've not seen any sorcerer overextend their magic like you did. Nor has any other magical practitioner in the Nine Realms, hence the rumours of your loss have spread far and wide."

My shoulders drooped as I sighed. "Amora, why are you here?"

The corner of her mouth twitched, and I quickly discerned that she was not here at all. It was a projection. "I thought we were due for a conversation," she replied. I saw her fingers tapping against her upper arm, right where I'd grabbed her during the destruction of the Tesseract.

I nodded towards her arm. "Have you come seeking an apology?"

"I don't need your apologies." Tilting her head, she surveyed Loki's sleeping form. "I am only here to ensure that we have a mutual understanding. I am not your enemy."

A disbelieving laugh caught in my throat before I perceived she was being sincere. Well, as sincere as she could be, at the least. It did, however, make me question why she wanted us to be on good terms. "What is this really about?"

She quirked a brow. "Not unlike Loki, I turned to Thanos when I thought it was the only way to get what I wanted most in the Nine Realms." I stayed silent, eyes narrowed, and waited for her to continue. "I did what I thought I had to. It was never personal."

I felt the urge to deride her, as she had done to me so many times before. I knew she did not wish to sever ties because there would come a time when she needed someone's help. It made me realize that she had no one else to turn to. Not a single soul in the Nine Realms seemed to care for her. A wave of pity swelled within me. Never would I be able to place my trust in her. But I did pity her.

After several long seconds, I leaned my forearms on the edge of Loki's bed, my gaze locked with hers. "I must admit, I am surprised you remained on Midgard to fight Thanos once your part was done."

"I had to ensure that I would live a very long life, thus I helped you end him." That sly smile of hers made its return. "At any rate, I long suspected Thanos wished to be joined forever with his beloved as soon as he thought his plan succeeded. He may well have wanted to die, which made him a touch less cautious." She let out a chuff of laughter. "It almost seems romantic."

Although the thought was wryly amusing, I could not find it in myself to laugh. It would be some time before I could actually laugh about the Mad Titan. "Still, it surprises me that you did not depart from Midgard when Thanos was felled," I said. "You could have left us. You would have been safe."

"Contrary to what many believe, I do have care for the Odinsons." Dropping her gaze to the unconscious Loki before us, she spoke in earnest. "I have known them since my youth, and although my years have been wayward, I retain a particular... fondness for them both. I even went so far as to convince Thanos that Loki could still be of use to him. But he divested himself of that good favour... for you."

My heart clenched at that, and she seemed to know it.

"It was not difficult for any of us to see where his heart lay. Thanos was just waiting to wield it against him." Amora smiled softly. "I, on the other hand, pitied you."

I frowned up at her. "You pitied me?"

"It's no easy feat, loving him."

Swallowing thickly, I looked down at him. Perhaps she was right, in a way. None of this had been easy. The very instant I saw him again on Midgard, nothing was easy anymore. And yet I remembered my time on Asgard. I remembered the time I had with him, short as it may have been. Certainly, he had not been easy to contend with at first. But... when I was with him, when he loved me and I loved him, it was the happiest I'd ever been. Now, we were being given another chance. If it meant I could feel a shred of that happiness again, then perhaps it was worth it.

She came around the side of the bed, her ghostly figure stopping just at my elbow. Although I did not glance her way, I sensed her regard on me. "There are few in the Nine Realms he truly loves," she said. "He may deride you, show utmost contempt for you, cause you great anguish... but he will never love you any less."

I met her gaze in the silence of the healing room. Despite the deaths her schemes wrought in Asgard weeks earlier, I could not help but feel a small flicker of gratitude. If she had not freed Loki and taken the Tesseract, circumstances may have been much worse. If Thanos himself had come, more people may have died. Loki would surely have been sentenced to death.

With that thought, I sat tall and imparted a courteous nod upon her. "And what will you do now, Amora? I expect you know better than to wield the Soul Stone," I remarked. "Otherwise we'll be forced to hunt you down."

"I have several ideas, none of which involve the Soul Stone." Amora smiled a genuine smile, not one of those mocking smiles. "You will never find me unless I want you to."

A set of heavy footsteps sounded in the corridor, familiar and reassuring. I glanced towards the door just in time to see Thor enter, a pitcher in one hand and a pair of golden goblets in the other. "I have asked a servant to bring us a feast," he announced, cheer tingeing his voice. "You shall never be so famished again."

When I looked back, I saw that Amora was gone, vanished like a flame in the wind. I wondered if I should mention it to Thor—at the least, I reminded myself to tell Frigga when I saw her next.

"Loki?"

I blinked and turned back round to see Thor all but tossing the pitcher and the goblets onto the table by the other side of the bed. He was staring down at his brother, frozen in place. Then Loki's eyes slid open, squinting in the harsh light of day. I leaned over him, my breath caught in my throat.

He was awake.

Author's Note: For those who are wondering, there will be two more chapters after this. Then we'll be moving on to the third and final part of 'the Shieldmaiden Saga' as it were. I'll share a few more details about the uploading of that when we get closer.

As always, a big thank you to everyone who read and reviewed. And a huge props to my awesome beta, Hr'awkryn.

The title of this chapter was named for the song After the Storm by Mumford & Sons.

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