Chapter 28

I press myself into the door as Frigga enters, followed by Toril and the others. Smiling at the strangers, I nudge my door closed and turn to face my room that is now occupied by ten more people than I was anticipating now (eight more than I was anticipating later).

"Freya—Mother! What is going on?" Lifa asks, looking from me to Toril to Frigga.

"Sweet Lifa," her mother says. She places the pitcher and cups on the table in front of the hearth then rushes over to her daughter. "It is time to get ready for the ball!"

"Now?" Lifa asks, frowning.

"Yeah—sorry," I say when I realize I cut off Toril. "But why now? Isn't the ball tonight? Lifa and I ate breakfast a few hours ago."

"Yes, yes, Freya, you are right. However"—Frigga pauses to place the platter on the table with the cups—"I thought it would be fun to make your getting ready somewhat of an…event!" She grins at Toril and at the eight strangers, and it hits me that I have never seen the Queen grin fully. The look makes her look years younger and, for a spit second, I see Loki in her smile—the happy version of a Loki grin, not the intimidating smirk-grin combination he always used when I first met him. "I hope that is okay," she continues, breaking me from my thoughts.

"Of course it is!" I cry. My stomach seems to spread out then crumple in excitement. "What's going to happen first?"

"Music!" Frigga turns to the man and woman holding the instruments and nods. She walks over and speaks quietly with them for a moment before turning to the three people with the rolling racks. The instrumentalists walk over and begin setting up next to my wardrobe. The women with the racks maneuver them around the instrumentalists and past my bed, then line the racks up in front of the window. The last three—the man and two women—walk over to my closed bathroom door.

"May we?" one of the women asks.

"Yes. Let me just pick some stuff up first, though." I dip past them and push the door to the bathroom open. I then pick up two towels I had left by the sink, and toss them into a basket. "Okay. It's all yours." I leave them to their work and rejoin Frigga, Toril and Lifa.

Lifa walks over to me, her smile showing more teeth than I have ever seen. She's about to say something when the woman instrumentalist runs her bow across her violin-like instrument and out of the strings comes something that sounds like both a violin and a harp. The man picks up one of the large flutes and holds it vertically for a moment, then lets go. I gasp as it stays upright and lets out a long, low note.

"Y-you have magic instruments?" I cry, turning to Frigga. She's smiling at the performers.

"Indeed we do. Asmund and Asta are two of the finest musicians in the palace."

The man, Asmund, picks up the cello shell to play, but not before he has magically made a smaller flute begin playing as well.

"Damn," I breath.

Frigga laughs. "For the rest of the day we shall eat, talk and, eventually, get dressed and ready."

I nod, staring in turn at the instruments, the three women talking quietly by the racks, and the people in the bathroom. "Yeah," I say, still nodding, which makes Lifa start giggling. "Yeah, this sounds good. This sounds very, very good."

For the rest of the day, we do exactly what the Allmother said we would. From Toril, I learn more about Lifa and her family. Hal is the youngest brother, which I already knew, but Toril tells me that the middle brother is named Jari and the oldest brother, Eirik — named after Toril's father — is training to become one of the Royal Guardsmen. Lifa tells me stories from her childhood and her village. Before the village was attacked and Hal was born, Lifa and Eirik would go out into a small wood behind their house — "adventuring," as Lifa puts it; she says they were allowed to go as far as the large, red elm by themselves, but that they never actually made it there as the tree was a mile into the forest and there were "castles and forts to be built" closer to home. Toril also tells me stories about Lifa as a baby and a toddler. I find these hilarious and adorable, but Lifa sits through most of them with her head in her hands, only looking up to smile or grimace at her mother.

Lifa and I then prod Frigga for any stories of Thor and Loki when they were young. She laughs and shakes her head, but after more begging, she finally tells us some. Loki started out a prankster and, of course, ended a prankster. But for a while, Frigga tells us, Loki spent most of his time reading, talking with her or others he was close to, and following Thor around. To my surprise, she tells us that Thor was the one to pull jokes for a while, and Loki would only get back at his brother when he did something he just couldn't ignore—such as organizing all the books on Loki's bookshelves by the first letter of the last word in the fourth chapter, or keeping everything the way it was in Loki's room but just flipping it, so that if his bed was on the left it was now on the right.

By the end of Frigga's story, Lifa and I are laughing hysterically. Lifa says that the three of us—her, Loki and I—should devise a way to turn Thor's room upside down, but immediately asks for the Allmother's apology as she "should not be one to suggest such a thing."

"No, my dear!" Frigga says, smiling. "There is no need to apologize. I will help you!"

We are all laughing again when it comes time to get ready for the ball.

First, one by one, we all take baths, with the help of the three who have prepared the bathroom. After wrapping our hair in towels and putting on the robes, it's time for makeup; and boy, do Asgardians have a wide and beautiful array of makeup. When Lifa is getting her makeup done, I redo her hair (which is already dry due to the magical qualities of the towels we used). She redoes mine as I get my makeup done. Once we are finished, I turn to look at her. I smile at her light pinks, purples and reds, and she smiles at my natural pink and subtly changing green-blue smoky eye.

Toril, Lifa, Frigga and I are in a dress-buttoning-up line when there is a knock on the door. Frigga buttons my last button then walks over to the door. She opens it just enough to peek her head out and I glance over to see her pushing both Thor's and Loki's faces away from the opening.

"No, Loki!" I hear her say as she walks into the hall. "It is a surprise."

"You are all set, m'dear," I say, patting Lifa's shoulders and walking over to the edge of my bed to sit down.

"Be careful of your dress, m'lady," says the woman, Bryn, who brought my dress. Her name is actually Brynhild, but she told me to call her Bryn which made me happy because Brynhild doesn't exactly roll off the tongue. She motions for me to stand and when I do, she fixes some part of the fabric then smiles and returns to the cart.

"Thank you," I say, smiling back. "You are all welcome to the food platter, by the way. I know you refused earlier, but you guys look hungry."

Bryn glances at the two women she stands next to. After a silent conversation of eyebrow moving, they all rush to the platter, thanking me as they go. The three makeup artists join them and, once the instrumentalists finish the song they are on, they begin eating too.

"Oh! You are already eating!" Figga says. She closes the door. "Good; I was going to relieve you all of your duties. You may eat and go as you please."

There is a chorus of "Thank you, my Queen," and "Yes, Allmother," then they turn back to chatting, eating and drinking.

"Did you scare Thor and Loki off, my Queen?" Lifa asks, laughing.

"I did. But, my child, call me Frigga, please. We have spent enough time together that the formalities are no longer necessary," Frigga says.

Lifa glances at her mother.

"We are honored, Allmother," Toril begins, "but I believe we should continue—"

"I insist, Toril. Please. It means so much to know you both more than I did, so I would very much like it if you called me Frigga."

"Very well, Frigga," Toril breathes, smiling at her daughter.

"Thank you." Then Frigga turns back to me. "It's time for the ball, Freya."

I turn to Lifa, grab her hands and at almost the same time, we start cheering, giggling and bouncing in a circle.

The walk to the Ballroom is a blur, but I remember feeling like I am floating. Now, we stand in front of the tall double doors. Frigga has told us that we are to be introduced by someone—she explained all this during the walk—and then we are free to do as we please.

Lifa looks at me. I can tell by how high her eyebrows have climbed, and by how many times I have had to tell her to not play with her hair, that she's nervous. So I give her hand a reassuring squeeze and say, "We'll walk out together, okay?"

She nods and doesn't let go of my hand. "Your fingers are shaking," she whispers.

"You're not the only one who doesn't want to walk out in front of hundreds of strangers," I mutter back. Now she gives my hand a reassuring squeeze.

"I will walk in first and you three will follow," Frigga says. She turns to face us, smiling, but her smile falls away when she sees our faces. "Do not be nervous. Yes, there are many people, but they will welcome you. And"—she laughs—"they will not stare at you longer than a moment. After all, it is a ball; there is food and drink to be had, friends and acquaintances to speak with. Watching you will not be a top priority, I promise."

"Okay." I nod. "You ready, Lifa?"

"Yes." The word comes out as a crack and she clears her throat to repeat, more strongly, more happily this time, "Yes. Valhalla, am I ready for a ball!"

Frigga presses her hands together, and holds them up to her mouth, splitting her smile in half. "I shall go. When you hear clapping, that is when you enter."

Clapping. For us.

The Queen has only to touch the doors for them to open, and she walks in. From inside the Ballroom comes a loud voice: "Now entering: The Allmother. Followed by Toril, Daughter of Eirik, her daughter, Lifa, the Daughter of Tryggr, and Freya Ericsson." Like Frigga said, the words are followed by applause that echoes around the corner, hitting us and continuing down the hall.

"I suppose I must enter first," Toril says. She kisses Lifa's cheek then disappears around the corner.

"Us next," I say, gripping Lifa's hand tighter. Lifa and I put on non-nervous smiles and walk around the corner, following Toril and Frigga into the Ballroom.

As expected, hundreds of faces look at us when we enter. They murmur a remark or comment to whomever they are with and then, as Frigga said they would, they turn away and carry on with what they were doing before. Without all the attention, I have a chance to try to take in the whole room. I haven't been to many basketball games but if I had to guess, the Ballroom is as big as, or bigger than, the college court…plus the players' benches…plus the bleachers. But size is where the Ballroom's similarities to a basketball court end; all around us are colorful ribbons and metallic decorations, golden walls and marble floors, tapestries and painted landscapes. The ceiling reaches so high above our heads that I have to grab Lifa's arm to keep her from tipping as she cranes her neck to look all the way up.

In the far right corner is a raised platform with musicians and floating instruments playing softly, allowing everyone a chance to talk and catch up. The corners closest to us are set up with a dozen or so tables and chairs, and running nearly the entire length of the left wall is a table, every inch filled with foods and drinks.

"Ho-ly shit," I whisper.

"Yes," Lifa murmurs. "Holy shit, indeed."

I snort, then cover my nose and mouth, hitting Lifa's arm with my other hand when she starts laughing.

We try to compose ourselves, mostly because people are beginning to look at us again. As I stifle my laughter, I glance around the room. At first, my eyes skirt over Loki because he can't be wearing that. But it is him and my only thought as his eyes jump over me is, Damn, does he know how to dress.

He is talking to Thor and two people whom I have never met before, but his eyes continue hopping around the room, jumping over me again and again. I guess he can't believe what I'm wearing either.

He wears what is probably considered the Asgardian version of a suit: boots, pants, and a shirt with a coat-cloak combination covering it. At first the coat-cloak looks black, but as Loki shifts and the fabric catches the light, emerald green undertones ripple into view.

"Oh my god."

"What?" Lifa asks.

"I-I think Frigga picked out Loki's cloak thingy to match my dress."

Frigga smiles at us from the food table, her eyes lingering on mine for just a moment—she knows I have seen Loki—then she joins Odin by the drinks.

I look back at Loki and, finally, our eyes meet. He stops mid-sentence and doesn't close his mouth. I smile and give him a small wave and this seems to shock him out of his daze enough to move. He murmurs, "Pardon me," to Thor and the others, and brushes past them. He hasn't taken his eyes off me the entire time.

Stopping a few feet in front of me, he places one arm behind his back and the other over his chest and gives me a shallow bow, still not looking away. When he straightens, he takes my hand and kisses my knuckles.

"H-hello," I say, grinning.

"Hello, my love."

If he wasn't holding my hand when he said that, I might have fallen over.

We stare at each other. In my peripheral vision I see Lifa looking from me to Loki and back again. Her grin widens and reaches her canines as she tries not to start giggling.

Now that Loki is so close, and I can see his coat-cloak better, I see that not only is the black (and green) fabric has more shifting green accents. The collar looks to be the same emerald green as the undertones of the fabric, then Loki moves his head a little and the new angle of light turns the green to gold. This same decoration is striped down part of the left side of his cloak and, without thinking, I reach out, trailing my fingers down it. He doesn't seem to notice as he takes me and my dress in.

Swaying a bit, I look down at my dress. The iridescent green flows through different shades, passing from olive, to moss green, to evergreen, to what looks like the green of newly grown grass. I gasp when, finally, the color settles on a gold that matches Loki's cloak's decorations perfectly.

"Beautiful," Loki breathes.

"What?" I ask. My cheeks get hot and Lifa covers her mouth with her hands.

"Ehm…" Loki blinks, looks at his feet, coughs, looks back up. "You…are beautiful," he says slowly. "Simply and utterly beautiful."

"Valhalla's name!" Lifa squeals. I glance at her and she takes a few steps away to recompose herself.

"Thank you," I whisper, but I don't think I actually say anything. Now it's my turn to clear my throat. "You're pretty handsome yourself."

I see Thor walk up behind Loki and smile at him. "Hi, I like your cloak thing," I say, motioning to Thor's silver coat-cloak that has fur around the collar.

"Thank you." Thor bows. "I must say, my ladies Freya and Lifa, you both look lovely this evening."

I give him a shallow curtsy. "Why thank you! You both are very handsome," I say, focussing my gaze back on Loki.

"Lifa, you need not hold such an uncomfortable position," Thor says, laughing.

Lifa has been mid-curtsy since Thor walked over and is just now straightening.

"My apologies…" she murmurs.

"Nonsense!" Thor's voice is a happy bellow. "There is no need to apologize. But may I ask a question?"

Lifa looks at me, her lips turned up nervously. "Yes."

"The musicians are beginning to play. May I have this first dance?"

"Me?" she asks. Her chin drops and she tries to cover it with her hand before Thor notices. He already has, however, and smiles at her, bowing then extending his hand.

She looks at me again. I can't tell what she's trying to ask me—whether it's "what should I do?" or "is this really happening?"

I just nod, grin, and give her a small thumbs up.

She turns back to Thor. "I-I would love to have this dance." Her voice doesn't shake.

Giving me one last grin, she places her hand on Thor's and they walk to the center of the room. Loki and I stand there, watching them, for a while. Some of the floating instruments switch with ones the musicians were using. When the song starts, I gasp. It's a flourish of violins, flutes and other instruments, and sounds almost Celtic or Irish or both. And somehow everyone knows the same dance. Everyone who is standing in the middle of the room with a partner begins moving at almost the same instant and with the same motions. Sometimes they create small pinwheels of two to four people, and other times they all make a circular or star-shaped pattern across the floor.

"Loki," I say, quietly.

He places his hand on my back. "Yes, my love?"

"Do I need to know a special dance?"

He looks at me, eyes wide. "Were you not taught it?"

"What?" I hiss. "You mean I actually—no one told me. What am I supposed to—"

Then he smirks. I punch his arm.

"You're joking!" I cry.

Loki grins wider.

"You ass. Oh my god." Pressing my palms to my eyes, I lean against him. "You had me really worried for a minute."

"Did I?" He presses his lips to the side of my head and a flower of warmth blooms under my skin, growing larger until it has enveloped my brain.

"Yes, you did," I whisper. I feel his arm wrap around my waist and smile to myself. "Jerk."

"Mmm," he agrees.

"You are," I insist, tugging at his sleeve. But it's not very convincing and he knows it because he kisses my head again. I know I'm not being convincing when I realize how exhausting it is ignoring the urge to kiss him. Feeling myself blush, I grin at my feet.

"So," I say a moment later, "were you really not always this mischievous?"

Loki looks at me, frowning.

"Your mom was telling us stories before we got ready for the ball and she said—"

He pinches the bridge of his nose and puffs air out of his mouth. "She what?"

"She told us stories from when you and Thor were little kids."

He makes a disgusted face and looks away before his cheeks redden to a light tomato color.

"Loki!" I cry, laughing, which makes him even more embarrassed. "The stories were cute—really cute!"

"And you believe that is supposed to make me feel better."

"God." I hop to my tip-toes and kiss his cheek. "You're very adorable when you're embarrassed," I murmur. This makes him look at me so I grin wider and he sighs. "Loki"—I get as serious as I can—"how many different ways did Thor reorganize your bookshelves?"

"Many."

"Yeah, I could of guessed that, but how many?"

"Honestly," he says, turning to be completely in front of me and wrapping his other arm around my waist, pulling me closer, "I lost count. He became very creative. He even used my mother's magic to organize everything in my room as it is generally, except on the ceiling."

"Maybe some day you'll wake up and your bed will be on the ceiling again."

"You have that much magic, do you?" He chuckles, shakes his head, then focuses his gaze on the dancers behind me.

"Loki," I say, playing with a fold in his coat-cloak, "if I have enough magic to create and then…un-create that force field thing that surrounded Asgard, I think I have enough magic to flip your room upside down."

"I look forward to the surprise." Loki takes my hand, kisses my palm just below my thumb and twirls me under his arm. "But now, my love, what do you wish to do?"

"Um…" As I spin, I look at everyone and everything. "I want food," I say, tripping over my feet and directly into Loki's chest.

He turns a little, catches me and lets my momentum propel me past him and into a dip. "Your request is my demand." His face is no more than an inch from mine and I can smell the icy mint. And I am tired again because, dear god, I could just kiss him right— He pulls me up and bows before escorting me over to the long table.

"What do you suggest?" I ask, picking up a plate and trying not to be overwhelmed by the sheer number of options available.

"The pastries are very good." He points to a tray piled high with rose-colored croissants filled with creme, berries or chocolate. "However, if you desire something not as sweet, there are many choices that contain no meat."

I smile at him, both happy because he remembered I am a vegetarian and excited because Asgardian food is delicious. I then load my plate with a croissant, some sort of salad that contains different vegetables, a variety of nuts, some cheese and fruit.

For the next hour or so, we eat and drink, and Loki allows me to goggle at everything without being openly exasperated by it. I keep asking questions about this dance, or that song, or the fact that the amount of food never seems to decrease. He rolls his eyes like it's obvious, and I laugh. And then he answers my question. He looks relieved when I have finally exhausted my curiosity.

Now that I have no questions about the ball, we begin talking about random things. Loki asks about the next Lord of the Rings book, but takes the question back a moment later, claiming, "There will certainly come a time for me to read it, so I need not know the plot now." On that note, we start talking about Middle Earth, the characters, the Ring, Samwise Gamgee being a wonderful friend to Frodo. At one point I end up talking about the movie and Loki asks me multiple questions that are pretty much different forms of: "Why would the man who created this movie change certain aspects of the novel?"

"Everyone back on Earth asks that same question whenever a movie based off a book is released," I say before taking a drink of water.

"But why change it?"

I shrug and try to stifle my giggles; his eyebrows have been slowly moving closer and closer together. "Some of it has to do with the length of the film. For example, if they made a movie that was, in every way, exactly like this book called Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows—which is, like, 750 pages or something—it'd be way too long. I mean, I'd sit through it, but people who aren't diehard Harry Potter fans wouldn't. Another reason is that, if a book is really long, then the directors and everyone can make more than one and then get more money, like with The Hobbit."

Loki raises an eyebrow at me and I cover my face, smiling.

"I'm sorry. You probably didn't understand half the words I said."

"Oh no, I understood plenty. Though, when you put the words together, that is where my comprehension falters."

I laugh, and throw a berry at him. He moves and catches it in his mouth and I applaud.

"Thank you. It is not everyday that my talent of catching flying fruit in my mouth can be taken advantage of." Grinning at me, he picks up a small handful of the berries from his plate, gives me a weird look when I flinch, and tosses them into his mouth. "Did you think I would throw them at you?"

"Honestly, yes. I did," I say, peering down at my plate to see what food I have left. I feel something bounce off my forehead and look up in time to see a small, blue sphere roll off the table. In my peripheral vision, Loki is smirking, then smiling softly. In my peripheral vision, Loki's lips are pulled into a gently curving line over his teeth and one eyebrow raises slightly higher than the other. In my peripheral vision, Loki's smile falls away, but his eyebrows both raise a fraction of an inch higher and seem to pull his lips apart a little.

"Freya," he says. His voice is quiet but I still jump when he speaks, chills running up my back then seeping down to my toes as warmth.

"Yeah?"

His eyes are a muted blue. God, does he have beautiful eyes.

"May I have this dance?"

"May you have…" I look around, feeling a blush beginning in my neck. I don't know when, but at some point the music stopped. Now, almost everyone is looking at us, expectantly. Frigga and Odin are watching me; the Queen is smiling and nodding, the King does not look unpleasant. "What? What's going on?" I whisper.

Loki stands and walks around the table. Holding out a hand, he pulls me from my chair, turns me so that his chest is at my back, and speaks in my ear.

"Generally, there is a dance between the Allmother and her son. This time my mother has expressed her desire for you and me to dance first."

"We have to go first?" I almost cry, surprised that I somehow manage to keep my voice down.

"Yes."

"Why is everyone looking at us?"

"Because they announced the dance when you were traveling in a daze."

"Oh."

"When I give the signal to the musicians, the song will begin."

"Loki," I whisper, my voice trembling slightly, "what if I mess up?"

"You won't. Keep your eyes on me and not on your feet." He places his left hand on my waist and takes my right hand in his, keeping me in front and to the right of him. "Walk," he murmurs.

I nod. I've always been okay speaking in front of people for a project or presentation, but for some reason I could never perform. When I did the mandatory elementary school play in fifth grade, I was immediately put in the ensemble because I had to go to the bathroom to throw up a minute into auditions.

"Freya," Loki says, louder this time. "When we get to the center of the Ballroom, I will remove my hand from your waist and you are to spin under my arm one full time. Because your back is to me, you will have to turn a bit more to face me. When you do this, let go of my hand and immediately place your palm in mine and your hand on my shoulder like you have learned."

I nod again. I only relax (just a little) when he presses a kiss to the back of my head.

"And lock your elbow," he murmurs against my ear before straightening.

"Okay." We have come to a stop. "Are you going to tell me when—"

"Spin now!" he says under his breath.

He backs up a step to give me room to twirl and I see him smiling when I face him the first time.

"And let go," he breathes. I do and we each take a half-step to each other as the music starts. Placing my hand on his shoulder and my palm in his, I give him a nervous smile. "Lock your elbow"—he's speaking quickly—"remember the square movement I taught you—yes? Very good. That is what we are doing now."

I stare at his face but focus my attention on my feet. We make small square movements across the floor, turning a little with each step.

"Now we speed up a bit."

We turn faster and I feel my legs wobble.

"Freya, look at me," Loki says.

My eyes had wandered downward and I snap them back up.

"Do not focus on your feet, focus on moving with me. Focus on the music and the melody."

"Okay," I whisper.

We come to a fluid stop, then take a few steps to one side and the same amount back. And just like that, we are moving again and I have not tripped. The music swells and Loki and I move faster, turning more rapidly. I feel my dress billow around my legs, hear "ooh"s and "aah"s coming from everyone who stands in a large circle around us.

I close my eyes and listen to the dips and peaks, finding myself rising higher on my toes as the music gets louder, then back down as it softens. Loki lets go of my hand and moves his hand to my waist. I let go of his shoulder and let my back curve, my arms over my head—we're still spinning around the room and I still have not tripped. And then, in a split second, my eyes are open again, and we have returned to our normal positions. We do more twirling squares and then Loki begins spinning me under his arm again. I laugh, holding my free arm out, except for when I pass Loki, so I don't hit him.

When I get close to getting too dizzy, I'm back at Loki's chest, closer this time, and he is looking at me. His eyes have shifted to something darker, not so dark that they are a forest, but more like the color of the ocean at sunset: the blue-green that hides at the edges of the pinks, purples and oranges. I focus only on his irises and only partially take in how fast everything is whizzing past us and how my feet seem to barely touch the ground.

Loki dips me, laughing when my eyes go wide. I'm back up and we're moving again. We twirl and spin, taking a moment or two for Loki to spin me under his arm again and then we're going again before I have time to catch my breath or my balance. Then the music strengthens and I can almost feel it surging through my chest. Loki places both hands on my waist again and bends slightly at the knee.

"What are you doing?" I whisper.

"Put your hands on my shoulders," he whispers back, a mischievous gleam entering his eyes.

"Loki, I am not being picked up—" But then I'm in the air, a foot or two off the ground and a few inches above and away from Loki's face. Terrified, I do what he tells me; instead of just holding his shoulders, I'm almost choking him as I cling to his cloak.

Everyone starts clapping, and I look down at him. He's smiling even though, as he spins, my dress keeps hitting him in the face.

"You may let go if you wish," he says.

I shake my head almost imperceptibly.

This makes him laugh. "I've got you."

My insides turn to ice and then melt, feeling like lava all over. Slowly, I remove my hands from the back of his neck and move my arms in a sweeping arch out to my sides. As I do, Loki places me back on the floor, the music slows and we go back to spinning, moving less and less as the instruments do the same. Loki pulls me against him, pressing his forehead against mine, just as the last violin-like instrument plays its last note.

I'm breathing hard and I can hear my heart pounding—my forehead and ears feel like they are pulsing—but my breath catches in my throat when Loki trails his hand down my spine. He presses his palm against my back. Chills prick me all over, turning on every nerve in my body as they go. I can feel each finger pressed with equal force into my skin; even though he's a Frost Giant, his hand is warm like always; this makes me laugh…Frost Giant, but he's so warm; I can feel muscles in his hand and wrist clench when he stops and looks at me.

Now his hand is not only warm, but burning. It sends tendrils in every direction—I recognize this sensation, this particular sensation. Wracking my brain for why this feels so familiar.

"Oh," I breath. When I created a floating ball of magic, I had felt a similar warmth, a tingling, in my fingers and hands. It had trailed throughout my body just like the heat radiating from Loki into my nervous system.

He makes me feel like magic.

"Freya! Freya?" Loki says, nudging me. From the tone of his voice, I know he has repeated my name more than twice.

"Hmm?" I ask. I look at him and my lips smile on their own.

"What is it?"

I shake my head. "N-nothing." My voice is loud enough for him to hear but it comes out like wind.

He cocks an eyebrow at me, one corner of his mouth following it upward. "You know, my love"—how long is it going to take for me to not feel like falling when he calls me that?—"though I am not reading your mind, I can still tell when you are lying."

"Then, I guess," I say, trying to shake myself out of my mind and back to the present, "you will just have to be held in suspense."

The time it takes me to blink is the same amount of time it takes Loki to move close enough to me so that he can speak directly into my ear. "There I shall stay, I suppose, until you decide to tell—or show—me what it is you have been so unwillingly keeping to yourself."

I turn to him, the tips of our noses brushing against each other. "Yes," I say, "there you shall stay, I suppose."

His eyes flick down my face to my lips. Then, in another blink, he's standing next to me again, arm around my waist, relaxed and smiling at his mother who is walking towards us.

"Freya!" she cries, her face bright. "That was simply beautiful!"

She takes me by the shoulders and pulls me into a tight hug.

"Simply beautiful," she repeats. She holds me at arm's length, looking from me to her son. "Both of you." She lets go of me and I smile wider as she pulls Loki into a hug. "Lovely, my son. Wonderful!"

"Thank you, mother."

"Yes, well…" She backs away from him to look at both of us again. Her eyes are glistening, but she wipes them before any tears fall. "Loki, I believe our dance is coming shortly. Then, Freya, there shall be more dancing—for everyone, of course." She wipes her eyes again.

"Mother, are you—"

"I'm quite alright, truly. Your dance was just…very lovely." She smiles at me and I return it. "But Freya! You look exhausted. Go get something to drink before you faint!"

I smile sheepishly at her, wave at Loki, then hurry to the drink section of the table. My smile widens when I realize Lifa is standing there, pouring some light reddish drink into a cup.

"Lifa!" I say, coming to stand behind her.

Lifa turns, her braid flying away from her back. "Oh, Freya! This is marvelous. I have never danced so much in all my life!"

"Me either," I say, eyeing the weird colored liquids in the fancy pitchers.

"And your dance. That was the most beautiful performance I have ever seen." She puts her cup down so she can squeal without spilling anything. "When did you plan it? When did you decide to get picked up? That was my favorite part—when your dress just— Oh! It was lovely, you should have seen…though how could you? But—Freya! It just floated! It was like there was no gravity. Only, you were the only one experiencing it!"

I laugh a little.

"We never planned anything," I say, laughing more when her mouth drops. "It was all spontaneous. Loki even forgot to tell me we had our own dance until right before it happened."

"Really?"

I nod.

"Valhalla's name," she breaths. "One would never have guessed."

"I'm glad you couldn't see the terror I was in when he lifted me," I say. "But I was sent over here because apparently I look like I might faint. What colorful drink do you suggest?"

Lifa recommends the light reddish one she is drinking and a white, milky pearlescent one. I take her first suggestion as the drink resembles watered down Kool-aid which is much less threatening. It tastes like peaches.

We sit down together at a table and watch as a semicircle forms around Loki and Frigga. They start out differently than Loki and I did: Loki holds Frigga's hand out at arm's length then bows and stays there. The Allmother curtsies and lowers her head, sweeping her arm out to her side. A short moment passes of them posing like this, their positions growing more and more uncomfortable looking, and then the music begins. Instead of starting out slower like our dance did, the musicians jump right into a lively pace. Loki places his right palm against Frigga's right palm and they begin walking in a circle, switching directions every now and then. When the music quickens, Frigga places her hand on her son's shoulder and they twirl, spin and skip around the room. The song gets even faster and everyone around us starts clapping. Lifa and I join in, smiling at each other and at Loki and his mother.

For another hour or so, I talk to Lifa. We go get some food; I try more Asgardian pastries. Loki comes over eventually. He sits with us and we chat lightly. Loki and Lifa are still awkward around each other, so we talk about the current state of affairs—something I don't really know much about—and about the Bifrost, force field and Malekith—things I only have limited knowledge about.

There's another call for dancing, and so Loki and I get up, followed by Lifa. We dance for probably another hour, if not longer. Some of the songs are slow, most are lively, and after the fifteenth or sixteenth fast-paced song, my feet are numb and pain shoots up my legs whenever I move. I fall against Loki's shoulder and he laughs.

"Tired, my love?" he asks, wrapping his arm around my waist to help me to a table.

"Yes." I suck in a breath when yet another shot of pain travels up from my feet. "Very much so—ouch, shit."

"Once you can move again," he laughs and I glare at him halfheartedly, "would you like to go for a walk?" He holds my hand and I sit. "Just the two of us?"

"Yes," I say, smiling now, as Loki raises my knuckles to his lips. "I would like that very much."