Translations
Alblóð 'all-blood' from allr (all) + blóð (blood) as Alfǫðr/Almóðir(All-Father/All-Mother)
seiðskratti 'sorcerer/warlock' (derogatory)
griðníðingr 'truce breaker'

'Mountains' proverb: Najwa Zebian

Part 9
Alblóð

'I'd kill him, but you're perfectly capable of doing it yourself.'

Sigyn was pacing before Loki along her workbench, bloodlust still boiling in her veins. 'Norns know I wanted to.'

They had met in her laboratory to receive a delivery of fresh blood samples. Her old haunt was a second home to Sigyn, but to Loki it was a dim, cramped room stacked with arcane books and apothecary bottles, the musty air fogged by potion vapours smelling of noxious herbs.

She clawed her hair off her face and fastened it into a high ponytail. Then threw a bloodstained apron over her leather bodysuit, oblivious to the clashing uniforms of her dual roles as healer and executioner as she angrily set about stirring the contents of each of the eighteen vials into the ethereal, golden substrate shimmering in a large cauldron. Each stream of blood catalysed in the potion with a flare of cadmium light, until a rutilant glow of seiðr illuminated her glowering features.

'It's no great revelation,' shrugged Loki. 'I've suspected Gullveig of sponsoring the insurgency against my reign for some time. What needs to be contained now, is any news that I know.'

'I suppose she considered you weaker fare than the All-Father. Took the chance to dispense with Aesir rule once and for all ...' Sigyn ladled the potion into a glass jug to run the new batch of blood substitute through yet another of what had been hundreds of unsuccessful fidelity tests. A grim smirk tugged at her lips. 'It would seem she failed to take your measure.'

'Underestimation suits my agenda just fine,' commented Loki, only pulling his distracted stare from his furious fiancée to watch Sigyn's progress as the synthetic plasma flashed and morphed into each blood type when poured into a second set of samples, one after the other in a row of labelled beakers.

Sigyn hesitated when it turned a vivid aqua in response to sample fifteen, Kree. 'It's never synthesised with this many before,' she remarked of the potion, heart surging in her breast.

She'd never made it this far down the line before the preparation curdled into grey goop on contact, and she would want to hurl her cauldron through the window. This had to be a good sign.

Sixteen, Dwarf. The meniscus rose with thick coppery fluid.

'Hel ...'

Seventeen, Eldjötunn. The plasma yellowed into fuming sulphur.

She expelled a nervous breath, her heartbeat in her throat.

Eighteen, Loki.

In a single moment the ire melted from Sigyn's face, her eyes and mouth widening in disbelief as she stared at the final result - ink blue ichor.

'It - I think it's working.' Her sight blurred with tears. 'It works.'

If only she'd made this discovery a few years earlier. How different things would have been.

Loki swung her into his arms just in time for the victory to hollow in her heart, and her triumphant laughter hiccupped into tragic weeping. His broad hand drew her temple beneath his chin and cradled her cheek against his chest.

'No regrets, darling,' he crooned, stroking up and down the small of her back. He swayed slightly from one boot to the other, rocking them. 'You wouldn't have striven for this had older medicine not brought harm. You see? "These mountains you've been carrying, you were only supposed to climb".'

The last waves of Sigyn's grief crashed in heaving sobs that slowly ebbed to shaking sighs while he soothed her and pressed kisses into her hair. 'Sanguine was the mother of this invention,' she accepted blearily once she'd caught her breath.

'Exactly.' Loki tipped her face up to his and wiped the tears from her reddened cheeks, gaze tender. 'What will you call it?'

In all her years of work, naming the new potion she'd woven into being hadn't crossed her mind. Sigyn had been more concerned with convincing Eir she was mostly still sane, and her ideas weren't figments of pure fantasy. It wasn't the time to be humble about her achievement now.

'Alblóð.'

Loki lit up with an admiring smile Sigyn could have basked in forever. 'So it is,' he proclaimed. 'A priceless first gift to the realms from the new Queen of Asgard. Frigga would be proud. As am I.'

'Thank you, Loki,' she croaked, and pressed her face into his chest, breathing in his leathers.

You can't undo what you did. You can only make up for it.

'So what will it be for your father, death or dungeon?' he prodded then. 'I'd prefer he's dealt with fairly soon, considering his intentions, however impotent.'

Sigyn parted from him and heaved a huff that punctuated with an unsatisfied shrug. 'Dungeons. I don't have his death in me, not quite.'

'Can I play with him a little more first?' Loki requested. 'It wouldn't take much to bait the oaf into violating the terms of the armistice agreement. Just so it's properly legal.'

A weak smile crept back onto her lips. 'What have you in mind?'

'Come watch,' invited Loki, a charming grin beginning to grow. 'You can have a front row seat.'

A day later, Iwaldi had pretended to make amends with Sigyn without actually apologising.

'Yesterday, things were said, mistakes were made,' the greying man half-admitted, looking out over the balcony of his suite at the gleaming cityscape. 'You inherited more of my fire than I realised.'

Beside him, Sigyn restrained her impulse to shake her head at his arrogance. 'In a way,' she agreed.

'You ah – kept our little spat to yourself?'

'If I didn't, you'd be dead,' she fibbed flatly.

'Good, good.' He crossed his arms. 'And are you really pregnant?'

Of course, her purity remained his main concern for her welfare.

'I am.'

Iwaldi took this with a long, tense breath expanded deep through his chest. Then he acknowledged, 'You're committed to this cause, aren't you?'

Sigyn was steadfast. 'I've chosen my course.'

'I can't say I understand it. But there's a man's way of doing things, and a woman's way of doing things. I recognise you and your mother's convictions are loyal to Vanaheim, in your own way. Is your old man welcome to dinner tonight?'

She'd swallowed down her disgust and contorted her lips into something resembling a forgiving smile. 'Alright. Let's have a do-over.'

Were Iwaldi a man of observation more than action; a perceptive man, a man who considered the inner thoughts of others; he could have noticed the lack of tension in Freyja and Sigyn's demeanours. He might have read the insincerity in Loki's wide, genial smile.

He might have been more prepared for the battle.

Freyja asked after Iwaldi's daughters between sips of very bubbly frizzante, chattering as though nothing was amiss with the atmosphere in the room. 'When will the girls be arriving? The seamstress needs their measurements for their gowns.' She switched her attention to the bride, who nodded along. 'The others are looking fabulous, Sigyn. Such a flattering colour for this season.'

'They'll be along soon,' muttered Iwaldi, pouring out a tall ale for himself.

'Well if they're here any later than tomorrow she'll have to rush alterations,' she cautioned, absently rubbing at her temple with her taloned fingertips. 'I'm not having girls being stitched into their gowns on the morning-of like Idunn's wedding. It was a nightmare.'

'You're planning an incredible celebration for us, Freyja,' praised Loki at the head of the table. 'I'm just waiting around while my armour is polished, looking forward to fatherhood.'

Sigyn propped an elbow on the table and learnt her chin in her palm, gazing across the candles at her betrothed. 'And what are you most looking forward to?'

'The storytelling. Discovering their talents. Chases through the gardens.' He finished with a lingering look at her that was sure to antagonise her father.

'Do you know what you're having yet, then?' Iwaldi queried with a nod to his daughter.

'Two sons,' supplied Sigyn, casting another glowing smile towards Loki before moving to spoon a heaping of creamy potatoes onto her plate.

'Hm,' her father huffed, a snide rise in his brow. 'Well thank the Norns they'll have an uncle to show them both how to use a real weapon. Asgard doesn't protect its empire with sorcery and sparkles.'

The serving spoon stilled mid-air in Sigyn's hand. Freyja flitted a nervous glance Loki's way, but he weathered the volley of aspersions with unmoved hauteur. The General's blunt assaults were a stroll in the garden compared to the hypocritical twists of Odin's labyrinthine wisdom that Loki had learned to navigate. He was quickly growing bored of the man's boorish character.

No matter what spite Iwaldi threw at him, he would not be lured into attacking.

'That is no way to talk in your son-in-law's presence,' scolded Freyja in Loki's defence. 'Truly, we may all have our differences, but we must reopen communication with Gullveig andfind a political compromise between our realms.'

Her attempt to steer the topic of conversation to the bigger picture did not succeed in defusing the mood, for Iwaldi shot back hotly, 'If compromise means the continued submission of Vanaheim, then the time for negotiations has long passed.'

At this Loki tilted his head, meeting the General's dark eyes with a steady, avid stare like a serpent about to strike. 'I'm curious to know what a conquered realm can do with its ruler, other than negotiate. And whine petty insults.'

'This is what,' growled Iwaldi then, the words twisting his face like poison in his mouth, and launched to his feet.

'Father!' screamed Sigyn.

'Stop it - both of you!' cried Freyja as he barrelled along the table to the King, drawing his sword from its scabbard with a chilling ring of steel.

As the sword swung down on a still-seated Loki the women shrieked, a shrill peal of terror that would surely bring guards running -

The blade slashed clean through Loki, casting a trail of green light like a comet through cloud where leather and meat and bone should be - the blow landing deep in the dining chair.

Iwaldi's bellow could have shaken the dinnerware.

'COWARD!' He wrenched the blade from the hacked-up chair and wheeled around, wild gaze raking the walls. 'Where are you? Show yourself!'

Sigyn hauled her mother from her seat and scrambled to a corner closest the doors, where they cowered in one another's arms, white with fear.

'There's a quality that Vanaheim's military has lacked for some time,' the spectre of light particles and soundwaves in the shape of Loki observed impassively. 'It's the difference between the rampaging bilgesnipe who pummel their enemy; and the crow, who ally with wolves they lead to their mutual prey. Can you guess what, Iwaldi?'

Without a corporeal target, Iwaldi rounded back on the illusion. 'Enough talk! Get out here and face me like a true warrior of Asgard!'

'You're on my territory,' the mirage reminded him. 'I call the rules of engagement. Be a good guest and answer my question.'

He lowered his sword. 'Tactics,' he grunted reluctantly.

'Close, General. You're still thinking of combat. The quality is strategy. Despite their size difference, a boar cannot trample a bird, as is his nature. The crow will simply fly around him, as is his nature.'

'What's your point, Liesmith?'

'The point, General, is that my bride certainly didn't inherit her intellect from you; and you're under arrest.'

A pair of Einherjar unveiled from behind an invisible curtain at the doors and advanced on Iwaldi.

The General erupted in a roar. Just as he raised his sword, a chain shot from thin air and ensnared his wrist. It snaked down his arm, swiftly encircling his body and locking his legs together, subduing him as the guards gripped each of his shoulders.

Then the avatar dissolved, and Loki finally dropped his disguise - appearing at the centre of the dining table where he was sat cross-legged, jester-like, between a platter of honey carrots and a dish of plum pudding. Amusement sparkled in his eyes.

Sigyn and Freyja jumped in their embrace, hands flying to their shocked mouths with a gasp and a squeak.

'Youslimy pansy,' spluttered Iwaldi, 'you -'

'You know what attribute I do appreciate in the simple beasts?' the real Loki continued on from his discarded duplicate. 'Their reliability. Where do you think their reliability comes from, Iwaldi?'

His jaw flexed beneath his beard. 'Determination.'

Loki lazily unfolded his legs and rose to his boots, picking his way through the maze of serving trays and stepping lightly down a chair to the floor, coming to stand before the prisoner, hands folded behind his back.

'Their predictability. Bellicose bulls can always be relied upon to trip on their truculence and land on their own swords.'

'Freyja!' called Iwaldi frantically, craning his neck around at her, 'get out of here, go to Gullveig -'

Loki released a pitying laugh. 'Oh Iwaldi. You're a slow learner aren't you.'

Mother and daughter shimmered, faded, and vanished.

'Norns damn you, seiðskratti!'

Loki choked him off with a jerk of his wrist that summoned a metal muzzle over the man's jaw. 'You have served me well, General.' A cruel smile sliced his mouth like a knife, baring his teeth. 'You will continue to do so. Fandral!'

A pair of tapestries reappeared upon a bare marble wall and parted. Out sauntered the flax-haired Kingsguard, who dipped his goateed chin in a bow. 'Your Majesty.'

'The armistice is broken. This witless wonder is griðníðingr and sentenced to life imprisonment. I have an assignment for you I don't trust anyone else to perform to your level of dramaturgy.'

Then Loki waved a hand, fingers splayed, down Fandral's frame. A sheet of glimmering green light swept over him that stretched, settled, and resolved into a mirror of Iwaldi himself, Aesir gold replaced by silver plating decorated with the engravings of Vanir legend.

Iwaldi's eyes stretched wide at the transformation, and he renewed his thrashing against the two burly Einherjar, a mute roar muffled under his muzzle.

Loki paid him no mind, directing Fandral with smug indifference. 'You will return to Vanaheim tomorrow and inform Gullveig that you valiantly slayed Loki the Usurper yourself,' he instructed. 'You will remain long enough to collect whatever valuable security information our dear General has access to, and call for Heimdall to return you. Avoid risking any contact with his family if possible.'

Iwaldi's voice came out of Fandral's masked mouth uncharacteristically petulant. 'You mean … I'm going to miss the wedding? I've promised dances to at least three maidens already. What will I say to them?'

'That duty calls you to a classified mission on a matter of national security,' Loki indulged the pouting swordsman. 'That you don't have much time and may not return alive. That should expediate your seductions to certain success.'

The bulky shoulders sank. 'Understood, Your Majesty.'

'Do you believe tonight's observations are sufficient to inspire an accurate portrayal?'

The General's illusory moustache twitched above Fandral's delighted smirk. 'I was treated to quite the show. A scene worthy of reenactment for centuries. Show yourself, trickster! Reveal your yellow neck to my big Vanir blade!'

'Alright,' nodded Loki, trembling with a suppressed chuckle. 'Close enough.'

Finally Loki drew close to the prisoner and inclined his mouth to the man's ear, voice stripped of humour. 'You're welcome for Sigyn's mercy, Iwaldi. I would simply have you executed.' He spoke over the gagged growl that answered. 'Your daughter is such a tempering influence on me. A true blessing.'

The King stepped back and pointed his chin toward the doors. 'Drop him off in the dungeons on your way.'

When he turned back to the empty chamber, a slow clap punctured the silence from across the room.

Sigyn emerged from the hidden passage where she had stood in careful silence with Fandral during the charade, lauding Loki with mock applause that he returned with a theatrical little bow.

'I wonder if it may have been more merciful just to kill him, after all.'