A/N: I began this fic in the lead up to the release of Thor: The Dark World and published over three quarters of it here several years ago. To my deep regret, it remained unfinished. Until now.

I won't get into what happened, or how I was able to start writing again, but I was recently able to complete drafts of the last chapters and revise the first part to correct a few issues that always bothered me. If anyone here has read the original, know that I have not changed major plot details; I mainly edited for clarity and consistency, and I added a few things here and there to deepen certain character interactions. I've downloaded the original from here (along with all my comments to readers, which I'll add back to the footnotes of chapters when I can).

I've been updating this fic on other sites 2-4 days and am almost caught up with where we were here on , so I'm updating the first chapters beginning today (9/11/21 of all days).

And finally, the prologue is very O/C heavy, but it's necessary to establish tone and character motivations, setting the stage for what comes next. But there's plenty of Thor and Avengers characters to come.

PROLOGUE

The gods will not come for you

When she was a child, Asrior prayed to the gods.

She didn't make altars, as her mother had said the Midgardians built in their ancient times. Such a tangible display risked discovery, and she had learned well that something even as small as a tear could mean pain.

Instead, she hid the alters in the corners of her mind, waiting until the night was deep and sleep took over the fortress. Only then would Asrior kneel on the hard and cold stone floor, her mouth moving in silent pleas, begging the lords of Asgard for help. Odin would send Thor to her aid, and he would fly toward her on his white horse, wielding Mjolner against her father. The Warriors Three would follow, their battle cries ringing as they fought the guards. And Sif…her sister would ride ahead with the God of Thunder, her sword flashing as she fought to find Asrior and carry her to safety.

They did not hear her prayers.

Asrior had not looked to them at first, not even when her mother died. She'd been barely out of infancy, and when the men took her to Svartalfheim where her father, Valtur, lived, she had childishly welcomed the move to another realm. Surely he would love her as her mother had.

She was not afraid, despite the rough journey through the portal with just the clothing on her back and the thin golden chain that had been her mother's. Leaving lush green hills for a dark and barren land did not frighten her either, nor did her entry into the cavernous hall where she looked upon her father's scarred, alien appearance for the first time.

She wasn't afraid when he reached out to her with pale-as-death fingers that jutted out from heavy armor, fingers that were rough as he lifted her chin. Their eyes met in the flickering torchlight, and she'd smiled, her lips shaking slightly as she whispered, "Father." The corners of his mouth lifted and the fingers on her skin hardened when he laughed. She heard others join in, the sound echoing around her.

Asrior suddenly wanted to hide. She wanted her mother and the familiar comfort of their tiny home in Asgard. Then she felt ashamed for feeling such. Her mother had always told her to be brave.

"You look like her," he said, dark eyes sweeping over her hair, the dark red of it radiant despite the dimness of the hall. Asrior refused to look away from him even as her body trembled.

"You even have your mother's eyes," her father mused, and his fingers loosened to trail along her cheek. "Your skin is like hers. Smooth. Touched by the sun. It is as though Birgitta still lives."

The hand dropped.

"Let us hope you did not inherit her whoring ways."

Laugher echoed around them again, and though she did not grasp the full extent of his words, Asrior understood he was not being kind.

Valtur was leaning forward in his massive chair, an elbow on his knee, his face so close to hers she could feel his breath.

"But you are not like her, are you, Asrior of Asgard? You are not like those she hid you amongst," he hissed, eyes gleaming. The corners of his mouth lifted again when she whispered, "No. I am different."

"Kagoq."

Valtur's eyes moved to someone behind her, and Asrior felt hands on her hair that lifted and pulled. Tears pricked her eyelids when it was yanked so hard her head twisted to the side, allowing her father to view one of her elven-shaped ears.

"You will not hide proof of your true heritage anymore, child. You are of the House of Valtur," he said, his voice strong and hard. "You are a child of Svartalfheim. You are a being of this realm, a descendant of royalty, and you will quit everything of Asgard or die in the keeping of it. Do you understand, daughter?"

The word dripped like venom.

Asrior nodded after a moment, and the hand loosened its grip on her hair slightly.

"Let us hope you are so quick a student in the years to come." Valtur sat back on the massive chair and lifted a hand. "Take her, Kagoq."

A rough voice behind her gritted, "Come with me."

And so she heard Kagoq before she saw him, the dark, brooding dwarf who was to be her guard.

She turned her head to look at the one who gripped her length of hair so harshly, and Asrior shook at the sight of him. Kagoq was massive and squat all at once, his wide body stooped low, a shoulder held at an awkward angle. Whereas her father's scars ran thinly over a strong boned face, Kagoq's features were flat, as though dented, except where a large scab puckered into the mangled space where his right eye should have been.

He spoke under his breath as he led her to the small chamber that was to be hers, muttering about the uselessness of Asgardian bastard filth, his hand holding her hair as though onto a leash, his one eye staring straight ahead.

Still, she had not prayed. Not yet.

Not when the servants burned her Asgardian robes, not when she'd been forced to wear the dark clothes of Svartalfheim, the black armor heavy and unfamiliar. Not through the first, endless month in the fortress with none but Kagoq and his distorted body and bad-tempered words for company.

Not until the night she'd woken from a dream of her mother.

In the dream, she'd been back in Asgard, in their cottage set among hills. Flowers bloomed outside of her window, and Asrior could hear her mother's sweet voice in the kitchen, calling out that bread was coming out of the oven. She'd wandered through the house, following the sound and the smells… Only the house was suddenly made of stone instead of wood, and the halls turned long and dark. When she reached the kitchen, the person in there turned; and instead of her mother's deep blue gaze, it was Kagoq's eye that greeted her.

"I take care of you now, you little wretch," he growled. "Take care to remember it."

Asrior woke, her heart aching so much that need overran her fears. Slipping silently out of her small bed, she darted across the floor to pull open her door. Kagoq was there, as always, sleeping on a mat outside her room. And though her heart raced with fear, she slipped quickly past him and down a long, dark passage in search of her father.

Surely he could offer comfort as only a parent could.

She found him in the great hall, alone and huddled over a table where he studied something lit by a small candle. Asrior touched his arm, her voice small as she greeted him.

Valtur's face swiveled toward her.

Words tumbled out in a rush. She told him she was scared, that Kagoq was mean to her, and she thought that seeing her father would make her feel better. And then she begged him to tell her if the stories of Valhalla were true. Her mother was of Asgard, she said, clutching at his arm, so surely that meant she would one day see her again in the land of the honored fallen.

Tears pooled in Asrior's eyes, blurring her father's image, and she heard hurried footsteps mingled with Kagoq's frantic apologies echo in the nearly empty space.

"Silence yourself," Valtur snapped. The dwarf stopped in his tracks so suddenly he lurched, and Asrior's mouth clamped shut, though it quivered with the effort to stifle the sobs erupting in her throat.

Valtur shifted her hand from his arm and took hold of her wrist, his fingers digging into the skin there. His voice was silky as he asked, "You cry for your dead Asgardian mother?"

"Yes." Her voice shook and a tear escaped as she spoke. Asrior rubbed it away with her free hand. "I miss her, Father. I want to see her again."

A thin smile spread across Valtur's face.

"My lord, please forgive me. Allow me to take her…"

Valtur raised his free hand to silence the dwarf, and his voice was almost curious as he asked, "You think I am angry because she left her chambers without permission?"

Kagoq lowered his eye and stared at his feet.

"No. No, that is not what grieves me," Valtur purred. He regarded his daughter for a moment, his eyes roaming over her blood-red hair. Then he pulled her roughly toward him so that Asrior stumbled. She watched, confused, when he pushed the sleeve of her nightdress away from her wrist. "I am angry because her weakness is an insult to my house. My daughter will not be so pathetic that she cries."

He began muttering something, and Asrior saw the candle he'd read from flare and turn bright purple. His fingers pulled again, and her wrist was met with pain, white-hot pain that seared deep into her skin to scorch the muscle and bone within. Her knees buckled, and she felt a cry rising in her throat. She could smell burning flesh, could see it turning black…

Just when her eyes rolled back into her head, she was released.

"If you insist on weeping, it must be for good cause," Valtur said, steel in his voice now. "You will not wail for the harlot who bore you."

Shock had taken over. Asrior's entire body was shaking, and her breath came in gasps. It felt as if the skin had fallen off her arm, and if Kagoq had not been holding her by the shoulders, she knew she would have fallen to the floor.

"Do not let her get by you again," Valtur warned. "Beat her, if that is what it takes to make her submit. If you cannot control her, you will be the one to suffer the consequences next time."

"Yes, sire. It will not happen again." Kagoq's head lowered and his voice dripped with deference. And then he yanked Asrior by the hair, pulling hard as he snarled at her to follow.

Cradling her wrist with her good hand, Asrior stumbled behind him, led through the great hall by her hair as though an animal. The pain was still blinding, and she kept her eyes closed as Kagoq pulled her along, her gasps slowly turning to whimpers; she remembered her mother's tales of the gods' courage in battle and tried to whisper, "Be brave. Be brave. Be brave."

She did not notice when they turned before arriving at her room, or when Kagoq paused and the grip on her hair loosened. Her thoughts were on her mother, for in remembering, she somehow endured.

And them they were moving again toward her chamber, and when she was loosened to fall onto her small bed, Asrior shrank into it, turning her face into the mattress.

"Give me your wrist, child."

She tried to sink further into the bed at the rough voice, tears falling freely now. Kagoq sighed and muttered, "Here."

The hand on her arm was surprisingly gentle, though firm enough to hold her when she pulled weakly against it with a terrified, "No!" The room was dark, its small window offering little in the way of moonlight, and shadows masked Kagoq's ruined face when she dared look at him. Then she felt something cool and wet on her burning skin.

"This will not heal you, but it will ease the pain." His voice was so low she barely heard him above her harsh breathing. "It will not prevent the scar, either. That was dark magic he used, and your skin will bear the mark forever."

The burning turned into a sting, and then to a dull ache.

Asrior's eyed widened at it. "Is that magic, too?" she asked, her voice thick with her weeping.

Kagoq released her and put something in his coat, and when he spoke, it was as though reciting a lesson.

"You must learn not to cry or show any weakness, especially to Valtur. You must pretend to be of Svartalfheim, learn to act as a dark elf of your father's kind. And you must listen to me when I give you an order. This is for your protection. Do you understand, Asrior?"

Her name on his lips was startling.

"Yes," she managed.

He sighed and opened the door to her room, leaving briefly and returning with his mat. "Tell me if it begins to sting again."

Her eyes were adjusting to the darkness, and she watched as threw his mat against her door and slowly lowered himself onto it.

"How long will it hurt?" she dared to ask.

"Sometimes it does not go away," he mumbled. "Yours is not too bad a wound. You were but moments above the flame. It should ease soon enough." His eye closed. "Go to sleep."

"What if I have another dream?"

He sighed. "Wake me if you have dreams. But you must not leave."

Asrior nodded, gazing at him as he fell into sleep. After a while, with her tears dry and the ache in her wrist almost bearable, she pulled her blanket over her and rolled into the bed. Kagoq's breathing slowed, the sound somehow comforting, and Asrior turned her thoughts toward Asgard. She tried to pretend she was at home, that her mother was telling her stories of Odin's palace and of Queen Frigga's beauty and then tales of Thor and other heroes. Of her sister, Sif, a warrior who lived in Asgard's great city, and how one day it would be safe for Birgitta to bring them together, and she too could live among gods.

And when sleep did not come, Asrior prayed to those gods for the first time.

Once again that night, she slid from her bed, this time moving toward the room's lone window. She fell to her knees in front of it, tipping her head against the narrow stone sill. Her eyes squeezed shut and wrist held carefully at her side, Asrior tried to will the gods on Asgard to hear her. Odin, her mother said, was good and just, while Thor and his warriors were as brave as they were strong. And so she begged them, her voice but a whisper, to hear her prayers and return her safely to her home.

"Asrior? Why are you out of bed? Does your wrist pain you, child?"

Kagoq's voice made her jump. So deep was her focus that she'd forgotten he was there.

Turning her head to meet the eye watching her, Asrior found she was not as frightened of him as before.

"I'm praying," she admitted, voice hushed. Turning her head to look up and out at the stars, her voice filled with certainty. "The gods of Asgard will help me if I ask."

She closed her eyes, and as another prayer formed at her lips, she heard him sigh and shift on his mat. His voice was low, and she could tell he was close to sleep again.

"You should not bother. The gods will not come for you."

…

As time passed, Asrior learned Kagoq was right about the gods. There was no rescue, no savior-warriors riding to the fortress to save her. She could rely on only two things—Kagoq's lessons and the memories she kept locked as treasures in her mind.

She learned more in those years. She taught herself not to cry or show fear or weakness. She learned to hide her longing for her homeland, and learned that even though she had to hide her mother's gold chain, that Birgitta still lived in her heart. She discovered that friendship and beauty existed in unexpected places. Most importantly, she learned to keep such sentiment hidden, and that she could endure most of the outside world if she lived the best part of her life inside herself.

Kagoq schooled her in the ways of the House of Valtur. She learned Svartalfheim customs and language, though she was forbidden to learn magic or how to fight.

The dwarf taught her more practical skills—how to pretend that it hurt when he had to grab her hair, and how to duck just so when he slapped his hand over her head so that the impact looked worse than reality. She learned the necessity of Kagoq acting as punisher, for though her father refrained from using dark magic on her again, he was not loathed to use his fists.

She also learned that Kagoq was usually right about most things.

Still, when it came to one specific lesson, she resisted.

The first time he broached the subject, they were in the room where she took lessons, watching a commotion in the yard below their window.

"Malekith's movements bode ill for the future," Kagoq muttered darkly, watching a tall, heavily armored elf walk toward the fortress gate with her father. "He will provoke war with Asgard and bring Odin's wrath down upon us."

Asrior stared at Kagoq, who set his mouth. "There is no good path. Malekith will either succeed, which will allow Valtur too much power. Or he will fail, which will be worse. There will be a vacuum… The elf lords still standing will fight amongst themselves for the throne. Already your father talks from both sides of his mouth. He pledges fealty, but you notice he has not pledged to battle alongside his king. Valtur the Unmerciful is loyal to none but his own interests."

Malekith and Valtur strode outside the fortress gate then, the servants attending in the yard scattering in their wake.

"Come back to your lesson," Kagoq said, weariness threading through his words, his body moving slowly, for Valtur had raged the night before, nervous over his king's impending visit.

"I am not in the mood to learn about the past princes of Svartalfheim," she answered. "Let us leave to my room. I can read while you rest."

"That will only get me beaten again, child. Now sit and prepare to be quizzed as to your ancestors."

Huffing, she did as asked. "I don't know why I have to do this."

"Don't you?" he asked, a look of surprise in his eye. "A daughter of the House of Valtur must not look ignorant of her race in front of suitors."

Her jaw dropped open. "Sui… You mean to marry? I am but twelve!"

"Mmmm," he said pulling a book toward him. "Not this week, no, but when you are of majority. Such is the way of things."

Asrior scowled. "Who? Who will it be?"

"How am I to know?" He growled, annoyed. "Someone from Malekith's court. Maybe an elf prince. Or a soldier high in the ranks. Someone important."

At his words, the look on her face softened. "Then I can marry you."

It was Kagoq's turn to gape. "Wha… Child!"

"It makes sense," she reasoned, the idea blossoming. "You are my teacher and guardian, which makes you important here. Do you not see? If I must marry, it can be to you instead of those men who come with Malekith. Their stares are filled with menace. They do not like that I look of Asgard. And you are my friend, and I love you. It will be you."

She spoke as if the matter were settled.

Emotion twisted Kagoq's face, "I appreciate your childish sentiments, but it is impossible, Asrior."

Nettled at his attempts to impede her plans, she frowned. "I do not understand."

He looked as though he'd eaten something bitter. "I am not honored in this house. I am not your friend, I am a slave. I am a possession. Do you not understand? You are but a child, so perhaps you do not see the way of things, but I am not of this world, Asrior, and I would not live here if it were my choosing."

"You are only kind to me because you are so ordered?" Her voice began to rise. "I see you as friend and love you because of it. Do you not love me as well?"

"No, I do not. I do not love," he grunted, his eye steely. "It is dangerous to do so."

"You lie," Asrior accused, her eyes narrowing. "Just the other day you said you love peaches."

Snorting, Kagoq retorted, "Ah, but I spoke of Asgardian peaches, one of the few worthy things that wretched realm has spawned. They are like sunshine. You, however, are a willful and bothersome child who I am forced to attend." He thumped the table with a hand, his one eye shining. "Cease talking of such things. You are determined to see me beaten. I should beat you instead."

Knowing that his words seldom met his actions, Asrior nodded and broached another subject that had recently plagued her mind.

"You have spoken of Asgard before. You have been there?"

"A very long time ago," Kagoq admitted, though reluctantly.

"Did you fight with Valtur?" she asked. "Were you wounded there, in battle?"

Kagoq sighed after a moment, and when he spoke she had to strain to her him.

"I have never been in battle."

The words did not sink in at first. Then a band began to wrap itself around her chest as she looked at the puckered scar on his face, at his dented body.

He saw where she gazed and sighed. "One day… One day soon, your father will order you to beat me as he does. This will be expected of you when you age."

Asrior shook her head so hard strands of blood-red hair floated from her stiff braids. "Hit you? No. I cannot do that. It is ridiculous."

"When he orders such, you must obey. Promise me."

She refused.

Once again, Kagoq was right.

The moment came half a year later, after Malekith and the elf-turned-demon Kurse fell at the hands of Thor and Odin. Her father's moods were extreme as he maneuvered for position over Svartalfheim in the aftermath. And when he sent for Asrior late one evening, Kagoq was too slow to wake her. Valtur stalked into her room, raging at their sluggishness and pulling at the whip that was a constant presence at his hip.

Pushing the dwarf to the ground, he looked at Asrior with something close to hunger distorting his pale face.

"He coddles you too much. You must learn to control him as you enter adulthood."

He thrust his whip toward her as he spit out the words.

"No," she whispered, for the whip was an instrument of dark magic, and the scars it left were permanent. "I will not abuse him so."

"It is not a request." Valtur's voice was low, dangerous. "You dare to disobey?"

"I will not beat him," Asrior insisted, and though her insides quaked, she glared at her father and ignored Kagoq's whispered entreaties to do as he asked. "It is cruel. I refuse."

"You refuse?" Valtur took a step toward her. "Because you do not want to be cruel to a slave?"

"There are other ways," she began, but before she could say more, Asrior found herself thrown to the ground next to Kagoq.

"Then take his place."

Asrior barely had time to register the sound of a crack before pain such as she'd never felt before ripped across her back and curled down her right leg. Black floated in front of her eyes and her ears were filled with a hum so that she did not hear the second crack when the whip fell again. Or the other blows that followed.

She was aware of nothing but searing, unending agony. Someone was shrieking, and she vaguely realized she was hearing her own voice. She tried to get away from the lash of the whip, but it felt as though she moved through cut glass. Bile rose into her throat, and she was vomiting on her arm, her chest heaving with the effort to control her sickness when Kagoq's voice registered.

"…lies to the Allfather that you fought against Malekith instead of plotting at his side. Do you think Odin will believe your lying tongue when you present your scar-covered daughter to court in Asgard? Do you think the father of the God of Lies himself will be fooled…"

Valtur kicked Kagoq in spot where his right eye had been, hissing, "Her armor will cover her scars. And who here will tell the Allfather of my doings?"

"You think your whip can silence…" Kagoq began, but Valtur was kneeling, reaching to grab the dwarf's face with one hand while the other dropped the whip and moved for a knife at his belt. There was a flash of silver, then the sound of choking. Then horrifying screams and a muttered spell.

"Stop," Asrior gasped, terrified at the sounds coming from Kagoq. She tried to inch toward him, but pain coursed through her.

The cries stopped as suddenly as they began, only to be replaced by low, piteous moaning and Valtur's exultant breaths.

"So you see," her father began, triumph covering him as he rose to his feet, "there will be no telling of anything should we journey to Asgard. You cannot speak at all now, Kagoq, so you cannot tell. And you…" he turned to look at Asrior. "I have ensured that so long as no one sees the scars blooming on your pink Asgardian back, daughter, you cannot tell either."

He turned to walk away, biting out, "So let us not bother anymore about my lying tongue."

Kagoq moved, an incoherent scream of pain and fury erupting from him. Asrior turned to look at him, horror overtaking her as she did so. Blood covered his lips, dripped from his open mouth and onto the floor. And as she tried to push higher onto an arm, tried to reach toward him, she saw it, the piece of pulp lying on the floor next to his face.

Bile rose again when she realized it was Kagoq's tongue.

It was days before he came to her with his salve, days Asrior spent deep in a place in her mind where Birgitta still lived. It took near a month for her wounds to scab over, and in that time, she visited her mother often. She remembered that the bread Birgitta baked was, without fail, either underdone or burnt. She remembered gentle hands brushing her hair, and mismatched, ill-fitting clothes, and songs sung in an off-key tune. She wanted her mother, she told Kagoq when he finally sat by her. And he would put salve on her back, humming a low and slow tune that soothed her.

Three more months passed before Valtur once again demanded she beat the dwarf. This time, Kagoq pleaded with his eye for her to do so. And when she raised her hand to strike him, Asrior's own eyes begged for his forgiveness.

…

In the years following, Kagoq learned to talk again using hands. At first, his efforts were crude. A finger pointed to an ear for "listen." Two fingers jabbed at an eye for "look." Over time, the signs became more sophisticated, and the pair spent spare moments seeking out new objects or phrases to interpret in their new language.

Kagoq no longer managed her learning, but he was allowed to attend her as a guard. It was a lesson to her, Asrior believed. He was a living symbol that her life belonged solely to Valtur, that she was subject to his absolute control.

Her father grew bolder, as well. In time, Kagoq lost a hand entire and most of the use of the other. The scars on his body grew; and Valtur's use of dark magic against her increased, for he knew so long as any scars could be hidden beneath clothing, his risk of discovery was little. Her mouth was bound by the curse he'd levied when he'd cut out Kagoq's tongue.

Asrior learned as much when Odin sent emissaries to visit Valtur, seeking support for peace agreements in the wake of Malekith's defeat. Her father beckoned her into the great hall to welcome them, smiling widely as he presented her to the four massive warriors from Asgard.

"I have not seen you in a while, daughter. How long has it been?" he asked as she rose from the curtsey she offered the men.

"Little over a month, father," she murmured. The armor she wore over her dress was heavy and painful against her still-throbbing back.

"And what did we do, the last time we met?"

Her breath caught in her chest and she dared a glance at the Asgardians. They were enormous, taller than the dark elves she lived among, and their pink-hued skin was akin to hers. They held shining helmets in one hand, their others resting near the gleaming swords at their hips. And while their expressions were guarded, one noticed her stare and lifted his mouth in the smallest of smiles.

The thought suddenly swept through her that Odin had heard her pleas, had sent men to rescue her. The peace-seeking Queen Alflyse had just established her rule over Svartalfheim, so there was no need to favor Valtur; and the gods had defeated an army of dark elves, what was a mere handful more to these warriors?

Emboldened, she began to tell them that the last time she'd seen her father, he'd beaten her with a cursed weapon, and could they take her back to Asgard, please.

But her mouth would not open. The words tuck on her tongue.

Frustrated, she tried again, simply trying to say, "He beat me." Again, her mouth did not move. The Asgardians stared at her as though she were simple. Frustrated tears pricked her eyes.

"We discussed my lessons," she finally managed.

Valtur smirked and waved his hand in dismissal. "You may go now, Asrior. You are not yet of age to attend to guests such as these. I simply desired to make your position here clear."

She bobbed another curtsey and turned, almost running to her room. Kagoq waited there, and when he saw the look on her face, he sighed as though to tell her it had been foolish to look to the gods.

More years passed before they finally made the journey to Asgard. Rumors from the realm of Muspelheim had reached the Allfather's ears; the fire demon Surtur, it was said, had made plans to conquer the realms. This forced Odin and Thor to form alliances with ancient enemies, including dark elves. When a contingent from Svartalfheim journeyed to the land of her birth as part of the negotiations, Asrior and her father accompanied them.

Kagoq traveled with them as well, though he was forced to wear a fitted hood and mask in public. Asrior, dressed in her dark armor, hair pulled back to expose her elven ears, was made to accompany her father everywhere. Not that they were often invited into the honored homes in the city, much less the royal palace. Despite the Allfather's efforts at peace, the sins of the dark elves still hung heavy over the realm.

In those rare times they were allowed in the most inner sanctum, Asrior was forced to stand silently to the side; still considered a child, she could not formally attend court, though she was allowed to serve Valtur as a hand servant.

Thus, one night when they entered the house of Odin, Asrior found herself braced against a golden wall, her armor making her scars ache, watching as Valtur the Unmerciful sat at a banquet table, surrounded by the gods to which his daughter had once prayed.

Thor was near the Allfather, his voice booming over all else. Asrior tried to keep her eyes lowered, for the king's golden-haired son was tempting to look upon. It was hard not to stare, so pleasing was his visage. The sight of him made her heart beat faster, and she'd once been so absorbed by the color of his eyes that she neglected the sound of her father's voice. He'd berated her later, though the fact they were in Asgard stayed his use of dark magic.

The rumble of her stomach distracted her attention, and she briefly thought about the bread she'd secreted under her armor. Though she could not attend the table, a servant usually brought a plate to where she stood against the wall; Asrior took to pocketing much of it to give to Kagoq, who often went hungry. Being in Asgard tempered her father's treatment of her, but the dwarf paid a heavy price for it.

She was biting her lips, determined to ignore her own cravings, when she noticed the servants were laying deserts on a table close by. There were cakes and pastries piled high, glittering with icing. Bottles of wine circled the sweets and across were platters with mounds of fruit. Lucious apples, great round grapes, and peaches. Piles and piles of glistening Asgardian peaches.

Asrior moved on impulse, inching along the wall as the last servant turned away. She began with two peaches, shoving them hastily into her pockets, and then three more found their way into other recesses of her clothing.

Her hands were on yet two more when she risked a look toward the banquet. Thor was laughing, his gaze riveted on his new bride, and Valtur was leering at an underdressed goddess as he tipped back a goblet of mead. The others were eating and drinking and joining in the frivolity, the noise at a feverish pitch. Everyone was too absorbed in the gaiety around them to notice the elf-child stealing pieces of fruit.

Everyone except for the pale-skinned, night black-haired God of Lies.

He… He sat at the end of the table near to where she stood, far away from his father and brother. He had pushed his chair back a little, as though removing himself from the others. His long fingers tapped a rhythm on the arms of his seat, and his eyes were trained on her. Asrior paused when she noticed him, her hands tightening on the fruit.

Loki Laufeyson—descendant of giants, son of two realms, master of tricks—was amused at what he saw. His pale green eyes gleamed when they flitted over the stolen peaches in her hands, his thin lips quirking upward in delight.

He wasn't as massive as the king or Thor, but was just as intimidating. His was a long, lean strength, elegant and deadly, encased in gold and green armor that shimmered as scales on a snake. Power emanated from him, and if gossip was true, that was nothing compared to the razor-sharp depths of his mind. Asrior had heard tales of him, how he had mapped the destruction of entire races, how he'd played his father and brother and the enemies of Asgard for fools, how he battled brute strength using naught but his magic and wits. How he looked out for none but himself and his own interests. He sounded much like her father.

Of all the gods of Asgard, she had not prayed to him.

His gaze stayed on her, turning her cheeks hot and making her skin prickle; angry at the sensations, Asrior glared at him in defiance, shoving the two peaches under her armor and reaching for more.

Loki's lips parted into a grin as she did so, and for a moment, she was afraid he would bring attention to her thievery. But, after a heartbeat, he turned his gaze back to where the king sat, a mask of boredom encasing his face. The long fingers on his chair stilled, and his hands moved to clasp together in front of him.

Asrior hid the last of the fruit and sidled back to her previous position. A knot coiled in her stomach, and she looked at the floor, wishing desperately for the banquet to end.

Later, when she gave Kagoq her bounty, he saw fit to lecture her for being too bold. Annoyed, she signed furiously at him, using rude gestures to call him ungrateful. The dwarf refused to talk to her for two days after.

But on the third day, when they ventured from the city and into the woods for a hunt, the pair found themselves alone in Valtur's open carriage. Her father and his contingent of dark elves had moved away from the livery in pursuit of feral wolves, and as they waited, Asrior pulled Kagoq's hood down.

The dwarf gave her a look of thanks and clumsily reached for the bag he wore at his waist, opening it to reveal a peach.

Asrior grunted when he gestured for her to take it. "What? I thought I was a rash, dim-witted child for stealing it."

Kagoq grunted back, signing, You risk much. You scare me. I'm sorry. I want you to have it.

She softened as she stared at his scarred face. His jaw was set, his eye resolute, but he looked weary as well. She did not know his age, but the impact of her father's beatings wore more on him these days. "But there's only one left. They are like sunshine, remember? You love these."

He did not look at her when he slowly moved his remaining hand to push two fingers against his chest, allowing them to rest there for a moment, and then turning them to point at Asrior.

Love you.

It was impossible to breathe. Biting her lips so hard she tasted blood, Asrior tried to speak. But the words stuck, as though Valtur's curse bound her tongue.

So she nudged his knee with hers, hard, making him turn to her, and signed When I marry, I will take you with me. Then we will have all the peaches we desire.

Kagoq's eye turned bright, but they both knew her words were hollow. Valtur would never allow her such freedom. When she left childhood and married, it would be to someone of her father's choosing, and it would be to someone he would own as he owned her. She did not know if Kagoq would survive in the meantime.

He sighed deeply, his hand moving again, first to place the peach on her lap, then to sign, If I am gone then…

She began to protest, but stopped at his glare.

If I am gone, remember my lessons. Be safe. Be strong.

Asrior's own hands moved. I will not let anything happen to you.

As she'd aged, Asrior had gained a new understanding about her childhood on Asgard. She understood why her mother could not bake well, why their clothes did not fit, and why the little they owned was handmade. Birgitta was a high-born lady with little knowledge of home keeping. When she'd hidden from Valtur, she did not ask for help lest she endanger her youngest, and she had forsaken her oldest to protect her as well, for she feared for Sif's life should the warrior seek vengeance. She instead relied on her own wits to survive.

Yet despite the simple life she had given Asrior, Birgitta had also given care and love with such richness that it lasted beyond death.

Her daughter now vowed to do the same.

I will take care of you, Asrior promised. I will find a way.

The sound of hooves and shouts grew near as her father's party returned to the carriage. Valtur was snarling at one of the elves for interfering with his shot. The hunt was going poorly, and he was in a sour mood. Beside her, Kagoq shifted nervously, and Asrior hastily concealed the peach in the folds of her skirt.

"I'm sorry, my lord," the courtier was saying as he slid from his mount and fell to a knee.

In answer, her father raised the bow in his hand and crashed it upon the elf's back, knocking him to the ground.

"Kagoq! Come and give me his arrows and take his horse. Drok will not ruin my hunt again."

The dwarf stumbled from the carriage, rushing to do his bidding. His gnarled hand fumbled with the elf's weapons, dropping them, and as he tried to pick them up had to duck when Valtur swung his bow again.

"Is there no one here competent enough to assist me?" he shouted, swinging at Kagoq's back. The dwarf fell, and one of the arrows he collected snapped under his weight. Spitting with rage, Valtur jumped from his horse, his hand flexing at his whip as though he ached to use it.

Asrior's stomach clenched when he uncoiled the dark weapon and swung, hitting the ground. When Kagoq fumbled with the broken arrow, Valtur swung the whip again, hitting the dirt an inch away from the dwarf. He was working himself into a frenzy, and Asrior knew he would not stop until he had assuaged his wrath through pain and blood.

So blind was his fury that he failed to notice the warning shouts of his guards who had sighted riders approaching from a nearby hill—riders who flew Odin's flag.

Asrior could see the golden banner fluttering as they rode, and the heart that had just hammered in her chest seemed to stop. King's men were here, men who might discover her father in the act of using dark magic.

If they arrived in time.

But one of the dark elf guards had grabbed Valtur's arm to gain his attention, and others were forming a circle around Kagoq as though to shield him.

Much as she'd done when she'd stolen the fruit, Asrior acted on instinct. Clutching the peach in her hand, she rushed out of the carriage and sprinted closer to the ruckus.

A metallic taste of fear and adrenaline filled her mouth as she cried out, "The slave is too slow because he grows fat and lazy!" The words drew her father's attention, and she lifted the peach, glaring at Kagoq's astonished face. "This fell from his pocket when you called him," she continued, spitting the words out. "The slave dared to steal from you, my lord."

She heard the crack of the whip before she saw Valtur move, and Kagoq was on his side, screaming and clutching at his neck where he had been stuck. The elves around them scattered like so many vermin, trying to avoid the lashing and hooves of horses rearing in fear.

Forgetting all but his fury, Valtur rained the whip down again and again, pausing only at the outraged shouts from Odin's men when they drew near.

The dwarf's clothes were bloody and torn, but the layers stuck to his skin, covering the extent of his scarring. Asrior, despairing, cried, "Why do you stop?" and fell upon Kagoq, her hands clawing at his back as though to continue the punishment. It took all of her courage to carry through her task at the sound of her friend's moans.

A hard hand ripped her from Kagoq, tossing her aside, and as she fell, pieces of vest and undershirt came with her. The clumps of material that remained were wet with blood, but they gaped open to bear proof of his abuse.

"What is the meaning of this?" A woman's voice broke across them, and someone tall and dark haired strode to where Kagoq lay.

Breathing heavily, Asrior pushed to stand and watched as Sif knelt by the dwarf's side, her hands carefully moving across his back, muttering, "This looks of dark magic. This is forbidden."

More of the king's men were dismounting, and one with a pointed yellow beard moved toward Valtur, his sword half out its scabbard as he raged, "How dare the likes of you roam this realm! I swear by Odin…"

"I am an honored guest of Odin," the elf lord spoke over him, smiling widely. "Did you not know? I thought the Warriors Three and Lady Sif were close to the king." He smirked and looked at the Asgardians as though he searched for a particular face. "Or do only two of three warriors attend Odin now?"

The yellow haired man's eyes became as slits and another, fat and red-bearded, shouted, "We were on an errand for the Allfather! And when he hears of what you have done today, you will not be so honored as you claim."

"What have I done?" Valtur began, and other Asgardians began to bellow over him.

Asrior continued to gaze at her sister, who was beckoning to one of the men and speaking of a healing room. She wanted to shout as well, to beg Sif to look at her. To understand that she too bore such scars and to please take her too; but the curse held her mouth closed.

Then she looked at her father, expecting his rage when he realized how she had tricked him. But Asrior was forgotten he quarreled with Odin's men. It was as though she was not there.

None looked at her but the whimpering Kagoq, who turned his eye upon her when he was put upon a board by one of the Asgardian warriors.

Sif was pointing at Valtur, disgust writ upon her face. "He is not your slave anymore, my lord, and as you have broken Asgardian law, the dwarf is now under our protection. You will be lucky is this servant is all you lose use of today."

Men were lifting the board to take Kagoq away, and Asrior's legs almost gave way when she realized her makeshift plan was working.

But distress swept across Kagoq's face, and he shook his head, mouthing no.

Tears threatened, but Asrior willed them away; and when the king's men began to move, she locked her eyes with Kagoq's and moved her hands, first putting a finger to the inside of a wrist.

Be safe.

She put a fist to her chest.

Be brave.

She touched the corner of her mouth.

Be happy.

And then, Asrior's heart close to breaking, she moved two fingers to her chest and held them there briefly before pointing at him.

Kagoq's moans turned to cries.

The Asgardians were mounted again, riding past so that her view was obscured and the sound of their hooves covered all else. She moved to the side, away from the rush of horseflesh, noticing that one of the soldiers spit at the ground as he went past, missing her by a hair.

Reeling with the suddenness of the rescue, Asrior climbed into her father's carriage, giving silent thanks to whatever god had allowed her to so quickly fulfill her promise to take care of her friend.

They were soon back in the great city, Valtur's heated demands falling upon all in his path, and within hours, their belongings were packed. Asrior stood next to him waiting for the portal to return them to Svartalfheim, momentarily feeling triumphant.

It was only later—when she lay in her small stone chamber waiting to hear the sound of Kagoq's breathing—that she realized, for the first time in her life, she was truly isolated.

She knew too that Valtur's rage would not easily abate. The loss of his slave to Asgardians would eat at his pride. The humiliation would simmer and burn until it burst. And she would bear the brunt of it.

Necessity meant she would have to be her own protector now. Asrior told herself she could bear such a burden, for she had the memory of her mother and the knowledge that Kagoq was safe to sustain her.

It struck her, eventually, that as always, Kagoq was right. The gods had not come for her.

But he had never told her she could not bring them to him.