Twenty

"Interesting that I should find you here rather than allowing your lovelorn heart to have you nipping at the heels of a certain doe-eyed dragonrider."

Edvard stiffens, pausing the drag of the whetstone against the shining straight of his favorite sword. His fingers tighten around the leather-wrapped hilt but he makes a point of continuing honing his weapon. He has not been obviously bothered by the owner of this silvery voice since he was a boy. Edvard has long-since mastered the art of appearing unaffected, just as he has long-since mastered controlling the power in the blood coursing through his veins.

Edvard is so practiced that, unless he is actively thinking of it, he can almost forget the secret he keeps.

So his response to the voice is finely-crafted and aloof. "Loki," he greets placidly. He does not think about the other things he has called Loki – Master, Friend, and the most forbidden…

Loki, of course, always seems to know what Edvard is thinking. Loki slinks from the half-shadows in the small clearing Edvard plans to claim for his own longhouse. "Ah-ah-ah," Loki tuts playfully. "That's not what you should be calling me, no?"

Edvard stubbornly remains silent. He has learned not to rise to Loki's bait.

Loki sighs, put off by Edvard's unwillingness to play, but his lips curl upward in amusement as he continues on his previous train of thought. "Of course, you would have no need to follow your ladylove when you have such a quaint tracking charm placed on her –"

"For her safety," Edvard grits out. He curls his hands into fists and clenches his jaw when Loki laughs, a silvery, condescending sound. Edvard closes his eyes, briefly cursing himself for responding exactly as Loki wants him to. Silently, he resigns himself to the inevitable and braces to match wits with the silver-tongued trickster himself.

"A spell is a spell, my boy, and you have cast such a nice one."

Edvard levels Loki with a flat stare – and for the first time in a while, matching green eyes meet with a familiar spark of magic. "I did learn from the best. Father."

Loki is immediately delighted, clapping his hands together in glee. "Oh, I do so love when you acknowledge me."

"Usually when I do, you are quick to leave. Do not mistake this for fondness."

Loki's eyes glitter. "I would be a fool to do so, since all of your fondness is reserved for darling Izabela."

Edvard glares.

The trickster ignores him, tapping his chin. "What I cannot figure is why you remain in this tawdry village while she ventures into the treacherous depths of those mountains," he ponders. Shrewd green eyes pierce through Edvard. "Unless you think you would not be welcomed."

That stings, because Edvard is not sure if his company would be welcomed by Iza or her dragon. The least he had been able to do to protect her was place a tracking charm – but such a simple spell would be less useful the further away she was and he has been grappling with the decision to stay or go all night as a result.

And here Loki is, encouraging him to tag along.

Loki never does anything without an ulterior motive. Edvard just has to decide whether he will be a willing tool yet again or not.

For Iza, he can imagine doing much worse than playing a role in one of Loki's plays if it meant he could ensure her safety.

"I never thought I would see the day where one of my blood would show such cowardice," Loki goads. "Even Sleipnir shows more spine when he bucks Odin off his back."

Edvard glowers at Loki.

Loki's smile widens.

"The nearer I am to anyone, the more I am at risk of revealing the seidr you have cursed me with," Edvard spits out. There is bitter resentment for the green the sparks off his fingers, brought forth by his temper and the nearness to the original source of magic from whence it came.

Loki loses his cheer and shifts into a threatening pose in the space of a breath, invading Edvard's space with a swell of dark power. "And what makes you think of my gift as a curse? The fact that you are a Halfling, neither mortal nor immortal, or the fact that you think being half of something means you must be wholly alone?"

Edvard grits his teeth, because Loki has pinpointed the exact issue. Naturally. The bastard.

Loki straightens up, unaffected and unruffled by Edvard's sullen discourse. "My child is so ignorant," he complains to the trees. Loki scoffs. "As if I would ever encourage you to follow your pining heart for anyone who is not at least your equal. And luckily for you, your beloved Halfling is also Thor-touched. I could not ask for a better match."

Edvard barely has a chance to process – or react – to Loki's blithe revelations before Loki is once again looking down at him with a smirk and narrowed eyes. Loki reaches forward and flicks Edvard right in the center of his forehead –

And then –

Edvard

goes

somewhere

else.

A/N: How do you move a plot forward? Shove it off a cliff! On that note, I might have underestimated the chapter count... :)

Norse things for this chapter! Sleipnir is really a child of Loki's in mythology, who Odin has basically enslaved as punishment for one of Loki's schemes. Odin is more than a little bit of a dick. Sleipnir is also ridden into Hel a lot for some reason, I guess because he's the fastest, bestest horse around? Unclear. Who knows? Real shame we lost so much of Norse Mythology to...like the ocean or something. Lots of context is missing from the two Eddas we do have access to.

As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.

~Rae