Chapter 11
A Coward Dies A Hundred Deaths
As heavily fortified as the enchantments around the Mages of Vanaheim were, it didn't take the Gust very long to slither past them. After all, they weren't created with an omnipresent enemy in mind, even if it had taken the Gust days to find them.
Neither was the bifrost, apparently, seeing as the Gust had managed to infiltrate a trip from Muspelheim to Asgard and escape to Vanaheim halfway through the journey. The Asgardian guards who it had secretly travelled with inspired bloodthirst and fear all at once.
Those same emotions reared their heads as the Gust floated closer and closer to the Mages, who were silent in their individual endeavors; some reading, some meditating, some casting spells into the daylight. They were unsuspecting. They had full trust in their protection enchantments.
Their arrogance inspired the Gust's to spike. The urge to sweep through and kill all of them, then to take what rested in their temples. There was no need to be stealthy; Odin was far, far away, and a handful of monks would hardly be a challenge.
A moment of doubt crossed its mind, and then its rage was back in full force.
The clearing that the Mages inhabited suddenly became much warmer. Surrounded by trees on one side and a cliffside on the other, a handful of Mages looked to the treeline curiously, thinking that was the only logical place for an intruder to come from. They were right.
The Gust came screaming from its hiding place and ran through the nearest Mage, who didn't have time to rise to his feet before his lungs shriveled and he fell to the ground.
Another Mage, who had been casting, turned its attention to the slightly shaded presence of the Gust, and with a well aimed hex, sent it keeling backward.
The other Mages rose to defend as well, leaving the Gust not only severely outnumbered, but dazed from the spelled being shot in its direction. Pathetically, it doubled back and slunk back into the forest, as much as it loathed itself for doing so. The Mages in the clearing, much to its dismay, took up the chase.
Some Mages had ran out into the clearing from within the catacombs after hearing the commotion. Another Mage, one with a marking in the middle of his forehead, knelt down next to the Mage who the Gust had attacked. The now dead Mage had burn marks on his back and on his chest, as well as a singed cloak.
The Marked Mage looked up, fear evident in his eyes. "Armod, take three and go to Njörd. Tell him we are under attack by a fire demon." The Mage, Armod, nodded and did as he was told. "The rest of you will accompany me to to the Temple of Awe."
The mere mention of that particular temple caused a flurry of nervous muttering to swell and then immediately cease when the Marked Mage stood.
"This does not mean that whatever attacked us is Surtr, or even one of his soldiers," the Mage said. "But we can't take any chances anymore. If he is here, and we know what he looks for, we cannot…"
"The Sword of Surtr?" a Mage, standing on the outskirts of the group, furrowed his brow. "Are we going to use it on him? What chance do we have, if it truly is Surtr…"
"Enough, Feigning," the Marked Mage commanded, raising his hand in a silencing motion. "We will not hesitate to do what is necessary."
With a handful of Mages staying behind to guard the catacombs, the Marked Mage taking most of his men to the temple, and even more Mages in hot pursuit of the Gust, the Mages effectively spread themselves thin. Armod could not move fast enough.
"She never liked it." Dallea realized, mid sentence, that she had lied to herself. She had swore that she would tell no one of Jania since, judging by past interactions, her mother had an untouchable reputation. Yet when Sif and Eir held such an opinion, she found it her personal obligation to prove otherwise. "She had a vendetta against me going anywhere near a battle. She said we aren't made for fighting, said there was no point in trying to prove otherwise."
There was a moment of silence as Sif and Eir processed this. The day was beautiful and Dallea felt bad for souring it with such talk, but they seemed more interested than anything, which bolstered her confidence.
"She always said that I was going against her whenever I left," Dallea said. She was on the leftmost side of the three of them, and the horse she rode on seemed to be the most eager to journey back to the palace. Turning to gauge their reactions, she continued. "So I stopped visiting. Queen Skandi offered me a home in Vanaheim and I took it. Then, on the night we met again Sif, I found out she's disowning me."
"Norns…" Eir murmured, tugging on her reins and offering Dallea a sympathetic look. "I'm so sorry to hear that. But if it's any consolation, my mother wanted me to be a housewife. You can imagine her reaction when I said I was going to school."
Dallea gave a small, knowing smile.
"Needless to say I don't have a home with her anymore," Eir said.
"I swear, my mother is rolling in her grave as we speak," Sif scoffed. The stables were not far at that point. "Bless my father and his insistent need for a son."
"Bless mine for being wealthy," Eir said. She looked to Dallea, as if she should add her own comment. Giving an embarrassed shrug, Dallea faced forward again.
"I never knew mine," Dallea murmured, just barely loud enough for them to hear. "He died before I was born."
With that, they arrived at the stables and dismounted in silence. Sif had her own horse, but Eir and Dallea borrowed two from Odin's fleet after Sif convinced Dallea that there were plenty of horses to spare.
"There's a show in a few hours," Eir said, turning to Sif, then smiling at Dallea. "Have you ever seen a play at the Theatre?"
"When I was a child," Dallea said, patting the horse she had ridden lovingly and receiving a snort of approval.
"Don't you have studying to do?" Sif said, raising an eyebrow at Eir, bushing past her to grab two apples from a chest in the corner.
"I have been studying," Eir said, swatting the air and leaning up against a post in the center of the stable. "I have to take days off, you know."
"Mm," Sif said, giving an apple to Dallea before moving back to her own horse. Dallea took it graciously and offered it to her horse with a smile. "And yesterday wasn't a day off? Dallea, do you remember there being study notes at the bottom of the pond?"
"No," Dallea said, sharing a sly grin with Sif. "But maybe they were written on Fandral's bicep?"
Eir stood up straight, pointing a warning finger at Dallea. Sif gasped loudly, covering her mouth to hide her smile. Yet the paleness on Eir's face and the embarrassment in her eyes left no room for anger, so Dallea threw back her head and laughed. Her hands shook slightly, reeling from her own boldness.
Before Eir could make a scathing retort, laughter that drowned out Sif and Dallea's entered the stable. The three woman turned just in time to see Prince Loki's smug smile and Thor wipe a tear from his eye.
"Good Norns." Was all Thor was able to say before the thought of Loki's joke caught up to him and he was once again overcome by peels of laughter.
"Look who it is," Sif called out, unafraid of interrupting the two princes. Dallea, however, blanched and turned to the horse, running her hand up and down its neck soothingly. Dallea noticed Eir step up to her side, and so she moved to give her room. "What's so funny?"
Loki's expression mellowed into something more humble upon noticing Sif. She had eyes only for Thor and so his gaze drifted from her to the stalls of horses, and stopped at the one that two women were crowded around. He slipped from Thor's side.
"Nothing that you'd understand, Sif," Thor said, but his smile never faltered.
"So you need to have the mindset of a troll to understand?" Sif said, nodding slowly. "I see."
"Easy," Thor warned, but his tone was light and jesting. "I don't think your pride can take another loss in the arena."
"Me? Pride?" Sif said, pointing at her chest with feigned insult. "You really are as smart as a troll."
Dallea flinched when she felt someone tap her on the shoulder. She turned nonetheless.
"I think that's the most attention that horse has received in a long time," Loki said, jerking his head in its direction then clasping his hands behind his back.
"That's a shame," Dallea said, feeling her tongue swell. Eir reluctantly turned to Loki, but took a step away from him and Dallea. Loki noticed the motion and nodded in her direction. Eir did the same. Dallea's gaze bounced between the two of them, an unspoken question only silenced because Loki spoke quicker.
"Are you going for a ride?" he asked.
"No, we just came back from one," Dallea said, gaze drifting to Sif and Thor, still bickering but walking closer.
"I see," he said after a second of waiting for her to ask the same question back to him. "Thor and I are going out for one."
"That's nice," she said, running her teeth over her bottom lip. "It's getting kind of cold."
"That's never bothered me," Loki said, his mouth pursing. She chanced a look at his eyes and found reproach. She blew air out of her nose quickly and tried for a smile, but he openly frowned. Irritation flared in her chest and she looked to the side and smiled widely at Eir; too widely. Eir swallowed hard, seeing her discomfort but not knowing what to do. Damn him and his stupid ability to read her like an open book. "Dallea?"
Hearing him say her name knocked the air out of her lungs. She immediately met his gaze, eyes wide. He didn't sound like the person Sif or Hlín insisted he was. Guilt shone through her eyes alongside a silent apology. Loki seemed more confused than anything; why was she acting so distant?
She opened her mouth, but was cut off by Thor. She took a steadying step backward, remembering with flushed cheeks that they were not alone. The horse nudged her shoulder and she absently pet it's neck.
"Come along, brother," Thor said, shooting Dallea a suspicious look before patting his brother's shoulder, in the process pushing him to the side. "We best leave now to be back for dinner."
Before he could be dragged away completely, Loki furtively looked from Thor to Dallea, then ducked his head and opened his mouth as if to say something to her. Dallea stared at his face, hanging onto every breath.
"And we have a show to go see," Sif said, much too loudly. She wrapped a protective arm around Dallea and stared blankly at Loki, as if daring him to speak. He straightened stiffly, nostrils flaring, before he turned on his heel and followed his brother to the other side of the stable, where Dallea presumed the more important, purebred horses were kept.
Dallea felt the urge to shrug Sif off, but didn't have the heart to. Eir suggested they start walking now if they wanted good seats. Sif argued that they could take the horses, to which Eir countered that her legs would fall off if she sat back up on a horse. Dallea was silent, and remained so for most of the walk.
The Gust knew it was no use trying to escape into the clear blue sky, where it would be spotted immediately. Instead it kept low to the ground, creeping alongside the roots of trees. The Mages pursued it slowly, tracking disoriented shadows and praying they would catch it before the sun set.
Feeling the damage of their spells grow more and more with every minute, the Gust crawled forward, whining a frequency that the Mages couldn't detect. The wall of enchantments was in sight now, if it could only go a little further …
"Wait," the Mage who had attacked the Gust first held up a hand to stop the tightly packed group. "If it has gone beyond our wall, we should turn back."
No! The Gust wanted to scream. Come a little further. Just beyond the enchantment. The brush rustled, attracting the attention of the Mages.
One Mage took a step closer, ducking close to the ground with a small knife in his hand.
"I said wait," the other Mage commanded.
"It's close," he responded, not bothering to turn around. "If it got through our defences once, it will do it again."
The Gust doubled back on itself, hiding in the branches of a tree as the Mage ventured further toward a rustling bush a ways away from where the Gust actually hid, despite the protests.
A few other Mages reinforced the knife-wielding mage, creeping over the edge of the enchantment. The bush stopped moving.
Before the Mages could realize their mistake, a huge Mare exploded from the shadows and bit down on the closest Mage. His screams became muted as the Mare dragged him away. The other two Mages tried to flee back into the enchantment but were also apprehended by more Mares.
"Good Norns…" a Mage whispered as the shadows darkened into tangible monsters, crawling over each other and surging toward them. The remaining Mages flinched backward as a wall of Mares strained against the enchantments. Were they powerful enough to uphold their enchantments? Should they have tried to reinforce them?
Instead they turned and fled, screaming back toward the catacombs. The enchantments fell and an upsurge of Mares flooded into the same direction.
Dallea pressed her palm into the table and it twitched, the irritation fleeting but present. Hlín, of course, ignored her frustrated expression in favour of this.
"Did you not go see Frigga …"
"I did," Dallea said quickly, her eyes never leaving the potted plant in front of her. "She said the pain will go away on its own."
Hlín said they were in one of Frigga's studies. Dallea was wary at first, being lead down a corridor so isolated, but the room was cozy and a large window made it seem more open. Besides, there was no one else there to witness her try and fail for the millionth time to get the shrub in front of her to do something.
"Really?" Hlín said. "Is it getting better, then?"
Dallea grimaced. "I think? I don't know how magical wounds heal."
"Hm," Hlín said, sitting down next to her and brandishing her palm; a request. Dallea let out a sigh and placed her bitten hand in that same palm. She finally relaxed her spine and looked at Hlín curiously as she, in turn, looked at Dallea's hand with intrigue.
"Can you see something?" Dallea asked. The Healers hadn't, but Loki and Frigga had. Were they not looking close enough?
"No," Hlín said flatly. "I possess no magic, therefore I cannot see it."
"What are you looking at?" Dallea asked. Hlín looked up at her through her eyelashes, and something along the lines of amusement made her mouth twitch upward.
"I'm just thinking." Before Dallea could open her mouth again, Hlín continued quickly. "Can I ask you something?"
"Yes?" Dallea said, noticing Hlín's voice take on a softer quality.
"Frigga mentioned the other day something about … ghoul oh hausts?" Hlín said chopily, her eyes shifty and uncertain. Dallea smiled warmly. "But I didn't quite understand…"
"Gúl -o hosts?" Dallea said, a trace of a smile still on her lips as the elvish language rolled smoothly off her tongue. "It means Magic of Hosts, roughly. It's a way some elves describe their relationship with nature and their beliefs that nature uses them as 'hosts' for its power so they can take care of it, in turn."
Hlín listened with rapt fascination that made Dallea slightly uncomfortable. Though, she suspected, Hlín had been enduring Dallea make that same expression for the entire day.
"Does everyone from Alfheim have it?" Hlín asked, her back ramrod straight even as she inclined her neck towards Dallea.
"Well…" Dallea said, eyes drifting to the window. "It depends on who you ask."
Hlín nodded instead of asking any unnecessary questions. She knew this such thing would be ridiculed by Vanir and Aesir people alike, if not ignored entirely. Dallea continued a few moments later.
"The woman who raised me believed it. Though she called it Rind -o cuil, or life cycle."
"Do you believe it?" Hlín asked. Dallea glanced in her direction, a clouded emotion in her eyes. All too quickly, Hlín realized that Dallea most likely didn't have the luxury to answer that question. Instead Hlín once again placed Dallea's palm in her hand. "I believe."
"What?" Dallea said bluntly.
"Can I ask you another question?" Hlín asked, not waiting for Dallea speak. "Have you ever been bit by a Mare before?"
"Um…" Dallea said. "No."
"And you said your father didn't have any magic?" Hlín said.
"As far as I know," Dallea said.
"Alright, then. Have you ever had any magical wounds like this one before?"
"No," Dallea lied, but she didn't see how in doing so she was doing Hlín any harm.
"I see," Hlín said with a nod. She sat back in her chair and frowned at the table, her mind a million miles away. Dallea observed this with growing discomfort.
"Hlín?" She receive a grunt as a reply. "What are you thinking?"
"I don't…" Hlín started, but then sighed and looked at Dallea. "I can't be sure, but I believe the magic you possess isn't the kind that can be controlled..." Hlín rationalized. "It exists, it's present, but it reacts on its own."
"I beg your pardon?" Dallea said,
"I don't know what to tell you," Hlín said. "I'll have to discuss this with the queen, but it seems like your innate magic is bleeding out. Not revealing itself to be used."
Dallea folded her arms, frustration making a crease form on her forehead. "So I'm destined to while away my life hoping it doesn't hurt someone without my permission?"
"I didn't say that," Hlín said shortly, her tone leaving no room for any more attitude. "I'm saying that unless there's a chance you can manipulate your abilities, you shouldn't waste your days trying. And right now … I don't think that chance exists."
Dallea shook her head, keeping her eyes down so Hlín couldn't see the betrayal in her expression. Her voice was deceptively even when she spoke. "Then you wouldn't mind if I retired to my room?"
"Of course," Hlín said. "Don't sulk. It's not anyone's fault, we tried all day."
"I know," Dallea said. She sounded tired. She left the room with the same dejected expression.
On the way to the staircase she had come to know as the one that lead to her room, she happened to pass a servant. An idea crossed her mind. She stopped the young girl with a polite smile.
"Could you perhaps tell me how to get to the library?"
The Mages approached a clearing, lead by the Marked Mage, and tried their best to allow the chirping of various animals to drown out their footfalls. Yet the Marked Mage held up a hand to stop their steady progression for only a moment.
"We need watchmen in every direction, in case there is any sign of …" he trailed off, clearing his throat then continuing, pointing a steady finger at the closest Mage to him. "Go north. You, go south. You, west, and …"
"I'll stay here," Feigning said, puffing out his chest all the while. "And cover east."
The Marked Mage glanced at him, eyes narrowed, then nodded. "And Julio will stay with you."
There was no room for negotiation, as much as Feigning started to protest. The Marked Mage turned and moved closer to the temples. Julio bobbed his head at a disgruntled Feigning then brushed past him to find a spot to settle in the greenery where they wouldn't so easily been seen. Feigning followed with a grunt.
"Here," Julio commanded, pointing to two bushes on either sides of a path. He ducked into one, leaving Feigning to crawl behind the other.
They sat in the shrubs in silence for what felt like forever, but the sun was just barely peaking in the sky. The heat, even in the shade, was sweltering. Julio let the sweat run down his face while Feigning ran a cloaked wrist over his brow every other minute.
"Who do you think this creature is?" Feigning said after the silence threatened to drive him completely insane.
"I don't know," Julio said, his voice steady, as was his eastward gaze. "But that doesn't matter."
"Of course it matters, you oaf," Feigning snarled, slapping a bug on his arm and adjusting his squatting position. "If we're supposed to fend off Surtr, then I'd like to know before being sent to the slaughterhouse."
Julio sent him an exasperated glare. "You were the one who volunteered."
"Yes," Feigning sighed, annoyance twisting his stomach in knots the longer he sat there. "But … ugh. I think I'd be better off alone. Maybe if I move a bit farther out?"
"We are to look out together," Julio said, looking eastward again. "Together is not in two different places."
Feigning bowed his head, muttering silent words to himself and threading his fingers together, until he thought of something to say.
"Really, just tell me. You think it's Surtr." Julio said nothing. "Come on. Here, I'll tell you what I think; it's definitely Surtr, and we're not going to be able to stop him if he gets to us."
Julio remained completely and utterly still, as if he were carved out of stone.
Frustrated, Feigning let out a noise half way between a growl and a grunt. "For Yggdrasil's sake you moron, this is life or death. We need to get out of here before he comes if we want any chance of surviving."
Julio turned to him slowly, with narrowed eyes. That was the only sign he gave of hearing Feigning's words.
Feigning stood suddenly, kicking out his stiff limbs and declaring; "I won't wait here to be sacrificed. If you were smart, you'd follow me."
Julio stood, his mouth twisting into a snarl. "You will do no such thing. You volunteered to keep watch and that is what…"
"Keep watch? This is the closest route back to the catacombs. That have stronger enchantments. And weapons. You're an idiot if you think I wasn't going to go back," Feigning scoffed, stepping onto the path and brushing himself off. "If everyone's out here risking their lives, who's going to survive and keep our traditions alive? I'll tell you who: me…"
Whatever Feigning was planning on saying after that was cut off by a swift punch to the jaw from Julio, who had launched himself at the other Mage. Feigning snarled and whacked Julio's head with his elbow and pushed him back into the bushes. Julio struggled to get up, but Feigning planted a knee on his chest and pressed a hand to the man's mouth, whispering a silencing spell. He then grabbed both of Julio's arms, yanking them back as hard as he could, dislocating them in the process.
Julio's mouth formed a muted scream, and Feigning could feel the man trembling beneath him. Still, Feigning brandished a knife in front of the other man's face and gave him an apologetic look.
"Sorry, brother." Feigning plunged the knife into Julio's neck then stood up quickly. Without a second though he dragged Julio back into the bushes and kicked some branches on his dying body. "I gave you a chance."
With that, he started his trek back toward the catacombs, never once looking back.
The room was well lit by the blazing afternoon sun and seeing all the rows of books put a bounce in Dallea's step. She walked down the broad main aisle, tracing her finger across the wooden shelves and muttering book titles under her breath. She was overcome with purpose until the sound of laughter interrupted her good mood. She recognized that laugh, as well as the voice that followed.
Dallea flattened herself against the bookshelf, eyes widening. Sigyn and Loki. At the moment it didn't even matter what they were laughing about, just that upon peeking through the spins of two books, she saw they were lounging on chairs in the middle of the room. She was being ridiculous and she knew it, but she just felt so drained from the day that the thought of speaking to either of them made her weak at the knees. That was fine, she rationalized. The catalogue, if her memory served correct, was by the study rooms her and Loki had visited the last time she had come there. Easy, she just had to sneak back to the door and find it.
She did so while crouching ridiculously and ignoring the now deafening sound of Sigyn and Loki discussing something trivial. Whether she knew if it was trivial or not was beside the point.
She turned a corner and the catalogue came into view, perched on its own podium. She walked toward it slowly, but stopped when she realized how quiet it had become. Dallea kneeled and placed a grounding hand on the tiled floor. Her ears twitched, trying to detect any sign of movement.
Sure enough, from about two aisles away from her, Sigyn coughed. Dallea crawled a few paces forward, using her hands to brace herself so she could stay semi-upright, then stopped to listen again. Nothing. She chanced a peek around a bookshelf, all but sitting on the floor.
"Loki, I put it back," Sigyn said from farther away.
"In its right spot?" he replied from the middle of the room. Dallea shrunk back behind the bookshelf again. "Because I swear …"
"Oh, please. It's in the right spot. Goodbye, Loki," Sigyn said, her tone light with laughter. The sound of the door closing behind her made Dallea sigh with relief.
Dallea stood to her full height and stepped up to the catalogue, flipping through it as quietly as she possibly could. Alchemy, no … not alfileria …
Something scuffed the ground behind her and she twisted her torso, one hand holding the catalogue protectively as she searched the aisle. It was empty. Her gaze raked along the shelves for books that could have slipped from their place, or any sign of Loki. She began to turn back around, wariness causing her to consider the space behind her one last time. Finally satisfied there was no one behind her, she turned back to the catalogue.
"Looking for something?"
Of course he was standing on the other side of the podium, leaning on it with a smug look on his face. Dallea jumped back, placing a hand over her heart and squeezing her eyes shut.
"Fancy running into you here, since for some reason I haven't seen you anywhere lately," he said, voice dripping with too much camaraderie to be genuine. When she opened her eyes he was leaning even farther over the catalogue, his eyebrows raised in mock innocence. "Something the matter?"
"No," Dallea said hotly, forcing her mouth to upturn then looking down at the page, almost immediately spotting the word she was looking for: Alfheim. "Anyway, I have things to do, nice seeing you ..."
"Like?" He pushed himself upright and walked around the podium in two long strides. He looked down at the page and Dallea took this distraction to escape into the nearest aisle, walking quick enough to distance herself but not be objectively running.
After turning a few corners, she turned a final one and found herself in the middle of the room where Loki and Sigyn had been before. Except Loki was there, leaning against a bookshelf and watching her thoughtfully. She dragged a hand down her face and looked behind her, debating trying to run again. Instead she turned to him and gestured vaguely with her hand.
"How? Why?" Dallea exclaimed.
"Why are you sneaking around?" Loki asked, ignoring her exasperation in favour of a calm, even tone. "And why did you think you could sneak past me? It's my expertise."
"I know," Dallea said irritably, cocking her head to the side with a scrunched nose.
"What are you looking for, then?" he pressed, pushing off the shelf and moving toward her stiff form. After a few moments a devilish grin possessed his features. "You aren't doing something you aren't supposed to, are you?"
"What?!" Dallea said, trying to sound firm, but the closer he got the redder her cheeks became and the more obviously flustered she felt. Her eyes didn't seem able to meet his.
"My my," he said cheekily. "Now that's exciting."
"It's not like that," Dallea said, holding out a hand to figuratively stop him from tormenting her further, but her head was bowed and she underestimated how close he was. He ran into her hand, and allowed it to stop him from moving closer.
Dallea, goosebumps running up her arms, raised her head to see her hand solidly against his chest. She could see from her peripheral that his grin had yet to falter. After a second to process that she was effectively feeling up a prince, she yanked her hand away with breakneck speed. Finally he ceased smiling, instead settling for a contented smirk. She looked at his face and he shrugged, raising his eyebrows as well.
Despite this, she couldn't stop herself from murmuring: "Sorry, I didn't..."
"Don't be," he said, cutting her off. "It's the second best thing I've run into today."
Dallea's mouth fell open. He … me? Dallea thought before her thoughts shuddered to a complete halt. She stared at him with an empty expression until he started to laugh.
He took advantage of her frazzled state by giving her his most charming grin and bowing his head slightly to seem more virtuous. "What are you looking for?"
Her eyelids fluttered, then she cleared her throat. "Um … just something on Alfheim."
"Oh?" he said. "Like what?"
"Like … just some history texts or something," Dallea said.
He nodded, furrowing his eyebrows in concentration and standing straight so he could survey his surroundings. Dallea folded her hands in front of her and took a steadying breath. Loki spent the next few seconds rubbing his upper lip with the back of his index finger and looking very pensive.
"I think I might have something for you," he said, wagging that same finger at her before beckoning her as he strode away. Dallea couldn't think of anything to do but follow.
He lead her to the area the catalogue had directed her toward; ancient history. Of course, it looked like any other aisle in the room, just with an array of spines with the word "history" identifying them. At least, by him leading her there, she didn't have to waste time wandering around practically helpless
He drummed his fingers along the shelves when he slowed and started actually reading the titles of the books. In one swift motion, he pulled out a beautifully decorated tome spackled with dust. He blew on it to remove said dust and then offered it to her face up so she could read the title. Elvish History, and in smaller letters, the elvish translation: Edhelen Gobennas.
Dallea gingerly took the book out of his hand and scanned the white and blue font over and over until she plucked the nerve to look up at him. "Thank you."
He hummed, folding his hands behind his back and looking at her with an emotion free from any hidden intensity. She tucked the book under her arm and made a move to go back to the centre of the room, but before she could rotate fully, she stopped. What if he wanted to be alone now?
However he had already taken a step forward and looked puzzled as to why she had stopped moving, as if it was natural for her to go back to the centre. She brushed a strand of hair over her ears and tried to be nonchalant as she resumed turning around.
Loki, once they arrived, unceremoniously flopped on a chair and snatched a book off of a nearby table. He was already fully immersed in his book when Dallea chose a chair close enough to be in his company, but not directly beside him. She couldn't run the risk of sitting in Sigyn's seat, after all.
The chairs were ridiculously luxurious, and Dallea felt no shame in sinking into hers. She flipped through the first few pages of the table of contents before she found what she was looking for: Mythos.
If she were in Alfheim, there would probably be extensive studies on the gúl -o hosts, but the condensed Asgardian versions would do. She hoped.
While thumbing through the pages in search of a particular myth, her mind wandered to Hlín. She felt, if that was possible, even more aware of who she was sharing the room with. But, Dallea thought, those boundaries were ones Hlín set up if she was going to teach her magic. Now that that was presumably off the table …
It was no use. She wriggled uncomfortably and then pursed her lips to stop a question from bubbling out of her mouth.
"Loki?" There was no harm in asking. He hummed as a reply, not looking up from the page. "Why didn't you tell me about the side effects of my magic?"
"What?" he said, looking up, but not at her.
"Why didn't you …"
"I know, but what do you mean, side effects?" he asked, then looked at her with narrowed eyes. "What, as in before you get a handle over yourself you'll be a little unstable? That's hardly a side effect. It happens to everyone."
"No, not that," Dallea said, placing the tome flat on her lap and sighing. "The part where I'm too old to learn magic and it'll always be out of control? You know, that part?"
He scoffed. "Who said that?"
Suddenly she wasn't confident enough to stare him down. She bit the inside of her cheek and tried to let the chair swallow her. Loki placed the book on the side table and sat up.
"I just did some reading," Dallea muttered, hoping he would take her excuse . She had a feeling he wouldn't like the true answer to that question.
His eye twitched, but he decided it wasn't the pressing issue. "Well whoever told you was wrong. All magic can be manipulated with practice."
"Really?" Dallea said, looking up with disbelief painted on her expression.
"Yes, really," he snapped. "Why don't you believe me?"
"Why didn't you tell me it could be dangerous at the beginning?" she countered.
"You didn't ask."
For a second she felt like the stupidest person alive. She looked back down at her book, then, with cheeks tinted pink. Between her fingers she rubbed the corner of a page, earnest to calm the embarrassed quavering of her hands. For a few minutes, she thought he would leave it as that: tension slowly draining from the room, turning into an uneasy silence.
"Who told you about it, then?" he said, the coldness in his words melting away. "Was it my mother?"
"No," Dallea said, her quietness seeming louder in his ears.
"What are you reading?" Loki asked suddenly, his voice entirely new.
She didn't look up, and her voice remained quiet. "Just some elvish history."
Another silence. She still didn't look up. He exhaled loudly, and when he spoke, his voice matched hers in terms of volume.
"I didn't tell you about the danger of your magic because I'm of the belief it isn't as grave as whoever probably told you it is," he said. Finally she looked at him. A strange emotion flickered on his face, as he rest his elbows on his knees and rubbed his hands together slowly. "I didn't think it was necessary to stop you from being …" he stopped that train of thought abruptly. "Rather, I didn't see the point in worrying you. If you think that was wrong of me, I can't convince you otherwise."
Dallea looked away, swallowing uncomfortably. Then the rest of his words sank in and she sat up in her seat. "Are you talking about all magic or my magic in particular?"
"What?" he said, shaking his head slightly. "You're an Elf, you have different magic."
"How different?" she asked.
"Well, I assume you're familiar with gúl -o hosts?" he asked, and when she nodded he mimicked the motion and continued. "All Elves have it. Some Elves, like you, have stronger innate magic than others. The difference is that it's harder to detect the stronger magic because it's meant to be used in small ways, like calming emotions with physical contact."
Dallea nodded again, more slowly this time. "So does that mean it's less dangerous?"
"Well, I don't think making painting fall to the ground is within the realm of normal Elf magic," Loki admitted. "You have a strong gúl -o hosts, but there's something different about it." He must have noticed her distress, because he was quick to add: "But not life threatening. It's equally unruly, but it's nothing that can't be controlled," Loki said, spreading his hands as if to further prove his point. "It's been done before."
"Really?!" Dallea shouted, then slapped a hand over her mouth. "Sorry, sorry. How do you know it's been done before?"
Loki shifted in his seat, eyes wandering to a place above her head as her wracked his memory. "Well, I remember there being a documentation of Elves who were able to master their abilities. There has to have been a case of magic similar to yours."
"Like 'the Tale of Ruven the Wise'?" Dallea said, pointing at Loki with a brilliant smile. "That's what I'm researching. There's this old myth about an elf who was able to use his magic after he was bit by a snake."
"Oh?" Loki said, seeming taken aback. "I'm not familiar with that one. I was talking about the ones who took a vow of silence."
Dallea cocked her head, but her eyes were shining. "Could you … I mean, would you … if it was here ... is it here?"
He smirked as she stumbled over herself, seeing through her misaligned thoughts. "Do you want me to get it for you?"
"Um, yes please," Dallea said, finding his expression more taunting than comforting. It was amusing for him to pluck her thoughts out of her head. She looked back down at the book in her lap so he couldn't catch her indignation.
He stood and disappeared into a different aisle. She scanned the page she was on and then flipped to the next, continuing until she happened across the one titled Ruven the Wise in elvish. In fact, this particular story was written in complete elvish, not just the hodgepodge mixture of languages that took up the rest of the book.
She hadn't noticed that Loki had taken a seat in the chair directly to her right until his voice startled her out of reading.
"Are you doing this to prove that you're capable of learning magic?" he asked, not looking up from the new book he had in his hand. It was his turn to whirl through the pages in search of something. Dallea felt a flash of annoyance at yet another correct presumption.
"More like I'm trying to find the best way how," Dallea said, speaking the first alternate thought that popped into her head. He glance at her and she shrugged with one shoulder then presumed reading.
"Hm," he said, his voice laced with approval. Whether it was due to her blatant lying or her reason, she couldn't tell.
"Is that just a story or are there written explanations as well?" Loki asked, leaning over her shoulder to get a better look at the page he was reading. Dallea, forcing her heart to stop beating so loudly to no avail, allowed a second to ensure when she opened her mouth actual words came out, instead of a string of "Um"s and "Uh"s.
"Written explanations," she said. "They say what people saw, what he thought, and then what was actually happening."
"And?" he said, looking at her with an almost hungry look in his eye. He couldn't read elvish. She had a feeling some part of him was desperate to hear it, but not desperate enough to outright ask.
"Here," she said, shifting so he could see the page. "It says that half a millenia ago a man named Ruven was cast out from his tribe known as the ..." she stopped, not knowing how to translate a word that had no exact translation. "As a tribe who took a vow of silence in order to hone their skills…"
"The Silent Men," Loki said, drumming his fingers on his own book and looking proud. "Those are the ones I was thinking of."
"Looks like you were right, then," Dallea admitted, giving him a slight smile before looking back at the page. He continued looking at her face for the next few moments and then followed suit. "Anyway, they kicked him out and he was bitten by a magic snake and it released his powers. They say the snake had a special kind of venom in its fangs that bit through Ruven's hand and soul, yanking out his magic in the process. He killed the snake accidentally using his magic, then returned to the Silent Men, to make sense of his wounds."
Dallea stopped reading for a moment to look at Loki, hesitant. Was she reading the similarities of her and Ruven too literally? No, his expression seemed to reply back. His mouth was neutral but his eyes were soft. She cleared her throat and continued.
Ruven eventually was sent off to Vanaheim and mastered magic as if he was of Vanir or Aesir blood. Many questioned the legitimacy of his elvish heritage because of this, but it was unmistakable due to his large, pointed ears. Yet Ruven, despite being a very skilled magician, died inexplicably at a relatively young age. Some wonder if it was because every time he used his magic he was draining it from his life source.
Dallea stared at the page for a long time. Then her eyes wandered to her hand. With tentative slowness, she flipped it so her palm was skyward.
"Here," Loki said, swaddling her hand with his own without asking. There was an edge to his voice, as if he were desperate to disprove her before she lost any more colour in her cheeks. He pressed a finger to her palm and even though it hurt she didn't pull away. Her reaction seemed to be the right one, because gone was his own uneasiness. "That can't be true. Yours is healing."
"But, if I…" she started, looking at him, despondent.
"No, remember? You don't need to have your magic leaking everywhere to use it. It just … won't be the strongest," Loki said, shrugging as he began to release her hand before something caught his eye.
She let him bring her palm closer to his face, finding comfort in the overly confident and meticulous way he looked at it. He knew what he was doing, or at least he believed he did.
"Have you ever been bitten by a Mare before?" he asked, distracted.
"No," Dallea said, taking a steadying breath as his eyes narrowed. "Why?"
"I just…" he started, then placed her hand back down on the armrest. "I didn't notice before, but now that the bite mark is almost healed, there looks like there's another mark beside it."
The hair on the back of her neck stood up and she prayed he would assume her sudden disease was because this was brand new information. In reality, she begged Yggdrasil he didn't ask her where it came from. Thankfully, he retreated into his own mind after that, leaving Dallea to get a hold of herself.
"I'll speak to my mother about it," Loki finally murmured, staring at the armrest earnestly. Dallea cleared her throat.
"Could you, maybe," Dallea said, glancing at the forgotten book in his lap, then back at his face. "Are you going to …"
Once again, he understood before she had the chance to fully speak. "Oh, this. Yes."
But instead of handing her the book, he opened it and placed it between them as she had done before. There was a moment of surprise before her curiosity overcame it. She leaned in and began to read, hyper focused on the words so she wouldn't be distracted by the way their arms were touching.
The minutes bled into hours and when they finished that text, they speculated over what they read. The strong Elves were capable of very minimal magic, but the book didn't go into much detail, so they searched for more books, which again, lacked the detail they craved. The cycle continued, and soon a large table nearby was littered with open books of varying topics. Each new discovery brought on new questions, which made them digress more and more from their original concerns.
"But of course," Loki said, frustration making his face contort. They stood side by side, staring down at the table. Every time they calmed down enough to sit they were leaping afoot with another unanswerable question. "Why was the Mare there in the first place."
"And why did it just bite me then run," Dallea said for what felt like the millionth time. His closeness was less daunting than it had been at first. She didn't hesitate before leaning across him and grabbing a book about Muspelheim. "And how did it get there in the first place."
There was a pause. "And," Loki said, inviting Dallea to look away from the pages. "Was the Mare really a Mare, or were you hallucinating and it was really just a hungry Volstagg."
"Stop!" Dallea said, any authority in her voice giving way to laughter. She should have been hesitant, but she was too tired to fight her amusement. She closed the book, resigning she had had enough researching for one day. "Volstagg doesn't have fangs."
"You haven't seen him rip apart a pheasant like I have," Loki said, snickering to himself. "I swear, he grows them."
"You're awful," Dallea said while beaming, following Loki's lead closing various texts and tidying up the best she could.
"I'm just giving you a fair warning," he said, hands raised in surrender. "He'd be the first to become a cannibal when the time comes."
"He wouldn't eat me first," she scoffed. "I haven't got enough meat on me. You're bigger than me, heed your own warning."
"But why would he go after me if I wounded you then ran?" Loki said, a smile ghosting over his face. He had sauntered over to the opposite side of the table and decided having it between them was the best time to say this.
Dallea gaped at him, shocked for a second before she playfully narrowed her eyes. "You think you could wound me?"
He raised his eyebrows for a second. A silent challenge.
"Careful, I can make you eat those words," she said. Her filter seemed to have vanished with her energy. It felt strange, talking to him like she would to Sif or her fellow soldiers in Vanaheim and Alfheim. For a millisecond she thought he would get insulted, despite her light tone. That worry evaporated the second he leaned forward against the table, bracing himself using his arms with, dare she say it, hooded eyes.
"Prove it," he said, savouring each word.
Her heart skipped a beat and her face slackened. Well, this certainly had never happened with Sif. Something in his tone made her hyper aware of every move he made. He tilted his head to the side slightly, no doubt noticing the heaviness weighing down the room. Without thinking, her eyes flit down to look at his mouth. The next breath she took was prolonged and he waited patiently for her to conduct herself.
She parted her lips to speak and from behind her the door creaked open. She whipped around to look at the source of the noise with flushed cheeks. From behind her, Loki let out an annoyed growl, but Dallea must have been hearing things. Footsteps came closer and she waited with baited breath for them to turn a corner and see the two of them together. Please, don't be Hlín, Dallea silently begged.
It was Sigyn. Dallea balked, all of a sudden feeling as if she were trespassing. Sigyn's gaze settled upon her with a mixture of confusion and incredulity. She looked from Dallea to Loki curiously, but based her suspicious tone off of Dallea's guilty expression.
"Am I interrupting something?" she asked, looking to Loki. Dallea did the same, with wide eyes.
"No," Loki said, not meeting either of their questioning looks, instead choosing to stack the books into a pile in the center of the table. "Is it dinner already?"
"Yes," Sigyn said, reproach in her eyes when she looked at Dallea.
Heart in mouth, Dallea found it impossible to meet Sigyn's glare for very long. Her heart twisted when Loki looked at her instead of Sigyn.
"Are you done with these?" he asked.
"I … um," Dallea said, wiping her hands off on her dress and withering under the two sets of eyes. "No. I think I'll stay and keep reading, thanks."
He furrowed his brow. "You're not coming to dinner?"
How she wanted for them to just leave her without looking at her so strangely. How she wished she really had retired to her room. How she wished she could chop off her ears that were turning pink the longer Loki looked at her with something along the lines of worry. When Dallea glanced at Sigyn, it was obvious by her wounded expression she had noticed him as well.
"Um, no," she said, clearing her throat while taking a step backward. "I'm not hungry."
"Are you sure?" Sigyn asked. She sounded concerned, despite still struggling to school a rancorous expression. Dallea hesitated, admitting to herself that she was, in fact, hungry, before thinking about the look on Eir's face if she walked in with Sigyn. Sif and the Warriors Three would probably gawk at her as well. Not to mention the thought of suffering under Sigyn's evil eye for more than a few moments made her stomach churn.
"Yes," Dallea said, voice tight and her shoulders raised. "I am."
Loki made his way around the table and toward Sigyn, shooting Dallea one last unconvinced look before allowing Sigyn to nestle into the crook of his arm. In this new position, Sigyn now seemed that same friendly woman Dallea remembered from the market. They exchanged goodbye waves, and when Loki and her disappeared from sight, Dallea stared longingly at the place they disappeared.
Friends don't have such nasty emotions about their friends, Nanny's voice chided. But, Dallea thought, the same could be said to Sigyn.
Still, Dallea collapsed into a chair far away from where her and Loki had been laughing a few minutes prior. She buried her head in her hands, utterly and completely exhausted.
The Marked Mage, who stood at the doors of the Temple of Awe, looked beyond the clearing that the temples surrounded, and to the sun setting on the treeline. He hadn't heard anything from the people keeping watch in the extensive time it took to find the boxed weapon they were looking for.
But it was quiet. Deathly quiet. The animals were holding their breath.
The Mages behind him hefted the box by two long planks, the end of each plank resting on a shoulder. The box itself was as large as the Marked Mage's broad torso and didn't look very heavy, but looks were deceiving.
"Wait," the Marked Mage said, squinting at the forest. "Tarbol, take five and make a defensive position. I saw something in the treeline."
Instantly the silence became tangibly uneasy. Tarbol and five others exited the temple and the rest waited in the shadows, dreading retreating back into the dark depths of the temple. Yet even that was preferable to whatever made the Marked Mage's hands shake as he held the door open with a white-knuckle grip. The thought of making a stand at the temples was utterly frightening; they were places of magic that the Mares could gather strength from.
Tarbol didn't make it half way to where the Marked Mage indicated before a man's shriek ripped through the dusk. The greenery beside the temple shifted. They were surrounded, and if he was correct, that scream had come from his watchman at the south. The sun disappeared.
The Marked Mage threw the door open and turned to the wide-eyed Mages cowering in the darkness of the temple. "Back to the catacombs! Don't let them touch the box!"
Tarbol stood valiant against the swarm of Mares coming his way, and kept them at bay from that direction long enough for the other Mages to escape the clearing. The Marked Mage covered the other side, shooting hex after hex at small and large Mares alike that shot like arrows from the treeline. Once the majority of the Mages had evacuated, the Marked Mage tried to convince Tarbol to follow, but him and the other five Mages were steadfast, even when the Marked Mage pointed out the omnipotent presence of the Gust, watching the fight from above like a chaotic God.
"Thank you, brothers," the Marked Mage said, making a sign of respect with his hands while backing away. "Valhalla will welcome you."
The Marked Mage sprinted away, looking back to see one of the Mages be overcome. He struggled to breathe as unshed tears welled in his eyes. Still he ran, taking up the rear of the Mages carrying the box.
As fast as they were, they all knew there was no way they could ever be fast enough. One of the Mages made the mistake of turning to look at the shrubbery beside the path they took, and in doing so he made eye contact with a Mare and froze. Some Mages tried to get him to continue running, but there was no use. He fell and was dragged into the forest.
Six more Mages stopped running, then, wielding knives and circling around each other. They nodded at the Marked Mage when he ran past them. Again, he made a symbol of respect with his hands and blessed them before continuing on. These Mages flinched when a tidal wave of Mares surged toward them, but refused to run.
It wasn't much farther now. When a Mage holding the box began to slow, the Marked Mage took up his place and pushed them forward, trying to speak louder than the screams of their brothers behind them. There was only about eight of them running now, weary but desperate.
They turned a corner and the catacombs came into sight, causing a surge of adrenaline to rush through all of them simultaneously. Yet the Marked Mage's spirits fell as quickly as they began to soar. The Mages he had told to stay behind were nowhere in sight.
They raced toward the gaping entrance to the catacombs, that would shield them within the might of the mountain. Yet when the first Mage reached the entrance he slammed into an invisible field and gold flecks exploded from the contact. He fell to the ground, reeling.
The Marked Mage commanded another Mage to hold the box as he went closer to investigate, dread suffocating the air out of his lungs.
"Disengage the security enchantments, it's us," he shouted into the blackness of the opening. Panic gave his voice an extra layer of shrillness. "Hey! Disengage the …"
"Ivar!" one of the Mages screamed. Upon hearing his name, the Marked Mage spun around to see a few stray Mares bounding toward them, teeth gnashing. As his brothers placed the box down to defend themselves, Ivar the Marked stepped back up to the opening, a wild kind of desperation in his eyes.
"Please! If you can hear us, we need you to lower the enchantments!" Ivar said, his voice echoing into the cave. "Please…"
A shadow stirred, and from the darkness out stepped Feigning. Ivar paled, then red rage made the veins in his neck bulge.
"Feigning, disengage…" he ordered.
"You know I can't do that," Feigning said, voice deceptively calm. "There are too valuable relics in here. We can't risk the Mares getting a hold of all of them."
Ivar's anger ebbed away, leaving pure, pleading despair. "Feigning, we are your brothers, you can't just leave us here to die."
Feigning hesitated for a second, considering his words, before catching sight of more Mares creeping out of the trees.
He shook his head. "I'm sorry, brother. You should have listened to me."
Ivar slammed his fist against the enchantment and roared Feigning's name, but the Mage turned and retreated into the safety of the catacombs. Ivar's hand slid down the enchantment before he pushed himself upright and took up one of the planks attached to the box. Another Mage nearby nodded at him and grabbed the other end, and together they hoisted it onto their shoulders and retreated into the trees, farthest away from where the Mares were coming from.
School starts tomorrow and I'm excited but also nervous. Here's a super duper long one in case I don't update for a while.
WishUponADragon - Tysm your reviews make me weep. I agree about the Dallea needing more friends. I have to physically stop myself from making everyone her friend just ... because. Some more Loki/Sigyn mess, for you :) And once again, thank you muchly! 3
