Visitation

by kalimecat

Loki has returned to Asgard and is imprisoned for his crimes. While in prison he has the occasional visitor, will the love of others bring back the fallen prince or is he truly too far gone?

52. One Step Into the Light

A/N : HEEEEELLLLLLOOOOO READERS! OHHHH MY GOODNESS IT HAS BEEN SO LONG! Dear readers I am SOOOOOOO sorry for how long it has taken me to update. Quite Frankly I can't believe it. I had every intention of getting this chapter out and it took me nearly 3. I have no excuse...except Marvel Depression. Let's face it, Avengers ENDGAME the movie we waited 11 years to see was both beautiful and heartbreaking, glorious and torturous. It was bittersweet and I think we all needed some time to mourn the heroes we will never see again in the MCU. But aside from my Endgame grief. I was also extremely busy working my summer job and doing a bit a travel for the summer. That being said I never forgot about you, readers or this story and I want to say thank you! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you from the bottom of my heart for every follow, favorite and review. I cherish them all. This chapter was a little difficult to write, but I hope it is worth it for you all. Well as always, happy reads and writes and as always God Bless.

Chapter 52

Loki dusted his hands as he observed his handiwork. His enchantment had made light work of all the fastening and hammering and screwing and hinging that the people had been laboring over. It was a pity that more people in Asgard never took an interest in learning the ancient arts it certainly would save many a good deal of time hassle and frustration he thought. He turned his head and looked at Bardok, at one time he had been his protégé. Bardok had been talented, full of promise. He was smart as a whip and had keen knack for learning. He was amazed that the young man had not thought of the idea himself. He tried not to blame the young enchanter. Bardok was only a few years out of university and although he had gotten top marks and graduated head of his class and had been automatically promoted to a high-ranking position in court he was still a novice at best. Although, Loki couldn't alone blame it on naivete. After all Lady Leoma and Lord Drek were amongst the lot and they were elder learned scholars. He supposed, he couldn't truly fault any of Asgard's mages for how they had completely overlooked the painfully obvious and easy way to modify Lady Jane's device, but naturally after all the horrors they had witnessed...because of him, after the terror and desolation that they had seen right before their eyes...because of him...well was it any wonder that they were overwrought and at their wits end. They had so much on their minds. Everyone was looking to them, counting on them, begging them to provide answers and naturally they wanted to, but how could they when they hardly knew what was going on themselves, they were just as scared and bewildered as the average citizen, they had worries about their friends and loved ones and about the fate of their king and kingdom just like anyone else. They were hurt and sick and tired and fearing for their own lives.

Loki's booted feet treaded softly over to the corner where Bardok had been working with a few others. Now, all were fast asleep, tuckered out like tired pups, by the fireplace. Bardok the leader among them. He was slumped over against the wall calling the hogs. Loki shook his head. His face still wore a serious look, but his lips tugged into a small slither of a grin as he looked down at Bardok. The last time he had seen the young mage at court he'd introduced him to his betrothed, she was a pretty young woman who he met at the university and she was studying to be an architect. She had short coifed hair that was soft and curly, she had full lips and skin like a coffee bean. Her family was merchant class, wealthy, but not necessarily noble, Bardok who had always tried to make his father proud had been worried about asking the young woman's hand. Loki had encouraged him to. Loki felt butterflies take flight in his gut. He had told Bardok that he should marry the woman who made him happy. He had told him that it didn't matter what anybody else though...not his father, his friends or society, all that mattered was the two of them. He said all that and he'd meant it when he said it, but now...now...he didn't even know if Bardok's fiance was still alive. She could be dead. And it would be his fault. All these deaths were his fault.

His breath hitched; it came quickly. He shook himself. He tried to quell the sudden panic that kept looming over his head and wanting to rise up in him. It was something deep and dark that kept telling him that what he was doing now was too little and too late. That he couldn't stop Ragnarok, he couldn't make amends for all the innocent lives that had been lost senselessly because of his greed and rage and anger and quest for vengeance. There was still a fear inside his heart that he couldn't get out of his bargain with Thanos and that he would have to pay the ultimate price for double crossing the purple giant. Loki steeled himself. He stood straight and rigid to keep his knees from knocking. He put on a stiff-upper-lip to keep his teeth from chattering. Inwardly, he chided himself. He told himself that none of that mattered. And it didn't. He was convinced. He was determined to try to save as many lives as he could, to give Bardok a chance to marry the woman of his dreams, to give his daughter a chance to grow up. He'd do whatever it took.

He clenched his hands into a tight fist. He nodded and continued to survey the land. He'd made nearly 2000 of those reactors. He counted them several times to make sure he had the right number. That should have been just enough. That should be more than enough for what they would need to cancel-out the effects of the Aether. It was a risk; it wasn't full proof. After all, the Aether was an infinity stone and combined with the power of the tesseract they already created a power that was nigh unstoppable. The chances that this mortal's science project could really combat the forces of infinity were slim to none, but it was a chance that had to be taken.

The magician picked up one of the mortal's instruments and studied it once more. It wasn't one of the ones that he had concocted through his means. It was one of the machines that had crudely been built by human hands. He studied it once more. He looked at the wiring and the overlays of metal. He nodded and gave a pleased grimace. He pursed his thin lips and blew breath out the side of his mouth. He chuckled and gentle place the reactor back on the floor. He put his hands on his hips and shook his head while blowing out one more tired breath. He pushed his sweaty black hair back from his eyes and continued to chuckle softly. It was funny that this invention should come from a human. Asgard had many learned men and scholars, but none had thought of this. The solution was simple enough and yet it had taken a mortal to stumble upon it. He shrugged, nearly dismissively. He supposed her help in this matter was one of those "foolish things that confounded the wise," it was an old proverb he'd once heard. Perhaps Thor was right, perhaps humans were more than he had considered before. Perhaps they weren't just a bunch of cowering, unruly savages longing for subjugation. He cringed at the thought. He couldn't believe that he had actually felt such hatred toward them in his heart. He hadn't always. There was a time when he'd been very interested in them, he and Thor and their friends would visit Midgard. That was nearly 1000 years ago. It seemed even longer. He'd been too harsh on the mortals, on her. It had been many centuries since Thor had actually taken up with a woman who he liked. The last woman Thor had seriously courted was Queen Raksha. She was beautiful and deadly. She'd planned to murder Thor in his sleep on their wedding night all to take the power of Mjolnir for herself. After the plot was revealed, well, even gullible Thor was more cautious of his feelings with women. The fact that after nearly 50 years of simply casual late-night affairs that he'd chosen to bestow his affections upon some mortal scientist was shocking. He'd just thought of it as another one of the blonde's many buffoonish blunders, but maybe, just maybe...he was beginning to realize there was more to here than what met the eye. Perhaps in time he would get to know Jane Foster of Midgard.

Loki shook his head. He was putting the cart before the horse. In a few hours they could all easily be dead. There'd be no time to get to know anyone then. He rubbed his hands together. And there was still so much to be done. His eyes darted around at the exhausted people, they were fighters, but they were weary and it was obvious from the limited resistance that they were able to put up to the sleeping suggestion that he had put over them how truly tired they were. Still, he knew he wouldn't be able to fight off Malekith and his hoard alone. Being close to the Aether gave Malekith and his people power. They drew energy from it. The citizens of Asgard would still need to take up arms, make a stand and fight. But with so many of the military men and women wounded It might take more than even just the military might of those few Einherjar and Valkyrie they had left in the city. They'd have to establish some sort of communication with the rest of the realm to get the reinforcements they needed.

This old sanctum probably had outdated technology, but still there had to be someone to get a message to Queen Frigga's battalion in Kytheria and to the rest of the small militias and armies scattered throughout Asgard. He didn't have much time. The young mage quickly resumed his guise. He slipped his tattered hood over his raven locks and instantly his back arched and his hands became wrinkled again. He hobbled on his cane toward the door. He took his time and walked slowly like an old man would. He had just reached the door when all of a sudden like a whirlwind a soldier came rushing in.

"Lady Jane! Lady Jane!" the soldier demanded. All of a sudden, the female Einherjar was looking around. She was horrified at the sight she saw. Lady Jane and Lord Bardok and several young men and women of Asgard all sprawled out across the floor. A lump caught in her throat. If it wouldn't have been for the fact that she was an Einherjar hardened from years of war she would have screamed. Her darting eyes scrambled toward the old hunchback who was standing by the door. "You!" she shrieked as she went up to him. Her hand was immediately drawn to her sword. Her bloodied fingers clenched tightly around the hilt of Einherjar's sword. "You!" she bellowed once more. "Don't move a muscle!" the warrior commanded. Her weapon was out now as she rushed toward the old man. The elderly Aesir let go of his cane and held up his hands. She ran over to him. She rammed into him. She didn't care for his age. Her young hands were strong and her body was muscular. With one hand she ruthlessly slammed the old man's hunched back into the concrete wall. He gasped. He let out a few whimpering groans.

"P-p-please," the old man squeaked out in a raspy voice as he felt the shield-maiden's iron gauntlet clasp around his windpipe.

Her teeth were bared and her dark brows knit together. The cuts and bruises on her cheeks and across her forehead only made her look more fearsome. She growled like a ruthless she bear at him. "On my word old man if you hope to live you better explain why you still stand and no one else does!" she pledged to him she released his neck just in time to bring her blade right to his throat.

"P-p-please..." the old man panted.

"Don't snivel or grovel when you are with me! I don't spare cowards! You have but a minute to speak before my sword plucks the answers from your blood!" she declared.

The elder fell down on his knees, gasping desperately. He raised his hand in an attempt to stay the warrior woman's sword. "Please, " he offered once again. He was trembling so and he was so old and frail that his bones rattled against each other as he shook. "Mercy! Mercy! Good Lady Sif," he pleaded. "I don't know...i don't know why they are as they are," he expressed.

"What has happened to them?" Sif shouted from above.

He wagged his head, he fumbled. "I...I...I" he looked up and looked down and shook his head and looked all about. "I...I...I don't know," he insisted.

"You don't know?" Sif curled up her nose. "They're all dead and you don't know! You're the only one in here! What did you do?" she demanded.

"Nothing! Nothing!" the man yelped.

"Do you know who that is?" She pointed her scratched hand toward where the astrophysicist was collapsed on the floor. The old beggar looked up. His face was dirty and wrinkled, he barely had eyebrows, but they were stark white. He had a sort of stupid bewildered look on his face. His mouth was hanging open and he had a few missing teeth. The few that he had left in his old mouth looked halfway rotten. Still his eyes. There was something about his eyes. They were the only part of him that didn't look as if he was from the ancient time of the ancestors. His eyes they were bright, round, nearly innocent looking and so vibrant. He shook his head unable to speak. "You don't know who that is?' Sif raged.

"No...no...no sir," he responded to Sif. "I...I know you...you Lady Sif," he managed to inch slightly closer to her on her hands and knees. "These eyes may be old but they'd recognize you anywhere. You're Lady Sif, you ride with Prince Thor and you fight with the men... You fight better than any man," he chuckled.

Sif cocked her head to the side. She slowly started the sheath her sword. "Maybe you aren't so much of a fool," she muttered. "That's Lady Jane Foster," Sif inclined her head toward the slumbering maiden behind her. The old man sheepishly looked up at the female Einherjar, he smiled and nodded and shrugged his shoulders. "She is courting, Prince Thor," Lady Sif reported.

The old man gasped he inched a little close and peered behind Sif's legs at the mortal woman. "That's the mortal!" he explained.

The brunette soldier nodded her head. "Aye," She stated sternly, but only one brow arched. "And she my personal friend," Lady Sif stated. She then stooped down. Sif was a tall woman. She gripped the old man up by the ratty collar of his tattered cloak. She hoisted him up in the air and his spindly legs dangle kicked about as his feet didn't touch the ground. He gulped, his breath came quickly and his pulse started race. "If you harmed her..." she gestured with her head back toward Jane. "If you harmed any of them I have my authority to execute you right here and now," she warned him.

"I'd rather die than see Ragnarok, sir," he spoke. "I haven't harmed anyone. I came into this room and that was how I found them...But they aren't dead..." he insisted. "No...no...wait...go look and see...they aren't dead...they're all...just...just...just,"

"Just what? Out with it old man!"

"Just sleep!" he blurted out in her face and then he clapped his hands over his mouth.

Sif brow arched even higher. She simply tossed the elder Aesir man aside like a sack of potatoes. There the elder hunchback scrambled like a turtle turned over on its shell to get to him feet. Sif paid him no mind. She skulked over toward where Jane was laying. Her own heart racing. Jane had come up with all these plans. Jane was the closest they had to a general right now. She was leading them and it was she alone who possessed the sole plan for how to fight back against the Dark-Elves. They needed her. She was Thor's love. If they somehow managed to save Thor, but lost Jane...well Thor would never forgive her. Besides, she was just a mortal in Asgardian years she was but a child. As a warrior of Asgard Sif had sworn an oath to protect all the children of Asgard. Even more so than that Jane was her friend. Sif was soon racing to Jane's side. She immediately dropped down to her knees and rolled Jane over. She was just sleeping. Lady Sif bit her lip. Her eyes watered. She nudged Jane Foster gently and tried to rouse her. "Jane. Jane." She whispered as she shook the woman's shoulder, but Jane's eyes only blinked for a moment, not even enough for her to really see and she yawned and returned to her peaceful slumber. Sif walked over to a few other Aesir who were present and slumbering. She inspected their bodies for injuries, but none had any wounds. They were all just... sleep. Lady Sif turned back to the old man. He was leaning heavily on his cane and he wore a smirk. A smirk that would have been nearly identical to a smirk that she knew all too well if it wouldn't have been for the severe wrinkles that lined his lips. The shield-maiden walked over to him calmly. "I don't understand," Sif stated sharply. "How are they all just asleep! Why can't they be awakened?" she demanded.

"I really don't know Lady Sif, I was just coming to see if I could be of any help...we all have to do our part to keep this Ragnarok from befalling us... I just wanted to do me part you see," he expressed. "I was going to ask if I could be of service. I'm old but I'm not dead yet and I'd like another few years before I enter into the gates of Valhalla, you know what I'm saying," the beggar quipped and let out a dry laugh.

Sif rolled her eyes, "I don't think there is anything anyone can do now. Night has fallen, dawn approaches and Ragnarok is at our door step. The last of our hope was in Lady Jane's little inventions, but she said she'd need thousands of them and even with everybody in Asgard doing their part there was no way we could have made thousands before dawn," Sif shook her head bitterly. "And now she's out cold."

"She is but a mortal, sir," the elder shrugged.

"And what excuse for the rest of them?" Sif snapped.

"it's hard times everyone is stretched as far as they can go...pushed to the brink sir..." he insisted.

Sif growled. "And they need to push harder! Harder! You heat!" she protested as she pounded her iron knuckles into another iron gloved palm. "This is our very existence that we are fighting for! There's no time for sleeping! The Nine Realms could end!" she shouted.

"Everyone is not as strong as you Lady Sif," the old man stated as he squared his shoulders and stood up strong. Sif looked shocked at his brazenness. She straightened herself as well. She rose to her full height and the warrior woman was an impressive height of over 6ft. With her armor and her muscles and her sword and the battle scars plainly written on her face and across her flesh outlining all of the many battles she had fought she would have been an imposing figure to many men, but somehow the frail elderly man didn't back down. He held his head high and his bright eyes seemed to burrow deep within side her.

His penetrating stare made lady Sif want to fidget. There were very few people who had the ability to make her feel so awkward. Still, she wouldn't show deference to this haggard old beggar. "I don't accept excuses," Sif replied. Her gazed narrowed.

"I don't make any, sir," he retorted. "But look for yourself and see. See all that they did. I didn't count the machines one by one myself, but it looks pretty close to 1000 or so to me," the old man said as he pointed an unsteady finger toward the back wall of the chamber. Lady Sif spun around on her heels. She gasped as she beheld the sight. She rushed over to the wall. Heart pounding as she looked on the bright and shiny, freshly made reactors. She couldn't believe her eyes. Her hands reached out to inspect the products. She had initially helped make some a few hours ago. Everyone kept insisting that using the reactors was the best plan. The other mages had seemed convinced of Jane's mathematics and the science behind it. She wasn't willing to oppose it. They were desperate and they needed all the help they could get. They couldn't afford to neglect any option, but quite frankly she wasn't the type of person to put her trust in science. She had taken to working with a few other Einherjar who were still fit to fight in teaching a few of the children and average citizens some more advanced weapons skills and combat technique. Asgardians had war in their blood. The children were eager to learn how to take a broom and make it a lance of javelin. Most of the adults already had some weapons training and they were more than willing to be trained by the warriors. She wasn't a mage, she wasn't a scientist or an inventor. She was a shield-maiden and she intended to die as a shield-maiden, this day if that's what it meant fighting for her people.

She bent down and picked up a blueprint that she found lying on the ground. She examined it while she held one of Lady Jane's reactors. She looked at it scrutinized it and made sure that every gear was in place and every bolt was correctly fastened she looked at the wiring. She noted that it was different in material. She saw that the stone that was going to power the reactors was not the same crystal quartz mineral that was used to make the Rainbow Bridge. "Where'd they get these materials?" she wondered out loud.

She wasn't really talking to the old man, but she could hear his uneven footsteps combined with the click of his wooden cane across the floor as he made his way toward her. "I don't know," he answered.

Sif sneered, "You don't know much do you," she retorted, but she kept her eyes on the reactor.

The old man chuckled. "I'm a humble man..." he pulled at his tattered garments. "I'm old," he continued to laugh as felt over his wrinkled hands and face. "But I think it's safe to say that they did all they could. They didn't just give up...or make excuses," he put quotation fingers around the last of the words. Sif couldn't help, but smile. "Think its safe to say that they earned a rest," he added.

"Perhaps you're right,"was Lady Sif's casual response. She flicked away some moisture from her eyes before she turned back around and faced the old man. He wore a grin. The Asgardians had always praised youth and beauty. Perhaps, it was only natural being that they were such an extremely long-lived race. Although, they did believe in respecting their elders in some cases the aged were expected to refer to the younger and capable. "I'm sorry, sir," Sif stated to the old man. His white eyebrows arched. He had never known Sif to apologize to anyone.

He waved his hands in front of his face. "Please, Lady Sif, you are a General, you need not apologize to a lowly old man such as myself," he stated with his head bowed.

"It doesn't matter." Sif expressed. "I...I...I was just so passionate about making sure we have the best fighting chance possible. My sworn oath is to protect Asgard..." she went on.

"I know you have never broken that oath good Lady Sif."

"And her citizens...and her citizens," Sif blurted out. "You're a citizen of Asgard and you were unarmed and I threatened you. That is not the way of a true warrior," she lowered her gaze.

"We are all pushed to the brink, sir. WE have all seen and endured things in this short amount of time that I never lived to see in all my years. It has rocked everyone to their core. It is forgivable if a person acts out of character," he expressed.

Sif nodded. "I have to let Asgard's High Council know that we have enough reactors to enact Jane's plan," the brunette stated.

"Aye, they need to know. I am going to see if they need any help in the communication rooms," the old man expressed. "Would you mind pointing me in the right direction. This sanctum is a maze and my eyes aren't so good and the light is so very dim, it is so easy to become lost," he chuckled.

The dark-haired shield-maiden's attention was once again brought to focus on the old man's eyes. He described them as dim. But they were so vivid and bright and familiar. "Of course," Lady Sif said as she gave the elderly man a faint smile. She placed her hand on his shoulder and the man's shoulder and instructed him on where to go. He slowly made his way in the opposite direction of the warrior woman.

When he was out of the warrior woman's sights completely. The old man ducked behind the safety of a tall pillar with the quickness of a rabbit. He panted a bit as he pressed his back against the cold stones of the column. He wiped his brow. "That was close," he muttered to himself. He could have sworn the Sif was simply seeing right through him. But that was impossible. His tricks and guises never failed. Honestly, Sif was about to kill him either way. Not surprising for Lady Sif. The old man's lips couldn't help, but curl into a grin. It was good to see Sif with her proud warrior spirit still in tact. His last sight of her was a shell of the woman that she was, cowardly and feeble of form and mind. He couldn't bear to think of that really happening to Sif. He sighed, shook his head and dismissed the thought. He was prepared to do everything he could to keep that from happening, but they were running out of time.

Quickly, he made him way to the communication room. He didn't have time for anymore distractions or to have anymore interruptions from running into other Asgardians. He concealed himself completely and walked into the communication chamber. There were several technicians buzzing about pulling out old scrolls and sitting at desks and computers. They were pressing buttons and turning knobs, typing and touching keys, but all the while the mainframes and the screens seemed unresponsive. "Have you gotten the system up and working yet!" an anxious voice demanded of a few leading engineers. All the engineers were gathered around one large control panel. They were re configuring the wires of the computer and typing in codes for manual overrides.

"I'm sorry, sir one engineer said, "But this machine is so old it just can't seem to pick up any signals,," she pointed to the screen. The monitor showed the it was searching, but it hadn't seemed to lock down a location to connect with any of the towers.

The Einherjar warrior who was overseeing the communication's team rubbed muck and dust covered hands through his even dirtier hair. His face was unwashed and filled with dirty and grime and blood. His hair was caked with so much mud and Aether ash that his blonde locks were hardly noticeable. He had a proud, regal profile, tall physique. "Curse this old tech!" he swore and kicked the base of the machine. He kicked it so hard that he hurt his own foot and began to hop around.

"Sir, don't hurt yourself," cautioned another engineer.

"Yggdrasil knows we can't afford to lose anymore soldiers," some muttered amongst themselves.

The soldier winced and rubbed his offended foot once more before he winced and turned to face the worried team of engineers. "Never fear," the blonde proclaimed. He squared his shoulders and flipped his dirty locks out of his light blue eyes. He flashed a debonair smile. Even if I only had one foot, even if I had to fight with one hand tied behind my back. I'd still fight to my very last breath for Asgard," he pledged.

A woman clutched her heart. "Oh Lord Frandal, you're so brave!" she gushed rushing away from the panel she had been sitting at and clinging to the Einherjar's bicep.

"It doesn't take much to be brave when defending an Asgardian beauty such as yourself," the light-haired swordsman said as he gave the maiden a wink and flicked her under the chin.

"Lord Frandal," another engineer spoke up. He gripped the young girl by her shoulder and gave her a scolding look and stood protectively in front of her. "Your fervor for protecting our realm is commendable and your valor without question," he esteemed.

"Well yes, it is, isn't," Frandal squared his shoulders.

"But," the man cleared his throat. "We've been working with these systems and we haven't been able to get any signals to the outside," he expressed with exasperation.

"I know," Frandal said as he placed his hand on the portly engineers shoulder. "You've all done excellent and I know everyone has tried their hardest. It's not your fault that we haven't been successful. This machinery is ancient," Frandal looked down at disgust at the old panels and controllers that they had been left to work with. He had trained for years specifically in military communications and technology, but he was always on the teams that had worked to oversee more efficient communication for Asgard's soldiers to use for communication. He frowned as he thought about how useless this technology had proved to be. The ancients had done the best they could to create a sustainable underground bunker for the people of Asgard, but this old sanctum had not been used in about 2000 years and it had not been updated in probably about 5000. If they survived this, it was becoming increasingly doubtful that they would, he would certainly recommend to the king that the catacombs be updated.

"It might not even be the machinery itself, sir," began to explained the head technician. "Some of the systems have fallen into disrepair, but most of them are still functional."

"I think that the towers have been destroyed on the outside. If that's the case there is absolutely no hope of getting contact outside." the young woman continued to report.

"But what about the towers in Kytheria," Pointed out a plump older man. he had grease on his hands and he had taken a lot of time to try to recallibrate some of the circuits so that they could send and receive the highest signals possible. "Surely, the damage of the Aether hasn't spread that far."

"I don't know," said Lord Drek as he stepped into the communication headquarters "The Aether is powerful, its natural structure is to spread and consume. This is after all the windy fall season here in Asgard so the Aether could have formed a cloud and be near Kytheria," he explained.

"So it really is hopeless," asked an engineering student. He looks up at the respected Einherjar with worry in his eyes.

Frandal smiled at the student. He puts his hand on his shoulder. "You have all done all you could," The blonde-haired warrior stated. "There's not much more that we can do...at least not on this end. You all should be able to rest," he expressed.

"With all due respect, Sir Frandal," one of the female computer scientist spoke up. "I can't rest. I can't rest without trying to do everything I can to protect Asgard," she reported.

Frandal nodded. His handsome face was covered with dirty and grease and oil. "No one understands that more than me," he pointed to his chest. "I'm sure Lady Jane could use some help. But it is also important that we keep up our strength no matter what happens dawn approaches and we intend to fight," Frandal encouraged.

"Lord Frandal is right," confirmed Lord Drek. "There are many other areas where we can all go and work if that is what you truly wish to do. The Healing Staff is overwhelmed and they have many pieces of technical equipment that I sure could use tinkering. There are several soldiers that are giving brief combat refreshers in the armories and the cooks and scrounging up meals as we speak. If you wish to do work, by all means you can, but there is so much to be done in other places that there is no need for any of us to futilely toil here," the mage explained with much more eloquence than the romantic young soldier had been able to muster.

There was a muttering amongst the small crowd of engineers and technicians and communications specialist. Frandal watched the looks on their faces. He could plainly see how stricken they were. There was a sense of dejection and defeat. All felt a sense of burden and failure. They had been assigned a task. One that should have been relatively simple, to get the machines up and running and establish a line of communication with the Southern Palace or with the Einherjar Outpost of the Eastern Gate or with the militias from all of Asgard's provinces or with Valkyrie Temple in Buosoin valley or maybe even to let the leaders of the Nine Realms know what had happened or something...open communication with someone, but they hadn't. They hadn't been able to do that. They hadn't been able to do anything. Everyone's role was important that much they knew. But somehow, their task had seemed the most important. In the military that was the way of it. Each battalion had to see their role, their position, their task as essential for the overall success of the mission and the survival of others. If they didn't if they slacked then everybody lost. Perhaps it was such disciplined and regimented training and thinking that had allowed Asgard to continue as a military powerhouse for so long. This time that rang truer than ever. Frandal didn't want to make the engineers feel any worse. Only a handful of them were actually Einherjar, three of them worked in the palace the majority were just simple civilians. Why should they live with the tremendous guilt of knowing that their role was the most essential and most vital. The blond swordsman hoped that Lady Jane's technology would come in handy. He hoped that with all his might. But he knew that they wouldn't get far without men. They needed warriors they needed reinforcements desperately. Without them well, they simply didn't have enough able bodied men and women to spare in the battle against the Dark-Elves to insure victory.

"Well if its all the same to you, Sir Frandal, begging your pardon, but I'd like to see my cousins," Said a technician as she bowed respectfully and to the group she was working with before she exited the huddle.

A young man licked his chapped lips. "Do you think they have any food left in the gallies?" he asked. "I haven't had anything to eat all day," he explained as his mouth watered.

One by one people started to trickle out of the communication headquarters some going off to eat or to visit with their loved ones, other going to work in other areas of the sanctum.

Lord Drek and Frandal exchanged a few more words. "Perhaps I should go and see if Lady Jane needs anymore help making those reactors," the dirty debonair Einherjar offered. He tried to smile, but his grin faltered. "Her idea is our only hope now," he confessed.

Lord Drek put his hand on young Frandal's soldier. The old alchemist had seen much in his day. "Master Heimdal says we must have hope," he shrugged.

"How can we?" asked Frandal, his eyes were wet. "Everything is gone and destroyed!" he pointed out. "The city is in ruin! Prince Thor is in prison! We've lost more than a third of our military might and we have no back up coming!" he counted on his fingers. "Not to mention that we are three hours from dawn!" the normally cool and fun blond member of the warriors three began to yell.

Drek started to open his mouth. As a Master Mage of the Realm he was a member of Odin's inner circle of counselors. He was a professor at one of Asgard's most prestigious universities and he had even been a diplomat. People looked to him for comfort. He needed to say something wise and...something sagely.

He was grateful when he heard the quiet tapping of an old wooden cane padding across the stone floor. He nearly wiped his brow as his head swiveled around the face the hunched back elderly Aesir man approaching. "Excuse me! Excuse me! Excuse me," gentlemen he croaked. "I'm sorry...I'm sorry," he muttered. He bowed his head respectfully. "I don't meant to interrupt you, my lords," he stated as his old eyes looked back and forth. "Perhaps I am mistaken," scratched his patchy bearded chin and then pulled his cloak from his head revealing his white hair.

"No need for apologies, father," stated Lord Drek, the alchemist approached the elderly man with caution. He extended a hand and placed it on the old man's shoulders. He was nothing but skin and bones. "is there something that you need?' he inquired.

"I...I...I" the man finally looked up and revealed his ancient looking face, "Is this the communications room?' he asked in a bit of confusion.

"Yes," Frandal answered.

The old man smiled slightly, 'Oh good, I came to see if I could of assistance," he stated and did his best to straighten himself so he wasn't leaning so heavily onto his cane.

"Afraid you are too late for that, old timer," Captain Frandal almost chuckled. "We had a whole team of engineers and technicians working here for hours, they did their best but all our efforts proved worthless," the blonde Einherjar frowned. "I just disbanded them," he explained. "They can put their efforts to better use some place else, working with other teams on just spending the time we have left with their loved ones," Frandal stated.

"Whatcha, given up then Sir Frandal?" the old man's eyes went down. "Aye, you mustn't do that now, must ye sir," he urged.

"We've done all we can," Lord Drek said.

"I was just hoping to get a little looksy at the machines if that be alright with you, sir" the old man stated as he tried to peer over the shoulders of the two ironclad gentlemen.

It was Lord Drek who held the frail elderly Aesir back. "Ahh...Ah...ah," he chided like he was talking to a child. 'Now we've said what we've said there, sir," he stated. "This area is being closed," he stated matter-a-factly and folded his brown arms over his chest. "The scanners are down and the Aether is running to much interference with the transmitters, we can't get a signal out and that's the end of it," he confirmed looking to Captain Frandal. The talkative man was characteristically quiet around the elderly gentleman. He figured that the young Einherjar was simply weary and didn't feel like arguing with a possibly senile civilian. In Asgard, the young rarely had much time or tolerance for the most senior of Asgard's citizens. Frandal seemed to be studying the old man. There was a shrewd kind of wildness. He would yet call it a wily. he hadn't seen such a look in a long time. The master mage watched the urgent pleading in the old man's eyes as he looked at Captain Frandal.

"Please sir, I walked all this way and with these old legs that is no easy feat," he tried to chuckle.

Frandal continued to scrutinize the elderly cobbler. He had on dirty tattered garbs, but at this point everyone looked like a vagabond whether they were truly serf or noble, he had no ring, or armor color or tattoo to signify rank or office. 'Now, come come, old man, truly," Lord Drek began with exasperation. "What interest is all this to you," he inclined his head back toward the old transmitters and communication equipment. "Surely one as old as you has many many family members, wouldn't you rather spend this time with them. You are the patriarch of your clan are you not, go and be with those you love, old man," he ordered. "away from us," he shooed him along. He even had the audacity to simply turn the man around tap him on the backsides to get him going.

The old man sputtered and shuddered and started stomping in protest. He turned back around with a sprightliness of someone far younger. "Now see here!" he raised his cane in the air.

"We've heard enough out of you old man!" Lord Drek put a hand in his face to silence him.

"Well you are about to hear a bit more!"

"You show no respect for your betters old-timer and you are far too old not to keep to our ancient traditions.

"And you show no respect for your elders," the white-haired Aesir puffed out his chest that was about a broad as a toothpick. He was breathless with insolence. "Or have those traditions already been destroyed like our buildings with a blast of the Aether?" he questioned boldly.

The stone-mason turned alchemist was seriously contemplating on how to handle the old fool. A part of him wanted to silence him with a quick slap, but then he thought perhaps a simple trick of obedience was all that was needed to quell the old goats temper. "Say your piece, father" he sighed.

"Ahh," the ancient one sighed. "A little touch of respect, would serve this generation well," the man nodded and once again returned to leaning on his cane. "I'm sorry, my lords," he apologized. "I forgot myself," he bowed his head as low as he could. "I'm...just...trying to say," his voice started to warble. "Yes, sir, I do have many generations of family left and there is a new generation freshly born to me that I haven't had the pleasure yet to meet, but merciful Yggdrasil I sure would like to and if we don't take every opportunity we have now while we still have the chance then none of us will see a new generation," he expressed.

Frandal cleared his throat. "I understand your desire to help, you're a good man, for that, but I tell you the truth sir, there's nothing that you can do here," he wrapped his arm around the old man's shakey shoulders. "Look here, see these machines, they are even older than you," Frandal chuckled. "They just don't work." he shrugged. "If you want to be of help there are other things to do. I think Lady Jane needs some help with the reactors."

"I just came from their sir, and you'll never believe what good fortune, what good fortune sir," the old man had a few missing teeth when he looked up at the young warrior and smiled.

"What"

"They are all made!" the old man exclaimed.

"All made?" Frandal questioned.

"But that's impossible!" Lord Drek chimed in. "That's simply impossible. They needed more than 1000. How? At the rate they were going there was no way the could have made so many so soon. "

"I thought it strange too, sir but lo and behold tis true. Contact Lady Sif and she will tell you the same. I just came from seeing her. I had gone there to put these old fingers to work," the elderly Aesir man wiggled his wrinkled digits.

Both gentleman nodded at the old man with missing teeth with raised brows. Lord Drek carefully pulled Frandal closer to him. He leaned close against his ear. "That simply can't be true. I just came from talking with Asgard's High Council. They weren't nearly close enough to have accomplished such a feat in such a short span of time," the professional alchemist assured the Einherjar.

Frandal nodded and continue to scratch at his yellow chin. "Let me see if I can contact Sif," he stated. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a compass like device mad of gold and studded with small pebbles of fine gemstones. He swiped his hand across its shiny surface. The machine came to life. "Sif come in Lady Sif," he called a few times across the communicator. There were a few chirps as if it was searching, but then there was a response. A hologram image of Lady Sif's face appeared.

"Frandal is everything alright?" she questioned.

"Everything is as good as it can be," he sighed. She nodded. "I've got an old man here who claims that Lady Jane finished making the gravitational reactors. I'm here with Lord Drek and he says that that is mathematically impossible..."

"Impossible as it may seem I can confirm its true"
"What!" bawked the old sage. His face came into view on the communicator and his eyes were wide open his lips dangled.

"We've got almost 2000 reactors completely ready,"
"They've been tested? The mechanics were rudimentary, but complex enough giving the deficit of the materials," Drek pressed.

"I have members of Asgard's Mage Council here, they've inspected several of the contraptions and they are continuing to run tests, but all have tested positive. Mistress Leona is here now. She can explain more of the science to you as needed," Sif stated nearly boredly.

Drek did a double take. He stared at Frandal in a puzzlement. Frandal likewise seemed completely confused, but could only manage to shrug.

"I just don't understand...I just don't understand," The middle-aged scholar muttered to himself. He removed his sagely hat to reveal a sweat balding head. He wiped his head. "The metals of Asgard take time to melt down. These furnaces are old. They aren't up to the standards of some of the new furnaces at the quarries. They would have had to have found away to boil metal quicker than they boiled water...I just don't see..."

"Honestly, I can't explain that to you Master Drek, but if you would like to speak with Mistress Leona.

"No, no, no," the astute scholar shook his head, "Let me talk to young Master Bardok or Lady Jane after all they were the scholars overseeing this," he expressed.

"I'm afraid they are indisposed at the moment," Lady Sif replied shaking her head. "The plot only thickens, everyone who was working on the reactors has passed out. They cannot be aroused," she shrugged.

"Can't be roused?" Frandal nearly shrieked.

"They must have exhausted themselves..."

"Are they..." the blonde-haired swordsman held his breath not wanting to speak the words.

"Very much so. I immediately called the healers and they are being evaluated their vitals are fine, but it as if... as if..."

"As if what, Sif?"

"As if they are under some sort of deep enchantment," her eyes shifted and she whispered. The two men exchanged careful glances. "It's probably best if you all see for yourselves," Sif expressed.

"We're on our way," the captain of the Einherjar declared. With that Lady Sif's image fizzled into nothingness.

"It doesn't make any sense, Frandal," Drek stated.

"Maybe it doesn't, but that doesn't mean it hasn't really happened," Frandal countered. "This is a blessing! This could turn the tide in our favor finally," the young warrior of Asgard expressed.

Lord Drek nodded. "I know...I know and I'm ecstatic really I am," the middle-aged Viking said in a tone that was a mix of every emotion save ecstasy. "But I'm a scientist...I'm always looking for things that can be qualified and quantified and explained rationally," the alchemist informed the warrior. Alchemy was one of the more practical mystical disciplines. It didn't involve ancient words, relics or times and seasons charts and stars. It took the materials of the world and looked at their natural properties and extracted them for results. It had realistic goals to drive economy further trade and make the lives of the average citizen all the much more enjoyable.

"I know, but you also where the honorable title of Master Mage of Asgard," Frandal state. He squared his shoulders and place his strong hands upon Lord Drek's massive shoulders. "You've studied much, but in all your study as a master mage you should be open to things that simply can't be explained," Frandal smiled a new found excitement in the young soldiers tone.

Drek's full lips parted to show a small grin "Spontaneous Occurrences, Scientific Anomalies..." he mused.

"If that's what you want to call it, I prefer to think of it as Providence, Fate giving us a chance. We've prayed to the Norns and to the great kings of the past...perhaps they have not consigned us to death just yet. They've given us a chance and I don't intend to waste it," Frandal declared.

Lord Drek nodded. A lump started to form firmly in his throat. Drek felt water dampen his brown eyes. "We better get there and check all this out," He stated with a hopeful smile once again.

Frandal and Lord Drek were about to head out the door then they remembered the old man. "Hey!" The blonde-haired swordsman called out. He did a double take and his bright blue eyes darted all around in search of the elderly cobbler. "Where'd he go?'

Drek gasped as he too noticed that the third person in the room was missing. Immediately, he spun around and spotted a scrawny, hunchback man leaning over one of the computer monitors. His nimble old fingers were carefully pressing on the panels and buttons. "Hey! Hey! Hey!" Lord Drek shouted angrily. "Get away from those communicators!" he yelled.

The old man, with the bright eyes looked up and gasped. He had some options. He could make himself invisible, he could freeze Frandal and Lord Drek, he could make them forget, but before the elderly Aesir man had time to devise a plan he felt Frandal's strong hands come and grip his shoulders. "Alright, come on old time," the young Einherjar proclaimed as he nearly snatched the man from machines. The old man gasped and gagged and his thin arms desperately pulled to try to connect with the buttons and dials once more. "C'mon we told you, you couldn't stay in here," Frandal explained through gritted teeth. Despite his flimsy build the elderly gentleman put up quite a fight and was surprisingly strong.

"No, you don't understand" he said nervously.

"No. You don't understand," Frandal retorted as he still kept a firm hold on the old man's shoulders. "We are leaving this chamber and you don't have permission to be in here by yourself," Frandal insisted as he now wrapped his arm around the old man's neck and started pulling him backward.

"But...but...but it's almost done...I've almost got it up and running, please," he panted as the muscles of Frandal's arm were starting to press a little too tightly against his windpipe.

"I've heard just about enough old this old rambler," protested Lord Drek as he rolled up his sleeves. The strong ex-stone mason turned alchemist went to grab the old peddler by his feet. The old man's feet moved quite quickly and he managed to avoid getting his ankles gripped. "Hold still!" The alchemist declared. He put his hand out and let out a magnetic force that glued the old man's feet to the floor.

The old man panicked. His feet were stuck. Try hard as he might he couldn't cause them to budge not naturally at least. Lord Drek quickly scooped up the old man's legs and hoisted them over his shoulder as he and Frandal began to carry the old man out like a log. "Stop! Stop! STOP!" the old man protested.

"Shhh," Cooed Frandal. He was actually starting to feel bad for the panicking elder. "Now just calm down, sir," Frandal said as gently as he could. "There's nothing to worry about," he explained. "We're not going to hurt you at all," He smiled. "We are just gonna take you to healing wards."

"I don't need a healer! You're making a mistake! Stop! Let me finish! You have to let me finish," he protested all the while he was bucking and writhing like a little wiggly worm while slung over the shoulders of the two strong men.

"We'll take you to the healing ward and you can give the healers your name and they'll send out an announcement and your family can come looking for you. You have a lot of family I'm sure father, they must be awfully worried about you. Surely, you want to be with them at this dire hour. Don't waste your time anymore with these busted old machines," Frandal said soothingly.

"No, you don't understand," The old man gasped for breath. "The...the...the old codes work... you just have to use the old...codes... old codes," he announced as his breath came out wheezing.

"Old codes?" Drek looked to Frandal who was one of the military communication experts. Frandal shook his head. The young blonde Casanova had watched as the teams of engineers and computer scientist and communications specialist had tried code after code after code. Nothing had works. The towers were jammed and they simply couldn't get signal out. Frandal shook his head and rotated his index finger next to his ear.

Drek nodded picking up on his meaning. "Alright, Alright sir, we'll try that as soon as we get you settled. We thank you so much for your help," he said in obnoxiously patronizing tone.

"No!" the old man declared as he threw up one of his hands behind his back. He made a feeble attempt to push the blond member of the famous warriors three off of him. Frandal upon seeing the man's desperation threw up his hands. His eyes quickly flickered to look at Lord Drek. The alchemist was certainly irritated with the old man. Frandal shook his head, cautioning the enchanter not to bother with the elderly Aesir gentleman. He was old. He was terribly old, senile and frightened like the rest of them. He was rambling and delusional, but harmless. The young Einherjar didn't want to responsible for hurting the frail old timer. They had enough enemies to worry about and there was no point in fighting among themselves.

Breathlessly, the rag wearing cobbling scuttled closer to one of the communication devices. Frandal and Lord Drek followed closely behind him. He was on his knees. He was crawling like a fast moving baby, eagerly making his way toward a desired object. When he finally reached the communication monitor he reached up with a shaking hand and pulled on a silver hatch that opened up to small tapping pad. Frandal rolled his eyes. "Come, come now sir, you must step away from there," he ordered. The old man started to fiddle with the tapper. He pressed down on the taper rapidly a few times, then he held it fast and then did several staccato typings. "Oh don't do that!" Frandal sighed with exasperation. His arms flopped by his sides. "Now why are you messing with that? That's not going to work," he pointed out.

"It will, you'll see," the old man said with a gleeful expression, his nostrils flaring as he breathed heavily. He muttered some words and numbers out loud and he continued to press the tapper.

"Don't worry about it Sif Frandal," expressed Lord Drek, "That technology is ancient. It's probably even older than the beggar himself," he jeered. "He can't hurt it," he went on to explain. "And there's no way that he can get it to work," he pointed out.

"It will work!" the old man snapped back over his shoulder. 'Just wait and see! It's because its so old that it will work," he hissed.

"leave him here to his tinkering and his folly," Drek rolled his eyes. "We need to go and see the reactors," he urged pulling on Frandal's sleeves.

The blonde-haired swordsman nodded, 'Yeah, I guess you're right. There's nothing in here that he can hurt. It's not like it works anyway," he shook his head in pity and proceeded to follow Lord Drek to go and inspect the reactors. He turned back a few times and looked over his shoulder at the wrinkled old coot. He was on his knees desperately pressing a single tapper over and over again and muttering old words. There was something about the determination in his eyes and the urgency in his tone. It reminded him of a little boy he had once known long ago. A young man who had loved to build little things. All sorts of funny little odd gizmos and gadgets. Things that wouldn't work at first, but after a time with enough tinkering and enough persistence would amazingly start to zip and dive and fly all around just like they were supposed to. Perhaps it was the memory of this that caused Frandal to turn one last time only to see the monitor flicker with color and hear a crackly low tone repeat a phrase back to the old man. "What's that?" Frandal yelped excitedly.

"What's what?" asked Drek, "It's just the old man," he explained.

"Yes, I know, but...look," he pointed out. He pointed to the screen that was now flashing and flickering with several new symbols. Both men rushed back over to where the old man sat. "What's this? What is all this?" Frandal asked. He saw a symbol of a lion flash across the screen and an eagle and tree and things written in old rune script.

"it's working captain," The old man explained.

"What's working? How? What is all this?" the blonde asked.

"It's Old Code. It's from before we had such sophisticated machinery. It uses the earliest form of Rune, with tap and dot communicators" The old man explained as he pointed to the simple press machine.

"Well I'll be," the scholar said as he shook his head and crossed his arms. "I think that my father and my uncle used to keep one of these in their pockets. They must have been some of the last people to have these types of devices. The mountain regions were always last to get new technology and being that my family was so poor we were always even further behind then most. Usually buying old tech for a fraction of the cost."

"You said it uses Old Rune?" Frandal questioned as he scratched his golden beard. The old man nodded. Frandal thought for a minute of his studies. There were a few times when he was sure he had had the opportunity to take classes in Old Rune, the class was recommended for him by one of his instructors as he was looking at majoring in communications, but when he looked at the roster for other students who were going to be taking the class he noticed that it lacked the fabulous feminine touch that he normally used to determine his elective courses. "Old Rune! Old Rune!" Frandal's voice jumped an octave. "But I don't know Old Rune" he panicked. His voice jumping an octave or two.

"But I do!" confirmed the alchemist. The powerfully built enchanter pushed his way pass the feeble old man. He interpreted the words that we coming through on the screen. He studied the strange patterns and interpreted the archaic symbols that flashed across the screen. He blinked a few times and squinted his eyes as he tried to interpret the words on the screen.

"What's wrong?" Frandal asked. "Can't you read it?" he leaned over the enchanter's massive shoulder and looked at the screen. But the old script might as well have been child's scribble-scrabble to him.

"I can..." Lord Drek said hesitantly. "But the words are all jumbled, they don't make any sense," he explained as he pointed to the displays of runes.

"Curses!" Frandal swore. "All these old communicators are busted then."

"No, no." the elderly Asgardian cautioned. "You just have to know how to interpret them. They were made to keep military information secret. Particularly military information about the royal family. Look, here," he said. His shaky white finger pointed toward the monitor. "See here. The words it says 'Summer. Shore. Home.' he pointed to each one of the Old Rune Glyphs.

"Yes, I see..." Lord Drek looked curiously at the wise old man.

"You have to piece it together," the old man elaborated. He strained to keep his voice even sounding.

Lord Drek thought for a moment. His brows furrowed and he pursed his lips. His brows arched and then his eyes widened. A smile slipped across his lips. "It's from Kytheria!" he exclaimed. Frandal's eyes were wide. "We've got contact with Kytheria!" he turned around and explained.

The golden-locked swordsman's eyes were wide. "How is this possible?"

"As you said Sif Frandal, perhaps Fate is intervening. Perhaps we are not completely through yet," Lord Drek rubbed his hands together excitedly. He looked back at the monitor as more symbols began to flash across the screen. It took the scholar only a few seconds to piece together the information. "It's asking for a verification on who I am..."

"Well give it to them!" Frandal commanded

Drek shook his head. "I don't exactly know how to work one of these stoppers. I know I am a few years older than you, but this is even before my time," he teased.

Frandal's eyes flashed quickly. "Old man! Old man!" he shouted as if the elderly gentleman was walking out the door instead of standing right behind him.

"I'm right here, sir," the hunchbacked senior citizen spoke up as he raised a crooked, wrinkled finger in the air while another finger cleaned out his ear.

"Oh! Oh there you are. " He placed his two dirty, but strong hands on the older man's shoulders. "I thought you vanished," Frandal wiped his brow.

"No, Sir Frandal, not just yet," he sighed. "But I know that you did want me to leave and I can do that for you, sir," the old man looked down.

"No, no, no, no," Frandal began to sing. "What would ever give you an impression that we wanted you to leave? No, no, no" the young Einherjar Captain wrapped his arm around the elder Aesir's shoulders. He flashed a bright debonair smile in the old man's face. Despite the fact that Frandal looked completely disheveled with dirty and grime and blood painted on his face. But beneath the clods of black and brown and red that were smeared and mingled into his yellow beard his bright white teeth still shown through. It was the same dashing grin that allowed him to too often dangle three or four women on his arm at a time.

"Perhaps it was you hoisting me up in the air and carting me toward the door, sir."

"Oh no, no, no my old friend. No. That was merely, us joshing with you. You see we were simply practicing in order to lift you up for the traditional, "Jolly Good Fellow' Salute," Frandal expressed.

The elderly gentleman rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Right," he said wryly as his brought those vivid and alert eyes to look back at the Einherjar captain.

"Look, you know how to work this machine don't you?'

"Aye."

"Can you show us how to work it?' The warrior asked humbly.

"I'm sure you can call back one of your technicians, Sir Frandal as you were saying before they are all so much better equipped than me to handle such matters."

"No, please, there isn't time. This is the first breakthrough we've had. No one even knew about this. Please can you send the codes out for us," Frandal was practically begging.

"I can show you what to do, sir," the old man stated. The old man hobbled over to the communication monitor. He pointed to the tapper. "You'll have to spell out most of the words, but it will translate them on the other side into Rune. The stopper has a specific timing..." He began to elaborate more. "Let me show you this," he expressed. He began using the tapper, as he did so he spoke. "Alpha Code, 319...Lord Drek," he said. Lord Drek watched carefully as he tried to memorize how many times the old man was pressing the tapper.

"What's that... What's that... Alpha Code 319?" questioned Frandal.

"It's the Royal Code, the queen's birthday it allows us to even begin communication with the system at the Southern Palace," he explained.

"How do you know these things?" Lord Drek questioned suspiciously. "You're just a tinker..."

"Oh a man as old as I sir has had many jobs. I was trained as a tinker, but I have also at times had to take jobs working at the Southern Palace in Kytheria," he explained.

"You lived in Kytheria?" Lord Drek asked.

"Yessir, I did so. Kytheria had a booming market for tinkers being that it was a trading town, but you know in those days my family was ever growing," He chuckled. "I was very fortunate enough to find work at the southern palace as a grounds keeper for a few years. I would work a few days a week," he seemed to blush humbly. " I just wanted to make sure my children had a better life than my own. I worked real hard in those days. I seemed to work day and night to provide for my family, but in all honest I'd do it to this day if that's what it still took. I'd do anything to keep them safe. That's why I'm here now, sir," the elderly gentleman explained.

"But why would a grounds keeper need to know this type of information?" Frandal scratched his golden beard.

"Oh that was many, many centuries ago sir, way before you were born, Lord Frandal. You are about the age of my youngest grandson," he specified. "King Bor was still on the throne in those days," he chuckled as his vibrant eyes seemed to have a twinkle. "I guess waaaayy back then they thought that all of us should know in case there was an emergency," he shrugged. "Anyway," he went on. His eyes darted and scrambled. "Time's a wasting," he expressed eager to change the subject. No sooner had he said the words than was there a response written on the monitor.

"What does it say?" Asked the warrior as he peered at the sign.

"They are elated to hear from us,' Lord Drek said cautiously at first and then he repeated the phrase back to himself. He double checked to make sure that he was understanding the encrypted code correctly. When he found that he was a broad smile washed over his warn and weary features. More characters began to flash across the old monitor. "They want news," Drek expressed.

"Of course! Of course!" Frandal nodded, "But first ask them if they can send us reinforcements?" Frandal urged. His hands were on the enchanter's shoulders. He was leaning over his back like a child.

Lord Drek turned his gaze back to the old man with the wrinkled skin, that as so pale it looked nearly gray, but whose eyes and strong and youthful. With a rueful smile the old man coxed the warrior and the master mage forward. "Go on Lord Drek, go on," he encouraged. "You are a Master Mage of the Realm, it is not proper that an old tinker like myself should converse with a queen's guard," he expressed. "Besides, I've overstayed my welcome...I must get back," the elderly Aesir tinker spoke rather nervously.

"He's right," Frandal stated. "We don't have anymore time to delay. We've got to get these messages through." He expressed. "Translate this," Frandal ordered. He spoke swiftly and busily. He gave a full report of the things that had trasnpired in the hours since they'd last had any contact with the Queen. A nimbly, the stonemason turned alchemist began pressing the tapper and translating into Old Rune. The message quickly went through.

"Old man! Old Man!" Frandal called. "What be your name good sir?" the member of the fabled Warrior's Three asked. "if we survive this it will be because of you and your name should be honored in the Chronicles of the King," he stated.

"You will be honored by Odin, himself," exclaimed Lord Drek.

"I thank you sirs," the elderly gentleman stated quietly, his hunched-back arched even deeper as he bowed while backing away slowly. "But survival would be the greatest honor of all," he confirmed.

The blonde-haired swordsman chuckled. He wiped the sweat and rust from his brow. "Yes, yes, quite, quite," he admitted with a nod. "But come now, you have lived an incredibly long life, you have contributed much to our fair realm and still in our darkest hour you did not hesitate to contribute more. Think of the honor and fame and possibly wealth that it will allow to be bestowed upon your family. Surely, you want them to be lavished. Tell us your name for their sake, if nothing else," Frandal urged. He waited a few moments for the old man to answer, but did not get a response. "Come there, sir, has the cat go your tongue?" he quipped. But when he spun around he found that the old man gone.

---

Loki managed to get himself out and away from Frandal and Lord Drek. He heaved a sigh of relief as he slid behind a stone column. He let the facade slip for just a moment. He shed the wrinkled, pruned graying skin and the stark white hair of an aged man. His appearance was once again that of his polished self. He wiped his hand across his brow as he pressed his back closer to the stones as if he wanted to melt right into them."Well that took long enough," he remarked. All the while he was smiling slightly and smugly to himself. "Goodness," he halfway groaned. He had almost forgotten how stubborn and persistent Frandal could be. It was that quality that made him such a skillful swordsman, because he could keep fighting when others had noticeably tired. It made him such a relentless lover, he didn't take no for an answer, not that many maidens denied his advances. He was handsome, wealthy, jovial, well connected. It was what made him annoying as well. He was also extremely prideful, as most Aesir men were and it was hard for any man of the gentry to accept advice from someone of a lower station.

Still, even his slight annoyance a Frandal melted away when he thought of how the Old Code had worked. It had been a long shot, a stab in the dark, but he knew his mother, she would be thinking of every possible option to make contact with her people. At least now they had a chance. Frandal was a warrior he could handle the communication about the military matters. And Lord Drek, powerfully built son of a stonemason with the brilliant mind of Asgard's most astute scientist and scholars he had picked up the translation of codes quick enough...Everything would work out fine. He tried to assure himself.

Loki nodded to himself. He took slow and steady deep breaths and tried to ease the anxious, despondent feeling that gnawed away at his gut and lingered deep with in the recesses of his heart. All of a sudden, he noticed his knees were shaking. A wave of lightheartedness washed over him. It reminded him of how long it had been since he had last slumbered and it also brought to mind that he hadn't eaten in quite some time either. He had often gone days without sleep or sustenance when he was lost in his studies. He'd become singularly dedicated and focused on making a certain potion, perfecting and particular illusion, concocting a most magnificent craft, time would cease to be relevant until eventually he'd just find himself waking up from some spot where he'd collapsed. Usually, that was because of Mother, or Thor or a few times Odin or even his servants pounding on the door begging him to come out and eat something. He was ashamed to admit that he felt that same obsession with all these dastardly, despicable deeds that he had just recently performed. He'd been so fiendishly focused that he hadn't taken the time to give his body such basic essentials. Now, he was desperate for a moment of pause and rest, his stomach was rumbling, craving nourishment. He pulled out a distinguished gold time piece from his pocket. It was a handsomely crafted hourglass that dangled from a chain. There was no time for sleep. No time at all. Ever second that passed their demise drew closer. By high noon Convergence would be at its peak. Ragnarok would be upon them. He shook himself to keep his heavy eyelids from closing over his bright emerald eyes. He slapped himself forcing an alertness to overtake his system. "Wake up, Loki! Wake Up!" he yelled at himself. "Sleep when you're dead," he reminded himself. He slowly bobbed his head along with the thought. "Don't worry, at this rate it'll be sooner rather than later," he started to chuckle.

He didn't have much time, in fact he had no time at all. He had to get out of here. He had to get back to the palace. Part of this scheme still depended on him being there for Malekith when dawn came. It wouldn't take long, he could just think of it and in a blink of an eye he could easily be transported back to his bedchamber within the Dark-Elf infested walls of the palace. The enchanter was there. His eyes were closed and he was visualizing the palace inside his minds eye. His fists were clenched as he tried to channel his reserves of energy to work his enchantment. Being physically exhausted and tired and using his magic just to stay awake made working any other type of incantation all the more draining. He was almost there. Halfway gone, when he heard faint muffled sobbing. It shouldn't have broken his concentration the way it did. These were desperate times, everyone was frightened and horrified, as honestly why shouldn't they be. They could all be enslaved or dead by morning, their culture could be completely obliterated, the Nine Realms as they knew it could be wiped out and reduced to rubble and ash. Crying and sobbing was a completely legitimate, rational and perhaps the only worthy response that any sensible Aesir could have. In fact the, the dark-haired magician felt rather like weeping himself. His green eyes couldn't allow a trickle of a tear to roll down though, He had far more important things to do. Like do whatever it took to stop the prophecy of Ragnarok from being fulfilled.

Still, the soft and gentle, but yet completely broken sound of blubbering trickled into his ear and he could hear nothing else. They sound of the crying was so pitiful, so totally weak and empty, like a child. There was an innocence to the tears, this person was devastatingly hurt and lost and feeling so low and alone and so unloved. Loki's eyes flung open. The tortured cry pierced his heart as well... he recognized the cry. He'd cried like that before. He'd cried like that when he'd found out what he really was. He was confused and angry and frightened and miserable and guilt ridden and beside himself in every way. Everything that he thought was shattered and he felt so alone.

He listened more intently to the sobbing, there were distinct hiccups and reactions, sighs and pauses, poignant gasps and a certain sound a rhythm to the way the person wept, it was pitiful and tender. It was so sad and heartbreaking and yet it was sweet like a nightingale singing one very sad, sad song. Loki soon realized that not only did he recognize the bitter tangle of emotions wrapped in this person's soul that they could only communicate through this muffled wailing, but he recognized the person crying as well. Loki licked his chapped upper lip, he rubbed his emerald eyes, he took a tentative step without thought closer to the crying person, "Sigyn," he gasped audibly. He didn't even realize he had let her name flow from his hips. Instantly, he clapped his hands over his mouth.

"What?" the young woman looked up from his knees. She flicked the tears off of her blonde eyelashes. She rubbed right under her dripping red nose, "Who's there?"

Loki's piercing eyes darted back and forth quickly for, but a moment. He knew that he should vanish. It would be easy, he could turn himself invisible, blend right into the background, better yet he could easily teleport himself back to his bedchamber in the palace. That was what he had been about to do, what he should continue to do, but perhaps it was something about fragility of her soft soprano voice. The way she tried to speak through her sobbing, or the fact that her big innocent golden eyes were shining with freshly fallen tears, or the way that she was slightly shaking, shivering, like she was cold, that made him stay. He stepped forward from behind the column. "Beggin' your pardon, Lady Sigyn," said an old man as he coughed into his cloak.

"Oh," Sigyn whispered to herself as she saw the poor old man hobbling toward her. He was thin as a rail and his old clothes looked moth eaten. His hands were as wrinkled as raisins as so was his face. It was pale and sallow, hair gray and wiry. "Oh," she shook her head trying not to stare. She was positive that she didn't look any better than this old gentleman. "I'm sorry...I...I...I shouldn't be here," she muttered and she pushed herself up off of the ground. She shook her head. Her muddied and tangled, blonde hair slapped her in the face. Her hair was hard and wet and hurt when it hit her. She let out an audible gasp. "I shouldn't be anywhere," she went on. Her bruised and battered hands clutched the wall as she tried to walk. She clutched the wall as she tried to limp away.

The old man swallowed as he watched her desperate, but weak attempt to stumble away as quickly as she could. "Lady Sigyn, you are hurt," the old man point out. His voice was shakey. "Pehaps I can escort my lady to the infirmary," he offered as he came up behind her. His clumsy gate matched her own.

"No, no, no" Sigyn shook her head all the more. She threw back her hand. She gasped and winced as she pressed onward on her aching feet and throbbing ankle. "There are people who are really hurt," she nodded as she held fast to the wall all the while inching forward.

The elderly Aesir tried to slow himself down so as to not out-pace the queen's handmaiden "Butu you are really hurt, Lady Sigyn," he pointed out. He point to her leg. Her ankle was swollen terribly. It was all black and blue. He squinted his eyes and detected that it was broken.

"No, no, tis nothing," she insisted as she bit deep into her lip as tears squeaked out from the corners of her eyes. "The innocent, the innocent," she muttered bitterly. "Those are the ones who come first, they must be tended to," she expressed.

The old man's eyes scanned Sigyn's body. They took note of every bruise and contusion that had sprung up on her normally flawless, coppertone skin. He swallowed a thick lump that formed in his throat like a knot. His heart started pounding. His palms started sweating. His head reeled as he realized that he was the cause of her injuries. He'd been so ruthless when they were fighting. He'd hit her and scratched her, cut her and grabbed her, he'd pushed and shoved her. How could he? What was he thinking? He could have killed her. He wanted to scream out, beg her for forgiveness. Then to hear her say that she wasn't innocent. He wanted to tell her she was the most innocent person her ever knew. "But...But...but Lady Sigyn, you are innocent," he managed to say quietly.

"No, no, I'm not," Sigyn sighed. "All this is my fault! It's my fault!" she started to cry again. She grabbed her head and started to cry again harder and deeper this time. It was a gut wrenching sort of deep wail. "It's all my fault," she kept repeating.

"No, Lady Sigyn! Please don't say that," the old man begged her. His voice too, was starting to crack. His hands were shaking.

"How can I not say it?" She demanded as she looked up at him. Her lip was fat and bloodied, she had a nasty looking gash riding across her forehead with thick globs of dried blood all over. She had a terrible bruise right under her right eye. Her nose was swollen and the old man was certain that he could remember inflicting the damaging wound upon her. Her beautiful face. It was always so light and bright and happy. It had always been perfection. She was a breathtaking beauty. She'd always been there in all her resplendence and yet he'd never noticed it. Her face was warm like sunlight, her smile bright and radiant as the dawn. She was always smiling. Before he'd thought it vapid and foolish that she'd walked around with grin plastered to her mouth, now...he wished...he wished that he was the one responsible for making that gorgeous smile stay on her face and that he was the one who was responsible for wiping it away and replacing her beauty with ashes. "Everything that's about to happen, is about to happen because of me sir," she proclaimed as she pointed to herself.

The old man nodded. He bobbed his head in earnest. "That's true, Sigyn, that's true... it's all because of you, but it's for the better, Sigyn, please believe if there is any hope at all it is because of you," he told her. He sank down to his knees and grabbed her hands. "Thank you, Lady Sigyn. Thank you," he said looking up at her from his knees.

"What?" Sigyn gasped. "Oh no, no, sir, you've got it all wrong," she said. "Please, please don't bow," she waved her hands in front of her and pulled him to his feet although he resisted.

"No," the old man started to correct her gently, "You..."

"NO!" Sigyn screamed back. "Now, you just listen! You just listen here! I had a chance...I had a chance to right all this wrong. I had a chance to end this whole thing and I didn't...I didn't do it. I could have saved us all..."

"You have..."

"NO!" she shrieked. "I should have done it! I should have done it! My sister Rana is right I should have done it...If I was brave enough, strong enough, if I was more of an Aesir, any bit my father's daughter... I would have done it... but I didn't do it...I'm a coward and a fool and now the fate the Nine Realms is sealed into Darkness because of me," she started to sob all over again. She covered her face and wept openly into her palms. She was sniveling and trembling and shaking something so fierce that the old man tried to comfort her by wrapping his skin, wrinkled arms around her delicate frame. She melded into him like she'd known him all her life and cried into his weathered cloak.

The old man wrapped her in an embrace. She was surprised at how incredibly strong his withered arms were. The way he held her so tightly and firmly. It was familiar and fresh all at once. He rubbed soothing circles on her back until she started to settle and her sobbing gave way to a soft sniffling. "But why'd you do it Lady Sigyn, if you truly could have stopped all this why didn't you?" the elderly Aesir gentleman probed.

She looked up, her battered featured perplexed. " I told you I'm a coward, I'm a fool, I'm weak," she admitted with a shrug.

"Come, come," the old man said as he still rubbed her back. "That can't be true," he clicked his tongue. "You are a lady-in-waiting to Queen Frigga, the wisest woman in all Asgard, why would she choose you if you were all those things?"
"Queen Frigga is indeed very wise, but she is also very compassionate, she took pity on me, my father had disowned me, he was going to send me to a brothel...but she allowed me to become a lady-in-waiting and thereby save my family's honor somewhat..." she shrugged.

"But what happened to you, Lady Sigyn, that wasn't your fault," the old man pointed out. "That was Loki! Loki is the reason for your trouble and for the calamity of Asgard! He's liar and a scoundrel," the old man protested. "He's pure evil! Your not responsible for what he's done to you or anyone else do you understand?" he asked forcefully? His bony fingers gripped her already bruised shoulders and held them fast. "Do you understand?" he asked again. His eyes were so intense as he stared at her. She looked into his eyes, deep and wise like and old man's eyes should be, but somehow there was something very energetic and wild and young about them...she knew those eyes.

"Yes, yes, yes" The blonde-haired daughter of Admiral Arn nodded. "I know how terrible he is! I know...I know first hand, but...but...somehow...oh I don't know... that's why I'm so foolish...I keep hoping and believing and thinking... and...and...and know because of my stupidity I've doomed us all," she ranted as she slapped herself upside the head.

The old man winces as he saw her assault herself. "No, stop, don't do that," she grabbed her offending hand and held it tenderly in his own. "And don't say that about yourself!" he insisted.

"Why? It's true!"

"No, it isn't!" he barked. He sounded nearly enraged. It startled her and she pulled her hand back out of his wrinkled ones. Her eyes flickered, hurt and scared. The old man flinched as well. "Oh I'm sorry, my dearie," he said in a gravely tone. "I didn't mean to frighten you, my lady, not in the least, just it makes me right mad to hear you speak such away about yourself, it does," he admitted.

"What's it to you, sir?" Sigyn asked curiously. Her eyes narrowed.

"Aye," the old man nodded his grayish face twisted with his furrowed brow. "I 'spose it shouldn't mean much to a man such as myself..." he dropped his head. "I being me and you being you, my lady. And I do beg your pardon, my lady," he went on as he stared at the floor, "but you see, I have children... daughter..." he confessed his voice light. He cleared his throat and continued. "daughters and granddaughters and great-granddaughters. You my granddaughters are probably about your age and well when I heard about everything that happened to you I couldn't help, but think of them and if it was them and well...well Lady Sigyn you are too good for a man like Loki. You always have been," he confirmed with a nod. "You are a strong and smart and beautiful woman," he reported to her. "Loki is the fool! He's the ultimate fool!" the old man chuckled bitterly. "He's a fool to betray Asgard, the way he did! He's a fool to betray his family!" the elderly Aesir spat. "He's a fool to put in his lot with Malekith and Thanos," the old man cursed and clenched his fists and ground his teeth.

Sigyn's bright amber eyes blinked rapidly... "Thanos? What do you know of..."

"He's a fool to betray you, Lady Sigyn," the great-grandfather stated. He looked up at her eyes wide and trembling as if he were about to cry. "Why would he do that?" the old man wondered out loud. "He would have been luck to have you, tis true," the old man bobbed his head.

Now, it was Sigyn's turn to provide comfort to the poor, old tinker. He seemed to be getting so choked up. "Sir, your words are so kind. They are the kindest words anyone has spoken to me in quite a while," she confessed with a slight smile, "I thank you kindly, for them, but you don't even know me," she stated.

"Oh, I know you well enough, little Sigyn," he whispered.

"Little Sigyn?" she echoed...only one person really called her that.

"If we all live through this Lady Sigyn, you should move on and forget about that monster," he told her. He waved his hands dismissively.

"I wish I could forget him, sometimes...sometimes...I feel like he has me under a spell," the golden-haired maiden confessed.

"Love is a spell in and of itself..." the elderly Aesir man admitted. "its a power...a force," he clenched his fists and shook his head. There was a bit a moisture in his eyes. Then he looked up and looked at her. His sharp, vibrant eyes stared intently at her. but it can be broken..." He swallowed thickly and nodded. "You go on, Lady Sigyn, if this day be won and Asgard survive you should go on and be free." The old man reached out to her. He cupped her bruised bloodied hands in his wrinkled dirty palms. He patted them firmly, but all the while tenderly, "You could have many men, you know?"

"I'm no prize," Sigyn replied in a small voice.

He gave her hand a squeeze. "Yes, you are!" he corrected her instantly. "Loki was a fool for making you feel like you are any less than that! You go on and give your love to a good man. Don't think of that no good traitor anymore! Find a noble man and marry him. Make babies. Have a good long life...grow until you are old like me," he explained there was a smile on his thin dry lips and he pulled on his tattered threads. "and then you can look back and tell the young ones of this day as just an old ghost story," he explained.

The daughter of Admiral Arn curled her lips into a watery smile. "Your words are so kind. They are kinder than even the words my father has spoken to me as of late," she confessed. "I appreciate them, but I still don't understand why you say such things to me," golden locked maiden confess as she shrugged her shoulder.

"I'm sorry," the tinker began, "You don't deserve that, my lady, you never did. I beg your forgiveness, my lady if my words have been too forward. But as you can see I am very old," he brought his palms to finger through his scraggly beard. "And these are all very uncertain times indeed. No one even knows what tomorrow holds for us," he reported to her. "I don't know if I shall ever see my family again..." he expressed as he worried his hands.

"Have you no family here, sir?" lady Sigyn inquired. The old man's response was merely a shake of his head.

"Tis the gift of the old to give advice to the young. You, my dear, may be the last young person I meet, you may be the last young person I have the chance to give advice to..." he statred and almost chuckled.

Lady Sigyn's bright gold eyes started to water again. He lip quivered, "If that be the case, sir it be all because of me!" she wailed. She put her hands back up in front of her face and couldn't control her weeping anymore. She started to cry openly into her palms once more.

The elderly gentleman's eyes widened once again. His heart was racing and pounding against his ribs. His stomach started to tangle and twirl and become filled with the knots of guilt. He had to leave, but he couldn't allow Sigyn to think for a minute that anything that had happened was her responsibility. Everything that was done, he had done. He had done of his own free will and because of his own greed. "No, no, no, no, my dearie, please, please don't cry dear Little Sigyn," he went on. His weathered hands reached up and softly grabbed at her wrists so as to pull her hands away from her face. "Now, Sigyn we have already been over this! You know that all this is Loki's doing! You know that he is a villain and scoundrel and loathsome creature!" he insisted. "he is the monster that will be responsible for destroying Asgard! Not you! Never you!" The old man was insistent. "Do you here me?" he asked.

"Yes," Sigyn nodded.

"Now, do you believe me?" he asked.

"I..." the golden-haired lady-in-waiting to Queen Frigga paused. She knew that she wasn't ultimately the grand archictect of Asgard's demise. But she allowed Loki to live when he should have died and she had the power to kill him. She tried to ask herself did she regret what she had done. If she could go back to just a few minutes ago when the knife was looming in her hands over Loki's throat, would she make a split second change of mind and end it for him, thus freeing Asgard from the curse of Ragnarok. She replayed the events, but she couldn't make herself regret what she did. She'd do it again in a heartbeat and if that be the case, she'd much rather believe the old man's words. "I hope you are right," Sigyn said after she swallowed.

"Oh I am, my lady, trust me," he said with a wink and he flashed a smile and despite the chap on his lips and discoloration of his teeth their was something quite charming about the smile he revealed to her. 'I don't want to hold you, Lady Sigyn," the elderly tinker stated as he leaned a little more heavily on his staff. 'You're a very important person and you have much to attend to," he stated. "You should spend time with your friends and family before the dawn," he said to her.

"My sister is here, but I doubt she will want to speak with me, she's furious with me!" Sigyn expressed.

"She will, Sigyn, she will," the elderly man expresses.

The golden-locked maiden bats her eyes to fight off her tears. "You don't know my sister, she is very stubborn," she informed him. She wiped away the few droplets that had formed in the corners of her eyes.

The old man nodded, his eyes were soft and kindly, though there was a glint, a mysterious little twinkle that she couldn't quite put her finger on it, but she knew she had seen it somewhere before. "Oh I know about stubborn siblings, believe you me, my child," the old man gave a good-natured smiled. "My brother and I oh we used to fight all the time like cats and dogs. We were always like night and day," he explained. "And I can admit that between the two of us I had always been the one to hold the grudge for longer. You know for years I blamed my brother for so many things that happened to me in my life." his voice grew softer and more focused and it lost the frail little tremble that it normally had. "Sometimes...I...I hated him," he confessed. "By the end we were very much estranged..." he paused and swallowed. "But now, if he was here...if I had the chance to see him...just one last time...knowing that this could be the end...knowing that we may never see each other again...no matter what he did...or what I did...I'd, I'd speak to him if I had the opportunity to..."

"What would you say to him?"

"I'd tell him that...that...I...we...would always be brother," the wrinkles grew deeper in the elderly tinker's face as he looked back at the younger Aesir woman. "But the hour indeed grows very late, Lady Sigyn, dawn swiftly approaches and I think it is high-time that we both make haste to do what needs be done to make sure that the day be won tomorrow," he stated.

"Oh yes! Yes, of course!" Sigyn practically squealed as she slapped her forehead. "I am such a jabberjaw... this is no time for such talking," she shook her head. "Yes, you are completely right! You have to go! I have to go! I have to go to report the Council what has happened...that's what I was in the process of doing," she remembered.

"I will leave you to it, then my lady," The old hunch back said as he tried to give a respectful bow to one of the queen's ladies-in-waiting. Sigyn's gold eyes watched as the old man struggled to bend his back even lower. "Oh please, sir don't bother, none of that is necessary" she insisted as she put her hand on his back and tried to help him straighten up.

"Oh, no, no, no, my lady, I must tis only appropriate," he responded back. "But these bones are so brittle and stiff and old, I hope that you can forgive me," he asked. He took her by the hand. He rubbed his old thumb over the flesh of her hand that was scarred and bruised and bloodied. His face fights to keep from crumpling as he observed all the injuries that he had inflicted on her. He slowly, brought her hand up to his quivering old lips. His scraggly, white beard and dry old lips tenderly brushed against the back of her hand as he gave it a kiss. "Fair-the-well Lady Sigyn" he whispered against her skin. He looked up at her again. He started to smile, but his features quickly changed and became serious and stern. "Now don't you forget what I told you," the old man chided. "When this is all over, you just go and forget about the disgraced prince, you just go and live your life girl and live a good happy one too," he advised.

Sigyn mashed her top lip against the bottom. The crusted blood tasted like metal on her tongue. She blinked bat him with her big, golden eyes. She wanted to say something more. She wanted to protest and say that she would never be able to forget. But then as the bitter taste of her own blood lingered in her mouth and she became reacquainted with the way her lip ached and how all of her body hurt and was sore and battered and cut up, she finally thought that maybe if somehow she survived the great and evil dawn that was swiftly approaching, she could forget about Loki. She'd spent centuries of her life pining away, longing and trying to be the maiden that Loki desired and she never was. She'd clung to a foolish hope for far too long, believing that one day he would want her. He never did. He'd done everything in his power to push her away and like some idiot she'd kept coming back only to have the door slammed in her face over and over again. Somehow she kept thinking that one day he'd care, but he didn't. Their bitter battle within his bedchamber had shown just how little he'd cared about her. He hadn't hesitated, he hadn't shown restraint. He didn't care about her. He didn't love her. He didn't love anyone. He was a monster full of rage and hate. Look at all he'd done. He'd destroyed the Imperial City. He'd allowed the Dark-Elves to take over. He was joining forces with Malekith. Malekith who wanted a world of darkness. She guessed that Loki did too. It hurt. It hurt to think that someone who was born a prince, born to lead, raised to rule, taught about justice and law and nobility and honor and chivalry could turn his back on everything that he ever was and become some ruthless animal with a poisonous dream set out to destroy. She didn't want to believe it. A part of her still want to think that at some point she had known, Loki and that she had known he was good and kind and wise and... and so many other things. But he was a trickster, he had deceived her he deceived everyone and she surely did want to forget. "I'll try, sir," Sigyn finally stated bravely.

The elderly Aesir's bright eyes flickered for just a moment. His brow arched, his lips parted, his features contorted, but it was so fast, that Sigyn could scarcely see it. By the time she was about to ask him if he was alright, the expression was gone. He was stoic and nodding, then finally he let a faint smile fold across his lips. "Well, that's good," he told her. He cleared his throat... "Good for you, dear Little Sigyn." he offered her one last grin. "I must be going...we must be off..." he concluded.

Lady Sigyn didn't hold him. She watched him hobble off. His slow crooked gait concerned her. She watched him for a few moments. For his part the old man tried to increase his speed, but the corridor was long and Sigyn was vigilant and didn't intend to let the old man out of her sight until she was sure he was alright. "I won't forget you, sir," she called out to him from down the hall. The hunched over senior citizen turned back to look at the blonde-haired maiden over his shoulder. She was waving energetically at him like a child. He offered her one last smile and wave and continued on his slow trek.

The young handmaiden to Queen Frigga finally turned around and decided to go. There was still so much to be done. She had to tell Asgard's High Council what had happened. She gulped and her palms started to sweat as she thought about facing them and confessing her blunders. Instantly, she thought of the old man again and the words of encouragement he had given her. She was sure that she was going to remember those words for the rest of her life. Though as the case would be that life didn't seem as thought it would be very long. Sigyn clapped her hands together and then slapped herself on the forehead. What a chuckle-head she was being. Was she going to remember this man's words and never even know his name? She slapped herself in the forehead for her silliness. It seemed unlikely, but it was important to have hope in these dark times. She had to have hope for a brighter future on the odd chance that they did survive Ragnarok, what if she actually was able to go on a live a good life, maybe with Theoic. He wasn't a bad looking man and he was uncomplicated and kindly, what if she did marry him and they had children. What if over years and years...they could actually, fall in love. What if said children asked her about how she fell in love with their father in the years to come. She could tell them that an old man advised her to find a good man and she found that in their father and when they asked who was the old man and what was his name was she simply to tell them nothing? That she didn't know? Oh that would be completely ridiculous. She had to know his name. After all he had given her such good advice. It seemed like the best advice that she had ever received in her life. Of course the advice wasn't necessarily new. Almost everyone in her life had told her that she had to forget about Prince Loki and move on. Liv had told her that when everything first happened. But Liv was dismissive of her feelings, she didn't understand that she was in love, he parents told her that, but their statement was a command and held their best interest in heart rather than hers. Her sister told her that, but Rana made her feel like an idiot for having ever having feelings for Loki in the first place. It was as if Rana had forgotten how completely enthralled she was with the thought of being a member of the royal family at one point. This old man, he spoke tenderly and he understood he sympathized...it was like he knew...knew...so much more about her and Loki's relationship than he really should have. Yes, her scandal had been a source of many scroll tabloids and holo gram specials and there had even been a group of ministrels that composed a few ballads about it, but still his understanding was so much deeper.

"Wait!" the golden-locked daughter of Admiral Arn called out. "Sir!" she turned behind her. She thought she saw the tattered edges of his ratty old cloak turn the corner. "Sir, what's your name?" she shouted. He was gone, he didn't hear her. Sigyn bit her lip. She needed to know his name. She called out once again, but there was no response. She immediately started after him. As quick as she could she darted down the hallway. She came to the corner and stopped for just a moment. Then all of a sudden a sharp, searing pain shot up from her ankle all the way up to her knee. She let out a loud scream of agony as she collapsed on the floor.

"Sigyn!" The old man was immediately at her side. He crouched down next to her. "What happened are you alright?" Sigyn's eyes welled up with tears. She wanted to speak, but all of a sudden she was in too much pain. She hiked up her torn skirt just a bit to expose her swollen ankle. It was purple as a plum and the size of a grape fruit. "Oh my goodness, Lady Sigyn, you are in need of a healer! Your ankle is broken," he informed her. "Come let me take you," The old man offered. He reached out his wrinkled hands.

Sigyn shook her head, "No...no...no...council...first," she protested.

"You need a healer," he was firm as he placed a hand on her shoulder to try to gather her in his arms.

"It's...it...is ...just...a...break..." she panted. "Others...far worst..." she expressed as she squeezed her eyes closed and gritted her teeth to deal with the pain.

The old man's eyes rolled over her body, her ankle was broken and she had a gash in her head that needed stitching, the bruises around her temple were good indicators that she migh had a concussion. He could see that a kick to the gut had caused her to have some internal scarring all of the injuries needed medical attention.

"You're worse off than you think, my lady, you need to go to the halls of healing," he urged. His wrinkled fingers were surprisingly strong as they tried to pull her closer.

"It can wait! It can wait! It can wait! They have to know," Sigyn tried to push away. She did so and he didn't fight her too long. He let her go and she pressed her back against the wall and tried to climb to her feet. She managed to do so, but as she as she tried to take a step the sharp anguish returned and she collapsed again. This time falling right into the feeble seniors arms. He tottered but he caught her. "Let me go," Sigyn gave a bit of a struggle.

"You cannot walk, my lady."

"Then I will crawl!" the blonde-haired maiden insisted.

He shook his head. A grin graced the thin lips that hid beneath the grizzled beard. She was fiery and determined. "There is no need," he stated and the old man's withered, gray arms with spidery wrinkles and veins scoop under Sigyn's legs to carry her.

"No, no, no sir, you can't...please...please don't hurt yourself on my account...I have caused so much pain!"

"Hush, now Lady Sigyn," he instructed kindly. "One does not live as long as I by being weak or frail, " he chuckled. His back was still arched little, but his arms did not shake as he carried her. She was amazed. She wanted to ask more questions, say to the old man not to strain and not to hurt his back. But as she rested in his strong arms, she could feel her body growing so tired. All her wounds were exposed, she'd lost blood, her leg was broken, her head was banged up, her eyes were blackened and for the first time now that she was finally off her feet and had a moment to just pause she realized how much pain she was in.

"Please...please..." she begged softly, "take me to the council."

"healer, first," was the old man's mild chiding, but his voice didn't sound so cracked and warbly as it had before. It was strong and young and smooth sounding. Her golden eyes fluttered as she looked up at him. For a moment she thought she saw his old form melt away, but it must have just been because of her splitting headache. She finally allowed her eyes to close. She allowed her blonde-haired head to rest against his chest. His heart beat was strong. It was like a drum and she was sure she'd felt that rhythm before. It was familiar and calm and it lulled her. "Rest, Sigyn" he whispered, gently. "You're alright," he assured her. "I'm sorry," he murmurred. "I'm so sorry," he looked down at her lovely, but battered face. He longed to caress and pamper every bruise until she was back to being the unmarred beauty that she'd always been.

"Hurts," Sigyn whimpered against the old man's chest.

"Where?" he asked voice frantic.

"Everywhere?" she mumbled but she pointed to her heart.

The old man's face crumbled. He let out an audible gasp. "I won't hurt you, Sigyn" he told her.

She smiled as her cheek pressed against his grimey clothes. "Will you deliver my message?" she asked.

"No, my dear, you will deliver it as soon as the healers are done with you," he nodded.

"But there's not much time..."

"Shhh...sleep," the senior told her and l like a wave sleep hit her. It ran up on her. It rushed and flooded her senses, she felt powerless to fight it. She was very groggy and half way to dreamland, but the way the words were spoken, the power of suggestion that lingered in the air. It made her think for one moment that maybe...just maybe... Her gold eyes looked up. "Loki?" she questioned.

"shhh," the old man told her once more. "You will deliver your message Sigyn and this one too," he stated and leaned in her ear and whispered a message to her that would stay with her in her dreams until she awakened.

The old man's uneven footsteps hobbled into the makeshift healer's ward. The old man's eyes widened as he beheld the countless numbers of wounded. Men and women and children, from newborns to the oldest of citizens stacked on top of each other in the most unsanitary conditions he had ever seen in Asgard. People were bleeding buckets, coughing up their lungs, puking bile and screaming from the infection of Aether ash contaminating their skin. People were in traction with much of their bodies in bandages so much so that they looked like mummies. Babies had third degree burns and they were crying in agony. Their poor little bodies coated in char and Aether ash. He saw as a healer rushed with a sedative in hand while a few more healers held a man down and another prepared to amputate a limb. There was hardly any clean water to sterilize the beds and some people had to lie on the floor. There was a pile of severed limbs in one corner, arms, legs, feet and hands all infected and gangrene, the dark-matter had spread past the skin and was penetrating down to the bone leaving nothing but rotten useless flesh in its wake. The festering, rotting limbs weren't the worse of it thought. In the far back of the healer's chamber were the bodies. The bodies of those who they could not save. Aesir bodies piled high. They were handled with great care by the healers. They were wrapped and covered and stacked as neatly as possible, but they were dead bodies nonetheless. There must have been more than 1000. 1000 people who started this day with hopes and dreams and who ended up as corpses and victims of madmen. There was only one soul forge and they couldn't get the people through the machines fast enough to even assess and diagnose the conditions properly. Healers were slumped in the corner from exhaustion. Other's scrambled to try and use the dried herbs that were in the old vials and make pain medications and fever reducers but with limited provisions it seemed useless.

"I need a need another blood detoxin," shouted one healer over his shoulder.

"There are no more," another healer called quickly as she rushed right pass the man. She was carrying gauze and blankets and what looked like some type of electronic portable breathing machine.

"Her blood is at 75 percent," he elaborated.

"We can't save them all," stated a senior healer.

"What? What?" the younger healer gasped as he looked down at his patient. "We have to... we have to," he shook his head.

"You know we, can't" someone said touching his shoulder. "Just try to keep her comfortable," they explained.

"But...But..." he shook his head. "She's pregnant with twins..."

The old man blinked with disbelief as he saw the frantic madness all around him. His own breath hitched, his heart pounded against his ribcage. All this carnage, death and disease, all the pain and suffering for what? Innocent lives had been destroyed in a sick game of revenge and he couldn't even explain why. It made him weak in the knees and he wanted to collapse. He felt his knees buckle. He had to steel himself to remember the precious cargo that he was carrying in his hands. He couldn't drop or cause her any harm. "Help! Help! I need a healer!" he finally called out. The room was in such an uproar that he had to yell several times before a female healer came over to him. She was bone weary. She had short red-hair that was sticking out all over head. He could have sworn that she was one of Volstagg's cousins. "She's hurt," The old man present the unconscious maiden in his arms. The healer looked at her without much of a word. She simply wiped her brow as she inspected Lady Sigyn. She saw the gash on her forehead and the numerous bruisings on her body. She could tell from the way that her ankle had swollen up that she it was broken. "She'd got internal bleeding," the elderly Aesir spoke up. "And look at her side," he said as he maneuvered her so that the terrible puncture wound was exposed. "She's lost blood," he expressed breathlessly.

"We got a lot of people we need to see before her," she explained in a huff. "I don't even have a bed, but you can lay her on the rug," she tossed a thumb over her shoulder. The old man's eyes darted all about. Poor Sigyn, she was in bad shape, but she wasn't the worst case that the healers had to deal with. He knew they wouldn't rush to tend to her wounds. Still, she was better off here than anywhere else. He nodded slowly and walked over to a tattered looking towel and stretched her out on it. "She'll be ok," the healer told him.

---

Excuse me, Lord Onrac," one of the assistant healers whispered as she came up behind the queen's physician. His bald head was drenched in sweat as he was quickly making his way back to the master bed suite of the king and queen of Asgard. He had vials in his shaking hands and capsules of pills as well.

"Not now!" he practically barked as he gathered different things. He flipped through old books searching for cures and remedies. "I have to get this to the queen," he explained frantically.

"Yes, of course, Lord Onrac, that's why I came to you first, I know that no one is suppose to disturb the queen right now," the young healer went on.

Of course not," he said out of breath. "You know what's happening? You know what's going on, don't you child?" the lead healer asked abruptly as he turned around and looked at the assistant healer. He was surprised to find that the assistant wasn't as young as he had originally thought.

"Yes, yes, sir, I know. How...how...how...how could I not know...but it's just...just...just what I have to tell you...well it...it's...it's important I think," the healer muttered.

Onrac wiped his sweaty, he spun his head around and looked at him with wild eyes. Those eyes had bags encircling them and they were bloodshot. "You think? YOU THINK!" Healer Onrac broke into a loud angry shout. The assistant healer gasped. He had never seen Healer Onrac in such away. The experienced royal physician was not necessarily the epitome of calm and cool, no he wouldn't have described him in that was, but he had never seen him so frazzled and beside himself and curt and sharp. He was sure that the older healer didn't remember it, but he had taught his physiology course at university. Not that he blamed his old professor for his anxiety everyone was at their wits-end. The apprentice knew that he surely was. "DO YOU REALIZE WHAT IS AT STAKE!" Healer Onrac continued to shout. "Our world is on the verge collapsed!" he expressed as his voice broke. "The all-father..." his voice cracked. He shook his head vigorously and then grabbed his head. The healer started to sob. he sobbed for a few minutes. Tears simply washed down his cheeks in an uncontrolled torrential flood. "He's dying," he finally admitted as he looked up into the younger man's eyes.

The younger healer couldn't believe the words he heard coming from Healer Onrac's mouth. He knew that the king was had fallen into the Oversleep and he knew that he was in critical condition. Obviously, he had seen how many of the people of Kytheria had come and gathered outside of the Southern Palace's gates with their lamps and candles and incense to sing and pray, but somehow in his heart he thought it was more about preventing Ragnarok more than the actual condition of King Odin. His heart beat frantically and wildly in his chest. As long as Odin lived he felt...he felt as though everything would be alright. Somehow, he just knew that the all-father would pull through. That he'd somehow rise up from the Oversleep and he'd fight valiantly on the side of Asgard and with Gungnir in hand he'd surely defeat their foes and win the day. It had happened before. It had only been a few years ago, after the Frost Giants had invaded Asgard during Prince Thor's coronation ceremony. It had been reported that the great king had fallen into a dreadful slumber, but in the end, he'd awakened. And he just knew it would happen again. Except now, somehow hearing Healer Onrac actually declare that the king was on the brink of death. It sent a shudder down his spine and feeling of terror gripped his heart. He wanted to say something. He wanted to protest the prognosis of the astute and esteemed personal healer to Queen Frigga. Instead, his tongue fumbled as the only clumsy word that managed to come out was, "D-d-dying?"

Onrac couldn't repeat it. He simply bobbed his bald, brown head. "He's had so many seizures," the royal healer whispered. "He's boiling alive...cooking in his own skin," he expressed as he fanned himself feverishly. "His lungs...his lungs...his lungs," Healer Onrac muttered. "They are filling up with liquid. "You know what that means, young healer?"

The apprentice licked his lips and nodded his head slowly, "Yes, Lord Onrac," he stated. "The king could suffocate to death," he expressed in the steadiest voice he could muster.

"Exactly!" Healer Onrac pointed a finger in the young man's face. "Do you know how terrible that would be?" Once again the assistant healer merely nodded. He didn't want to imagine the king gasping for breath in his final moment and unable to get any air into his lungs. He didn't want to think about the Queen hearing her husband gurgling like he was sinking down into some slimy, disgusting bog.

"I cannot allow, my lord king to die in such a way," Healer Onrac insisted as he straightened himself up. He slammed the old tome that he had been reviewing closed and dust flew from the musty pages. He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his brow once more. Quickly, once more he assembled his medical equipment and his vials and capsules and started to frantically gather the things and rush toward the door. "I have to get back to my king's side," the lead healer proclaimed. His long robe was dangling and the red sash that he wore to denote his status was coming undone and he started to rush about. His sandal straps were untied and in his haste he tripped over his own feet. All of his tools sprawled on the floor right along with him. The syringes and needles and the clean tubes that he was going to use to try to remove some of the liquid from Odin's lungs. The contents from his bottles spilled all over the floor.

Healer Onrac gasped as he beheld the thick yellow liquid spill all over and formed a puddle. The pills tumbled and bounced across the tile. "No! No! NO!" Healer Onrac screamed out. He slapped his hands on the floor. His eyes welled up with tears. "NO!" his hands reached out in vain trying to grab at the tiny oval shaped pills that continued to roll away. "No, please! Norns, why?" he cried out. His shaking hands managed to save one little pill from getting lost in the cracks. "That was the last of the pills," he whispered shaking his head.

"Healer Onrac," the younger man called gently. He scuttled closer to the bald medicine man. "It's ok, perhaps we can just wash them, off," he expressed.

"No!" the healer shot back. He pinned the assistant with an incredulous look. "They dissolve instantly in water," he spat! He tossed the sole pill aside. "These were made from the extract of night lily and slumber stone. It will keep the king sedated and comfortable," he muttered. "And now it's gone," his shoulders slumped.

"It'll be, well, my lord," the apprentice spoke up. He timidly went to touch the older man's shoulder.

Immediately, Onrac rolled his shoulder out of the way before the younger man could even touch him. His features twisted. "That was Melnay Fluid," Onrac explained as he pointed toward the yellow liquid that seemed to run and ooze all over the place.

"You were going to use it to help absorb some of the liquid build-up within the king's lungs," the young healer surmised.

Onrac bobbed his brown, bald head. "Precisely," he stated and then all at once his features twisted and crunched into a disturbing cringe. "I see you were paying attention in the medicinal seminar," Healer Onrac actually looked at him. His dark brown eyes twinkled for a split second and his lips cracked the smallest fraction of a smile that would have been otherwise perceivable.

For a moment the young man wanted to say something. To say how inspired he was to hear the esteemed Healer Onrac speak. He thought better of it. "Can't you manufacture some more, sir?"

"No, no, no," Healer Onrac moaned bitterly, he grabbed at his head and pulled it low and cradled it. He shook it violently. "Not enough, not in time! The king needs it badly now."

"Healer Onrac!" The younger man interrupted the other's man lamenting and grabbed him by the shoulders. "Healer Onrac!" he called to him forcefully and shook him. 'That's not what I came here for," he protested. Healer Onrac looked up at the younger man quite stunned. "There are soldiers at the door," he pointed to the large iron-entrance way. "They've been wanting to get in and alert the queen to some developments," he expressed.

"What?" Onrac did a double take. "Absolutely not!" He practically yelled. He stood to his feet and accidentally splashed his foot in some of the Melnay. His whole body started shaking. He balled his hands in tight fists. "The queen is not to be disturbed!" he threw forth one of his hands. "What are they thinking?" he questioned as he started to pace back and forth. "She is tending to the king! These could be his final hours," he went on. "They most assuredly are...they most assuredly are," he went on murmuring. "They will not be interrupted! I will not have it!" His brown eyes flashed with a bolt of lightning as he looked up at the apprentice.

"Lord Onrac!" the apprentice burst. "No, you don't understand...this is important," he stated forcefully.

"Well nothing is more important than the all-father's life!" Onrac immediately shot back. "Is it? Is it?" he demanded of the young man. The healer's assistant grew rigid. He could feel his ears starting to burn. His lips quivered and he sputtered some incoherent stammers before he clapped his jaw shut. Healer Onrac spun back and faced the young healer. He was dressed in a simple blue uniform denoting his status as a graduate learner. He was so young. Not a boy, but a young man nonetheless. He thought that it was a shame that the young man would most likely never have the opportunity to see his robes change. he doubted that the young apprentice would ever be able to switch into the distinguished black cloak that was worn by first year healers who were no longer attached to a master healer. He shook his head as he stared at him. Such a shame. Such a waste. "Is it?" he snapped once more. The younger healer dropped his head. "Just as I thought. The king is dying! The king is dying and I'm responsible...I'm responsible," Healer Onrac pointed to himself and practically tore his white tunic off of his body.

Finally, the apprentice found his voice, He gulped before speaking up. "Healer Onrac, it's not your fault..."

"Oh yes, it is...oh yes it is!" Onrac continued. "I'm the queen's physician," he pointed out as he squatted down and tried to pick up the pieces of broken glass from the bottles that had spilled on the floor. "She trusted me with her life," he swallowed thickly. "With the life of the king...and...and now..."

"Healer Onrac!" the young man's voice boomed. "if Odin is truly dying and there is nothing that could be done than neither you or the queen should be spending too much time fighting the inevitable."

"Excuse me," Onrac's full lips curled into a snarl. "How dare you!" he growled. "Are you out of your mind!" he shouted. He stomped his way toward assistant furiously. He raised his hand and balled up his fingers into a fist and went to aim it right for the younger man's jaw. The younger healer caught Onrac's flying fist in the palm of his hand. He squeezed the healer's fist tightly. Onrac was no light weight. He was a tall and handsome man of an imposing healthy build, but he could feel the might from the other man's hand. The apprentice's hand was strong and rough. Instantly, the royal healer recalled talking to the young man about one of his papers. They discussed the time he had spent with his parents working in the blacksmith shop with his mother. He was a strong lad. Surely, he would have had a strong future as a blacksmith. He could have even trained to be an arena fighter or an Einherjar, but he chose to be a healer. While those thoughts raced through Healer Onrac's mind he felt his hand being lowered toward his side. The queen's physician was huffing and puffing. His nostrils flared. His eyes, cheeks and ears burned so hot that he was surprised that visible steam wasn't leaking out of them. "How dare you," he reiterated shaking his head. "Are you mad? You dare speak a word against our king?"

'I wasn't trying to speak against our king, sir."

" You wish death upon our leader!"

"What? NO!"

"You speak like a fool, young apprentice, you speak like a fool!" he shouted. "Don't you know that if the all-father dies, then it's curtains for Asgard, for us all?" The healer's eyes were wild as a flame.

The young man shook his head. "Healer Onrac, I know that the all-father's condition is scary. We are all scared and praying for the all-father, but he wouldn't want Asgard to die without a fight even if he joins the kings of the past in Valhalla, you know this," the assistant healer explained.

"You are right, you are right" Healer Onrac lowered his bald head. "We are up a creek without a paddle right now. The King is dying and Prince Thor is imprisoned and we cannot establish contact with any of the people in the Imperial City."

"That's what I'm trying to tell you about," the young assistant smiled. "We've made contact," he expressed with a sigh of relief.

"What?" Onrac asked baffled.

"Well they made contact with us..." he shook his head as he tried to get the details correct. "I don't know I don't know, sir, but that's what the soldiers want to talk to the queen about." he expressed. "Please, they need to see her"

Healer Onrac practically ran into the king and queen's bed chamber. He flung back the gossamer curtains that they had around the king's bed. The room was silent beside the faint muffled tears of the queen. The other healers in the room worked in silence. They had masks over their faces so as to keep the king's conditions sterile. The aura forcefield around Odin was dingy. It was normally a blinding, brilliant, shimmering gold. But the colors were muted and fading. There was no gold just a color of dust. He saw the busyness of his team of healers they were adjusting knobs and reading the scanners and trying to regulate the breathing machines and the blood work.

Queen Frigga sat by her husband's side. The healers had instructed her to but on gloves and a mast and that is exactly what the queen had done. The queen was positioned by her husband, but she sat silently. Her gloved hand was slipped beneath the force field clutching the king's. Her long, golden tresses cascaded down her back in a messy sweaty heap. Her luxurious mane was frizzy and disheveled. Her back was arched in a position that looked painful as she leaned over her husband's prone figure. She played with his fingers. His fingers were plump from swelling. They were gray and ashen in color. He matched the color of the aura force field that was around him. Frigga tenderly lifted her husband's hand off of the bed and brought it to her cheek where her tears washed over his chilly, damp skin. She nuzzled her face against his palm. Most of the queen's features were obscured by the protective mask which the healers had given to her, but her eyes were visible and they were bloodshot red. Deep circles had formed around her royal baby blues. They were so deep and dark that they looked like a bandit's mask. Her eyes were puffy as well. The servants tried to comfort the queen. They fanned her, offered her water and wine and tried to tempt her with bits of food. Queen Frigga dismissed each and everyone of them with a flippant wave of her hand.

"Excuse me," Onrac spoke up, as his bald head peaked through the curtains and drapes which kept the king concealed.

Another healer immediately turned around to face the lead healer. "Master Onrac," she sighed with relief. "Do you have any of the Melnay, the king is far too hot. Honestly, it is a miracle that he hasn't expired. I...I...I" she expressed the words tumbled off her lips at a rapid rate. "We desperately need a cure sir," she expressed as she rushed up to the Queen's personal healer and grabbed his hands. He held up his hand and silenced her immediately. She bit her lip and stifled herself. Her lips trembled under the weight of trying to hold her piece. Every part of her long to burst forth and explode.

Before the master healer could even address the woman he had been speaking to another figure came rushing toward him. He was carrying an electronic tablet. His feet were moving fast as lightning. "Healer Onrac! Healer Onrac!" he called, but his voice was still hushed out of reverence to the dying king. "Please! Please! Take a look at these numbers," he practically shoved the table in the lead medicine man's face. "These are the king's vital readings," he explained. "Just look, just look," he went on. "Cant' you see. The king's numbers are all over the place. It's all erratic. It's either too high or too low...its never normal. It's never in safe ranges. Look at his blood pressure sir, his heart rate. Look at this, He pointed a finger right under the bright, blinking number. "His heart was pounding faster than the engine of a solar skiff for nearly 4 minutes. Then it gave out."

"The team cleared everyone out of the room, including the all-mother and we managed to revive him," the female healer pointed out.

"But quite frankly, my lord I think it is unfair to keep subjecting to king's body to all this," the other healer explained.

Healer Onrac heard their words and he was concerned about them, but he couldn't dwell on it. His mind was racing and frantic with all the information, but the most important thing was talking with the queen. He just walked away from his colleagues. They were concerned and overwrought and at their wits-end with worry over what to do for King Odin now. Truth be told he didn't want to make the call. The great oath of a healer was to mend that which was broken, heal that which was injured and cure that which what was diseased. The healers had an obligation to do everything that they could to preserve and fight for life for all beings. But they were also to do no harm. In the back of his mind Healer Onrac had a sinking feeling that maybe they were doing more harm than good to their beloved king. Still, the king's life was worth preserving at all cost. They needed their king. Now more than ever hey sure did need their king, they needed Odin's wisdom and expertise and strength to guide them through this dreadful time. He couldn't be the one make the call for them to stop administering the medications which they had. He couldn't be the one to propose that they remove all of the healing arts which they had imposed upon the king to maintain even the smallest fractions of his life force. It wasn't his place to make those type of pronouncements. Only Queen Frigga could say what she wanted to be done. She was Asgard's ruler now.

Healer Onrac walked away from the throngs of healers that had come up to him in a massive, anxious huddle all with frantic urgent whispers. Some of them followed him for a moment. They continued to press him and ask him questions. Finally, the healers fell silent once that notice Healer Onrac make his way to stand behind Queen Frigga. The lead healer cleared his throat once more. Queen Frigga's eyes were squeezed shut tight and had Odin's hand pressed against her face. Beneath the mask he could hear the queen saying something. Her voice was so low and soft. He had no idea if she was speaking to her husband on saying the last prayer rite. "P-p-pardon me, My Lady," He spoke up once more. She still did not respond. He watched as she placed Odin's hand on her forehead. She pressed her forehead into Odin's hand all the while while she held fast to the great king's hand. He heard her let out a pent up sob. Onrac's heart broke as he listened to the tender weeping of the queen. "Your Majesty," he said finally bringing his voice above a whisper.

Queen Frigga's eyes popped open wide. They were so red. They looked like little red marbles. They were so bloodshot that he could hardly even make out the normally outstanding ocean blue of her eyes. She had not slept in days. Neither had he. He wondered if his own eyes matched the queen's. He was sure that they most absolutely did. Still, his heart ached as he beheld the sight of the queen. His royal patient. Her health was supposed to be his primary concern. He should have been more forceful and commanded her to sleep. He should have insisted as her healer. He should have reminded her how much they all needed her. That Asgard was in its most dire hour ever and they needed her healthy and strong. He thought that made he had said as much to the queen, but she had surely, simply refused to listen to his commands. But he shouldn't have taken no for an answer. He could have given her some sleeping tea, fit her with a sedative. He should have done that.

It was as if Queen Frigga had aged about 1000 years in simply a few days. He couldn't bear to see it. The all-mother was known for her beauty. She was ageless. In all the centuries that he known her he had never seen her age. She was timeless, classic Asgardian beauty. Her age only made her the more lovely as she became more and more of a maternal figure. But her face looked lean and wane, her skin was sopping wet with sweat, the color had completely drained from her cheeks. The were wrinkles and lines in her forehead that he was sure had never been their before. The lovely Asgardian queen had merely had a few wispy silver strands in her endless golden locks, but now the healer noticed patches of thick gray hair twining themselves in the midst of her long, blonde hair. He shook his head. She looked weakened and warn and he knew that there would be no hope for the realm if they lost her too.

Healer Onrac swallowed the thick lump that was desperately forming in his throat. "Your Majesty," he spoke once more. "I am sorry, my lady, I do not mean to disturb you," he muttered and bowed his head.

"It is well, old friend,: the queen stated as she slowly slipped the medical mask off from over her lips. "Have you any news to report to me on the condition of our belove all-father?" she asked as he voice was soft, but her blood-shot shined with a degree of hopefulness.

"No," he kept his head down. "I come with news from the guard," he stated.

"And..."

"They've made contact with the Imperial City," he stated finally looking. He offered a smile.

Queen Frigga's eyes were alight. "What?" she gasped. "Really?"

"Yes, Your Majesty," he nodded.

"But I thought the scanners were down and that we couldn't get a signal out."

"That is what we all thought my queen, I am not exactly sure what has taken place, but the head of systems here at the Southern Palace has intercepted a coded message," Onrac explained. "You should go to them, Your Majesty," he urged.

"Yes, absolutely," The queen said immediately. Almost too quickly. She sprang from her chair to her feet and was about to go running out the door. Then all at once she turned around and looked back at her husband. The great king of Asgard, who had tubes up his nose and down his throat and wires connected to his chest and on his temples. His body was drenched in sweat and he was shaking and convulsing every 20 minutes, his heart beat wasn't normal and he wasn't able to breathe on his own. His color was fading. Fading and fading fast with each passing second it seemed as though he grew lighter and whiter, nearly becoming translucent and disappearing so that he blended in with the color of his bed sheets. She could see his aura and his essence it was sickly and gray and dismal in color. She knew he was trying to fight it trying to stave off the darkness, but it seemed to surround him. It lingered and swirled about him and eerie cloud of doom. All at once a sinking feeling took hold of her gut. She clutched at her jewels. She worried her lips as teary eyes took one last look at Asgard's beloved leader. How could she even dare to think of leaving him? He needed her. She sat back down. "Healer Onrac, please have the guards send a report here," she stated.

"Your Majesty, I know that you do not want to leave the king's side," he started.

"I will not leave my husband's side," the queen of Asgard stated firmly.

"Yes, my lady, I understand and you know that I would never want you to leave the all-father's side for anything short of an emergency, but the codes are coming in and the guards can't decipher the messages. Its using one of the oldest forms of Runes. Even I don't know this your majesty," he said rapidly.

"Old Rune?" the royal woman's features quirked.

'Yes and it didn't come through on the modern equipment, my queen" Onrac pressed.

"What do you mean?" Frigga inquired.

"I don't exactly know, Your Majesty the young soldier was quite astounded and he was speaking very quickly, but he said that it was on an old data processing machine. He said that that machine hadn't been used in centuries. It just started working all of a sudden."

The golden queen's yellow brows arched upward. She had a thought, but she hesitate to say. "Well surely one of the members of here is a linguist could go down and decipher the code," the queen waved her hand.

"The linguist is with the guards now, but that was how we were able to recognize the distress signal. It is alpha level and apparently uses your code, my lady," Onrac explained nervously as he played with his red sash.

"What?" Queen Frigga was stunned. "But that would be impossible!" the queen stated as she tapped her lips.

"It may be improbable, Queen Frigga, but it is happening. Won't you at least just come down and take a look?" Healer Onrac entreated her as he grabbed her hand.

"Onrac," Frigga whispered as she pulled her hand out of his clasp. "I cannot leave the king. You said so yourself that the king...is...my husband...is..." The queen's voice broke off. She gasped and stated choking. She bit her lips and tried to fight off a dreadful sob.

'My lady!" one of the queen's maiden's came rushing up next to the queen with a tall cool glass of what in hand. She dropped down to her knees and lifted the goblet to the queen's lips. Queen Frigga blinked back tears and gave a small smile, but declined the servant's offer.

"Odin is dying," she finally whispered, "I have to be here with him..."

"My Lady, we all pray in earnest for the king's survival. But I know that Odin wouldn't want his life to be in vain. He is dying because he feels as though Asgard is dying and he feels as though he has failed us...

"He hasn't failed..." the queen immediately blurted out.

"No, of course not," Healer Onrac scooped up her hand once more. "But he would want each of us to do everything we could to save Asgard. You especially. You know that the king would want you to be strong and persevere for the good of the realm. You owe it to Odin to at least find out what this coded message means. It could be the means to save Asgard, to save the Nine Realms and to save the all-father," he pressed.

Queen Frigga started to open her mouth. She started to protest. She quickly open and shut her lips. Her lips that were normally painted and moist with rose, gold or rich red lip pain, now were a dry desert color, cracked and almost white. Her eyes darted back toward Odin. He lied there so helpless and still. He was drifting away from her. Her throat felt thick and dry and in so much pain. She swallowed thickly, but it did not help the aching feeling. She couldn't abandon him.

She thought of Odin the early days of the courtship. That was quite literally ages ago. She was from the Hill-Country, but her father was a magistrate and came to court a few times a year. Once she was of age she to was able to join her older sisters and brothers when they visited court with their father. She had taken up residence in the Imperial City going to the woman's university. She had two roommates one of which was her cousin and the other who was a young woman whose father was a scribe. They frequented court much more often and slowly she had started to catch young Prince Odin's eye.

"Lady Frigga, would you walk about in the garden's with me for a moment?" the prince asked as he came over toward her and her cousin's. The two of them were shocked. So much so that they got choked on their drinks. They both were coughing and sputtering and looking like fools before the prince. Her cousin managed to compose herself sooner than she did. Her cousin quickly slapped her on the back and helped her clear her lungs until she was able to answer the prince's question in the affirmative. "Splendid," he said with a sincere smile. "I won't steal her away for long, lady kinswoman," he explained.

"Oh no, please!" her cousin laughed from the punch table. "Take all the time you need," she instructed.

Odin extended his hand. He strolled her out into the gardens. The air was warm and fragrant. Servants were posted here and there to offer food to the garden walkers. The fountains flowed and the lights were lit. Musicians played and jugglers performed on the lawn. It was delightful. Odin was so handsome and strong. His hair was a blondish-red, his skin bronzed and youthful. His laugh gentle. "Tell me how do you like the city in comparison to the mountains?"

"It's quite exciting your highness! There's so much to do and see! I love it! I hardly have time for my studies, it seems," she expressed. "I feel like such a country bumpkin, I'm afraid I stick out like a sore thumb amongst all these courtiers," she went on.

"You do," Odin stated.

"Excuse me!" Frigga retorted sharply. She halted in her walk and cocked her head to the side and placed her hand on her hip.

"I meant no disrespect, my lady," the prince began. "Actually, rather, I meant it as a compliment. There are many beautiful flowers in the garden," he explained as he stopped them in one of the center orchards. There were pots full of white roses and irises and orchids, "But there is something about a wildflower," he explained. He stooped down a plucked a rare little flower from underneath a bush. Its color was a sky blue, its petals in full bloom. It had speckles of white. It was less tame than the others. It wasn't cultivated and perfected it was just as it was and it was lovely. He handed it to her. She was sure her cheeks were flushing. "Well...its so much rarer, it makes it even more breathtaking," he whispered in her ear.

Frigga's eyes shifted downward. "I heard you were a warrior, but I never heard you were a poet," she confessed as she breathed in the sweet familiar scent of the wildflower.

"Perhaps there is more to me than meets the eye," he raised his golden brows.

She quirked her pretty pink lips, "Perhaps." she said and winked and started to dart away. He caught her by the arm. 'I should not leave my cousin so long, your highness," she responded. "She is too fond of punch and there are many fresh boys in court," she winked.

"Will you walk with me again, sometime?" Odin's eyes were wide and his clasp on her was earnest.

"Yes," she stated breathlessly. Odin genteelly kissed the back of her hand and let her go.

That was the first of their many evening walks in the gardens it was not their last. The last time before he proposed was in spring time. "You spoke well today," she told him. "I hope your father listens to you," she expressed.

"i don't think he has, Frigga," Odin explained. "My father still wants to send Einherjar to mobilize to fight and help take back some ground for the king of Vanahiem," he explained. "He wants me to go with the troop. He thinks that by sending me it will show a stronger message. I leave in a fortnight."

Her eyes shined, "I understand," she muttered. She looked down and held his hand. She played with his fingers. "That's your duty as future king."

"What do you think is the role of a queen?" he looked back up at her.

"What?"

"Please, just answer," Odin pressed.

"i suppose, the role would be the same as the kings," she shrugged for a moment. "But maybe moreso. As king, you will take on the title all-father. You're a father, you protect and provide and love, but not for always. A father has to make sure that his children are ready to lead, but a mother...well a mother protect and nurtures and watches over her children all her life. No matter what. She'll do whatever she can to ensure her children survive,"

Queen Frigga's mind was quickly snapped out of her reverie for the moment. She heard Healer Onrac's gentle pleading, 'Please, my queen, 10 minutes of your time and I will hold your from the king's side a moment longer," he explained. "I will wait with the king, Your majesty," the queen's faithful friend reported. "I won't let anything happen to him," he nodded.

"Yes, yes, yes," Queen Frigga nodded. Her trembling hands quickly wiped the tears from her eyes. "I will go. For Asgard...I am queen," she reminded herself. "This is my sworn duty," she stated. She rose up from her chair at Odin's side. She ran her hand through his thin gray hair. She fingered through his sweaty curls. His face was damp and tears were streaming down his face. His mouth hung open with the breathing tube. She bent over and kissed his brow. "Stay with me," she whispered. "Don't you dare leave," she instructed him. She gave his hand a squeeze. "I'm coming right back," she told him. With that she followed healer Onrac to the door where a guard was outside. Healer Onrac turned around and went back inside to watch over the king.

"Your Majesty," the head guard in the communication room exclaimed as he rushed to greet the queen. He bowed low to the royal woman. "I am so glad you came," he expressed.

"Yes, quite, Commander, I'm thrilled to hear we have made contact with the Imperial City." she said as she stepped into the communication chamber. The room was pulsing with energy as frantic AEsir men and women busied themselves plugging in their machines and listening to their headsets and fiddling with gears. Some rushed pass the queen in a blur carrying long sheets of paper with codes and numbers written on them.

"Yes, we were beginning to lose hope, but we did manage to get a reading on this," he motioned for the queen of Asgard to follow behind him. He took her to an ancient looking monitor. "The Old Norse Code Machine," he expressed as he dusted off the screen. "I couldn't believe a message was being sent through this. This is quite an outdated piece of machinery and few still know how to use it. It's not even taught in schools anymore, my lady. My sons don't even know about this type of technology," he scratched his head.

Queen Frigga seemed to float over to the old machine. Her hand stretched out toward it. The commander followed her and observed her motions. Her hand skimmed the old monitor wit its simple flashing green screen. "This technology is ancient," she muttered.

"Yes, Milady," the commander stated as he cleared his throat. He quirked his eyebrows. "That's what I was just saying, madam," he explained as he cleared his throat. 'i...I...I" he stammered for a moment. He didn't want to disrespect his queen. It was obvious that she was distraught by her somewhat disheveled appearance. She wasn't even wearing her royal crown or hardly any jewelry. He shook his head. It wasn't as if he wasn't distraught. He was frantic as well and overwrought. He had not slept since the they'd gotten the queen and her entourage had arrived at the southern palace and he'd been living off of a diet of caffeinated beverages. He couldn't be sure that he was seeing straight or thinking straight or at the very least communicating clearly. "My team and I...we had no idea that this old equipment even worked anymore," he expressed.

Queen Frigga's lips turned in a slight smile, "My father had one of these in our home when I was a girl," the queen explained.

The Commander's eyes widened. He was a middle-aged man. Older than Prince Thor, but certainly younger than the queen. Queen Frigga was so lovely, that her age could not exactly be pegged, but he was sure that she was far older than she actually looked, "You...you...you Your Majesty?" he gasped.

"Yes, me," she chuckled to herself, it felt so good to laugh. "And my family was wealthy, do recall that commander," she expressed with a twinkle in the blue of her eyes. "The hill country was always slow to get updates on technology," she shrugged. "He used to use this type of machine all the time to send out letter to the elders of the province," she explained as her graceful had ran around the edges of the monitor. "By the time I was out of primary school, he finally realized that this type of machine had been long since outdated. We promptly got a newer model," she remembered.

"Your Majesty are you indeed saying that you know how to use one of these old-fangled contraptions," The commander asked.

"Indeed, I do," she sighed wistfully. "But," she said, "There are very few who still cling to the ancient ways. As you said commander this type of machine isn't even taught anymore. Very few people would still know how to use it," the queen scratched her chin.

"Who would, my queen?" he asked in earnest. "I had to get a linguist to come and interpret the symbols...I can't read this," he explained as he pointed out the symbols on the screen. They were lines and dots and squiggles and nothing like the current script that they normally used.

"It's Old Norse Code, Commander," Queen Frigga stated. "The first recorded Rune Script from the time before the Einar ruled over Asgard," the royal woman explained.

"But who would know this, my lady? Even the linguist had to go to the library to get a translation. She interpreted it when it first came in. She ciphered it and got a reading that said..." he paused and fumbled around and patted down his tunics and pulled out a small piece of paper with a few words scribbled on it. It read Alpha Code 319.

Queen Frigga folded up the piece of parchment, her heart and mind raced. 'It's my code," she muttered. "We do have one of these machines in the Imperial Palace Communication Tower," she explained. "When I became queen I did make an account on the machine, but it was never used,' she muttered.

"Who would know of this? Lord Algrim?"

Queen Frigga shook her long blonde locks, "It's possible. he surely probably knows how to use this machine, but this is an override code that is for the Royal Family alone," Frigga explained.

The commander's eyes brightened. "Then it must be Prince Thor!" he exclaimed. 'Good news! Good news!" he called out and the whole of the busy communication center seemed to come to a standstill. "Lady Nylsora! Lady Nylsora!" he called. "Please bring over your interpretations to the queen."

A young woman with a short hair cut on the sides and a braided mohawk in the center came toward the queen. She had copper-toned skin. She bowed low before the queen once she was completely in the woman's presence. The linguist quickly did her best to explain the coded messages that they have received. Messages that frantically stated that the people in the Imperial City were held up in an underground bunker. They were hunkered down with few supplies and limited resources for their injured and that they had few soldiers to spare in an effort to counter attack. "It's taken me a while to cipher this, but I am pretty sure that it is an accurate interpretation," she explained.

Queen Frigga's swollen eyes glanced back and forth at the rough translation that the scribe had managed to scrawl on a few pieces of loose parchment. They she went back and looked at the printed copy of the Old Norse Code text. Her finger carefully traced over the lines and jots and tittles that were printed. "Yes, yes it is Lady Nylsora," she offered the woman a smile and put her hand on her shoulder.

"This is fabulous news!" the commander exclaimed. "We were so worried that the information wasn't accurate," he expressed. "The signal came from an unknown source, you see," he pointed out the figures on the top of the page. "That isn't the code from the palace."

"No, its not," Frigga responded. Her eyebrows raised.

"I can't imagine that any home has one of these old machines," the linguist stated.

"it's from the Catacombs," Queen Frigga informed them.

"That's wonderful, Your Majesty! That must mean that Prince Thor has escaped and is in the catacombs safe with the people of Asgard. He can lead the people out! He wants to gather troops to stand and fight!" he declared as he raised a fist to the air.

A gasp escaped the queen's throat. Her heart started to pound rapidly with the thought of her son having made it out of the villainous clutches of the Dark-Elves. It was a daring hope to think that Thor was safe. A smile graced her dry lips. She clutched her breasts. Still, the queen could remember when she and Odin taught their young sons the ancient ways. Thor enjoyed computers and technology like any youngster his age. He liked to play games on the data readers and use the flat panels and hologram machines. But when the lessons were going on he was ever eager and busy pressing buttons on other machines, desperate to get outside. He certainly hadn't been paying much attention. She doubted he remembered the instruction that he received. Sometimes she would challenge her sons to send messages on the old fashioned computer. Her brother, who had long since taken over her father's position as magistrate of their mountaintop village kept the old fashioned machine in the village library. It was relic from the past, but they could have sent notes to their cousins on it. "Come on, Thor, it'll be fun," the raven-haired prince encouraged. "We'll be able to keep in contact with Baldr and Malish and the rest of our cousins," he smiled up at his older brother.

Thor rolled his bright blue eyes. "No one uses that stuff anymore, Loki, even our country bumpkin cousin's must have better equipment than this," he teased.

"I'd rather send message by pigeon or courier," he sneered at the dated machinery.

Loki pursed his lips and frowned and his older brother's dismissive attitude toward their mother's instructions. "But...but...but, it would be like a secret language. We could practice and then we could communicate and send messages to each other," the younger tried to point out.

"Why would need to send each other messages?" Thor inquired and scratched his head.

"Thor, this is important. This was used by the military all the time in the past," Frigga reminded her eldest.

"Yes, mama, in the past no one uses something like this anymore," he expressed as he flashed a very handsome smile in her direction.

"You still need to know," She pinned him with a stern look and crossed her arm.

Thor poked out his pink lip and crossed his arm and blew out an exasperated breath from the side of his mouth. "Fine," he grumbled. The queen smiled and ruffled her son's hair. She gave each of the boys a few typing tasks. She instructed them on how to use the code tapper to type out letters and then words. She had the boys type out their alphabet and then their names and few simple sentences. "UGH! This is so boring!" Thor groaned as he threw his hands up in the air. "It's a beautiful day and we could be out riding horse or fishing or doing something fun," he pointed out at the window. "How long do we have to do this?" he pouted.

Queen Frigga shook her head. Thor was an active child busy and happy, he liked games and play and fun. Even though he wasn't such a little boy anymore he still had a very childish spirit and she loved that about him. She knew he was restless being cooped up. She wanted her sons to be prepared. They were the heirs of Asgard, if anythig happened to her or Odin they were the ones who would be responsible for leading their realm. There was so much that they needed to know, but she didn't want to push to hard. She chuckled to herself. Thor was right. This machine had more use in a museum than in the palace. It was silly and frustrating to worry the boys too much about it. "Alright son, you are right. It is such a lovely day. And you did well," she smiled down at him stroking his cheek. "You are dismissed," she said properly, but then gave him a playful wink.

Thor's face lit up like a firecracker. A beautiful smile spread across his face. He threw his hands up and kicked up his heels. "Woohoo!" he exclaimed as he tore from his seat and ran right out of the communication tower. He was so excited he knocked over chairs as he went. Queen Frigga winced as she saw the excited child bound carelessly into everything in sight. She and Loki exchanged glanced and the younger shook his head.

"Do you want to go outside and play too, Loki, my child?" she asked and placed her hand upon his shoulder.

Loki looked back at his mother shyly. "Well actually, mama, if its all the same to you, I'd like to learn more," he stated.

"Actually," The Queen began, "I don't think it was sent by Thor," she reported.

"Not sent by Prince Thor, but then by whom your majesty?" the commander questioned. "You said so yourself that this technology is known to so few..."

"Loki," The wife of Odin whispered. She hardly realized that she had uttered her son's name

"LOKI!" both the commander and the linguist screamed.

"But how? That's impossible! There is no way that Loki could be in the catacombs with the people of Asgard," said the commander.

"Well, actually, sir," one of the younger soldiers began. Queen Frigga merely cocked her head to the side. Her pale lips wore a signature smile that rivaled her younger son as she folded her arms across her chest.

The commander threw his arms up in the air. "Ok, okay, kay," he began in frustration as he knocked on his helmet. "Alright, so obviously Loki could get into the catacombs, but why would he?" the commander countered.

"It's got to be a trap," expressed the linguist. "Your Majesty, if you honestly think that Loki sent this then there is no way that we can trust this conversation."

"CEASE ALL COMMUNICATION!" bellowed the commander. His voice reverberated off the walls. Immediately the hands that were frantically typing on keyboards fell still. The military officers threw their hands up in the air and pushed away from their desks.

"Commander, please," Queen Frigga said demurely as she pulled her hands away from her ears.

"Forgive me, my lady," he humbly apologized and dropped to his knees to kiss the queen's hand. "I'm sorry, but we don't want to have any communication with out enemy. You know as well as any how crafty Loki is. He could use any communication to trick us." he explained eyes shifting.

"Hmmm, I wonder if the communication is directly from Loki or his minions the Dark-Elves," the linguist questioned as she scratched her chin.

"It would be poor strategy for Loki to leave the stronghold of the Imperial Palace so close to the Convergence," the commander explained.

"Poor strategy or brilliant strategy," a soldier stated. "Loki could have snuck into the catacombs clandestinely and learned what the people were planning. If they even were planning anything. he could have hid a whole battalion of Dark-Elves and taken then down there to slaughter the people!"

Queen Frigga gasped at the horror of the thought. She wanted to tell the young warrior to belay his comments to take back his dreadful words. Her son wouldn't do such a thing! Alas, she couldn't say that. She couldn't say that because Loki had done so many despicable, unspeakable atrocities and crimes. He'd slaughtered. She had been believing and praying and doing everything with in her power to keep the faith alive that Loki's soul wasn't so lost and seared that he could return to his senses, but maybe it was the foolish hope of a desperate mother. Time was running out for all of them.

"The person sending these coded messages claims to be Lord Drek," the linguist reported.

"It's not Lord Drek!" growled the commander in charge of the communication room. "It's Loki or Malekith or some Dark Elf spy. Don't give out anymore communication!" he ordered.

"Commander, Lady Linguist," Queen Frigga spoke up, I would like to examine the messages," she stated.

"My Queen, there is no need for you to do the menial task of such detective work," he explained.

The royal woman shook her head. "Commander, you called me down here to examine the evidence did you not. You took me from the all-father's side for this very purpose, did you not?"

"My Queen, do forgive me. I...I...I...I did not mean any disrespect to our king," he bowed his head and removed his helmet. His forehead was perspiring profusely. "Out hearts and prayers our with the all-father, are they not men," he called out.

"Beautiful Yggdrasil, have mercy on the king," a chorus of soldiers sang out in unison.

"I pray the same," the queen replied as she flicked away a crystal tear from her eye. "But now that I am here, I would much like to see the correspondences. I know how Loki writes and I should be able to pick up the distinctive tone if it is he that is doing the communication," she expressed.

"But Your Majesty, you are absolutely right. You must return to the king's that we have determined that these messages cannot be trusted we will simply cease all communication. It is the best way to keep as many of our citizens as safe as possible," he stated.

"But, our queen is right, Commander. The truth is I has been with much deliberation and searching that I have only scarcely been able to do a rough translation of most of what is written, but Queen Frigga knows, Loki, she will be able to pick up the subtle nuances that could reveal if it is he indeed who writes these coded messages," she said enthusiastically.

The commander's lips twisted, "But Loki is a master of deception..."

"Loki can deceive many about many things. I admit that there have been times when he has been able to deceive even I, but a mother knows her child," Frigga stated firmly and resolutely.

"Right this way, Your Majesty," the learned linguist said with a smile as she escorted the queen over to the old computer. Urgent dialogue still flashed across the screen.

"Commander, they are making a request," expressed one of the technicians who was monitoring the screens.

Queen Frigga's eyes scanned the green coded symbols. She looked at the syntax and the flow of the words, the choice of words. The coded message was choppy and amateurish. It was like someone was writing in this method for the first time. They used fragments rather than sentences. She couldn't imagine that this was Loki. Now it wasn't impossible to think that Loki could disguise some of his techniques. But she doubted he would be able to hide all. A word would slip out somewhere. Her son was very much into proper grammar to allow such careless mistakes to surface. Queen Frigga read and then reread. She speed read about a dozen times. She scanned carefully and analyzed every jot and tittle that came across on the screen. Her eyes were aching and watering by the end, but finally she wiped her brow and concluded, "It's not him."

"Queen Frigga are you sure?" the commander asked.

The wife of Odin squared her shoulders before she rose up. "You question your queen?"
"Oh no! No, my lady never...it's...it's just...forgive me my lady...I am terribly nervous. All of our lives hang in the balance and...and...and well, even if it isn't that murderous traitor, Loki...it could still be Malekith or one of his horde," the commander explained.

"It does seem suspicious to trust it, Your Ladyship, especially since they are urgently requesting a response to their request for aid." the linguist muttered.

"We cannot send any aid!" the commander instructed. "It's obviously a trap. They are trying to lure, soldiers into a massacre!"

"Or maybe, it truly is Lord Drek and this is the truth, maybe they do have counter measures. Maybe they do have a true plan!" Queen Frigga announced. A slight smile graced her lips.

"Your Majesty, these are just ploys to deceive us. One minute they say that they have few warriors able to fight and the next they have a plan of attack that conveniently needs our soldiers."

"I admit it is suspicious," the queen acknowledged. "But our best chance to stop convergence come through sending soldiers to the Imperial City. By keeping the majority of our forces here we can do nothing, but cower and wait for the inevitable. This could give us a good sporting chance to stop Convergence!" the queen encouraged.

A/N: WOOHOO! YOU MADE IT! take a deep breath and give yourself a round of applause and treat yourself to a cookie. That chapter was long. Longer than I intended it to be, but hopefully it was good. And for all I wrote it didn't even cover everything that I had wanted to cover in that chapter if you can believe it Lolol. Anyway we are so, so, so very close to the end of this tale. And if you've been reading you deserve to let me know what you think. Don't be afraid to leave a review or just write me if you wanna talk about Endgame or marvel feels in general.