Twenty Four

The tunnel they pass through is narrow, almost too narrow for any of the dragons taking the passage. Iza cannot imagine any dragon larger than Eko easily passing through, but both Kaldr and the deep red dragon who came to retrieve them are larger than Eko and still able to squeeze through. Iza and Edvard take the rear, exchanging a cautious glance in the muted light just before they emerge from the passage and enter a new world.

Iza takes one look at the massive hollowed cavern siting deep in the mountain and thinks, magic.

She has never seen anything like it in her entire life. The cavern is tall and wide, with rounded walls and sudden outcroppings of rock heavily coated in moss and vine. The air is comfortably warm and rich with noise from the chattering of dozens of dragons lounging across colorful vegetation. There is inexplicably a waterfall trickling into a small lake, which spreads into rivets carved into the moss-covered stone floors. Sunlight comes through the cavern from a hidden opening she cannot see.

But most importantly is the opalescent, white-tinged shield hugging every wall of the cavern. Iza is immediately reminded of Eko's amber shield and of Edvard's green shield – unmistakable marks of magic. She draws her eyes around the huge shield, dubious as she passes through with a faint shudder to enter the cavern fully. The dragons in the cavern fall silent and Iza's eyes are drawn to the large dragon staring placidly from a nest of flowers at the center of the cavern.

The dragon looks like Eko, if Eko had scales bleached by the sun and white eyes. But the frills are the same, and so is the intelligence shining through sightless eyes.

And so is the voice that enters Iza's mind, deeper and wiser than Eko's but undeniably female.

Changemaker, says the dragon, a greeting that makes Iza lock her knees against the thrumming in her veins. The dragon's blind eyes stare at her – and Iza has a sense of nostalgia, of knowing and remembering, that has no place.

Iza shakes her head. "You know me," she says to the dragon.

I am Dagmar and you are Changemaker, the dragon says. Her voice in Iza's head is much louder than Eko's, a sound that rattles around Iza's skull like something that does not quite belong. Iza has the sense that Dagmar is very old and that this is the only reason she can speak to Iza. Listening to Dagmar is nearly painful, Iza's bond with Eko bristling at the intrusion – and although Eko spares the elder white dragon a mistrustful stare, her frills lay pinned back. Eko dislikes the voice in Iza's head, but she is not defensive of it.

Iza can only breathe in sharply as these realizations wash over her.

Dagmar is special. She must be, since she seems capable of protecting dozens of dragons beneath the nose of a different dragon that seems to be controlling all the others. Dagmar is different like Eko, but also so much more. As she stands near the base of where Dagmar lays, Iza is struck by the same feeling of an immovable force as she feels when she encounters Loki or hears Alise speak of the future as woven by Frigg and the Norns.

In Iza's head, Dagmar makes a sound of amusement. Oh, Changemaker, you already know so much.

Iza shakes her head. "I do not know much," she counters and as she speaks, she feels the heavy weight of Edvard's eyes fall on her. She can nearly sense the way his eyes narrow, darting between Iza and Dagmar, his body tense and probably wishing for a blade in his hand.

Seeming to sense Edvard's attention, Dagmar's sightless eyes shift upward, just slightly over Iza's shoulder. Lokison, Dagmar acknowledges. But although the dragon is speaking about Edvard, Iza knows that Edvard cannot hear the dragon – only Iza and Eko and the other dragons are privy to Dagmar's voice. Iza just knows, deep in the marrow of her bones, that a dragon's voice is the one thing that Edvard's – or Loki's – magic cannot touch.

It must be bewildering to be surrounded by so many dragons, to be observing a one-way conversation, and to hear nothing save for the occasional growl or hiss. Unnerving. Yet Edvard is an unflinching presence unwilling to move an inch from Iza's side.

As protective as he should be, Dagmar intones with interest.

"I do not know about that, either," Iza returns, willing the flush rising on her cheeks to fade away.

Hmm. It is true that you know much, but it is also true that you are ignorant in many ways, Changemaker. Dagmar's tail flicks lazily to the side, her chin dipping down to rest on her forelegs while her frills pin backward, relaxed and at ease even with that opalescent shield stretching wide around the cavern.

Allow me to tell you that which you do not know… Dagmar begins, effortlessly drawing Iza into her thrall.

And that is how Iza finds herself seated at the feet of a white dragon in a strange haven for dragons, her mind filled with knowledge that makes her feel like she could burst at the seams. Dimly, she registers that Eko is off socializing and that Edvard stands warily at her back – but all of Iza's attention is focused inward as she kneels before the white dragon and stares up into sightless eyes.

Dagmar knows so much – knows everything because she has seen everything. Truly, the blind dragon is as ancient as the mountain where her haven is hidden away, the mountain she was born with and destined to never leave.

Dagmar's blindness is not from age, however. The white of her eyes are scars from the dragon who had usurped Dagmar's place on the upper mountain, the same dragon who is controlling the others who attack the village. A ruthless dragon who is cruel and senseless and does not belong – but who is too strong for Dagmar to overtake. It has been so many years and Dagmar is still recovering, still weak and in pain.

I am too weak to fight, but I am not too weak to help the younglings flourish, Dagmar says at one point. They have been spared a tyrant, yet they are too young to understand that their eagerness to fight alone is foolhardy. The mother of your Eko was one such foolish dragon…

Eko's mother, the inky dragon with the green eyes who had managed to protect her egg from Thor's strike. Eko's mother, who fled from this cavern one stormy night, compelled by some force to lay her egg as far from the mountain as possible. Eko's mother, who shares the same bloodmagic as Dagmar and who had, by Dagmar's reckoning, made a noble sacrifice to summon the Changemaker.

To summon Iza.

Truly nothing had been by chance that night – not the dragon battle, not Thor's strike scarring her skin, and not finding Eko's dying mother and rescuing a dragon egg. According to Dagmar, these events have all been planned, part of a larger scheme known only by the Gods themselves.

As Dagmar puts it, Iza was born to be a pawn in a pivotal moment. Iza was born to be a Changemaker, to alter the course, to turn the tides.

Iza shakes her head at this knowledge. "I am not that important," she argues, blithely ignoring the way Edvard starts in surprise at the sudden flinty tone in her voice. "I have no magic, I have no talent, and I have no role to play in…in changing the outcome of destiny like you think! It is not possible. I am not that special."

At this Dagmar's chest rumbles in what must be laughter. You are a thing of magic, Changemaker, Dagmar rebukes firmly. A heavy, subtle magic as deep as your bones. Your mother would have it no other way, girl. And by the Norns, she would know.

A flutter spreads through Iza's chest at the mention of her mother, someone who Dagmar seems aware of. With a single sentence, Dagmar has confirmed that Iza's mother is not mortal and that Iza herself is not quite as human as she always believed. She cannot help but think of Loki calling her a Halfling – and wonders what kind of immortal she is half of if her magic is…innate and inert. Who had her mother been? And why is Iza the last to know?

She pushes these thoughts down, quick to change the subject before she can latch hope onto Dagmar's certainty that Iza is exactly as she is meant to be, inert magic and dragon bond in all. She has spent too long on the fringes to allow herself to be so easily swayed, even if her mother's apparent immortality is involved.

Iza steers her mind to the most important matter at hand – the dragon that Dagmar calls the Malice Striker, the dragons under his control, and the best way to ensure the safety of her village.

"I would like dragons to come back with me to the village," Iza says. "If they want to fight, they can join my people, who are also eager to find an end to this conflict."

Dagmar makes a thoughtful rumble. If dragons are willing, they may leave with you. But you will find that it is rare for dragons to bond as you have with Eko. It is only because you are a Halfling child and a Changemaker that you are bonded by the magic of the Old Gods. No others will bond.

Iza heeds Dagmar's words, but she also cannot imagine that it would pose much of a problem. "We do not have to bond the dragons to fight alongside them," she tells Dagmar. She does not mention that she finds it doubtful anyone in the village would want to bond with a dragon in the first place.

Then they may leave with you at daybreak, Dagmar says.

Iza nods. There is not much else she can do.

Take your rest, Changemaker. You and Lokison will be safe for the night, Dagmar promises, the overbearing presence of her voice in Iza's head slowly fading out. Iza's head aches the slightest bit as the presence ebbs away. Eat and drink your fill. You will need your strength…

"Thank you," Iza murmurs, bowing her head deeply in respect to the ancient dragon. She moves to stand, stumbling when her knees shake under her weight. Edvard is quick to catch her with hands around her waist. She does not know how long she had spoken to Dagmar, but when she looks up at Edvard, she can see the fatigue on his sharp features. It must have been hours.

"We should sleep," Iza says to Edvard, dropping her eyes away from his face. She takes a step back, the skin beneath her tunic tingling when the warmth of his large hands disappears from her skin. Iza sternly turns her thoughts away from the girlish fluster of being so close to Edvard - now is not the time to be flustered.

It does not take them long to find a place to bed down for the night. The cavern is lush with plenty of green areas and it is not difficult to find a free space of moss that is wide enough for both of them to lay comfortably. They take turns visiting the waterfall of the cavern. While Edvard is away, Iza spends the time plucking ripe fruits from low-hanging branches and nearby bushes. She marvels at the robust freshness of the fruit, their weight heavy in her hands. She wonders if magic is the cause, wonders if Dagmar's ancient power has made this haven so bountiful. She would not be surprised if that was the case.

When Edvard returns, he comes back carrying his own selections of fruit. Upon noticing Iza's hoard, his lips twitch just the slightest bit in what she thinks might be amusement. It is funny that they both have the same thoughts without speaking them – just how close have they grown in these few days?

Iza excuses herself to the waterfall. There she takes her time drinking until her throat is no longer parched, washing her face and her visible skin until she no longer feels gritty, and resting her feet in the cool water until they no longer ache. She closes her eyes and tries to think, but her mind is muddled, tired and overwrought. Tired. Too much information to wrap her head around. Too much she understands and too much she is still clueless about.

It is hard to digest the thought that no moment of her life had been unplanned – from the abandonment of her mother to being struck by Thor's lightning and everything in between.

It is even harder to believe that Iza is a pawn of fate, someone who is apparently born to create a change that the Gods cannot create themselves.

What change could Iza possibly make? Writing the Eddas? Guiding the village? Bonding a dragon? Saving the dragons from the – what had Dagmar called him – the Malice Striker? Saving the village from the dragons? What change was Iza born to usher? Has she already made the change and is now living with the consequences? Does she still have a change to make?

She doubts anyone will give her a clear answer, even if she were to pray to Frigg and Odin themselves. Gods know the Norns would never deign to speak.

Unless – well, Iza is not as mortal as she always assumed. Whoever her mother is means that there is blood in her veins that is half of something else. And maybe Halflings can have prayers answered successfully by the Gods. Even Loki is willing to speak with Iza, and regardless of how meddlesome he is, would that not mean that other Gods could be communed with?

Should Iza even try?

She sighs, long and drawn out, her neck dropping back between her shoulders. Thinking about any of this is useless at the moment – she is too tired to have any clear thoughts. Iza moves to stand, stepping out of the chilled water with her leather boots in her grasp. She turns, casting a cursory glance over the wide cavern in search for her dragon.

Eko has found a place in the clutch of several dragons, many of them larger and brighter-scaled but each of them seemingly intrigued by Eko. Iza tentatively reaches across their bond, silently asking after Eko's health and comfort, and Eko is quick to answer, reassuring and quietly gleeful to be around so many of her own kind. Iza has the sense that Eko is learning much about herself, not just her own abilities but also her place among other dragons. If Dagmar is any indication, then Eko's breed is something rather special among dragons. Dagmar is herself a queen – does that mean that Eko is a princess?

Iza wonders at how dragons govern themselves. There is certainly a hierarchy both in the cavern and in the greater mountain that indicates some sort of system of power – Dagmar and the Malice Striker on top, with smaller, younger, weaker dragons on bottom. Is power the only thing that dragons care to class themselves by? What would that mean for Eko in the future?

Iza again has more questions than answers – and these questions are not likely to ever be known by a human, not even a half-human like Iza. The ways of dragons are known only by dragons, bonded to humans or not.

Satisfied that Eko is looking after herself, Iza pulls away from their bond and drags herself back to where Edvard is waiting.

In the time that she had been gone, he has taken measures for his comfort, removing his leather braces and his boots. His tunic is untucked from his leather trousers, the fabric falling loosely around his broad frame as he bites into fruits. By Iza's count and judging by the fruit pits gathered in front of him, Edvard has eaten nearly a dozen fruits.

Iza frowns to herself. Edvard catches the expression, peering up at her with vibrant green eyes and a mouth slick with juice. "What is it?" he asks, swallowing hastily and licking at his lip.

Iza stares at him, heat rising on her neck that she does her best to ignore, and speaks quietly. "Are you very hungry? Should I gather more fruits?"

Realization crosses his face. "Ah. I am gorging," he admits, palming another round fruit, perhaps a peach. "We have not eaten well – and magic is consuming."

Iza nods. Her own hunger is muted by the water she had just drank, but even before that the hunger had been removed from her attention. Anxiety and stress had stolen her appetite and continues to do so, but she knows she must eat.

As Dagmar said, Iza is going to need her strength. For what, she does not know. But it is always wise to eat when food is available, so she settles herself down on soft moss not too far from Edvard and takes to filling her belly. She manages three fruits before anymore would make her sick, and when she is done, Edvard is quick to gather the pits together into a small pile. Iza watches with interest as he gathers a few palm-sized rocks into a circle and breaks branches from a nearby bush, creating a bonfire with the fruit pits that he lights with a flicker of green magic.

When the fire is lit, Edvard glances up at her, as if checking for her reaction. Iza keeps her expression placid. She has no room to judge, after all. Neither of them are exactly normal.

Edvard's glance turns lingering after a few moments, his eyes trailing over her with some emotion that she cannot place. The look is intense, the silence even more so, and Iza is quick to turn away for the second time that night. "We should sleep," she finds herself saying again.

They bed down near enough to the fire that they can feel its warmth, but far enough that the flickering flames are not going to burn them as they sleep. There are several feet of space between them, but to Iza even that feels too close. She watches as Edvard lays flat on his back, arm bent behind his head, the firelight sending coppery hair and his handsome features into sharp relief, and feels her pulse quicken.

Her heart is strange these days, she thinks, even as her chest flutters. Iza bites her lip, fighting against the urge to say something – anything to engage Edvard, who does not seem as aloof as he once was. A small, carefully guarded part of Iza is clamoring for his attention, rightly recognizing the opportunity sitting before her. Tomorrow they return to village, and when that happens there is no guarantee that she will be so close to him again. She should say something now, even just to hear his voice. He so seldom speaks and the rich timbre is soothing to listen to, something that could ease her into sleep, a thought which her exhausted mind views as quite sound but at which her waking mind would balk.

But Iza is only of one mind right now, the day catching up to her. She wants to hear Edvard's voice. She wants to look at him. She wants to feel his stabilizing touch on her waist once again, even for a moment.

She just needs to say something.

"Does your head hurt?"

Iza's voice breaks through the quiet, soft and rounded. She almost does not recognize it as her own, but she felt her lips move and knows she has spoken. She waits, breath baited, as Edvard turns to look at her, eyes glowing green in firelight.

His brow is furrowed. "My head?"

"Loki did drop you rather gracelessly at my feet," Iza points out wryly.

Edvard scowls, an open expression of displeasure at the reminder. "My head is fine," he says curtly. "I have had worse injuries."

That much is very true, Iza knows. As one of the best warriors and hunters in the village, Edvard has seen his fair share of wounds and he likely has the scars to show for it. She vividly recalls that winter Edvard found her hidden in the hollowed tree, when she was a child and he barely a teen and he cut his arm so deeply helping her from the frozen wood and ice. On hot summer days when tunics are thin and skin is free, Iza can sometimes see the long curving scar sitting in a flat silver line on his tanning skin. And she can recall many other times when she had seen Edvard's blood with her own eyes – yes, she is sure he has had worse injuries.

Still, being dropped on one's head is not an average injury. But when she says as much, Edvard merely rolls his eyes. "It is not the first time Loki has done so and I doubt it will be the last."

Iza, for all that she is challenged by her own parentage, is baffled by the notion. She stays her tongue, though, accurately sensing that Loki is the last subject Edvard wants to speak about. Not that she blames him – the trickster is bewildering at best and beyond irritating at worse, even when he seems to be helping in his own way.

Silence falls between them, but the sounds of dragons chattering to each other is still in the air. The sound is almost soothing, like dangerous birdsong. Perhaps not as good as listening to Edvard's voice, but nearly.

"That dragon, the large white one," Edvard begins after a moment. "It knew you."

Iza hums. "Yes. She knows you, too. Dagmar is her name. She called you Lokison," she says, watching as Edvard scowls again. Trying for comfort, Iza is quick to add, "She calls me Changemaker."

"Changemaker?" Edvard asks, pinning her with an intensely inquisitive look.

Iza hums again. She has no idea how he seems to have enough energy to be so curious, while Iza is already fighting the pull of sleep. "You are not the only Halfling in the village," she reminds him. "My mother is someone and she bore me to make a change. I just do not know what change I am destined to make."

"You make changes every day," Edvard tells her with a quietly unshakeable sort of confidence.

Iza's eyes snap upward in surprise. Her shock must be naked on her face, because Edvard turns on his side to see her better, resting his head on his elbow as he speaks.

"Each day in the village you make a change," he says. "Your very presence is enough to shake the world. You are different from everyone I have ever known. It is almost as if you have no limits – as soon as you set your mind to it, a change happens. I see it every day."

Iza is silent. Her heart thuds in her chest, a loud roaring in her ears as blood rushes to her face.

Edvard's lip quirks to the side. "Surely you knew? For all that Alise speaks of the future, it is you who eyes turn to when it is time to make a decisive choice. Not even the Chieftain holds so much sway."

"The Elders…" Iza tries to disagree.

Edvard snorts. "The Elders are idiots. Forget about them – it is our peers, our generation and the generation after ours, that look up to you." His expression softens. "How could you not know….?"

"I am not that significant," she says softly.

"I disagree," he says, barely audible. "If anyone would earn the name of Changemaker, it would be you…For what it is worth, yours are the only changes I would follow without question."

Iza stills, frozen by Edvard's bold statements. His words, while flattering and truthful, feel like something more – like something heavier than just an admission of praise. Something that makes Iza feel warm all over, something that makes her feel compelled to speak again.

"…And for what it is worth, yours is the only sword I would trust at my back."

Edvard's intense expression grows. "I will always protect you, Izabela. This is my oath to you."

"I trust you," she whispers. "I always trust you."

And after that, there is no more to say. They fall asleep facing each other, the heat of the fire warm on their skin, and the sound of chattering dragons comforting to their ears.

Iza's sleep is deep and dreamless, heavy like she is being weighed down by rocks. She is the first to wake up in the morning, her eyes falling on Edvard's face, his features slackened in sleep. For the first time, she feels comfortable in just looking at him – as if she is not about to be caught doing something forbidden. There had been a fundamental shift between them last night, something that she cannot quite name but something which is significant all the same.

Iza gazes at Edvard as he sleeps, taking note of how long his dark lashes fall against his cheeks and the smattering of coppery freckles dusted across his cheeks and how plush his lower lip is compared to the top. She follows the broad line of his shoulders, the rounded muscles of his biceps, the tensile strength in his forearms, the shape and breadth of his palms, the long stretch of his fingers. He is strong all over, she knows, his frame lithe but sturdy. And when compared to her own slight stature, she can only remember how solemnly he had promised to protect her last night – and how she had zero doubts to the truth of his words.

He is a beautiful man, she thinks to herself. A perfect specimen and an ideal warrior. She can find stark traces of Loki in his features, present in the arch of Edvard's thick brows and the angle of his jawline and in the vibrant color of his green eyes. But the rest of him is unique, utterly like anyone she has ever seen – and with a mind unlike any she has ever witnessed, a fortress of certitude hidden behind that aloof expression.

Iza looks at Edvard and she thinks strong. A stoic man possessing all kinds of strength – body and mind and magic. And for the first time, her quiet infatuation with him does not seem so girlish. Now, her admiration is matured.

Iza can look at Edvard now and think future.

If he liked her, she could be his wife and he could be her husband.

Does he like me? She wonders. Perhaps, but perhaps not. She will not make the mistake of thinking that a man vowing to protect her is anything more than a warrior's oath, not when there are prettier and more demure girls in the village constantly clamoring to appeal to the man who will likely be the next Chieftain. Edvard's protection and her trust in it is to get them through this ordeal with the dragons. It is not a promise of anything else.

But oh, how she wishes it were something more.

Ever practical, Iza buries the hope deep down and turns her mind to problems that she can solve.

By the time Edvard wakes up, Iza has already gathered herself, filled her waterskein, eaten her fruits, and bid Dagmar a respectful farewell. Upon realizing that their time for rest is over, Edvard hastens to ready himself, quick and surefooted as he rights his clothing.

Meanwhile, Iza calls to Eko through their bond, bidding her to gather any dragons willing to travel with them. Eko makes a silent affirmation and indicates that she and the dragons are already waiting at the entrance of the cavern.

"Are you ready?" Iza asks after Edvard stomps out the fire he'd made.

He nods, solemn and silent, his eyes watching her carefully – searching for something, she thinks, though she does not know what he searches for and she does not know if he finds it. When she moves, he is quick to follow, a looming presence at her back that is swiftly growing familiar. Iza trusts in it, but she vows not to forget that his protection is just that – protection, nothing more.

Mind steady on her goals, Iza leads Edvard to the entrance of the cavern. Her chest eases when she can lay eyes on Eko's bright two-toned eyes, her frills alert and her black scales glossy. Eko's mind is just as clear as Iza's, a shared sense of duty thrumming along their bond.

Three dragons are behind Eko, standing calmly with a certain ease that makes Iza think these dragons are older, more experienced, more confident. Eko is likely the youngest dragon on the mountain, the last born, but these dragons follow after Eko with a certain obedience that makes Iza think twice.

The dragons that follow Eko are ones Iza recognizes as being the dragons who Eko had been interacting with all night. Their sizes and shapes differ quite a bit, but they all look formidable and confident. Yet they follow a young dragon who is bonded to a human as if it is the most natural thing.

Iza remembers what she had thought the night before, that if Dagmar is a queen then Eko is a princess, and she thinks it might be true.

Perhaps even as true as a Changemaker and a Lokison taking dragons back to a dragon-hating village.

A/N: This chapter is also known as the one that kept going and going and going. Not that you guys are going to be complaining about it, considering how long its been since I updated! Real life is giving me whiplash - but I finally got this chapter out and I know the direction for the final parts of the story. I would estimate less than ten chapters left, maybe. But you guys know I'm also shit at estimation, so.

No Norse things for this chapter, I don't think. Well, no obvious Norse things that I need to explain right away. If you're at all familiar with Norse Mythology, then a dragon called Malice Striker is probably going to ring a few bells, but he will be fully explained...later. More importantly, aren't we glad that Iza and Edvard are dancing around each other now? Nothing like life-altering events to make people get together!

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

~Rae