Aelyn and Natasha kept pace with the healing of Vanaheim, both working in what small ways they were allowed to. If Asgard had been restrictive in what it would and wouldn't allow her to do, Vanaheim seemed to derive joy from her feeling superfluous and unnecessary. Most days were spent in the nursery, Nat trying to sneak away to speak with Thor, though he was more often than not already busy, working with Dra'ace and Jerome to finish negotiating just what Asgard could and could not do, and how Alfheim fit in with the rest of it. Sif and Steve had left as well, Sif having apologized on her way out. They had so much more training to do now that they'd lost as many people as they had, and Nat couldn't exactly fault her for that. Her good friend made an exceptional captain of the guard, and more than once Natasha was proud of all she'd accomplished, especially given what they'd been through. It was her way of making amends for what had happened, the three possessed by the Berserker powers having taken it more than just personally that they'd played a part in the destruction that had set everything off, and really Nat couldn't help but feel the same way. Had she not interefered, had she been honest with Thor and Loki from the very beginning. Or just stuck a knife in Odin's gut the first chance she got. That, too, would've been a damn treat. Those thoughts got her through the tedious hours spent with the children, her muscles aching from holding them back and forth, up and down, rather than from going to the sparring range and proving herself, fingers numb from braiding hair and helping change diapers rather than stringing a bow and firing arrows. Alexei kept her attention more than he should've, making her smile every time he would reach out to her, hair adopting the red hue of Natasha's own. Sweet boy.
Even he wasn't enough to keep her attention so solely focused as the other women who she worked with. Her heart ached to be out with the other soldiers, so much so that she couldn't help herself from slipping out on a particularly nice afternoon, a week or so after Aelyn had arrived, Loki still not having come back. She needed a distraction from thinking too hard about that, or about why the attempts she'd made to scry with him had failed, and right then the sound of metal striking metal, the men practicing closer than they had previously, was too sweet to pass up. Aelyn and Carissa were cooing over one of the little girls' dresses, Alexei slept, and Nat was exhausted of playing. Of pretending. Of smiling and telling the children their parents loved them very much and would see them soon. Damn near broke her heart to see them grow more tired of the excuses why their parents never came back from the fields until days later, spending their evenings in the nursery with the rest of the children whose family had been called out to help rebuild far away from their homes.
She wasn't sure how much more she could take, could be expected to take, honestly. She was a warrior, not a wet nurse. With ease she found herself moving through the empty field that stood between the small penned fence where the children were allowed to play and where she could hear the enticing sounds of a fight, the men cheering one another on without care for how loud or raucous they were being. Her heart skipped at the sound. She could never content herself with simply staying stagnant, in one place, when her blood sang for the same movement life itself was derived from.
The men were so caught up in their diversions, their small game, they hardly noticed Natasha had entered, finding an abandoned sword and gripping the hilt tight. The weight and length of it were off but she could compensate for that easily enough. Guessing by the way the defender, encircled by his peers and other onlookers, was moving, sluggish and ill thought out, it wouldn't be too long before he was down and out. His armor was thick, slowed him down, and his opponent's dark armor had no similar restrictions, the brown haired man's movements quick and fluid, counterpointing the poor movement of the other's. He was losing, badly, weak from swinging his sword as though he was hacking at a tree as the brunette man playfully struck him on the back, a laugh in the air as the man went bumbling forward.
"Relax," the potential victor was saying, voice a deep rumble that tugged on the edge of Nat's mind. "You struggle too much. Let it come naturally."
"Shuddup," the other man snarled, rushing at him once again. Far too slow. The man in the dark armor slipped out of the way, the flat of his blade smacking the back of the other man's knee, forcing him forward. The sword dropped from his hand. He reached to grab it, but the blade of the victor impaled itself in the small space between his pointer and middle finger. A hush fell, silencing the once rowdy crowd in an instant. Nat looked to them all in confusion, blood spiked with intrigue. What was expected of the victor? Of the vanquished?
She caught a flash of gold eyes as the man still standing took a quick circle around the other, still on hands and knees. He reached out to grab the bottom man by the back of the neck, squeezing even as the man grunted and kicked out in pain. Yet he never tried to pull away. His fingers clawed at the dirt until they bloodied, and had she not been so transfixed Nat might've called for him to stop. She thought she saw something silvery leave the man, rising like smoke without a flame, and the brunette's lips spread into a wide, jagged teeth smile, one that was too animal to be purely human, and yet-.
And yet she recognized the wolf on his armor, her eyes widening as she watched Fenrir release the man with a howling laugh, eyes burning brighter as he reclaimed his sword from the ground and let the other man fall to the side.
"Is there no one else who'll fight me?" He asked, looking around the crowd as a pair of men rushed to the side of the fallen. Nat caught the shallow breaths that moved his plain breastplate, relieved for it. Unsurprisingly no one else stepped forward. After that display even Natasha's knees were feeling slightly weak, unsure just how Fenrir had gotten there, or even what he'd done. He had yet to notice her, or recognize her if he'd caught sight of her, too busy parading around the center of the circle, calling out the men who'd once thought to challenge him, finger jabbed in their direction, pink tongue lolling out of his mouth as he watched with earnest eagerness to see if anyone else was brave enough.
Nat's stomach tightened and her feet carried her forward before she even realized what the hell she was doing. "Fenrir," she said, voice stronger than she'd have guessed, watching his spine go ramrod straight at the sound of it. "I'll fight you."
She'd just had to look for something to keep her entertained, didn't she?
The man turned to look at her, and if he'd been grinning before he looked positively mad with glee right then. "My lady, and queen," he gave a bow that seemed more mocking than anything else, as the crowd parted to let her through. Dammit, she really hadn't wanted him to make such a big deal of it, hoping he'd have just taken it at face value. As if she'd be so bloody lucky. "I'm surprised to see you here. Loki didn't tell me he was in Vanaheim."
"He's on business, and I wasn't under the impression that we were here to speak of my husband but to fight," she said, allowing herself a smile, even as Fenrir gave her a quick up down.
"You're not quite dressed for it, and I'm not certain if I'm ready to fight you. You, who helped to vanquish the skrull armies as they decimated Midgard." He played it off with a laugh, eyes bright but not anywhere near taking her seriously. She didn't like that.
"What I could," Natasha amended.
"Take the compliment," he teased, sticking his sword in the ground in front of him, surveying her as though she was bare in front of him. She refused to back down, even as the heat crawled up her chest and threatened to burn her face. She took a deep breath to keep herself calm. She twisted the sword in her hand, growing familiar with its weight and her lips twisted into a smile that wasn't entirely friendly.
"Don't tell me you're afraid of me, Fenrir," she teased, goading him in a way that she might regret. The way his eyes flashed told her just as much. She couldn't back down now, though, not when she'd called him out in front of everyone. She steeled herself, a smirk giving her words strength. She had the advantage of just having seen him fight, even if he didn't look as though he'd expended any energy. He released a quiet laugh, his eyes dimming to a golden glow as he picked his sword back up and pointed the tip at her.
"As you wish. You certain you don't want to dress in something else?"
Oh, she certainly longed for the strength and familiarity of her catsuit, so long since she'd worn it she wondered if she could even think of how to create and summon it. She'd gotten better, mostly, and squeezed her eyes to give it a try to alter the plain blue gown she'd dressed in that morning. She knew it worked by the hiss that went up around her. She doubted they'd ever seen a woman outside the bedroom dressed in so little, or something as tight as the leather that encased her.
"Will this suffice?" She asked, eyes opening and trying not to grin at the shock that outlined Fenrir's face.
"I'll say it will," he said with a nod and a laugh. "Shouldn't have expected anything less from Loki's wife."
"Oh please. I held a great many tricks before he was ever a consideration in my life," she said with a roll of her eyes, keeping her tone light, but it was really wearing on her. Loki's wife, would that all she ever was seen as? Loki's wife, the woman who learned everything from her trickster lover. No, that wasn't enough for her. She was her own person, and she'd be damned if they didn't know it by the end. She stretched, feeling the fabric move with her, caressing and holding her tight as a lover, as she breathed deep the scent of earth and musk and the blood that already coated the ground. Fenrir paused, his gaze darkening further as he considered her, showing sharpened teeth when he spoke.
"One last thing before you do this," he said, voice heavy with insinuation. Her mind flashed back to the silver vapors that had risen from his fallen opponent before. It made sense that Fenrir would have magic of her own, but just what the hell was it? Her skin burned with the thought.
"When I win I take something from my opponent-just a year of your life, nothing too horrific." He said. "But you must promise not to charge your husband on me should I win. You act on your own volition and Loki has nothing to do with it."
A year. How was that even possible? She knew some of Loki's magic got dark, but she didn't think he'd ever dabbled in something like that. Then again, she'd never asked.
"And if I win?" She asked, glad her voice offered more bravado than she fully felt. The question took him off guard, shock once more playing across his face. He needed to work on that.
"What would you have of me, my fealty?" He asked, shifting from one foot to another.
She laughed. "You owe my husband that already, I'd rather you keep him safe. You'll owe me a favor."
He gritted his teeth, brow furrowed with her suggestion. Why? "Give me a tangible stake." He growled out.
"One. Favor. Or nothing, and when I win all others will know you do not fight with fair stakes."
Whatever few conversations that had cropped up silenced at the growl that spilled from Fenrir's throat. His hand tightened on the hilt of his sword and pulled it up, out of the ground. "You're as tricky as your husband."
"Oh, I'm far more different than he is than you can imagine," she smirked. "Now, do you agree?"
"Aye." He agreed with a tip of his head, breathing deep as he pulled himself together and she moved to square against him. The laughter on his face that had shown up when he'd recognized her disappeared, turning instead to concentration and even irritation. If he was irritated with her now, he was in for a treat when they got started .
She moved first, shifting to the side face enough to set his hackles rising, his eyes zeroing in on her movement rather than her weapon. His own moved in anticipation of her attack, the blade singing as it moved through the air, and she shifted to the side as it moved to slash her on the left. Her right foot planted itself as her left moved to kick out at his side, meeting with the solid metal but feeling him shift with the force of her kick. While he brought his sword back she met his, the swords ringing sweet as any bell, before her leg swung out again to kick his chest. She had to drop to avoid his surprised slash out at her, and her legs kicked out to try and floor him. He avoided it, twisting to the side with a speed that surprised her given his size. It wasn't unlike fighting Steve, if Rogers had been as good with a sword as Fen was. His talents laid more with his fists and while Fenrir's speed helped him evade Nat's blows, his sword was clunky. She gave hers up when another of his swipes knocked it to the side, and instead she let it fly to the left, watched his gaze follow it as she kicked on his right, opting instead for a dagger that she kept at the side of her suit. He took her feet out from under her soon enough, and she had to roll quickly to avoid being sliced. She'd been afraid of that, that her goading might get the best of him, and when his eyes flashed bright gold she had a nasty feeling she knew why. Oops?
It did make her path all that clearer, she had no choice this time. Friend of Loki's he may have been, but she'd wound him up a little too tightly in her desire to make him sloppy. She should've banked on him being angry and vengeful as well.
Still. She pulled her head back into the fight when the tip of his blade brushed her left shoulder, slitting the leather and drawing blood. She was determined not to let the discomfort show on her face, after all she'd had far worse, but she wasn't happy with him drawing first blood. Her efforts redoubled, movements gaining in speed, a speed he grew to match. His sword would swing just as quick as she'd duck to avoid it. She managed to slice at the back of his left leg. He stumbled and brought the hilt crashing on the crown of her head. Dazed, he got a chance to shove her backwards, onto her back. When she tried to flip back up his foot found her chest and pushed her so hard she felt her ribs creak. He wasn't grinning anymore, hair wild and making him look more like a wolf than a man than ever before. She stabbed at his foot with the knife, aiming for the underside of his boot, and he howled as she pulled away. Head cleared by her panic she flew into him, knife still and hand pressed to his throat. Her legs came on either side of his arms, tightening as he tried to move beneath her. She barely held on as he thrashed, spitting and snarling at the woman above him.
There was absolute silence as Nat's body moved with Fenrir's. She'd certainly rode crazier. The thought made her laugh. Beneath her Fen looked murderous, purple in the face, until it broke half a second later. His face and body relaxed with the sound, stilling beneath her. Only when he, too, began to laugh and formally yielded did she release him. One of the men from the side rushed over with a healing stone for Fenrir's foot, though he refused one for his leg and Nat declined the one offered for her shoulder. At least the sting would be something new to concentrate on.
She helped Fen up once he was healed and handed him back his sword. "Hell of a fight,: she complimented. His lips twisted not at all sarcastically.
"You as well. Forgive me for being lewd, but I understand now why Loki's so keen to stay between your legs."
"I've certainly been told worse so I'll take that as a compliment," she smirked, playfully punching his shoulder and wishing she hadn't when her knuckles stung from hitting the metal. He only laughed the harder for it.
To her surprise no one had noticed she'd gone as she slipped back into the nursery tent, dressed once more in the gown expected of her though her dagger remained at her side, hidden in the folds of her dress. Or at least she'd thought she'd been quick and sneaky enough. One of the women rushed to her, clasping her hands and looking stricken.
"My lady! We'd thought something terrible had happened," she hissed, her concern echoed by anger. "Princess Aelyn and Lady Carissa have gone to look for you and seek help."
"I suppose I ought to go find them, then," Nat said without the faintest strain of contrition. Was she to apologize for feeling alive for the first time in days? No. She wouldn't. She slipped her hands from the woman's and excused herself. At least she could get more fresh air.
She stepped outside in the direction the woman had pointed her in, the two apparently having thought she'd disappear into the forest. Strange. W hat would have made them think that, and wouldn't it have been more daunting to go there with just the two of them? Either way she kept a hand near enough to her knife that she could get to it in a hurry if she needed. Her blood still felt heated with the adrenaline that rushed through her veins. As she walked through the forest, she marked her way on the north side of the trees she passed, just in case. The last thing she needed after a victory was a defeat in the form of a damn forest, and the deeper she got, the fainter the noises of the clearing became, the more worried she became. Freaking idiots.
"They better have gone back to the castle I swear to-." Voices cut off her grumbling, soft, distinctly feminine. Her stomach lurched. Finally! What the hell were they doing so far back? Had they really managed to get themselves lost? Neither seemed to be moving however, and as she listened harder the soft sounds turned rather. Well, it made her stomach seize up. This was not a conversation she needed to be hearing.
So why the hell was she stepping closer? She made sure every step was silent as a soft smacking resounded through the otherwise silent clearing.
"Can't, oh, say for long. Jerome might start looking." Aelyn keened, the sound so sweet it hurt to hear.
"This is the first we've gotten away from him for a week. I don't care," Carissa moaned, pulling away with a wet smack"I don't like the idea of you and that idiot."
"I told you he's been-oh, oh!-understa-ah-nding. Norns Carissa," she whimpered. Nat turned to stone. She didn't need to get closer, didn't need to see what she could already imagine. Carissa's questions about Thor made sense now, she thought, swallowing thickly.
"I don't want his hands on you," Aelyn groaned. "Or his mouth on you." There was a long, wet sound, covered by Aelyn's louder moan. "Or his co-."
"Don't tell me you have one of those," Aelyn's voice was shaking with desire and laughter. "That would surprise even-Carissa, don't do that. Come here," she crooned, and there was the rustle of grass, the slight snapping of twigs. Nat could make out muffled hums and groans meant for ears that weren't Natasha's.
"I love you, Carissa. I always will," Aeyn's voice was honey sweet and tender. "We'll figure it out. Perhaps Natasha-."
"We can't tell her, She fought against me when I brought it up. She has her own husband."
"Love doesn't vanish because of vows," Aelyn hummed and it was time for Nat to go. Just as quietly as she'd made her way there she disappeared through the forest, assuming that with Carissa they'd both be able to get back. Her head, meanwhile, spun with what had happened.
And what the hell was she going to tell Thor?
A/N: Sorry about the delay between chapters but I hope you enjoy it and thanks for reading!