Lift the Veil

by jarethsdragon

I know what you seek. You want to know if Loki ever has a happy ending...

2. The Woman on the Island

Asgard rests among a sea of clouds like a dusky pearl in the shell. It rises in glory to the palace in the center-majestic buildings and glorious monuments to the best of things-great heros, bravery, and beauty. The halls echo with laughter and sigh with words softly spoken. Even the small villages away from the palace and surrounding city bustle and there is charming homage to the joys and home and hearth; family and friends. Great bridges stretch unimaginable distances from shore to shore, joining place to place like good friends holding hands.

Yet, there are tiny islands that one may see in the distance. The clouds that roll in from the sea hide them like a drama of hide and seek. There are large ones with whole villages. There are medium ones that may only hold a single building like the one that holds the Bifrost. There are tiny ones-little pebbles like afterthoughts of the creation-that are largely disregarded. Occasionally, some romantic couple will attempt to sail or fly to one as a tryst. Sometimes fishermen will sail past them, hunting the largest of fish for feasting. But they are largely inhabitable-steep cliffs with no shore, oft times surrounded by treacherously hidden sand bars or rocks. In truth, some of them seem to only ever be visited by birds who clutch their rocky faces for moments before trying to find some better place to roost.

One such island is so far to the west of Asgard that the shadow of the great palace itself touches it only half a day. Only from the tallest tower may one ever see it-and only if the day is exceptionally clear. It appears almost crab shaped-two branches of craggy stone shelter a thin strip of beach with an inlet far too narrow for most sea craft. Cliffs march through the center and a thumbprint shaped patch of green may just barely be seen on the other side. If one were to take a spyglass, one could see two old trees of some kind clinging to far side before the land drops off entirely into the sea. One might even barely be able to see that birds live on the island and some other animal-but only barely and only on particularly clear days.

On that narrow, curved beach, a black rock sticks up like a rude thumb, marking the place where the sea ends. Were one there on the beach, one would see that there is a narrow, dusty trail that meanders upward among the rocks, but the trail would be lost quickly among the cliffs that seem to frown at the shadow of golden Asgard. As the sun travels to its rest in the evening, it sees that there is in fact a golden-green meadow on the other side of the mountains and that an improbable billy goat and his two nanny goats graze there, along with some chickens that are almost wild. As the sun sets, turning the western sky alive with crimson and gold before fading into a majestic purple, the lone figure of a woman may be seen picking her way through the meadow. Whatever paths she may have taken to get there are hidden so the solar orb seems to see her pop out of the mountains themselves before it hides for the night.

She is almost beautiful with a thick braid of long brown hair that turns red if the sun touches it. Her skin is rough and chapped, but a pleasant tanned color of honey and cream. She wears a cloak of gray with a hood that shades her face and one of three simple dresses—one of mossy green, one the color of clear river sand, and one the shade of dark red of the clay that is in the hollows of the mountains.

Each warm summer day she sweeps the path to the beach. She washes the dress she wore the day before on the rocks on the eastern side as the fog still clings to the beach. She may take time to scrub herself with the sea sand but she does take a moment to tie her hair back with a bit of yarn spun from the goat's wool.

The goats do not need her to tell them to rise and meander to the meadow. The chickens do not need her to tell them to scratch for worms and grubs. The scrawny rooster does not need her to tell him to herd his flock through the pathways to the meadow. The goats have a shallow cave with a clumsily tied driftwood fence in front of it for shelter. The chickens have a box that they roost in made of some wood so old and so lopsided that it appears to be another rock.

She listens carefully to the worn tin bells on the goats' collars and the cackle of the birds as she spreads her wet dress on a rock high off the beach. Feeling her way carefully along the path, she emerges to the little summit where the path crests before slithering down the other side to the meadow. She is surrounded by high walls of rock save for an outcropping with a plain door to her right side. The animals are already in the meadow and their voices echo strangely in the roofless stone hallway.

In the meadow, the goats have wandered around and are bleating to each other about whatever goats have to say to each other. The chickens are less talkative and busily scratch about. The woman smiles softly, feeling the uncertain warmth in the air as the fog begins to leave the island. It will be after noon before she feels the full heat of sunlight, so she tends her tiny garden of vegetables and makeshift niches of herbs while the shadow cools her. The few pots that the island boasts are tucked behind some last boulders before the path widens into the meadow and hold leafy herbs and peppers. Garlic, lavender, onions, rosemary, thyme and borage grow wild in the craggy mountainside.

She moves a rock and takes out a small, plain pouch. Opening it, she sprinkles a thin line of powder around her plot. She has been told it will keep the goats from wandering into the vegetables. They seem more interested in the fruits of the ancient apple tree that clings to the very edge of land before the cliff tumbles into the roaring ocean anyway. The pecan tree sits cautiously further back, dropping nuts on those foolish enough to relish its shade.

The chickens freely search the earth she tills with a small hand shovel, pecking at insects. She hums softly to them, pulling the weeds that she feels and collects as fodder for the goats. Some few feet beside the garden is a little freshwater spring that flows like silver from an undecorated crack in the cliff down to the narrow trench lining the side of the meadow. The garden, goats and chickens sip freely from this all year until the snows turn it solid.

The goats are milked and the milk is stored in a jug. The chicken eggs are gathered in a ratty basket which she takes up the mountain path with the jug and whatever herbs or vegetables she has found ripe. She opens the doorway and slips inside with her meager bounty.

It is warm in here—a result of the hidden hot spring that flows from the heart of the island to another crack and then falls in a cascading ribbon down to a hollowed out pool. A steam vent occasionally can be heard hissing, but that is more rare. The closed doorway lets in very little light and the rather random collection of glowing mushrooms lends the place an otherworldly glow while hiding much in the shadows. There are three main caves that nestle deep into the mountain—the front one which is the kitchen and eating area, the cave holding the hot spring and a third—the largest—for her bedchamber. Each cave is draped in splendid stalactites and the rocks sometimes almost shimmer.

There is a rough stone table—at least a flat rock with a crudely shaped hollow area underneath. It is here she places her basket and jug. There are only four shelves-holding most of her fortune of sealed jars—but many convenient nooks and crannies where she may place her herbs. A wooden chair with a low back sits at the table.

She takes a pot with a perilously thin bottom to the hot spring and fills it, carefully dropping in the two eggs. Then she hurries back to the kitchen. By the time she has poured the milk into one of her two glasses and fetched a slice of her bread, the eggs are cooked enough.

She has smooth, flat pieces of wood for platter and plate and she chews her tough brown bread and egg thoughtfully. By her own (terribly inexact) reckoning, she can expect some of her garden to be ripe in two weeks. Again, she will need to use one of her pots to draw sea water so that she can salt some of it for winter. Some of it will dry well and other pieces—such as the thin, tough carrots, will store well in one of the cooler niches of her cave. It is her own good fortune that she has many jars with tight seals for her pickles and perserves—as poor as they are.

She softly sighs as she blindly rubs the stub of bread against the plate—hoping to get the last bits of egg. She had used the last of her minimal amount of butter to make the flat bread against the brazier and flat iron over it. Truthfully, it didn't taste good—not like her mama's.

Gods! She missed cheese. Of all the things to miss, she missed cheese melted over her mama's toast the most. Of course, there many things she missed—children playing outside her parents' home, thick tomes of stories, her mother's thick stew, real butter from cows and—gods above she missed it all so much. Her hands shook and she knocked the knife from the wooden platter onto the table with a clatter. Gasping for air, she choked back the sob.

Desperate, she began gathering the debris from her meal. The wooden platter and knife were scrubbed with a rag and another pan of hot water before being returned to their places. The egg shells went into a bucket she had found on her beach one day, where she dumps most of her trash. The last crust of flatbread went to her pocket for her chickens.

She drew more water from the hot spring, dumping the dirty water into a convenient crack in the floor. There was a pause and then the sound of splashing as the water hit the bottom. Snatching up the rag, she began furiously wiping down the table. Then the floor was wiped down. It was difficult to wrestle her worn sheets to the shore and wash them—perhaps even dangerous—but it was better than remembering.

She spread the sheets over worn rocks in the rocky pass where the wind would not blow them about. Fetching her dress from the rock at the shore and placing it inside, she wandered back to her animals.

The sun had warmed the meadow considerably and the warmth made the animal lethargic and complacent. She carefully herded the goats to their own shallow cave and fed them the weeds from the garden. In some peculiar twist of fate, these goats were particularly fastidious and she had only one corner of the cave to muck out, pushing the muck into her small pile of leavings to be incorporated into the garden soil again. The chickens attacked her meager bread crust and settled in their roost.

Using the last of the day's milk, an old potato, some onion and carrots and a leek, she made a thin soup for her own supper, warming it over the brazier in the dim light of the mushrooms. Then, in a flurry of action, she again scrubbed the table and pot and knife again.

It was night when she finally stopped. Her muscles ached, but everything was as clean as she could make it. Everything was in its place. Standing at the table, she paused and turned towards one of her shelves. There were two tiny, shallow baskets at the end of the shelf. From the left one, she took a smooth pebble and, carressing it, she dropped it into the right one. Taking down the right basket, she spilled it out on the table and gathered the collected pebbles again, counting them.

"Thirteen," she counted with a sigh. Thirteen little pebbles were scooped back up into the basket and put back on the shelf. Thirteen nights alone, praying each night that there would be no dreams and her sleep would be peaceful. Thirteen days blending together in an endless sameness of yesterday and today and tomorrow. This life would be funny to her in a tragic kind of way once. Now it was simply ironic.

She went back to the back area, past the little niche where she stored her basket of potatoes and carrots and hung her string of onions. The rocky floor raised up a bit and there was a thin, feather stuffed mat on the floor with the worn sheets again on it. Two pillows sat vaguely at the head of the bed. The sheets and old blanket smelled of the sea now—a somewhat soothing fragrance as she prayed for no bad dreams. Then, with a sigh, she lay on her back and willed herself to sleep.

It was the door closing that woke her up. She started, clutching the blanket close as her dreams of fire and ice tangled in her mind. Then, as the ice swept close, she bolted upright.

"Who's there?!" she demanded, not really expecting an answer.

"Just me," answered a light tenor voice.

She heard the smile in the welcome sound of his voice. Letting out a laugh of joy, she leapt from the mat and ran to the front of the cave. "Locca! You've come home!"

Locca smiled thinly, holding packages and gifts in his arms. "Careful,myn lykyng," he said. "You don't want me to ruin my gifts."

She blindly felt around to his shoulders and then traced down his arms to his hands. Several packages were there. "Locca—you've returned and that is all I have wished for." Together they set the packages down. "Did your trading go well? Is that what took so long? Did you have to go to..." She shuddered. "Asgardagain?" She couldn't help smiling in his presence though, as she drew him back into the cave.

As Locca's eyes adjusted to the ill-lit cavern from the moonlight soaked night, he saw the clumsily hewn slabs of rock transform. The table became level and carved and the chair straightened into almost a throne with a high-back. He knew that the rock floor was even now—with soft rock sighs—raising into a dias with tall pillars at the corners. The mat was even becoming pleasingly plump and the pillows fluffy.

"Lights, too, sweeting," he chided gently as he allowed himself to be lead.

"Oh, yes," she giggled. "I forgot them." The few lanterns that he had scattered in the cave burst into joyful light and twinkled as though filled with brilliant fireflies.

By the brighter light, he studied her. Her dress became his favorite soft muslin that clung to her curves. She was not the fairest of women. Indeed, she would seem plain next to many he knew. She had curves enough, though he had to admit she was thinner. Her hair was simply beautiful—soft and loose around her to her waist. Then, she turned towards him as she spun around and he saw her face.

Across both eyes was a terrible mask of angry, red scars and went from temple to temple. The lids were sealed shut by them, but in true daylight one could see the hollows that indicated her eyes beneath them had not survived.

In the hot spring room, she stopped and began working his gauntlets off. He perched on a stool that he knew was actually a "convenient", flat rock and allowed her to take his green and black cloak and shrug his green shirt off his shoulders. The heat and moisture made both his and her hair curl, though it looked better on her than him. He shrugged off his pants, amused as she scampered around him to pick up the clothes and set them—carefully folded on the rock he had been sitting on.

She was peculiar like that—she wanted things to be just so in her little world. Exactly there and no where else. He supposed that it made it easier for her to find them again since she lacked sight. Gently, she led him into the pool of warm water. Sitting on the side, she held his head in her lap and stroked his black hair as he closed his green eyes almost wearily.

The soft lullaby she hummed was almost drowned out by the constant splashing of the hot spring into the pool, but he heard it nonetheless. It reminded him of a song his mother had sung long ago—a very long time ago. Idly, he hummed along as he watched the water splash down from the wall. His eyes drifted almost closed as she stroked his weary brown and gently rubbed his neck and shoulders. Sighing and almost asleep, he drifted for a few moments more between sleep and wakefulness.

Then, with a twist of his nimble body, he rolled in the water and pulled himself to his feet. She started but recovered and went to her little pile of cloth and picked out the drying cloths (real sheets of linen) she saved for his use. She gently patted him dry. He smiled as he remembered how shy she had been when she had first dried him. She wanted to desperately please him, but she had been so shy of his body and of touching him. He had coaxed her gently, drawing her close and guiding her hands all over him. He had, at last, drawn her into the pool and coaxed her dress off of her too—showing her how to touch by bathing her and then drying her body. She had tentatively followed his lead—then in a paradox, improved by wrapping him in the linen before leading him to to the bed. Now, of course, she knew him and was comforted by his familiarity. It was a pleasant fore-taste as she wrapped his hips in the linen and began to lead him again to the bed.

He disliked her sleeping in her dress and she discarded it in a careful, folded pile on top of her other dresses. The dias was trickier to navigate around, but she quickly joined him underneath the sheets. He made a note to bring back new sheets next time—despite her joyful enchantments, it chaffed his skin to not sleep on the fine sheets that he was used to.

She carefully laid her head on his shoulder, draping her arm over part of his chest. For some time, he had disliked the feeling of her as she had curled up so close to him with her hair tickling his nose and her arm tangling in the sheet above his chest. They had compromised on this—she was allowed to rest on his shoulder as the lights in the cave slowly dimmed with the promise of pleasure in the night.

Rather than subject himself to her questioning, he began immediately to roll towards her, cupping her face in his hand. Gently—so gently—she raised up and brushed him with the lightest and sweetest of kisses. It was the brush of dandelion seeds on the wind it was so soft.

He growled playfully and pulled her towards him. Firmly, surely, he pressed his lips to hers. He held her head with one steady hand as the other drew her closer to him. Then, pushing her down to her back, he positioned above her for one delicious moment before he joined her in pleasure.

Thor stalked the hallways towards the throne room, a scroll of papers in his hand. Odin and Frigga sat in audience with an ambassador. Odin remained focused on the matter being discussed, but Frigga's glance slid towards him and she nodded at him, smiling.

The ambassador—a tall, lanky man with a knot of nut brown hair tied behind his head and wrapped in a cloak of scarlet wool—turned for a moment. The look on his face was priceless as he realized that Thor was standing behind him. For a moment, the smooth patter of words faltered like water suddenly faltering over a rock in the stream. Then he smoothed his features again into an expression of polite interest and bowed.

Thor sketched a bow back, and gestured for him to continue.

"As I was saying," the ambassador began again. "Our village asks for aid with this blight before it destroys our harvest of barley."

Thor almost chuckled, but stopped himself. The Warriors Three would be appalled to learn that the barley for beer and mead was threatened.

"Of course," Odin agreed smoothly. "We will send three of our most skilled to help you..."

The man smiled for a moment before a thought occurred to him. "With all due respect, Your Majesties—" He swallowed nervously. "Your most skilled what?"

Odin frowned. "You have said that it is a magical blight—"

"Brought to us by witchery when the Frost Giants attacked," the man agreed.

"Then we shall send our three most skilled mages," Odin finished with only the smallest hint of annoyance. "We shall also send provisions so that they do not impoverish the village."

"Ahh," the man said, obviously considering the offer of aid. Then, with a slight air of one who knows he has no other course than polite acceptance, he bowed. "Most kind of you. My thanks." He bowed again to Frigga. "My most humble thanks to you as well, Your Majesty—the fairest flower of Asgard."

Frigga smiled benignly at him, but remained silent. Odin only nodded, his face inscrutable. The man stifled a sigh, turned with a flourish and retreated down the hall.

Thor watched him retreat for a moment before turning to his parents. "Father," he said, tempering his voice from his usual thundering boom to a low rumble. "Have you seen Loki of late?" He shook out the rolled up scroll. "I have a contract for that I should like him to examine between the palace kitchens and one of the green grocers." He shrugged slightly with a boyish grimace. "I must admit that I have no skill with haggling over pennies."

Frigga and Odin stepped down from their thrones on the dias. Frigga shook her head vaguely. "I have not seen him today."

"Nor I," added Odin. He frowned at the contract. "Although I would think that he would like to assist in this matter..."

Frigga draped an arm around her son. "He is around, I'm sure." She smiled. "It would not surprise me if he was hiding close by to watch or some other mischief."

Thor frowned at that. "I do not like that he is absent when there are duties for him to perform." Mischief was something Loki excelled at—particularly mischief that caused work for him. "His attention is needed here."

Odin smiled wisely at Thor. "And this is an excellent opportunity for you to learn about the finer arts of negotiation. It is a skill to allow you to live in peace—and a skill a king must possess." Thor glanced at the Allfather, to which Odin only said, "It is a skill that all should strive to master."

"Of course, Father," Thor replied.

Thus it was that Thor was traveling through the town that evening when a plump, older lady hailed him.

"Your Highness," she called, waving. She was so short that he could scarcely see her or hear her over the crowd that had gathered around him. "Your Highness!"

Thor wrenched through the crowd. "You called?" he smiled winningly.

The poor woman almost did a somersault, she bowed so swiftly and so low and with such a grand genuflection. "Your Highness! I have something to return to...err...His Highness."

"Something for my brother?" Thor asked. The crowd faded into the background of his awareness. This was the first time anyone had asked him about his brother. "What about Loki?"

The woman smiled and reddened. "He paid me for a bolt of fabric and I forgot to include the matching threads. I was so busy wrapping Her Majesty's new bliaut to be carried back to the palace-and then, such a crowd came in with a bride!" She tipped forward again. This time, her cheeks went red while her face went pale. "Please, Your Highness. I had no idea that I had not included the thread with the fabric. I did not mean to offend anyone—it was an honest mistake!" She began to wring her hands. "An honest mistake!" Abruptly she stood again, sweat beading down her brow and her eyes starting to look puffy. "I will not err so again." She glanced around at the suddenly silent crowd. "I will add another bolt of my finest green silk were he to forgive my disgrace!"

Thor smiled at her. This trivial sort of matter he could handle far more easily than attempting to pry profits from the merchants' guild. "Dear lady, I'm sure that it was easily missed—"

"An honest mistake, Your Highness. It was an honest mistake! I swear on my guild!" She wrung her hands. "I am an honest woman—running the place since my husband died." She bowed quickly again, her hands chapping red as she wrung them. "I meant no offence—not to Prince Loki!"

"Of course not," Thor began. "I will speak to my brother and give him what he purchased from you."

The woman began beaming at him as she took a deeper breath. In a trice, she had fetched a basket with the bolt of green silk with a skein of blue thread on top. Thor took the basket, looping it over his arm gingerly lest the poor woman swoon in her distress. "He will understand this folly and naught will harm you. I swear it."

The woman bobbed and curtseyed again and again, finally clinging to his red cape and kissing it. "Bless you, Highness. Bless you. My children and their children will know of your mercy."

"Hail Prince Thor!" someone shouted.

"Hail Prince Thor!" the crowd shouted back.

Quite quickly, someone passed around a skin of wine. Thor opened the skin and toasted the people, swallowing a swig of the thick, red wine. Drinking horns were quickly raised in the air as the skin was passed round and round and vassal and lord drank to the golden son of Odin. To his health. To his skill. To his rise to the throne. To his health again. To his mercy.

It was very late when Thor finally crossed into the palace. Frigga was sitting up with one of her cats, reading, when his weary head showed in the doorway. Thor nodded in her direction, mindful of his basket, which he sat down on a table.

Frigga dumped the cat onto the floor, where it hissed and bounded off. Smiling, she looked at the basket. "How lovely. Wherever did you get such beautiful cloth?"

"'Tis Loki's," Thor replied unevenly. The floor did not seem to wish to stay level beneath his feet. "Though I'm not sure why..."

"He is perhaps planning some sort of surprise," Frigga murmured. Then, deftly, she changed the subject. "How did the negotiations go?"

"I did a poor job compared to Loki's silver tongue," Thor admitted freely. "I held them to an increase of 1 percent over last year's prices." Frigga murmured again and hugged him in sympathy. "Loki would have had them begging to pay him to use their goods undoubtedly."

"I am glad to see that you appreciate Loki's talent," Frigga admitted freely. "'Tis a valuable one." She hugged him again. "I am glad my sons are both so talented."

"Mother," he smiled in return. "We would not be the same without you." He bowed over her hand and stumbled only once before turning down the hallway to his bed. With a practiced gesture, he drew a palace wench to him and into his bedroom. He knew most of the comely wenches. Tonight it was Kristen—a good, uncomplicated choice.

The next morning Thor awoke, staring at the basket. Kristen had left long since, begging to see him again and grinding against him suggestively. With a heavy sigh, Thor rose, bathed briefly and dressed. He took the basket to Loki's door and knocked loudly.

No one answered.

"Loki," he thundered at the door. "I have your...goods."

Again, no one answered.

Without much thought, Thor turned towards the family dining room. Perhaps Loki had risen early—as he was wont to do when he had something planned to delight his mother. Or to cause an especially dark mischief, Thor admitted to himself.

Frigga and Odin were dining on a rasher of bacon, boiled eggs, cheese, watered wine and a selection of fruits when Thor came in. For a moment, the smells seemed overwhelming, but that subsided.

"You still have not found Loki." Odin made the statement rather than asked a question.

"I do not like that," Thor grumbled.

"Nor I." Odin thought for a moment. Another man might have looked elsewhere or toyed with his fork or begun slicing a bit of fruit to smooth over the silence. Odin was simply still—like a mountain. "But his absence has blessed you with the opportunity to see his strengths." Another silence stretched out. "Perhaps I should allow you both time to spend as you wish so that you can better appreciate your blessings."

"As you wish, Father," Thor smiled. He took a portion of bacon and a trencher to fill with egg and cheese. "I will carry to the news to him as soon as I see him." Thor gestured lamely to the basket with its bounty. Kristen slid close to him to bring him a horn of juice. Smiling, she presented it to him with only the slightest of bows and the briefest of glimpses of down her dress. Another maid quickly brought forward a bowl of water for him to wash his hands.

Odin only nodded and continued eating.

Frigga gestured towards the basket. "I should like to see more of such wondrous fabric. It is such a green in the light and then fades to almost black."

Thor handed the basket to her. "Perhaps he plans a surprise for you, Mother?"

Frigga took the fabric out. "I don't know. How did he come to have such cloth?"

"It was a gift," Thor explained simply.

"A gift? From whom?"

"A shopkeeper in the village," Thor shrugged. "She said that he had purchased some cloth and thread and somehow had forgotten the thread. She insisted it was an innocent mistake and pressed the cloth upon me as a gift for his forgiveness."

Odin's face darkened at that. "A gift for his forgiveness..." he repeated almost tonelessly.

Frigga almost caught the note in the Allfather's voice. "I should like to see more of such cloth. Could you take me there?"

"Of course, Mother," Thor smiled. "And I myself will choose cloth for a new cloak of green and gold to match your beauty."

Frigga smiled and almost blushed a bit. "You've been taking lessons from Loki with all your talk."

"It is truth," Thor insisted.

"It is truth," Odin added, his one eye wandering up and down her body. For a singular eye, it was a very busy one. Frigga did blush at that.

"And likely Loki will show up with his gift soon," Thor added. With a hearty laugh, he snickered, "Remember when he tried to make the lemon cakes you loved? In honor of your birth?" That was a memory. Loki had risen early and cornered the baker in the kitchen to make the lovely little cakes. His anger had gotten the best of him when his own efforts crumpled in his hands rather than forming lovely little balls that the cook was forming with such ease. Then the cook had dared to take one of his disk shaped pieces and—with a twist of the wrist and a sprinkle of oil—made it into the little ball. With a flash of sorcery, the rest of the squashed little forms had become hard, burned black and shattered and Loki had stormed out of the kitchens.

Thor had come in as Loki rushed out. The table had been warped as though it had caught fire. The baker was squeaking and squealing in horror and the servants were fleeing the kitchens. The a quick action, Thor had hauled a bucket over and poured it on the wood, cooling the kitchen down. Then he had fetched the ingredients all over again on his stallion. The cooks praised him as they quickly made the cakes. Thor was swept along and took trays to the ovens himself. The baker squealed as they came out of the oven and rolled them quickly in powdered sugar and drizzled honey over them. With a flourish, he had found Frigga and Loki speaking quietly outside the library and had presented them with a flourish to her.

"It was a lovely thought," Frigga sighed with a slight fretful tone.

"Do not be sad, Mother," Thor said. "We shall have a fine time selecting your fabric."

It was past the noon day meal when Thor escorted Frigga on her horse to the market. Several of the men hailed him, greeting him, but to his mother, they knelt where they stood. The pig keeper knelt in his sty. The baker knelt, offering the fresh bread he had just pulled from the oven. In the alehouse, the tender shushed a group of women who were just rolling out of bed and then knelt with a flourish in his doorway.

The poor woman was amazed to see Thor and Frigga at her doorway. She bobbed up and down so fast she seemed to be almost flapping like a bird's wing. Of course they could see all of her finest cloth—from the silk to the soft muslin to velvet and linen so fine that it might please them. A rainbow of colors spread on the table.

Thor picked up a red velvet the color of rose petals. "I should like to have this made into a cloak for my mother," he said. "Lined with silk and embroidered with flowers of silver and—"

"Thor," she sighed with maternal exasperation. "I thought we were choosing green this time?"

"Another cloak then," Thor shrugged with masculine delight. "One of green as well with gold embroidery."

The shopkeeper began bobbing again, like a chicken pecking the ground. She pulled out her string and began the careful measurements for the two cloaks. "Did His Highness enjoy the silk then?" She made a knot at the width of the queen's shoulders.

"I...that is to say—" Frigga felt tongue-tied for a moment.

"This is to match a dress of that wondrous green," Thor smiled.

"And the blue? Is there to be a match of that too?" she queried, tying another knot.

"The blue?" Thor stared at her blankly.

The shopkeeper stared at him for a moment. "Yes. The blue that he bought to match the thread." Her chin wobbled for a moment. "He...has forgiven my...forgetfulness?"

"Of course," Frigga assured her. She darted a glance to her son.

"You have the oath of Thor," Thor puffed out. "He'll not hold it against you."

The woman looked at him doubtfully, but then began to dutifully measure again.

Loki awoke lazily. There was the scent of bread in the air, along with wine. For a moment, he debated simply rolling back into blissful sleep, listening to her as she pottered about. She woke early and had been into his packages already. With a smile, he strolled out nude and walked to the hot spring. Splashing the warm water over his face and body, he flipped his wrist and summoned a cake of the dragon's blood scented soap he liked so much. The fresh pieces of linen were already folded in the room and he dried off and got dressed.

The front room was lit up when he strolled in. It pleased him to see the jars that lined her shelves. She had saved every one of them—the painted clay pots to the peculiarly shaped glass ones to the two that he favored of cut green glass. It had been an unexpected pleasure to hunt for jars that were unique in shape or material so that she could determine which she held.

"Locca," she smiled. "You have risen. It is a most wonderful morning." She shrugged lamely. "Though morning is almost gone."

She had discarded the gray cloak she wore and had hurried through her chores to get them done. The goats and chickens were out to pasture and they had vegetables and eggs to share. He had even brought her two loaves of bread—real bread, along with a packet of cheese. The jug of wine was welcome as well—and she was warming it now.

"I see that you have already been through the packages." He gestured lamely and then caught himself as he reminded himself again that she was blind.

"I did not go through all of them," she shrugged. "I could only identify these anyway. I'll need you to tell me of the rest."

"In due time, pet. In due time." He took the chair as she served him his warmed wine, toasted bread with a chunk of cheese and an egg. "Only one egg this time? Do you need more chickens?"

She flushed—her cheeks warming to almost the color of her scars. "I had thought...that is...since we have real bread and honey, to use the milk and egg for a bread pudding."

"As you like," he shrugged, though she could hear the smile in his voice. "Though bring me the honey now, if you please."

She reached on her shelf for the new jar. It had a peculiar pattern of hexagons on it, along with a cork top and so was easy to find. Bringing it to him, she squealed as he pulled her into his lap. The jar almost fell but he deftly caught it and set it on the table.

His lips brushed hers lightly. "I have waited for thirteen nights to have this again." With a shudder, he pressed his face into her neck.

"I love you so much, Locca," she murmured, wrapping her arms around him. "I always will."

For a moment, his heart stood still. He could not remember the last time someone had come to him so willingly. Even when he had clumsily tried to court a damsel, they had pulled back from him. Or had tolerated him to get close to his brother. For a moment, his hands balled into fists. "I will never let you go," he growled.

"You will never need to," she whispered. She rained kisses on his hair and head.

He swept her up and laid her down on the bed. Gently, he slid open the ties around her neck and swiftly he discarded her belt. Dragging up the skirt, he revealed her long legs. With a smirk, he settled between them. His own clothes were gone in a bit of magic. She sighed, wriggling against him blindly.

It was when she sat up to discard her dress that he grinned evilly. "Let us pretend my lovely." He picked up her belt and pressed her down. "Let us pretend a game."

She smiled. They had precious few games to play together since she could not see his cards or dice. So they "pretended a game". It was a simple game—declare the scene and act it out to mutual satisfaction.

"Let us pretend that you are the virgin sacrifice," he purred, binding her hands lightly with the woven belt.

"Oh? A sacrifice to who?" She giggled—almost ruining the electric feel of their game.

"Ahh...to who? Who would you like?"

"To you of course!" She sighed, relaxing in his grip. "You are my god. I am your sacrifice. And if I am worthy—"

"Oh...worthy?" His eyes lit up.

"I can become your priestess!"

"A lovely priestess too." He toyed with her flesh. "I like that..."

"But it is not fair to not name yourself! How else can the sacrifice be properly prepared? I mean—"

Loki laughed at their game. "I am Loki, of course!" He nuzzled her as he draped her in the sheet. It looked vaguely robe-like around her.

"Ooo...the prankster!" She wriggled and giggled. "I am to be sacrificed to the God of Lies and Tricks. The Quicksilver Tongue."

For a moment, Loki frowned at that. But it was hard not to laugh when she was laughing so joyfully. "My tongue? Of all the things I am, you worship my tongue?"

"Your tongue is most talented, my god of gods," she breathed. Her breath caught as she felt him moving against her. "'Tis truly a marvel—a miracle..." Her breath caught again. "A miracle that you found me..." she sighed again. And then they said no more for a long time.

They lay in the bed for some time after the game was done. The belt was discarded somewhere in the room. The scent of them was thick in the room. She fell asleep, wrapped in his arms, but he laid awake, staring at the ceiling. The sharp points of rock seemed to watch him with disapproval. For a moment, he scowled back at them and then smiled as he imagined the evil Frost Giants under them just as they fell. Slay the monsters—get the girl.Isn't that how Thor had always done it?

He scowled again, thinking of Thor. She murmured softly against him. For a moment, he started, realizing how wrapped together they were. Then he forced his muscles to relax. This little one was not Thor's—would never see Thor, would not know him and would not fall to his easy charm. This one was his and his alone.

Dinner was a simple affair. Indeed, it was practically bohemian in its simplicity—another soup, toast with cheese and wine with bread pudding for dessert. He had brought her a packet of raisins, along with a few packets of spices.

She had giggled when he opened the packet of spices and began naming them. "Locca! How on earth do you expect me to keep this all straight in my head?"

He smiled at her as she finished washing the knife. Then he led her to the singular chair. Plucking a packet up, he took out the spice which appeared to be tiny scrolls of brown paper. He waved them under her nose. "Smell this," he ordered. "It is cinnamon—wrought from trees to the south."

"Where you do trading in the winter," she sighed, sniffing.

"Yes―my...err...trading. I go there in the winter." He waved them under her nose again. "The trees are guarded by mighty eagles the size of harpies. It takes two men to fell such a tree and days upon days in the sun to peel back the back. As the bark falls, it curls like scrolls of paper. Smell the scent of the sun on it—the warmth of it. Like the southern heat that warms your tongue." He was rewarded by her smile and deep breath. A single finger flipped up and down the stick as though she petted it before he took it and slid it into the paper packet again.

He plucked up another. "Now this—this is a bean from the east. It grows on trees that smell of sweetness so thick that the bees become drunk on the scent." She felt the wrinkled bean. "Before I leave, we will split the bean and mull it in clear wine to preserve it. But does it not smell like sweet, pale silk?"

It wasn't until the last packet that she exploded. He had been spinning her a marvelous tale of how these tiny red peppers grew only in the dens of nursing dragons and had to be dried in the heart of a volcano before it became red enough. She had gingerly touched the pepper, marveling that it was like the vanilla bean. Then he broke the papery skin and held it under her nose.

With the first waft, she cried out in sheer terror and slammed backward. Screaming, she tumbled out of the chair and blindly crawled away from him.

The pepper forgotten, he approached her warily. The lights in the cave—fed by her joy—suddenly flamed uncertainly and in a sickeningly violent way. The brazier—also fed by her magic—had flamed up. A step closer to it and he would have caught on fire.

"My dove... My sweetling..." he soothed holding out his hands. "I am here."

"Locca?" she sobbed. "Please, Locca... please—where are you? I am lost without you!"

"Sweeting," he soothed, finally in arm's distance of her. "What in the name of Asgard is wrong?"

The lights flared again and one lantern shattered green glass on the floor. For a moment, the illusions distorted into terrible shapes—the table became a flaming mess and the chair twisted into a scowling thicket of thorny vines. "It was that...the Before time." She lunged at him—or rather in his direction. Fortunately, he was able to catch her and drag him into his arms. "Before you found me..."

"We must...shhhh...shhhh... Breathe, sweetness. Breathe gently," he soothed. The magic pulsed around him. But not like his magic. This was Wild Magic—a dangerous and unpredictable form of magic. It was said that Odin himself did not know where Wild Magic came from—only that it sprang up when he was weaving magic into the realms. It was—in the very, very few books that dared mention it—said to be linked to the wielder's soul. If the soul was wounded, the Wild Magic could become vengeful and powerful or soft and healing. If the soul was happy, it was almost always joyful Magic bringing plenty and blessings. Almost. "Shhh...breathe my dove. You must breathe."

She gulped in the air. "It it in my dreams-I see it over and over." She moaned against him, clutching him tightly. Abruptly the magic melted away, running in dark trickles like muddy rainwater. "I see it all over and over."

"What do you see, darling?" Loki studied the packages still on the table. For the moment, the table was again stone too clumsily shaped to even be called carved. Every packet was spared-save the hot peppers which were black stains where they had fallen. He gripped her closer.

"I see the Frost Giant," she wailed.

Loki started. A Jotun? Where would she have seen a Jotun? Surely it was a bad dream...

"It's not a bad dream!" she wailed. "I saw him." She shuddered again. "I had hidden in a basket of candles to see my father fight in battle against them. He was not as tall nor as strong as many. But he was brave―I thought he was bravest of all of them." She spat out the last word as though it were poisoned. Loki only held her, listening. "I tipped over and ran behind a rock to hide. My father would have beaten me if he had seen me, but it was so...hypnoticto watch him swing his war hammer. So I pulled the basket behind me so that I was hidden and I could watch. Then..," she shuddered again. "Then Thorshowed up."

Loki didn't even blink. Not even when the lights vanished entirely. "Thor?" he finally asked.

"Thor showed up in a blinding flash of lightning. That's what I remember—seeing the lightning whip and arc around him. The basket I was next to caught fire as the lightning burst away.

"The candles shot out—burning and dripping wax everywhere. I felt some land on my face-not badly, but enough that I cried out. Thor raced past me—past me—like I was nothing and charged through to the battle line. I saw him hit a Frost Giant with a hammer and it exploded. The next one—ah, Gods!—the next one flew back. It flew back into my father, impaling him with its axe.

"I stayed in my hiding place but I was scared. Scared of the bodies flying everywhere. Scared of the death that was drowning everything. I saw my father fall under a massive Jotun and was crushed. But that wasn't enough. I saw something that I will never forget..."

Loki tensed. "What was that?"

"I saw two of them―the Giants—picking through the dead. They were behind the battle lines and finding the injured and fallen. They were healing their comrades! They were approaching, flanking the others so that they could retrieve their fallen.

"One crept close to me—close enough that I could see his sweat on his head. Close enough to hear him. I peeked out and saw him dragging one away. I must have made too much noise—because he looked at me—right at me. He saw the puddle of wax still burning and waved his hand. Then ice formed where it had been—with a little flourish of snowflakes.

"He began to drag the body away then. I saw the lightning coming closer. I smelled the heat and smoke. The Jotens were beginning to flee. The one I was watching flopped down and I saw the lightning pass through others in a wide arc. Thor raced through the camp again, shouting that they were trying to come from behind. Those left followed Thor as he charged through again. They didn't even notice that one of the Jotun was quite whole and alive as they ran past.

"And once they were past—the Jotun crouched up and looked at me. He knew that I had kept quiet—that I had seen him and seen the army. I could have touched Thor's cloak if I had wanted to. And I had been silent.

"He sort of nodded to me and I nodded back. Others were coming—more soldiers and more Jotun—and we were only briefly hidden in the chaos. But still, he tilted his head and stared at me, still as a stone and then to the wax and then to me again. Ever so slowly, he reached out and—for a moment, I felt the chill. I felt the burns ease. It was like nothing else—to feel the chill and the burns ease.

"He started to pull back then. We had no business together. He hadn't even really touched me—just swept one finger past my face long enough that I was relieved. He was going to fall back and then..."

"Then what?" Loki whispered in awe.

"Then Thor showed up!" She spat his name and for a brief flicker, he could feel a rush of heat and hate. "Thor threw his hammer at the Jotun and smashed through him and the one he was trying to save. But I was too close and the lightning burned my whole face." She shook in her rage. "It was the last thing I saw."

"Did he see you there?" Loki asked, knowing he may as well asked if the moon saw her now. What Thor did not wish to see, he didn't see. He did not wish to see that Sif adored him, so it was not there. He wished to see victory, and it appeared.

Rather like magic.

"I screamed. I smelled my hair burning and the smell of flesh burning. Everything even tasted hot. I crawled away—looking for something to ease my pain. Thor raged on, leading men around to yet another front. I found the frozen ground and crept as close as I could against it. It was the only thing cold enough to feel cool. I pressed as close as I dared—and the burns felt better, but somehow the Jotun magic rejected the healer's magic or something. They could not make the burn better when they took me to the camp healers. They could only bandage me and tell me to pray for the best.

"I was sent to my village. But I was orphaned and blind and scarred. The attack had destroyed our fields and what the Jotun hadn't destroyed, Thor'slightning and army did. So no one had extra to spare. They called me bad-luck. I tried begging on the corner, but it was never for long because the guards would come by and tell me to move along somewhere else. I could never get anyone to approach me." She hiccupped.

"Ahh...so that's what you were doing on the corner that night..." Loki offered as again the lights flickered to complete darkness.

"I wandered the streets—it was winter, but I was still warm. It was like my burns were still burning to keep me alive. I called out for mercy. For Thor to finish the job. And I was so sick of being sore and tired and alone. And hungry! I had never felt so hungry! I called out for Odin to do something."

"You called out to Loki too..." Loki replied with no inflection. He may as well have been asking about a still pond or a clear sky.

She nodded violently, shivering like she was stuck in a snowbank. "I thought that perhaps it was some monstrous trick. Or that if anyone would know of magic to make me whole, he would. I would have done anything." She cuddled closer to him and continued without stopping. "But no one would answer—only the alehouse tap man who occasionally offered to take me in if I would service the worst of his customers. He told me to come into his house or stop crying and die already.

"I ran from him—he sounded so angry. And then—I must have been blessed, then—because I tumbled into you."

Loki grimaced. She had indeed tumbled—into a swoon brought by her hunger and thirst. Her magic had flared up and pummeled the invisibility spell he had wrapped around himself. Thor had come out of the alehouse then, looking to see what was the matter and why the man was in such a froth. Perhaps Thor would have been merciful—granted her death or healing. But she had called to him, too—Loki—and he had gotten there first.

Wrapping them both in shadow—away from every eye, even Heimdall's—he had spirited her to this little island. He had been preparing this as a sanctuary for himself and had been sealing it with magic and making it impossible to see inside before tending to the more creature comforts. Thus, most things were only crudely put together. There was just enough to serve until he had time to make it comfortable rather than habitable. She had been feverish then—far closer to Hel and death than she had known—and delirious. He had to work quickly, but he had saved her life.

Then, her magic had appeared. He had been studying his book when suddenly, the entire cave had burst into light. She called out—aware that she was bandaged, her bruises tended to and her dress whole. Loki remembered blinking—that he had chosen a place of shadows and had only one candle burning and now the entire place lit up like the palace of Asgard.

She had called again when the fever finally broke. She asked who had tended her. Who had heard her? He had barely gotten to her before she was exhausted and slumped on the mat again. Sleepily, she had asked to work for her keep, begging him for that mercy.

Stunned, he had granted it to her. He stayed long enough to make the cave habitable—the warm spring that was so easily conjured from the ground to spout exactly high enough and into a conveniently bowl shaped area, the fresh water that flowed for her garden on an island surrounded by salt water and the brazier that allowed her to warm food yet didn't smoke. He had stored provisions, had already conjured the walls to hide the footpaths and the little beach, and had already made the shallow cave for animals since it seemed he could not find a book on cantrips without it involving eggs or feathers or something. The trees and wild plants were already here and not much more effort one way or the other. But the goats he had conjured and enchanted so that there would not be little presents everywhere in the meadow. The chickens he had brought back on one of his trips. The pots were brought back in spurts as he purchased provisions for her.

She had been stronger the next morning when he had brought her a crust of bread and some garlic and onion broth. It had been on the tip of his tongue to say his true name—just to see her quake in fear—but he had lied anyway. There was always the delicious agony of when to tell her the truth—that he was, in fact, Prince Loki of Asgard and brother to the apparently hated Thor. Now it was fortunate that he had made up the tale of the solitary merchant trader! He could easily explain his many absenses and his taste for fine things with nary a mis-step.

"And your magic, little dove? What of your magic?"

The woman nodded with a little, watery hiccup. "The magic we had to keep hidden—Papa and I. It was not to be trusted."

Loki smiled in wry amusement. "Why is magic not to be trusted?"

"It's my magic that cannot be trusted," she insisted. On the verge of tears again, she curled against him like a cold cat. "It's...unreliable. It's not consistent. I can't call it up and have it do what I want."

"Oh it's not that bad," Loki protested.

She let out a watery giggle. "Here is different. It's quiet and peaceful and there's no distractions." Her hand wandered over him lightly. "Well... Maybe one important one. But no one will get hurt." Had the light been right, he could have seen that she went pale. "I was supposed to get trained. Get sent to school or something. But Papa was more interested in visiting the alehouse than in sending me to school. Or buying bread. Or anything. He said it was because he missed my mother..."

"He must have loved her very much," Loki murmurred softly, thoughtfully.

"He said he did. He tried to love me—but it was hard, I guess. Something would happen and suddenly something would freeze solid or burst into flame. Once a wandering cat tripped me and I said an...impolite—" This she said shamefully. "—word to it. The poor thing went bald for two days."

Loki had to laugh at that. Suddenly, she laughed too and the rooms lit up in even, pure, warm light. He was still cuddling her on the floor and smiling and saw no particular reason to move at the moment.

"Then there was the time that a chicken pecked my hand. I had some colorful language then and it turned purple. The eggs we couldn't sell because they came out green. Papa washed my mouth out with soap he was so mad. But it was language that he had said—his friends and fellow soldiers had said them..." She shrugged. "The chicken we had to keep in a separate pen for a while because it was just...ridiculously purple." She laughed again. "Despite the green eggs, Papa found someone who would buy the purple feathers. It was someone in the village market, but I never found out who. We were able to buy ham and butter and cheese with that..." She sighed. "Unfortunately, the poor chicken molted within the week and the new feathers came in the same rusty brown as before. 'Twas most confusing! Papa hauled me out of the house and told me to curse at the poor bird again. He held my hands and had it peck me over and over but no matter what I said, the bird remained brown." She thought about it for a moment. "Oh no! Do you think there's probably some poor person out there who bought a lovely purple hat and that now has brown chicken feathers in it?"

Loki couldn't help the laughter that rolled out of him. At least one of those "poor people" had been Frigga—who had had a straw hat with a wide brim to wear in the sun. It had a lovely gold medallion surrounded surrounded by deep purple feathers on the side. Or, at least, that's what the Allfather had sworn. When she had taken it out of its gifting box, the feathers had all faded to a rusty brown color. She had smiled in thanks and worn it, declaring it the most beautiful one she owned.

His little dove yawned sleepily, drawn to his warmth. So, he wrapped her up in his arms and carried her to the dais. The mat had become a mat again, though the steps were still sharp and firm to the dais. He crooned to her, softly—singing some silly nonsense song. The offensive peppers were smudges of ash on the table, but most everything else was spared. She slept on, even without the extra nudge from his sleeping spell.

He was most reluctant to let his burden go—almost regretful. Suddenly, the regret soured in him. Why should he feel regret for letting her sleep? Why should he not—full of energy and vigor—pursue his own studies and so forth while she slept? But it was sweet, to have his arms around such a cuddly package that trusted him so completely. Rather like the palace cats he had adopted in his youth. He had never seen such animals so prone to random mischief and chaos, and who had curled around his feet or beside him as they dozed.

But this was different than the women at court he had occasionally rutted with. He had learned quickly to stay far from the virgins, the young widows and the wallflowers—the ones with wide, innocent eyes that watched for a chance to trap some male into wedlock. Fortunately, many of those had skipped over him to watch Thor instead. It was the ones who were trying to be crafty—the ones that approached him in order to get close to Thor—that angered him the most. The honest ones—married or not—were the ones that he deigned to entertain for some brief moment of time. The ones that were simply scratching an itch as he was, and not interested in more than the most brief "Hello" before bypassing courting and moving straight to the bedroom. They were at least honest with themselves and with him. Whether it was curiosity or lust or desire for coin, they were no more interested in the pleasantries and dancing attendance than he was and equally uninterested in children.

This one was so different. She wanted his company. He needed to be neither a prince, nor honest, nor anything more than company. He had wooed her without even his own name and she demanded no tricks, no magic, no illusions, no favors, no connections, no flattery. She liked his wild stories and parried with wild fancies of her own. She liked his laugh. She liked touching him. She liked cooking for him. She liked "decorating" for him to his own tastes. His card tricks and dice games were lost on her, as were his illusions. She knew...somewhere in her heart of hearts...that he was most likely not "Locca" and a "merchant trader", but she hadn't questioned it further and instead had been content as he had regaled her with wild tales of his exploits in "trading".

And, most importantly, she truly believed that she hated Thor. She believed it so much that it could call the most violent and vivid forms of Wild Magic. Of course, only a very great fool would test this belief. Here there was no meddling from the Warriors Three, Sif was not baiting him or slicing into him with cutting remarks (regardless of the truth of them), no duties or rank. There was only the two of them.

Asgard would freeze and Jotenheim would burn to the ground before he'd disturb the delicate balance that he had here.

The second day that Thor could not find his brother, he admitted defeat. At first it had been a bit of a game to gather his friends to hunt down his brother. But like most every time before, his brother had not desired to be found and he could not be. Odin and Frigga had retired to their own apartments-an occurrence that happened often enough to give one pause to wonder if there would be a third contender for the crown—and were not much help. Finally, it was time to simply give up and go to Heimdall.

The great guardian of the Bifrost was an imposing man of great height. He was so still and so quiet that at times it seemed he was made of gold itself. When one approached, it was almost a surprise to see that the gold was splendid armor over a man of dark, smooth complexion and golden eyes like the most secretive of cats. It was said not one creature breathed in Asgard that he did not know it and mark it.

The small band of warriors galloped up on their steady war horses. Some distance away, they dismounted in respect and walked towards the guardian. Thor smiled his most winning smile and opened his mouth to speak.

"He has not come through here," Heimdall answered the unspoken question.

Thor had come through the Bifrost many times and Heimdall continued to remain an enigma. He rarely spoke and when he did, it was precisely the answer to the words unspoken with no words left for poetry or riddles or clever turns of phrase. It was plain and truthful, like a smooth stone.

Sif looked at the Warriors Three in surprise. She had been sure that Loki had come or gone through here and had been the one to suggest asking Heimdall in the first place. Flushing, she walked forward with her mount to stand beside Thor. "Surely you have seen Loki somewhere?" Heimdall's gaze, which seemed to see the whole of Asgard behind them and yet not focused on any one thing, glanced briefly at her. "Or has grown wings that he could leave and return without you knowing?"

"It would be better for you if he had," Heimdall said plainly.

"Enough," Thor said impatiently. "He will not be found unless he wishes."

"True enough," Heimdall replied confidently. "But even the most clever of birds may yet leave a trail." Again gazing at the vast city of Asgard, Heimdall continued. "There is an island far to the west of Asgard. There, a woman is seen. Loki vanishes and then she begins to vanish and reappear."

"Too convenient," Hogun grunted. "We find the woman and we find Loki."

"It will not be easy," Heimdall added. "She is more than she appears."

This gave Thor pause. Heimdall never breathed a word without purpose. "Is there anything else you can tell us?" Thor asked.

"From the top of the lookout tower, you may see the island. However, be warned that she has seen too much and will not likely listen to you, Thor Odinson."

Thor frowned at that ominous warning. The horses stirred restlessly, eager for a run. Sketching a bow at Heimdall, he turned back towards the palace with his scarlet cloak flowing restlessly behind him.

Sif shifted her quiver and bow and began to follow him. She fell into step beside him, frowning as she watched the Golden Prince of Asgard sink deeply into his thoughts. It was fortunate that she was similar in height so that she could match his long strides, even in her light armor. "It is all right, Thor," she smiled thinly. "We will find him and bring him to task."

"It worries me still," Thor admitted. "He so relishes besting me that he usually beats me to the negotiating table. He will be cross that he missed that. Then the weaver—so terrified at his anger—and mentions that he has bought blue cloth. Blue! Whenever has my brother shown interest in cloth or weaving or sewing?" His fist clenched around his hammer's shaft in anger. "And this is two days, Sif! Two days without a word."

Finally stopping, Thor hoisted himself upon his steed. His friends followed suit quickly. "We will find this island and see if this woman may show us where Loki has been hiding."

There was the usual stares and prostrating as the friends wandered through town. Handsome Fandral turned to the west to inquire about a fishing vessel. Sif, wrapped in a cloak from her steed's pack, ventured to the markets for lamps and oil, extra cloaks and packs. Volstagg, as had happened before, was sent to the kitchens and markets for travel rations.

Thor gathered the steeds together and led them to the royal stables, stewing in his anger. Loki was prone to tricks―from practical jokes to vicious pranks designed to humiliate or to shame. He was even prone to absences where he did not wish to be found doing whatever it was he wanted to be doing at that moment. Generally, this was simply to get out of whatever Thor himself wished to be doing, but occasionally it was to go off to study some arcane form of knowledge. It was unsettling that this study or prank was taking two days to bring to fruition.

Loki himself was somewhat unsettled. He did not often spend time away from the palace. It was devilishly difficult to keep one fingers on the pulse of the comings and goings when one was away, but he did so relish the time that he had spent here. With regrets, he gathered his paramour into his arms. "Sweeting, it is time for me to go."

She stirred restlessly. "Not yet, please, Locca." She stretched, but not so far he had to break his hold. "Just one more time..."

He laughed in his sultry, wicked way. "Ah...so lonely, little dove. Perhaps just one more time. Then the last of my gifts and then good-bye."

It was an hour later when he rose and picked up his breeches and shirt. She rose as well and slipped on the clay colored dress and walked to front of the cave with him. "Where does your trading take you today?"

"Asgard," he replied shortly, watching her face carefully.

She paled and began worrying her lip. "Oh." What little of her brow was unlined and unscarred wrinkled in a worried fashion. "You'll be careful, won't you?"

Loki laughed shortly. "Of course." He dropped a quick peck to her cheek. "I am always careful."

She looked unconvinced. "I mean it. Be careful."

Loki smiled at her, though she couldn't see it. For a moment, it was such a buzzing, happy feeling to have someone care enough that he was safe and sound. "Of course." He picked up the last paper wrapped package. "Now, let us have this then. Something to keep you amused while I am gone."

Her hands blankly felt the paper. "Oh...but... you have brought so much," she mumbled. "I..." He pressed it against her hands and she gave in, carefully opening the package. Out tumbled a heavy piece of folded fabric—her fingers told her that much. "Fabric... Tell me, please, Locca—what color is it?"

"The color of the sky at midday. The color of the sea. The color of blue birds."

She smiled widely, stroking the fabric. "I love blue. How did you know?"

Loki smiled smugly. "I will expect to see you in a new dress next time. Looking like a breath of spring."

"Surely the color of spring is green?" she laughed.

"Mmmm...perhaps. But not this time." He watched her fingers drift over the fabric. It was not a soft, luxurious fabric like his mother would wear, but instead a sturdy fabric that would wash and wear well. "But where is the thread?"

"Oh, Locca... Thread too?" she smiled. "That is too much. Surely it is the profit from an entire voyage for all of the gifts you have brought me?" She stretched the fabric out on the table. "But I must have dropped it... Do you see it?"

Loki frowned. "I do not..." He glanced around. The thread was sky blue and not easily missed. "I do not see it."

She laughed then. "That will make this a challenge then." She threw what might have been a sultry pose. "I don't suppose it means that you will return quickly?"

Loki tried to echo her laugh. The infuriating nonsense of it all. Could no one do anything right? Instead he said, "I'm afraid not, darling. But when I do, you will have your thread."

She nodded, a small smile still remaining on her lips. "Then I shall have to wait until then. Perhaps you can tell me of the dresses in Asgard and I will design this to match them?"

He laughed outright at that. There was no possibility that she could copy the ornate designs without sight. The draping layers of cloth maybe, but the intricate embroidery was definitely impossible.

She stuck out her tongue impudently at his laughter. "Perhaps I will make a cloak instead!" Her grin turned sly and teasing. "Or a...a potato sack!"

"No. Save the cloth. When I return, I will have the thread. Now, I must be off."

She nodded and was smiling up until he closed the door. Then she tossed the fabric onto the table and fled to the back where the mat on the cold stone floor awaited her. Once more the cave is lit only by the uncertain light of the magical, glowing mushrooms and a single candle in a lantern that Loki left behind.

Wrapped in sorcery to hide from Heimdall here in the open, Loki stepped down to the beach—unaware that Thor and his friends were at that moment boarding a craft of their own to meet him. His own craft was a magical creation that vaguely resembled a longboat, but would lift out of the water to fly through the air to his home in Asgard in the same invisible manner that cloaked his comings and goings. He growled slightly, gritting his teeth, thinking that he had given good coin to have both cloth and thread only to be cheated. Perhaps he would find some suitable prank for the fat oaf of a shopkeeper... The thought seemed unreasonably churlish for a moment before he discarded it entirely. After all, it did give him a reason to return quickly.

Not an hour later, Frigga watched with amusement as Loki studied his book while walking down the hallway. As usual, the maids and servants gave him a wide berth and as long as they did he paid them little attention. But, unlike most every other time, he was humming to himself ever so softly.

"Mother," he greeted as he glanced up. "You look lovely today."

"You look well, my son," she returned with amusement. She glanced at his book―noting the title of a poetry book she liked. "However, you would do well to find Thor and Odin."

"Oh?" Loki's eyes lit up with curiosity and his brows lifted.

"We haven't been able to find you." She shrugged. "For two days, my dear." She kissed him lightly on the cheek. "Thor was in a froth because of some negotiations. Odin gave him leave to find you. He was to return some goods to you and then to forward the Allfather's command to spend time in leisure together." She smiled at her younger son's worried frown. "I'm sure that it can be settled quickly."

Loki snapped his book closed. "I see." He glanced around. "Where is Thor? Where are the contracts?" His eyes gleamed an emerald that matched his greatcoat.

"I believe that the Allfather has them. Thor is out finding you. I expect he will show up after a day romping with his friends."

"And the goods? Where are they?"

Frigga laughed softly. "I have them, my son. They are in my solar." Loki finally smiled and offered his arm. "Though I have to confess that I am envious of the green silk. And Thor said it was a gift too!"

Loki steeled himself to look pleasantly interested and not to spoil this moment. "So someone likes me..."

"Mmmm," Frigga said. "The poor woman said that she had forgotten your thread and was terribly sorry. The piece of silk is a gift from her."

Loki smiled cooly. "Then I will have to thank her."

"Here we are," Frigga smiled. Sure enough, just inside the doorway was the woven basket with the silk and the sky blue skein of thread on top.

Loki bowed to her and took the basket without further comment and without answering the pointed glances, begging for answers around the mysterious skein of thread. Silently, he walked down the hallway, turned a corner and vanished into another area of the palace. He deposited his goods in his private chambers and then sought out Odin.

Odin was in his own study, surrounded by ancient tomes of leather and gold and mounds of papers and scrolls. A massive fireplace dominated one wall and an enormous map of the realms covered the opposite wall. Somewhere in the piles of books and papers was a simply huge desk of the finest grained wood.

"Loki!" Odin hailed him heartily. "We have missed you."

"Father," Loki answered more shortly than was strictly polite. "I understand that there were negotiations that I missed?"

"Yes—" Odin answered in a carefully cheerful voice. "The contracts that I have...here."

"Could I see them?" Loki asked. "I would like to know how well Thor represented the interests of Asgard."

Odin clapped him on the back with a wide smile. "You would be proud of him. Let me show you."

"As you say, Father," Loki nodded and he sat down to study the papers.

Thor's friends quite enjoyed the trip, making it entirely longer than it really needed to be by stopping to fish, feast, and drink. Thus, they arrived loudly and with high spirits, making jokes of every nature.

When Sif saw the immense walls of rock and the surrounding whirlpools, she dropped her drinking horn with a clatter. "Thor! All of you―watch the rocks!"

Volstaff grabbed the rudder and pulled with all of his considerable might. The craft shuddered violently as it slowly turned. For a moment, Fandral slid across the deck as the ship tilted. Sif shrieked and clung to the mast―her battle fury was no match for the sharply sloping decks. Thor scrambled across the decks to Volstaff and pushed the rudder.

"Great!" Hogun grunted sarcastically. "Now what?"

Thor smiled at them, watching as they now floated parallel to the stone wall on their right side. "Now we figure out how to enter."

Sif rolled her eyes. "How do we even know that it isn't some impossible entrance―half-way up the cliff or something?" She eyed the currents warily. "How did we let you talk us into this?"

Thor laughed as Volstaff pushed the rudder slightly to avoid a whirl of current. "Giving up already?"

Sif growled at him, slowly loosening her death grip on the mast. "Fie on you! Those words will—"

"Prove them wrong then!" Fandrall laughed heartily. "Besides, I think that we're almost there!" Fandrall pointed slightly off the starboard bow. "See there! How the water seems to leap backwards?"

"Aye," said Sif. "It's called a whirlpool."

"I think not," Thor said. "The circle is incomplete. We will be passing it soon enough to see at any rate."

Another few moments passed quietly as each pair of eyes scanned the rock. Sif sighed, blinking in the bright reflection of the sun on the water. Then, she spotted it―the narrow passage between the two layers of rock. For a brief breath, she saw the narrow slit open on to a smooth cresent of a beach. "There!" she cried. "Fandrall was right."

The little boat sailed past the opening.

"No―Volstagg, you missed it! It was right there!" Sif shouted.

"And we would have been crushed attempting to make the turn," Volstagg replied sagely. "We circle around and approach from the west."

Thor only nodded thoughtfully as he stared at the immense cliffs. There had been nothing for miles―no birds, no islands and certainly no villages. If anyone lived here, it was...incredible. The roar of the waves here was deafening. "A man could grow mad here," he remarked thoughtfully, studying the utter lack of anything.

"Unless he's mad already," Sif muttered under her breath.

"What was that?" Thor snapped. He gestured lamely. "I know you have complaint with Loki, Sif, but he is still my brother."

Sif said nothing more and settled against the curve of the side of the boat to await landing. Suddenly the good fishing, the large dolphins play, the feast and fun in the sunny waters seemed rather...unbearable. Trust Loki's very thought to ruin a good outing, she thought to herself, huddling in her cloak.

True to Volstagg's word, the wide circle led them right into the narrow opening. The cove was almost as defeaningly silent as the roar of the winds and surf beyond the walls. A fierce wave had lifted them almost out of the water to force them into the opening, only to abandon them on the shifting sands at the bottom. With a growl, Thor took his hammer and brought it down with a crack on the water. Thunder boomed and the wave rose again to deposit them into the cove.

"What dread place has Loki picked?" Hogun wondered, examining the beach. There was nothing to indicate that anyone ever had seen this place before. Tall rock walls climbed up to the middle of the mountain and only the shallow beach was within. The tall black rock that stuck out of the beach sands was the only thing to lash a boat to, but why would anyone go here to this desloate place? "Perhaps there is a cave? Or some kind of path?"

"There must be," Sif replied grimly. "It is Loki—"

"No!" Thor boomed as he leapt out of the boat to lash it to the rock. "Heimdall said there was a woman to speak to. We will heed his words."

"But Loki does not appear to be here," Volstagg pointed out. "There is not so much as a sea bird here." He looked around uncertainly. "Perhaps he has gone back to Asgard. We could be back in time for lunch..."

Fandral, Hogun and Sif laughed at Volstagg's comment. Sif said with a smile, "Trust you to think with your stomach. Did you not bring enough for lunch, too?"

"Well..." Volstagg laughed back. "Perhaps there are a few morsels left."

"And our fish, good friends," Thor pointed out.

"As long as we have fire," Hogun said pointedly. "There doesn't seem to be a lot of driftwood."

"And as long as we're here―we will explore," Thor smiled, his arms wide. "Let us see what my brother finds so intriguing about this place."

"Aside from the fact that no one with an ounce of good sense would come so far?" Sif pointed out pithily.

Thor rolled his eyes. "Let us simply explore."

The friends clamored out of the boat. Volstagg lost at drawing straws and was happily left behind to guard the boat that serenely floated in the water. Hogun and Fandral were to search the left hand side and Thor and Sif were to search the right hand side.

Hogun drew out several small knives. "Here―if you must go somewhere, mark your passing. In these rocks, we won't hear you, but we can follow your trail." He handed each warrior one, glancing at the tall rocks above them. "I would not be surprised if Loki had traps about or a maze within."

Each drew their knife and nodded in thanks.

"Well, let us see what we can find," Fandral grinned. "Perhaps buried treasure?"

"Oh please!" Sif groaned. Buried treasure would make them even more insufferable as they patted themselves on the back for their wit and wisdom.

"The treasure I seek is my brother," Thor nodded. "Anything else you may keep." He gestured towards the cliffs. "We will meet down on the beach when the sun can no longer be seen overhead."

"Come along then," Fandral grinned at Hogun's dour face. "First to the treasure gets the spoils."

"First returning gets to figure out how to get us back out of here," Hogun replied.

Sif and Thor picked their way through the rocks. Occasionally, there was a lovely colored rock or one with pretty stripes that caught Sif's eye, but she shook her head and determinedly looked on. "Poor Thor," she thought. He worried over Loki and could scarcely move in here but for his armor.

And Thor was getting stuck in the narrow spaces. His armor was simply too massive to pass. "I think that I should have stayed behind with Volstagg," he muttered as Sif tried to help him through.

"It is no use. You must take the armor off."

"So my brother bests me in walking amongst the rocks?"

Sif sighed and then resigned herself―with no small amount of female interest―to watching as Thor doffed his cloak and armor. Then they had to carry it back to the beach in pieces. Hogun looked at them glumly as Fandral cleaned the fish.

"No sign?" Hogun asked.

"Not yet," Sif answered. "Except of narrow passages."

"I was stuck!" Thor laughed. "Now I know better how you feel Volstagg!"

Volstag's mustache twitched in uncertain amusement. "I don't know how to take that." He gestured towards the other two. "Apparently there is nothing along that side of the beach."

"We will look further," Thor responded. "Heimdall is not prone to playing tricks, so this woman must be important."

Sif's unpleasant muttering followed him. Suddenly, she pointed. "There! Look there!"

Everyone looked at the rocks and then back at Sif. "No―I saw it! A shadow line."

"Shadows? We're chasing shadows?" Fandral drawled slowly.

Sif growled and darted to the rocks. It had been there―somewhere in the rocks―but they all looked like giant bookends to her. Then, quickly, she dropped her hand to the rock. There was the slightest of indents in the rock―a rickety line cutting into it. Then to the next rock and the next. "I found it!" she shrieked excitedly.

Thor bounded up the way, following Sif as she traced through the path and followed by Hogun and Fandral. At the top, queer echos of animal sounds greeted them, though there was no way to tell in the bouncing echos in the rocks which way they had come from.

Fandral suddenly appeared to one side. Grimacing at Sif's glare of surprise, he said, "There are apparently teleport traps. I stopped to mark the path and found that there were three different marks. Then I lost you. I kept heading upward, and here I am."

"We stay together, Fandral," Thor nodded in understanding. "Sif has found the way."

"If it's not another trap," Hogun remarked glumly.

"Sniff," Sif commanded softly. "Loki has been here."

Everyone took deep breaths in wonder. "How do you know?" Thor rumbled softly.

"His scent," Sif replied in a whisper. "He has a...smell." She frowned as she attempted to put her finger on it. "A certain...odor. Incense or something." She gestured as impatiently as she finished lamely.

"You never comment on my scent," Fandral winked at her. "Is there something you want to tell us, dear lady?"

Sif resisted the urge to smack him. Very hard. With a large rock.

Thor rested his arm between them. "Come―let us find Loki before we must return to the beach. The sun is fleeing us."

At the very summit, Sif found the plain door. Nothing else could be seen nor heard save for the animals somewhere on the island. Tentatively, she knocked at it.

Thor stared at the door for some time, expecting an answer when there plainly was none to be had. Then, he pushed past Sif.

"Heimdall said that she was not ordinary―and that she wouldn't listen to you, Thor," Hogun pointed out.

"When have I had problems with a woman?" Thor answered.

"Don't answer that," Sif snapped. Then she cocked her head. "I hear something."

Instantly everyone ducked behind the scant covering and fell into silence.

A heavily hooded and cloaked figure steadily wove up from the other side, whispering a soft song into the air and carrying a basket. Scarcely her lips could be seen beneath the deep hood. She fumbled for a bit with the door as Sif gestured at Fandral, who stood in the path.

Some random rock ticked down the path as Fandral stood, glancing at his friends. There was almost no cover for Thor―no twist in the path wide enough to hide him. Clearing his throat, he glanced at the suddenly silent and still figure.

"My lady," he began, bowing.

"Who is it? Locca? Is that you?" she queried in a confused and weary tone.

"My lady, I am Fandral-"

She almost dropped her basket and her face mirrored shock. "You are not welcome here. Please leave." Shuffling around, she pulled open the door the slightest crack. Her legs felt like buckling at the strange voice and her stomach lurched unpleasantly.

"Beautiful damsel—" Fandral began again gallantly. Then he ducked as she swung the basket wildly. Eggs slid out and landed with unerring splats against his breeches. With a shriek she slid into the door, pummeling Fandral all the while.

"Leave! Leave now fool!" she shouted. It was foolish to shout―there was no one to hear her cries. With Locca gone, she was entirely alone. Terrified, she tugged on the door, not seeing the clever fingers that wrapped around it.

Fandral howled as she slammed the door on his fingers. He howled and pulled them back, narrowly avoiding having the door bang on them again as it slammed shut. Sticking them in his mouth, he sucked on the sting. "That has never happened before," he murmured in wonder.

"You are losing your touch, old friend," Thor joked lamely. He stepped forward and hammered the door as Fandral tossed his hair into place and stared at his bruised knuckles.

"Leave!" the muffled voice ordered from inside.

"Not until—" Thor began roughly, raising his voice to make sure she heard him. Then he was caught in a blaze of light and fire. Lightning seemed to dance around the cavern. His eyes swam dizzily as Sif dragged him backwards. Shaking his head, he joined the warriors as they stared at the brilliant snakes of flame dancing around the cavern.

Then, just as suddenly, they were gone.

"So―who wants to be in pain next?" Hogun asked.

"Ahhgh! Men!" Sif moaned. With timid steps, she lightly tapped the door.

"No!" the voice inside shrieked.

"I am out here," Sif began, wishing for a blessed moment to have Loki's tongue with sweet words. "Please―we are looking for a friend and brother."

"No friend of Thor's is here!"

Sif frowned. With a sardonic nod, she agreed, "That may be the case―but a friend said that you could help us find him."

"No!" came the answer again. Then, "Just leave me in peace! Hasn't Thor done enough already?!"

"Sif, look out!" Thor bellowed and snatched Sif from the doorway. The snakes of lightning that erupted at first became streaks of shadowy chains with immense claws sticking out of them. They rattled against the rocks on both sides of the doorway. Sif jumped out of their reach, but they clattered noisily and clipped the nearby plants easily.

"We will get no answers here," Hogun said glumly. "Not tonight at least."

Sif nodded absently, watching at the chains became thorny branches on their side. The branches seemed to sparkle with hidden embers. As a group, they headed back to Volstagg.

Back on the beach, Thor glanced at Volstagg. "Have we provisions for a stay here?"

Volstagg slurped his drink from his horn. "Perhaps. How long?"

"She is proving most―uncooperative," Fandral said. "You wouldn't believe what happened." Quietly, he told what he had seen to Volstagg and the surprising, hooded lady.

"Strange, isn't it? She did not know Fandral? And she did not react violently to our appearance?" Hogun asked softly.

"Only after Thor—" Sif said in wonder. "Spoke..."

For another day, the friends slept on the beach and tried wait it out. Volstagg was the first to mention home because the rations were running slim, even with their attempts to bring in fish and eels.

"There's nothing else to do, I guess," Thor sounded dejected. "She'll not come down here."

"I've never known a woman to resist her own curiosity," Fandral added. "Except you, dear Lady Sif. She has not even approached to see if we are still here."

"Unless she isn't seen from the cliffs," Hogun grunted again.

"I must try again," Fandral said dreamily.

"Just what you've always wanted―a woman who could resist you," Sif said.

"Let us all be silent in the passages," Thor directed. "Sif―it will be up to you to meet with her."

"How?" Sif asked warily.

"Tell her the truth. That we are leaving at sunrise tomorrow. Ask her if she would help us."

"And when you are standing there?" Sif smiled. "Somehow I don't think that you standing over us will be helpful."

"I'll not interfere."

So it was that Sif came to be standing at the little rocky landing as she came out of her cave. Quickly, she latched the door and turned away to head down the opposite side from the beach.

Sif quickly cleared her throat.

At that, the figure darted for the doorway again, only to be foiled by Sif's foot jammed against it and trapping her outside.

"Lady," Sif tried to begin. "We have no quarrel with you—"

The other female dropped her now empty basket and began running her fingers up and down the doorway, desperately feeling for the block. "Then you will leave here." Tugging again in vain, she sobbed viciously and began backing down the cliff side. "Please―there is nothing to steal. My...my husband will return soon."

"We do not wish you harm," Sif said softly. "We simply need to know if you have seen..." Her voice died uncertainly.

"Seen what?" came the wary reply.

"Who―rather," Sif replied. "That is to say—."

"Who?" the little figure quaked. Flat against the rock wall, the woman shook in terror. "Are you alone?"

"I..." Sif looked at her friends. "That is―I'm alone right now."

The woman shook violently. "Good." Then her head shook slowly. "Please―there is nothing for anyone else here. Please just leave." She wrung her hands. "No one else is here. No one else should be here."

"Now, see here—" Thor's voice boomed over the ladies' voices.

Suddenly he arced backward as a force of something hit him. Sif jumped towards him. The girl shrieked in agony and terror and tore for the door. Whatever it was―the hit made his head swim sickeningly. Sif lunged towards him, dragging him backwards.

The doorway shut with a bang and Thor crouched down in pain.

"Loki is not here or he would have come out by now," Sif remarked. "And apparently, we should leave." She stared at Thor. "Or at least you should."

"Who knows how hard it will be to reach her next time?" Hogun demanded glumly. "Or what new traps will be here?"

Fandrall sighed. "Let us go back down. We must wait again with patient Volstagg."

"At least you are not bruised again," Thor grunted as they began the descent.

"We will need to head back," Volstagg said plainly after everyone had told their tale. "There's nothing left to eat." Even Fandrall looked glum. Hogun simply was as he ever was―grim and pragmatic. Thor's face mirrored his friends gloomy mood and he only nodded in agreement.

Hogun was silent as he considered the situation. Thor obviously was not going to get anywhere. Not Sif either―judging from the chains that had danced around her head. At least Fandral had only been pelted with eggs and had his knuckles bruised and one finger almost broken.

"Let me try," he said softly.

Everyone stared at him. "Are you sure?" Thor asked quietly. "Do you have a plan?"

"I might," Hogun grunted in return.

"It wouldn't hurt to try," Fandral grinned. "Hogun's plans are sound."

With that, Hogun crept up the cliff. Taking off his cloak, he rubbed it into the dusty ground. Wrapping up quickly, he sat in a little niche to watch the doorway. From a few feet away he looked like just another rock in the passageway.

It was over an hour before his patience was rewarded. The door slid open and she slipped out in her heavy gray cloak, shutting the door behind her. She cocked her head for a moment, and then scrambled down the path to the other side.

Hogun crept down behind her―saying nothing. As silently as he was able, he followed her from a distance. She turned a few times, pausing and sometimes even facing him. He would freeze, but then his own curiosity got the better of him and the next time, he held his breath and stood only a few feet from her. After a few moments, she continued, still twisting and craning around.

Hogun followed her to the meadow. She let her goats out and shooed the chickens around. She fumbled through the garden, gathering the green weeds and dumping them in the goat's shelter. She spilled her powder once. The jug was quickly filled with goat milk and there were 5 eggs to be gathered.

For just a moment, she turned towards the sun, her restless fingers plucking at her cloak as Hogun held his breath again, watching from behind.

Hogun studied her carefully. Her hands shook as though she had had a lengthy fast. The wind blew in from the cliffs, dragging her scent to him―somewhat salty but clean and only the slightest scent of some incense or soap. She did no magic―simply tended her chores as hurriedly as she could. She would take a breath of the sunlit air only to go back to her garden or to tending the goats that wandered aimlessly and hungrily.

Hogun waited until she was by the fresh water spring, bathing her face and then crept up the path. The door was a simple, plain door that opened silently onto a dark room. In the spill of light from the doorway, he could see two dresses laid across the stone table, along with a rough chair or stool. There was a brazier along the wall―one of the camp stoves of Asgard with a tiny compartment for baking and a top for cooking that emitted neither light nor smoke―and most every niche of rock held pots or jars. There was no sign of candle nor lantern in the entire place.

Slipping inside, he pressed against the wall. There was nowhere to hide, but he slouched against the wall hopefully and closed the door quietly. The cave's only light came from the back where there was the sound of splashing water, but Hogun did not dare stir to investigate further.

She appeared soon after him, closing the door into darkness again before folding her dresses and fixing her meal. She opened her jars and packages. Hogun almost didn't dare to breathe―the scent of the bread she toasted on the metal stovetop was intense, the smell of the cheese as she sliced it was amazingly sharp and the fresh branches of rosemary she slid into a jar almost overpowered him. Every other sense was in overdrive in the almost complete darkness.

She took her pot and walked to the hot spring. The water splash changed in rhythm and tone as she held out her pot to collect the water. The sound of drops in the metal pan were thundering in the relative silence of the cave. A vague dark silhouette wandered back and slid her eggs into the hot water.

She poured her milk and ate quickly. "Locca," she whispered in the still air. "You were wise to bring me two loaves of bread. But hurry back and make them leave." A smile whine escaped her, along with a sniff. "Please―help me―there is one who sounds like Thor and I am so very afraid."

The crust of bread fell to the table with a soft thud as she sobbed into her hand. "Please come back, Locca. Trade well and return from Asgard happily, but do it soon." She hiccuped and continued haphazardly, "I hate him―I truly do. Why did Thor have to show up now?"

Hogun listened as she sobbed noisily, stumbling over the singular chair. She righted the thing and sat down heavily, weeping. Hogun steeled himself―the onslaught of the scent of food almost unbearably begging him to move to reach for it. Fandral might have been able to soothe her with pretty words, talk her round her sadness to peace. Volstagg might have tempted her with delicacies and cheered her with ribald jokes. Sif―alone—might have been able to speak to her and brought her out. But now there was just him and every bone in his body was sure that she would not tolerate his intrusion any better than his fellows'.

Of course, it could have been worse. Thor could have snuck in with him. Thor who had only spoken to her and been pummled by magic twice for his troubles.

She finally stirred restlessly, fumbling for a basket that Hogun could not see. Softly, she counted. "There are only 12 left, Locca. 12 slices of bread." She hiccuped and sighed. "At least there is milk and eggs. And mint for tisanes. I will save what I can, Locca." She smiled in the darkness. "I look like a frog when I cry, Locca. You know I do."

She padded to the back again and Hogun heard the soft sigh of fabric falling as she undressed and a splash of water. Then he moved, sliding out the door and closing it as stealthily as possible.

The friends saw Hogun appear at the far end of the beach. Thor grinned in the dim light at Hogun's dusty form. "Well met, my friend," he smiled. "What did you learn?"

"There is a woman―alone—living in the caves." Hogun coughed a little, his throat dry. Volstagg poured a bit of ale into his horn. Hogun raised the horn in thanks. "She didn't notice me—"

"Sly devil," Fandrall teased. "You'll have to show me that trick! How ever did you manage it?"

"She is blind," Hogun said simply.

"Blind?" Sif sputtered. "But how? How?!" She gestured up and down the beach.

Hogun stared at his horn. "She reacted to the sound of your voices." He gave Thor a telling glance. "Volstagg could have seen her as I did if he had a lighter step."

"So what wizardry struck us?" Thor asked. "A trick of Loki's or hers? And what is her quarrel with me?"

"I saw no wizardry―no strange herbs or spices, no circles or scrying bowls. She didn't even have a light inside her cave." Hogun considered his friends. "Her home is stone with stone fittings. She lives sparsely with her goats and chickens and garden. She has three dresses―two of which were drying on her stone table when I entered."

"Was there nothing else?" Thor asked.

"She called for someone called 'Locca'. I gather that he trades with Asgard and is away."

"Asgard?" Sif whispered softly. "Another of Loki's lies." She spat into the fire. "Assuming that this woman is not one of Loki's little illusions as well."

Hogun shook his head thoughtfully. "There is nothing of Loki in there. Not a comb, a knife or a shirt. Everything was...barren." He shrugged. "If Loki is visiting there, it is possible she doesn't know it."

"My brother does like his comforts," Thor remarked thoughtfully. "it is unlikely he will return to such an uncomfortable place."

"What if we had brave Hogun approach her to tell her he has news of this 'Locca'," Volstagg suggested.

"As soon as she was within earshot she might do something...unpleasant," Hogun replied, glancing at the injuries.

"It is too soon," Thor decided. He grimaced as he absently rubbed a purpling bruise. "She would only suspect Hogun and fight him." Shrugging, he gestured to the boat. "We will return home. If Loki returns, then we will ask him about this place."

Everyone agreed and wrapped up in their cloaks for another uncomfortable stay on the beach. When the sky lightened enough to see, it was almost noon and they pushed their boat through the narrow passage back out to sea. Everyone was uneasily silent as they sped back to Asgard. Hogun remained grim and thoughtful. Fandrall kept glaring at his knuckles and the retreating island. Volstagg was the sole cheerful member as he considered what sort of platters of meat and drink he would indulge in first. Sif alternated between glaring at the island and overhead, scanning for westward bound craft. Thor could only pace, watching as Asgard came closer.

Hogun finally stopped him. "Thor," he said softly. "We should go back to her."

"Why?" Thor replied, scanning the horizons.

"She is hungry," Hogun answered simply.

"Hungry?"

Hogun nodded. "Her cave is spartan. The monks of my homeland have―had-such chambers as they purged themselves of sins." He sighed. "Her hands shake and are frail in their tasks. Her existence is tenuous and as we have camped on her beach, she has remained in her cave―apparently on potatoes, cheese and bread with water.

"There is more―perhaps. As I sat in her cave, I smelled the odor of illness. Not much, but as though she had been beset with some malady."

"That might mean that she is not so poorly off as we thought," Thor countered. "Simply ill."

Hogun grunted.

"But nothing of Loki?" Thor asked, not really expecting an answer. "No...-" He struggled to recall the signs that usually indicated his brother's presence in a room. "Books or dice? No gold or gems or...?"

"Nothing." Hogun thought for a moment. "But perhaps I do not know what to look for? Sadly, I do not know what makes a stick a wand."

"Nor I," admitted Thor ruefully.

"We will be in Asgard soon," Volstagg called out. "In time to eat, unless I miss my guess."

Sif laughed. Fandrall grinned, "Is it ever not time to eat, Volstagg?"

Sif, for one, was glad to be back on land and wove her wobbly way to her quarters—the sea and boats did odd things to her knees. The Warriors Three bade Thor good day and retired as well. Thor aimlessly wandered to his own quarters. He prayed that Loki would show up quickly and resolved to speak again to Heimdall.

Loki finished examining the trade documents—it had taken some time to unravel the contracts (damn the lawyers) and to collect the previous accountings. Regrettably everything was already signed and sealed. Several of the prices were high―inflated-and the delivery terms were not up to his usual strict standard. Still, it was pleasant to have quiet time to reflect in this study with Odin without hearing praises for his brother with every breath.

"What did you think, Loki?" Odin asked. "For Thor to get such terms?"

Loki only nodded and grunted, rolling the papers up.

"Now don't be rude," Odin chided absently, taking the scrolls. "A king must-"

"Must remain far above such crude behavior so that his subjects can reflect on his example," Loki finished for him. "But tell me, Allfather―I am not going to be king, am I?"

Odin stopped and carefully watched his younger son. "You both were born to be kings―I have told you this from the beginnings."

Loki looked at his elder thoughtfully. "But there is only one throne."

There was a moment of silence that went only a hair too long. Odin replied carefully, "There is only one throne of Asgard, true."

"Are you suggesting we acquire some other realm's throne? Perhaps by conquering?" Loki asked pointedly.

Odin sighed. "There will always be a place for you here, Loki," he said softly. "You will always be my son."

Loki was about to point out the obvious―that Thor was the favorite―when a knock sounded at the study door. The guards waited only a moment and then opened the door wide to show Thor standing in the hallway.

Thor's eye widened. "Brother," Thor smiled, somewhat stiffly. "I cannot tell you how glad I am to see you." Glancing at the scrolls Odin still held, he forced a wider smile. "Nor can I tell you how much I missed you at the negotiating table."

Loki forced a smile as well. "Undoubtedly as much as I would miss you on the field of glory."

"Father," Thor greeted warmly. "You suggested that we should take time together." He clapped his hand on Loki's back. "I think it would be a capital idea." He smiled at his brother. "We will hunt my brother―or fish if you like and stay in the woods like when we were children."

"With your entourage? Seems to me that you are never alone these days," Loki replied more sharply than perhaps was polite.

"No," Thor smiled, warming to his idea. "We will again be in the woods as when we were children." He held up a finger. "But, this time without sneaking out of the palace."

Loki smirked. "I can't wait."

"Nor I," Thor sighed in relief. Suddenly, his chest felt easier and his mind felt clearer. "It will be good to be with my brother again." Thor smiled at his brother, willing him to please explain where he had been. Explain the woman on the island.

Loki only nodded. "Shall we gather at the gates at dusk?"

"It will be too late to hunt then," Thor remarked with a smile. "But we can make do."

"Then I shall see you at dusk," Loki nodded. He bowed shallowly to his father and then turned and left quickly.

Odin smiled softly at his eldest son. "You are worried for him." He said this certainly.

Thor watched the empty hall longingly. "I worry, Father," he admitted at last. "I worry that we will never be as close as when were were children." And I miss my brother, my boyhood friend, he added to himself.

"Times change," Odin replied, shuffling papers and organizing the study. "But it is not too late to try and repair what has been done." He put away the scrolls thoughtfully in a cubby on his desk. "Thor―though he will not speak of it, I believe that Loki worries, too."

"Loki worries?" Thor was torn between relief and curiosity and turned towards the Allfather. "For what?"

Odin smiled at Thor's concern. "He worries that he will find no place here for himself in the future. Like all young people, he looks ahead and wonders what will become of him."

"Should I become king," Thor finished wistfully. He looked squarely at his father. "Loki will always have a welcome place here. Always."

Odin smiled. "Perhaps he needs to hear it from you..."

Thor nodded uncertainly. Quietly he offered, "Perhaps he can be my general? His strategy and tactics are unparalled."

Odin noticed how quickly Thor had gone from "should I become king" to "when I am king". Perhaps the younger man did not even realize it himself, this shift in thinking and perspective. "Thor," Odin replied carefully. "Loki is not your shadow, no matter your younger days. He has his own strengths and faults." He paused. "A king must put each subject in the best place possible."

Thor nodded uncertainly. "I will think upon this carefully."

Dusk settled over Asgard and Loki warily approached the gates. He had settled in his usual green shirt and brown leather breeches, along with a leather great coat. A fastened pouch similar in design to the pouches messengers used was slung across his should and chest to the opposite hip. Though it was not obvious in his high boots, two daggers were hidden in their sheaths―just in case.

The great gate stood over 45 feet tall with three stories of platforms for guards. There were arrow slits for those on the middle platform and the battlements were deep, allowing the uppermost cover. The great gates were enchanted metal wrought to look like golden timbers. At each level, torches were lit, lighting the arch. Two additional guards stood in the arch at the bottom, talking to Thor as he stroked one of the two immense war horses beside him.

"No retinue?" Loki asked lightly as he drifted down the road from the lengthening shadows to the lit arch. "No throng of adoring public?"

"Not tonight," Thor nodded. With a small smile, he said, "Tonight! Tonight we are brothers only and done with title and -"

"Pomp and circumstance?" Loki suggested wryly. "Well, then,brother, let us depart."

The ride on the massive steeds was not long before they reached their boyhood campground. It was a quiet gnoll of grass surrounded by ancient pine trees. A bare patch of ground was on top, surrounded by a motley collection of rocks and stones. A tremendous waterfall was not too far away, flowing into a wide lake and thence to a river. Two tents were already assembled and a covered pot rested beside a covered basket and wine skin on the ground.

Thor smiled happily. "It has been too long, Loki." He vaulted off the horse and led it to a small grazing area near the lake.

"Too long," Loki echoed, carefully dismounting and leading his own mount. The horses were loyal and would stay close by. As many times as they had crept out to camp here, the horses most likely could travel home in the dark were they to wander off.

"I had some things brought out to spare us the trouble." Thor gestured to the campsite. "It will be like when we were young again."

"Except Father and Mother are at the palace," Loki pointed out with a snicker.

Thor snorted. "We snuck out often enough, didn't we?"

Loki did smile at that, and dropped his pack at the entrance to one of the tents. Thor had often begged his help back then to dodge his minders and to escape here. They would come out here and watch star as they spoke of grand tales, great deeds and fine oaths. In the summer, they would swim nearby. In the fall they would filch apples from the orchard and roast them over the campfire.

"Do you remember the first time we brought a wineskin here?" Thor asked casually as he began gathering branches for firewood.

Loki began gathering branches as well. "I do indeed," he replied, his playfulness gradually restored by this place. "I remember being tremendously ill the next morning, too."

"As was I!" Thor laughed, tugging a branch out from under some growth. "I could scarcely stay ahorse."

"At least you could get on the beast!" Loki teased. "I could not even do that." He smiled at the memory. "It was almost dusk the next day before we managed to make it back to the palace."

"It was the next morning before I could raise my head," Thor admitted ruefully. "And then the lectures and punishments started." He glanced at his brother, liking this easy comradary. "Father thought we wouldn't have remembered them had he lectured us when we first came back."

Loki smirked and drug his collection of branches towards the circle. Odin had carefully instructed them on laying wood for a fire, making a spit and living in a camp. Nowadays, it seemed that neither of them used such simple ways. Thor seemed to always have someone handy who was willing to take care of it for him and he preferred to conjure what he desired.

So it was surprising to see Thor pull out the worn flint and steel Odin had given them both that long ago summer. Breaking twigs and lichen off the branches, he stacked them over some dried moss. The tinder caught quickly and they took turned blowing the coals until they caught and gradually built the fire until there was merry light in the evening clearing.

The covered pot turned out to be full of hearty stew―still warm from the kitchen and tasting of red meat, wine, peppercorns and spices and filled with potatoes, carrots and onions. The basket held small loaves of bread, hard cheese, sausage, a pot of mustard and two small tarts for dessert along with an assortment of silverware.

Thor dug the soft centers out of the bread and filled the bread bowls with stew. He handed one to Loki and settled by the fire. They passed the skin of honey mead between them and ate their dinner.

The smooth, sweet honey mead mellowed Loki's mood somewhat. He could not deny it was pleasant to be out here again―to be a brother rather than a Prince of Asgard. "Or rather, the Spare Prince of Asgard―the Shadow Prince," he reflected.

They were each refilling their trencher bowls when Thor said at last, "You have been missed, Loki."

"The merchant guild?" Loki asked, ripping a part of his gravy soaked bowl and popping it into his mouth.

Thor nodded, wiping his mouth against his sleeve. "I do not see how you can stand it, brother. Hours of arguing and balancing only to have the merchants tally every breath for a profit." He laughed shortly, ripping his own bowl. "I actually wanted to have the Frost Giants attack to simply get out of the room. But don't tell Father that." He laughed again, his spirits high, and drank deeply again from the skin. "I wanted to crack their heads together to make them stop haggling." His own head rolled loosely and he rolled his shoulders. "I don't know how you do it without going mad."

Loki slid a glance over to him, momentarily mesmerized by the dancing firelight. "Do not tell that to Father," he said at last. "He'll make you do it every time then." Finally he chuckled. "I should know..."

"Yes, I remember," Thor replied. His voice boomed in the quiet of the night woods. "After you had snuck pastries when we were supposed to be abed." Thor laughed again. "He-"

"Thought it would teach me the value of what I took," Loki finished ruefully, quoting the Allfather.

Thor chuckled again, reaching for a piece of the cheese and his tart. "Instead you taught him!" Loki looked at him in surprise. Thor's eyes gleamed in the firelight. "He told me afterwards that he was amazed at your negotiations."

Loki was stunned. "He said nothing of this..."

"He did not want to reward your punishment," Thor explained, his voice slurring slightly. "But Father was glad to see your care and high standards. He said that the prices had never been so low."

Loki laughed heartily. It had been easy enough to persuade the merchants to lower their prices once he had discovered a few secrets about them―mainly through listening silently at their doors. The head of the guild was a cheater at wagering and almost penniless. The invoices he had left around his guest room―which Loki had "innocently acquired"-showed his true costs to be lower than he had stated. Loki allowed a profit, but not usury.

Thor smiled widely, leaning against his pack and finally relaxing. For a time, they lounged back, staring at the stars and making bawdy jokes. For a time, it was the golden days of youth when they had no limits on their time or energy or imagination. His mind finally focused on his questions and Thor asked in what he hoped was an innocent tone, "Do you have a woman in your heart?"

Loki's head felt fuzzy and he only shrugged. "I'd rather not say," he chuckled. That his answer was deliberately vague and misleading in a hundred ways seemed suddenly amusing to him and he giggled, lifting up long enough to sip from the skin again before laying back down to stare at the sky.

"Oh?" Thor teased. "Is she married?" Loki shuddered and shot Thor a sour look. "I but jest." Thor laughed again and stared at the sky. "I hope that you have a fine woman."

Loki stared into the heavens, wondering at their glittering beauty. "What about you, Thor?" He did not glance sideways, but heard Thor reaching for the skin again. Loki grinned. "Of course, there is always a crowd of women around you. So who is the lucky damsel?" Loki sighed deeply. "The queen to be?"

Thor looked at Loki seriously. "There will not be one." Loki gaped at him in shock and Thor―flat on his back on the ground―raised his hand and looked at Loki. "No―do not test this brother." His hand wobbled and flopped down. "There will not be a lady wife for me. I am happiest on the battlefield and that is no place for a lady. " Thor kicked a rock restlessly, and a cloud of dust rose golden at his feet. "To always be worried about me―to not have me home―or worse yet, my own misery if I am lashed to home and hearth. Remember how Mother suffered when Father went to battle? How she would not eat or sing or sleep until he returned?

"You know me best, Loki. I get hives from being in the throne room and not on the battle field. Mother and Father fret enough over me. I do not want another doing the same." He shrugged, sliding a sideways glance at Loki's lounging form.

Loki nodded only, mellow in mood and temper. "I see," he burped.

Thor smiled wickedly. "So I have a brilliant plan," he said looking up at the heavens and folding his arms behind his head and resting his head on them.

"Oh?" Loki smiled, amused to hear this plan. Thor was not known as a particularly clever or cunning individual.

"I shall name you and your lady's first child my heir," Thor explained in a slurring tone. Glancing at Loki, he laughed at Loki's shocked face. "I do not have someone nagging me to be home, your family is provided for and Mother and Father have grandchildren to dote on. Is that not brilliant?"

"Astounding," Loki said in amazement. Of all the knuckle headed, clod pated, drunken muck that he expected, he was literally astounded at this. For a moment, he supposed it was a good thing to already be laying on the ground.

"And," Thor pointed out with satisfaction. "I get the freedom to do what I do best. Not to mention the perks."

Loki grinned. "Being a hero and all..."

Thor laughed. "There is that. The court's ladies are thankful in so many ways." He sat up in a wobbly fashion and tossed a branch on the fire before laying down again. "Besides, then I do not have to be troubled as to whether the maids are more interested in me or the crown."

"Father doesn't know about this plan-"

"Brilliant plan," Thor clarified.

"Does he?" Loki finished.

Thor frowned. "No. He hopes for me to settle. But even Sif tires of battle and she is the most understanding female I know." Thor's eyes closed for a moment as if weary. "And besides, Father may choose you and your lady."

Loki smirked at Thor's belch. "So―just so that I know―who is this lady you have me with?" He chuckled merrily. "In case I should meet her."

Thor burped again. "Why don't you find her and tell me?" Rolling to his side, Thor staggered to his knees. "Arrgh! It is late and my head..." He tossed the now empty skin aside. "I will see you in the morn, Loki."

Loki nodded, staring up again at the heavens. "In the morning light, brother." The stars seemed to wink at him, almost like diamonds on velvet. Perhaps his little dove had once stared up at these stars in wonder. The thought warmed him and he considered, as he heard the thud of Thor dropping to his pallet and the soft snores start, a dress of dark blue velvet and embroidered with silver like the moon and set with diamonds like the stars. His little dove with her lovely dusky skin, clothed richly and smiling at him as he came in to the room.

Loki was unaware as his own snores started.

The morning dawned in the normal, glorious fashion and was well on its way before Thor staggered upright in the tent. While he was not bolting to empty his stomach in the woods, he did not feel well. For a moment, he could not figure out how he got there. Then he remembered―the camping in the woods with Loki and the wine skin, the stew and the words by starlight.

Loki was decidedly feeling odd himself. He should not have had so much mead―it was a terrible weakness to be undone by the smooth, golden brew. He had been dreaming of his little dove and her soft kisses on his jaw when he had bolted awake at the sight of the steed nuzzling him softly. He had crawled, stiffly and sore, into his tent to sleep the few hours left of the night. If he dreamed of his little dove, so soft and quiet in the watches of the night after they had joined again and again, then it was no one's affair but his own.

Four days later, Loki was again headed westward and cloaked in sorcery. He considered his brother's words. He loved Thor―he truly did―but Thor was happiest on the battlefield. Preferably with lots of things to aim at and several things on fire.

The beach was quiet as Loki landed. Out of habit, he secured the craft to the black rock. A slightly sick feeling in his gut gave him pause. Somehow he had a feeling, despite the beautiful, sunny day that shone warmly down on him, that something was dreadfully wrong. The cold fingers of dread were creeping up his spine―his wizardly intuition telling him this much but no more. He checked his pouch for the thread and the few baubles he had collected and began to cautiously weave up to the cave.

Contrary to belief, sorcery is not invisible. Generally, when something moves while cloaked in invisibility charms, other things move. Grass bends under invisible feet, water flows around invisible rocks and, despite one's hardest efforts, light bends ever so slightly and refracts around the movement. Thus, it is an advantage to keep one's spells still. They may phase in and out of this existence or be bound to only spring out when a target approaches, but stillness alone completes the illusion of invisibility. And a sorcerer's own spells are never invisible to him.

So, it was very annoying to find that the usual teleports and cantrips he had scattered on the myriad twisting paths had been disturbed. Loki fumed as he reset them―neither he nor she nor any dumb animal wold be able to set off the traps. While he had considered it a safety issue to have the teleport traps simply spin to other parts of the caverns and in the maze of paths, he reset them now to deposit the offensive trespasser high up over the cliffs on the other side of the island―not so close that an errant branch could catch him and and just high enough that the loathsome beggar would realize how very big and final a mistake it was to poach on these grounds.

Loki finally made his way up to the summit, still aware of the premonition that sat like a lead ball in his belly and angrily fuming. Yet his anger and fury melted when he saw the scratches and scars on the rocky walls and traced with his own fingers the scorched marks on the ground. It had been a relatively smooth path, but now cracks and pock marks marred the surface as though a great battle had been waged by throwing massive boulders around and then setting them on fire.

The little door still stood, closed as always. He crept down to the meadow and saw the requisite number of chickens, the rooster and 3 goats. The little garden was somewhat parched, but was approaching the time to harvest the first fruits. The little cave for the animals was clean, but not recently tended, as was the roost for the chickens. Loki considered reaching to see if the eggs had been collected―a sure sign his dove was up and about―but the scrawny red chicken glared at him so furiously and almost...accusingly he withdrew.

Staring at the scratches in the path, he climbed again to the cave. Steeling himself for the worst, he knocked on the door softly, calling out, "Little dove? Has my little dove flown from me?"

With a shriek of female relief, she plowed into him. Had he been of a slighter frame, she would have slammed them both into the rocky walls of the path. As it was, she shivered so violently and her teeth chattered so that she seemed intent on shaking them apart.

He smiled at her fervor, at last feeling amused now that he knew she was safe. Feeling benign and generous and benevolent, he wrapped his arms around her and gently kissed the top of her head. Though she was tall for a woman, in her sandals the top of her head reached his jaw. "I see that I was missed?" he purred in her ear.

Suddenly, she burst into hysterical tears. He frowned, unused to this reaction and equally unused to offering comfort. "What has happened?" he demanded.

She automatically turned her face from him, laying her head on his chest. Blessed gods, he felt strong and sure and it was so good to be in his arms. But it was bad enough to be so overwrought as to sob on his shoulder the moment he reappeared, but to have her sightless face all puffy and red, her nose red and her cheeks puffy was beyond insult. "I...I am sorry," she gritted out, one hand fisting to grip his shirt tightly and the other continually running up and down his arm and chest to reassure herself that this was no dream. "You have been missed―hic—my heart. So much more than you know." Yet, his arms seemed to have tightened, tension running through them. His chest too felt tight and forbidden, like every muscle was fighting to not do something. "Please hold me, my love."

"Tell me what happened," he gritted out between his teeth. Whoever had upset the delicate balance of his preserve―whoever it was―would pay dearly. "Tell me who was here."

If it was possible, she shook even harder. "Thor," she whispered into his chest.

"WHAT?! Thor?!" he exploded, shoving her back. Rage flowed through him―Thor was always tempted most by the women he fancied. And they generally returned his favor, discarding him for his older brother. Then he grabbed her arm and pulled her close to him. "Did you do this? Did you tempt him here?"

"No! No! No!" she shrieked in alarm. "There were others―one named Fandral and a lady-"

"Sif," he bit out, releasing her suddenly.

She fell against the door post, her knees giving out. "I did not know that they had come," she whispered. "The one called Fandral approached me and then Thor came up behind. I heard his voice." She began to shake again and shook her head to free herself from her fear. "I would know it even now. I told Fandrall to leave―I slammed the door on his fingers." Her voice turned cold and acidic―like the great bergs on Jotunheim. "I'm glad that I did." She still shook, but her voice was steadier now. "I wanted to break his fingers―to make him leave. Then-" Here she broke down again, reliving it in her mind.

"Then what?" he snapped. Loki rubbed his chin thoughtfully, trying to fathom what had happened. One arm wrapped around his chest tightly to prevent him from flying into pieces.

"Then Thor spoke," she hissed back. "And I felt the...the fire rise. I hid it inside, but I felt the heat and lightning and heard him scream."

She bit back a sob, her hand rising to her lips. "The next time it was the woman. She frightened me―she sounded so angry. Then Thor came to her rescue. I thought...I thought that he would hurt me again. I could only imagine being chained and beaten―and the chains appeared. I could hear them clanking and snapping." Her voice turned soft. "I believe that after that they got bored and left. Or maybe they couldn't find-"

"Couldn't find what?" Loki snapped, seething.

"They said they were looking for a friend and a brother," she whispered. "Yet you are no one's brother. You have said so."

Loki felt his cheeks heat peculiarly, caught in his falsehood. His anger subsided. "Is that all?"

She nodded, then she hobbled inside as though she aged 100 years in as many heartbeats. The door slid open and slammed shut in his face. For a moment, he stood there with his fists clenched. "How dare she?" he wondered. "How dare Thor? How dare Thor lead his little club of friends to invade his sanctuary?"

Loki felt magic gathering―like static shocks prickling his skin. He dove out of the way as the magical bolts scattered around. Gasping as the ionized air burned his lungs, he rolled and watched the fireworks writhe in the air like burning snakes. There was no hope that Heimdall would not have seen the blast. Even Thor might have seen it had the golden child of Asgard cared to gaze out the window.

Loki panted as the magic finally settled. This was one occasion that he would have given much to have been built like his brother, who seemed to find this brand of daring do diverting. Getting up and dusting off, he went to the door.

"If you keep that up," Loki said reasonably. "We shall have to fetch a new door and do you know how hard that was to get here?" After waiting a moment and feeling reasonably reassured that he was not going to be fried with lightning, he pushed open the door. For a moment, all he could hear was her sobbing in the absolute darkness of the cave.

He sighed heavily, feeling his own anger flow out. Sighing heavily and conjuring a ball of light, he crept to the back, where she sobbed into a worn pillow on her mat. He knelt beside her and gingerly reached out to stroke her back.

She shuddered under his touch, almost flinching under his hand. He sighed again, softly and sadly. "My poor little dove. We have...so much we have to think about, don't we?" He took a deep breath and pushed her hair back from her face. "So much hurt and pain..." With reluctance, she quieted. At least, she didn't pull away. He tried again. "So you broke his finger, eh?" he tried to laugh. Thor would undoubtedly be wroth with this little one if his friend was truly hurt.

"I don't know," she whispered softly. "I hope I did." She pulled herself up to kneel beside him. "Who was he?"

"Fandral," Loki said grimly. "One of Thor's inner circle―called the Warriors Three."

"Locca," she said suddenly. "Let us pretend."

"Pretend what?" he drawled.

She hiccuped. "Anything―just that this never happened. Anything you like," she sighed sadly.

Loki's ears pricked at the wistful sound of her voice. "That...sounded like you had something already in mind." He smiled and folded his hands in front of his mouth expectantly.

She half shrugged. "What I had in mind would not work." She shrugged again. "It doesn't matter anyway. It was not...intriguing."

Slowly, as though halfheartedly (and Loki supposed that it was), the cave morphed into his little sanctuary. Small things were different―the lights were a soft grey like sad rain clouds instead of radiant green, the walls sparkled with with dark metallic veins like hematite, and the table was more angular in carvings rather than flowing curves. He noted that she remembered the lights―but kept his own conjured ball of light just in case. The bed this time was raised on a dais of seeming marble and had tall columns that cried out for sheer curtains or a rich canopy.

"Little dove," he said simply. It was soothing to see the small changes in the cave and again he felt benign and benevolent. "What would you like?"

She let out a watery hiccup, her hands wringing suddenly. "I had lots of ideas, but there is only one that is worth repeating." She held very still―even her breath was still in her throat. "Also I should like some special herbs."

Loki leaned gingerly against a column of the bed. It held firm, despite her faltering. "You presenting me with an absolute delight," he chuckled dryly, feeling again amused. "Do I ask about these special herbs you want so much or the pretend that you have so far refused to tell me?"

She shrugged. "I suppose neither is particularly interesting as your trading and travels." When he did not reply, she continued. "I would like―if there is any to be found―blue and black cohosh."

Loki let out a breath that he didn't realize he had been holding. Black cohosh and blue cohosh he had heard of―though he couldn't remember offhand where or why―but they had no magical properties that he knew of. "And what would these be for?" he asked silkily.

She flushed darkly and then for a moment went pale. "It is a woman thing," she hedged.

Loki smiled thinly. Silently, he arranged her on the bed beside him. Stroking her body, he noted the swells of her curves and the soft radiance of her skin. He found no hurt or bruise or pain. "A womanly problem?" he queried lightly. He thought for a moment. "Your moon link has become painful when it breaks?" He remembered, vaguely his mother had a maid who suffered each month. It had been years ago and he didn't remember what had been done―hadn't paid attention to it, really―but Frigga had been mightily embarrassed when he had eventually asked her and said that he'd understand when he wed.

She shrugged again, lounging against the bed. Loki frowned angrily―it wasn't like his dove to be less than completely open with him―but this had been a strange time. Perhaps the pretend would take her mind off of it or give him a glimpse of what nettled her so. "So if you won't say more about the herbs, then tell me of this pretend..."

She let out a ghost of a smile. "I know already you won't take me to Asgard-" She held up her hand, stilling the knee-jerk protest that rose to his contrary lips. "And I truly don't want to go with Thor there. But would like to pretend...that you take me to plead for sanctuary."

Loki felt his mood fade into suspicions. "Am I supposed to be taking you unaware of what you desire?" He brought her palm up to his lips―which earned him a smile and a soft chuckle. "Who are you seeking?"

She giggled again, feeling bolder at his good mood. "Aye―you have been most generous. But," she added soberly. "There is only one who I could hope would help me."

"Who is that?" he asked, his eyes gleaming green.

"Prince Loki."

Loki narrowly stopped himself from sputtering. As it was, he almost choked on his own silver tongue. "I don't know...that I like this pretend." He looked at her face, saw the pride and fear at war within. Vainly, he tried to recover control of her pretend. "What would you ask...the Prince...if he did agree to see you?"

She smiled a bit stiffly. "Would you lead me in?" She wriggled a little closer.

Loki almost choked. "He won't see anyone without a good reason. Certainly not-"

"A blinded beggar?" she asked hotly.

"A commoner," Loki corrected, perversely amused at her sudden pride and rancor.

"I've come to offer him a deal," she said steadily.

"A deal of what kind?" Loki's voice remained steady and silky, but his hand tightened around hers. "What kind of deal?" he whispered against her palm.

"I'll say when I see him and not before," she said shortly but with a smile. Loki stiffened―then belatedly looked at her. Clever minx―she got her pretend anyway. Then he stopped―he was jealous of her interest in...himself? This deal was between his woman and...himself and he was...jealous of...?

Loki's shoulders shook with dark laughter. "Very well, minx." His hand ran lightly over her curves. "Let us say you have your audience..."

A worried frown crept over her face. "Will you be there, Locca?" she asked suddenly. "I will be lost without you..."

Loki laughed again. The thought of him trying to be both Locca and himself at the same time during the audience was darkly amusing. Even his powers would not allow it. "No, sweeting. I cannot. One of the Star Guard will lead you in."

She nodded slowly. "He is very big, isn't he?"

"Huge," Loki confirmed with relish. "Covered in golden armor. Smells vaguely of mead and he's sweaty too. You can hear his green cape flow around your ankles as he clanks beside you down the hall." She giggled at his description. "There's my darling's smile," Loki said with approval. "He leads you to an immense chamber with marble floors and...echoes. The guard announces you, bows stiffly and then leaves."

Loki lowered his voice. "So, what would you like? You have a deal?" It felt wicked―playing himself―but in a peculiar way, it was a relief too. The fact that he felt rewarded when at last she snuggled against him and crawled in his lap with her arms around him was a bonus. However, it was a bit of a challenge for his wit keeping all the roles straight. He cleared his throat in an official sounding way. "Speak up-" he ordered with authority. "I don't have time to dawdle."

Her head bobbed slightly. "Your Highness," she greeted. She felt Locca's lips against her throat and squealed, "Locca―not in front of the prince."

"He can wait," Loki grinned as she squirmed hotly.

"Well, one of us can," she smiled. Then she cleared her throat. "Highness, I seek sanctuary that only you can offer."

Loki grinned and settled for kissing her neck. "And what sanctuary do you think to ask for?"

She sobered―Loki felt it in her entire body. "Your Highness, please―there is no one else that I can ask. I seek sanctuary from Thor."

Loki blinked and tried to recover. He had expected a thousand different things―her eyesight or healing her scars or something, but not that. "And...why would I do that?"

"I...I seek only to never cross paths with him again," she stammered as she felt Locca's warm hand stroke her back.

"Why?" he prodded, attempting to sound like he remain unmoved. He knew why. But in the audience chamber with the glittering golden guards who wagered on the outcomes for each audience, he could not have given the slightest quarter. And wouldn't this give them something to gossip about for weeks?

"I...It is..."

"What is it, girl? Spit it out or begone," he prodded.

"Thor injured me and killed my father. I only wish to be allowed to live on my island―without his or his...argh!" she snapped at herself. "The inner circle of his-?"

"The Warriors Three," Loki supplied dryly.

"Yes―that's it. I do not need to ever see them and there is no reason that they need to see me. I only ask to be left alone!" she bristled.

Loki felt the laughter bubble in him again. "Even if your claims are true, why have you not sought out justice in the courts? And why would you expect that I would go against my own kin?"

"If my claims are true?" she echoed in a question.

"It can hardly be proven," he pointed out. "And one does not challenge the champion of Asgard lightly. So why would I bother?"

"I suppose that truth and justice and gratitude are not enough?" she muttered bitterly.

"Truth is a noble concept, but hardly fills one's belly or one's coffers," he replied evenly. The scene was building in his mind and for a moment, his eyes drifted closed to see it in his head. "Justice is overrated and gratitude-" he lowered his voice and she shivered slightly. "-I find is promised in haste and recanted at leisure." Loki let one finger trail down her back as his mind contemplated with delight the position she was in. Would she attempt to seduce him or remain true to...him?

But instead of melting into him, she stiffened. "Your Highness," she choked out with almost real outrage. "I...do not believe I understand what you wish of me?"

Loki laughed. The Star Guards would be agape at this audience. It would be delicious chaos as they tried to puzzle out what was going on. "Ah, I think that you understand well," he purred. He let his hand drift over her again. He leaned close to her ear―almost close enough to nip it―and whispered, "I can..." He inhaled deeply. "smellit."

She bowed her head. "I cannot...be with you, Highness," she murmured softly. "My heart lies elsewhere."

Loki choked for a moment, caught between all of the roles he played. Then he smiled again, "Ahh...have you never heard, pet, that it is easier to catch flies with honey than vinegar?" He leaned closer and did nuzzle her. "And you smell...very sweet."

"So it is said," she mocked dryly but with a smile. Locca was trying very hard to seduce her witless―again. "But who truly wants flies?" She sighed softly and let out words soft as thistledown. "I'll not betray my love." Her words, however softly spoken, were firm. "But I will give you my own power in exchange for sanctuary." At his stunned silence, she continued. "There is an island far from here. I live there alone. All I ask is for the privilege to continue living alone there."

Loki nuzzled her again. "All alone?" She nodded, her rosy lips parted ever so slightly. "And this true love? Will he be allowed in your solitary paradise?"

"Yes, please," she whispered.

"And you offer your own powers-" He caught himself in the nick of time. He was playing himself in a fanciful pretend. "Whatever they are, will be mine in return?"

"As you say," she replied, sliding into the warm, masculine arms at last. "So long as I am unmolested and undisturbed by Prince Thor?"

"Why," Loki countered reasonably as the debate heated his blood. He loved a good debate. "Why do you seek my favor rather than bring him to task in the courts?"

She smiled bitterly. "Would the Allfather truly punish his favored older son? Would that give me my sight or a trade to make a living?" She felt her throat clog, lost between the pretend and the pain she had held in her heart. "Would Odin's anger allow me to live in peace on my island? Would any of this turn back the clock that my father may live?" She shook slightly. "No, Highness―you are my last hope. It is my prayer that something can be done." She stopped speaking suddenly and choked back her sob.

Loki cleared his throat uneasily. "The Star Guard will lead you out. If I decide to grant your request, we will meet at moonrise tomorrow night and you will never again bring these charges to Asgard. If not, you will be allowed about your business and safe travels to your home." He rubbed against her lasciviously. "Unless you care to add...some other service or favor?"

She shook her head, which stroked his male ego for all of a minute before he realized that she was saying no to him to be faithful...to him. This double identity business was perplexing stuff, he decided.

"So what happens?" she asked in a watery voice.

"Ahh," Loki grinned, feeling the imminent conclusion. "The same Star Guard―his name is...Bjorn and he is a big smelly brute―brings you back into the waiting chamber where I meet you. And I hold you," he sighed as she happily (finally) melted in his arms. "And I lead you to the inn where I have rooms. There is a hot bath and warmed wine and a platter of meats waiting for us."

"Of course I'd tell you what happened," she added lightly. "I tell you that I'll never betray you, no matter if I get his help or not."

"And when the Star Guard comes for you in the evening?"

She giggled. "The big, smelly brute? It is a good omen! I kiss you." She dropped a chaste peck on his cheek. "When I return, I'll be free to live here and there would never be the threat of my magic." She grimaced. "But I'd have to get a real bed."

He growled and slowly pushed her into the bed. "It would be forever." He slid a kiss on her cheek and down her throat. "We might need more than a bed."

"Well," she giggled. "Maybe a few other things." She slid the green shirt off. Stroking his muscled chest, she smiled. "But that would be...afterwards." He flinched a bit as she ran her short nails over his skin. Then she slid flattened palms over him boldly, relishing the hitch in his breath.

Then his hands were all over her and, for a long time, she thought no more. Many minutes later―perhaps 30 or 60 for who knew how long it took to drift down from the shimmering heaven Locca showed her?-she felt him shift in the bed restlessly. "Awake?" she murmured sleepily.

Loki felt the restlessness and could not settle it. The little game of pretend had pricked his hardened heart. His little dove was so full of surprises. He had never considered that hearing her address him by his title would have been so uncomfortable. Was he happy she had been true to him by refusing him? And her peculiar request―if he were to stop seeing her, would Thor leave her in the peace she craved? But if he stopped seeing her―could she go on living? For that matter, could he?

On the heels of that came another thought that prickled him like needles. What were the herbs she had asked for? Usually she only asked for his return. Why were they important and why did he have an instinctual, gut reaction to refuse her request?

"Awake still, darling?" she whispered, blindly reaching for him

Loki started, so deep in his brooding he had not heard her. "I'm sorry, little dove," he crooned. "I...must leave soon."

She stuck her lip out in an adorable pout. "It's the warmer weather, isn't it?" She stretched languidly and let the sheet fall off of her body. "Trading before the winter comes and freezes the ports and all that?"

"Something like that," he hedged, feeling the need to separate from her. He desperately, suddenly needed to clear his head as one choked by perfume might leave the room and seek a breath of open air. "I will return before a sennight has passed." He scooped up his clothing and began putting it on. Fishing through his pockets and his bag, he pulled out the thread. "There is the thread I promised." She stared stupidly at it in her hand as he tugged on his boots. "I will leave the rest on the beach before I leave."

Frowning, she fingered the silky thread. "As you wish, darling," she whispered. "You aren't going to do anything...risky are you?" She paled. "You aren't going to..."

"To what?!" he snapped, sliding on his great coat.

She shrugged. "You are wise." A brittle laugh echoed in the cave. "For a moment I had thought you were going to...I don't know―approach Thor or..." She pressed her hand to her mouth. "Oh, gods! You won't approach Loki, will you?"

"Silly girl!" he said sharply. "Of course I can't do that!"

"Of course," she said sadly, pulling on her dress. "I need to be there to offer my powers for there to be a bargain."

He turned and left, stalking down the path to the beach. There he slung the three bags he had brought with him to the sand. Without much other thought, he took off. He leaned heavily against the rudder, refusing to see the sad little shape he left behind.

It was evening when he arrived in the palace. Maids scampered out of his way and guards trembled as he stalked past. He went straight to his chambers and slammed the door.

Two hours later, he was engrossed in not reading a book he had chosen to take his mind off his little dove's soft kisses when a light tap sounded at the door.

"Enter," he barked, folding the book closed and staring into the fireplace. He had not bothered to light anything else.

"My son?" Frigga stood in the hallway with a platter in her hands with her glittering gold dress fanning around her. "You have been gone all day and then stormed through here only to shut up in your room like a wounded turtle in its shell." She raised the tray up slightly. "I thought that perhaps dinner would soothe you."

He rose fluidly and welcomed her inside. Wish a flick of the wrist, he lit the candles that lurked in stands and lanterns around the room. Everywhere was the beauty of Asgard. A tiny tree with a curiously twisting trunk stood in a lapis blue ceramic pot against the enormous diamond paned window. The smooth golden oak floor was covered with rugs in brown and green and gold. The furniture was graceful and slightly curved carved wood with green velvet cushions. There was even a fainting couch against one wall surrounded by tall bookshelves.

Frigga entered gladly. "And not a civil word of greeting to anyone!" she chided, setting the platter down on a small oval table by the fireplace. Without hesitation, she perched on his seat. And without hesitation, he brought over another chair to join her at the platter. "So what has the prince of Asgard done to be in such a foul mood?"

"Nothing," he lied.

Frigga raised her brows in a way that only spoke to how much she didn't believe him. Then she picked up a delicately painted teacup and saucer from the tray. "I'll pour, shall I?" Loki nodded and poured the tea and served the plate she pressed on him. His stomach growled, raging between starvation and churning.

"Mother?" Loki asked.

"Son?" she asked, picking at a cake off the platter.

"What sort of malady would black or blue cohosh aid?" For a moment, he was afraid that her sudden start and staring was for ill. "Not for me-"

"Obviously not," she drawled and put down her forgotten cake. "But...what in Odin's name...?"

"A friend of mine has become quite upset," he improvised as he sipped the tea. "He swears that nothing would help but black and blue cohosh for his wife."

Frigga paled and set down her cup. "Your friend has some explaining, then, Loki, and unless you were involved at the beginning it is not your place to be involved at the end." She stared at him peculiarly. "Any midwife would be able to provide the herbs, though."

"Midwife?" Loki queried feeling like the bottom of his stomach was at his feet. Midwife...baby? His baby?

"Midwife," Frigga said, watching her son's thoughts churn with a curious tug at her heart. "The herbs are used to help balance a woman's cycles with the moon. Occasionally, they have been used to hasten the delivery of a child. And some souls unfortunately use it to...prevent a birth." Loki's eyes narrowed as he focused on her. "But, it is possible the wife is simply out of sorts and not having a cycle or something like that―in which case the cohosh would help it begin again. Or perhaps she has had too many children and feels that she must have a break."

Loki gritted his teeth. "Or she is a-"

"Son!" she said sharply. "If the...wife is with child, her mind could be going flighty." Loki looked at her again with curious eyes. "She may be scared―terrified. She may be overwrought or tired. She may feel that she cannot bear successfully..." Loki frowned mightily and Frigga smiled wearily in return. "Or she may be unable to nurture a child at this time..." Frigga thought for a moment. "If you would like, I would happily approach the woman to see what the case is. Surely it would not be hard to arrange for us to be in the same place at the same time?"

Loki sipped his tea again, staring into space and seeing nothing but a fat young child sleeping peacefully against his chest. "But...why? She has seemed so happy..."

"A mother-to-be needs no reason to fret and worry, nor to be terrified," Frigga explained with a gentle smile, even though he was not listening. "Especially if it is her first! Her whole world will change. If her mother is gone-"

"Her mother is gone," he said tonelessly. What about Thor...?

"Then she could be simply lacking a better way to handle the pregnancy." Frigga cocked her head slightly and looked at her son. "Loki―what have you gotten yourself into?"

Loki could not answer. He wanted to, desperately, to reiterate that it was his imaginary friend "Locca's" woman. But he couldn't―the thought of a child with copper hair and his emerald eyes was lodged into his skull with all the delicacy of a battle axe and he could not get it out again.

Frigga put the cup and saucer down on the tray with more gentleness than she felt. She longed to see her grandchildren. Odin deserved to know his grandchildren―to bounce the boys on his knees and lead them on Sleipnir through the markets and to be coddled by the granddaughters. She wanted to have a daughter to speak with on womanly things, to go search for dresses and furnishings with and to eat dainty sandwiches and drink tea. She wanted to sew dresses for little girls and to mend the knees of little boys pants one more time.

Yet Thor was ever on the battlefield and adored it far more than a crown prince should. He had not yet even dallied for long with a maid, let alone sired a child. And Loki had become steadily more moody and withdrawn, favoring books and his own solitary company. Neither of them had been interested in any of the courtly ladies―Thor favored...earthy women and Loki was withdrawn and almost neglected by their notice. At first it was a relief―she had taught them about preventing a child so that none would be called their bastard―but now it felt like they were simply too busy for families. She let out a deep breath as she stared into her cup intently. Could there be any hope―any prayer of...

"Mother," Loki said softly, causing her to jump. "I want you to see her." He dropped his own cup and saucer on the platter with a clatter. "I want you to see what is going on. She may not speak of it to me-"

"You're...a wonderful son, Loki," Frigga said carefully, wondering if he noted how his voice had changed from a 'friend' to himself. "But sometimes a woman prefers another woman..."

Loki frowned, as though he were carefully adding that thought into his understanding like a potion being mixed. He stood suddenly and grabbed his cloak, "We will leave now. Before anything else-" He swallowed hard. "But you must understand that there are...special circumstances."

Frigga stood regally. She was not without her own powers and between one blink and the next she had shed her glittering golden dress and wore a darker outfit. The cloth was rich, but of a shifting shade of shadowy grey, black and midnight blue. Skirt hikes looped on her leather belt pulled the floor length skirt up, allowing her to freely move and showing her fine leather boots. A swirling hooded cloak of dark grey with the thinnest line of silver at the edge drifted over her shoulder.

Loki shifted as well. Rather than his usual, ornate emerald and mahogany, he now wore grey and a dull shade of brown. With a flush tinging his cheeks, he conjured a ring to hand to her. Frigga smiled and looked at him curiously.

"I told you that there would be special conditions," he said simply, holding the ring out. "I'd just as soon not have Heimdall alarmed."

Frigga chuckled and pulled her hood up over her head. In an instant, she vanished from sight. "You were saying?" her ghostly voice asked.

Loki smiled and put the ring on himself. He looked at it as it settled in the familiar spot on his left ring finger. His mother still wore the ornate silver ring Odin had given her when they had joined. "Nothing, Mother," he replied softly.

"Anything else before we leave?"

Loki frowned in consternation. Not that she could see it, since he was invisible too. "She...believes things," Loki gritted out.

"Oh?" Just that single syllable of maternal concern and expectation.

"You will understand when you see her, but I have not told her my identity and I would prefer if you did not either."

Frigga nodded then smiled. He could no longer see her nod, nor her tears of joy as he took the lead. Just like Odin―he saw what needed to be done and quietly went to do it without expecting fanfare or craving approval. "I will be silent so long as it does not endanger you or I or Asgard."

"Meet me at the northern tip of the harbor."

It was impossible to tell which of them went which way. The stern faced Star Guards may have felt some slight breeze as one passed quietly by. The maids may have noticed a curtain gently sway or a forgotten open door that let in a breath of fresh air. But not even Heimdall―who happened to be smiling to himself―could have told where they went.

The little craft was plain by Asgard standards, though still beautiful. Loki boarded the little craft, abruptly shifting into a fisherman's form. There was no sign of Frigga and no telling when she would join him on this little jaunt. So, like many of the fishermen, he sat in his boat, watching the stars and waiting.

It was only a half hour later when a plainly dressed old woman in plain clothes approached the craft. She carried a small sack and had a pouch slung over her shoulder. "Excuse me, young man," she croaked. "Are you going out tonight?"

He looked at her. For a moment, it was in his mind to snap at her, but then he saw her eyes. There was no one with such kind and gentle eyes as Frigga. He smiled and glanced curiously at her load. "Wherever you wish dear lady." He stood and opened up the cubby under the seat. She daintily boarded and stowed her belongings. With a deft hand, Loki shoved off and out into the peaceful harbor. Almost that same instant, the craft disappeared from Heimdall's knowing view.

When they got to the island, Frigga looked at the deserted beach in concern. Perhaps she had been blinded by her own thoughts to consider how dangerous it was to be so far from home, alone with only her secret daggers placed in her boots. "Is this place safe?" she wondered aloud as she pulled out her packs.

"Safe as houses, Mother," he answered. "I chose it to be a sanctuary in times of turmoil."

She nodded uncertainly and allowed her assumed form to fade. Again she was his mother, in her plain, dark clothing. "I should like to understand how she does not know you? Is she Asgardian? Or elven? Or...?"

"She is...was Asgardian," Loki confirmed. "Her father was a colonel in the royal guards and...died at the last Jotun invasion three years ago." He tied the craft. "She knows me only as Locca―a trader and merchant with a penchant for remote places."

Frigga frowned and raised an eyebrow at that. "And who am I supposed to be?"

"My mother of course!" he smiled winningly at her.

Frigga rolled her eyes. "I see. And you thought it wise to not inform her of your true identity?"

Loki stopped. "I...was thinking about it while I tended her wounds and that story sort of spun up by itself."

Frigga took a deep breath of maternal aggravation. "I see."

"She will be told, if it is necessary," Loki reiterated as he led his mother up the crooked paths. "But trust me when I say she no more wants me to be Prince Loki, potential heir to the throne of Asgard than does-"

"Sif?" Frigga supplied with a chuckle.

"Well, there is that," Loki chuckled back. "Sif does bear me great enmity."

"Her hair, Loki," Frigga reminded him grimly. She still didn't believe his ardent denials that he had not been the one to cut Sif's golden curls. Of course, she couldn't say that it wasn't more pleasant to be around Sif now that she wasn't constantly primping vainly, either.

He turned to look at her in earnest. "Believe me, Mother. You will understand when you meet her," he swallowed heavily. He smiled wanly. "All will be well."

"Son," she whispered. "I do sometimes wonder if you know what you are about."

The rest of the climb was slow, accomplished in the shadowy light of the moon and the glow of an orb of light Loki conjured. Frigga glanced meaningfully at him when she saw the gashes in the pathway and saw the scorch marks along the rocks, but said nothing.

The little doorway was pure anticlimax after the climb and Frigga was amused when Loki stood for a moment to gather his wits, clear his throat and then knock timidly. There was no answer that she could hear, but he smiled and slid open the door.

"Locca?" a sleep ruffled voice called out from the back of the cave. "Is...is that you?"

"Darling," he whispered. "I returned as swiftly as I could." He gestured inside, ignoring Frigga's nose wrinkling at the dull and crude accommodation. He swallowed heavily to see the hastily dropped bags lounging in a corner of the front cave area. For some reason it pained him that she hadn't even looked inside.

A sleep befuddled form wrapped in a hooded cloak came forward into the little orb's light. "Is it really you? Have you forgiven me?"

He held out his arms to her. "My love―it is my miserable temper that you should forgive."

She ran to him, laughing. "We must forgive each other, then." She clasped the man with relief. Then she stepped back a moment with a short laugh. "Give me a moment."

Frigga stood stock still in silence. This sort of reunion was private―and a it was a reunion of two pieces of the same soul. The sort of love she wished on all goodly folk who married truly. This was the sort of love which would drive a good soul to greatness and to save a damned soul from his fate.

Then, to her amazement, the cave began changing. The dusty, uneven floor became smooth, creamy pink marble. The walls become graceful arches and the curtains of stalactites became canopies and hangings so beautiful that she expected them to sway in any errant breeze. The stone table became a large oval with carved flowers in the surface, as rich as any she had seen at Asgard. The other rooms now had graceful arches leading to them, but she didn't dare stir as she watched the transformations. Here and there―mostly on shelves―globes of pink glowing light like the first lights of dawn appeared along with what appeared to be golden lanterns with green glass in them. Loki and the woman simply stood there as they took place, acting as though this happened every time, which, for all she knew, it did.

Loki glanced up at her with a soft, genuine smile on his face and pointedly glanced around. Special circumstances, he had said. She smiled back, seeing them embrace.

"My dear," Loki whispered softly. "I have a surprise for you."

She giggled. Now, instead of a nondescript gray cloak and a similarly plain dress, she wore a cloak of gray velvet with a heavy fall of lace at the brow of the hood. The dress underneath was―diaphanous—and the queen hurriedly looked away, choosing charmed by the transformations in the cave.

"Locca," she smiled, reaching for his hands. "You have forgiven me and returned. I need nothing else."

He cleared his throat and pointedly sat her down on the elaborately carved chair. Plucking a carved bottle from the shelf and one of the two (only two!) glasses, he poured a delicate finger of wine. "My darling―I was thinking that...," he stammered as he pressed the glass into her hand. "Well...there's no way to gently say this, but I've brought someone very special with me."

The younger woman's hand shook visibly and she set down the glass with a clatter. "Oh, no-" she choked. "I... Oh my-" Suddenly, in a whoosh of magic, she was more...decently clothed. In fact, her clothes were plain but notably modest with a high neckline and sleeves down to her wrists in the most uninspiring and unflattering shape and color imaginable. "I...didn't hear anyone..."

Loki stroked her brow suddenly and fretfully. "Darling―there is no need to get upset. Just take a deep breath and know that there are friends here." She took a deep breath, but even the illusory transformations shimmered in her distress. "It's my mother," he tried to explain, gently.

"Oh!" The young woman stood up and bobbed slightly. She wrung her hands.

"My son," Frigga chided gently. "You could have announced us both." She looked at the young woman and tried to smile. "I can't tell you how happy I am to meet you..." She glanced at Loki. "Son―why don't you light a fire or something? I am very cold from the journey and I'm sure that we'd be more comfortable without our cloaks." With a whoosh of wild magic―the brazier fired up brilliantly before flaming down. Frigga glared at her son with an obvious air of we'll speak of this later. Loki contrived an innocent look and then gestured to the other woman. However, Loki did conjure benches to surround the table and Frigga took a seat.

"Locca," the other woman whispered. "I...did not...know..." She wrung her hands and both Frigga and Loki felt the first prickles of Wild Magic.

"Calm yourself, my dove," he whispered, trying again to press the glass of wine in her hand. "You don't want to get too upset."

"Of course my dear," Frigga said, recognizing the dangerous game whirling around her. Unless the child calmed down, the entire place might suddenly burst into flame or be pummeled with rocks or some other disaster. "My son...Loccais not at fault―this time." Loki turned scarlet. "I insisted on joining him to meet you and I'm so glad that I have!"

"Oh," she said again. Suddenly shy and lacking something better to do, she sipped her wine.

"I am often in trouble in my parents' eyes," Loki added with a markedly calm demeanor. "As though I were no more than 12 and still constantly filching sweets from the kitchen." The women laughed a bit nervously at that.

Suddenly, the prickles of magic flowed away. Frigga let out a breath. "I suppose that it is always dire for young people to meet parents."

"Yes―rather it is," the other woman fidgeted.

"How much has he told you of the family?" Frigga pressed, searching for common ground.

"Nothing much," she shrugged. "Most of the time...when we...talk, we speak of his travels..."

"Ahhh...," Frigga nodded. "And your family?"

"My father is...gone. And my mother was...a camp follower who favored him and left when I was born."

"I'm so sorry, my dear. As I was saying, I insisted on accompanying my son so that I could...," she murmured. "Well...he came to me asking about cohosh and it seemed important to come."

"You want to know if there is a baby," the younger woman replied softly, her hands clasping her cloak.

"My dear," Frigga tried again to soothe her. "I thought that you might like a woman to speak to, since your own mother is not here." She glanced at Loki. "Why don't you let us get acquainted and do something useful?"

"See?" Loki chortled. "I am no more than 12 in her eyes and must be told to wash my face and hands, to say 'please' and 'thank you', to be polite and-"

"That's enough," Frigga chided.

"There it is again!" Loki insisted with a laugh.

But the other woman laughed so heartily it was a relief. And, somehow, the austere settings became even more comfortable in response.

Loki stood beside her and took her hand in his. Kissing the knuckles, he smiled sadly. "My love―she is right, though. It's all right―she will not judge you harshly." Gingerly he reached up and drew her hood down to her shoulders.

Frigga swallowed her own gasp. Had she not tended Odin's wounded eye herself, she might have been ill. The livid scars went practically from ear to ear across her face. "My dear," she murmured again, shooting Loki an evil look. No wonder the poor child was in the dark―literally—about his identity. For a long, uncomfortable moment, they sat there, trying to wrap their minds around this clandestine meeting.

Loki recovered first. "You have not unpacked what I brought last time," he mentioned casually. "Should I be mortally wounded?"

"Hardly," Frigga shot back. "The poor child is undoubtedly worn out getting them in here and you probably threw them to one side in your haste." She took out her own bag and pack and set them on the table. "However, I will help her and you will make yourself useful by bringing us some water to drink. Hot water for me please, so that I can prepare my tisane."

The other woman rose up and seemed to huddle against him. "There is a hot spring in the back. I will fetch hot water if you will go to the spring for cool water."

"As you wish, my ladies," he said with a grin. Bowing, he took a bowl from the shelf and went outside as his lady fair took the pot and went to the back.

Frigga debated taking him to task for this. By Odin's beard, there seemed to be a lack of essentials. Only one pot, two glasses and a motley collection of some 4 bowls. The few knives and spoons were in a crock on one side of the shelf and two smoothly sanded pieces of wood―undoubtedly driftwood―seemed to be the only fittings this place had. Precious little here to be comfortable. She began drafting the list in her head―additional bowls, plates and pots were needed; as well as silverware; a few trunks were needed to provide storage as well as a place to sit... Hurriedly, she conjured several thick, ceramic steins and set them on the table.

The other woman drifted back from the hot spring, the pot practically still boiling. She set the pot on the table and went to a covered basket to fetch bread and a crock of honey from a shelf which went on one of the driftwood trenchers. Frigga hummed softly as she poured the hot water into two of the steins and then mixed mint, lemon balm, and chamomile in them. Deftly, she sliced the bread and spread honey on a piece to nibble on.

Taking her stein, she sat down again, hoping to coax the other woman into relaxing. "So how long have you known my son?"

The other woman shrugged sheepishly, her hands flowing over the table surface smoothly until she felt the steins. Her fingers gingerly picked up the one empty one to feel it all over. "I...only mark time in a clumsy fashion." She gestured at her face. "It is difficult to tell time now."

"Of course. How thoughtless of me," Frigga nodded, then tried to smooth over the silence with more small talk. "My son told me that your father was in the Asgard army?"

"Yes. He died in the last Jotun invasion," she said simply. Then she sniffed the air. "You have made your tisane? I smell mint..."

"Yes, my dear," Frigga nodded. "Would you like some? It is specially brewed to soothe nerves and to ease the stomach. I'm afraid that at my age, one relies on all the help one can get for late nights."

The other woman relaxed visibly and took the tisane filled stein offered. Quite soon, she spoke of her garden and animals. Her desire to have more herbs and plants, but a marked lack of place to grow them given the limitations of the island. How she had seen the outskirts―the unfashionable or dodgy ones at least!-of Asgard with her father. She sipped the steeped brew and when Loki came back in, he was relieved to see the two women chatting.

"Ladies," he announced. "I see you have both opted for warm drinks."

"Yes," Frigga replied serenely. "We were just chatting and waiting for your return."

When Loki sat down, the bench he had conjured scraped the floor. Suddenly the atmosphere was charged again as the sound hit the air.

"You...brought some chairs?" the younger woman asked timidly.

"Yes...," Loki replied, trying to think up what to say next. "Benches rather."

Frigga took charge again. "So, tell me your name child. I should like to know who it is who will be making my son civilized."

"Sigyn," she replied.

Loki flushed dark red as he realized that he had never even asked her her name. It had simply never come up and they had fallen into pet names for each other so quickly it had not been missed any more than his true name. Or title, for that matter.

"Sigyn," Frigga repeated. "What a lovely name." She set down her drink. "I'm so glad that we did go to the trouble to bring out chairs and extra dishes. I should like to visit often. Particularly if...?" Her voice faded meaningfully.

Sigyn smiled. "I would like that," she said softly. Then, with great hesitation, she stammered, "I think...yes, there is a child."

Loki's eyes went wide and sparkled with emerald fire. Frigga took in a deep breath and then smiled broadly. "I am so very glad to hear it. I like children."

Sigyn smiled softly. "So do I. Although-" she frowned and gestured. "I'm not sure how I could have a child here where there is so little."

Frigga winked at Loki. "We can see in the morning what would need to be done. Things always look better in the morning after a pleasant night's sleep." She yawned comically widely. "Of course, there is always the possibility-"

Loki gestured violently and shook his head, knowing where this was leading.

"Of what?" Sigyn asked.

Frigga frowned and stared at her son in confusion. "Of you joining us on the mainland of Asgard."

Sigyn began to shake violently. "I couldn't...! Please understand," she stammered. "I would love to be part of your family and it's not you..." Frigga frowned in confusion and Loki closed his eyes and prepared for the worst to come out. "But I could not bear to be so close!"

"Close to what?" Frigga whispered. Her heart sank as she knew she wasn't going to like the answer. Loki knew she wouldn't like the answer―his sudden pale features and tightly pressed lips told her that.

"Close to Thor!" Sigyn whimpered back, the stein shuddering and smashing in her hand in a burst of wild magic that glowed briefly with purple fire.

Loki stood first, pulling her close to him and dusting the specks of crockery off of Sigyn's dress. "Darling...quiet now. We're not going anywhere. We will figure this out later-"

Frigga gaped for a moment. Because of Thor? What in Odin's name did that mean? She glanced at the crockery, suddenly keenly aware of the wisdom Loki displayed in housing this woman in a mountain cave surrounded by stone furniture. "Of course―if you don't wish it. There is no need to be upset." Then she stood briskly. "We will speak of this in the morning after we have rested."

Sigyn stood beside Loki. She frowned and turned her face up to his suddenly. "Locca, there is only the one bed."

Loki started for a moment. He had honestly never contemplated guests visiting this place. With a sigh, he said, "Why don't I go to the meadow and sleep there? The night is yet warm."

Frigga frowned in embarrassment. "I could always leave the bed to you..."

Sigyn settled it. "We will go under the trees in the meadow. It will be...fun." She gestured towards the back of the cave. "There is a bed through there."

Frigga nodded to her son and watched as they gathered her cloak, his cloak and a spare blanket and headed outside. Fortunately, it was still warm, but dear Odin―what was Loki thinking? He obviously adored the girl, but magic and wild magic did not mix well! What would become of their children? She shook a little. Their children―what about him? The secret of his birth would be out as the child drew a first breath and then there would be hell to pay. And rightly so as he demanded to know the truth of his birth.

She unpacked her few belongings―the packets of cohosh (which she wanted to burn now), the little jars of mint, lemon balm, chamomile, cinnamon, rosemary, galangal, grains of paradise, and peppercorns and a few lemons. This had seemed like such a good idea―to see who had made her son so happy, to share in a little adventure and see a bit of life outside the palace. Now it felt like a betrayal―of Loki for forcing him to share this secret, of Thor, and of her place as queen. It even felt like a betrayal of Sigyn―who didn't seem likely even know the great storm she stood in the center of.

Weary, she went explored the cave. Borrowing a bowl, she took water from the hot spring. She noted the long pieces of drying linen that were carefully folded to one side. A cake of the dragon's blood scented soap was in a little ceramic dish―Loki's favorite scent. The real furnishings were sturdy and plain but serviceable while the enchantment made them comfortable. The raised dais and bed was enchanted to be comfortable and the sheets while good were not the silky type used by her family. After some minutes, the lights dimmed greatly, though did not go out. For a moment, she simply sat on the bed, thinking.

It was unsettling to be the Queen and to not even know that this place existed nor that her son had set up a living space here. What was she to do? The girl was not the royal match that she had hoped for, but plainly adored her son. As terrified as she seemed to even consider the idea of living on the mainland―anxious enough that her magic had come unbidden―Frigga could bet (were she the type to) that Sigyn would never consider living in the palace. But this was the firstborn grandchild―her grandson or granddaughter. And the moment that Loki acknowledged her, she would be marked as a target. Frigga laughed shortly to herself. Some target! She could likely defend herself well given half a chance if the walls outside were any indication. She reminded herself to ask Loki about that later as she yawned widely and genuinely.

A soft knock was heard. "Enter," she called out.

Loki stepped inside, glancing at the bottles on the table. "Mother," he called softly. Perhaps it was too late and his mother slept, but it was important to try to speak to her tonight.

"In here, my son," Frigga answered.

Loki approached the curved doorway warily. His eyes darted around, taking in the elaborate dais, canopy arches and green lanterns dangling from non-existent hooks. "Mother―we must talk."

"How charming," Frigga agreed dryly. "I was considering the same thing."

For lack of somewhere better, he sat on the corner of the bed and leaned against one of the tall columns at the corner of the bed. Nodding, he said, "I suppose you have questions?" He sighed and shot her a quick sideways glance. "I knew this would happen."

Frigga only smiled and waited. With reluctance, Loki told what he knew―that she had been wounded by an errant shot of Thor's, the Jotun's healing touch, the scarring, the magic. In a rare moment, he even told how he had secreted her here, nursed her to health and let her live in peace.

"And the battle outside?" Frigga prompted with tears in her eyes. Her heart broke as she considered how tragic this was. If only Sigyn had not been so hurt by Thor! Of course, it would break Odin's heart that Thor had been so careless. And, bless him, Thor would want to do right by the child―if he only knew!

Loki conjured a lacy handkerchief and handed it to her. "I didn't do it," he said softly. "I went home to find that Thor had botched the negotiations with the merchant's guild. I had no idea that Thor and his friends were seeking her here."

"Heimdall," Frigga concluded.

Loki looked at her balefully. "I have cloaked my presence every time."

Frigga smiled at him in maternal condescension. "But does she?" Her son looked startled. "If you disappear and she disappears more or less the same time every time, it doesn't take a sterling wit to consider why."

Loki scratched his chin. "Of course..."

Frigga frowned as she saw her son's mind churning. "But Sigyn is a lovely girl―kind and gentle. I could not have hoped for a gentler disposition." She waved her arm around the room. "And apparently very creative."

Loki grinned roguishly. "It has been...comfortable here whenever I have been here." He paused for a moment. "Mother―Thor should not be here."

She sighed. "No...I think for now, this must remain secret. Until we can unravel her anxiety enough for her to face him—without killing him—she must stay here. She and the baby will be safe at least until the babe is weaned."

Loki frowned at that. He had just gotten used to the idea of being a father―seeing a fat little youngling with her hair and his eyes―that he hadn't even considered the practical logistics. Of course the child would need tutoring, clothes, room to wander and safe places to play! Not to mention another room, a crib, blankets and bed. He closed his eyes and sighed at the complicated mess he had managed to make.

"I would have to use magic to get everything here," he said at last with a heavy sigh.

"Or I," Frigga smiled. Then she sighed wistfully. "I do hope for a grandson like you and a granddaughter like her."

"With my luck you'll get a granddaughter like me and a grandson like her," he muttered darkly, folding his arms across his chest. "I was born under a bad star."

"No," Frigga soothed. "Not that." She considered her position thoughtfully. "I guess I must find a name and trade for myself. What about a midwife? Or a healer?"

"A healer or simply a wealthy man's wife," Loki offered. "I will simply say that my father is a diplomat." Frigga smiled at him and his understatement. He smiled in return, figuring out how to work her into the fabric of lies that shrouded this place.

Frigga watched with amusement. Loki―unknown to himself―was obvious in his brooding. He bit the inside of his lip like he had done it since he was a tiny lad on her lap and it made a delicate dimple near his chin when he did it. With a sad sigh, she finally offered, "Loki―she will need to be told sometime."

"Why?" he demanded petulantly, emerald eyes flashing fire. "She is content here! She loves me and does not covet the crown! She wants only to have a portion of my time―the rest can serve Asgard's needs."

"She is giving birth to a prince or princess! Would you have her unknowing of this? How important this child is? And the child―would it serve Asgard to have the child ignorant?"

"Ignorant?" he glared. "Do you think I would refuse to allow her to have whatever books and knowledge she could ever want?"

Frigga counted to 10 in her head in exasperation. "I do not consider that you would refuse her anything. But, if there is a princess, she must learn the ways of the court, how to manage a household and servants, how to arrange for dinners... A boy must learn fighting, diplomacy and skills far beyond this island."

Loki glared at her balefully. "Yet there is only one throne. And presently it is not mine so there is hardly the need to have a full royal education."

"Loki," Frigga sighed, carefully picking her words. She had seen this coming, had known there would come a time when he would question why he was not considered equally with Thor, why he needed all the royal education. She had hoped to arrange a marriage with an elvish princess or some other similar position, but had kept putting it off, hoping that they could find some way to live in peace. How ironic it was that now, here was a place for Loki to be at peace―so long as his brother did not interfere. And Thor would―it was only a matter of time, particularly if he knew of this place and especially if he learned how his actions had forced this to be. How soon! "You are royal by birth. You needed to be prepared to assume the throne of Asgard.

"And we cannot know the twists of fate. I am not unaware that I will likely see Thor fall in a battle. He campaigns too often and has no interest in the necessary diplomacy and politics at home. You don't campaign enough―you are far more interested in the day-to-day running of the palace.

"It seems to me that you both need each other in unimaginable ways. He needs someone to tell him of the backstabbing and byplay so that it doesn't strike him unaware. You need a strong general who can stand in battle against Asgard's enemies. He inspires soldiers and armies. You inspire policies that help better our people. You both need each other."

She smiled and reached over to pat Loki's knee. With a sigh, she said, "And I'm always your mother. I will always love you." She raised an eyebrow. "I do not always like what you do, but I do always love you." With that she pointedly shuffled the pillows around. "Now, let your elder sleep. I'm too old to be up all night."

Loki stood, looking at her ironically. "Of course, Mother." He bowed. "We will knock before we come in." He gestured to what now appeared to be a short screened wall in one corner. "There is a hole in the floor for a midden. There is another level beneath this that is below the sea level and the high tide washes it out daily."

"Luxury," she smirked. Loki flushed again. "No, my son. This is understandable. She must be calm and provided for and obviously this was a work in progress." She smiled at him in genuine warmth. "I am impressed. You have provided for her needs with attention to detail, thoroughness and thoughtfulness." She plumped the pillows. "Now, go to your lady fair and enjoy her company."

Loki bowed again and left, closing the door behind him. Picking his way down the path, he looked at the little shadowy figure of Sigyn, curled up in her cloak and simply waiting for him. Her head turned slightly as he came down the meadow. "Locca? Is that you?"

"Who else would it be?" he smirked.

"I don't know... Perhaps raiders or traders or falling stars..." She smiled at him. There was a slight warm breeze against her face and hands as he sat down next to her. She kissed his cheek. "Thank you so much for your wonderful surprise." Curling up next time him, she relished the feel of his arm around her shoulders. Flushing almost as dark as her scars, she whispered, "I had truly been afraid of childbirth. Silly really―but all I knew were the stories from the camp followers that my father brought home."

"Ahh," he said in understanding. "And of course they were filled with stories of death and pain." He shrugged. "I suppose that it is harder to have a healthy child if one is constantly following armies and fending for oneself in such situations." He pulled her close to kiss her head. "But you and I will have happy, healthy children. They will be strong and tall..."

"I can believe that now," she confided. "It is a relief to have another woman to speak to of such things. Not to mention that she might come here to visit." She smiled. "You are so busy with your trading, it would be nice to have the anticipation of another's visits." She frowned in thought. "Although perhaps some bell or something, so that I know it is her would be nice."

"I will see to it," he promised, although at the moment, he had no particular idea how.

"I know," she smiled. "You take such good care of me." She leaned into him and then sighed. "If only I could take such care of you." Then she gestured at her face and eyes. "But the sight of me would scare off your customers." Loki started to protest but she laughed instead. "Or―heaven and Odin forbid!-I might accidentally turn one into a chicken or some such."

Loki couldn't help but laugh. There was one ambassador from the dwarvish realms that puffed and preened so much that he might be improved as a chicken. "Little love―you are a delight to me."

Together they spread their cloaks and blankets into a nest which―while not particularly as comfortable as the bed inside―was warm enough. They whispered to each other of sweet things and nothing in particular. There was not enough wood to build a fire―the only two trees being presently occupied with bearing fruit and nuts―only a few twigs. But they happily enough spent the warm night outside, him watching the stars and her lulled by his steady heartbeat under her hand.

The next day dawned early. Loki awoke―stiff and sore from spending his diverting evening outside―to the sound of retching. Immediately fully awake, he spun around to find Sigyn leaning over the cliffs. "Be careful," he shouted angrily. Stomping up, he held her around the waist as her stomach heaved. When she could at last stand, he held her close, brushing her hair from her face. Gingerly, he lead her to the freshwater spring and bathed her brow. "Are you all right?!" he demanded. "What is wrong?"

"It is in the mornings that my stomach is ill," she whispered. "If I do not eat too much, then by supper I feel better."

Loki puller her arm and stomped to the cave. Knocking angrily, he waited scarcely a moment before coming in side, dragging Sigyn behind him. "Mother!" he called angrily. "Sigyn is ill!"

Frigga came out of the "hot spring room" (as she had dubbed it―refusing to give it the dignity of 'bathing chamber'), and looked them over. "If she is ill," she said in matter-of-fact tone that brooked nothing but obedience. "then please have her sit down."

Loki pulled out the chair and sat Sigyn in it, wrapping her in both of their cloaks. "We must travel―there is not enough here to heal-"

"Child," Frigga interrupted smoothly and calmly. "Is this a complaint of the stomach? Most commonly in the morning upon rising?" Sigyn nodded, cocking her head to listen to her lover's irritated pacing. "This will pass, but-" she shot a singularly evil glare at Loki. "-you must take care of yourself." She picked up the pot. "We will make you a tisane―the same as last night―and it will help your stomach. I have brought mint and I think that there might be some ginger-" She shot another look at Loki who conjured a bottle of ginger. "-in my pack if you will bring it." She smiled. "Ahh, thank you, son." With a skilled hand, she mixed her drink and pressed Sigyn to drink it. "The sickness in the morning will pass soon. You will have a period of feeling well then and then-" She chuckled here. "-your child will be flipping and turning and kicking and you won't feel like eating much again. But every kick will remind you of his or her strength."

Loki felt his gut clench as Sigyn gingerly sipped. The feeling of being helpless while she was so ill sat like a weight on his chest. Frigga was amazing, though, offering bread and the tisane and suggestions on things to do to help. In no time at all, he realized that Frigga had things well in hand as she and Sigyn speculated on what was needed to make the cave more comfortable, clean and safe for a child. Fortunately, he always carried a small supply of paper and ink―a hazard of being the type of person to jot notes as some piece of whimsy or wit tickled his jaded fancy. Frigga calmly took the wrinkled roll of sheets and a sharpened piece of a stick and began jotting notes of the things that could be brought back on later trips.

Sigyn smiled softly, feeling much warmed and in better spirits with the other woman there. So much of her ailments that seemed so troublesome and frightening―the sudden attack of appetites for strange things, the feeling of faintness, the daily illness in the morning―now seemed so normal and understandable. She pushed aside the vague feeling of unease―things seemed just a bit too convenient―but she was glad just the same of someone who could make this understandable. Of course, it was overwhelming listening to the other woman describe the myriad things she might need―clothing and nappies and blankets and a thousand other things! Locca would not appreciate this child or her spending all his profits.

Frigga stopped for a breath and to take a sip of water and Loki broke in. "As intriguing as this all is," he smirked wryly. "how about I see about a fresh fish for supper? Mother brought peppercorns and lemon to go with it."

Frigga smiled at him. Though he did not know it, Odin had been the same way when she had carried Thor. He had often tired of the endless discussions and whirlwind of shopping and preparation that accompanied a baby and had often found just about any excuse to leave it up to her whim and whimsy. "That sounds lovely, dear," she replied. "Fresh fish would be delicious." Then she frowned. "Unless it upsets Sigyn's stomach, of course."

Sigyn smiled. "I have been craving fish," she giggled and flushed red. "Silly, I know, when I wouldn't be able to do much to prepare it."

"Nonsense," Loki smiled at her. "We can find a way. Besides, after supper, we can unwrap the packages and put them away."

"Supper?!" Sigyn gulped. Had the hours flown so fast? "Oh dear―the garden! The animals!" She stood suddenly and hustled outside. The goats were just beginning to poke around the edges of the garden and the chickens had begun settle from pecking. With haste she did her necessary chores, Frigga lending a hand as much as she could. Eggs and milk were gathered, as well as two fat tomatos―the first from the garden.

By the time the sun settled over the horizon, the little island was quiet once more. There was fish frying in oil that had been brought from the mainland markets (in a hastily conjured pan), with hints of lemon juice and cracked peppercorns. The tomatoes were salted and peppered and dressed with oil with a little hard cheese broken over them.

"Locca, this sea bass was divine," Sigyn smiled and she spooned some up into her mouth. "You simply must have a magical touch with a rod and reel-"

Frigga about choked on her bite of fish. Swallowing a large gulp of water, she coughed. "Yes...a magical touch," she agreed.

Sigyn started to frown, as though trying to make sense of things she could not see. "Was it something I said?"

"No, dear," Frigga lied, glowering at Loki. "Just a bit of a fish bone. Nothing more." She sighed heavily, debating what to say next. Finally she shifted to a more neutral topic to smooth over the uncomfortable silence. "If you cannot come to the mainland, we will have to start by making a list and bringing items back here for you. What do you think is the most important to start with? Perhaps some cloth for blankets and such? Or a basket for him to sleep in? Obviously a few more plates and so forth. A few small spoons, I think."

"I'm...overwhelmed by all this," Sigyn admitted. She wriggled in the chair she usually reserved for Locca. Tonight, he absolutely insisted on putting her in it. "Although I think that we should be careful with the coins." She reached out and felt the warm masculine hand take hers. "We do not want to beggar Locca in the process. We should start with a budget and go from there."

Frigga wanted―desperately―to start sputtering that there was no need for her to think of copper coins, but Loki's slanting glance sideways reminded her of his lies. "Damn him," she thought. "His lies have made this more complicated than necessary!" Then, with a sly, innocent smile she said brightly, "I'm sure that's a good idea, but Locca's father is an important...diplomat. We would be glad to get whatever our grandchild needs."

Loki almost choked himself, hearing his lies spun out back at him so fluidly. Then he chuckled softly. "Indeed, Father will all but insist on helping with the child."

"Oh!" Sigyn gasped. "I had not realized... I mean―you...we so rarely speak of your family."

"Did you think I was a foundling? Or hatched out of a snake's egg? Perhaps abandoned on Mother's doorstep?" Loki teased, repeating some of the more vile snarls that Sif had laid into him.

"No, of course not darling," Sigyn soothed. "I...just hadn't considered it. It was my mistake." She wriggled again. "But, if it is all the same to you both, I would like to consider what to do outside. I'm afraid that it is a bit stuffy in here for me."

"Of course," Loki soothed her. "Take all the time you need." He smiled thinly at Frigga. "I will join you soon."

The two Asgardians glowered at each other―both of them united in the thought it was good that Sigyn couldn't see them as she left. Frigga set her mouth, determined to lecture Loki on the importance of telling Sigyn the truth as soon as possible. Loki mimicked her, determined to make sure she understood the delicate balance here: this was after all, his domain and his child!

"Loki," Frigga hissed as soon as she closed the door. "Tell her. Already she is beginning to question your stories!"

"Mother," Loki hissed back. "You will say nothing! It is my right and I will be the one to do this." He gestured angrily. "I'm hardly a youngling to be lead about by the hand!"

Frigga nodded at him, her anger draining away. Loki had not been a child for so very long! "As long as you do it," she sighed. She gestured lamely at the door. "Go out to her. I must leave in the morning."

Loki nodded slowly. Already he was called away. He had barely had any time with his little temptress! With a deep sigh, he nodded again. "I know that I must speak to her." He cocked an emerald stare at her. "But if she finds out about Thor―would her magic lead her to reject the child? Consider that fly in your ointment of truth."

Frigga paled. "I do not know," she whispered as Loki stormed out. Mechanically, she cleaned up supper, considering how very little she knew of Wild Magic and how very badly she wanted a grandchild.

"Locca―smell the air," Sigyn called excitedly from the meadow. "There is a storm coming."

"A storm?" Loki looked at the hazy clouds high over head. He stood beside her, marveling at the few stars that peeked out between the clouds.

"You can smell the air―it smells...fresh," Sigyn wrapped her arms around him. "Any other visit we could spend the day indoors, but I suppose with Mother around―you don't suppose she minds if I call her 'Mother', do you?-we will have to be decent." She giggled. "Thank you so much for bringing her here."

Loki whirled her around in his arms. "Does my lady waltz?" Sigyn giggled again in his arms as he whirled her around again.

Suddenly, he stood stock still, staring upward. Sigyn gingerly reached out to trace his jaw. "Get inside," he barked, pulling her inside the cave. "Mother―we must leave now!"

"What?!" she said sleepily. She glanced at Sigyn. "Why?"

"The Bifrost has opened," he said sharply. He dropped a chaste peck on Sigyn's forehead. "I'm sorry, darling. But we must go."

"Of course," Sigyn replied uncertainly. She vaguely remembered hearing tales of the Bifrost, but she thought that they must be stories. And why was a trader and merchant so concerned? "But-"

"I'll explain when I return," he gritted out as Frigga gathered her pack.

Frigga tried to not gasp as everything returned to its original state. The bed she had just left was a mat on the floor. The table she had dined at was again a crudely shaped rock thing. The lights dimmed to a mere flicker. Somehow it disturbed her more to see it fade than it had been to see it come into being.

They fled down to the beach and into the craft. Sigyn's smokey gray cloak could not be seen in the dim lighting as Loki turned about, but Frigga waved and called out "We will see you soon."

The flight to the palace of Asgard was accomplished with neither delay nor flourish. It was easy enough for Loki to assume the illusion of formal dress and to walk through the halls, acting for all the world that he had just come in from a relaxing stroll. Frigga dithered for a moment and then simply copied her son and took on the illusion of her formal dress.

Odin was bellowing in the great hall, calling for his warriors. When he saw her, he froze for a moment. "Frigga," he sighed in relief. "When we couldn't find you, we were worried that the Frost Giants had taken you."

"Frost Giants?" she asked in alarm.

"Two of their vessels were seen sailing in the western sea. Thor saw them from the high watchtower," he explained. "We dispatched them, but then could not account for either you or-" His singular eye wandered the hallway and finally spied Loki lurking in the corner.

"I see I have been missed," Loki smirked. "Is all well?"

"All is well, my son," Odin forced a stiff smile. "As you can see, your brother has-"

"I heard," Loki purred stiffly. "He went after the invaders." He nodded. "Very noble."

Frigga coughed slightly. "We are all well." She shot a look at Loki. "However, we must talk soon."

Odin glanced at her stern face and nodded. Frigga thwarted in her task was an unhappy Frigga and thus, the entire castle would be unhappy in relatively short order. "Of course," he agreed. "As soon as Thor returns-"

Frigga shook her head. "This time, it must be just the three of us." She smiled a little sadly. "We will explain."

Thor chose that inopportune moment to make his arrival. "Father!" he bellowed with his red cape surrounding him in scarlet swirls. "You would not have believed the battle!" He glanced around, then embraced Frigga. "Mother! We could not account for you-"

"Of course you were busy," she said smoothly. She patted his chest. "Now―to the healing room with you so that you can be checked out."

"They won't find anything," Thor smiled, blue eyes twinkling. "We had them at bay from the moment we got there."

"Still, off you go. Just to be sure." Frigga gently nudged him down the hall. "I must speak to the Allfather and Loki for a few moments and see to your victory celebration."

Thor, still smiling at the maternal love that glowed from Frigga, turned and walked down the hall, tossing his great hammer in the air and catching it like a small child with a ball. That he completely passed the hallway for the healers and proceeded to the feasting hall did not go unnoticed by either of his parents.

"So what is this about?" Odin asked Frigga quietly.

Frigga did not reply, but opened up one of the small salons and herded everyone inside. Loki chose a chair close to the fireplace and Odin chose the twin chair that had been pulled over to a low, cushioned bench. Frigga frowned at the awkwardness of the meeting as she looked at them from the doorway.

Loki felt a tug on his conscience. His mother was upset, still trying to shield him from Odin's righteous anger as yet another tangle of lies and mess came to light. Then, in a flash of insight, he considered his own child. Sighing, he stood and led Frigga to the bench and then solemnly turned to Odin. He tried to smirk, tried to bury himself beneath the layers of false gaeity and the pretence of serenity, but nothing would come. Taking a deep breath, he looked into his father's eye, seeing the resigned acceptance that his younger son had made another mess to be cleaned up.

Frigga grasped Odin's large, calloused hands tightly. A tear trickled down her cheek. Odin looked at her with a sad, curious smile and wiped it away. "What has happened? Where were you?"

"She was with me, Father," Loki said softly. "We were..." He gestured lamely, meaninglessly and could not meet Odin's eyes so he stared into the fireplace. "We were visiting someone I know."

"I was not told of any visit," Odin said in a cautious tone. He had been the ruler of Asgard too long to not be aware of when there was more to a story. And Loki's stories always required delicate care and precision to unwind. "Loki, what have you done?"

Frigga let out a watery gurgle and began to speak, but Loki interrupted her. "I am about to be a father."

Odin's eye lit up in a stark mixture of amazement, confusion and alarm. "What is this? Is this another one of your tricks?" He glanced at Frigga, who met neither of their eyes. "What is truly going on?"

Loki interrupted Frigga again. "I am about to be a father," he repeated, sotto voice.

"How?" Odin asked as the news began to sink in.

In any other situation, Loki would have made some flippant remark like 'Oh, the usual way' or some brazen, crude comment on the exact position he favored. Now, this seemed too...unique to handle with anything but appropriately solemn manners. With reluctance, he stood in front of Odin. "I helped a girl-"

"Sigyn," Frigga sighed.

"And she and I have been lovers. She is expecting my child."

Odin frowned in concentration. "Are you sure that she is with child?"

"I cast spells with her unaware," Frigga said. "While Loki was doing errands for us."

"You've met the girl?" Odin demanded. "And neither of you thought to tell anyone where you were?!" He turned an angry glare at Loki. "You...irresponsible...reckless-!"

"That's enough," Loki said, for once silencing the Allfather. "Yes, I was reckless and possibly irresponsible. But the child is there and is mine and I will do anything to ensure the child's safety."

"The mother," Odin demanded shortly. "Who is she? Don't say she's married?" His eye snapped blue fire and met the emerald smolder of his son's gaze, holding it.

Loki looked away first, his pride fisting in his stomach. "She is...was the daughter of a colonel in our army. She..fell into my arms and called for my help." He glanced up again angrily and restlessly gestured. "Isn't that what you've been telling me to do? Help people who call on me?" He straightened and tried to calm down. "I helped her. I healed her wounds and took her to a safe place."

"Where is this place?" Odin demanded.

"It is an island far from here." Loki shrugged. "She lives there with her goats, chickens and garden."

"And precious little else," Frigga muttered sadly.

Odin turned to look at her. For a moment, there was silence as Loki regarded him with proud silence and he regarded Frigga's wistful expression. "Well," he said slowly. "This is...a surprise." Odin gestured to the chair and Loki perched on it with a wary expression.. "What is she like, this Sigyn?" He frowned, glaring again at his younger son. "What does she want?"

Loki smirked and then smiled at his father. It was...ironic that the truth would be more confusing to Odin than any lies he could embroider at this point. "She wants to be left alone."

Odin rose to his feet. A lesser mortal might have sputtered or stomped angrily, but he spoke with deadly calm. "Do you expect me to believe that you have had a relationship with this woman and she bears your child, but does not have any further designs? Do you not realize the wiles of treacherous women? Women who may have designs on the crown?" He glared down in judgement. "You are not clever at all to have fallen for this trap!"

Loki shot to his feet, cheeks flushed with an angry retort. "Hardly have I fallen for a trap." He raked a glance over the older man's frame. "Yet you seem to have fallen for the very treacherous pit that you warned us against―the pit of prejudice!"

"That's enough!" Frigga snapped. "Neither of you are speaking rationally." She gestured to the chair. "Loki, sit down. It doesn't not serve Asgard or Sigyn to argue at this point." Loki flopped on the chair, pressing his fingertips in a bridge over his separated palms and glared at them both.

"Odin," Frigga said more calmly. She felt his gaze shift to her, as though she were called to stand as a witness in some important matter. "Allfather, it was I who pressed Loki to take me to her." She flushed. "He asked me about black cohosh and blue cohosh and I became concerned. Concerned enough to journey with him to the island and meet the girl." She clasped her sweaty hands in front of her, willing herself not to fidget restlessly. "When I arrived, I was greeted well and generously as a guest. I supped with her and we discussed her pregnancy. As we spoke, Loki left to fish for our supper I remained in her company. I cast a spell to confirm her pregnancy while she was unaware."

Odin looked like he was about to snort. Instead, he heaved a great sigh. "And how is it that you know that she has no designs on Asgard?"

Frigga swallowed heavily and glanced at Loki. Loki only nodded stiffly. She looked towards the Allfather again, holding his gaze. "Because she has no idea who we are." She could no longer stop the tears from filling her gaze, despite the blatant disbelief in Odin's eyes. "She has no idea who we are, nor what we look like because she is blind."

Odin looked at Frigga as though she had grown feathers. "Blind? But how? When?" He took Frigga's hands in his. "How is it that she was alone?"

Frigga swallowed heavily, feeling her heart break. No one could escape the storm that was about to break and she felt the tide sweeping her away. "She has no family left. After her father...died and she was blinded, she became a beggar in the poorest section."

"Blinded? But how is it that the healers could not help her?" Odin pressed. "We have generous provisions for those who cannot afford the aid. Was she abused?"

"No, Allfather," Frigga said sadly. "It is because they could not help her."

"She hid in a basket of candles on the battlefield," Loki added. "I would guess it was candles meant to mark the graves of the dead. An ill-placed throw of Mjolnir set them alight around her as the Jotuns attacked-"

Odin turned slowly. His golden skin paled, as though he were reconsidering all he had ever known about his sons. "But such burns could have been healed..."

Loki wasn't even looking at his parents. "Jotuns surrounded her and she hid. She watched as a Jotun healer tried to drag a fallen warrior away." Loki swallowed heavily. "The...creature fell to the ground and played dead as the army advanced. When it saw that she had not revealed its whereabouts, it healed her by cooling the burns. Then-" His jaw clamped shut as he considered how hurt Sigyn might be to have her pain revealed to the Allfather.

Frigga whined and all but collapsed against Odin. Odin wrapped an arm around her as she broke down in silent tears. "Then what...son?" he asked gently.

"Then Thorblasted it into bits, along with its comrade." Loki's face twisted into a macabre snarl. "Thor's lightning burned them away and unfortunately took her eyes as well."

Frigga couldn't stop the tears that dripped onto the Allfather's armor. Odin's heart must be breaking under this onslaught. He had gone stone still, still as a mountain, in his shock. Even the arm he had around her was stiff and still.

"Go on," Odin urged.

Loki finally looked at his parents. It was as though he were looking at strangers he had never seen before. "The Jotun magic meant that the healers could not help her." He stood angrily. "And while we are at it, do you know how her father died? Thor." He gestured in a mockery of Thor's throwing swing. "Thor rammed into him and pressed him into an enemy weapon. She got to see that at least before he so generously blinded her and then ran past her and left her to die on the field."

Odin sat at last, numb to his wife and son staring at him. "Thor did this?" He stared at the floor, not seeing the rich wood flooring nor the intricate rug underneath his feet. "Thor―my son..."

"My brother," Loki snapped.

The moments of silence stretched on. At last Frigga whispered, "All she wants is to live in peace on her island-"

"Without Thor," Loki added.

"Without Thor," Frigga nodded.

"And what of us? What of Loki?" Odin asked softly to himself more than his wife. "Does she expect us to never see the babe?" Odin looked at his younger son with the questions burning in his blue eye and seeming a thousand years older than he ever had before.

"There is more," Loki sighed. Frigga looked sharply at Loki but did not interrupt him. "She does not simply want to avoid Thor like many who would simply cross the street to avoid an undesirable person. She wants absolutely no part of him, of Asgard or of any person that might be related to him."

"And yet, you..." Odin asked, questions alight in his face.

"Yes," Loki admitted, surprisingly without rancor or venom. "She has no idea. She believes that she simply bumped into a passing stranger who helped her." He swallowed heavily. "I let her believe that lie―that I was only a passing stranger, that I was a merchant trader, and that I had no more than occasional business in Asgard."

Odin nodded slowly, waiting for the rest.

Loki was again lost in thought. "I let her believe that because...it seemed safer." He cocked a wry grin at his father questioning gaze. "She has Wild Magic. She does not particularly want it, but it is there. And when something reminds her of Thor, it goes off." He flashed his fingers into the air and then folded them again, like an explosion. "On the island, she has a safe refuge where she gardens, cooks and lives in the peace she wants. I go there at times to see to her welfare and bring her some few supplies."

Frigga's lips cocked into half a smile. "You do not mention her talents, Loki." When Odin looked at her for explanation, she added, "Truthfully, she is warm and creative. Her Wild Magic comes to her unbidden, true. When she is at peace and...around us, it flows from her like water from a fountain and her cave becomes comfortable. Almost luxurious.

"But when she is frightened or anxious, it becomes destructive. Glass or ceramics shatter and, from what I saw, fires or other things happen."

"Thor visited her," Loki added almost unnecessarily. "I found out about it afterwards―after they had gone. Apparently, she can defend herself quite well when she is cornered." He stared again into the fireplace moodily. "However, I suppose that the details would be best left for Thor himself to explain..."

Thor sat at the high table, surrounded by the Warriors Three and the Lady Sif. Platters of viands and rich foods covered the table, along with rounds of cheese, golden goblets of rich red wine and great tankards of honey mead. Volstagg sat with one of his children asleep on his knee, thumb stuck in the mouth. Fandral had three ladies lounging and supping around him, gently competing for his attention. Hogun sat there with modest portions of simply prepared food still on his plate, listening. Sif sat at Thor's side, listening avidly as they remembered past battles and good times.

An older gentleman in plain clothes came forward and whispered in Thor's ear. Thor looked at him in surprise and then nodded. Sif frowned, noticing the change in Thor's mood from jolly to solemn. He grimaced at her and nodded. "Father calls," he told his friends shortly. The older man nodded in agreement and Thor followed him out.

Fandral looked around in confusion. "Who soured Odin's evening that he would call Thor away?"

"Loki, most likely," Sif snapped. "He's always about some mischief."

"Loki has been conspicuous by his absence," Hogun remarked.

"Come now," Fandral smiled. "We do not have to let this ruin our evening." The ladies around him cooed and giggled. "There is mead and ale and food for everyone and likely as not, Thor is being congratulated as we speak."

Sif stared moodily at her plate. The joy had gone out of her―as though she were a balloon with a leak. "I will take my leave as well," she said. "Perhaps another time..."

"Well," said Volstagg, shifting the child in his lap. "I suppose that we had better be on our way too. It is past bedtime." Cuddling the child, he nodded to the other men and walked home.

"Alas I am abandoned," Fandral said with a grand gesture.

"Oh, surely not!" said the woman on his left.

"You have us," whimpered the one on his right.

"Indeed, lovely ladies," he agreed.

Thor walked down the hallways, following the servant. It was rare for Odin to interrupt his evenings like this―particularly after a battle―which meant that something was seriously wrong. As they passed the wing where the family's quarters were, he felt his unease grow. When they proceeded to the same hallway he had left them in, he could not help but pause and swallow heavily.

The older man turned and smiled at him, a little. "I'm sure that things will work out," he offered timidly.

"And my father did not tell you why he needed to see me?" Thor asked again.

"No, Your Highness," the other replied. "But he did urge me to bring you without delay."

"He was not pleased?" Thor pressed.

"I...It is not my place to say," the older man said.

"Come now...Herm," Thor smiled wanly, finally remembering his name. This old man had been a messenger, swift and sure and constantly going from one end of the palace to the other carrying messages and notes to everyone. "Surely you could let me know...?"

Herm only shrugged. "I believe that he was solemn, Your Highness. But the Allfather does not readily show his feelings."

"Indeed," Thor sighed. "Let's get it over with."

Herm bowed and knocked on the door. Odin's voice bade them enter and Herm opened the door, bowing to Thor as he backed away.

Thor came into the salon, looking at his family in confusion. Frigga was still red eyed and sniffling into a lacy handkerchief as she sat on the bench. Loki was sitting in the chair next to her, stone faced and solemn but holding her hand nonetheless. Odin stood in the middle of the room, watching carefully.

Thor bowed and came forward, sliding another glance to Frigga. She could not or would not meet his eyes. Loki seemed stone faced, looking almost through him.

"Thor Odinson," Odin said softly, but with rich majesty in his voice. Thor stood straight and tall, looking with confusion at his father. "Do you know why I have summoned you?"

"Father, why? What is wrong?" He turned towards Frigga. "Mother―what has happened?"

"You have been accused of very serious deeds," Odin replied solemnly. Not a hint of the immense pain his heart was feeling shown on his face except for one tiny hint of a tear out of his eye. "You have been accused of deeds..." Odin took a deep breath. "Deeds that would forever taint your honor and the honor of your family and the honor of your king."

"What deeds?" Thor demanded. "What madness is this?" He tried to catch his brother's eye. "Loki―is this some game or jest of yours? Mother―what is-?"

"Thor Odinson," Odin continued over him. "You have been accused of injuring an innocent irreparably and in the course of doing so, endangering your men and yourself." Thor looked at his father in confusion. "You have been accused of recklessly pushing a man to his death, leaving behind his daughter who you then injured on the battlefield."

"I do not recall this," Thor said. "The only lady that I have ever seen on a battlefield was the Lady Sif and I would die before I would allow her or any under my command come to harm." He swallowed, trying to desperately think. Was there some instant that he had been careless on the boat? Had someone almost died in battle this night? "Who brings these accusations against me?"

"She cannot be here," Loki finally spoke up. "She has given her testimony to me and I have in turn given it to the Allfather."

"She lies!" Thor shouted.

"Silence!" Odin shouted back, his voice ringing of thunder. "These matters are very grave and must be investigated. Because the lady in question cannot be here, I will travel to her to investigate. If I am satisfied her complaint is valid and has merit, then I will have you stand before our courts to answer the charges."

"Why can't she accuse me in the courts? She would see-!"

Loki said in a dry tone. "That's precisely the point. She can't see―not any more."

Thor nodded to himself. "It is the witch then. On the island." He scratched his beard. "She bore me ill will and set spells upon me."

"She defended herself," Loki insisted. He rose to his feet with grace and spare movements that echoed his inner rage more than the sharpest gesture or shouting could do. "She defended herself against you because she saw her father die because of you. She was blinded―permanently—because of you. She lives like an exile on an island far from here because of you. She wants nothing more than to be allowed to live in peace―away from you."

"I will speak with her," Thor said softly. "I will tell her that she is mistaken-"

"Tell us, brother," Loki said, cocking his head slightly. "How did that work out last time?"

"The wi―lady would not speak with me," Thor admitted. "She set spells upon me and would speak not with Fandral or Sif." He gathered his racing thoughts for a moment. "We were looking for you, brother. We had been told that she was on that island and might help us find you." He frowned. "Whenever I spoke, she loosed her magic against us. We turned back rather than fight her openly and returned to find that you were here." He reached out his hand to his brother. "Brother...who is this woman? Why does she accuse me? What does she want from me?"

Loki flushed a little. "She doesn't." At Thor's questioning glance, he smiled sadly. "That is the part that is...unfathomable." He shrugged elegantly, glancing away. "She wants, truly, to never cross paths with you again."

Thor's mood lightened, seeing a chance at a peaceful settlement. "Then I will never again darken her doorstep. She need never be in my presence again. Does this not solve this issue?"

There was a heavy silence. Loki looked to Frigga for a moment who shook her head ever so slightly. "There is a small problem." Loki finally glanced back at Thor. "She carries my child."

Thor almost smiled and his head swam with a mixture of perverse relief and ale. "Then you were listening when we spoke last."

"What is this?" Odin demanded, looking at the two others.

Loki shrugged. "A drunken jest, Allfather." He turned away and settled again near Frigga, daring Thor to say more.

Thor swallowed heavily, realizing how close he was to making the Allfather considerably more upset. "Is this not cause for celebration, then? Another child for the house of Odin?"

"It would be," Odin remarked dryly. "If the child could be here. As it is-" His voice dropped an octave. "She apparently cannot be in your presence without violence."

Thor nodded, suddenly seeing the thorny problem. "And it would be foolish for me to have an extended leave when we are still beset by the Frost Giants." He sighed. "I can be elsewhere in the palace for much of the day to avoid her, but there are still dinners and so on that I must attend."

"I as well, my brother," Loki offered. He did not smile but his eyes seemed a little lighter in understanding. "But if I am here, I cannot be there. If I am there, I neglect my work here."

"Could you speak for me, Loki?" Thor asked. "Could you give her my apologies? Offer her any reward for her suffering at my hands? We can ensure her safety with guards at her beach. Perhaps a maid servant to aid her in her tasks?" He gestured at the room. "And comfortable furnishings for herself and her child?" Loki appeared to be considering it. "An allowance to grant her peace of mind?"

Frigga cut in wearily. "Speaking to her again would ease my mind as well, but there is precious little that can be offered to her-"

"Hogun said that she lived poorly, that she seemed hungry," Thor replied.

"Indeed, her furnishings are simple and plain," Frigga said thoughtfully. "I, myself, think that some things are needed desperately. However, as she is alone on the island, no amount of gold will give her security. A maid or guards would overtax the few gifts that the island possesses."

"I will not allow my child to starve, Mother," Loki reassured her quietly.

"Yet you cannot be constantly flitting there and back," Thor pointed out. "If naught else, our enemies would find her a target for their rage―especially if she is heavy with child."

Odin grimaced, listening in. This was a good thing-allowing the brothers to work out their differences and problems together rather than being at odds. Yet, anyone who spoke of Thor might be in true danger. Especially if her magic came unbidden and thus uncontrolled. Then, that might be questioned, again putting Thor in the public glare and scrutiny. He approached both brothers thoughtfully. "I will visit this island and this...lady-" Frigga cleared her throat noisily and he shot a look over his shoulder at her. "-with Friggato see to this complaint." Thor and Loki both looked at each other and tried not to chuckle. Odin, to his credit, did not look ruffled in the slightest and continued on speaking. "Thor, Loki-these are very serious charges. A king cannot rule if his rule is questioned." He sighed deeply. "Loki...I only hope that..." He looked lost for a moment, confounded by the night's events. "I hope that she is worthy of you."

"Some would undoubtedly say she is too good for me," Loki remarked wryly.

Frigga and Odin chuckled. In a hushed voice (although Frigga could undoubtedly hear him), the Allfather added with a twinkle in his eye, "A good woman is the making of a good man from a knave and a truly great man from a good man." He clapped them both on the shoulders. "And that is what I hope for you both."

"Thank you, Father,"Thor said with a grin.

"Thank you, Father," Loki nodded.

"Come, Loki," Odin said, gently pulling his younger son back into the salon. "Tell me of her. What is she like?"

Thor stopped for a moment. His younger brother suddenly seemed to bloom like a late bud suddenly brought into full sun after a lifetime of shade. It was...good to see that Odin was comfortable speaking to his younger brother. Loki actually smiled, describing her apparently terrible attempts to make bread in the cave with a wicked twist of humor. Hopefully this woman—this Sigyn—would bring Loki out of the shadows a bit, let him see the better things in life rather than the sardonic, the trickery and the sly. With a rare grace, he quietly left them to speak and closed the door behind him.

It was late―very late for even Loki's normal night watches―before his parents allowed him to depart. Odin was curious about her―who her father was, who was she, what sorts of things did she show a talent for―but seemed at peace with the idea that he was shortly to become a grandfather. Frigga produced copious lists and questions of things to bring her or provide for her and her child. If he was not careful, there would be a full regatta to bring her all of the little things she might need, along with the usual buzzing of trumpets and overdone fanfare. It honestly seemed...strange to have them so openly accepting of him. Usually there was a slight air of distrust or uncertainty. Even when he truly might have had the best intentions.

Of course, he hadn't intended for her to fall pregnant in the first place. He had gone on his merry way without thinking about it—despite Frigga's careful lessons and warnings. And now, all of a sudden, it seemed that all manner of things were possible. Whether or not Thor had truly meant to name his first born the heir, Frigga was plainly taken with Sigyn and Odin might well be on the way. He was suddenly the object of their attention and had even been asked to join them in their usual late night cup of wine before bed-a ritual Thor had occasionally been asked to be a part of but that, of late, they had not included him in on. Odin was even trying to consider how best to provide a place and occupation for the little child and for Sigyn as well-something that he had felt lacked consideration for himself.

All this was pivoting on Sigyn accepting their enthusiastic generosity. Loki's mouth twisted as he reflected. He had truly not attempted to get her to move past her injury-to heal in her mind. He had, if he were honest with himself, relishing her unquestioning acceptance and not worried about how she would be viewed by his family. He whispered an foul phrase beneath his breath. Was it not the first rule of warfare and wizardry alike to consider the consequences before making a move?

Loki wearily opened the door to his chamber, relishing the thought of nothing more complicated than staggering to his bed and sleeping until noon. The chamber was dark as he preferred it. The emerald green drapes pulled over the windows, the fire banked low with warm coals and only three candles lit. Yet instead of restful silence, a snore rumbled through his sitting room. Cocking his head to one side, he flicked his wrist and the flames in the fireplace rose up brightly.

Thor was slouched in his particularly favorite reading chair with his bare feet perched on a nearby table and his boots slouching beside him, snoring away. Loki forced the fire to flare up again, bathing them both in hot light. With a grumpy snort, Thor's eyes cracked and he moaned and stretched. "I feared that I would be in my dotage before I again saw you."

"Hardly," Loki replied. "It seems to me that this is an early night for you since you seem to be regularly up feasting."

Thor stood stiffly. "Brother," he smiled. "It was good to see what happened this night. You have made Mother and Father very happy." He scratched his beard thoughtfully. "And have saved me in the bargain." Loki cocked an eyebrow curiously. "Father would not be happy if he were to find out that I intended to adopt this child as my heir and I almost blurted it out in front of them. Thank you."

Loki took Thor's hand and shook it with a slightly bewildered expression. "It was...nothing."

"Hardly nothing," Thor said, looking around for his boots. Pulling them on, he stood again, trying to not look exhausted. "At any rate, I wanted to give you my own congratulations and my own promise that your children will not want while I live."

Loki smiled, but did not mention that Frigga and Odin had both said the same thing.

"You must be tired," Thor added, looking at the dark circles under Loki's emerald eyes. "I have no doubt that Mother kept you up with a hundred questions and a thousand little details."

"Something like that," Loki murmured. It seemed more like thousands of questions and no end to the details.

"I have no doubt of that," Thor chuckled. "I had no idea that children were so...involved." He ruffled his golden hair again and cocked an eye towards his brother. "I would guess that they are...interested in a wedding as well as a birthing?"

"That seems to be the way things are going," Loki replied restlessly.

"Then, I ask one small favor of you, Loki," Thor looked at him steadily. "Please...whatever you can do to plead my case that she and I may be at peace." Thor glanced away restlessly. "I do not want my new sister and I to be endlessly embattled."

"I do not know what I can do... She is hard set against you."

"I will ensure her safety and her well being. I will provide anything she lacks." Thor looked at Loki again. "But I do not want to be her enemy."

"What are you proposing?" Loki asked with a little smile.

"Only to speak with her. When the time is right, I know that you will speak the truth to her." He shot a telling glance. "I cannot say that it would be easy, but if she is worthy of you, then she will at least hear it out." Thor stretched meaningfully. "I must be abed. It is far too late for me."

"As you say, brother," Loki nodded. "Sleep well."

"Sleep well, my brother."

However, it was yet another hour before Loki could find rest. He needed to speak to her―he knew that. Preferably before his parents came around insisting on meeting her and starting the staggering amount of fuss that apparently she would require.

The truth...would the truth set her free?

The sun was well on its course before Loki awoke to the lightest of tapping on his door. He lurched awake from his lovely dream of Sigyn in the throne room wearing naught but a smile and lurched towards the door. His usual greatcoat―while warm―was hardly comfortable to sleep in. Nor were his boots particularly comforting.

He grunted, biting back a fearsome growl as sunlight spilled inside from the doorway. Frigga stood with one of her maids and an immense basket looped over one arm. The maid flushed and spared him a glance before darting away.

"My son," Frigga smiled warmly. "It is past noon and I had expected you to be up and about again." She arched an eyebrow. "Perhaps you should return to your lady if you no longer rest well here?" She smiled impishly and pretended to examine him thoroughly, tapping her lower lip thoughtfully. "I think that perhaps she will do you good..."

"Mother," he grimaced. He reluctantly stood straighter, seeing that he would get no further rest without satisfying her. "How may I be of service?"

"I wished to go to market with you and then I will send you back to your island." She smiled deliberately and firmly. "Odin agrees that it would do you both good to have some time alone and I do not see any harm in sending gifts to her, do you?"

There was, as every son knows, only one answer to such a question when one's mother asks it in that particular tone. "Of course not, Mother," Loki said dutifully. "Allow me a few minutes to gather myself together and I will accompany you."

Frigga nodded and smiled as the maid came back with an even larger basket. Loki simply closed the door and sagged against it. His head pounded and felt nigh as thick as a shield. He rolled his eyes―apparently nothing would do but sending him off loaded with a generous supply of gifts. He grinned and then chuckled wryly. Apparently his parents were eager to win her over.

It was a credible ten minutes later when he appeared, neatly groomed and in clean clothes. Frigga smiled and dismissed the maids that hovered around her with petitions, invitations and such. "Loki," she smiled, holding her arms open wide. "You look wonderful." She dropped a quick peck on his cheek. "And isn't today a grand day?"

"Of course, Mother," he replied softly. "I see that we are set for the market."

"Indeed," Frigga grinned as Loki offered her his arm. "I haven't anticipated a trip to the markets so much in years."

With stoic patience, Loki lead her through the markets. Frigga was obviously in her element―choosing soft cloth and fine thread for dresses; two sets of hair combs―one with gilded roses carved in it and one of dark ebony with tiny flecks of iridescent green faceted glass; a bottle of perfume that smelled of lavender and roses; soft leather boots with elaborate tooling. There was a side trip for sundries as well―to the baker for some soft yeast rolls as well as two loaves of bread, another package of golden raisins, a package of dates, a bottle of clear wine and a bottle of a rich red wine, a jar of honey, another jar of olives, a crock of butter, a few more lemons, and a wide slice of sharp cheese.

Then Frigga grinned at him and pulled him into what appeared to be a dead end with a single door in it. Loki smiled in curiosity as Frigga seemed to grow as excited as a school girl, leading him down the alley. There was the Alley's End Candy Shoppe―where Frigga swept in and purchased honey candy, horehound lozenges, mint candies, salt water taffies in a multitude of colors and flavors, and her favorite types of hard fruit candies. Loki grinned back at her―remembering when he and Thor would run from the palace to come to Alley's End and spend every coin they could get their hands on. With an almost merry heart, he purchased some chocolates and―as an afterthought―some chocolate dipped fruits. The sweets were wrapped in particolored papers and dumped into the basket.

Loki dipped into his package of chocolates, relishing the bitter dark flavor that was his favorite. Absently nibbling on it, he followed Frigga once more. She stopped briefly to select a handful of ribbons―mostly greens and blues but some few that were golden as well. Then again she pulled him to another shop.

Loki was dumbfounded as he stepped into the lush building. It rivaled the palace with great columns that were covered in ivy vines, lush fountains and cushioned seats. Frigga was welcomed warmly and a maid came in with crystal flutes of straw colored wine and a platter of tiny sandwiches, slices of fruits, and other nibbles. The women darted glances at him so nervously he was tempted to shout "Boo" to see them scatter. Frigga caught his eye and he attempted to settle in a chair with only a mischievous smile.

An older looking woman came forward with a tray loaded with tiny glass bottles and a stack of linen squares. "Your Majesty," she said, bowing. "I am Mavis. I am honored that you have come here. How may we help you?"

"I am looking to buy some lotions, soaps and oils."

The woman glanced speculatively over Frigga's skin and said doubtfully, "We can recommend some of our mixtures..."

Frigga smiled and let out a small chuckle. "It is a gift for another lady, who I hope to entice here soon."

"Ahh," the other woman nodded solemnly as though Frigga had spoken the answer to some perplexing question. "She is a shy flower?" Mavis nodded to herself again, apparently not actually seeking an answer. "Her skin...is it dry or rough? Perhaps-"

"Her skin is soft and fair," Loki retorted hotly.

A nearby maid tittered and Mavis frowned at her. The maid curtsied and dashed out the door. She nodded to Loki and said evenly. "Of course, Highness. It was thoughtless of me to even ask." For all of her words, she seemed dryly amused at his outburst, rather than shaken. She beckoned to a passing maid who brought in an immense basket. "For soft skin we use this mix of beeswax and cocoa butter or Shea butter along with sesame oil. For dryer skin―perhaps skin exposed to the elements or if she were expecting a child-we would add jojoba and aloe-"

"Perhaps the jojoba would be added," Loki amended.

"As you wish, Highness," Mavis replied. Apparently touchy husbands and lovers were commonplace here, as she did not so much as turn a hair. The maid brought forth pots sealed with cork and Mavis took her time selecting one before presenting her tray to him. "If you would care to select a scent that suits her?" Loki chose a thin glass vial filled with a green oil and lifted the stopper. "Bergamot, Highness?"

Loki frowned slightly. "I do not think the smell of tea would suit her." He finally settled on a custom blend of rose, lavender and night blooming jasmine. Nonplussed, Mavis blended the lotion and then a pot of soft soap.

"Will the lady want cosmetics?" Mavis offered as yet another maid refilled their drinks.

Frigga blanched. "I'd rather not―not until she is here." She paused for a sip. "But perhaps one of your excellent hair blends?" Mavis nodded and swiftly bottles of hair soap were blended and added to the basket. Frigga did finally choose a lip balm with a rosy tint, as well as a perfumed sample of a mix of sugar, milk, honey and jojoba. After some debate a lotion for the face was blended―mixing yarrow, jojoba, Shea butter, cocoa butter and beeswax.

"A massage oil, as well?" Mavis offered blandly. Loki's ears perked up and he grinned roguishly. Mavis's carefully blank expression did not waver, although her eyes twinkled. Swiftly a tray of oil samples was presented. Loki touched each oil in turn and Mavis finally mixed a smooth blend of sesame oil, jojoba and coconut oil. With relish, Loki directed her to blend two vials―one of with essence of vanilla and one scented with essence of dragon's blood. On impulse, he added a thick bar of soap scented with vanilla.

Loki was forced to fetch another pair basket by the time they were done at the markets. Frigga had been more than generous―adding two bracelets, a simple gold necklace, two pairs of soft socks, a pair of gloves and some house slippers while he had gone to fetch the baskets. While he attempted to divide the gifts into those baskets, she wandered off and appeared with a spice chest, a sturdy broom, a length of fine netting such as might be used to ward off insects and two sets of fine sheets. Rolling his eyes, Loki packed as much as he could while trying to keep his eye on his mother. Of course, she ducked in and out of the shops quickly, amassing purchases as a sweaty horse might amass flies.

"Mother―I don't know where we will put all this!" he finally said in exasperation as she appeared with two lanterns and a stack of candles. She arched a finely drawn eyebrow and said nothing, only smiled.

Loki's blood ran cold for a moment, staring at the same serene smile that he had given out often enough when he was plotting something. "I have but a single errand," he finally said with a cocky grin. "Can we avoid purchasing the entire market before I return?"

She smirked at him. "Of course, my son," she replied. Dimples appeared on her cheeks as she attempted to hide her smile. "I will arrange to have these carried to your boat and wait for you there."

Loki rolled his eyes. If his mother wasn't curbed soon, his craft would not leave the harbor. He ducked into a shop where the seamstress was known for her...enticing garments as well as her discretion. Choosing some night frills―frothy bits of ready made muslin gowns and robes with bunches of lace at the hems―he lost sight of Frigga. His purchases were carefully wrapped before him and then handed directly to him.

With a sigh, Loki saw that both the baskets and Frigga were gone and headed to the harbor. Most who saw him simply drifted out of his way―suddenly interested in a shop's wares or in a window display or a fountain's beauty. One or two shopkeepers nodded in his direction. One old crone―the keeper of the spice and herb shop that he frequented to purchase his more common spell components―curtsied with a smile.

As he predicted, Frigga stood looking at his craft. The two baskets he had hauled through all of the Asgard markets sat in the middle―along with the spice chest and a picnic basket. The little seat with the cubby beneath it suspiciously would not close fully. He had enough room to board the heavily laden craft, but not much else.

Frigga smiled from the dock. Her eyes sparkled wisely and shone with approval. "Go swiftly, my son," she said. "Best of wishes and good luck." She pulled her cloak closer to herself. "We will not expect you back for a few days."

Loki smiled and waved at her and forced the little craft forward. It was fortunate that he had not been built like Thor―the craft inched forward, low in the water, before finally rising up. By the time that he was aloft, the folk of Asgard were already crowding around Frigga who watched him. Finally she waved again and then turned to address the crowd.

It was evening before Loki set down on the beach. Tying the craft, he hauled the stuff to the beach. Without much hope of being heard, he called out, "Sigyn―come to the beach!"

A shuffling was heard and Loki saw Hogun, wrapped in a heavy cloak, appear. Hogun's bland face gave no sign, but he silently handed Loki a letter sealed with wax. "Thor sent me here," he said softly. "Early this morning Jotun craft were spotted in the western sea and Thor posted me to guard the lady."

Loki took the folded paper and examined the seals. One was Odin's seal and one was Thor's. Breaking the seals, he saw a brief sketch of the area, along with where the Jotun craft had been spotted.

"The Jotun?"

"They retreated," Hogun said shortly. "As soon as they saw us." He glanced up the cliff side. "The lady had not yet risen when they retreated. Since then she has come and tended her garden and her animals and then in the afternoon she sat in the meadow and sipped a hot drink. About an hour ago she went back into the house."

"And how did you fare?" Loki asked silkily.

"I had enough supplies to stay the day," Hogun shrugged. "So I just watched."

"I see," Loki said. It was worrisome that the Jotun were suddenly so interested in this area. Perhaps he should journey to Jotenheim to see what they were about. Finally, he remembered his manners. "My thanks for keeping a watch over her."

Hogun cleared his throat uncomfortably. "She seems to be a good woman," he finally replied. "Thor will send a craft here soon and I will stay on the beach until then." With that, Hogun bowed stiffly and scooted around him to go sit cross legged on the beach.

Loki folded the papers and stuffed them in his pocket. With a grunt, he hauled the two loaded baskets up to the top of the mountain. Knocking on the door, he sighed.

Sigyn opened the door a crack. "Locca?"

"Indeed," he muttered dryly. "Now―let me in before I drop my load."

She squeaked and opened the door wide. "Locca, darling... What is all of this?"

"Mother," he sighed crossly. "She took me to task for not providing for you properly and then made me do penance by taking me shopping."

"Oh," Sigyn said softly. She bit her bottom lip and drug in one of the baskets. "She is...generous."

"We will sort them out later," he said. "I still have things to bring up from the shore."

The spice chest―filled with spices―was put in the kitchen area, along with the picnic basket. The basket was unloaded piecemeal. In addition to the foodstuffs, Frigga had added in a new pot, two large bowls and some assorted silverware. The sheets were carried to the bedroom and the soaps, lotions and such were carried into the bathing area. The combs and jewelry were wrapped in a square of cloth and taken to the bedroom.

As Sigyn hefted the new broom, sweeping crumbs from their snack of rolls, butter and honey, she laughed heartily. "I think that you have taken me to Valhalla, Locca. I never expected such bounty."

"Hmm," Loki muttered, setting up a camp stool. The benches he had conjured last time rested at the table, but this little stool would afford some comfort in the bedroom, and function as some slight storage. Even he couldn't deny that the little cave was looking more hospitable. The two new lanterns dangled from rope twisted around a newly formed thumb of rock close to the ceiling. Inexplicably, a tablecloth was arranged over the table―it seemed that even blind women liked such things. The packets of food were carefully arranged on the shelves, taking the place of some of the vials and bottles of herbs and spices which were now stored properly in the chest. With a grin he slid the final pin into place and tested the stool. "I'm glad that you are happy Sigyn."

Sigyn giggled again and sat breathlessly at the table. "We have been putting things away for some time―I am exhausted! And there are still more packages and the picnic basket." Her fingers twitched and crept to the edges of the basket. "Can we finally see what's inside?"

Loki grinned wickedly. He had forbade her from transforming the cave until everything was put away. "Oh my love, we haven't seen everything yet."

"There's more?" she said with a teasing pout. "There simply isn't room!"

"Ahh...but you will like these!" he replied. He had saved the best for last. Sweeping the cloth and threads into one of the finally empty baskets, he pulled out the packages he had bought.

"First," he instructed. "Stand here." Sigyn stood in the middle of the room as directed with a silly grin on her face. "Now, disrobe." She smiled languidly and disrobed. Swiftly he pulled the muslin gown over her head, grinning as she felt along the ruffled and lacy hem at her thighs. "Tell me what you think of this..."

Sigyn gasped for air. Surely that was all that this was―air and spiderwebs! And it hid absolutely not the slightest hair on her body. "This is...must be wicked..." She barely grazed the low bodice with her fingertips. "Is this what is worn in Asgard? Surely not..."

"Not in public, my love," he grinned. He plucked up one of the paper covered packages again. "Now...let me know if you like this." Selecting a piece of chocolate, he popped it into her mouth.

"Oh my...!" she gasped, chewing the tasty morsel. "This is...heavenly." She tried to approach the table, but he crinkled the paper still in his hand and she followed the sound. "Please...another piece," she mewled.

He laughed, teasing her with another piece. Then another. Quite soon, a lick of the fingers became a languid kiss. And another kiss. Then, the muslin was discarded, along with his clothes. Afterward, they bathed each other, taking time to soap and rinse and then lavish lotion on the skin.

The picnic basket was a marvel of delicious tidbits. There was cold roasted chicken, some sort of rich sauce that tasted of honey and smoke, a salad of various vegetables with an oil and vinegar dressing, pastries filled with fruit or sweet cream, fresh sweet grapes, tiny quiches with spinach and bacon and cheese, and chocolate souffles. There was a tiny bottle of sweet orange cordial and tiny dark chocolates for dessert. Sigyn couldn't believe that she tried more than a mouthful of everything.

"Is this how you feast, Locca? Is it a celebration?" she yawned, curled against him on the bench. "I don't think that I've ever had some many delicious things!"

"Oh there are many such things...back at my home." He almost felt choked by the words. "My family often hosts feasts with many more things to try."

Sigyn sighed. "Perhaps we will pretend that we are visiting them," she yawned again sleepily. "But later. I wish to sleep as soon as I can."

"Are you ill still?" Loki thought to ask as he picked up the tidbits. He had conjured a large container that was serving as a compost bin during the immense efforts to move everything inside and dropped in the bits of salad and such that there was simply no room for. The chicken had been devoured―all that remained were bones that would be buried. The rest would be turned in with soil and bits of weeds and leaves to form new loam for the garden. "Is it keeping you up at night?"

"Not much at night," she replied, feeling for the new slippers. "But in the morning I swear I sound like an ox!"

"Never that, my dove," he smiled.

"Ugh! Just wait," she said grimly.

"As you say," he shrugged. "Perhaps rinsing your mouth with a mint mixture before bed would help...?"

She only sighed and took the tablecloth outside to shake. Draping it over one arm, she came back in and dropped it on the table. Her love was in the bedroom and, in a bloom of contentment, she transformed the cave. This time in shades of green andblue with silver. The new sheets were a wonder of softness and she snuggled into them, feeling him put one of the new blankets over the bed and washing her in warmth.

"When will your mother return?" she yawned. "I must thank her."

"And what about me?" Loki pouted as he shucked off his breeches and slid in beside her.

"Of course, I thank you as well," she sighed. Then she grinned slyly. "And I'll be happy to thank you again if you like before we sleep?"

Loki grinned. "Insatiable minx!"

Sigyn grinned and curled against him. Then she pulled back and frowned. "My love, are you well?"

"Yes," Loki answered.

"Are you sure?" She sat up and felt down his arm. "You feel so warm!"

Loki frowned at that. His few encounters with the opposite sex had been peppered with complaints on how cool his skin felt, how cold his hands were. Reaching her, he felt no fever or complaint. "Are you sure you are well?" His hands drifted over her again, hesitating over her stomach.

She frowned again. "Perhaps I am simply tired." She lay again against him, a charming pleat on her brow above her scars. "I'm sure it is nothing."

Loki wrapped an arm around her. "Come, love. We must sleep." His eyes drifted closed. Some hours later, he bolted awake alone in the bed―driven by the need to hold Sigyn close to himself. She stepped into the room with a mug of cool water and he firmly guided her again to the little nest of sheets and pillows.

"What is wrong, Locca?"

"I didn't know where you were," he whispered softly against her hair.

"I stepped out to get a drink of water," she replied softly. "Did you know you snore?"

"So do you, love," he smiled. "Delicate little snores like a cat."

She giggled. "I wake myself up at times snorting like a pig now."

Loki stretched out beside her, feeling her warm against him. "My love―if you are awake, I would like to talk?"

Sigyn stirred a little beside him. "What about?"

"I...I must tell you the truth," he said. "I dreamed that I did not and I lost you forever. That I was falling far from you as though I had fallen off a bridge and could not return. And that it was because I did not speak the truth."

"The truth?" she echoed, going rigid. "Why...?" She sat up in the bed, pulling a sheet around her. "I mean...we are fine as we are... I-!"

"Do you remember the pretend?" he pressed. "When you pretended to go to Loki?"

"I...yes, I remember," she nodded slowly. "But it was a foolish thing. I don't even know why I brought it up." Her hands knotted in the sheet around her and she grew pale. "It was simply a joke..."

He lounged on one elbow, studying her. She shivered and almost seemed to be sweating, but was flushed too. "But what if it wasn't?" One hand went slowly to her mouth and she swallowed heavily. "What if it wasn't pretend?"

Sigyn's mouth went dry. "Damn it," she cursed. "It was just a bad dream. I'll never leave you―never even leave this island." She sniffed. "Please―what we have here is good." In a smaller, tiny voice, she added. "Please...don't do this..."

Loki sat up. Hesitantly, he took her hand. "Please, love. Hear me out."

"I know," she interrupted. "I know that you are not a merchant trader. I know that likely your name is not 'Locca'." She swallowed again, forcing her parched throat to work. "I've known for a while."

"And?"

"And it wasn't important. You would come and we would be happy. And now I will have a child to keep up with and be happy with," she sobbed shrilly. "I didn't think it was important."

"Pledge to me," Loki rose to his knees on the bed. "Pledge that you will always be mine." His voice felt on the edge of cracking. "Always and forever."

"I do," she whispered, leaning against him. "I always will be yours." She wrapped her arms around his lean chest. "It doesn't matter who you are or why... I will be yours."

Loki reached for his breeches and pulled a small ring out of the pocket. It was simply done―a delicate weaving of vines decorating it and one small diamond shaped ruby in the center like a tight rosebud. He had seen it in Alfheim what felt like a lifetime ago and adored the simple lines and clear gem. He pulled her hand before him. "Pledge that you will love me alone forever," he demanded.

She pushed his hands away. "No, love," she said, feeling him stiffen in surprise. "I need no gifts, no jewels or gold. I need your love in return." She stilled, feeling his hands again seize her left hand. "I will always and forever love you and only you."

Loki felt triumph pummel through him as she finally accepted the ring on her finger. "The words... My love, I need the words."

Sigyn nodded, sensing his urgency and repeating the wedding words she had memorized in her daydreams as a child. "I pledge to you. I pledge that I will forsake all others, love all that you love and curse all that you curse. I pledge that your heart, your happiness and your life will forever be in my mind, my heart and the fountain of my happiness. I pledge my heart and soul to you." She sighed, feeling a sense of finality as she leaned against him. "I pledge this in the name of the Allfather, for now and forever."

He pressed a second, heavier ring into her hand and she fumbled with it, sliding it onto his finger. He sighed and repeated the words to her. "I pledge to you. I pledge that I will forsake all others, love all that you love and curse all that you curse. I pledge that your heart, your happiness and your life will forever be in my mind, my heart and the fountain of my happiness. I pledge my heart and soul to you." His voice almost gave out. "I pledge this in the name of the Allfather, for now and forever."

His kiss was soft against her lips-almost questioning and seeking, as though he were unsure of his welcome. She smiled softly, uncertainly, and kissed him. Then she raised his hand to her lips and kissed his ring―the traditional kiss of fidelity. He raised her ring to his lips and kissed it as well, then kissed her palm which was the kiss of protection.

"My love," he sighed. "I am yours forever. And whatever the cost, I must tell you...who I am..."

"Locca," she whimpered. "Please...we are pledged to each other. Even if you didn't mean it, allow me to pretend this night..."

"Pretend that I am 'Locca' and a merchant trader?" he asked softly. "Such untruth...should not live here-" He kissed her lips again. "My princess."

"Princess?" she gasped against his mouth. Desperately, she pressed against him as though she hoped to stop the words coming out.

He took her shoulders and pulled her away just enough to allow himself to breathe. "I am Loki."

Sigyn's head swam dizzily. For a moment, she doubted her senses. "Is this another...pretend?"

"My love," he said, holding her close. For a moment, his eyes closed to hide her from his sight. "I... I wish that I could be Locca, and a trader. But I cannot. I am only Loki of Asgard." He swallowed heavily, an unfamiliar stinging behind his lids.

"I...I am to believe that you are Prince Loki of Asgard?" she asked softly. "I am to believe that..." She curled up away from him. "I...-"

"My love," he said, crawling through the swamp of sheets to her. She held her hand up behind her, and he stopped. "I-"

"I thought that...perhaps you were already pledged or already married. I thought that perhaps your father was a diplomat or head of the merchant's guild and thus you were often gone and had frequent business in Asgard. I was content with that!" She felt the bed shift and held out her hand again. "I was grateful for the little time that you gave me and was...d-d-determined to not ask for more. I had...thought that when my child was born, that you might take it to...to the mainland and find a family there who would see that the child was schooled properly. That perhaps you did not want the child and thus were so angry." She swallowed her sob. "I...I wanted to do you honor―that I would hide in the sh-shadows of your life so that no one need know of my existence and I would bring no shame to you. No one need know more than you were occasionally gone." She felt his hands curl around her shoulders. "I wanted to please you―to show you that, in spite of my magic and in spite of my ill-breeding and in spite of my scars that I loved you." She bowed her head into her hands. "I only wanted to be worthy of your love in return. And now you ask me to believe that you are not a merchant and a common man―that you are a prince. And not just any prince, but Prince Loki of Asgard!"

He swallowed heavily. As always, his mother was right―honesty would have been best. No matter his intentions, honesty would have prevented this. He supposed he should be thankful that her magic was not answering her hurting call.

"You want me to...to do what?" she continued angrily, her fists balling up the sheets. "To go with you and be a princess? To be nauseated by endless praises to Thor?To shame you because of my scars?" She gestured angrily to her face. "To be a worthless layabout around the palace whose only contribution is to have a child?" She finally laid her hand on his on her shoulder and spoke so quietly that he could scarce hear her even in the silence of the cave. "You...d-d-deserve so much more..."

Loki felt a clenching in his throat. Only Sigyn would say that he deserved more. Finally, he whispered in a raspy voice. "And what would you deem worthy of me? Some horse-faced, skinny-arsed princess who trembles at the thought of magic and who undoubtedly had a life that she wanted instead of being married to me to seal some bargain between the realms? Is that the loveless fate you would condemn me to?"

"Loveless?" she queried as though she had not considered it.

He laughed shortly, and it was not a laugh of mirth but of the opposite. "Indeed. You would have me wed this princess―and the Allfather would not be content with less, mind you. And you would have me pledge to her as I have pledged to you instead? You would have me torn between her realm and this one, never to know a moment of peace or privacy and to never know you again?" He shuddered and his voice choked. "Is this the punishment that I am to live?"

Sigyn let out an eerie cry and wrapped her arms around him. "No," she sobbed openly. "No, my love. I will be here always. No matter what you and your...p-p-princess do―I will always love you." She brought his hand to her belly. "And my child will always know that he was conceived in love."

He could only hold her then, wrapping them both in the sheets. Rocking back and forth as a child is rocked by a loving father, he held her until at last she again slept next to him. It was over an hour later before he could stop staring into the imaginary, conjured lights and close his eyes. But somehow, it felt as though instead of avoiding his terrifying vision of losing her, he had only set his feet upon that road.

The next morning―rather, late the next day―they rose and silently tended the garden and the animals. Every so often the air would start to snap and crackle as Sigyn grew tense and then would eventually sort some knot in her thoughts and then relax again. With two of them, the chores were quickly accomplished and quite soon it was time to relax again.

It was lunchtime and they tucked into eggs scrambled with butter and toast, along with some strips of salted and smoked venison. Sigyn was grateful for the milk to soothe her throat and drank it quickly. It wasn't until the last drop filled her cup that she even noticed how swiftly she drank it.

"I'm so sorry, Locca-I mean, Loki," she blushed. "I didn't mean to deprive you."

"Drink―apparently the baby likes it," he smiled a hair stiffly.

"Indeed," she smiled softly in return. "I think he will be quite active."

"We seem certain it is a boy," Loki noted, grateful for the neutral topic of conversation. While his parents had drilled into him the art of meaningless small talk, he usually despised talking for the sake of filling the silence. "What if it is a girl?"

Sigyn giggled and reached for his hand. "As if you would have anything else but a strong boy!"

"Nonsense," he protested lightly. "I would love a girl with your spirit just as much."

"She would spoil you rotten," Sigyn sighed. "Always trying to make her father proud."

Loki smiled and then looked at her. Somehow, she seemed...serene. "Am I forgiven, then?"

"Forgiven?"

"Forgiven for not being Locca the merchant? Forgiven," he sighed. "for being only a prince?"

She sighed and took his hands in her own. "There is nothing to forgive... I was...overcome." She frowned and then asked sharply. "Unless you are here to bargain for my powers..."

Loki laughed. "My love, I trust only you with your powers. Someone else might make us all purple chickens!"

Sigyn laughed at that. "Laying green eggs!" She pressed one hand to her burning cheeks. "My love―there is nothing to forgive. I have pledged to you. And if this means nothing to the mainland―if you must marry your horse-faced princess to satisfy your duty, then you must. I will always be here loving you."

Loki swallowed heavily. "I...I don't know what to say."

Sigyn clasped his hands harder. "Was that truly the Queen? Truly your mother?"

"Truly."

"Oh. My..." She flushed dark red―even her ears and down her chest. "And...the first time that she saw me...! I was...so sure that you were alone as always and-"

"She was charmed, my love," Loki chimed in, amused at her turning almost purple.

"I was not dressed!" she snapped. She grumbled softly. "At least...not for company!" She cocked her head and, had she been able to see, then she would have been shooting him some kind of grumpy look. "At least you could have warned me..."

"We might need that bell after all," Loki offered.

"A doorbell?" she giggled. "How imaginative." She took another swallow of milk. "Is Mother going to be here often?" She flushed dark red, catching herself. "I mean... Her...Majesty?" She pressed her hands to her cheeks. "I'm not sure what I mean..."

Loki grimaced. "I think that in public, the 'Majesty' is correct. However, in private, I believe that she would like it if you simply went with 'Mother'." He let out a soft laugh. "However, we might want to explain about the purple chicken."

"Really? It is such an embarrassing story. I mean―my father had taken strong spirits and ...then the pecking and all." She swallowed. "And I wouldn't know how to do it again and why would we want purple chickens anyway?"

"My love, you're babbling," he teased, dropping a quick peck on her cheek. "Why so nervous?" He shrugged meaningfully. "I only mention it because Odin would be forever in your debt if you did explain it."

Sigyn's cheeks went scarlet and then utterly pale. "What do you mean?"

"Well," Loki grinned a lopsided grin at her. "It seems that to celebrate her birth the Allfather brought her a large gifting box with the most elaborate wide brimmed straw hat. Along the brim was a beautiful purple satin ribbon and a gold medallion surrounded by what appeared to be-"

"Oh no!"

"-rust brown chicken feathers!" Loki cackled in glee. "And the Allfather had to explain mightily that they had been, in fact, purple when he had purchased the hat. He tried to explain that they were purple to match her eyes." He turned a dramatically sorrowful face to her. "And―can you believe it?-someone actually blamed me for the change?" Odin had only glared in his direction. Thor had whispered to his friends his own suspicions. It was Sif who cornered him that evening and demanded he admit the fault.

"Oh, NO!" Sigyn moaned with a laugh. "It wasn't your fault!" She almost shook, torn between laughter and teasing and desperate pride and something else he could not name. "Surely no one blamed you? After all, who has ever heard of purple feathers anyway? And it's not like you are the sole sorcerer in all the nine realms! I must speak of this―at least to Mother! She must understand it wasn't your fault!"

Loki laughed. "It's all right, my love. She thought much like you that purple feathers were something of an unnatural thing. Besides, I was wrapped up in negotiations elsewhere and had plenty of people to say that I was no where near the box or the hat before she saw it." A fact that made Sif crimson with fury. Thor rolled his eyes and didn't believe that he had sat through the entire six hours of negotiations. Odin only nodded with a troubled frown and dropped the subject.

"I would be in a tremendous amount of trouble, wouldn't I?" she said softly. "I mean―at least I should be able to control my temper." She groaned. "Please tell me that no one tried to give you green eggs too!"

He shrugged. "Not that I know of." He smiled wickedly. "However, I would like to know if any others appear. They could be very useful..."

Sigyn laughed―deep and low and sultry. "I suppose that I must claim the deed―if only to clear your name."

Loki laughed as well. The incident was tiny―insignificant. However, seeing Odin's shock at the simplicity of the explanation―that someone else had honestly done it, however unwittingly―would be priceless. Not to mention having Sif eat her own fury at blaming him.

Sigyn squeezed his hands. "Why do I suddenly think that you may thinking more of mischief than me?"

The next two days passed quietly and quickly. Sigyn and Loki learned again about each other―this time without pretense or tricks. At least, no overt pretense or tricks―Loki was still stubborn about summoning things―including the odd pieces of furniture such as a chest, a bedside table and lamp. Not to mention the delightful collection of decadent froth that he deemed appropriate for her to wear―enticing bits of fluff and lace that invariably ended up on the floor within moments.

Sigyn still preferred the simple and plain, making the dresses she needed rather than allowing him to summon something for her. (There would be time enough for proper dresses and such if Mother came back.) She still relished the time spent in the garden―it gave her time to think―and spending time with the animals. The garden was providing them with more vegetables and that fall there would be nuts and apples aplenty. It was refreshing to still be allowed the simple and plain―to feel connected still to the land and the seasons. Granted, the little cave was more comfortable now, but still―it was the simple things that gave her the most pleasure.

Sewing was difficult, though. Particularly if she was trying to do the tight, even stitches as she sewed a seam. Sigyn drug the needle along the edge of the fabric―feeling it rise and drip six times in the woven threads before setting the next stitch.

"You know," Loki said finally. "It amazes me that you can sew at all!" He had been reading some book―some part of her was dying to know what―and finally abandoned it. "How on earth do you do it?"

She only smiled and began counting again. "The needle counts the threads. It's not exact and heaven help me if the thread tangles, but it is close enough for the simple things that I need done. And―the fabric is..." She fumbled for the right word. "Suitable for me."

"Suitable?" he grinned, arching a devilish eyebrow. "Suitable for a princess? You should be in silk in the summer and velvet or quilted satin in the winter. Perhaps with fur cuffs and a fur muff to keep your hands warm."

"Heavens!" she giggled. "I'd never be able to sew satin or silk―the weave is so small I'd be hopeless." She waggled the needle at him. "And you are the only audience that I wish to see me in silk." She shrugged. "At least―the silk that I've got anyway."

Loki was about to reply when there was a firm knock on the door. Suddenly Sigyn froze, her mouth hanging open in shock. His throat went dry for a moment as he considered who might be knocking. "Stay here," he murmured. Sliding his hidden dagger slightly out of its sheath, he crept to the door. The knock sounded again and he gingerly swung open the door.

Frigga and Hogun stood on the other side. Hogun was as dour as ever, glancing around the rocks and pathways. Frigga was all smiles and carrying yet another basket of goods.

"Mother," he greeted warily. He had anticipated at least another day before duty called him back again. "How nice to see you..."

"Mother?" Sigyn called from the cave. Rising unsteadily, she padded to the door. "Is it really you?"

"My dear Sigyn," Frigga sighed. "How lovely to see you. And how marvelous you look!" She leaned past Loki and dropped a quick kiss of greeting on Sigyn's forehead.

"The child is agreeing with me at last," Sigyn nodded. "But...I..." She turned slightly towards Loki in confusion. "What brings you here?"

"You, of course," Frigga smiled. "May I come in?"

Loki rolled his eyes and nodded, letting Frigga sweep past him. "I suppose that you will want to come in as well," he grunted to Hogun. Hogun grunted back and only nodded. "Very well."

"Darling," Sigyn chimed in as Frigga led her to the benches to sit. "Is someone else there?"

"Hogun," Loki answered.

"Hogun agreed to accompany me to ensure that I was safe," Frigga quickly excused.

Sigyn looked confused for a moment. "I hadn't realized. Of course, come in." She pulled away from Frigga and pulled out two cups and filled them with wine. Setting them on the table, she tried to consider what she had to eat that would befit her company.

"Oh my dear," Frigga innocently said as Sigyn turned towards her little kitchen. "Don't worry about us. We ate before we left."

Sigyn only nodded and moved towards Loki. From behind her, Loki wrapped his arms around her and kissed her neck. Smiling, she leaned against him, hoping that she wasn't being too forward. Or too stiff. Or too relaxed. Or too...anything. By the Norns, but all this was complicated.

Loki spoke first. "What brings you here, Mother? No ill tidings, I hope."

Frigga flushed. "No...nothing ill. I simply wished to see how Sigyn was doing. How the baby was faring..."

"We are well," Sigyn sighed. "I am still ill in the mornings, but it seems to be getting better." She nodded to the cave. "As you can see, we have been very comfortable with everything in place."

"Ahh...yes," Frigga said. Even Hogun nodded in what appeared to be approval. "It does seem that things are more comfortable." She put the basket on the table. "I brought some lunch for us, along with some fabric for blankets and such."

Sigyn smiled and whispered to Loki. Loki laughed softly and whispered back. Of course, knowing that Hogun disliked whispers that he was not part of was part of the fun. "We would be honored to have you for lunch, Mother," Loki nodded. "Sigyn has invited Hogun as well, if he wishes."

"I am...honored," Hogun said.

"Well, then, let's go through the fabrics, and then we can eat," Frigga decided. "Tell me, do you have any preferences?"

Loki smiled in his most diplomatic way―the smile that could touch his lips still after hours of discussion that he really wanted no part of. "Sigyn―what do you think?"

Sigyn squeezed his hand. "I was thinking green―perhaps vines and trees and leaves? My father told me once of seeing the cloth of Alfheim and how it was embroidered with the most amazing trees and vines and flowers. He said that they were so cleverly done that looking at them you expected to see the leaves fall and the flowers to have scent." She nodded to herself. "But definitely green."

"Ahh," Frigga said. She pulled out a sample. "What do you think of this?"

Sigyn felt the fabric. It was light and airy, but still had the feel of smooth, snug warmth. Her fingertips could not find the tiny weave and she frowned. "I think that I like the fabric, but I could not work it." She wriggled out an arm and gestured impatiently at her face.

Frigga's face fell. She had loved the feel of the fabric and bought it before it could be dyed. It would have been perfect for the baby. "I see," she said sadly. "I hadn't considered that." For a moment, she was silent. Then, she asked almost hopelessly, "I don't suppose that you would consider coming to the mainland to pick out what you would like...?"

Sigyn sighed. "I will have to, if Loki will allow it." She giggled and patted the round of her tummy. "He's become positively...protective of us."

Loki chuckled a little at the shock on Frigga's face as she registered what was said. He would laugh harder later, but one did not look at the Queen and burst out laughter. Even if she did resemble a gutted fish with her mouth hanging open in shock. Only Hogun's stone faced expression did not change. "Mother? Is something wrong?"

"I...," she began. "I had not expected that... Well, that is, I had not expected this turn of events." She smiled again. "I am very glad that it's all in the open, though."

"We are at peace," Loki replied neutrally.

Sigyn smiled and sighed a little wistfully. "I suppose that I had better get used to the idea that I will eventually be coming to the mainland."

"Indeed," Frigga said, examining the glint of the rings. "We will want...a proper wedding and welcome into the family. Odin is anxious to meet you."

Sigyn's stomach flipped at that. It was one thing to meet Frigga who apparently wanted only to mother everyone. But Odin the Allfather? And what if he was angry about the princess he wanted an alliance with? "Is he? I-I mean..." Drat! Stammering was hardly likely to make a good impression.

Frigga tried to contain her glee. She felt positively triumphant that Sigyn was willing to even consider coming to the mainland. And for Loki to have been honest with her had been beyond her wildest dreams. "We are most anxious to welcome you to the family," she said softly. "Of course, we all understand that...you will want some privacy and time to adjust..."

"Th-th-th-Thor, you mean," Sigyn said with a shiver. She huddled closer to Loki. "I know that our paths will cross." She held a hand protectively over her stomach. "It won't be easy, but I know that we must make our peace for Loki's sake."

Loki felt his heart swell with pride, knowing what it cost her to give up her anger and fury and to swallow her pain. Just to be with him. Granted, even now her magic was gathering, crackling a little as she considered the very thought of Thor. (Hopefully Thor wasn't hiding outside although he had wanted to see him land on his backside at the hands of Sigyn.) "My love," he whispered. "Purple feathers."

Sigyn burst into sudden laughter and her magic dissipated.

"Purple feathers?" Frigga asked.

"Nothing, Mother," Loki chimed in with a bland, innocent expression on his face.

"I see," she said with a curious look. "Well, let's discuss the next few weeks. Once Sigyn feels up to the journey, I think that we should return to the mainland. We will welcome her as your chosen lady at the docks and escort her through Asgard to the palace." She frowned. "I believe that the wedding celebration should be sooner rather than later. Before...well, before it becomes obvious..."

Sigyn only nodded slightly. "It won't be much time. But...do we really have to?"

Frigga replied, "My dear―you don't want to start gossip that Loki is ashamed of you, do you? Or you of him?"

"No!" Sigyn bit out. Loki grimaced as the lights blazed brightly for a moment. "I am honoredto have been chosen by him! I defy anyone to claim differently!" She bristled in Loki's arms. "Gah! What I wouldn't give to be able to wield a sword and properly skewer anyone who made such a claim!"

Hogun's eyes went wide, watching the tiny sparks around her. The magical lanterns had blazed and then died almost uncertainly before resuming their glow. Two or three lanterns—apparently real ones—had swung madly before dying down. He would take special care to not speak ill of Loki in her presence and noted that he would warn his friends to do the same.

Still, Loki gently led her to the bench, whispering softly in her ear and bringing her hand to feel Frigga's fabric again. They sat―him guiding her and her trusting him to guide her. It did not miss Hogun's or Frigga's notice that both of them sported rings now.

Frigga grimaced and continued to try to make conversation about being welcomed publicly, where apartments could be arranged, the nursery at the palace and other such details. They discussed the best way to handle the inevitable gossip that would arise from the child and from Sigyn's appearance―both socially and physically. There would be a demanding schedule of greetings and such―that would start after she was in the palace. She would be invited to host parties or to work with charities―perhaps the charity that offered to pay for medical care for Asgard's warriors and their families would be of interest―and called on to participate in various ceremonies. It would be better if she had an occupation of some kind―mainly to avoid being seen as some kind of money-grubbing leech―but obviously the child would keep her busy as soon as it arrived.

Sigyn's mind whirled with details. There were nine separate realms which would need to gather to witness their wedding celebration. There were dresses to be ordered, food to be arranged, flowers to consider―not to mention dancing and such. She would be tutored in languages, but would need to know basic forms of etiquette for every realm. Not to mention doing other works with Frigga and by herself. And being guarded every moment of the day! By Odin, they were wealthy beyond her ken but poor in privacy!

Hogun eventually excused himself to go fishing and came back empty handed. Sigyn smiled―unknowingly echoing Loki's self-satisfied smirk―when he claimed that all he had caught were minnows and a rather scraggly looking eel. Everyone was grateful that the basket was so heavily laden with treats from the royal kitchens. This time there were individual meat pies with tender morsels of meat, potatoes, carrots, onions and peas in a thick wine gravy, tender rolls that smelt of honey and walnuts, cheeses with pears and apples and some kind of sweet cheese filled pastry drizzled with honey.

Sigyn chuckled as Loki conjured her yet another goblet, rather than serve her the too-sweet cordial. Sipping, she sighed in relief at the sweet cow's milk. Loki only smirked as she drained the goblet. With a look of regretful surprise, she held the empty goblet in her hand. He waved his hand and again it was filled with cow's milk. "Should I conjure a cow? It might save me time and effort."

Sigyn laughed out loud and flushed. "I'm so sorry, darling. I crave milk all the time now. I swear, this will be a giant ere he leaves me." She licked her upper lip. "Although I suppose I should try to be more...genteel."

"Oh," Frigga smiled rather oddly. "I remember craving milk myself. Although I wanted it sweetened with honey, so I suppose that Loki should count himself lucky." She cocked her head and considered precious memories. "I also remember going through blueberries at a rather frightening rate too."

Sigyn shook her head with a giggle. "However, we'd be terribly crowded trying to keep a cow here. However would Nanny Goat and Gran-nanny Goat manage to stretch their legs with a great beast like that in the meadow?"

"Gran-nanny Goat?" Loki asked.

"One of the nanny goats has a longer beard and straighter horns. A little bit coarser hair too. So she is Gran-nanny Goat." She looked serious for a moment. "But how on earth will we manage to bring them to the mainland? They are so stuck to the meadow now."

"Lead them," Hogun offered simply.

Sigyn choked back a snort. As if anyone could lead those stubborn goats anywhere. She set the horn down on the table gently as possible. "I suppose," she said. Considering her changed circumstances, she felt a chill creep up her spine. Unexpectedly, her stomach lurched.

Standing swiftly, she muttered an excuse and stepped outside. Drawing in deep breaths, she simply stood, willing her heart to stop racing, her mind to stop whirling and her stomach to stop clenching. The fresh air helped some. Her Majesty was a great many things and apparently fond of perfume was one of them. Of course, her stomach clenched at the almost overpowering, flowery smell.

"Are you well, my love?" Loki asked after a few moments.

Sigyn shook her head and could only tremble. "I'm so cold," she said softly. Instantly, his cloak surrounded her. "I want to run fast and far and free. I want us to tell them to all go to Helheim and take their duties and protocols with them. I want to kill Thor―to strike back―and I want to run away as swiftly as possible." She leaned heavily against Loki. "I don't know what I want," she cried softly into his shirt. She hiccuped. "I want to do anything but what is expected of me."

"Well, that's my influence I'm afraid," Loki said straight-faced.

Sigyn giggled and snuggled deeper into the immense cloak around her. "Thank Odin I have you to keep me sane." She leaned heavily against him. "I suppose that we can seal everything up. The chickens and goats would have to be provided for somehow―perhaps an orphanage would care for the old dears. The food would have to be packed or something. We would be ready to leave in a few days."

Loki only nodded, his mouth dry.

"Can you stop me from doing any great harm?" Sigyn asked seriously.

"I―I don't know," Loki admitted softly with a flinch. "I would...try."

"Oh great," she said with no small sarcasm. "Here I am trying to remember all that I ever knew of my manners and I have a power that could seriously harm the royal family and whoever is unlucky enough to be in the general vicinity and the greatest sorcerer of Asgard doesn't know if he can stop me." She snorted. "Should make meeting the rest of your family interesting―if I don't blow out a room and get lynched, mind you." She sighed. "It would have been better if I had bargained to give you my powers." Loki only shrugged. "And why is it so cold? I am wrapped in my warmest dress―thank you for providing it—new boots, socks and your cloak and I cannot get warm."

Loki tried not to laugh. "Let's go inside, then, Lady Icicle."

"Agreed," Sigyn whispered. "I suppose that I should ask what to expect when I join you." As they stepped inside, she thought out loud, "I guess that you and Mother should go back so that we can do the meeting at the docks...?" She waved her hand irritably. "When that is over with, I can go somewhere and rest in private."

Frigga only arched an eyebrow as Sigyn swept past to huddle close to the camp stove. "Cold, Sigyn?"

Sigyn nodded. "I have not felt the like before. Sometimes it feels as though our son is drawing the heat out of my bones!" She frowned and her hand fluttered down her belly. "Although I shouldn't say such things about the unborn."

Frigga blanched and only nodded. With only a slightly forceful voice she said, "I agree that Loki and I should go back. I'm sorry my dear, but the meeting at the docks is necessary." She gestured unthinkingly. "We can leave Hogun, if you wish, to guard you while you pack up?"

"I suppose it would be wise," Sigyn said listlessly.

"Throwing me over for Hogun, are you?" Loki teased. With a dramatic sigh, he pressed his hand to his heart and bowed. "However shall I stand it?"

"Oh now you are just being silly!" Sigyn giggled. "I will be well away from him at all times if it pleases you, my prince." She cocked her head in teasing. "Of course, you are welcome to turn him into a cat or some such if it will please your vanity...?" Hogun must have looked startled at that because Loki laughed. "A big cat, if you please. This small child is a royal prince." She waved her hand imperiously and raised her nose arrogantly with a comically haughty look on her face.

Everyone laughed then, even Sigyn.

Loki and Frigga boarded the boat quite soon afterward. Servants could come and clean up and make sure that all was well, rather than attempt to pack everything and bring it with them. Hogun was stationed to guard Sigyn―sleeping in the meadow or in the front room if the weather was foul―and to help her pack her clothing. Sigyn and Hogun blushed fiery red at that thought. Sigyn was mortified at the thought of anyone else seeing the bits of froth that Loki found appropriate bed attire and Hogun was equally mortified at the thought of packing women's clothes. Loki gave her a peck on the cheek―along with a softly whispered promise of a lewd and interesting nature―and promised that he would send for her in three days time.

Hogun was a apparently the quiet, patient sort and Sigyn took an reluctant liking to him as he followed her back up to the path, past the doorway and into the meadow. The animals were securely locked up for the night and there seemed to be no trouble.

"Would you like to sleep inside?" Sigyn offered quietly. "There's plenty of blankets and I can move things around."

"The benches against the wall will be enough for me."

"As you wish. I'll bring you the blankets and a pillow." She yawned. "When I get up in the morning, I'll leave the bed for you for the morning to rest."

So the three days passed, with her getting up in the mornings and leaving him the bedroom for a few hours of precious rest which he protested he did not need before sleeping a short hour or two. Then after a simple lunch, they would begin packing and cleaning and shutting up the place. Then a simple supper―thankfully there was a plentiful supply of bread and cheese and honey, as well as berries, dates and raisins―and Hogun would guard patiently at the doorway while Sigyn slept.

The third day rose brightly and warmly. Hogun nodded at Sigyn as she emerged from the back of the cave. Hanging her head, she sipped a tisane of mint and chamomile, hoping her stomach would someday be steady in the mornings again. Most everything was packed already―squished down into two baskets and a stuffed messenger style bag. Her slippers stuck up out of the side of one basket rather like rabbit ears and her boots stood ready at the door.

She stood unsteadily. "Good morning, friend. I'll be back at lunch," she offered.

"Nothing to eat?" Hogun gently pressed.

"Not this morning," Sigyn sighed. "My stomach is currently knotted from the baby and from the thought of going to Asgard and will not allow it."

"At least take some raisins," he insisted.

"Get some sleep," she replied, taking the package of raisins he pressed in her hand mainly to keep him from nagging. "I'll be fine after a bit." Hogun grunted in reply. "See you at lunch."

The morning was uneventful in the extreme. She let out the goats and chickens, spread the powder and tended her garden. She tossed the weeds into the same pile as always and was watering the plants when an unexpectedly cold breeze blew in from the sea.

Suddenly the watering can shuddered in her hand and then seemed to stick in the air. Sigyn hissed as the metal grew colder. Whirling around, she heard the panicked bleating of the goats as they fled up the paths.

"Who-who is there?" she called. "What's going on?!"

"Come closer, child," laughed a low, cruel sounding voice. "I want to look at you."

Sigyn cocked her head, trying to pinpoint the voice. "I cannot. I cannot see you."

"Just step forward," the voice called.

"I cannot see," Sigyn insisted. "There's nothing here for you." She felt the panic build along with the power Loki called Wild Magic. Hogun would have been asleep in the cave for at least an hour now—there would not likely be help from him since he could not hear her. Suddenly, she felt the flash of Wild Magic releasing towards the sea at the heart of whatever stalked her.

Inexplicably, it bounced.

She did not know how it happened or why, but she felt the rebound come back and lash her with icy, cold fingers. Gasping for air, she sank to the ground and began scrambling up to the path.

"Little girl," the voice laughed. "I don't think you know what you're doing." From the seaward side, Sigyn heard a groaning of rock and some other sound. A great thump sounded as though something immense had jumped to the island. "Now just lay there." The grinding―or whatever the sound was―almost sounded above her, but surely nothing was that high. Sigyn shrieked as she felt a cold knot form in her belly and her muscles cramp from the chill.

"Ahhh, that's interesting," the voice said. For a moment, all of time seemed to be frozen solid as the voice―whoever he was―seemed to make up his mind. "Very interesting." Then, just as suddenly as it started, the roar of rock and whatever it was retreated with a hearty, fading laughter.

Sigyn shrieked again and clamored up the cliff. The billy goat stood at the top, quite bewildered, as she burst past and into the cave.

Hogun was awake almost before she slammed the door. "What happened?" he asked, drawing his weapons.

"I d-d-don't know!" Sigyn wailed. "Please...!" She sank in front of the door. "Please tell me that the boat is coming soon!"

Hogun was flummoxed as he crept forward. Sigyn's magic was creating a zigzag of sparks in every direction like a dozen children without minders running every which way in a field. She was panting and sweating like she had been in battle, but her breath came out in icy puffs. "Magic," he huffed to himself.

"In the meadow," Sigyn gasped, shivering. It felt like a bucket of water had been dumped over her head in winter. "Something approached me..."

Hogun―for once in a what had probably been a hundred years―cursed profusely in his village's language. He checked her over―her racing pulse, her flushed skin, her fingers. Then he went into the meadow.

The meadow was entirely dead―frozen over like mid-winter. One chicken was dead―an icy ball against the cliff. The apple tree stood with an icy sheen of frost over it entirely with ice dripping off the branches and buds. The pecan tree had split entirely under what appeared to be the weight of immense frost. The side of the cliffs that went into the sea sparkled with a waterfall of ice.

Silently, he climbed back up―noting the gradual change from hoarfrost to thaw to spring up the cliff. Sigyn huddled inside the cave, buried in the blankets from the bed and wrapped in her cloak, beside the camp stove. She still panted, but at least her breath wasn't in such icy puffs.

"Are you okay?" he asked finally.

"I-I think so," Sigyn muttered. "Just scared witless." She inched closer to the stove. "I should have listened more to you and had you come out with me. At least then-"

"Don't blame yourself," Hogun grunted. "Just tell me what happened."

Sigyn felt the words spill out as she tried to describe everything. It was all surreal though―as though it happened to someone else. Vaguely, she guessed she was in shock. And what was so 'very interesting'about her tending her garden anyway?

Hogun hovered around her, attempting to help her get warm and to calm down. The hot spring afforded quick and easy hot tea. The goats were somewhere on the cliffs―the billy goat at least was bleating at the door. With a heavy heart, he walked into the cave, pushing the goat back out before it caused mischief inside.

Frigga frowned as her guards helped her down to the beach. Nanny goat was limping there, with Gran-nanny bleating behind her. Sending one guard to fetch the animals, Frigga took another guard up to the cave. The rooster and remaining chicken were huddled in the pathway further up and the billy goat was ramming the doorway.

One of the guards came up behind her. "The goats are on board, but one has a broken leg and the other-" he swallowed heavily.

"The other?" Frigga asked firmly, determined to not show the fear in her heart.

"The other is badly...wounded. Frostbitten, milady," he said with a shudder.

She looked at him. He was young―his father was well connected enough to ensure that he had a relatively easy post in the palace, rather than on the front lines of the battlefield. He had not seen some of the wounds that she had seen and healed. He was pale and seemed to be gritting his teeth. If the worst had happened, he would be unprepared for it, so she simply ordered, "Get the billy goat on board, if you can."

"My lady," he said, looking askance at the goat. "I think you should get to shore as soon as possible."

Frigga cleared her throat. "Let me fetch brave Hogun and Sigyn and we'll be on our way."