CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

"Are all of our soldiers ready for battle?"

"All three hundred of them," Fandral said cheerfully.

"All three dozen, I think you mean."

Loki tried not to roll his eyes as Sif raised her voice for the tenth time in a half-hour. "We could stand about and argue all evening about how many soldiers we have and not come to a consensus," he snapped. "But, as fun as that would be, I think we have more important things to deal with than a competition to see who has the loudest voice." He rested his elbows on the strategy table calmly. "Fandral, what definition of 'soldier' are you operating under?"

"Er…" Fandral frowned. "People with weapons. And, uh, limbs to carry them with." He gestured awkwardly, as if he were trying to play charades and failing miserably.

Loki grimaced. "Well, seeing as that definition could extend to half of the infants in the surrounding villages, I think we ought to be a little more selective about our recruitment." He raised an eyebrow at Sif. "What about you, Sif? What does your definition consist of?"

"The warriors that'd take her more than a minute to defeat," Hogun muttered under his breath.

Sif glared. "Don't be stupid," she said flatly. "If I were being that picky, it would be myself, Thor, and Odin fighting alone." She turned to Loki with crossed arms. "My count of roughly three dozen worthy warriors consists of those who could last more than twenty seconds in battle with me."

"Ah," he said quietly. "That explains it." He glanced at Thor, who seemed to be trying not to laugh at the exchange going on under his command. "Thor, for the sake of balancing quality of warriors with quantity, I suggest we create an intermediate standard. We shall lead an army of those citizens who have received any sort of formal training with a weapon, excluding children and the wounded."

Thor nodded. "A good plan," he said. "How many troops does that give us?"

"One hundred and fifty-two," Volstagg said promptly. The others turned to stare at him, flabbergasted; he hadn't seemed to even be listening, as engaged as he was in his snack. He shrugged. "I had to count how many other people were eating at the last feast to figure out how much food I could sneak from the kitchens without getting caught. I got away with twelve loaves of bread, one roast pig, three flasks of ale…"

"One hundred and fifty-two men," Thor interrupted. "And women," he added, seeing Sif's hand creep towards her sword. "I assume most of them are trained in swordplay?"

"If you can call them 'trained,'" Sif said disparagingly.

"Good," he said. "That means that my plan should work." He smoothed out the curling edges of a map of Jotunheim that was laid out on the table before him. "First, we must all travel to Jotunheim. Obviously, we don't have the Bifrost anymore, but Loki says that he can perform a transportation spell strong enough to get an army over there, assuming everyone is congregated in a small area. At dawn, we shall gather the troops in front of the entrance to Valhalla." He gestured to a mountain pass that divided the map in two. "We will arrive here, at the base of Mount Skydd. From there," he traced a finger along the map, "we will proceed towards the city of Ghourruhn, where we will most likely encounter the General Oroin and his army. The attack will be led by a small striking force made up of the Valkyries, Odin, and me. We will eliminate through brute force as many enemy warriors as we can. The rest of the army will clean up the mess left behind, in all likelihood, the ones we managed to wound but not kill on our first strike."

"Who will lead the second wave?"

Thor gave Sif a serious look. "That command is yours, Lady Sif, if you accept it."

Her eyes flashed. "My own army?" she said, speaking for the first time all day without even a hint of sarcasm. Thor nodded. She smiled. "I accept."

"Good," Thor said. "We'll need your technical skills in case we come across any unusually gifted warriors, backed up by the Warriors Three, of course." He turned to Loki. "Brother, your task is…"

"To confuse, bewilder, and discombobulate the enemy through acts of controlled chaos in order to make it easier for your invading horde?" He smiled crookedly. "The usual, then."

"Actually, in addition to your usual antics, I also ask that you intervene should any individual warrior take too long fighting one opponent. The longer we spend fighting in the cold, the wearier and less effective we become."

"Understood."

Thor surveyed the group at large. "Very good. We depart at dawn."

"Excuse me, pardon me!" Darcy grimaced as she found herself staring directly into a horse's neck. "Ugh," she groused. "You are the worst pony ever!" She ducked around the horse's neck clumsily, barely missing being hit by a sword passing over her head.

"Darcy?" Her stomach did a little flip-flop. She had only heard Loki startled once or twice before. It was a very pleasant sound, and it was a wonderful feeling to know that she could actually surprise the god of mischief and cunning. His shock soon dissipated to annoyance, but it kept flitting away from his face in some other expression she couldn't identify...anxiety, perhaps, or his heavily masked version of it. "What are you doing here?" he asked, trying to scowl at her. "I thought you were helping Freya seal up the palace." His eyes darted down at her attire. "And why are you wearing armor?"

"I heard the announcement of who is eligible to join the battle," she said breathlessly, fidgeting with her armor—it was almost falling down her arms and legs while simultaneously compressing her chest. "Anyone who has received any sort of formal training with a weapon, excluding children and the wounded. I'm not wounded, and if you honestly want to argue that I'm a child, I really need to rethink the whole making-out thing."

"Formal training with a weapon is the prerequisite I question," Loki said. Damn. She had really thought that mentioning kissing might derail him, but he hadn't so much as flinched.

But she came prepared. Loki crossed his arms quizzically as she rummaged through the thick, lavender folds of her cape. "Hang on…I know it's here somewhere," she muttered. "Aha!"

She held up her weapon triumphantly. Loki took it from her, trying out different configurations of his fingers to hold the weapon. "What is this contraption?" he asked.

Darcy pried his finger away from the prongs of the Taser. The last thing we need is another god being electrocuted, she thought. "I call him Tay-Z," she said, grinning. He gave her a puzzled look. She shook her head. "Midgard reference. Pop culture." She sighed. "Just ignore me."

Loki raised an eyebrow as he handed the weapon back to her. "I don't know what that means or how this weapon operates—if it is even a weapon at all—but there is one other condition that you seem to have missed: citizen." She stared at him blankly. "As in of Asgard," he clarified. "A god or a goddess."

"Are you suggesting I'm not a goddess?" she said, fake-pouting.

"I'm not even going to reply to that," Loki said airily, "any more than I will ever answer the question 'does this make me look fat?' Do you know why?"

Darcy didn't answer.

Loki leaned in towards her so that their noses were touching, his bright green eyes staring directly into her blue ones. "Because," he said in a low voice, "you are trying to trick me into a no-win situation." He smiled and stood upright. "If you are going to trick a trickster, Darcy, you really must try a little harder than that."

She groaned. He was such a cheater. It wasn't fair for him to be able to make his voice all velvety and soothing like that. Or for his eyes to be so damned pretty. Or…well, his whole face was patently unfair. And she wasn't even going to think about how she wanted to breathe his scent every day for the rest of forever. "So you're not letting me fight?" she said pathetically.

"No, Darcy Lewis, I am not letting you fight," he said firmly. "Or travel back to Jotunheim, or become involved in this battle, melee, or other-synonyms-for-fight in any capacity other than staying in Valhalla and defending the palace if the situation becomes that dire." He paused. "I think that just about closes up all the loopholes." She crossed her arms, slumping. Loki brushed his fingers across her cheek, tilting her chin up to look at him. His eyes were no longer shining with humor or trickery; they were tinged with gray and deathly serious. "I don't doubt your abilities as a warrior woman, any more than I doubt your…your borderline suicidal courage or eccentric ingenuity. But you are a human. A mortal. You could be injured or killed." His voice wavered slightly, as if he were forcing it not to break. He pressed his lips together. "You could be hurt," he repeated, "far more easily than a god could. And I cannot take that chance, as a responsible strategist for this army or as your…whatever I am to you." He kissed her forehead lightly. "My answer is no."

She wrapped her arms around his chest in a tight embrace. His arms slowly wound around her waist. "You could die too," she said in a tiny voice.

"I could," he conceded softly. "I promise you, though, I will return."

Darcy bit her lip, tears threatening to spill over her eyelashes. "That's what Thor said."

Loki tensed slightly and pulled away, looking down at Darcy's face with a worried expression. He wiped her tears away with his thumb. "I told you once that I never lied to you, and that I never would lie to you. Did you trust me when I said that?" Darcy nodded, suppressing a sniffle with difficulty. Loki flicked his finger absently, and she found she was able to breathe normally again, although the traces of tears remained cold on her cheek. "Then my promise still stands. I have not ever lied to you, and I will not ever lie to you. I will return," he said firmly. "Whatever it takes."

Darcy forced a smile and hugged him tightly again. They stood there, perfectly still for a while, savoring the last moments before the world became chaos and bloodshed once more.

Thor was the last one to meet at the top of the hill before the crowd of warriors. He arrived just before dawn.

"What took you so long?" Sif asked impatiently.

Thor smiled. "I, er, I had some important matters to attend to."

Loki raised his eyebrows. "Oh?" he asked. "And what important matters might you be referring to, Brother?"

Thor cleared his throat, shuffling his feet with an uncharacteristic lack of composure. "Lady Jane and I are betrothed," he muttered.

Sif's mouth dropped open. Odin let out a small cry of laughter.

"My son, this is wondrous news!" he said. "Frigga shall be so pleased. Of course, Lady Jane will be a welcome addition to our court. I'm sure we could find some specialization for her to study in the absence of her Midgardian science."

Thor smiled awkwardly at their reactions, peering off to the horizon for the first sign of sunlight. "It is nearly daybreak," he said. "All-Father, the troops await your statement."

Odin shook his head. "No, my Son. It is your words they wait for. Though I may still rule in many respects, you are the leader of this army now."

Thor hesitated, and then swallowed nervously. "Of course," he said, nodding. He turned to the crowd in the valley beneath the hill. "My people," he bellowed. "Warriors. Today, we ride to Jotunheim to face the frost giants in combat. I know, as all of you know, as every soldier in the history of warfare has known, that not everyone will return to Asgard alive. Some of you, some of us will pass on. But I promise that the blood spilt here today will not be in vain, because it will be shed to protect everything that we hold dear. We must fight our hardest, then, so that if we die, we will do so without regret. If we die, we will die honorably. If we die, we will die protecting our home, and the people we love. So let us try our damnedest not to die! Let us fight until our last breath so that others may live! Let us be valiant! Let us be brave! To our very end, let us be warriors!"

And as the sun rose over the hill, the crowd let out the most fearsome battle cry that had ever been known to Asgard, not the loudest or the most combative, but the most passionate, the most noble.