CHAPTER 8 Once in a lifetime will the undoing of two souls be so easy to do

Ships are launching from my chest

Some have names but most do not

If you find one, please let me know what piece I've lost

-"Welcome Home, Son"

Radical Face

Clear blue water frothed around Steve. He tumbled with the turning water, feeling like a shirt in a heavy wash in one of those new machines Pepper had shown him how to use. Every time he thought he almost reached the surface, the tumultuous waters pushed him back down.

The world spun. He could see the river bottom, rocky and forbidding. Colorful fish darted past him, catching the rays of the sun and refracting them a million ways. If it was the last thing he would see, Steve thought absently, it would not be a bad thing.

A woman with slitted eyes regarded him coldly before flitting off in a rush of bubbles.

A mermaid?!

He ignored the diversion, struggling with Loki. Finding purchase on the stony river bottom, he pushed himself up. It was almost too far away and he wondered what would happen if he breathed water. He had never drowned before, but he had seen the icy ocean outside the windows of his doomed cockpit.

He might not die, but Loki might.

Just when he thought it was too long, his lungs aching in complaint, he broke the surface. The rush of air into his lungs immediately relieved the tightness in his chest. He chanced a look at Loki. Although the flames continued to burn against his skin, his lips were paler than usual, his skin gray and clammy, and he wasn't breathing.

Steve pulled them both to the rocky shore with great strokes. He cursed Loki's outlandish costume-the cape was an anchor that caught on every wayward branch or stone outcropping.

The river eddied and swirled around him but had given up her victims, and he reached the rocky banks easily. He dragged them up out of the water, and immediately laid Loki on his back. Checking for a heartbeat-and finding one, weak and thready, but there, Steve awkwardly folded his hands over Loki's chest.

Was his heart in the same place? He'd never thought to wonder about Frost Giant physiology.

He began his compressions, ignoring the sick sound of cartilage cracking under the applied weight. Loki would be bruised and sore when he woke, but it would be a small complaint to add to a growing list of worries. If Steve couldn't figure out how to cure Loki from his poison, all his work would be for naught.

Pausing his hands over Loki's chest, he briefly considered if allowing his enemy to die would be a kindness. But he was pretty sure the man would still lose his soul to this place, and as much as he disliked him, he couldn't allow himself to let Loki die—to become trapped here.

Just as Steve was beginning to lose hope, Loki gave a great, wheezing gasp of air. He rolled onto his side and expelled river water from his lungs with great, wracking coughs that dissolved into dry heaves. Resting for a moment on his side, the black fire curling around his wound and down his back, Loki slowly sat up. Steve helped him with firm hands even as Loki protested.

Loki gripped Steve's free wrist with his bad arm, wincing at the movement. Steve stilled, his eyes meeting Loki's and finding them pained but lucid. Emotions warred on Loki's face, confusion finally winning, his eyebrows knit together in consternation. "Why?" He asked hoarsely. "I would have let you die."

"I don't like you," Steve said and pried his wrist free from Loki's grasp. "But I'd hate myself if I let you die here. I would be no better than you."

"You aren't any better than me," Loki hissed.

Steve's rejoinder died on his lips as Loki slumped against him weakly with a groan through clenched teeth as the flames began crawling down his good arm. Holding Loki awkwardly in his arms, Steve looked up into the canopy. Even this close to the river, the night sky was still covered by the virgin forest. It was just as well. He wouldn't recognize any of the constellations, anyway. There was something discomfiting about looking up at the night sky and not knowing the stars; it made a place truly alien.

Through some grace, however, slivers of moon peeked through the boughs, providing light in the otherwise black night.

"Hold it together," Steve told Loki. He carefully positioned the man over his shoulder again, catching a look at Loki's face in the process. His eyes had glazed over in delirium.

"Beware the Moon," Loki warned. "He comes unbidden. He knows where you live."

Steve sighed and pulled himself to his feet, yanking Loki up with him. He knew enough about Alfheim to know that dallying would only worsen their situation. His muscles complained with the effort, and he realized for the first time just how drained he must be. He couldn't remember any time since his transformation that he'd felt so exhausted.

Steve pulled Loki into a fireman's carry and he didn't know where he was going, but he figured he'd get somewhere eventually. He made his way along the river bank, careful of his footing as stones rolled and slid underneath. Unlike most rivers he'd seen, this one was absent of the rampant undergrowth that usually made navigating the banks impossible.

The night was alive with the songs of evening birds and insects. Intertwined was the harmony of the trees and the sky, and the stones beneath his feet, a faint bass that thrummed with each step.

As the night deepened, Steve noticed the slivers of moon peeking through the trees were growing brighter. They gathered with each step until it was as though he was walking in a pool of silver light.

He pulled up abruptly as the light shifted and built in shape until the moon beams formed an eerily beautiful man. His face was a perfect oval, his eyes black save for the sparkle of stars in them. His hair fell in silver waves around his shoulders and glowed moonlight. He wore a simple tunic that appeared to be made of liquid silver. It rippled like a strip of moonlight reflected against still water.

"Dear Steve Rogers," He said, and his voice was the night wind. "Where do you go in such a hurry?"

"I am in search of the Queen of Elves," Steve said, shifting Loki's weight on his back.

"She is a trial," The Moon said with a sly smile. "Better to spend your time with me."

When Steve was a child, his mother had read Grimm's fairy tales to him. It was the stories from before Disney went in and made them appropriate to children, and the Moon spoke much as the characters in those stories had. Steve knew he had to phrase his words carefully.

"Loki," Steve shrugged his dead weight, "said I ought to seek her out. She is the best way home."

And home with all its sorrow seemed very far away.

The Moon smiled handsomely. "I can lead you there. You can trust my arc across the sky. But you might find that, should you decide to stay, you would be well met. You would want for nothing. An eternity of endless, clear nights."

"That may be," Steve said, a chill sweeping through him, "And I thank you for your offer, but I must find her. My friend," Steve stumbled over the word, "said she is in a willow tree."

"She's like that," The Moon agreed. He shifted his weight and produced a silver fruit to Steve. "You have many miles to go. Take this, to aid you on your travels. You have not eaten in a long time."

Steve remembered Loki's warning, even as his stomach rumbled. He considered for a moment, wondering what the Moon would do if he refused. After a moment's consideration, he held out his hand. The Moon dropped the fruit in it with a sly smile.

"Thank you," Steve said, again shifting Loki's weight on his back. He wondered when the man had grown so heavy.

"The pleasure is mine," The Moon smiled, "Truly. I will be here when you change your mind." Steve forced a smile around clenched teeth. He missed Natasha, who always had a way with words, and Thor, who would at least know what was going on.

"Follow my arc across the sky. If you stay true, in the morning, you shall find her. She waits in a field beside a brook, not unlike this one. You will know her when you see her. As long as you stay on my path, you shall be protected as long as it pleases me."

Steve bowed slightly, remaining bent until the moon faded. When he raised his head, he realized he could see a path where none had been before. It looked well-worn, free of brush and rocks. Hesitating just for a moment, wondering if he should trust the Moon and realizing he didn't have a choice, he set out down it.

In the brightened silver light, Steve could see the reflected eyes of things waiting in the forest. They did not broach his path. Steve looked up at the moon peeking through the branches and wondered the game it was playing. He wasn't foolish enough to believe he had acted out of altruism, but wasn't familiar enough with this world to understand the alternative motives of the creatures here. The uncertainty set his teeth on edge. Give him Red Skull, give him Hydra. They were evil and powerful, but he always knew where he stood with them.

After several hours of walking through the forest, Steve's hunger became overwhelming. His knees were going weak, his head fuzzy, and he wondered how long it had been since he had last eaten. He'd had a protein bar on the jet ride to Lithuania. It seemed like a very long time ago. Steve knew enough about physiology to know his body would start consuming his muscles once it had run out of food stores.

"Loki?" Steve prompted.

Loki muttered something about black rainbows.

"Loki?" Steve asked again.

"Oh Death, won't you spare me over another?" Loki asked solemnly.

Steve felt fear spike in him, afraid of Loki's delusions. He hadn't been entirely honest with Loki; saving his life was also a tactical decision. He didn't know the way home. If Loki died, he'd be trapped here forever.

He quickened his pace and ignored his hunger.

Steve made it another couple of miles, breaking through the forest and into a grassy plain. Silver moonflowers tinkling up at him before he sank to his knees, the soft grass spongy and giving. His hunger dogged him. He had never felt so starved, not after several battles in the field, and not even the day he woke up after seventy years incased in ice.

He fingered the silver fruit and looked up at the moon.

Surely, one bite wouldn't hurt.

Steve lifted it up to his mouth. Just as his teeth had closed around it, the taste of juice leaking into his mouth, Loki struggled violently on his shoulders and swiped it from his hand.

"No!" Loki shouted, eyes fever-bright and wide. The fruit bounced to the ground, rolling several feet.

Steve flung Loki from his shoulders, an irrational anger consuming him. "What was that for?!"

Loki landed on the dewy grass, his breath forced out of him. He looked up at Steve with liquid emerald eyes, mouth drawn in a tight line. Steve's fists clenched unconsciously by his side and he was overwhelmed by the desire to hurt this man in front of him.

Gritting his teeth and trying to will away the anger and the hunger and the fear that dogged him, Steve was about to rebuke Loki for his actions when his arm flopped limply, a pale finger indicating the fallen fruit.

The once silver, ripe fruit had become rotten and worm-ridden. Maggots fell onto the earth around it, staining the grass black. The rot spread, creating a circumference of foul death around it.

Steve recoiled in horror. Shame rolled over him. He had wanted to hit this man, to hurt him, and Loki, injured and poisoned, had saved his life. Running a sweaty palm through mussed hair, he tried to catch Loki's eyes.

"I'm sorry." He said, ashamed.

"This world is poison," Loki said, his eyes rolling back into his head.

The black fire had moved further down his back and was edging down his arm, closer to the mistletoe and their shared connection. Curiously, pale skin, uncharred or blistered was apparent under the flames

He glanced back at the fruit. It was eating its way into the ground, the dirt bubbling around it like tar in a pit. A foul odor arouse, staining the pure air. As it bubbled and tore at the life around it, it made the sound of knife against glass, cutting through the pure melody of the world. Steve shuddered.

It would have been a bad way to die. Loki could have let him die a thousand times before this one. He considered his partner.

He wanted to hate the man, tried to convince himself Loki was playing games, even now, but his face was twisted in pain even in unconsciousness. Occasional whimpers escaped his thin-lipped mouth as the fire spread down his spine. Steve wondered how long it would take for it to consume his companion; knew that his life depended on Steve's success. Steve wondered what nightmares chased him.

He thought he was probably better off not knowing.

"I am sorry, Loki, Son of Lauefy. I owe you my life," Steve told the demigod. Loki gave no indication that he'd heard.

Still angry at himself, he stooped to pick up Loki. Manning his burden, he glanced up across the rolling plains. In the distance, he saw a glow in the field. The warm light beckoned him and he briefly considered heading towards it. He could hear the faint sound of fiddles and dancing rising from the circle—were those mushrooms?—and it looked like tiny fairies and other creatures were delighting in the evening air.

He thought of the corpse candles in Niflheim and decided traversing off the path wouldn't bode well, regardless of the promises of warmth and food and happiness. He'd let his complacency get to him already, he wouldn't do it again. He couldn't expect for Loki to save him every time he floundered.

He trudged forward, following the silver road.

0o0o0o0o0o

In order to take his mind off his hunger as he walked, Steve thought about Peggy and his Howling Commandos and Colonel Phillips. They were never far from his mind, and sometimes he couldn't help but compare his new team to his old. He knew it wasn't fair to either of them: they were their own people.

But when Tony carried on in some selfish performance or Thor's impetuousness got them into another sticky situation during a mission, or whenever Steve's stress spiked that something had happened that might set Bruce off, he missed his old team more than ever. The Avengers were a good group of people, but they were only a team in the loosest of terms. Fighting for something greater than themselves was something they only took to slowly and under extreme duress. Sometimes, Steve just wanted to give orders and have them executed without it going to committee.

When he thought about his old team, he missed Bucky most of all. Bucky had always been his better half. He'd never grown jealous of Steve after the super serum, never gave up on Steve. Bucky was his brother in soul, if not in blood, and Steve knew he was the sort of friend a person only found once in a lifetime.

And he'd lost him, and even now, he couldn't convince himself it wasn't at least partly his fault. Of all his mistakes, losing Bucky was the one that dogged him the most.

Loki thrashed on his back, jolting him from his memories.

The moon had begun to set, the silver path dwindling in the promise of the sun. Steve wondered what would happen when the sun rose. He hadn't thought to ask: he didn't know he'd have to travel so far.

A faint, cool wind ruffled his hair, signaling the sun's approach. Steve had never noticed the morning wind until he had to form up at Oh-dark-thirty every day in training. He'd stood in formation same as everybody else, catching a glance at the fading stars at the risk of being yelled at by his platoon sergeant. As the sun approached and the stars relinquished their hold for another day, a faint wind always picked up as if sweeping the remnants of night away.

Just as the sun peaked its golden brow upon the horizon, Steve could see a lone tree standing in the giant field. As he grew closer, he identified the sweeping boughs of a weeping willow. The rising sun caught in a bubbling brook beside it, turning it into sparkling gold.

Steve hoped Loki would wake from his nightmares, if only to help navigate the conversation Steve knew was coming. It always felt like he was in a word minefield when he talked to the denizens of this strange world. A misstep would result in their deaths. Steve had never been a wordsmith, and it's not like he could fight words.

It would be much easier if he could.

As they great closer to the tree, Loki thrashed on his shoulder and shouted incoherently with greater frequency. Steve spoke empty platitudes to the tortured man and soldiered on, Loki's weight growing heavier on his shoulders. Each step was harder than the last, as though the grass was holding on to his feet.

Just before he'd made it to the willow tree, a great beast with eyes made from despair and the sharpest talons Steve had ever seen grew from the blades of grass and stood tall before him. It was the green of rotted vegetation and stunk of death. Its teeth were sharp and ragged so that when the beast smiled; it was all the more gruesome.

Steve quickly backpedaled. He wondered how long his adrenaline could take him through this fight; hoped it was long enough to get Loki to the Queen.

"Little soldier, marching to the fields of war with your hands clenched in fists, what purpose have you in seeking my fair queen?"

"I am looking for a way home, and a cure for Loki who was hurt by a Nightmare in the virgin forest."

The creature chuckled. "I trust you did not think you would see my fair queen without a fight."

"No," Steve sighed, "I'm hardly ever that lucky."

"You are a mortal. I have not added one of you to my collection for many years." The monster said as it called a giant spear from the grass to its hand. The faces of trapped souls stared out from its mirrored blade.

"That may be," Steve agreed, "but I think I will prove a greater advisory than you expected." His eyes darted across the expansive field, looking for cover and finding none. With Loki strapped to his back and shieldless, he was exposed. He didn't have a lot of options, and this would be a difficult battle even if he was at full strength.

"With your anchor? I think not. Even at your best, you would be a game. Now, I almost feel guilty."

Steve settled into a fighting position, shifting his weight so that Loki wouldn't over balance him. His stomach was nauseous from the combination of adrenaline and hunger. He dug deep, touching on his reserves. He didn't mind dying, but the possibility that his soul would be lost here forever frightened him, and he knew he couldn't fail.

Loki lolled on his shoulders.

"Use this." He offered his staff.

"I don't know how." Steve took the weapon tentatively, gripping the worn wood in his calloused palm. He glanced back at Loki, who was staring at him with fevered eyes.

"It knows you."

Steve stood in the warrior's position, glaring up at the mighty creature. Souls screamed in its eyes, and Steve realized with a jolt, that he'd be there too, had Loki not knocked that fruit from his hands.

They'd both be there, if he failed.

It launched.

Steve rolled away awkwardly shifting Loki's weight and loosening a blast as cover while he tried to flank the monster. Despite its size, it was fast and it took all of Steve's strength to dive out of the way as a bladed claw dug into the earth in the place he'd just been standing.

"Where the hell is a weak spot on a dirt-grass monster?" Steve muttered to himself. If only he could just scale the creature, he'd be able to do some serious damage.

He glanced over at the willow tree, wishing he could at least use it for a temporary cover. The air around the tree shimmered slightly, like heat rising from pavement on a hot summer's day, and he realized he wouldn't be able to get to the tree until he'd defeated the thing.

Knowing his options were limited, he braced himself and bared his teeth at the monster. He knew he had a limited window to get the hit in once the creature attacked again. Studying its eyes, waiting for a tell and trying not to get caught in the souls that screamed silently at him, Steve almost missed the moment it swiped at him.

Using the brief opening, he swung Loki's staff. A blue bolt of energy escaped the wood and hurtled towards the exposed flank of the monster.

The claws descended. Steve dove, twisting Loki's body beneath him. Loki's fevered eyes met his own and he looked as though he wanted to say something.

Steve felt claws tear down from his right shoulder blade down into the meat of his back.

Crying in pain, his vision blackening for a moment, he rolled over, his arm pulled awkwardly across his chest as he grasped for the staff he'd dropped.

His fingers clasped around the weapon as the rotting paw came down for its kill. Steve thrust the staff up, blocking the arm inches from his face.

It stared at him with malevolence. Steve swung the staff out in desperation. Sickly green light erupted from the end of the weapon. The grasping paw exploded, splattering Steve and Loki with rotting vegetation and the bones of the earth.

The creature reeled back, clasping its mutilated arm to its chest as it roared in pain. Ichor dripped from the stump, slipping to the ground in great clumps.

Steve untangled himself from Loki and struggled to his feet, holding the staff forward, wondering at his next move.

The creature fell into the earth, abosorbed into the grass and mud and the willow tree was a woman that stood before him.

Steve dropped the weapon and stared at the woman. She was frightening in her beauty. Her eyes were a deep blue that reminded him of the depths of a rock quarry he'd visited once with Bucky the summer after his mother had died. Her flaxen hair flowed around her as if under water. Her face was flawless, her pink lips curved into a soft smile. She wore an elegant flowing dress of green lined in gold. It reminded Steve of a forest floor when the sun shone through the leaves.

"I am the Queen of the Light Elves of Alfheim. Why do you seek me, Steve Rogers?"

Steve struggled to remain upright, but his knees gave way, and he sank to the ground, pulling Loki down with him. He could feel the blood running down his back and knew the wounds were deep. The pain muddled his concentration, and he forced his mind to focus. He would heal, but not fast enough.

"I am Steve Rogers, from the realm of Midgard. I have in my charge Loki, son of Laufey, from the House of Odin, and we seek to break free from the curse of the mistletoe and go home." Steve said, holding up his arm with the attached mistletoe. His words were slurring.

"And why, Steve Rogers, should I grant that?" The queen sounded amused.

Steve looked at the queen, stricken. He'd never been good with women. He couldn't fathom what a normal woman wanted to hear, much less a royal one that he'd thought was a fictional creation. Tony would have been better suited for this adventure, and for the first time, Steve sorely missed his presence. He tried to think of what Tony would say to her and floundered.

You have no idea how to talk to women, do you?

"Because," he started. "Because you must," he ended. Dammit.

"Must I?" The queen smiled; the sun behind her giving her an ethereal glow. Steve's vision blurred, and the queen looked soft and beautiful, and sometimes, Steve thought he could see curl in her hair and red on her lips. Steve forced himself to focus.

"Because you are the only who can," Steve tried again. "Your power is second to none."

The claws had poison. Steve gritted his teeth as he found himself struggling with consciousness. He willed himself to stay upright on his knees even as blackness curled around him. He was supposed to be immune to poison, but clearly his body was as confused by this world as his mind.

"Lady Frigga can, and it is her curse. Far be it for me to interfere with the going-ons of Asgard." The queen said, almost cheerfully. "Alfheim has remained apart for many years, taking no part in the petty business of that realm."

"Please," Steve pleaded. "For my friend." Steve indicated Loki, and realized he hadn't stumbled over the word "friend" this time.

"He is a troublemaker." The queen smoothed her dress. "What's in it for me?"

Steve blinked away the darkness as it wrapped itself around his brain and the pain consumed him.

"What do you want?" He rasped.

"Your one true love," The queen said, gazing down at Steve. "Will you give me that?" She knelt beside him, placing a cool hand against his brow. His thoughts were flooded with sudden clarity.

"You shall make this decision with a clear mind," she said.

And it was no longer the queen staring at him, but the woman he'd loved as long as he'd known her. Her soft brown curls fell around her shoulders, framing a face defined by vivid lips, large brown eyes, and a perfectly shaped nose that crinkled when she laughed.

"Peggy," he whispered. He cupped the face before him, tears gathering in his eyes unbidden. He'd been two years too late. Two years. It might as well have been an eternity.

"Yes," the queen said in Peggy's clipped British lilt. "Would you be willing to trade her for this puny frost giant, who loves none and who seeks the destruction of all worlds so he may no longer be participant to it? I will even heal him; free him of the grasp of my realm. If he stays here, his soul will be mine to do as I wish."

Steve tore his eyes away from Peggy's visage and considered Loki. He thought of his home, still being rebuilt, the direct result of Loki's poorly executed occupation attempt. The memorials and the walls with pictures posted asking, "Have you seen my husband? My brother? My mom?"

Loki had caused the deaths of thousands of people; the greatest number of dead on U.S. soil since 9-11.

The world would be a better place without him. If Steve had the chance to stop Hitler or Schmidt, he would've.

But the small child on the ice, with eyes too large for his small face, floated into his mind. He thought of the Loki who had willed himself to lucidity to knock the fruit away and saved him from the same tortured existence he'd seen in the souls of the monster he'd just fought. Loki had made many terrible decisions that'd resulted in the deaths of others, but Steve couldn't shake the feeling there was good in Loki, too.

He thought of Peggy, the strongest woman he'd ever known. She'd been wonderful and funny; her only expectation of him was that he be the person she'd always known he was.

The only thing she'd ever asked of him was a dance.

"I can't...can't give Peggy up."

"You won't remember her at all," the queen said sweetly, coaxing the compass out of his jacket pocket.

Steve looked down at Peggy's hands, finely manicured and delicate. They were just hands, but Steve had forgotten just how small they were compared to his, had forgotten the way she drummed rhythms against her skirt when she was bored or stressed. And even though this wasn't Peggy, it wasn't, he remembered all the little things that had been her, and he wondered how he could've ever forgotten.

Steve's heart caught in his chest, and it hurt worse than it had when he'd been thawed; worse than when he'd found Peggy had been dead these two years.

"It will be as if she never was." She flipped the compass open and gazed as Peggy's portrait. "She is beautiful," She observed before looking up.

"So what is it, the Trickster or your beloved?"

Loki's weight on his back felt heavier than ever. Steve never had a brother's love, but he remembered Thor's sad eyes when he spoke of his lost brother and the trust broken between them.

He loved Peggy, but he couldn't allow the man to stay here for an eternity, his soul trapped in the eyes of the terrible monsters that roamed the land. All men should be allowed redemption; he had been given one.

"Will she be remembered?"

"Yes, but not by you." Peggy's eyes glittered. The look was alien on her face.

"Will all the things she did remain as important?" Steve implored, looking up into the queen's fathomless blue eyes. He thought of Peggy and Howard Stark and fondue, and what he thought that had meant. He thought of the last promise he'd made, and broken. It gnawed at his soul.

"Yes. But her place in your heart will be as if she was never there," Peggy said gently. "You'll not miss her at all. The regrets you have, the sorrow you feel for waking two years late, all of that will be gone."

She was dead; he would never make another memory with her. He couldn't stand the thought of losing what he had left, despite the pain it brought.

"What of Loki?"

"What of him?"

"Can he be redeemed?"

Peggy shrugged. "It is none of my concern."

Steve thought again of how easy it would be to let Loki die here, free himself of this man that had only caused hate and unhappiness.

But he would not forgive himself if he'd had the opportunity to save another and had not, regardless of the reasons.

Peggy was dead, but if she were here, (this woman, this queen, was not Peggy) she'd be giving Steve a Look. Steve had broken his last promise to her, but he couldn't make a choice that would lead him to being a man wholly different from the one of whom she'd fallen in love.

In another life, a broken soul of a doctor had gone against the will of the Army and chosen Steve as the recipient of his experiments. He had died giving Steve a second chance. If not for him, Steve would be dead, likely of an asthma attack before thirty and nothing would have come from his life.

He owed it to Peggy and to Doctor Erskine to give Loki a second chance.

He owed it to the boy in the ice fields.

"Okay," Steve said quietly.

Peggy's face faded, her brown eyes lightening into fathomless blue, her brown hair growing golden and long. The queen grabbed his chin and lifted his head up. Her eyes searched his. He felt lost in the depths, the comfort of a late summer's day enveloping him. "Are you sure? You give me your love willingly? Once you make this promise, you cannot take it back. It will be held for all of your days, released only upon your death."

"I promise," Steve whispered.

"The memories of your one true love for the safe return of you and Loki Silvertongue, Master Liesmith, with no promises that he won't try to destroy your world again? Think carefully. You can be rid of him now and all the pain he has caused you and yours. I will take the trade willingly. He will live forever in my realm, a servant to my every whim."

Steve blinked away the tears; schooled his face to remain stoic. "I promise."

"Very well."

The queen brought her hand to Steve's skull. Her hand was cool against his skin, but the touch brought a tearing in his brain as all his memories of Peggy surfaced before they were ripped away, leaving a gaping hole in her stead. Steve tried to wrench away from the queen, wanted to tell her to stop, but the words stuck in his throat. He was helpless to watch as his memories of Peggy, few that they were, shuffled by as she searched his brain. Vivid images of his team, of Bucky, of his time as a PR monkey, of the dead in the snowy fields of Germany and the brutality he'd seen on both sides railed against him flashed across his eyes. Overwhelmed, his brain shut down, darkness swallowing him.

"I'm sorry," he wanted to say, but he couldn't remember why he was apologizing, or to whom.

CHAPTER END

A/N Norse Mythology mentions a lot of Kings, but not a lot of Queens, even though the lore also states that most Elves are women. I decided to leave her nameless, but if you have a suggestion, shoot it at me!

"Where are you going, with your hands clenched in a fist?" Is from the Vietnam era anti-war song "Handsome Johnny" by Richie Havens.

The morning wind is very real, and, until I too was forced to stand in formation on cold winter mornings, it's something I'd never really noticed. Taking gen chem taught me that the heating of air as the sun rose is what causes this phenomenon. Regardless, once the wind picked up, I knew it was a short time before the sun really got a foothold in the sky and the brittle earth would finally warm up a bit. Although I've had to stand in formation in the summers, it's the winter wind you notice most and the promise of sun you are most excited for.

(And boy howdy, on those training days when the morning will be spent doing martial arts moves being thrown into the ground, you REALLY want the sun to warm the earth pretty darn fast.)

So I'm so sorry this has taken ages to post. It's been edited for months, but I've been feeling wishy washy as hell. There's such great work out there and I don't feel like I'm up to snuff. But I have over 200k words or something all told, and so I'm going to post it. I revisit the chapters every few months and worry them and then close them up again but I decided, okay, buck up and post. So here it is, for better or worse.

Thanks loads to my beta, Shear Viscosity.