The Vertiginous Thrill of Exactitude

Chapter Two

It took me approximately one second to realize I had made a huge mistake.

My hand flew up to shield my eyes, but it was too late and my retinas were burnt. It couldn't have been brighter if I had stepped onto the surface of the sun. For all I knew, I had. As if I could rewind the moment, I shuffled blindly backwards to pass through the stone doorway. It was a soft step, and then the ground betrayed my feet: I slipped and was on my back, the wind knocked out of me.

I stared in horror at the brightest lapis sky I had ever seen, a color I couldn't reconcile with my earthly experiences of blue. The next moments were absorbed by pain on the surfaces of my skin exposed to the light. And through my nose and throat and into my lungs, now working past the scare of being knocked out. I didn't accept or understand the tasteless air passing through my nose.

Cold, my brain finally told me. The pain was cold. I squinted into the mystery of the lapis, gasping. I couldn't accept the changes from the soggy night in the UK to this stark cold, bright. I clenched my hands into fists; the tips of my fingers protesting against the pain.

This was wrong. This was very wrong. I lifted my head and my eyes adjusted enough to see that I was in the center of a perfectly flat white surface, covered with about two inches of powdery snow. I shaded my eyes as I traced the expanse of white to the edge, where a mountain sharply rose, like a dark wall. The sun was above the range and even with my hand shading my face, it was almost unbearable to look towards.

I slowly pushed myself to my feet and turned my gaze to the other side. Wilderness. A range of mountains. To every side. This was a lake in the middle of mountains. In the direction away from the sun, the mountains looked the mildest. The slope was gradual and I could see valleys and jagged tooth-like peaks above them. My hand found its way to my stomach, slightly rounded beneath my raincoat.

What had I done?

It was beautiful beyond my imagination. Untouched by man, wild and alien. Treacherous. It would have been much better if I had been snuggled on my couch with Steve, in front of the TV, watching a documentary. The beauty was terrifying this close. This place was not meant for humans.

My eyes watered.

I spun slowly. The view was unchanging. No rock formations, no rain, no car headlights, no Dr. Selvig. Not even a shadow of the night I had just stepped out of, or the frame of rock I had stepped under. A stab of fear had me gasping icy air into my lungs. What had I done? What had Dr. Selvig done?

"Dr. Selvig?" I called out; my voice was small and faraway-sounding. I couldn't get enough oxygen into my lungs and it felt like I was jogging.

"Dr. Erik Selvig!"

This is what I deserved. It had to be. I shouldn't have trusted him. He was obviously crazy. His fervor and scientific jargon had me believing that he could get me home to Asgard and my family. But this wasn't home. This wasn't civilization. This was the middle of nowhere on who knows what planet. I should have known better to think this would work. Nothing went right for me. I had left Steve and Earth and safety for this cold and lonely death.

"Dr. Selvig!" I screamed his name. It was like a shadow on a cloudy day.

I was cursed. I had to be.

I searched the low, flat ground I was on. My head pounded with the effort of looking into the whiteness. There was white and there was cold. There was blue blue sky and dark mountains. There was nothing else. This consumed and paralyzed me for a time.

I shivered, frozen to the spot. I didn't have winter clothes or winter survival skills. My heart was clenching in my chest. I had made my last mistake. And it wasn't just me who was suffering now. I was responsible for more than just myself.

Steve. Steve. What had I done?

The stillness was broken by a gust of wind that picked up loose snow. It struck my eyes. I wrapped my arms over my face, bent in half, and did the only thing I was capable of: I screamed. My fingertips were numb, as was the end of my nose and ears. Familiar nausea threatened to empty me.

It took me a few minutes to realize my backpack was gone. Selvig hadn't been sure it would come with me. At least he got one thing right.

I had my raincoat on, but my shoes were hopelessly inappropriate for snow, as were my jeans. The jeans that almost didn't fit me anymore. I was going to freeze to death; I had to move. Standing around wasn't going to keep me warm. I wasn't happy to leave the spot that Dr. Selvig might find me, but I had no way know if he would even try to help me, let alone if he could find the same spot twice.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

If only Thor had just told me exactly how to contact him. He had been too vague. He had said that I only had to wish. Well I wished. I wished like a prayer to a pagan god. I wished out loud, in my mind, in a whisper with my eyes closed. I called to Heimdall, who was supposed to work the Bifrost, according to the myths. Either he couldn't hear me or Thor was lying when he said I could go to Asgard.

S.H.I.L.E.D. didn't have the technology, and even if I had gone to Fury for help (yeah right) he would have told Steve what I was doing and the whole thing would be blown. So I had taken matters into my own hands, or into Dr. Selvig's. My mistake was a fatal one, and it sat in my stomach like load of bricks.

There was no way I was going to be able to survive in the open, with no food, shelter or water. Well, I probably wouldn't be able to survive this even if I had been prepared. I was a Colorado girl, but I wasn't a particularly outdoorsy person and I definitely wasn't some wacko-survivalist who lived in Siberia to get away from people and to get in touch with nature and deer carcass.

I had to get off the lake and into the mountains. I decided to move away from the sun, partly because I couldn't stand looking towards it and partly because the mountains looked more forgiving in that direction.

Without really knowing who I was most furious with, I stomped forward, the only other sound the growling wind. I slipped, slamming down on my butt.

Right.

Ice.

Alfarinn Frey's ears picked it up before he could see it. Someone or something was making a racket. A woman, or a child, he would guess, except there were no women or children in these parts. An animal, wounded? He listened, again, his chest pressed to the limb of the tree that held him high enough to see to the far mountain shores. The hair on the nape of his neck itched. It was faint, but unmistakable. A far-off cry, coming on the back of the wind, off the lake, The lake was no place to be caught this time of year. The frost bears were waking up, the ice was thin in some places. No one was foolish enough to stay on these shores, unless they, like himself, were skilled. Or not right in the head.

Strangers weren't necessarily welcome. The realms were at war. Only his world, Alfheim had managed to stay neutral. Since the Bifrost had been destroyed those realms had erupted in chaos. Rebellious groups and usurpers of the peace took their opportunity to gain ground against Asgard. Without immediate transportation of troops, Asgard couldn't defend the peace. Alfhiem was the exception. Light elves were above the petty squabbles of the eight other realms. Intelligence, diplomacy and communication keep Alfheim neutral. That and his group of trained Wardens who were always wary of evil.

In his years as a Warden on Alfheim, he had seen nothing more evil than local terrors. But there were songs of the deeds of the Dark Elves, of the Frost Giants, of those that would forsake wisdom and spill the blood of brothers for things like fame, and greed, and lust. This woman, days away from any civilization, screaming in the middle of the great lake was just strange enough to put a bad taste in his mouth.

Leave it. He had completed his watch. It was time for a hot bath and family. He had only to give command and he and the wolves would be well on their way home to lovely Isond and the Citadel.

The thought was fleeting, if warming. It was his duty and the duty of his men, to make certain of peace from The Citadel to the eastern shores of the great lake. If some woman was stupid enough to get lost, days away from the nearest town, making a show of herself in the middle of an unstable frozen lake for every predator to spot, then he would warn her against the perils of this land and help her home. If it was a trap, then he would rely on instinct and decades of mostly unused training.

But afterwards, straight home to Isond's black hair and black eyes. And the rest of the city and it's politics.

He watched the woman, a black smudge moving slowly but surely towards the Skathi Mountains. Damn fool. He put his fingers to his lips and let out a short, high whistle. Geri and Freki were at the base of the tree, tails wagging, tongues lolling, before his feet hit the snow. Geri's white front paws shoved at the back of Alfarinn's shoulders, nearly knocking him over, a wolfy embrace, playful but heavy.

"Get off, you oaf."

Freki barked her laugh as Alfarinn Frey pulled his pack and sled out of the pile of snow he had hidden it in. The wolves chased each other madly through the trees as he put the harness and leather straps into place.

"Hey!" He called in mock-anger. "Cubs." The fully-grown wolves tore through the snow and underbrush, coming to a shaky stand-still, just long enough for the harnesses to be attached to the lines and the lines to the sled. It was a bit of a struggle to secure his pack onto the sled as they wiggled and nipped, and then they were off, streaking towards the great lake and the crazy woman.

It was relatively warm. The trees had been dripping melted icicles at midday. The sled whispered over the snow, until the ground became too uneven. Alfarinn quickly broke the sled down and fit it and the lines into his pack. The shadows of the tress were longer every minute, and days short lived.

He pushed through drifts of heavy, wet snow, until he stood on the brim of the lake. It wasn't very large; he could see the branches of the trees on the opposite mountain. It was deep though; the traders hauled in fish twice the weight of a man. She kept her path at a diagonal and didn't seem to notice him.

He lifted a hand and called out a greeting.

She caught sight, nearly slipped, and yelled something. His ears seemed to play a trick. He could hear her words, but they didn't make sense. They weren't garbled by the wind or distance; they were words he had never heard. She flung her arms above her head and changed her direction to meet him. For a moment the fact that he couldn't understand her language froze every part of him but his mind. He knew every tongue of this world and what she yelled was not just unfamiliar, but alien.

Midgard. What they call Earth. The blind planet.

No: impossible. There was no interplanetary travel to Midgard, except those through Heimdall in Asgard. And then it was only Thor and company. She must be from Vanaheim. He couldn't pretend to know every tongue in all the realms. He hadn't had the chance to talk to many travelers, but it wasn't unheard of. How she arrived at this very spot was a mystery for later. Who ever she was, wherever she was from, she was literally walking on thin ice. She may not know it, but she needed his help.

"Stop!" he called out to her, and held his hands up, palms outward. He could see her slow down, slip, and then catch herself before falling. Freki growled, next to him. He put a hand on her neck and her noise simmered.

The girl (he now saw it was a young girl) began to move again. A new sound rumbled out of the ice. It was like a giant's hungry stomach calling out for food, a sort of grumbling.

"Stop!" he called, making the same hand gesture. He then crouched, keeping eye contact, and moved his hands as if he were smoothing something over the lake, to tell her to lay low.

She stood dumbly.

He rose, and then pressed his hand downward as if pushing a resistance with force, until he was sprawled on the ground. She looked around for a moment and then got onto her stomach.

He motioned for her to stay where she was, and then hopped up to look for a long, stiff branch. He found one, mostly dead, hanging off the bottom of a tree like a loose tooth, and yanked it.

Freki whined at the same time as the growling sound of the ice.

Using his makeshift walking stick, he took a tentative step out onto the frozen shore line. His foot slid and then found a hold in a fissure. The branch joined the precarious ice, and then his other foot. He dug in one end the branch and listened. When he was satisfied it was solid enough, he took another step out. The walking stick tested the path, as he made his way farther from safety than he would have liked.

The girl hungrily watched his approach. She was ready to have dirt underneath her feet. It was obviously a mistake to be caught out here. Stupid thing.

Stepping lightly and as quickly as he dared, he managed to not slip. He lowered himself to the dark ice, far enough away so that his weight wasn't in the same spot, but close enough so that if the ice broke from underneath her, his stick would reach her grasp. Provided he didn't go in as well.

She lifted herself onto her elbows and was talking again to him in quick, cutting and unmusical words.

"I don't understand you. I am sorry." He shrugged at her. She asked a question and he shook his head to say 'no.' She bit her lip, and, if he wasn't mistaken, he saw tears fill her eyes.

"Don't worry," he spoke softly as if she were even younger than she looked. "We'll get you to shore." She sniffled. He turned himself around to face his path and looked back to make sure she was watching.

"Move like this," he pulled his body weigh forward with his forearms and pushed as best as he could with his feet and knees. She copied him. And struggled. Progress was much slower than he had anticipated. She wasn't strong enough to keep it up, and had to take breaks.

Small noises of frustration bubbled out of her after a few minutes of this crawling and slithering. The ice was uncomfortably chilly on his belly, but this was a warm bath compared getting dunked into the waters underneath. It was slow going and he stopped three times to listen to the moaning of the frozen lake. She began to mutter under heavy-laden breath.

The color of the surface, under the bit of snow, gradually shifted to grey; the shallows were near. He breathed easier, with some of the danger past. He pushed himself to his knees and then to his feet, stick in hand.

He watched her painstakingly rise to her feet with a look that surprised him: exasperation aimed at him. Could she possibly blame any part of this day on him? It wasn't his fault she got herself stuck out in the middle of the lake. He turned his back on her and lightly stepped his way to the a wide flat rock and then nimbly touched solid ground. Gratitude was more appropriate a feeling.

Freka joined him, nearly unbalancing him. There was a warning sound, that grumble of an empty stomach, but much louder than before. He jumped into action, launching off the rock as he heard the crack, and skidding to a stop to watch her fall through a trap door in the ice. There was a splash of water over the lip of the ice. For half a heart beat it was silent, and then splashing and screaming broke through. Alfarinn Frey was on his stomach, as close as he dared, his stick over the opening in the solid ice.

"Take it!" he called at her as she gasped. Her breath came in billows of cloud, shining in the sunlight. Her hands pawed at the stick until her elbows were hooked over the stick. Then he was dragging her limp form as best as he could until they were on the shore. Her eyes were wide, terrified. She was muttering something, fists clenched and arms tight around her chest, he traced her gaze to Freki and Geri, who looked at her with mild amusement.

"They wont hurt you." he assured the girl.

Geri lost interest almost instantly and nipped at Freki's ear, which brought on a tussle.

"Come," he told all three, the wolves and the girl. She obeyed, but slowly. He had to get her into dry clothing as quickly as possible. Without stopping to ask for permission or offering her an option, he turned and slung her over his shoulder, plowing through the snow to his pack.

"Here we are. Not to fret. You'll be fine," he dished out small measures of comfort even though he knew she couldn't understand the words. He set her down and saw clearly the shock on her face.

He reached into his pack and found spare trousers, shirt and his over coat he had packed away. He knelt to look into her eyes; creatures understood through eye contact. At least dogs did.

"You must put these on." He shook the spare clothes at her. She blinked at him. His face got much sterner and he repeated himself. She didn't move to take the clothes, he could see her lips turning blue. He huffed.

Stubborn girl.

"Very well. Have it your way." And he made a move as if to pull her jacket off over her head. This brought her to life and and a brought long string of words hot with indignity. He stood smugly and then turned his back to give her a bit of privacy. He listened as she stubbled out of the wet clothes. Did she ever stop muttering?

I was frozen to my bones with a strange man and his apparently semi-docile but gigantic wolves.

I was stark naked.

I couldn't get my fingers to do what I wanted; it was like they were stuck in fists. Buttons became intricate puzzles. My skin was nearly as white as the snow under my bare feet and I could definitely see bruises pooling around my knees from doing that stupid army crawl.

I couldn't smell the dirty-looking pants because I was too cold, but it took a lot turning a blind eye to get myself put everything on. Life or death, Siri.

When I was fully clothed I sat down to get my feet out of the snow. They were a gross yellow color I didn't think was very healthy. He turned back around and took my soaking wet clothes and, against all reason I could comprehend, began rolling them in the snow. As if they were't cold enough. I didn't say anything. What could I say? I was at his complete mercy.

A tiny trickle of fear warmed me. I wondered what kind of man I was dealing with. A weapon—either a short sword or a long knife —was sheathed and secured to his back by a leather strap that wound around his front. Other than that he didn't look armed. But he was strong…not that I was able to compete with even the scrawniest of men. He was wearing some sort of medieval getup, with trousers, boots and long weather-stained and thick shirt. He twisted my clothes to expel any water and rolled them again.

I wasn't great as guessing ages, but if I had to put a number on it, maybe forty something. The skin on his face and hands were callused, but not wrinkled. He was a couple of days behind on shaving and even washing. Dark ratty hair hung to his shoulders, tied in the back with a thick string. Something caught my eye; a bit of light coloring poked through slightly above his ears. I studied it for a moment and then realized it was his ear. It was the point of his ear. His pointy ear.

I nearly choked on a laugh. Oh God. Wrong story. What was this, Middle Earth? No no no no. Nope. No way did he have pointy ears like an elf.

He stopped putting my clothes into his animal-skin bag to look at me almost loosing it. I stifled my giddiness. It wasn't funny. It wasn't funny. I snorted.

His eyes narrowed dangerously.

Then he shrugged and pulled out an extremely anachronistic object from his bag. It was like a bundle of tent poles, but each pole was thick and flat and metallic. They were all bent and connected with what looked like wire. Deft hands unbent and untangled the bundle, snapping piece together. A flat form morphed and extended before my eyes, into, a one-person sled. A sled that you would see at the Iditarod races, only made out of impossibly light-weigh metal and able to fold up like a squished spider.

He secured wire to the sled and laid it out, then whistled and called out, "Gary, Frecky!"

I must have been in shock because the fact that the elf named his wolf Gary made me laugh again. He ignored me and my laughter died out as the wolves burst though the snow, teeth bared and snarling. If they stood up on hind legs, the big one would be taller than me. My Pogo was a hamster compared to them. One word from the guy and I would be dead meat. Or maybe I was dead meat without his word.

I shrunk back as they got close. They ignored me, thank God, and impatiently allowed the guy to strap leather harnesses on. When they were crouched, barely containing wild energy, he turned to me.

He met my eyes. For a moment he seemed like the wrong age. Like his eyes didn't match his face. They were earth-colored and either too old or too young for him. He said something, and I honestly couldn't even guess at it.

We had a moment of understanding. He had proven himself to be a savior and I had proven myself in need of one. I had to trust this complete stranger until he wasn't trust-worthy. If it came to that, I didn't know what I would do. It made me miss Steve. I nodded miserably.

He reached into his bag again (was it endlessly huge on the inside?) and drew out an animal skin, heavy with long brown fur. He picked me up again and the warmth of his body made me shiver harder. I began to realize just how cold I was. He wrapped me completely in the stinky but very welcome fur and set me on the sled. He reached behind me to a hood I hadn't noticed and tucked my wet and frozen stiff hair in before drawing a string so that it wrapped securely to my head. His bag went on my lap and then both me and the bag were strapped down.

I thought I couldn't get colder, and then the wolves broke into a run, jerking the the sled and me with it. I screamed at the sudden movement and craned my neck around to see the guy running after the sled for a couple of steps before launching himself onto the back.

I was such a sissy. A slight spray of snow kicked up from paws, and I hid my face in the fur.

I hated the cold. Even what little warmth the sun had been giving was negated by the new breeze that seemed to find every crack in the fabric. The ground sloped up slightly, but the wolves didn't hesitate to climb.

Despite myself I found it kind of fun to be pulled along at a pretty good speed so close to the ground. Bare shrubs slid past and then trees that got taller and wider. Every so often I could feel the weigh shift in the sled as the guy hopped off the back and ran for a while. He, at least, was probably keeping nice and warm with the exercise, while I was strapped snugly to the metal sled. I soon had trouble feeling my legs.

The light got warmer in color and colder in temperature. The sun slipped behind the peaks to the left of us. The quiet of the winter-scape was mind numbing, as was the whisper of the sled through snow and the breaths of the wolves ahead. This was really the middle of nowhere. No houses or electrical wires or even birds. Nothing stirred as we slid past.. I breathed hot air on my hands to keep them alive in the nest of fur. The mountains before us got bigger every minute.

I had no way of knowing where he was taking me. I hoped we were heading to a warm house or the closest town. Anywhere with hot water. The thought came to me, belatedly, that I was leaving behind the lake and any chance of Dr. Selvig ever finding me. I was on my own. Well, not exactly. I had elf-guy. But he didn't even speak English.

And why should he? I had taken for granted that I would be able to speak the language. Thor spoke English. Did that mean everyone in Asgard spoke it, too? Or was it Norse? Something alien? I was not even going to be able to talk to my biological mother or father.

I squirmed inside. The fact that I was going to have to talk to them at all, let alone with a translator, was uncomfortable. All the "what-ifs" danced through my head like trained and abused circus animals.

The golden light turned silver and the shadows ate up our tracks. The sky in front of me turned a grey-pink and then lost it's rosy hue. We turned our direction farther left, so that the sun set behind us, and headed into the base of a narrow valley. Slopes of evergreens, branches heavy with snow, rose snarly on either side, now. I had to look directly up to see the tops of the mountain. Soon the trees came in too close to see the sky.

The elf-guy ran for longer periods of time, and I began to feel bad. I had his jacket on. He was in a simple peasant-like shirt with no head covering. I thought of offering him the jacket back, but then reflexively and selfishly drew myself in further to it's warmth.

Before it was too dark for me to see my hand in front of my face, the man broke the silence with a word and the wolves slowed to a trot and then a walk, panting. Their tongues dripped and they munched mouthfuls of snow. My eyes darted around, trying to find the cabin I had been expecting. With the warm bath and the soft bed and a hot cocoa.

I saw nothing.

He unhooked the wolves, who darted into the evening as if they hadn't been running for an hour straight. He then untied me and his bag and pulled me up to stand on a corner of the large fur I was wrapped in. Pins and needles crept up my shins and thighs. I waited, expectantly, for a direction in which to walk. I still couldn't see a house or any lights.

My heart began to sink. We weren't going to…not in this weather…he couldn't expect me to…oh my God. We would be sleeping outside. There had better be at least a tent. And a fire. My hair was still wet. I would probably get a cold or the flu and die because they were alien elves and I was a human and their medicine wouldn't work on me. Then I would never see Steve again, or Anouk or Pogo or even see the family I had sacrificed my life to come visit.

Stupid, stupid, Siri.

I stood still as he worked. He pulled out his long knife and hacked away at some dead branches, breaking some into tiny pieces, laying some neatly in a messy square. A fire, then. He wasn't setting it up directly under low hanging branches, but under a bit of open sky, where I guessed smoke could escape directly upwards. My feet were unbearably frozen. I sat down and held one foot in my hand, rubbing it, and then the other, until the guy came and picked me up again. It was getting old, fast. I wasn't a child to be picked up whenever he felt like it.

He set me again on the fur, next to the fire. My spirit lifted like a hot air balloon. Modest flames hungrily licked the bark which, in return, snapped and hissed. Shadows bobbed and spindly branches were illuminated from underneath. The warmth gave me a happiness I wasn't expecting. I was hypnotized for a time, staring into the orange and white and red, until elf-guy gingerly tossed another log on. Sparks spat out the top.

I shifted my weight so that I could sneak glances at what he was up to. I realized he was silently making a sort of lean-to out of a fallen tree behind me. So no tent then. He walked a little ways, found a bough he liked, and then dragged it back to either add to the wall of the lean-to, or place on the ground, a prickly forrest floor. Or a bed. I was going to have to sleep next to him. A stranger. An alien. A strange alien with pointy ears and no English. Outside in the dead of winter.

I seriously have the worst luck. Ever.

Hi Guys! An update!? So soon!? Youbetcha. I'm on a roll and thought I might as well share. If you are confused at this point, it's ok. Things will become clear soon. Please let me know what you think in a review. Thank you for reading. I don't own anything, really. But I did work hard on any original characterization and plot.

Love to you,

Coy