A/N: I blame—Theo. It's all his fault. It really is.

Beta Love: The Dragon and the Rose, Dutchgirl01, Commander Shepard

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Chapter 5

Blue Looks Good On You

Happy is the man who finds a true friend, and far happier is he who finds that true friend in his wife. - Franz Schubert

"Oh, stuff a sock in it, Draco!" Theo groaned, smacking Draco on the back, wincing as he once again underestimated his newfound strength and sent Draco tumbling arse over teakettle to crash into the far wall. "Sorry."

Draco lay flat on his back where he had slid, staring blindly up at the ceiling. "It's totally not fair, Theo. I get distracted for a few days—"

"Months more like," Theo pointed out grimly. "You went from shagging the girl senseless every day to pushing her away just so you could go lure your mummy out from whatever hole she chose to dig herself into. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that Luna was pretty lonely, and Jötunn are—" Theo frowned, pondering on how to phrase it. "We are very attuned to our mates."

Draco just huffed, blowing a lock of shaggy blond hair out of his face.

Theo sighed. "Look, mate," he said, leaning in on his spear with a reflexive need to have it close. "You want Luna to be happy right?"

"Yeah."

"She's definitely happy now," Theo said and then laughed. "I think she finally found someone as utterly indecent as she is when it comes to flaunting social norms. I mean, she converted in front of Merlin and everyone next to a pile of frost-seal entrails, mate. I think Eirik thinks he's hit the jackpot there. Not that I, ah… fared any less in the lack of common decency stakes."

Theo flushed a little, finding at least a tiny smidge of shame hidden deep within his Jötunn hormone-saturated brain.

"Did you really go down on your lady on top of an iceberg?" Draco just had to ask.

"On a pile of warm FUR on top of an iceberg, thank you very much. I wanted her to be comfortable!" Theo scoffed.

"Oh, and that's so much better," Draco sneered at him.

Theo just rolled his eyes at his friend. "She was so not complaining, I'll have you know."

"So much for perfect Pureblood manners," Draco muttered, snorting softly.

"Fffft," Theo said airily. "When in Rome— You really should try it. It's quite freeing."

"I am not stripping down naked in front of Merlin and everyone to have rabid Niffler sex in the snow!" Draco yelled.

"Maybe the Nifflers are onto something," Theo supposed, shrugging. "You did go down on Luna in the middle of Hyde Park in front of a bunch of partying Muggles."

"That was—" Draco sputtered. ""That was totally not the same!"

"Oh right, well, pardon me," Theo said, shaking his head in amusement.

"Look," Theo said after a while. "We both know that if you had really, really wanted to get married, you'd have swept Luna off and done the deed instead of just shagging her all over London and never getting married. You wouldn't have let the migration season of Horny Bupperbacks or whatever get in your way. You'd have found a way, just like you always do, so somewhere deep inside of you, you must've figured that you either knew it wasn't meant to be, or your heart was dragging you elsewhere. Otherwise you wouldn't have gone and bought yourself a sodding Shih Tzu pup and started talking to it like it was your own mother."

Draco sighed, staring up at the ceiling moodily. "Why didn't Hermione say something?"

"It's not her job to police your love life, mate," Theo said dryly. "She probably saw all the possibilities, or she purposely tried not to look out of respect for you. You know how she is, mate. Besides, I'm betting you your dreams have changed pretty drastically from what they were when you first got with Luna. Now can you tell me truthfully that whatever you've been dreaming of even included Luna in some way, shape, or form?"

Draco closed his eyes in pain. "No."

"What are you dreaming of anyway?"

"My mother being back and happy with me."

Theo sighed. "You've got some serious mummy issues to deal with there, mate. Just promise me that you'll take some time to figure it all out. But not your whole life, you know?"

"Yeah, I know," Draco agreed.

"Don't let life pass you by because you can't get your mum to be what you've always wanted her to be. Gods only know that if I had to rely on my father to approve of ANYTHING I ever did— I'm sure he'd have a epic coronary after seeing me now. Especially now."

"He always wanted you to have blue blood," Draco said with a chuckle.

"Probably not so much the blue skin and glowing red eyes with a propensity for growing thirty-odd feet tall," Theo replied, snickering at the mental image of his father's likely expression upon discovering his new 'look'.

"Don't forget the nigh-endless libido," Draco bemoaned, smashing his face repeatedly into the pile of pillows at the head of his bed.

"That's more of a benefit, mate," Theo said, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"My godfather's getting so much more than me," Draco grunted rather grumpily.

Theo shook his head adamantly. "You have no idea just how much help he's been. Not just to me, either. He's been helping Laufey train all of the young hunters and he's even set up a programme to help train young magicals if and when they start showing up. At Hogwarts, Severus was always so disgusted with everything, you know? Now, he's downright inspirational. He takes Raina with him absolutely everywhere, teaching her all sorts of new things. It's amazing. The way he cares for Ishea is something a lot of us wish we could be like. He's found his true place in the world, Draco, and I've found mine too. I don't regret it. Not even one little tiny bit. "

"I guess I just wish that I could feel that strongly about something," Draco mused thoughtfully.

"Hey, mate," Harry called as he burst through Draco's bedroom door. "We're going out for Muggle pizza, you coming?" Harry skidded to an abrupt halt as he spied Theo sitting on the edge of Draco's bed, traditional spear in hand, and glowing red eyes staring as if attempting to bore a hole right through him.

"THEO?!"

"Hey there, mate," Theo grinned, raising a bright blue hand in greeting.

Thud.

Harry had fainted dead away onto the new hardwood floor.

Draco rolled his head to the side, smirking down at the unconscious former Gryffindor. "Well, at least I can say that I didn't faint when I saw you."

"Only because you were already sitting down."

"Just shut it, you." Draco glared at Theo. "Remember, when I first saw you today, you had forgotten to shrink yourself down."

Theo grinned wickedly. "Forgotten. Yes. That must've been it."

Draco eyed Theo for a long moment. "I really hate you, sometimes."

Theo's crimson eyes glowed. "You love me, mate. You know you do."

Sif looked over the ledge to watch Fandral, Volstagg, and Hogun sparring together at the base of the temple grounds as they enjoyed their newfound freedom from their cast-bound imprisonment. She, too, was glad to be free of the uncomfortable confines, but a part of her had been coping with multiple surprising revelations. One, her faith hadn't been buried quite as deeply as she thought it had, and two, the dynamics had changed drastically between the formerly-hated and feared Jötunn and certain members of her kind. It seemed that the Jötunn were no longer to be quite so feared and hated anymore.

And Sif had a secret.

As a child, she had once had a Jötunn playmate— a friendship forged while her parents had tended an outpost in Jötunheimr overlooking Útgarðr. While her parents had been distracted and busy looking out for danger from the front, Sif had been playing right under their noses with a young Jötunn male— so very young that that they had been about the same size.

They had been the very best of friends, and he had even taught her how to properly build and wield a spear, to fish in the frozen river to ease her hunger when her parents were too busy to prepare her a meal, and how to cover herself in warm sealskin to protect herself from Jötunheimr's icy cold wrath. Ironically, her parents hadn't even noticed, so intent on keeping watch for the dangers they believed would come from the end of an icy spear direct to the face.

Sif and her Jötunn friend had grown up together, and she had never had even the slightest clue that he was fated to become her enemy one day. They had become so very close— nigh-inseparable, in fact. Then, one day, her parents took her back to Ásgarðr to be formally trained as a warrior. A proud defender of Ásgarðr.

She was taught to distrust anything Jötunn.

Jötunn would cause the coming of Ragnarök.

Jötunn would kill every single man, woman, and child of Ásgarðr, she was taught.

Sif had buried her personal feelings deep down inside of her, unable to believe that her friend could even be capable of such terrible things but equally unable to voice her true thoughts and opinions in the face of such open hatred. She focused all of her pain and inner conflict on battle training instead. She tempered her confusion with wrath. She molded herself into a warrior's warrior, and tried desperately to forget the part of her heart that still longed for her Jötunn friend. There was an aching, raw emptiness she longed to fill, yet no other had managed to come close to doing that for her. And the truth was she didn't even know if he still lived. She wanted to believe that he was happy somewhere— having survived the war and the harsh, unforgiving climate of Jötunheimr.

But an equally traitorous part of her wished that he felt much the same as she.

She hated herself for it. She had no right to wish ill of someone else just because she felt so terribly lonely. Her friend had never done anything to deserve such malice— it had been why she had cared so powerfully for him, even growing up. And she still dreamed of him every night— older, perhaps, but yet still with the same unforgettable garnet eyes and the tender warmth of his hand on hers as he led her to the ice floes to watch the seals and whales.

It had all been all so very innocent then— but Sif could still remember the achingly sweet tenderness of his touch. Then, as she had grown older, it was his touch alone that she secretly longed for, even as she entertained other men, brave Asgardian warriors all. But they were never quite right for her. No matter what society told her, her heart wanted what it wanted and would accept nothing else and nothing less: the deliciously forbidden… their enemy.

And Sif had buried it all just as deeply as she could, believing that there would never be a time in her future in which the forbidden would miraculously change and become unforbidden.

And then, suddenly, it had.

It wasn't to say that she believed that Ásgarðr, too, would embrace the Jötunn so easily— but here, here in the very mecca of quetzalcoatl faith, peace was very real. Miðgarðr had succeeded in ways that Ásgarðr itself had only tentatively arranged.

"Beautiful day," Hermione said, seeming to appear out of nowhere as if springing out from the very earth.

Sif whirled, her instincts having been honed for battle readiness at all times. Then she realised that the other woman was regarding her with a warm, almost amused smile. "Old habits?"

Sif instantly deflated. "My apologies, Lady Hermione," Sif managed to say without squeaking.

"You needn't explain yourself to me, Lady Sif," Hermione said with a beam of radiant warmth. "I am sure the exceedingly strange things you have seen over the last few months have been giving you a rather difficult time."

"Please, just Sif," Sif requested. "Lady Sif makes me think of tight corsets, ballroom gowns, and being unable to lift a sword or mount a horse without courting epic disaster."

Hermione laughed, a bell-like, very feminine sound. "Sif it is then."

"I haven't yet had a chance to thank you," Sif said after a moment. "For sparing my life and then healing me. I know you didn't have to do either."

Hermione tilted her head, a soft hum moving in the back of ther throat as she rocked back and forth, in a serpentine manner. "All I did was calm down Jane, whose fury with one most righteous hammer did smash all of your bones."

Sif coughed delicately. "I can certainly appreciate that."

"To her credit, she was defending my children," Hermione said, "one of which Volstagg did tread upon with his boot."

Sif winced. "If anything, the months we spent entombed within a cast being tended by a Jötunn healer haven given us all some much-needed… perspective in several critical areas."

"Yet, you understood her the entire time," Hermione said, kind and non-accusing.

Sif fidgeted a bit under the gentle scrutiny. "When I was but a child, my parents tended a security outpost just outside Útgarðr. I spent a good few hundred years there out on the wastes of Jötunheimr, with no one else around for hours or days, save for Útgarðr itself. That was what my parents watched, day after day, hour after hour."

"But not you," Hermione commented.

Sif shook her head. "I amused myself most days— for years, and then one day, I met a boy fishing out in the frozen river. I had thought him cold, his skin was so very blue. I offered him my coat. He was so very fascinated by me. He'd never seen a person whose skin was so different from his own. I think we spent hours just poking at each other, trying to figure out if we were real or not."

"Sounds like you made a new friend."

Sif nodded. "We became the very best of friends. My mother and father never knew. They were far too busy looking forward to bother with checking up on me, to find out what I was up to. He taught me to fish, to use a spear, and how to use a knife. He made sealskin wraps for my feet to keep them dry and warm, laughing that I was so terribly fragile. If Asgardians only knew how well-equipped Jötunn children are when compared to their own children, they would be so terribly ashamed, I think. We think ourselves to be so very brilliant, so civilised and advanced, but throw us out into the wastes, and we will shiver, freeze and die, having not even enough time to lift up a sword."

"You admire them," Hermione said, tilting her head to gaze at the warrior woman.

Sif thought about that for a moment. "I guess I do. It's funny, I remember so many nights when we'd be out there all alone on the ice floes, dragging some carcass up out of the ocean and then across the ice. He'd always make sure I ate first. I used to think it was because he thought I'd waste away at a moment's notice." Sif flushed. "I only just realised, after witnessing more of Jötunn culture here at the temple, that he was doing his very best to take care of me."

"How does that make you feel now?" Hermione asked softly.

Sif closed her eyes. "It makes me wish we'd stayed out there a little longer. Were we but just a little bit older, things might have turned out differently. We were just two young kids then. He's… probably forgotten all about me, though."

"Dreams are things that can follow you throughout life, Lady Sif," Hermione said rather cryptically. "Shared ones are all the more rare and beautiful. Many say that our jungle falls are a very good place to gather your thoughts and think things through. Perhaps you might like to give it a try? The waters are perpetually warm in the springs and cold in the falls. Somewhere in the middle you can usually find the perfect temperature."

"I think I shall indeed, Lady Hermione," Sif said with an appreciative nod. "Thank you for the kind suggestion."

Hermione unwrapped what seemed like a skin of some sort from her waist. "Might as well take this with you. It can get a little cold if you stand in the wind just so."

Sif accepted the skin gratefully. "Thank you. It is… a little heavier than I expected."

Hermione was already walking away. She paused but a moment. "Must be all the natural waterproofing," she said with a smile. "Have a good walk." Hermione glided away, a long trail of cosmic plasma whipping about her heels.

Sif boggled at the warm hide she had just been given. It was a deep silver-blue and just as thick as one of the winter duvets at the Asgardian royal palace. And yet it was strangely light and the texture butter soft. She'd never seen the like of it before. To her mind, it was oddly heavier than it should have been, and yet it was somehow lighter than it could have been. Sif shook her head. There were so many new and strange things here on Miðgarðr.

Sif noticed that the steps leading up to the jungle falls were apparently well-loved or at least very well-tended. On either side was an equally well-tended air garden. Trees with lush, heart-shaped leaves, hostas, ivy, and some species of flowering plant that trailed a multitude of tiny, fragrant blossoms both shaded and subtly perfumed the rather secluded walkway. It was a bit of a long walk and yet Sif did not encounter anyone else along the way. For that, she was grateful. She found that she very much wanted to get things sorted within her own head without having to talk or deal with any others.

Finally reaching the top, Sif noticed that the path turned right and then slowly began to narrow. This part was lined in flat, perfectly smooth stones with just enough cushioning moss to make walking the pathway with bare feet a decadent, highly cathartic experience. She took off her sandals to better enjoy the journey, glad of Lady Hermione's suggestion that she make this trip to the falls in the first place. The temple grounds lay below, but the temple itself rose like a beacon above all. The highest dais floated above the temple itself— where Hermione and Loki always held an audience with supplicants and diplomatic visitors. Those who visited more frequently were allowed out on the temple grounds themselves and the more casual public areas, such as the gardens. In a floating ring around the temple were the hunting grounds, perfectly managed jungles teeming with prey such as Acromantulas for the hunters to satisfy their need to hunt and so they could always bring back fresh meat to their mates. Most of the prey items, as would be expected in the natural order, bred quickly, making them an easily renewable natural resource.

The ambassadorial residences floated out in a circle around the temple's grounds on multiple, individual climate-controlled islands. Swirling magical lights marked each one with different colours and even the seasons appeared to be different depending on which island she was looking at. Most of the embassies had the bridge withdrawn, except for when official visitors were being entertained, except for two: the bridge to the Jötunn's frosty portal remained bridged at all times and the bridge to the goblin nation's main embassy never faded.

Yet, save for these features, there were no other visible protections— at least, not in the way of the ever-vigilant Heimdall and the Asgardian royal guard. Sif was not that ignorant, however. Those who lived in and around the temple grounds served as the eyes and ears of their chosen god and goddess, being so much more protective and nigh-fanatical than any other group could possibly claim to be. It had taken but one wholly human woman wielding Mjölnir like a seasoned warrior to take out an entire raiding party of Asgardians. Sif had no doubt whatsoever that if there was ever any danger around, it would not last long enough to get to Hermione or Loki, not unless Hermione or Loki actually wanted it to.

The steps finally led her out into an enclosed garden where dainty bushes mingled with wispy, almost-delicate trees. Crystal clean water flowed out around a circular platform, and blooming pond lilies in various colours floated serenely on top. In the center, there was a fountain, separate from the rest, and it didn't take her long to recognise the bright red bellies of the infamous Pira that Lady Frigga adored so very much— fish that stripped the meat off bones but then burped their thanks in a startlingly angelic musical harmony.

A small plaque with a hand reaching into the pond and a line through it warned visitors not to stick their hands in the Pira fountain. Sif wondered how long it would take some heedless idiot to try it anyway and end up getting his hand gnawed off.

The far gate opened up into a wider path, and that led right into the pool at the bottom of an enormous roaring waterfall. Great curving tusks from some unknown species of enormous animal served as railings, smooth and warm to the touch despite being parted from the host animal. Intricate runes shimmered along the surface indicating no small amount of respect for the animal that had given them up along with its life.

Sif found her way down to where the stairs dipped down into a warmed bathing pool, and she took off her more cumbersome armor and set it carefully aside. As she laid down the strange hide that Hermione had given her, a small drawstring bag fell out. Curious, she opened it, reaching her hand in, and she found two bathing suits. One was rather modest, and the other— well, it looked almost like a bikini take on her usual armor.

Seeing as she was alone, she decided to slip into the less modest suit, and into the water, sighing with pure relief as the warm water eased away all of the lingering aches in her muscles. The great falls roared down from above, secluding the lower falls in a thick cloud of mist. There was a soft, gentle breeze, just as Hermione had warned, but Sif found that if she stayed in the water, it didn't bother her at all.

One of her pendants floated up to the surface of the water and bonked her on the chin. She picked it in her hand, staring down at it. Runes covered the pristine ivory and bone of a large feline. It was wrapped tightly in sinew, covering the runes themselves, but she could feel them as much as see them— their magic having been set into the ivory and bone so very long ago.

"Run, Sif!" Björnar yelled, pushing Sif away as a huge, sabre-toothed frost beast snarled down at them from above.

But Sif couldn't run. Her leg was pinned under the fallen glacial ice, loosed during her wild tumble down the glacier.

The sabre-toothed beast roared, leaping down from an outcrop several feet above the two children, seeming to know that it had all the advantage and none of the disadvantages of its would-be prey.

Björnar quickly yanked his spear out from the nearby ice, immediately throwing himself between the beast and a trapped Sif. He gave a mighty roar, which might have been truly intimidating coming from a full-grown giant, but he was just a young boy.

The creature snarled again, leaping at them, its enormous fangs bared menacingly and its dagger-like claws fully extended. Björnar fell heavily onto his knees, bracing his body against the spear. "You will NOT have her!"

CRUNCH.

Björnar staggered and fell under the sheer weight of the beast. The creature roared and writhed, half-impaled on a broken spear— but the spear had gone through the beast's ribs and through to the other side. Björnar's arm wrapped around the beast's neck in a headlock. The beast bucked, snarled, and slashed out viciously with its claws, but the boy-giant wrapped his legs as tightly as he could around the beast's chest and wrenched its neck inexorably backward.

Crr-

Crrr-

CRACK!

The beast spasmed as the incandescent fury in its eyes faded away, its body going boneless and utterly limp.

"RrrrraaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhH!" Björnar roared, beating his chest, his crimson eyes glowing with primal fury. He took his broken spear and thrust it deep into the animal's carcass, towards the heart, insuring that the creature would never gain a second wind and another chance to fight. He shakily got to his feet, panting, blood trailing down the slash of its claws across his chest and back, marring his previously flawless blue skin.

He knelt down beside her, pushing up the remains of the glacier with a heave of his already brawny shoulder, using his own body weight to wedge it up. "Can you move now?" he panted, blood still trailing down his exhausted body.

Sif just nodded dumbly, wincing as she pulled her wounded leg out from under the glacial ice. As she freed herself, Björnar let the weight drop, resting on all fours as he fought to catch his breath. Even as he struggled, he dragged himself over to the carcass, dipping his fingers into the steaming blood. He drew it carefully across his face, tracing the lines of his runic patterns. He looked to where Sif's small dagger had been embedded into the beast's tough hide, broken off at the hilt. He pulled her hand towards the carcass, dipping her fingers into the blood. He gestured to her face meaningfully, pantomiming someone drawing.

Sif slowly drew a pattern onto herself, and having no pattern with which to do so, mirrored Björnar's, slowly drawing her bloodied fingers across her own skin.

Björnar smiled, wordlessly, nodding in clear approval. He pried open the beast's mouth, jabbing his dagger into the socket of its jaw and maneuvered his hands around until he heard a sharp crack. He repeated it until the two pristine ivory fangs glistened in front of him. Using the beast's own claws, he drew one paw along the leg and found the sinew, freeing it from the long bone. He chewed on it as he worked on the twin teeth, carefully carving into them with a tool from his belt until an intricate series of runes covered the surface of both ivory and bone. He wrapped the bone shaft of the saber with the moistened sinew until it was covered in a glistening golden wrap. He sliced down the belly of the beast with one of its claws, cutting fine strips of rawhide, and then he braided them finely, using his teeth to pull it tight as he worked the cord.

"Great Frost Mother," Björnar whispered to the carcass. "This is my first great kill, if not by my own choice. If this was the test you chose for me, will you please find us worthy of your divine blessing? All I ask is but these two ivory fangs, and two claws to replace our broken knives and the sinew and skin in which to bind them. All else, Great Frost Mother, I present to you in payment for our lives and my first-ever great hunt."

Björnar cracked the bones, releasing two claws from the beast by breaking the bones free of the tendons and flesh. Two pristine claws, still attached to the bone, were quickly formed into two perfect knives.

He tossed one of the tooth-pendants around Sif's neck, thrusting one knife-claw into her hand. The other he put around his own neck, and he placed the second knife into the empty sheath at his belt. The ice was cracking, and they had to move quickly. When he saw that Sif was still limping, he pulled her tightly to him, wedging himself under her shoulder and wrapping his arm around her slim waist to support her weight. They walked together as the ice cracked ominously underneath them, struggling to get to the greater safety of the shoreline as swiftly as possible. Just as their feet finally hit the rocky shore, the ice floe gave way as the huge body of the great sea-wolf whale opened its jaws and snapped around the body of the saber-toothed beast, dragging it under the ice into the ocean below.

Sif's eyes were wide with amazement and terror as she watched death from below swallow up where they had been standing only moments before— themselves only a few feet away. The great swath of broken ice and ocean water served as a testament to the sheer size of the great ice-whale that had dragged the sabre-toothed beast's carcass off to its final resting place.

"Today, we are both hunters," Björnar panted, brushing her long dark hair away from her face. "In the eyes of the Great Frost Mother, there will never be anyone but you. One day, I will prove this to you. This I swear."

Sif grasped the ivory tooth in her fist, feeling a sudden overwhelming tightness within her chest.

It had been but a mere childhood promise— a promise made by a child only a few hundred years old. Björnar had been just a young boy, not even half-grown, swearing his vow upon the carcass of the beast that had tried its damndest to kill them both.

There was no reason for her to think that a childhood promise, even one sworn over a miraculous feat borne out of avoiding a messy death, if only by the very skin of their teeth, could still apply now. She just hoped, wished— if her friend, Björnar, was still alive out there somewhere and living a happy life, could she please just get on with her life and stop pining away after a lost childhood crush and a bunch of sad, wistful, what-ifs?

Please?

Pretty please? With a spear on top?

Sif sighed and pulled the soft hide a little more snugly around herself as she stood up, deciding to stretch her legs a little and maybe get a closer look at the falls. The cool mist got thicker and thicker as she walked on, but the path remained warm and comfortable beneath her feet. The scent was earthy and moist— so very fresh and alive. While Ásgarðr certainly had its share of beautiful, manicured gardens, they had never felt this intensely alive, as if the very breath was moving in and out like that of some great, exotic beast.

It was almost enough to believe that the land masses were indeed set atop a great sea turtle swimming across a vast, primordial ocean.

As she walked past a rushing curtain of pure, clean water, she could just make out a massive, muscular wall of deep blue skin, criss-crossed by a series of intricate runic markings.

Jötunn.

Her breath hitched and caught in her throat as she noticed the jagged lines of claw marks marring the deep, runic markings— a series of distinct, unmistakable scars that were surely made by a very close encounter with the vicious claws of a great sabre-toothed frost beast. They cut jagged lines across his trapezius, down his posterior deltoid, and down his latissimus dorsi, making a moon-like swath that tore all the way down from his brawny shoulders to his muscular, well-defined arse.

"Run, Sif!"

Sif's voice choked and caught in her throat.

It couldn't be.

Sif eyed those oh-so-familiar scars…

"You're bleeding."

"I'll be fine."

"Those don't look fine!"

"Just help me put some of the ice-moss on it, and I'll heal. I promise."

Sif slowly put her hand into the tub of ointment-soaked moss, and gently pressed it to his wounded back. He hissed softly as she bandaged his back and chest to keep the healing moss in place. Her fingers gently traced the markings on his uninjured side, then she lay her head down on his shoulder. "I'm so glad you're alright."

"You are alive," Björnar said softly, placing his already large hand on her much smaller one. "I will always be alright whenever this is so."

Sif made a strangled, choking sound, staggering backward to lean heavily against against the cool stone, and the male Jötunn quickly turned around to face her. He held nothing in his hands save for a small bathing sponge, and he wore not a stitch save for a single sabre-fang hanging around his neck.

Sif's very wide eyes slowly came to meet his.

His striking garnet eyes slowly came to focus, not upon her face, but on the single fang hanging around her own neck.

Slowly, he looked her in the eyes. "Sif?"

"Björnar?" her trembling voice cracked.

He was at her side in but a moment, his strong arms wrapping around her with his achingly familiar warmth. Sif trembled against him, the strength of her emotions all but tearing her to pieces as she suddenly realised that he was very real, very much alive, and so painfully close.

"My Sif," he whispered into her long, dark hair. His hands pressed against her now-wet cheeks. "I have dreamt of you for so very long. Ever since you disappeared. Ever since you no longer met me out on the ice floes."

Sif winced. "My parents took me back to Ásgarðr. Their duty was finally done, and I was to be trained as a warrior."

The Jötunn's eyes quickly flicked away. "To defend Ásgarðr against the likes of… me?"

Sif closed her eyes in obvious pain. "Yes."

"Yet you still kept my token?" he whispered, his finger lightly tapping against the ivory sabre-fang dangling just above her breast.

"Over my heart for a thousand years now," Sif replied softly. "Kept carefully hidden, but always close to me."

"Do you ever dream of me?" he asked quietly, his garnet eyes glowing softly in the dim gloom of the waterfall.

"Far more often than is healthy," Sif admitted, flushing deeply. "I imagined you living a happy life somewhere. Hunting out on the floes. A mighty hunter with a proud wife and many sabre-toothed beast-hunting sons."

"How could I?" Björnar replied, a somewhat puzzled frown upon his face, "When the only mate I ever desired, the only woman I wished to carry my sons, was you? Even as a boy, I knew this. Long before I could ever hope to prove it to you."

Sif was silent for a long moment, utterly perplexed. "How could you possibly have known? We were but two very young children back then."

"The Great Frost Mother tested us together," Björnar explained. "She marked us together that night. Wounded us together. She bound us together, first in friendship, then in pain. There could never be any other for me but you. Perhaps, in Ásgarðr, such things are different, but for Jötunn there is only ever one who can fill our very bones with fire and ice. Once that initial bond is made, there can never be another for us. Not after a promise made over one's first great kill. Perhaps, had it been made over a mere ice-fish, it might have been different, but the Great Frost Mother sent us a sabre-toothed beast."

Sif's hands lay upon Björnar's broad chest, lightly tracing circles over his deep blue skin. "Have you truly thought of no one but me in all this time?"

Björnar's eyes fluttered shut in unmistakable pleasure as her tender touch upon his skin more than affected him. His breaths came ever faster and heavier as she continued to caress him. "My Sif, if you would but allow me to lie with you, I would prove that to no one else I would I ever bring my hunt. Would you but love me in return?"

As Sif gently traced the intricate runes that decorated his skin, her eyelids began to flutter too as a shivery tingle of the most exquisite pleasure traveled up her fingers, danced across her spine, and flew directly to her brain. "What is this feeling?"

Björnar cupped her cheek in his palm. "That is our fledgling bond, as of yet unsealed. You may… reject me, as is your right. I would never even dream of trying to force this upon you. I would never wish it upon you if you did not truly want it. Want… me."

"What would happen if I should… reject you?" Sif asked, her dark eyes very solemn.

Björnar closed his eyes for a long moment, tightening his ragged and fraying control of his emotions. "We would part. You would then be free to choose another."

"And you?"

Björnar gave her a tight, almost forced smile. "I would long mourn what could have been."

Sif's expression twisted in near-agony. "I would never, ever wish to cause you pain," she said softly. "The thought of you walking away, even for a single, solitary moment pains me. I have ached for you for so very long, though I knew not why."

"We were both blooded by the same great kill, Sif," Björnar whispered. "I swore under the eye of the Great Frost Mother that there would never be anyone but you for me. Will you agree to share my life with me, my hunts, our children? Be with me until the Great Frost Mother swallows all?"

Sif's fingers traced the strong lines of Björnar's face, trembling with the strength of her own desire. "Yes. Yes! Oh gods, YES!"

Björnar wrapped his arms around her waist and swiftly undid the hide she had wrapped around herself. "You even brought us the frost-seal skin," he purred laying it down on the stone as he gently lay Sif down on it.

"Whaa?" Sif mumbled, near-incoherent with lust.

"It is a good thing. I do not plan on letting you leave this place until you are most joyously carrying our first child."

Sif attempted to comprehend his words, failed, tried again, then muttered something about sneaky feathered snakes.

"I shall offer up my prayers with your screams, my love," Björnar rumbled into her ear, his mouth then descending upon hers as his tongue soon stole away her ability to think. His hands deftly relieved her of her offensive bathing suit, and the moment his large hands caressed the plump flesh of her breasts, she let out a loud groan of pure, unfettered lust. She breathed heavily, arching her body against him as her hands clawed down his back, dragging her fingertips across his markings, scars, and skin in no particular order.

Björnar's body seemed to freeze for a moment and then he growled possessively, his teeth fastening upon the skin of her neck as he ran the length of his muscular body against hers, his readiness more than eager and willing to serve, but he captured one of her breasts in his mouth instead, lightly flicking the nipple with his tongue.

Sif moaned loudly, her arms flailing out, then pulling him tightly against herself as she gasped and whimpered in pleasure. With every breathy little moan and cry of ecstasy, a trail of blue began to inexorably spread and undulate across her pale, golden skin. Björnar groaned, one hand fumbling around for something he couldn't quite think clearly enough to actually find.

Suddenly, an egg-shard pendant dropped around Sif's neck from somewhere above. Laufey's amused expression was accented by the smooth slide of the traditional bonding ice-paint as he traced it over Björnar and Sif's growing, spreading markings.

"I, Laufey, witness your union," Laufey said smugly, knowing that Sif and Björnar were in no condition to think coherently at the moment. "May the ice sing your children to sleep, that they may never know loneliness."

Minerva set down a large hamper of rations that was full to bursting. "I, Minerva, witness your union. May the frosts favour your eternally, blessing your family with its gentle kiss."

"I, Ishea, witness your union," Ishea said with a soft chuckle. "May the winter's chill temper your emotions so that the heat of anger can never melt the bonds of love that you share."

Just as she managed to get the last of the formal words out, Björnar could take it no longer, and he buried himself into his chosen mate with all due haste, madly thrusting as Sif's moans grew louder and louder until his low, deep groan accompanied her full-blown shriek of ecstasy, both echoing throughout the ever-tumbling falls.

The markings spread from Björnar to Sif in a golden patchwork of energy and magic, imprinting themselves upon Sif's skin in a perfect reflection of his own. Her skin was swallowed in a wash of blue as her eyes filled in completely with a cherry red radiance. Björnar pulled his mate close with a possessive growl, refusing to let their most intimate contact wane until his mate was well and truly impregnated, to seal their glorious consummation for life.

Laufey and Minerva exchanged significant glances as he threw a soft sealskin blanket over the two of them. "You have been left enough rations for an entire moon cycle. Do remember to feed yourselves occasionally. It would be a great shame to lose two such fine Jötunn after all that you survived in order to get to this point."

The three elders walked away, leaving the two new, joyously reunited lovers to make up for one horrendous thousand-year dry spell.

Vidar flew down and conjured a few soft and fluffy pillows, gently nosing them under the lovers' heads before flying back up to wrap himself snugly around Minerva's neck. Minerva smiled warmly, stroking his mane of soft feathers with great affection.

"Grandma Minerva?"

"Yes, love?"

"Do you think Lady Sif believes in us now?"

Minerva just laughed. "My dear, I think she believes in a great many things that she didn't just a few short hours ago."

Vidar beamed happily. "Her faith tastes just like fresh blueberries."

Minerva hugged the young serpentlet. "I have a feeling she will prove to have far more faith than most when she finally walks out from that waterfall."

Vidar radiated luminous moonbeams. "Who do you think will become Jötunn next, Grandma?"

Laufey leaned in to nuzzle Minerva's neck. "Hrm, just what are you up to, my lovely mate?"

Minerva cocked her head to the side. "Just thinking on who I should next invite over for tea, my darling husband-king."

Laufey snorted softly. "I'll make sure we have plenty of bonding ice-paint."

Minerva gave him a knowing, utterly feline smile.

"Oi! Thor!" Fandral yell-grunted. "Have you seen Sif around?"

"Not recently," Thor said as he eyed Mjölnir thoughtfully. The hammer was entirely covered in tentacula seedlings and baby booklets again, and he was starting to think that Mjölnir actually preferred it that way. Even more strangely, the venomous tentacula seedlings were actually pretty friendly, thanks to Mjölnir's and the booklet's influences. Well, as long as Draco or Harry weren't around. The moment either male wizard came by, the seedlings would immediately latch onto their face or arse (whichever was closer) and either bite their noses or bury their stingers into their far fleshier arses.

Severus had openly speculated that had Draco or Harry been another venomous tentacula, that would have been the ultimate sign of affection. Draco and Harry, of course, didn't agree with that at all. Having to carry around the antidote at all times severely cramped their style. Severus, of course, just raised a brow and told them, "Motherhood does have its burdens, you two might as well just suck it up and deal."

Alas, neither wizard was feeling especially motherly, despite having had given "birth" to a few tentaculas, so Mjölnir and the baby booklets were stepping up to fill in. There was a furious bout of squeaking as the booklets carried Mjölnir back into the sunbeam. The hammer teetered and wobbled, but tamely allowed itself to be moved out into the sun. Mjölnir landed with a solid thunk, and the venomous tentacula seedlings redistributed themselves in the sun with all of the booklets hiding under their collective shade.

All-Father would be absolutely beside himself knowing that a bunch of animated, sentient baby books were being permitted to carry and move Mjölnir wherever they so chose. Which part would boggle All-Father the most was debatable: sentient books, moving Mjölnir, or babysitting hammers.

Thor found it equally boggling that while Mjölnir was completely okay with babysitting booklets and seedlings and even serpentlets, the hammer seemed to completely ignore Thor's own children, showing no more interest than what one would expect of a weapon: just sitting there and doing nothing.

Thankfully, his children spent most of their time either eating or sleeping, and for that he was truly grateful, as Jane seemed exceedingly tired all the time— not so much in a worrying way, but Lady Ishea said that it would take a bit of time for Jane's body to get accustomed to all the new adjustments, between the aftermath of pregnancy and certain other changes due to her newly-expanded lifespan. Unlike a Jötunn conversion, Jane's body had to get used to things with the body that she had, and that was a lot to ask of a human body that wasn't even attuned to magic the way all magical folk were.

His lady mother had said that Asgardian children tended to sleep away a large part of their infancy, which was a grand blessing, she said. By the time the infants started showing interest in anything beyond food and sleep, the parents were a little more prepared— something that having an extra long childhood and lifespan gifted hand in hand.

Lady Jane, however, would be there to experience it all.

It gave Thor no small measure of peace in knowing his Jane would not quickly fade into nothingness simply because she had been born a mortal human— leaving himself and their children to go on without her. Considering that the typical Asgardian childhood lasted for hundreds of years, he could only imagine the trauma it would have caused her to know she'd never live long enough to see her babies grow up.

Fandral sat down next to Thor with a heavy sigh. "What are we going to do, Thor? I once thought that I couldn't wait to go back to Ásgarðr, but now I feel as though there is so much we are accomplishing now."

Thor nodded, silently. Thanks to his brother, there was total peace between Jötunheimr and Miðgarðr, and while the Jötunn had no desire whatsoever to take over Miðgarðr to endure the entirely-too-hot-for-them climate, they had even less reason to do so now that peace had led to a quite a surprising number of matings. The Jötunn had never before seen such a network of great and wondrous things occurring all at once. The only thing one need do was look out upon the gardens— seeing Jötunn couples happily mingling with members of the other diplomatic groups— to see that the Jötunn had even less reason to cause problems now. It hadn't simply been magical humans finding love among the unmated Jötunn. While Thor had lost track of all the names, there had been quite a few "elder rushes" to witness various new consummations all over the temple grounds. Thor, at least privately, was most thankful that his Jane had no eyes for anyone but himself, lest he feel somewhat intimidated by the idea that she might run off and find some strapping young Jötunn hunter to affix herself to.

Insecure? Nah, not him.

Well… maybe a little.

Rumour had it that people were starting to call their temple the 'Temple of Hearts', where the faithful could come and be pointed in the direction of their true mates. Hermione and Loki scoffed at that idea, claiming that the heart always made its own decisions. They both swore that they themselves had absolutely nothing to do with it.

Thor did have to admit that there were a lot of rather surprising pairing-offs going on around him, himself included, but no one seemed to be complaining in the slightest. The only ones doing the complaining were those who didn't seem to know what it is that they really wanted, but that was an age-old timeless problem for every species everywhere.

The Jötunn were not the only ones coming together in the peace of the gardens. Centaurs mingled with non-centaurs, goblin goblets , foals, and children (human and non) all played together in the gardens. There were occasional arguments just as with any random group of people, but they were not unsurmountable. Disagreements were settled quickly and life went on. Thor couldn't help but think that if Ásgarðr had promoted such things, there would not be such an enormous gap between Ásgarðr and the other Nine Realms. Then again, when you proclaimed yourself to be a god, it was hard to maintain the image when you seemed to be "just like everyone else."

Yet, again, his brother and his mate— divine quetzalcoatls both—did not proclaim themselves to be better than anyone, yet there was no mistaking their tremendous power and influence. They asked for nothing, yet got the entire world and unshakable faith to boot. What lessons might lie within that?

The Warriors Three had set up a camp for training on the temple grounds, exchanging sharpened blades for wooden mock-blades and staves. They sparred often, as usual, but they also had begun to teach, even encouraging the goblets, foals, and human children to learn basic weapon care and handling as well as mutual respect for their various sparring partners.

The Jötunn had set up a hunting camp on the fringes of the temple's plentiful game preserve, and the Warriors Three had flipped roles to become eager students of Jötunn hunting methods, learning just like any other young, would-be hunter— first how to make the weapons they would need and then how to wield them effectively. Slowly, little by little, the old, ingrained prejudices were starting to break down, and the young Warriors Three had already begun to realise that most of the tales that had been told them of the evil, bloodthirsty Jötunn were just that: highly embellished tall tales of war and boastful Asgardian victory.

Not all diplomacy was going so well, however. Someone had gotten it into their pointed head to send a few Miðgarðr giants in to parlay with the quetzalcoatls, and they had then managed to insult every single person they ran into, or, rather, smashed into. The giants had all been of the opinion that they deserved to have land set aside for them, as rumours had come to them that if they came to the flying snake temple, they would get their own (much larger) slice of the pie. Their leader, a singularly atrocious giant by the name of Golgomath, killed the original Gurg Karkus right there on the temple grounds, crowing that they deserved to fight for the right to have their own land. He then cracked the spine of a visiting centaur over his knee and sent a number of goblin warriors flying over the floating island, the lot of them saved only by the swift and speedy flight of seven very brave serpentlets.

However, what Golgomath had not had neither the knowledge nor foresight to see, was that the "puny blue people" were not precisely what they appeared to be. The moment Golgomath's club came crashing down, Laufey was suddenly there, his now full-sized hand gripping the end of the club even as he grasped the eggshell pendant around his neck— and dispelled the enchantment that restrained his size.

Laufey's enchanted club, frost runes blazing in the sun, swirled around him, suddenly turning the air frigid as frost came to his call as the sun came to Hermione and the moon to Loki. He roared his rage at Golgomath, his red eyes on fire with anger and protective fury.

As his body now towered over thirty feet tall, he was joined by several other equally tall and powerfully built Jötunn warriors, runic spears brandished as they beat their chest in a show of solidarity to their king.

"I am Laufey. King of Jötunnheimr. You, Golgomath, dare to bring your violence to a place of peace," Laufey growled, his garnet eyes flashing with unmistakable ire. "This, I will not abide. This, I will not stand for. You will leave here. Now, or I shall proceed to demonstrate to you exactly how I remain king."

Golgomath, who stood at his own species' grand and powerful twenty-five feet, now found himself surrounded by a crowd of fierce-looking Jötunn males who only averaged on the short end at thirty-odd feet. But, unfortunately, Golgomath, like the others of his kind, was not known for even an average level of intelligence; if had he even understood a lick of what Laufey had said, that remained wholly uncertain. His grip on his club tightened, and he roared, driving his people forward to attack.

Thor had to privately admit, he hadn't even had time to pick up Mjölnir in an attempt to help before it was all over. And if the bloodied, beaten, and distinctly flattened body of the Midgardian giants hadn't been quite enough, an absolutely furious Lady Minerva had then transfigured them all into Acromantulas—

Tasty, tasty Acromantulas.

Surrounded by a crowd of hungry Jötunn hunters, infuriated goblins, and a herd of vengeful centaurs.

The hunting party was still going strong in the jungle preserve—

Severus had made an absolutely spectacular chilli-lime dipping sauce, one so zesty and delicious that even Jane soon found herself munching her way through a pile of choice legs.

The carcass of the formerly-Golgomath Acromantula was gifted to the centaur herd along with the previously-injured stallion (healed without so much as a scar via Quetzalcoatl faith power), and as it turned out, the centaurs thought Acromantula legs tasted an awful lot like delicious victory.

As for who had stirred up the giants to come knocking on their door in the first place, and just how they had managed to get as far as they did, that mystery was left for another day— after all the "evidence" had been gleefully consumed in a grand celebratory feast.

Perhaps, that show of protective, even righteous fury had been the start of true peace between the Jötunn and those such as the Warriors Three. Talk was just a bunch of words. Stories could be altered. Shows of tempering backed by strength, now that was the heart and soul of the Warriors Three. They understood protection. They understood fighting for what one believed in, and for the first time, perhaps, they realised that they were not so different from those around them.

That lessoned learned, the Warriors Three were really having a hard time coming to terms with the thought of going back to Ásgarðr. What this strange and beautiful place had was well worth fighting for. Here and now rather than in some intangible, far-off future. The next generation was already beginning, and they all had the ability to become a part of it.

Thor, however, was truly dreading his own eventual return to Ásgarðr, mostly because it would surely mean a confrontation with his father about his "inappropriate" choice in life-mate. Then again, perhaps Odin couldn't quite disapprove of Jane as much as he might have done months ago. Since then, Jane had wielded Mjölnir (while pregnant, no less) and soundly beaten the ever-living daylights out of the Warriors Three with the kind of skill that even Thor himself marvelled at. Jane was no longer bound to a mere handful of days in comparison to Thor either.

And all because of a handful of very generous serpentlets had the guile to not only steal one of the apples of Idunn but steal the entire tree. Poor Idunn was probably convinced that the storm giants had gone and nicked her tree again. The little miscreants hadn't simply relocated the tree either. They had gone and had the entire tree and the fruit upon it blessed by their quetzalcoatl parents. Whatever the fruit had been before, it was certainly more now. Just how much more, Thor couldn't really say, but knowing his brother, well, things were far more likely to be interesting than boring.

Fandral hadn't given up on his earlier question and proceeded to elbow Thor in the ribs. "Don't leave me hanging, Thor. Where is Sif, anyway?"

"I couldn't even begin to guess," Thor said with a pained grunt. "I am not the boss of her."

"Surely you must know something, unlike Volstagg who is pining away for his wife's hearty meals," Fandral complained. "If it weren't for his wife, he'd want to stay here forever. In fact, I think he's wondering if she might be willing to move, if there was a place to be had for them here."

"I do not think All-Father would all that excited about allowing the lot of you to simply move to Miðgarðr."

Fandral shook his head. "It's not like he ever really cared what we did or didn't do before. Hogun lived here for an entire human lifetime, once upon a time and he even had a wife—" Then he frowned. "Hogun doesn't like to talk about it much."

"Age?"

"Aye. Stole her away in but the blink of an eye for our kind."

Thor nodded, understanding completely. "On one hand it is worth the time you do have. On the other—"

"You still lose them far too soon."

"Aye," Thor sighed. "It makes you think that the Jötunn have the right way of doing things. What better way to ensure your mate remains with you for just as long as you live?"

Fandral nodded. "I never thought I'd ever be the one to say this, but— I find I truly envy them. Once they find the one, they just know, and the indisputable proof is in the change. No pining over a shorter lifespan. No worry that their union might never be blessed with children— Hell, no worries that they can even— well, you know."

Thor snorted. "Mere semantics."

Fandral chuckled. "Yes."

Loki and Hermione then made an appearance in the garden, both sporting the more casual, Jötunn style of "clothing" that left very little to the imagination. A delicate ice-crown adorned her forehead, and a light, fluffy stole of fur graced her slender shoulders, but only a long, wispy, trailing sort of loincloth covered her from the waist down and a small, organic, twist of opaque ice encircled her full breasts. The outfit, or the lack thereof, only accented her beautifully intricate markings— the mirror image of Loki's own, leaving no doubt whatsoever as to who her mate was. If her markings weren't enough, however, their matching manes of feathers and almost fur-like locks of hair framed their heads, and the spread of smooth scales moving down their collective backs all did the rest.

While Hermione did not sport the glowing crimson eyes and dark cobalt skin that Loki did, there was no doubt at all that she, too, had undergone a mutual change with him as his chosen mate. No Jötunn alive doubted their complete faithfulness to each other, nor did they doubt that Loki was Jötunn even as they were both much more than just simply Jötunn.

Like most Jötunn females, Hermione wore the traditional sealskin stole about her waist or over her shoulder, and Thor was only starting to crack the surface of what that particular tradition had been rooted in. It was about more than just fashion, as Thor had come to realise. It was also more than just a fine waterproof blanket, or a way to show off her mate's hunting prowess— but Thor couldn't quite put his finger on exactly what it was all about.

The centaur foals had teamed up with the goblets to make what appeared to be a multitude of intricately woven food hampers, most carefully depicting the seven serpentlets in Mayan and Aztec Motif. The serpentlets twirled and spun about to express their gratitude, flattered, as always, to be included in anything. Each serpentlet then seemed to concentrate really, really hard.

Pop!

One soft, delicate feather floated down into the hands of each of the foals and goblets. They clung to their feathers tightly and happily scurried off to show their parents what they had won through their own hard work and dedication.

The serpentlets cavorted playfully around their parents, occasionally darting off to find and fetch something back. Some of them were interesting, some were wriggling, and some downright obscure, yet Loki and Hermione didn't seem bothered by it at all. Most days, the serpentlets were remarkably well-behaved, but there were times when their curiosity overruled all sense and rationality, and they brought back things that had either Aurors coming to deal with it or some random paramilitary group called S.H.I.E.L.D. that Thor had never even heard of.

At one point they had somehow found and brought back the egg of a highly-endangered thunderbird, thinking that all it needed was a little time on top of the pyramid to hatch out like they did, and the DRCMC had to come out and take it back to the well-protected nest on the other side of the world from whence it came. Hermione then had to remind her children that no, you couldn't have salt water crocodiles as pets because they got bigger and liked to eat people, animals, and anything else that got a little too close, that resurrecting ancient fossils disrupted the natural order of things, and no matter how cute that baby Pterosaur was, it wasn't a good idea to have it flying around and terrorising downtown Tokyo. Godzilla wasn't supposed to be real, King Kong was pure fantasy, and the moths gathering around the light at night were not going to mutate into Mothra. (At least not without a little help from their father, but Hermione kept that particular thought entirely to herself, not really wishing to tempt fate that much.)

Hermione had a very long talk with Harry, Draco, and Sirius after all that, involving television, movies, and instilling a sense of reality into curious and talented little serpentlets. Her point, however, was more than made when a megalodon somehow turned up in Sirius' own bathtub while he was entertaining a new lady friend, resulting in the poor witch being admitted to Mungo's for extensive therapy as well the removal of an enormous tooth or two from her shapely arse.

Sirius, perhaps, belatedly realised that he had to be much more careful whenever seven curious serpentlets came 'round to watch him "entertain" one of his lady friends… as well as give him blunt commentary and ask whether he was going to "do that thing with his tongue again that made the other lady scream." His newest lady friend, upon seeing the baby serpentlets, promptly had a nervous breakdown, started screaming about the end of the world, and started chanting a call to Cthulhu.

The serpentlets, of course, immediately went to mum and dad and asked who this Cthulhu was, and Sirius was, again, pulled to the side and reminded to be far more careful when giving open invitations to visit to the serpentlets, who would quite literally take him at his word. Explicit rules were then set for them: no visiting Mr Black unless specifically invited that day/time and having the particulars cross-approved by family. The serpentlets learned quickly that the response from Grandpa Severus in regards to any inquiry involving Sirius Black was an unequivocal, resounding "NO!" each and every time.

They also learned that they didn't even actually have to ask for him to come swooping in from somewhere to say "NO!" before heading off again to take care of something else.

Thor had to admit that he was amused by watching the serpentlets learn boundaries and rules, especially with one parent such as his brother, who liked to defy any and all rules purely as a matter of principle. However, much as Lady Hermione worked to temper the mischief of her mate, she also tempered that of her children, turning their mischief into something healthy rather than malicious, even if the occasional maliciousness happened to be purely accidental. Thor had no doubt at all that the serpentlets were the very furthest thing from malicious pranksters as one could possibly get. If they did hurt someone emotionally, it was always entirely unintentional. Thor was just glad that he had a few years ahead of blissful little babies eating and sleeping as the daily norm. Hopefully, by the time his children were ready to hit what his Jane liked to call "the terrible twos", Jane would be fully adjusted to her new lifespan and thus able to grab her extended life by both horns and take it all in her stride.

Not that he didn't plan on being there every step of the way, regardless. He simply wanted the best for his Jane and his sons. He wanted his family to be happy.

There was a slight rustle along the path into the garden, and a number of people looked up to see who was coming in. The gathered Jötunn let out a loud, grunting cheer, thumping their feet on the ground in apparent salute to someone or something that had yet to step fully out to where Thor could see them. As one of the Jötunn hunters emerged, a beautiful female at his side, he had a strange moment thinking that the female was Sif, but he shook his head, dismissing it as a mere trick of the light.

The hunter was Björnar, that Thor knew. He was one of the very best and most successful hunters that Laufey had brought along with him, having succeeding in his first great hunt at a very early age. The scars of that great hunt raggedly criss-crossed over the skin of his back and sides in the form of frost-sabre claws. Of all the hunters, Thor had always wondered why that particular Jötunn was mysteriously single, but it seemed Thor had been mistaken and Björnar did have a mate, after all. It made sense. It wasn't like a strong, healthy, exceedingly good hunter to remain single in Jötunn society for too long. Their skills always earned them the pick of females, who all knew they would always be a good provider for their chosen mate and the young they would have.

Thor was curious, though. What sort of female would the mightiest of hunters have as a mate? As far as Thor knew, it was some combination of emotion and Jötunn biology, if his brother was any indication. Once the heart made its choice, the male was utterly driven to obtain their chosen female's approval and ultimately her acceptance of the lifebond. There were, Laufey had said grimly, some fickle females who remained indecisive, denying the bond and thus forcing the unlucky male into mourning— something akin to, but not quite so dire, as having one's lifemate die on them. The male would wander the floes and wastes, both hunting and starving themselves in equal measure, trying to purge the agony of grief from his very soul.

Thor imagined it would have been much the same for himself had Jane ultimately rejected him as a husband, refusing for that last piece of herself to be bound with any kind of permanence.

Thor stared at the Jötunn female beside Björnar, and squinted at her. Damn if she didn't look a lot like Sif. He'd have to tell her that there was a Jötunn who looked just like her. That could be… fun.

The female Jötunn suddenly dropped her arm from Björnar's and strode straight up to Lady Hermione. She then placed both palms against the smaller woman's face and drew her into a passionate kiss right there in front of Loki. Loki just blinked, a look of wicked surprise spreading across his handsome face.

The beautiful female Jötunn then leisurely walked off, arm-in-arm with a decidedly smug-looking Björnar.

Thor, completely taken aback by Loki's strangely casual acceptance of some random Jötunn female walking up and snogging his mate, couldn't help but ask. "Brother, how is it that you did allow some random female to come up and… accost your lady wife's face?"

"Hnnn," Loki said, putting his index finger to his lips consideringly. "My lady wife, was Lady Sif's kiss enough to make you reconsider the wisdom of your decision to marry me?"

Hermione promptly pulled the sealskin off her shoulder and threw it to the ground, pushing Loki down on top of it as her mouth swiftly sealed against his in a passionate kiss.

Thor's mind suddenly screeched to a screaming halt— not for seeing Lady Hermione having her wicked way with Loki right in the middle of the temple garden, that no longer fazed him in the slightest— as his shocked mind reminded him of something that Loki had just said.

"What do you mean Lady Sif's kiss?!"

Hermione rolled off Loki for an instant, somewhat reluctantly, and Loki simply stared up at his brother, more than a little breathless. "My brother, did you not even recognise our own Lady Sif, chosen mate of Björnar?"

There was a dull sort of thud as Fandral fainted dead away onto the garden path.

"WHAT?!" Volstagg and Hogun yelled together, their eyes wide in shock.

A blur of bright orange, crimson and white wings suddenly appeared as Yoki materialised with a soft pillow wrapped up in her coils. She propped up Fandral's head with it, gently patting him on the forehead with her tail before disappearing again in a plume of cosmic plasma.

"Wha-er-ah-um-HUH?" Hogun blurted, completely at a loss as to how to respond to the situation.

"How did this happen?!" Volstagg bellowed loudly.

Hermione rolled over to stare Volstagg squarely in the eyes. "Well, when two people love each other very much—"

"Ooo! The TALK!" the serpentlets chimed eagerly, all of them darting out of the undergrowth to find a spot to sit near their mother. They tilted their heads and prepared to listen attentively.

"Mr Volstagg? Didn't your mummy and daddy ever tell you about the birds and the bees?"

Volstagg just stared at the serpentlets.

"Maybe they don't have birds and bees in Ásgarðr."

"Do they, Uncle Thor?"

Thor was trying very hard to hold it together, albeit unsuccessfully, as his shoulders were already shaking with suppressed mirth. "We do have birds… and bees as well."

"Maybe he's allergic to bees."

"That would be pretty unfortunate."

"Are you allergic to bees, Mr Volstagg?"

"Are you allergic to birds?"

"Maybe he's a bee-to-bee person."

"Are you a bee-to-bee person, Mr Volstagg?"

Hogun utterly lost it at that point, laughing himself into a near-stupor, barely able to keep his breath.

Volstagg, deciding that drowning himself in the fountain had to be better than being interrogated by seven baby feathered serpents with no filter whatsoever, bolted up like an overgrown spring rabbit, muttering something about hoping that some of Lady Frigga's pet Pira were in the fountain, and ran up to throw himself into it, banging his head hard on the centerpiece and knocking himself silly.

The serpentlets gathered 'round the fountain to stare at a drenched and incoherent Volstagg, who was now mumbling something about cheese.

"He must've been really, really thirsty," Naseem speculated.

Natsu tilted her head to the side in confusion. "But why would he try to drink from the Fountain of Perpetual Oxygenation?"

"Maybe he's been searching for some meaning in his life?" suggested Geir.

Yoki thought for a moment. "Maybe he couldn't breathe?"

"Maybe he wanted to go on a vision quest?" Vidar suggested.

"Ooooo, why don't we go on a vision quest!" exclaimed Itzel.

"That's a great idea!" the others chimed together.

"We can take him with us!"

"He obviously needs one."

"Can Volstagg breathe in space?"

""We can breathe in space!"

"So he must be able to!"

"Okay, let's go!"

The serpentlets all gathered on top of Volstagg.

FLOOP!

They instantly disappeared, Volstagg and all.

"Do I need to be worried?" Thor asked, scrunching his nose a bit.

"He's been immersed in the Fountain of Perpetual Oxygenation," Hermione said. "He'll be good for at least a week without air."

"Oh," Thor replied, sighing contentedly. "Well, okay then."

"How the hell do you even have a Fountain of Perpetual Oxygenation?!" Hogun snort-laughed, unable to control himself.

A rainbow sock flew out of nowhere and stuffed itself into Hogun's mouth.

Loki purred at Hermione.

Hermione's eyes met his lustily.

Severus' blue hand descended down and deposited a lozenge onto each of their their tongues. Hermione and Loki sucked on it obediently and swallowed.

"There's a good pair of quetzalcoatls." Severus gave them each a pat on the head and walked off as the pair returned to snuggling with each other on the sealskin. "Kids."

"Oh come off it, Fandral, it's not like you didn't already know how it works," Hogun snickered. The blond Asgardian rubbed his temples, feeling a sudden headache coming on. "Knowing how it works and seeing Sif—"

"Happy?" Thor mused.

"Well-satisfied?" Loki asked, a large grin on his face.

"Look, it was strange enough finding out you were Jötunn, Prince Loki. Stranger still that you were exiled to Miðgarðr and ended up married and not to whom you were betrothed to," Fandral bemoaned. "I'm not saying it's a bad thing, I just need a little time to let it all sink in."

Thor raised a brow. "This place does tend to offer information upside the head with an accompanying smack to the face."

Volstagg, who had been delivered back by the serpentlets after his forced "vision quest," groaned from his reclining chair. "No more knowledge, I beg of you. Please, I've had enough."

"Awwwwwww!" the serpentlets cried, laying their heads on Volstagg's belly in appeal.

Volstagg's eyelids twitched as he struggled not to show how affected he was by their antics.

The serpentlets wriggled against his belly, their bright eyes wide and adorable.

Volstagg instantly became unglued, scooping up the serpentlets into his arms and hugging them tight, showering love all over them.

Thor chuckled, knowing full well that Volstagg was utterly doomed.

"Thank you my Lord, King!" The guard gushed as he grabbed up his shield and walked—no, ran— towards the opening of the Bifröst.

Odin stroked his beard thoughtfully. That was the twelfth guard who had spontaneously volunteered to serve down in Miðgarðr, and none of them had given even a mere token protest. Normally, he had to all but to pull teeth, and now, for some unfathomable reason, he had guards literally lining up to serve.

What in all the Nine Realms was going on down there?

Frigga was going down every day, coming back only in the evenings or begrudgingly for whatever royal duties she had to accomplish, and then back she went.

Thor, despite having reobtained Mjolnir, wasn't screaming up at Heimdall to send down the Bifröst. Loki— he hadn't seen any mischief at all that screamed of the wanton hand of his youngest son. It was like Miðgarðr had somehow swallowed them up whole.

Even more disturbing, Jötunheimr was oddly… quiet. He had questioned Heimdall as to how King Laufey was faring, and the royal guard of the Bifröst had tugged on his collar uncomfortably before finally saying, "The Jötunn King is far too occupied with his mate and family to make war on Ásgarðr, my king."

What did that mean? And since when did Laufey have a family again?

Sure, they did have a peace agreement, but there was always the threat that the giant king would just throw up his hands and fling their fragile peace screaming into the wind.

Perhaps, it was time to take a drink from Mímisbrunnr again. Maybe that would shed some light on what was going on. That, however, would mean appeasing the Jötunn Mímir with some sort of gift that he would find appealing, and that was never an easy task. Mímir was notoriously hard to please, not that he asked for the impossible but that he asked for the most random, often philosophical things: the wind off the back of the great frost beast, tears from a feathered serpent— such things, just in the mere decoding of what he really wanted, were bad enough.

Truth be told, Odin had hoped Laufey would remain in self-banishment into the icy wastes. At least there, Laufey was no danger to Ásgarðr and thus unable to bring grave danger to the Nine Realms by causing the start of Ragnarök.

Heimdall didn't seem worried at all. In fact, Heimdall seemed more relaxed than Odin had ever seen him before. Well, except for when Odin would ask him for an update on his sons or Laufey. Then, Heimdall would turn a startling beetroot colour and spit out an incredibly rapid, almost indecipherable description of what was going on, and in the vaguest manner possible.

Odin still couldn't quite figure out what was going on.

Heimdall? Blushing? Impossible!

"Heimdall, what of your sister?" Odin asked.

Heimdall's golden eyes flicked to Odin and quickly away again. "She has finally found both peace and happiness in her life," he said, his expression strangely deadpan. "I will not trouble her for her choices as long as she remains so."

Odin raised a curious brow. "Finding happiness is surely not worthy of trouble, Heimdall."

Heimdall's gaze was far away. "No, my king. But while I was here training to be a warrior, and our parents were off serving their duties in Jötunheimr, my younger sister had to find her own way through life. I am glad she has at last found her peace with that. I could only wish that such a thing was so easy for the rest of us."

Odin gave Heimdall a frankly curious look. Relationships were pretty straight forward. Find someone. Like someone. Love someone. Marry someone. Or in the case of members of the royal family, broker peace through marriage and hope that it eventually led to loving the person they had been paired with. Heimdall surely didn't have to worry about such marriages, so Odin wasn't sure just what he meant by "easier."

"Heimdall, may we speak?"

"Of course, my king," Heimdall said.

"For now, put aside that I am your king and simply tell me— did Loki find Idonia again?"

Heimdall sat down on the Bifröst dais. "Yes, he did."

"They… consummated?"

Heimdall's lips twitched. "Aye."

"Did he know that I sent Sigyn to fetch him?"

"No, Lord Odin, he did not. All of this happened before— long before you sent her down to fetch him."

Odin let out his breath slowly feeling his anger starting to rise. "He does this to defy me."

Heimdall tilted his head to stare at Odin. "No, sire. He did it in order to survive. Loki was going mad. There was only one thing— one being in all of Creation who could stop and reverse his descent into madness. Had he not found her when he did— the amount of destruction he would have soon unleashed upon the world would have made Ragnarök itself seem like a garden party."

Odin flinched. "You knew what he was… is."

"Yes, my lord, and so too, did she."

"Idonia?"

"She did not care that Loki was Jötunn. Her fate has been bound irrevocably to his ever since the stars that marked their births first gleamed," Heimdall said, his gold eyes glowing.

"You always had a soft spot for the girl, didn't you?" Odin observed.

Heimdall's golden eyes glowed even more brightly. "Sire, Idonia was born to stave off Ragnarök. Her very conception was a venture of love between two different peoples. Her mating was fated to bind three other races together in peace."

"How is it that you know such things, yet I have continuously scoured the pools for such knowledge and yet have seen nothing?"

Heimdall blinked slowly. "Idonia's birth was… foretold, my lord. She was born of the Norns in the very womb of the Yggdrasil and the love of one man willing to sacrifice the joy of fatherhood for the future of his people. She was raised by the Yggdrasil itself— the Norns themselves— to grow entirely free of fate's bindings and make her own choices for good or ill that she would eventually foil the coming of Ragnarök. For that, she had to have the love of the great Yggdrasil, not the love of two parents. And so she did, for over a thousand years, until you, my lord, did demand her as payment for future peace, just as you took an infant Loki from the frozen wastes."

"Loki would have died. He had no one," Odin pointed out.

"You took her none the same," Heimdall said inexorably, "from the protective embrace of the Yggdrasil. But unlike Loki, you chose to fling her down to the lower caste as a simple sorceress, not even a goddess. And then, when she was fully prepared to accept Loki for all that he was, you threw her down to Miðgarðr, binding her very soul to a mere mortal shell for doing exactly what you needed someone to do."

Odin turned his head away, staring out across the Bifröst's glow. "Who was Idonia's father?"

"I was," Heimdall said unflinchingly, his dark face set like stone.

"I—" Odin said, then stopped, shaking his head slowly. "I am truly sorry, Heimdall, I had no idea."

"It should not have mattered," Heimdall pointed out, his voice raising slightly for a moment before his iron control reasserted itself.

Odin's face shifted from one expression to another in rapid succession. Finally, he sighed. "You are right. It shouldn't have, and I fear that I am only just now beginning to realise the vast multitude of wrongs I have committed in an attempt to make but one thing right. "Have I ruined everything then?" Odin asked brokenly. "This peace. This precious chance to stave off Ragnarök?"

Heimdall closed his golden eyes and considered how best to phrase what he needed to say. "Many of us appreciate all that you do to save our people from the ongoing threat of Ragnarök, my lord, but there is no sin in asking others for their perspective rather than acting with undue haste and courting calamity."

Odin sighed wearily. "All I have done I have done to preserve our people."

"And we do not doubt that, All-Father," Heimdall said. "Lest we would have most assuredly voiced otherwise."

Odin seemed to take heart in that, his one eye becoming less dark and his frown less dour.

Heimdall sighed. "We all do what we think is best that we might stave off the death of the gods, my lord. We have all made our fair share of sacrifices to that end, but I feel that you have unduly punished Loki for being nothing other than what he was born to be: a Jötunn. You punished Idonia for nothing other than daring to return his love— and we both know that Sigyn was never right for Loki. There was no pact of any kind that needed to be sealed that would specifically require Sigyn's participation. Had she not wailed her lament upon you in the gardens and told you a tale of how another woman had stolen away her love— a love that you knew was not even there—you would surely not have been so prompted to follow your youngest son in secret. Many things would have begun to change for the better and far earlier than now. And your wife and sons would not be dreading the very thought of having such a conversation with you."

Odin seemed thoughtful, his brows furrowing in contemplation. "What has become of Lady Sigyn?" Odin asked, his lips pursed in a thin line.

The corners of Heimdall's mouth tugged upward as if it struggled to remain neutral but ultimately failed. "She is currently lounging in a Midgardian hospital as they attempt to repair her bones. Alas, many of them seem to require ample reconstruction."

Odin blinked at that. "What formidable foe did she face that such a thing was even possible?"

"Your elder son's choice in mate did protect the offspring of Loki and my daughter using Mjölnir." Heimdall's eyes glowed golden as Odin's mind wrapped around what he had said.

"What? Which Asgardian has he chosen?" Odin asked, now very interested.

"The lady of which you speak, my king, is not an Asgardian," Heimdall said, his lips twitching slightly. "She is born of Miðgarðr."

"WHAT?!" Odin bellowed.

Heimdall gave his king a look that most would have not have gotten away with, save perhaps Frigga or the Norns.

Odin, who abruptly seemed to realise that his temper was what had gotten him into this mess in the first place, attempted to count to ten, backwards, from one hundred. "This woman of which you speak. You are certain that she wielded Mjölnir?"

Heimdall smiled. "Yes, my king. And most effectively indeed. She demonstrated a sort of control over the hammer that none have ever displayed in the past. Including Thor himself." Heimdall judiciously chose to leave out the part about tiny, furry booklets and baby venomous plant life also moving Mjölnir around from place to place. There was only so much strange reality that his king could swallow in a single hearty meal. The fact that the veil had seemed to be lifted from his own vision seemed to point that Loki and Hermione had at last deemed him worthy enough to see what was really going on, and until that had happened he had been as blind as a cave-dwelling crayfish.

Odin sat down from his pacing, across from Heimdall as though they were about to play a game of chess. "I see."

"There is much that I need to think upon," Odin said after a while, "but that does not mean that I will forget what a great service you have performed both for me— and for Ásgarðr itself. I believe that I will watch the Bifröst for a time, Heimdall. Why don't you— go spend some well-earned time with your family?"

Heimdall's eyes widened.

Odin met Heimdall's golden eyes and calmly held out his hand for the sword-key. As Heimdall slowly handed over the sword, he tilted his head, frank disbelief written upon every line of his face. "All that I ask is that you wait for day so that I might write a letter that will hopefully embarrass neither you nor myself."

Heimdall's mouth curved into a genuine smile. "That is more than reasonable, my lord."

Dear Alastor,

I hope this missive finds you well after all of the drama involving the Weasley fiasco and the "booking" of Lucius Malfoy, not to mention the recent ruckus from Hogwarts as they attempted to get Rubeus off the school grounds without a stowaway Acromantula or two.

Draco tells me you were instrumental in clearing up legalities so he could move on after his father sprouted fur and grew a spine. I can only thank you for that. I only wish that the poor lad could finally stop obsessing over his mother's decision to run off and disappear. At first, he seemed perfectly sorted, but his relationship with Ms Lovegood unfortunately deteriorated to the point where they stopped seeing each other for a few months. She's just recently married a very nice young chap, Eirik, who she met out on the ice floes. It was love at first snog sort of thing, I believe. Ah, the impetuousness of youth. Still, despite the admitted hastiness of their marriage, they are like two peas in a pod, and I can't help but smile whenever I see them so blissfully happy and getting on so well.

Mr Nott also managed to fall head over heels in short order and has married a lovely young lass named Kelda. I haven't ever seen the boy happier, save perhaps for that time when Messrs Potter and Malfoy got buried up to their waists in magical quick-set concrete while he was able to dodge that fate and fully enjoy their predicament.

I'm glad you managed to make it to the opening of the Asgardian Brothers Brewery. I know your schedule has been downright abusive of late, and I can only hope that you've somehow taken some time for yourself in all that hullabaloo they have you working. So much for a peaceful retirement!

As for me, I couldn't be happier in finally having plenty of time for myself without having to worry about someone blowing the castle up, turning someone else into a prehistoric pachyderm, or vanishing someone else's clothes, bones, hair, or any number of random body parts.

Severus, too, much as you predicted, is downright… happy. As happy as one like him ever shows, anyway. I do believe that if he actually started smiling more and started hugging people I might have a heart attack. Hermione, of course, hugs him every single chance she gets, eliciting the expected dour-faced response, but anyone who really knows him can tell that he loves her to death. He always has.

I know you haven't had the opportunity to visit us since your very brief visit for the opening, so I'd really like you to come by for tea whenever you next get a chance. Laufey has one of his best healers coming in because not only are a lot of people expecting babies, but our main healer, Severus' wife Ishea, is also expecting. Ishea claims that she can give birth and tend a birth at the same time, but none of us want her doing that. Severus, of course, had far stronger words that might have involved him tripping off the no-cursing hex that he himself placed on the temple grounds. It was most comical, indeed.

Rainbow socks flying in from everywhere trying to shove themselves down his throat.

I'm not sure who was the more amused by it all, Hermione, Ishea or me.

Actually, it was probably the serpentlets. They are such adorable little bundles of curious mischief, that lot. Seven of them, and enough curiosity to make even felines look lazy.

Anyway, Alastor, do stop by. It's been a dog's age, and you really should properly meet the serpentlets. It's an experience not to be missed.

We're having a small dinner party this Friday with a small group of family. Please come by. Don't make me have Amelia lock down the Auror's office while you're out of it in order to make sure that you have enough time to visit. She would, you know. I would, you know.

If you owl in advance, please take care to send it via the goblin answering service and they will send the message directly on to me. Owls really do seem to get rather nervous when approaching the temple.

All the best.

Sincerely,

Minerva

"You must be one of the Asgardians."

Heimdall looked up from his waiting room chair. His golden eyes flicked to a scruffy-looking man with an strange hyper-spastic eyeball that he wore over where his real eye should have been.

"I am called Heimdall," Heimdall replied, nodding his head slightly.

"Alastor," the Auror replied with a sniff. "Looks like we're both waiting for the shuttle over."

"Shuttle?"

"The escort," Moody said. "The goblins shuttle people over to the temple grounds to keep it from becoming too busy with crowds all at the same time. It doesn't quite work. That place is always busy in one way or another. What brings you down from Ásgarðr? As I understand it, you folks don't much like coming down here. Well, with a few exceptions."

Heimdall closed his eyes and opened them after a while. "I have not seen my daughter in quite some time," he said quietly. "Alas, only from afar. My duties did not permit it."

"Sounds like the life of an Unspeakable," Alastor said thoughtfully . "If they don't do their job bad things happen, but if they do their job well, their family rarely if ever sees them unless they, too, are Unspeakables."

Heimdall nodded grimly. "This is the first time— I have been permitted a respite from my normal post in well over a thousand years."

Moody's eyes widened at that. "Maybe that's nothing to you, my golden-eyed friend, but that's a damned long time to be away from anything, family or otherwise. I'd be worried my sprogs wouldn't even remember what I looked like, or me wife for that matter, if I were only so blessed."

Heimdall, oddly at ease with speaking with this strange but remarkably forward Midgardian, smiled ruefully. "Long enough that my child grew up without ever knowing who her father was."

Moody's expression furrowed. "Ach, now that's rough," he replied with clear sympathy. "I hope your reunion goes well. I can only imagine it being more than a bit complicated, especially after such a long time."

Heimdall nodded.

"She was fostered, then one day she was tendered as living collateral to maintain a peace between Ásgarðr and Nornheimr," Heimdall said grimly.

"I won't pretend to know the places, but I can get the general gist in the telling," Alastor said with a frown. "I recognise Ásgarðr, but only due to fairly recent exposure, save for the myths— or so I thought. Hell, until recently, I didn't rightly know how to properly say, much less spell, Ásgarðr."

Heimdall smiled. "After one spends too many days staring at runes, the spelling of Ásgarðr comes to seem strangely simple."

Alastor laughed, his shoulders quaking with mirth. "You're right about that."

"This way, sirs," a goblin said, appearing from the far door. "There is still a bit of wait time, but you are now free to enter the temple grounds and make yourselves comfortable. There are refreshments available in the gardens, several hot springs, and walking trails that lead you to our waterfalls. If you happen to enjoy hunting or fishing, there are shuttles to the forest and glacier preserves."

Moody's eyes widened. "You've really been busy."

The goblin bared his teeth in a smile. "Worth every single hour and galleon, Auror Moody."

An orange fuzzball with a pair of bat-like ears walked, no, strutted by with nine fuzzy lintball kittens following close behind. There was something strange about the kittens— almost as if—

"Mrrrow." Crookshanks hopped up on the floating platform trolley, taking each kitten in turn by the scruff and transferring them up.

The kittens were strangely-coloured with dark green and lime green stripes and very fluffy, sinuous tails. Their paws looks suspiciously like… hands?

"Someone has been busy," Moody said, boggling at Crookshanks, finding himself rather impressed.

"Kneazle-cat found himself one of our goblin vault-cats," the goblin said with amusement. "I think he figured everyone else was starting a family of their own, so he should too."

"Why do I get the feeling that when you say vault-cat you don't precisely mean cat?" Heimdall said raising a brow and peering closely at the strange-looking litter of kittens.

The goblin bared his teeth in amusement. "Vault cats are a bit like what humans call geckos. They can climb any surface to hunt rodents and spiders and all sorts of things we don't want in our vaults. Apparently— they breed true with half-Kneazles. How— well, considering what we shelter here in the vaults, we've stopped questioning a lot of things purely so we don't have to break our minds in an attempt to explain them all."

Heimdall, who had encountered his own series of frightening truths and revelations over the centuries due to his own all-seeing eyes, could only sympathise with the goblins' situation.

"They seem pretty happy and well-adjusted. Crookshanks keeps them well in line, accompanies them to the vaults to hunt every morning, and they all seem to catch their fair share of prey already. That one over there, the white kit with the green stripes, is a rat-hunter of the highest calibre. Don't let all the fluffy cuteness fool you."

"I've come to realise that cute and fluffy often hides a deadly nature," Heimdall muttered under his breath. "Usually a pair of alien antennae and a ravenous appetite as well."

"Wise words of life, Asgardian," the goblin agreed, nodding in clear approval. "Everyone on? Door closed? Here we go."

The shuttle was more of a floating platform with railings, but it moved very smoothly across the expanse and around the other floating islands.

The un-kittens watched things go by with lazy yawns, seemingly uninclined to rush over the edge or anything fatal, all save for one fluffy little daredevil, which Crookshanks simply sat on. The kitten mewled despondently, wanting to play, but Crooks was clearly having none of his antics. The fluffy daredevil kit, who had a strange patch of cherry red fur on both ears, seemed to pout, his plot to explore the great expanse stymied by his dutiful daddy.

The other kittens flicked their ears, apparently deigning to just ignore the other kitten, thinking him far too brazen for their tastes.

The moving platform came to a halt, and Crooks stood up, stretching out to his full length to grasp the latch on the door and turn it with a flick of his paw. He opened the door and walked out, all nine— eight minus one kittens following.

Daredevil kitten was frozen in place, utterly fascinated by Heimdall's boots.

Heimdall shook his head, picked up the kitten and carried him off the platform, gently depositing him next to Crookshanks. The half-Kneazle seemed to sigh heavily, grabbing the kitten up by the scruff and carrying him up the temple path, the other kittens dutifully following behind.

"That one is going to be trouble," Alastor noted, shaking his head wryly.

The goblin nodded to them in agreement. "Amenities and refreshments are all available in the main garden," he reminded them. "If you wish to rest, there are private sleeping areas on the west side of the lake, but I believe the both of you have been given private lodgings of your own in the family guest quarters overlooking the temple grounds. To get there, simply climb the outer steps to access the entrance, which is bannered in green."

"Thank you—"

"Bulruk," the goblin said.

"Thank you, Bulruk," Alastor said.

"I thank you for your most gracious assistance, Bulruk," Heimdall said formally with a nod.

The goblin flashed his teeth and closed the door on the floating platform. It slid away from the dock soundlessly.

Alastor and Heimdall exchanged glances.

"You look uncomfortable, like you just realised you left your sword at home," Alastor observed.

Heimdall raised a brow. "I did, in fact, leave my sword at home."

"Are you going to be all twitchy about it?" Moody asked, frowning slightly.

Heimdall snorted. "I will survive."

"Better man than I," Alastor grunted. "If my wand was at home, I'd be fit to kill people."

"Let us just say that I left my sword in very good hands," Heimdall said with a chuckle.

The pair of unlikely friends found their way deeper into the temple gardens and found where the refreshments were being served, or rather where refreshments were being hoarded like a dragon on treasure by a grey and silver serpentlet with rose coloured eyes. Her orange and crimson belly scales flashed in the sun as her moon-white wings beat in the air, but her long tail was rebelliously rainbow-coloured and obnoxiously floofy, so much so that it seemed to get in the way of everything, including herself.

As the two men approached, the serpentlet perked up, almost tripping over her own tail. "Hallo! Would you like a drink? Or a biscuit? Both? Grandma Minerva made the biscuits. I have to watch them or they run off and cause shena-afghans."

"Shenanigans?"

"Yes, that," the serpentlet agreed, nodding her head.

"I would love a drink. Do you have a nice strong tea?" Alastor asked. "Shortbread biscuits?"

"Scottish tea, of course," the serpentlet said. She drew a mug over and hit a keg with her tail so the water came out. She breathed fire on the cup to heat it and wrestled with a teabag and put it in. She nosed a few shortbread biscuits off the top of the pile onto the saucer and nosed it over to him. "There you go! What did you want? Ooo you have golden eyes, just like my mum! Sssst! Hey guys, he has gold eyes like mummy!"

Foowhomp!

Foop!

Fwoosh!

Fwop!

In short order, seven pairs of eyes were staring up at Heimdall.

"Ooo, he does have mum's eyes!"

More blatant staring.

"Well?"

Heimdall fidgeted. "Well?"

"What did you want to drink? Do you want some biscuits too?"

"Oh, uh, do you have violet ginger-seed tea and stoneberry jam tartlets?" Heimdall asked a little awkwardly, thinking to the comfort foods that his mother used to make for him whenever he was unusually stressed.

Yoki gave a serpentine shrug. "Okay! But I'm going to give you a few pieces of what everyone else seems to like so you can give it a try, okay?" She busied herself on the table, making tea with what looked like some sort of sea sponge dipped in violet petals, herded some tempting jam-filled biscuits onto the saucer, and then placed a few pieces of what looked like ornate bundles of purple fish on top of rice, wrapped in seaweed on a small tray. She then grabbed a jar with her tail, sprinkled some sesame seeds on top and gently nosed it over to Heimdall.

Alastor, who had unknowingly gotten the same treatment, cautiously poked one with his finger.

"Don't poke it, eat it!"

"It's delicious," Naseem scolded, nudging the tray closer.

Alastor took a suspicious sniff, eyebrows raising as he got a whiff of what smelled like tasty, well-smoked fish. "What is this?"

"Delicious," Itzel informed him.

Alastor frowned, feeling rather like he used to when his mam would scold him to eat his brussel sprouts instead of poking them about his plate and letting them grow cold. But he picked up a piece and tentatively nibbled on the end. "Merlin!" he gasped, licking his lips. He then picked up another piece and practically shoved it into Heimdall's mouth. "You've got to try this stuff."

Heimdall looked a little dubious, but he, like Alastor, cautiously took a bite… and another bite, and—

The whole tray was clean in a matter of minutes, Alastor and Heimdall both looking like they wanted to lick the tray.

"Told you," Itzel said. "Delicious."

"Grandpa King Laufey will be happy to know someone appreciated his catch," Geir said happily, disappearing with a poof of plasma.

"It is good to see someone outside of our culture enjoying good food," a older Jötunn woman said as she came up to the table. She "paid" Yoki in pets and scritches and bribed her off the box she was curled up on. "But if you truly wish to sample our foods, I would recommend this."

She opened the box, and an icy coldness rolled out of it. "Lady Hermione was kind enough to show us how to make these boxes. They allow us to take the cold with us and keep our food always fresh."

She gestured to a few lines of finely cut slivers of glistening meat along with a rich layer of fat.

The two men, who seemed to be emboldened by their first experience, each reached for a slice, placed it on their tongues and then chewed somewhat experimentally.

"Merlin's man-tits this is good," Alastor moaned, startled as a rainbow sock promptly appeared and stuff itself into his mouth.

Heimdall, who seemed wise enough not to curse, smiled at the Jötunn female. "Thank you, that was very good." He reached over and un-socked Moody.

"Fucking Severus!" Alastor yelled. "I know you cast that—-MFFFFHHPH!"

The sock actually went a little deeper the second time.

Heimdall looked around, wondering when it would be his turn to be assaulted by rainbow-coloured footwear.

"Language," the serpentlets chimed in explanation. "Grandpa Severus doesn't like people cursing around 'our virgin ears'."

"How are ears virgins, brother?"

"I don't know, I think it's just a human saying."

"That goes for anyone, including Grandpa Severus."

"Hee hee!"

"I'm glad it's just a saying. The semantics of your ear—"

"Shh!"

"Shhh!"

The midnight blue serpentlet did a neat loop-de-loop. "You're supposed to meet with Grandma Minerva, right?"

Alastor nodded.

"Okay, you can follow me," Vidar told him. "My name is Vidar, by the way. My priestess also likes to call me 'Miscreant'."

Vidar's tail looped tightly around Alastor's wrist and he practically dragged the wizard behind him and up the temple stairs.

"They are a lot stronger than they appear," the female Jötunn chuckled musically, She scritched all the remaining serpentlets until they snuggled up against her, giving her a loving lick across the nose before disappearing in a poof of celestial plasma.

Yoki looked around, curling up around her impressive pile of edible spoils, back on guard duty.

"I am called Heimdall," Heimdall said a little awkwardly.

"They call me Sonje," the elder Jötunn said. "Sometimes, I even answer to it."

Heimdall smiled.

"It seems your friend has abandoned you," she said, tsking softly. "You may sit here with me if you wish. I am preparing a hide or two for some of our new almost-couples. It is only a matter of time before they will be needed. All of the staring at each other. The sighs. The lingering touches. It won't be long."

Sonje sat down on a small stool, sitting in front of a silver-blue hide that had been stretched out on a frame. She drew a tool that looked like was crafted of ice across the skin. "Frost seal skin is perhaps the greatest gift, second only to the live-giving meat. It is waterproof, and when tanned, actually thickens, unlike other hides. They say it is because the hides are so dense that only when tanned do they expand to what they would be, had necessity not bred it otherwise."

"This hide is huge," Heimdall noted with no small degree of amazement, realising that it was easily big enough for a full-sized Jötunn to sling across their shoulder.

"Most things in Jötunheimr are much larger than life, if one were to compare it to the size we are now versus the size we would be there," Sonje replied, scraping away at the hide. "We have found, however, a second gift in what has been so graciously gifted us by the feathered gods. At this size, the great frost-seal feeds a family for months instead of mere weeks. Hunters with families now have much more time to spend with their mates and children. Can you even imagine what a tremendous gift that is to a society which has always needed to spend so much time hunting to survive that that their children rarely see their fathers' faces?"

"I can certainly relate," Heimdall admitted quietly. "My daughter— she grew up never knowing me. Nor I her. It would have tolerable, had she at least been able to remain with her… mothers. But alas, that was not to be. Her destiny was sadly tampered with."

"We Jötunn have a saying," Sonje said. "The gods are to us as we are to them. Be hateful, and they shall hate us in return. Be kind, and they shall always nurture. Be thankful, and they shall ever be giving. Be open, and they shall lead the way."

"I…" Heimdall began, "did not realise the Jötunn were ones to believe in gods."

Sonje's ice-ulu stopped on the skin. "When you think of gods, Heimdall, who do you pray to?"

Heimdall frowned. "We serve as gods to the Nine Realms," he said. "We do not pray to ourselves."

"But who do you pray to when all hope is lost?"

Heimdall's face seemed to crease. "We rely on ourselves."

"That is the great difference," Sonje said, resuming her skinning. "Most Jötunn, no matter how much we rely on our own strength and perseverance, still whisper prayers to the Great Frost Mother to guide our steps upon the floes. They offer her our first great hunt as a sacrifice of thankfulness and prayer that she watch over our future hunts that they may be as great as that first hunt."

"Do you know why the Jötunn and the Asgardians first went to war?"

"Do you, Heimdall?"

"I do not. But for as long as I have lived, there has either been war or the constant threat of war— the looming threat of Ragnarök." Heimdall looked grim.

"Tell me, Heimdall," Sonje said quietly. "If you were happy with your own chosen gods and these strange, smaller men and women came to your world, bundled head to foot in thick clothing because the winds were too cold for them, the snow and ice too deep, the chill too bitter— they came right up to you and told you to bow. That is how we met the so-called "gods" of Ásgarðr. They were uninvited visitors who brought us nothing but questions. They ate our food, took from our children, and then— they killed those of our hunters who refused to bow down to them."

"And, irony of ironies, the first one of ours that your people killed was a Jötunn who was not even born Jötunn. He was of another Realm in which the walls were tall and the bridge that spanned the sky was multi-coloured."

"Ásgarðr." Heimdall's brows moved together. "The rumour that Jötunn would take over Ásgarðr by breeding with them—"

"Ludicrous," Sonje snorted. "The only ones who become Jötunn are those who truly wish to be. Those are always bonds of love, not hate or fear. Love for one's mate. The desire to grow a family. This was the gift given to us by our gods to give us hope, that whenever we found the one we loved, they could be with us for just as long as we are."

Sonje sighed deeply. "Do you honestly believe my people to be evil? Rapists? Warmongers? Anymore than any other person can be, simply because they do make that terrible choice?"

Heimdall closed his eyes. "No, I do not."

"Then you are not like most Asgardians, Heimdall of Ásgarðr," Sonje said, setting down her knife to slather some sort of mixture on the hide's surface. "Perhaps there truly is hope beyond the borders of this Realm."

"If you had a choice between hearing the songs of your gods in your heart and mind when you truly needed it, but had to leave behind all of your advanced technology and pick up a spear to provide for yourself and your family, would you do as our people did so very long ago?"

Heimdall was quiet for several moments. "I find that I— am not certain."

"Do let me know, if you ever figure it out," Sonje requested kindly.

Heimdall looked around and realised there were quite a few Jötunn couples in the garden, and several of those who weren't were still couples that had a Jötunn member involved. Even having seen the results of Prince Loki and Hermione's peace— he had never thought to see so many Jötunn gathered together to do nothing more than enjoy each other's company and conversation. Jötunn and Asgardians, Jötunn and humans, Jötunn and goblins, centaurs, even aliens from planets a very great distance from Earth. And almost all of them were sending the power of their faith up to their chosen gods through the temple. Loki and Hermione, in turn, fed upon the offerings and gave back blessings in return— but what was it exactly that they gave? What was it that they offered their devotees that garnered such a powerful, strong and unshakable faith?

And how had they gained it so quickly?

How could they have collected so much power in barely a blink of an eye?

Was faith really the answer?

At what price?

What would be cost of relying on something as… intangible as faith? Could the Asgardian gods find it within themselves to change gears in such a manner?

What if they couldn't? What would that mean for Ásgarðr?

Or, would things simply continue on as they were while only a few learned to evolve. What if Ragnarök wasn't because of a war but because of refusal to change? Life was change. Lack of change lead to stagnation and eventual death. Heimdall knew that. He saw it in all the Realms, every day, every year, every passing century.

The Jötunn had sacrificed advanced technology and traded it for the protective embrace of their chosen gods, who, in turn, made them stronger, inspired them, and fostered change while preserving the core of what made the Jötunn who they were.

And wasn't that what Prince Loki and Hermione were doing here in this place? Inspiring and fostering change yet encouraging each comer to remember what made them who they were?

What of his younger sister, Sif? Was she any less his sister now that she had blue skin and a propensity to stand some thirty feet tall or more? Her once tortured, longing heart was finally at peace. She had found love and happiness in her new life. Who was he to begrudge her that?

Loki had found his lifemate, counterbalance to his mind and heart, in his, Heimdall's, daughter. They had ascended together. They had evolved, their joined essence now inextricably tied to two civilizations: the people of Miðgarðr and the people of Jötunheimr. Their children, born with the very Cosmos at their snouts, were already learning the ways of their parents by taking the power they were given and using it to heal and help those around them only a heartbeat out of their shells as Ásgarðr kept time.

And they were already lightyears ahead of most of Ásgarðr.

"Hello there, sleepyhead," a feminine voice purred softly.

Heimdall turned to see Hermione picking up the sleepy serpentlet from the refreshment table she had been guarding.

"I think you can rest now, love," Hermione said with a smile, pressing her lips to the serpentlet's head, she tucked little Yoki around her neck, and the little serpentlet curled her tail around her mother's mane, hooking herself in like an anchor and promptly went back to sleep, eyes already closing.

"Idonia," Heimdall said.

Hermione turned, tilting her head. "One name of many I have been called. Why though, do you choose the name I had prior to my exile, when Odin himself struck me down and stole my name from me?"

Heimdall flinched at that. "It is the only name I have ever known you by since the very day you were first conceived."

Hermione seemed to ponder this for a few moments, her gold-lit eyes flickering as she seemed to think of several things in rapid succession. She narrowed her eyes at him, the radiance of her golden eyes fading slightly as they closed into slits, and then she seemed to stare into and through him. Twin burning suns then met Heimdall's own striking golden gaze. Yet, while the gold of his eyes was limited to his irises, Hermione's eyes were entirely golden, as though she was sunlit from within.

"Why are you here?" Hermione asked after several long moments of searching his face for any hint of silent tells.

"I wish to reconnect with the family I was denied both in honouring the wishes of the mother and later the needs of my king," Heimdall said. "I make no excuses for any mistake that I made of my own will, but I will say that at the time I made my choices, I believed I my reasoning to be sound."

Hermione let out a soft sigh. "I'm pretty sure it involved Ragnarök in some way. That does seem to be the standing mantra for most anything involving Ásgarðr."

"It is," Heimdall confessed. "A common topic of concern."

"Enough that my father would throw me off of you, my love, lest others happen to find out I was Jötunn," Loki said as he appeared in a blue flash of movement. "Heimdall. It's been some time. Father fire you?"

Heimdall tried to look stern, but landed somewhere near tired and weary instead. "Nay, our king decided to… watch the Bifröst himself for a time so that I could— attend to certain personal matters.'

"You're joking," Loki laughed. "Please tell me you're joking?"

"I am quite serious."

"You're always serious, Heimdall, but that doesn't mean you're not joking."

"I assure you, I am not joking. King Odin himself is guarding the Bifröst in my absence."

Loki narrowed his eyes, disbelief in every crease of his brow.

Heimdall held out a scroll with a distinctive waxen seal upon it. "This is for you, my prince. I was told it could be shared with your brother as well, as it does apply to you both."

Tentatively, as if the scroll might come to life like a sleeping crocodile and take a fancy to his face (starting with his fingers as a tasty appetizer) Loki's hand curled cautiously around the scroll.

My dear son,

I find myself in a position I never expected to find myself in. I am finding that what I have done, for reasons I felt were in the best interests of our people, has only made things decidedly worse than they were before.

Long ago, when I hung from the tree Yggdrasil, I gave up my own eye in the quest of greater knowledge, but the vision that choice did earn me proved to be twofold. One, it gifted me with the knowledge of the runes to share with the peoples of the Nine Realms, and which I did so give to all the people in hopes of fostering a common language between us, but on the other hand it gave me a vision of doom and destruction for our people: Ragnarök, the very death of the gods.

As the years went by, I became utterly obsessed with the prevention of it, not wishing to see our great people destroyed. My father, Bor, did tell me of the most ancient times, when our people fought savagely with each other. On one side, we had those who wished to make their own fates, relying on no one but themselves. On the other we had a people who wished to remain true to the gods known to us, who wanted only to be permitted to raise their families in peace.

One side was banished by my father's grandfather's grandfather into the icy wasteland Realm. One side took to the learning of arms and battle, choosing a life of self-sufficiency over any gods and these became the Æsir. The other, cloaked themselves in their faith and their gods and went off into that frozen Realm , seeming to disappear forever into the icy wastes.

Until one day, my father set forth and betook himself to the frozen wastes of Jötunheimr to conquer those who did not believe in our people's might, who did not acknowledge us as true gods. There he found the Jötunn — a people whose sheer size shook the very earth when they walked. The storm giants, the hill giants— they both yielded to our people's might, the might of my father, but those that we would came to call the Jötunn, the frost giants, bowed to no Asgardian. They laughed at my father and said their chosen gods were far mightier than our kind. They would not accept my father's claims nor that of any others of Ásgarðr. They said the only truth they would accept was the oath-bond, that which could not be denied: of one of Ásgarðr would bind themselves to one of them for as long as the ice and snow blessed their people, they would accept it as peace between our peoples.

But my father did not desire a mere peace. Instead, my father wanted them to acknowledge himself and his people as their new gods, and negotiations were just as long as the very days and nights were long in Jötunheimr. They lasted for a great many moons, going utterly nowhere.

Until one day, the Jötunn raised their great voices in celebration, stomping their feet and their handcrafted spears upon the ground. The leader of the Jötunn, their king Eluf, proclaimed there to be a new peace amongst our two peoples, a peace that would be sealed in the most traditional and sacred of ways.

My father, Bör, had no idea whatsoever about what had happened to bring this peace about. He had not told any of his people to sacrifice themselves to the Jötunn. And then, he saw him— one of his own personal guard— transformed into the very likeness of the frost giants as he embraced his chosen mate, his hand pressed against her belly with a look that my father did not believe to be proper, that he felt should never be permitted: love. Love for a Jötunn.

My father, Bor, went mad with rage, fearful that the Jötunn would take over Ásgarðr with their vile, heathen sexual magic, and he slew every single Jötunn that was present that day— every last man, woman, and child, including the man who was once his most trusted guard.

Upon hearing of the death of their king and their people, the grief-stricken and infuriated Jötunn immediately took up arms, raising their spears to fight Ásgarðr instead of hunting for food, and the Jötunn Laufey swore vengeance for the lives of his people that had been taken and ascended there and then as their new king, beating all those that opposed him with the very power of his rage.

He vowed that until the sacred covenant was met, no Jötunn would would agree to make peace with those of Ásgarðr or any other Realm. There would be no meets. There would be no moots. There would be no discussion. Only one thing would prove a true desire for a lasting peace. Only one thing would satisfy the anguished cries of the spirits of the dead.

And then, when I came to Jötunheimr to enforce peace, I finally brought the ice palace itself down after many moons of battles. Inside, was King Laufey's pregnant wife and their children. They were found crushed to death beneath the palace rubble.

The elders cut Laufey's unborn child from its mother's womb in an attempt to save its life, but Laufey was broken and far beyond all consolement. In his grief and loss, he banished himself to the wastes, abandoning the corpses of his mate and children, all dead, save for one.

You, Loki.

After all the killing I did commit that day, I could not not bear to slay a tiny babe cut that had to be from his dead mother's womb, due to my decision to attack the palace. Peace was fragile, but it was there. Their king was wandering the wastes, no longer calling for war and vengeance. The Jötunn had given up, or at least, gone back to the wastes, hunting for game to feed their remaining families.

I took you into my arms that terrible day and brought you back to Frigga, bidding her take care of you as our own son, and she did without so much as batting an eye. My hope was that in raising you, peace would remain between our people and the frost giants.

I hoped to ensure that peace by betrothing you to Lady Sigyn— enforcing the only bond the Jötunn would ever accept, unaware that they did not view marriage in the same way as Asgardians do. A mere marriage, in itself, was not enough.

But I did not realise this until very recently.

At the time I saw you, your skin turning the colour of the Jötunn race without your even realising it. I saw you there, defying the peace I had so carefully planned for, and I was overcome with rage.

And I did many terrible things that day, not the least of which was parting you from the one you truly cared for and who, I have finally come to realise, truly cared for you, Loki, and not the throne.

I forced the soul of Lady Idonia into the unborn baby of two mortal Midgardians to punish her for defying me, but also because I did not ever wish you to know you were Jötunn. Had you remained entirely ignorant of this, I believed you would have no reason to question how you had come to be our son or where your true parentage led. You would marry Lady Sigyn, seal the covenant or so I believed, and Jötunn and Ásgarðr would finally be at peace.

I now know that you were never truly meant for Lady Sigyn. Somehow, you knew exactly who it was that you truly needed, and I was utterly blind to that fact. Unfortunately, I did allow a weeping Sigyn to goad me into following you that day and subsequently discovering your carefully guarded secret. And then I did fall upon you and your lady in the most intimate of positions, and my mind did flee in the ensuing heat of fury.

For this I fear I must— apologise.

There is nothing else I can truly ask for other than to hope that you can see and understand that my lifelong obsession to stave off the very death of the gods has been occluding my vision of all else until but very recently.

I also realise that it was not just you that I have wronged along the way. Your Lady Idonia has also suffered greatly at the hand of my temper, and Heimdall the brunt of my paranoia. It is because of me that Heimdall was never permitted the opportunity to know his daughter, and it was because of my preoccupation with my own grand design that I could not afford to have him anywhere but continually at guard upon the Bifröst, always watching for the enemies I that I knew would come, though I knew not when.

After much contemplation, however, I realise I am guilty as any parent who wants the best for his children but really hasn't a clue as how to make that happen. Gods we may be to some, even to ourselves, but we are falliable gods, capable of great feats of epic proportions and equally great feats of utter foolishness, nay, stupidity.

While I banished both you and Thor from Ásgarðr to learn humility, I have found myself reluctantly learning its lesson here in Ásgarðr all the same. I can only hope the lessons we learned will bring the realms closer together rather than the opposite. I now realise that my father's actions were born of fear, while our grandfather's grandfather was born of a difference of opinion. Now, thousands years later, the truth has finally come to me.

The Realms were all populated through that critical difference of opinion, be it so very many eons ago. Some fled to Miðgarðr. Some to Jötunheimr. Some to Vanaheim, Svartalfheim, Nadavelir, Muspelheim, Alfheim, and Niflheim— and even realms that exist beneath and beyond other realms such as Nornheimr, Hel, and Valhalla. Through their beliefs, or lack thereof, they became the various, very different peoples that we now see today— Jötunn, dwarves, Vanir, elves, and, yes, we Asgardians.

I realise that to save our people from Ragnarök, it must be all or nothing. It is not just Ásgarðr that must survive, but all of us.

Pray, I ask that you find it in your heart to forgive a stubborn old man who truly does love you as his own son, even if he hasn't always demonstrated that as a father should. I have learned that I indeed have more than my own share of flaws, and I admit that I have done you a grave disservice, as you had to go forth to discover your own destiny, without any assistance or guidance from myself. Loki, I would like you to know that I have opened up Ásgarðr to you and your brother once more. It is open to your new family members as well.

I would surely like to meet this Lady Jane, who has, or so I have been told, wielded Mjolnir with a ferocity that did meet, if not even exceed, Thor's own. She too is quite welcome in Ásgarðr, and I think your lady mother would be more than happy to arrange for her accommodations here so that she may get to know the people to whom Thor and you Loki have long known as your own.

As for Lady Idonia, I do humbly ask her forgiveness as well— both for forcibly pulling her from the embrace of the Yggdrasil to enforce the peace between Ásgarðr and Nornheimr and for not treating her with the respect she so richly deserved— not by simple weight of her birth but that she deserved better as one who dared to see the truth of my youngest sons' birth and love him despite it all. She defied thousands of years worth of sadly ingrained fear and prejudice to find it within herself to do so. She did and does deserve far better than what which I inflicted upon her.

We would all do well to learn from her example. She, too, is restored to Ásgarðr and in all ways. If she should wish to visit, stay for a time or even longer than a time, the door is open to her.

Sincerely,

Your Loving Father,

Odin

"This is the first I have ever seen Loki truly struck speechless. And drinking to excess," Hermione confessed as she watched both Loki and Thor chugging foamy beverage after foamy beverage.

"I have seen a good many binges in my time, however," Heimdall remarked. "But this one is definitely the most justified. All-Father Odin, in all the many years he has ruled, has never before truly apologised, save for very rarely behind closed doors, and perhaps only to his wife.

Heimdall sighed, his golden eyes flickering softly. "And can you find it within your heart to forgive me for merely accepting the whims of fate and destiny without ever daring to rock the boat?"

Hermione's eyes glowed in the dimness of the room, which was set at a comfortable level for the majority of the eyes that sat within: human, Jötunn, or quetzalcoatls.

Yoki poked her mum with her tail, rubbing against her neck. "You can forgive third grandfather, right? So we can take him on grand adventures so he can have an apostrophe?"

Hermione snorted softly. "Epiphany."

"Yeah, that!"

"Just how many grandfathers do you think you need, sweetling?"

Yoki tilted her head, scratching her head with her extra floofy tail. "As many as will fit in the temple?" Yoki peered at Heimdall, visibly twitching with a nigh-overwhelming desire to pounce on him.

"I have been informed that in order for you to be suitably pounced on and smothered with love, I am to forgive you, father," Hermione said wryly. "You are forgiven."

Yoki pounced on Heimdall with a sprong, attacking his face and wrapping herself around his head like a turban. Heimdall went crashing out of his chair onto the floor.

"Mrmmrmrmfff," Heimdall said.

Loki and Thor stopped singing lewd songs about round asses and fluffy breasts long enough to bellow, "That's my girl!" and "That's my niece!" simultaneously.

Then, it was back to drunken and disorderly, half-out-of-key, maybe somewhat-in-key, but-not-quite-singing either.

Six other serpentlets then materialised out of the cosmic plasma and descended upon Heimdall with pure enthusiasm. "OH! HAI GRANDPA HEIMDALL!"

Thump.

OOF!

Thud.

WHUMP!

All seven serpentlets pounced, then curled up on top of Heimdall with the combined mass of Mjolnir having a playdate with hyperactive booklets and their tentacula seedling hangers-on.

"Hrrrrkrrrr," Heimdall wheezed a bit.

Pop!

Pop!

Pop!

Poppoppoppopopop!

"Mew!"

Rustle.

Umpteen baby booklets dogpiled on top of Heimdall as a cluster of Venomous Tentacula seedlings hogtied him, and nine fluffy Kneazle vault-cat kittens cuddled up to his neck.

"Mew!"

Rustle, rustle.

RrrrRRRRRRrr.

"Yay, Grandpa!"

Hermione leaned over to peer at her newfound, newly-reunited biological father. "You're forgiven."

Natsu pounced on Hermione's ankle and looked up at her. "Mummy!"

"Yes, pet?"

"How many daddies can you have at once?"

"Most people stop at one."

Natsu's brows furrowed as she attempted to calculate something in her head. "How many daddies are you at now, mum?"

Hermione shook her head amusedly. "Not as many as I have children."

After Heimdall had to throw the plastered and unconscious Loki and Thor over his broad shoulders and carry them off to their beds, Hermione and Jane found themselves spending the evening together and sharing a hotpot with King Laufey and Minerva, Alastor, the new healer, Tova, plus Heimdall and his new friend, Sonje.

"Severus sends his regards, but he is brewing some sort of special order for Amelia," Hermione said. "Ishea is being smothered by serpentlets because she's making frost-seal kabobs, and they will be with her until there isn't a crumb left to be had."

Laufey chuckled deeply. "Fine taste in food, your serpentlets," he said with amusement.

"You spoil them rotten," Hermione said with a smile.

"I am more than happy to," Laufey said with a wink.

Hermione sat down at the table where trays of meat and vegetables lay sliced and ready to put into large hotpot that was boiling in the center of the table. "This smells wonderful, Tova."

"It's always been a family favourite," Tova said said with a warm smile. "My mother used to make this whenever father returned from a hunt. It allowed us to cook and eat our food together as a family. That way, we never forgot our father's face and he never forgot ours."

"Wise woman," Minerva said approvingly.

The trays of various meats and vegetables went around, and there was plenty of room in the hotpot for everyone to stake their claim upon a section and set their food to cooking in the rich broth.

Conversation flowed freely, and everyone seemed amused that two of the main males were missing from the dinner table. Hermione and Jane shared a look as Alastor and Tova kept trading intrigued looks; some were obvious, some less so. Minerva and Laufey were doing much the same, only they were watching Heimdall and Sonje attempting to wrangle seafood from the hotpot at the same time and getting their utensils tangled up.

Alastor and Tova started blushing and looking away, as if fighting to pretend neutrality. Alastor might have succeeded in just looking angry, but his magical eye was darting back and forth crazily like a wit-addled fairy.

"Tell me, Alastor," Tova said, "how does one so young come to wear so very many scars of battle?"

Alastor, who was seemingly enraptured by Tova's garnet-eyed gaze, finally shook it off and made strange noises as he tried to gather his wits. "Dark Wizards, and even for a magical human, I'm really no spring chicken, lass."

"A chicken? Do they only come out during the spring thaws?"

Alastor blinked at that. "Ach, no. They, uh. Are young birds. Spring is typically— when the hens start hatching them out."

"Odd that they would rely so on the seasons. In Jötunheimr it is always warming up to thaw somewhere and then freezing solid somewhere else. It would maddening to try and base a mating schedule on such a fleeting event."

Laufey purred to Minerva. "That is why you mate when it suits you whenever your mate is ready."

Minerva purred back to the Jötunn King, tenderly placing a delectable piece of marinated seal on his tongue. Laufey made a rather fine show of enjoying it thoroughly and teasingly flicked his tongue over his lips at her.

"I hear that humans are often like the Asgardians, hiding their mates behind closed doors and groping them in the dark like bumbling hunters who grab the broom instead of the spear," Sonje said with an amused grin.

"There is nothing wrong with a little privacy," Heimdall sputtered.

"Why?" Sonje scoffed. "I would everyone to know that my mate pleased me and that he was indisputably mine."

Heimdall blushed a dark shade of beetroot. "Do you not worry that young children might see such a thing?"

"Children should know how to treat their mates properly, but adult activities usually just bore the younger ones. They know how to entertain themselves in plenty of other ways and places," Sonje offered with no little amusement. "But young hunters should always know how to please a mate, lest he find himself somewhere, wanting, and have no idea whatsoever to do with himself— or worse, have her reject him because he has no idea on how to please her."

Laufey turned to face Heimdall with some difficulty as his most alluring mate was being very irresistible and attractive at the moment. "A female will feel a connection, a pull, just as the male, but the female must decide if the male in question is prepared to provide for both her and a child, as she will not be able to provide anything more substantial than fish with a young one in tow. It is not right to endanger the child by dragging it along with you where frost sabres can easily rip them off your back for a quick meal. A Jötunn female is often a great hunter up until the point where they are with child, and then they become like the frost-sabre— fierce and protective. Some females are fickle and want more than any male could possibly give, but most seek only a mate that can and will provide, that she and their children will thrive and that any children will be born with the best traits of both parents. My first mate, I pursued for three full moons, bringing her all sorts of offerings of my prowess, and every time she would take them, and then ignore me. I thought she was merely toying with me until at last we coupled— and then I found out that she had cached it all, making hunting caches for me for if I was caught out on the wastes without game. She… was preparing for me."

Laufey looked thoughtful. "Minerva, she impressed me from the start with her gentle tending of the serpentlets. Her loving kindness and patience. Her wonderful cooking. Her wisdom of the world. I felt the unmistakable calling. I felt it in my very liver. But I worried— would she, could she accept someone like me? She who knew so very little of me or my people. I was frightened, but I was more frightened that I would end up leaving without her at my side, because I could already feel her inside me, wrapped tightly around my heart. I knew that if she rejected me, I would long mourn what could have been."

"As if anyone could possibly reject you, Laufey," Minerva snorted, giving him a fond look with a distinct hint of dubious suspicion around the edges.

"Mrrr," Laufey purred.

Minerva purred right back.

Tova looked at Alastor a little more seriously. "What happened to your leg?"

"Slicing hex and Fiendfyre," Moody said grimly. "There was nothing to reattach."

"Your nose?" Tova said, peering at the large indentation.

"Sodding familiar of a Dark Wizard," Alastor sighed. "She was raising some sort of magical cross-breed mix of Acromantula and fire crab. Illegal, all of them, and the biggest of the lot was her familiar. Vile critter took chunks out of a few other Aurors before it got to me."

"It's no wonder you carry such distrust of the world around you, Mr Moody," Tova said grimly, shaking her head in dismay. "I am truly amazed that you can even see fit to trust anyone or anything in a world that has taken so much from your body, if not your mind and heart."

"Well, Minerva here is an old friend, and I've learned I can trust her more than most folks out there," Alastor grunted, flushing slightly. "She's not one to trust just because someone else tells you to, and she knows enough not to take everything she hears as the the word of truth just because sodding Dumbledore said it. Wish I could say I'd learned that lesson sooner."

"This Dumbledore," Tova asked, frowning. "An evil man? Child abuser?"

"Not like that, lass," Alastor assured her. "Ruthless and manipulative with far-reaching goals, long-range plans. Most people wouldn't know. They all think he's a nice, doddering old coot of a wizard who just "cares" too much."

Tova tilted her head and fished out a few more pieces from the hotpot. "There are good and bad people both amongst our people, but the bad tend to do stupid things that get them killed young. It is considered better to die young and stupid than grow old and pass it on. Fortunately, most of that happened many thousands of years ago, so those that remain are, for the most part, stable and healthy."

"There is the odd fluke now and then, which is usually well-sorted by a sea-wolf whale," Laufey said grimly. "There is a big difference between being brave and being stupid, and that is quickly defined when there is death that launches itself at you from below the ice."

"Sounds like a rough school of hard knocks," Alastor said.

"Jötunn children learn quickly to pay close attention to their parents lest they fall through the ice," Sonje said with a smile. "They are born small and that makes them less apt to fall through, so by the time they are fully grown, they have already learned all the tricks. Not that accidents never happen, but accidents are a part of life. No matter how cautious you are or how prepared. Still, I raised a few to adulthood in my day. All of them are fine hunters. One newly-mated with a child on the way. He actually found someone just as brazen and forward as he is, but they are both loving, compassionate souls. As a mother, I can ask for nothing more."

"And from whom did he inherit those brazen and forward traits?" Tova asked.

Sonje smiled. "His father was very calm and easygoing for our kind. Slow to anger. Patient. He would wait for hours for the seal to come up for one last breath of air. And he would be there, lugging back his catch, the like no other hunters had seen. Alas, my youngest son did not inherit his patience, and instead he acquired my need to grab hold of what I desire with both hands and hold it fast like a trap. I blame the loss of their father and the ravages of war. They stole my children's childhood and their mother from them, for I had to brave the wastes to hunt instead of caring for them as they deserved. The young males rarely wandered as far out as we had been, and the children were far too young to move."

"You raised multiple sons all by yourself, my lady?" Heimdall asked quietly. His face was solemn and his golden eyes shone with a new kind of respect for the Jötunn female.

Sonje harrumphed. "Who else but me?"

"I meant no offense," Heimdall assured her. "It is an impressive feat for anyone to raise a child alone, much less multiple children. I can only imagine it to be much harder in a place where the very ground itself tries to open up and devour you and the wind and snows to blind you."

Sonje's expression softened. "It was hard, but I was no new hunter, thankfully. I had gone many years before I had found my mate. Thankfully, we had already taught the younglings to fish, and that they could do from within our home, cutting through the ice and setting their baits in. I had never been so thankful that my mate insisted we teach them such things so early on. He called it a game, of course, so they never realised how dire their situation— only that they caught more than their brother did. I think my mate would have been proud of them. I am."

"I believe he would be, my lady," Heimdall said kindly.

"Well, I think this one is going to go for a nice evening walk in the gardens. It is still very new to me how we can walk about comfortably in a place without snows and feel the cool grass beneath our feet," Sonje sighed appreciatively.

"Would you mind some company, Lady Sonje?" Heimdall asked.

"Ha! If I minded company, golden-eyes, I would not be here having a communal hotpot dinner. But no, I would not mind company." The Jötunn's garnet eyes flickered with clear amusement. "Thank you for the lovely dinner, Tova, and your gracious hosting, Lady Hermione."

"It was nothing," both Hermione and Tova said together, smiling warmly.

Sonje stretched as she left the chair, bowed her head, and excused herself.

"I supposed I will see you all in the morning," Heimdall said politely. "Thank you for the wonderful dinner."

"You are quite welcome," Tova said, a tug of a smile on her lips as the dark Asgardian then rushed from the room to catch up to Sonje.

"Three fattened Acromantulas under the Engorgio that those two are mated by dawn," Hermione said, utterly deadpan.

"A fresh frost-seal in their winter fur," Laufey said after some thought, "by midnight."

Minerva gasped. "They went for a walk, not a tryst!"

"Heimdall joined her on that walk, my love. Trust me, Sonje knows exactly what she wants," Laufey said with a knowing smile. "Or rather, who."

Thump!

Roll, thud.

Jane having left earlier to see to her babies, only Laufey, Minerva, and Hermione were left to slide their eyes over to the other side of the table, as Tova and Alastor suddenly seemed to missing… from their respective chairs.

Hermione slowly peeked under the table. "Oh my."

"That missing leg doesn't seem to be any hindrance," Laufey observed, his eyes flicking below the table.

Minerva looked smug. "As long as the third one is in fine working order, she probably doesn't care, love."

Laufey munched on a meatball. "At least we don't have very far to go." He placed the tin of bonding ice-paint on the table. "Missing one elder, however."

Pop!Pop! POP!

Ishea suddenly appeared, her entire body covered in cuddly serpentlets. "Did we miss it?"

A low moan of pleasure came from under the table.

"Nope! Just in time!"

"Phew."

Vidar, Geir, and Raina rubbed up against Hermione, Minerva, and Laufey.

"Wouldn't want to be one elder short of a mating!"

"That would be terrible!"

"They'd have to do it again."

"Wait, they might like that."

"Hrm…"

"Still, the other elders are already watching Grandfather Heimdall and Lady Sonje."

"True."

"Less running for Grandpa King Laufey."

"That's good too!"

"Indeed."

"Ooo, there is food leftover."

"Hotpot!"

"I'm still full from Lady Ishea's feast."

"True."

"Maybe a meatball?"

"I could handle a meatball."

"Me too."

The serpentlets eyed their grandfather with wide eyes.

Laufey shook his head and gave each serpentlet their own meatball to throw into the hotpot.

They eagerly did so, watching their meatballs bob on the surface as they soaked up the tasty broth.

When the meatballs appeared "done" each serpentlet grabbed one, carried it in their mouth, rubbed the heads against Minerva, Laufey, and Hermione, and the poofed, disappearing in a cloud of cosmic plasma.

Hermione handed Laufey an egg-shard pendant as the table began to shake. "Better get it on quick before he turns completely into all thirty-some feet of lusty Jötunn male."

Laufey didn't need to be told twice as he moved into place and maneuvered the pendant around Alastor's neck. He pulled out the bonding ice-paste and dipped his fingers in.

"I, Laufey, witness your union…"

As Hermione quietly slipped into bed, a pair of warm arms slid around her waist and pulled her deeper under the covers as an equally warm mouth was affixed to her neck.

"Ach!" Hermione managed, her body spasming as eagerly roaming hands caressed all the right places to disable any and all protests she might have at least considered. Warm, comforting heat and the irresistible scent of her mate caused all coherent thought to escape, leaving her alone with just enough brain functionality to remain breathing. She let out a low moan of pleasure as he moved around her, touching, caressing, and running his fingers down every curve of her runic markings until teeth were chattering in her undefinable lust-saturated pleasure.

"You— oh Merlin—you were supposed to be sleeping it off," a gasping, wriggling Hermione attempted to protest.

"Are you complaining, my lady wife?" Loki seemed to pout, running his hands tantalizingly lower… and lower. "That my ability to recover from a state of total intoxication seems rather better than my dear brother's?"

"Hardly complaining," Hermione murmured breathily as Loki's mouth descended upon her ear, and his very talented tongue flicked out to investigate her readiness.

Hermione cried out, her body arching up into him almost immediately, and Loki's smug smile of satisfaction took over his face. "No reason why the newly-mated should have all the fun, hrm?" He reveled in her far-from-quiet sounds of excitement and pleasure— the sounds that told him she hungered for his touch just as much as he did hers— she only wanted Loki and no one else. It both calmed his mind and stoked the fire of his passion and his driving need to ensure she was not ignorant of any of his markings— both physical and psychic.

In the pit of his stomach or perhaps the insecurity the harboured in his soul, he truly needed every cry, every moan, every touch her skin on his to remind him of just how much he had gained by finding her again— how much pain he had avoided.

Chaos.

Rage.

Destruction.

Bloodshed.

Ragnarök.

The madness without end.

The overwhelming need to find that something that he could not remember, driving him to the edge of endless fury and despair.

The look on her face— his Idonia— after seeing the change that had come upon him, even when he hadn't known it had happened. She had been fascinated. Attracted. She had somehow known that he would never have hurt her. Somehow, she had known— even when he didn't know himself.

Hermione, perhaps impatient with his distracted brooding, gave a low and possessive growl of her own, irritated perhaps that dark thoughts were stealing his attention away from her where it belonged, and she rolled him over, thumping his back soundly to the bed with an almost-hiss, her eyes glowing like twin suns. Her mouth sucked on the sensitive skin of his neck, causing him to let out a loud moan of unmistakable pleasure. His hands struggled to touch her, but she pinned them back with her own hands, using her weight to give her leverage.

Her warm mouth trailed across his skin from his neck to his chest and lower, and every feather-light touch of her lips on his markings made him pant and strain to touch her, claim her, bury himself deep inside her lest she disappear like a beautiful, unattainable dream.

But somehow— and he had no idea how— she was holding him tightly pinned beneath her like Mjölnir with a baby booklet that most desperately wanted to investigate that oh-so-intriguing cooking fire. Her incredibly wicked serpentine tongue slithered out from her mouth and demonstrated a rather ingenious use of prehensile dexterity.

Loki cried out, his head slamming against the bed as his eyes rolled back into his skull. White-hot jolts of electricity were shooting up his spine and most definitely his more-than-ready manhood and that was even before—HHNNGGNGHGFAAHHHHH!

Then her mouth found his bollocks, and he found that words utterly failed him at this point. All he could make was a loud whimpering groan as the feel of her heat and the flicks of her tongue wrought such delicious, mind-blowingly exquisite pleasure upon him that he would have thrown himself off the precipice into the very jaws of the great sea-wolf whale and gladly as long as he kept feeling that.

Loki struggled again, slightly more desperate now, knowing that he didn't have it within him to last— not with that exquisite feeling wrapped around his—

His hips ground upwards, seeking, wanting, needing.

He needed that last bit of connection, to feel her shudder around him.

"Please," he finally managed, his eyes meeting hers. The glow of his crimson eyes was fierce, primal and needful.

She hesitated, seemingly driven to complete her task.

"Please," he repeated, almost begging. "Release me."

And suddenly he was free.

Loki was affixed to her mouth in an instant, his tongue sliding against her even as his arms pulled her to him. One hand slid between her legs— testing, and he knew that she hadn't gained anything from her torture of his body. He growled, wrestling free of her mouth if only to take in her breast, and Hermione cried out, her body spasming, a moan escaping her throat.

The sound of her— wanting of him.

He merged with her, thrusting his hips madly like a man possessed, each one causing Hermione to cry out a little louder until he buried himself to the hilt and felt the floodgates suddenly open.

She clamped down upon him, and he was done, undone, redone, and remade. He buried his teeth into her neck, clamping onto the intricate lines of her runic markings as his magic and hers merged together and blew outwards in a brilliant flare of colour, a magnificent electromagnetic lightshow. They collapsed together, panting, in a wild tangle of arms and legs, scales, and skin, feathers and hair. The duvet moved over them and they snuggled together, unable or unwilling to move as a low, deep rumble of thunder boomed outside the temple and rain began lightly pattering against their bedroom windows.

Loki's smile buried itself in Hermione's mane of curls and feathers.

Thor never could stand to be left out of anything, even when he was so drunk that he was seeing things replicated five times over.

Loki snuggled closer into his beloved mate. Let Thor have his fun. He had a long way to go to catch up to his seven serpentlets— perhaps even more had Severus not so kindly assisted them in keeping it realistic, lest the entire temple be filled with adorable baby quetzalcoatls.

Besides, at this rate, the Asgardian population would be taking a sharp nosedive as they both converted and repopulated soon after.

Heh.

Pity Sigyn couldn't see past a many-thousands-of-years-old grudge— she might have enjoyed a much more exciting life with a strapping Jötunn hunter, just so long as said Jötunn was not him. Once she managed to get off the sealskin, she might even thank the poor bloke. Alas—

He now wondered, had Frigga met Laufey first before Odin, just how different things might have been. But no, his father was most definitely happy with Minerva and she with him. He would never wish them apart for any reason. Some things happened as they had to happen, and perhaps even his time of pain had come so that he could learn to better appreciate what he had.

He snuggled even closer into his Hermione.

He definitely appreciated, and he would never take for granted the greatest gift he had ever been given and the chance to find her again despite nigh-insurmountable odds.

Pop!

Pop-pop!

Pop! Pop! Pop!

Pop!

Seven sleepy serpentlets burrowed themselves under the covers to sleep with mum and dad.

Loki smiled as little Yoki burrowed up between them, wanting the touch of both mum and dad together.

Loki closed his eyes. Everything was just fine.

RrrrrrrRRrrrRRR!

Flop. Flop.

Boingggggg, flop.

Rith, Grim, and Violet hopped onto the bed and burrowed under the covers to snuggle under Hermione's arms.

PurrrrrrrrrRRRrrrr! Thud. Pad. Pad. Pad.

Crookshanks burrowed under the duvet as well, snuggling under the warm covers.

"Mmmm," Hermione hummed contentedly.

Everything was perfect.

Hermione woke up in the morning only to end up being promptly dragged off by Lady Tova to assist with the second birth that morning. Minerva had apparently turned into a giant frost sabre-cat and had given birth to her babies as a giant polar feline. She had, since, recovered, and was happily cuddling with her newborn baby and her mate. While Hermione was still trying to wrap her mind around Minerva's change in Animagus form, Laufey was tenderly tracing his baby son's markings with a special, glowing paint.

"You are Vali, firstborn with my mate, Minerva, second to Loki," Laufey said proudly. "May you grow to be powerful and strong, yet as wise as your mother. Learn from your brother that size is not an indicator of power. Learn from your mother that the only size that matters is in the heart. Learn from your father that mistakes will be made for we are all flawed in some way, but we can all learn from them and become better." He pressed his lips to the child's forehead, smiling down on the wide-eyed child.

Ishea was already in the birthing pool, grasping the two large ropes and wrapping them snugly around her wrists and hands as grips to hold onto. With every contraction she held on tightly, pushing with all her might, yet she rested in between. Many births had come her way before, so she was not new to the experience, both in bearing witness and as a mother herself. Unlike the outer skin of the Jötunn, which often ran as cold as the ice they made their home, their inside temperatures were raging infernos by contrast, and the water she was birthing in was somewhere in-between. Hermione waded in, ready to do whatever was required of her, and Tova quickly gave her a few instructions as she tended to Laufey and Minerva's baby to make sure everything was in proper order.

"You need not worry, Hermione," Ishea chuckled warmly. "I am an old hand at such things. Just catch him as he swims out like a sea-wolf and avoid being bitten."

Hermione snorted softly. "Sea-wolf, indeed."

Ishea smiled, tired but also victorious. Another contraction came, and Ishea's fists tightened around the cords as she leaned forward and pushed. Severus had his arm around her, supporting her as she both stood and squatted at the same time. He pressed his face to her skin and whispered things to her.

Ishea smiled despite the pain, the contact with her mate taking care to ease any momentary suffering on her part. Geir was wrapped securely around her neck, leaving her just enough room to breathe, but the rest of him was massaging her neck and shoulders dutifully as he radiated pure protective fervour.

Vidar, however, was curled carefully around baby Vali, using his own body as a makeshift bassinet so Minerva could close her eyes without worry. Even Laufey seemed to take a moment to close his eyes, allowing the weariness settle down upon him.

Suddenly, Ishea's pushing was rewarded, and her baby came out much as she had expected, as quick as a sea-wolf whale after a fat frost-seal on the ice. Hermione caught the little blue torpedo, raising him up from the warm water and wrapping him gently in a swaddle. He cried loudly in protest to the "colder air" and then cried loudly that the swaddle wasn't quite as comfortable as his mother's womb.

Hermione grinned down at the fussing baby. "Hello, little brother," she cooed. "Welcome to Miðgarðr."

He stopped crying and stared up at her in fascination, though what he truly saw remained a mystery.

Hermione placed the baby against Ishea's chest, allowing skin to touch skin. Severus had carefully moved his mate back into bed to recover, and Ishea caressed her new baby's head fondly. "You are called Falkor, guardian of the people," Ishea said. "Firstborn son to Severus, younger brother to Hermione and my sons Gunnarr and Ormarr."

Geir slithered down from her neck and curled around the baby, much as his brother had done, keeping the baby cradled in his coils so Ishea could rest peacefully. "I've got you, Uncle Falkor," Geir said proudly.

Severus wrapped his arm around Geir, the baby, and his mate, pressing his head against her skin. Ishea's breathing returned to normal as they rested together.

Hermione closed the privacy curtains, given them all time to revel in each other and happy they could be so without the threat of war and violence stealing away their happy moment.

"Daughter," Severus voice was deep and riddled with powerful emotion.

Hermione turned and found herself engulfed in black, the brief flash of blue skin wrapping around her waist and pulling her into a firm embrace.

Hermione said nothing, but there were tears flowing down her face as Severus dragged her back behind the curtain to be with the rest of their family without a further word between them.

Rith, Grim, and Violet bounced over to where Hermione was, looking around this way and that for their mistress.

"RrrRRRrrr?"

"Rrrrrr!"

"This way, silly books," Hermione said, her voice choked with emotion.

"Rrrr!"

All three books bounced under the curtain and disappeared.

Crookshanks, eight kittens in tow and one carried in his mouth, led his family under the curtain and beyond without a word being said.

"Mrrrt!"

"Mew!"

"Prrrt!"

"Mew!"

"RrrRrrrrRRR!"

Rustle. Rustle, rustle.

Thunk.

Drag. Drag. Drag. Thunk.

"I," Heimdall managed to say as he watched the assorted un-kittens, booklets, and venomous tentacula seedlings playing on Mjölnir. The hammer, which Heimdall had never taken as being even remotely nurturing, took it all in his stride. "I have no idea what I'm seeing," Heimdall said, furtively rubbing the area between his eyes.

"I know what I'm seeing, brother!" Sif crowed from across the room. She ran up to her brother and threw her arms around his neck. "It's so good to see you. Here. Now. Very blue." She wiggled her eyebrows. "You kept your golden eyes set in a field of red. I see even the change could not steal the sunlight from your eyes."

Heimdall flushed a little purple, but he held his sister tightly. "How good it is to see you, sister, and not have it be some fleeting thing on your way to one place or another."

"How is it you are here, Heimdall? Not that I am complaining!" Sif said with a wide, happy grin. "As I understood it your position guarding the Bifröst was nigh eternal. Björnar! Come meet my brother!"

"Well— hello!" Björnar looked Heimdall up and down. "Now I see why Sonje has such a look of smug satisfaction on her face today. I am very glad for you both. I am glad for our people too."

Heimdall continued on in a chronic state of purple. "If you would but believe it, All-Father himself took up guarding the Bifröst in order to give me some family time."

Sif grinned. "Family time, eh? Making a family time?"

Heimdall turned an even darker shade of purple. "That was not exactly planned, sister."

"Great sex should never be planned," Sif said with a cheeky wink.

"Sister, I have never known you you to be so casual about—"

"Come, brother," Sif chided. "We are not in Ásgarðr here. Here is where honesty begets the truth of the heart. I find it liberating to be able to love my mate and let others know exactly what he does to me. Surely you felt this for yourself?"

Heimdall flinched. "I did. I just find it… hard to adjust so quickly. I have spent a great many more years squelching such emotions or thoughts, even with only myself for company."

"Well, I am pleased to see that Sonje has brought you out of your shell," Sif said approvingly and with a knowing smile. "That is enough and at least for your mate, you should be the most honest. Until you are better adjusted to being more open with others."

"I hear that you wrestled the frost-seal with your bare hands having lost your knife to the ice floes," Björnar said. "That is a most impressive feat, especially for a first attempt."

"Not so impressive that I lost my knife," Heimdall replied solemnly.

"You impressed Sonje," Björnar said with a smile. "Besides, that you can succeed without a knife, it is no wonder she could hardly wait to throw you down up on the sealskin."

"There were two young men having dinner in the dining room. They did not seem quite so pleased to see my offering. Midgardians." Heimdall gave them a questioning look.

"Ah, those would be Hermione's human friends— one Draco McCoy or something and a Harry Cobler."

"That doesn't quite sound right," Björnar said, scratching his head. "Yet I find I cannot offer any better."

"Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter," Theo said with a grin as he threw a freshly-killed Acromantula carcass onto the dining room table, much to the delight of his mate and some of the other visiting Jötunn. They have weak stomachs around carcass blood, I think. "Harry wanted to invite Hagrid over for lunch, but I told him unless he wanted the man in tears and threatening to beat up every Jötunn on the temple grounds, that would probably not be a wise choice of action."

Sif frowned. "He does not like good food?"

"He was "friends" with the Acromantulas," Theo said with an aggrieved sigh. "It is a long and complicated story, and it ends in tears. Grief for him. Frustration for everyone else."

"Harry is a bit of a bleeding heart type," Luna said dreamily. "He has a very good heart, but he is blind to a lot of things that Hagrid does because Hagrid was one of the few friends he had when he first came to Hogwarts. It makes him very loyal but a little unwise. Fortunately, he can still help run a business as long as he isn't the one making any diplomatic decisions. Theo does best with that. Draco is better with the maths. Harry does well at the more creative side of things. He's actually quite good at advertising and promotions."

"And what do you do, Lady Luna?" Björnar asked.

"I record all the research and development that Severus does, handle all of the paperwork, keep the books, and remember to feed the owls. The boys seem to forget that owls have to eat too. Odd, since Harry once had an owl himself. He should know."

"Thor and Loki handle the money exchange and security through the goblin nation, as there are a great many societies sending pilgrimages and delegations to the temple from the furthest corners of the universe and beyond. Together they have added a combination of protections to keep all of the visitors safe," Theo said. "Since we have begun serving food and drink here at the temple for our guests, currency and security have both become major concerns. There are many children here as well." Luna smiled. "I am glad we have such a place of peace that people feel safe here. It is just hard to ensure it stays that way."

"Like the giants that invaded a few months ago?" Sif asked.

Luna nodded.

"Why would Jötunn make war upon the temple? Björnar asked.

"These were giants not of Jötunheimr, Mr Björnar," Luna said. "These were of Miðgarðr, spurred on by rumours of land and food. My Eirik asked me the same question, wondering what insanity would have stricken his people. At least here, when we say giants, we refer to the ones of Miðgarðr, not to be confused with Jötunn of Jötunheimr, the storm giants, or mountain giants, or rime giants."

"And what of the other giants of Jötunheimr?" Heimdall asked. "They were never at war with Ásgarðr, but do they pose a threat to Miðgarðr?"

"Nay," Laufey said as he led his mate and their newest edition into the dining area. "Útgarðr-Loki rules the stronghold of Utgardhall in Útgarðr. He has kept the peace between all giants of Jötunheimr, even when there was war amongst other Realms."

"Útgarðr-Loki?" Heimdall asked, frowning.

"He is the ruler of Útgarðr," Laufey said. "While my people may call me king, he rules Útgarðr, the largest and most sprawling city in Jötunheimr. He is a master of sorcery, and he can control the very weather, or so they say. Many would not choose to piss him off, lest they personally find out if such stories are truth. Most of my people prefer to live on the wastes than in such a vast city. He leaves us alone, whether because we do not annoy him or because he fears the Great Frost Mother's wrath should he stoop to murder our faithful on a whim, this I do not know."

"Rumour has it," Björnar said slowly, "that he fears the tests of the ice and snow and that sorcery will not save him from the sea-wolf whale or the Jötunheimr frost beasts. They say that he never had his great hunt, and that his mate was chosen with no hunt to earn her favour. It is only rumour because it has been so long since he has left Útgarðr. Yet, it seems logical that one who never gained the Great Frost Mother's blessing would fear the icy wastes of her domain."

Laufey shook his head. "The females prefer to hunt the wastes, so we prefer to hunt the wastes. Without the females, we would not have a future. There must be some inner wisdom that drives the females out to hunt rather than stay in the walls of a city. We often take for granted that this is so, thinking it has always been such, but they made this choice, and it has worked for us. Only a few females choose to stay in Útgarðr, at least of the frost giants."

Björnar smiled. "Perhaps, you should ask Sonje what drove her to the wastes instead of seeking the safety of Útgarðr."

"Well, that is easy, young pup," Sonje said as she rubbed Heimdall's arm in greeting. "The giants in Útgarðr grow fat in their laziness. Their minds are dulled because they do not worry about what lurks below the ice. They cannot hear the song of the Great Frost Mother. Their children grow up, but their minds are are nothing to be proud of. I left my family in Útgarðr, gladly, upon hearing the song of the Great Frost Mother in the snows. She promised that if I but only listened to her song, my children would grow up strong and thrive. And so hey did. They both have fine mates who do not huddle around a fire in a city simply to avoid hunting. A female looks for the strong, the fit, the sharp mind, the clever trapper and tracker, and the successful hunter. You look at Tova's new mate. He may have lost a leg and even an eye, but do you see him complain? No. He was fit enough to claim her— to catch her eye and keep it. There is no doubt in my mind that if you threw him to the frost sabre he would come out on top, even if he had to strangle it to death with his bare arms. He would survive because he has already survived so much. And, if the Great Frost Mother blesses their union, perhaps he has been given a gift in the change as well to prove he will come to survive even more."

All the gathered listened to Sonje as if they were serpentlets listening intently to the story from their elders. Their heads were cocked and eyes enraptured.

"Psh, stop staring at me like I'm an old spinstress weaving seal coats for my many grandchildren," Sonje chided.

The gathered attempted to make it look like they weren't listening, but had only relative success at best.

Sonje seemed to think of a way to get them to stop staring at her by promptly grabbing Heimdall by the face and giving him a very thorough snog. Like magic, the crowd dispersed to give the couple a little privacy, lest the older female throw down her sealskin in front of the entire dining room party and have Heimdall the talk of the entire gathering.

"Where is Alastor?" a curious Theo asked as they walked to the table.

"Oh, I'm sure he'll turn up," Luna said dreamily. "Once he's made sure Tova has been impregnated with triplets."

"Damn," Theo said, impressed.

"I'm pretty sure he wants to make triply sure that his change is not going to reverse," Luna said. She turned to Theo. "I'm not quite sure why you're so impressed, seeing as you gave Kelda quadruplets. You'll be hunting more than anyone here or back in Jötunheimr."

Thud.

For the very first time, it was Theo hitting the floor in a dead faint.

Luna blinked. "Hrm, I thought he knew that. Oh, well. Oops."

Sif busted up laughing. "Björnar, if you have given me more than twins, I will find a way to transfer the remainder to your abdomen and you shall carry them to term."

Björnar's eyes widened at that, and he swallowed hard. "We were apart for a thousand years, my mate."

"Worried, Björnar?" Laufey asked, grinning madly.

Björnar turned violet. "I was quite… thorough in the claiming of my mate, my king."

Laufey grinned even wider, moving to join his mate at the table. "I suppose we'll see the results in a few months, hrm?"

Sif glared at Björnar.

Björnar gave her his best, most charming smile as Theo drooled away on the ground in blissful oblivion.

"It's just… gross," Harry confessed. "The very sight of blood is bad enough when I have to stare at it, but it just— I just can't see a carcass cut up and placed in the same shape it would have been before you cut it. I want my food on a plate looking like, well… food."

Hermione sighed. "Would it help if I transfigured it to look like lobster?"

"Lobster I could actually eat," Harry said with a shudder as he looked at the acromantula legs. "Just watching Luna eat that makes me want to—" Harry made a mad dash for the loo.

Hermione thunked her head onto the dining room table.

"Doesn't care for the cuisine, hrm?" Moody asked, sitting down beside her.

"No, and I don't think he ever will, short of me transforming it into looking like something he would eat, like a burger with a side of chips." Hermione sighed. "I've tried over a hundred new and alien dishes just this week. One of them was even still alive as I ate it. That was— creepy. Yet apparently on that planet you have to eat it still alive because all the stuff grows back. If you kill it—"

Moody shrugged. "Every society has different issues and different foods. We're just lucky that it tastes so good."

Hermione grinned. "True."

"How are you feeling today, Alastor? I heard that our serpentlets gave you a little biting gift this morning."

Alastor snorted. "You should've warned me they could do that. I thought they were trying to eat me leg."

"I fear if warned you of everything my children MIGHT do, we would be here for a hundred years just getting through the basic list." Hermione grinned at him.

Moody extended his now-pristine blue leg and proudly wiggled his toes. "Tova took one look and told me not to dip my leg in the ice floes trying to taunt the sea-wolf whale into taking it off at the socket."

"Sounds wise."

"She's refreshingly to the point."

"You wouldn't be so in love with her otherwise. Mind you, most Jötunn women are wonderfully practical and to the point."

"She threw me down under the dining room table and had her wicked way with me!"

Hermione slid her eyes over. "And you're complaining about that?"

"Well, no—"

"Were you unsure if all your parts were in suitable working order?"

Moody blushed. "They were working just fine, lassie."

"Seeing as you're quite permanently changed, I'm thinking both you and she are very well set to have multiple children." Hermione grinned as Moody flushed purple.

"How are you so sodding calm about such things, Hermione?"

"I see dreams, dear Alastor," Hermione laughed. "Believe me, real life is actually quite tame by comparison."

Moody shook his head. "I wouldn't be wanting to see such things given some people."

"Sirius Black is not allowed to spend the night at the temple. My serpentlets do not need that type of exposure. That's saying something when they are perfectly fine listening in on the other dreams about this place."

Moody shuddered. "Don't want to know."

"No, trust me, you really don't."

"Hermione, they say that you and Loki, well, obviously, but—" Moody struggled to say what he meant. "Why aren't you bright blue like the rest of us?"

Hermione laughed. "I think being a gargantuan feathered serpent god sort of cancelled out one part of the conversion in favour of another, Alastor. I have the runic markings and the utter lack of shame, but who's to say that isn't what quetzalcoatls do naturally too? Our natural form is that, after all— this humanoid shape is more a remnant of self-image for the both of us. I think Loki does it on purpose to get me in the mood, not that it takes all that much."

"Ach, good thing Severus made you that birth control lozenge," Moody chuckled. "I heard he did it for your own good."

"Father looks further ahead than most do. Who knows what the natural cycle is for quetzalcoatls, you know? Maybe they are like cobras and raise fifty-some serpentlets at a time, but seven seems just fine for now."

"Seven is plenty mischief enough," Alastor agreed. "Merlin only knows what fifty serpentlet bites might've done to me."

"Made you extremely virile."

Moody waved his hands. "Fertile enough, thank you, ma'am."

"They stole Idunn's apple tree right out from under her," Hermione said. "I can only imagine what fifty of them would do if they put their scheming little heads together." Hermione looked thoughtful. "I'm actually surprised I haven't gotten a visit from her, demanding her tree back. I'd say she's welcome to take one of the twenty or so in the orchard. if she can find one that doesn't try to take her hand off when she picks it."

"New and improved, or so I hear," Moody muttered.

Hermione shrugged. "There is always a price for immortality. The original apples had to be eaten regularly and were tended by one goddess. These, you need but only one, not that they don't make a tasty snack on random Tuesdays. The price, however, seems to be different for each person. Jane, for example, sleeps a little more than the average human, tires easily after doing preternaturally great things, but she will live to be with Thor and her children, and that is what truly matters."

"And what if you or someone whose lifespan is already spanning the infinite eats one?"

"They taste wonderful, even on a Thursday," Hermione said with a wink. "The serpentlets love to share an apple between them and change colours for a few hours and sparkle."

Alastor snorted. "Okay then."

"Most of the trees in the orchard are from them planting the seeds to see if they would get something new. Once they got a pineapple tree. Once they got a Xythian tentacle bush."

"Do I even want to know?"

"Probably not. But, if you are craving bananas, there are about twelve different kinds in the orchard, including plantains. Asian pears of many sizes and varieties, plus dates, pomegranates, mangoes, coconuts, pretty much every variety of citrus there is and then some. Berry bushes and plants by the hundreds: strawberries, blackberries, blueberries, raspberries, gooseberries, boysenberries, huckleberries, loganberries, currants, acai berries, goji berries, mangosteens—you name it, we've got it."

"A nesting pair of phoenixes too?" Alastor chuckled.

"It was bound to happen eventually," Hermione sighed. "I really hope Dumbledore doesn't blame me for Fawkes running out on him."

"He's far too busy running the school, last I heard," Moody assured her. "Barely a peep out of him. "Knowing him, Fawkes got bloody well tired of swinging on that perch in his office all day and decided it was time to raise a family."

Hermione smiled. "Mjolnir apparently doesn't mind adding chick-sitting to his repertoire. That hammer is probably the most amazingly patient otherworldly babysitter in all the Realms, and no one ever bothered to ask Mjölnir what he wanted in life. Smashing faces in is apparently only one part of a much greater unexplored skill set. You should see the booklets, seedlings, and un-kittens sulk whenever Thor has to take Mjölnir off to defend the Realm."

"Life is rough," Moody grinned at her.

"It's so hard here at the temple," Hermione laughed. A wayward phoenix chick popped its head out from Hermione's mane and peeped. She rubbed his head and soothed it, and it went back into her mane to hide.

"Nifflers and phoenix chicks as well as baby books in your massive mane?"

Hermione shrugged. "I'm a walking habitat. Don't forget the occasional venomous tentacula seedling, un-kitten, and whatever else happens to drop by for a visit. Harry tried to pet the daredevil un-kitten on Loki's shoulder and got bushwacked by a baby tentacula. I'm afraid he now thinks that they're all out to get him."

"Well, to be fair, they are," Moody observed.

"I'm pretty sure Mjölnir thinks Harry would make an awful parent."

"I'm pretty sure Harry would make an awful parent."

"Alastor!"

"Just saying, lass," Alastor replied, shrugging. "You have to want to be a good parent and be willing to work at it. You aren't born with all the— Okay, please let me rephrase. Unlike your serpentlets, you aren't USUALLY born with all the information at your fingertips and just need a little tweaking here and there as well as a bit of hands-on personal experience."

"I have learned that having the pertinent knowledge is only the start of every great adventure, Alastor."

"Hmph. Gryffindor."

Hermione grinned broadly. "I was raised by a Slytherin."

"I'm surprised you didn't implode from the sheer contradictions alone."

Hermione huffed, but her eyes flickered with warmth. "More like you're surprised Severus didn't murder me in my sleep."

"That too," Alastor said with a wink.

"I'll have you know that she is far more Slytherin than any Gryffindor has a right to be," Severus said, wrinkling his nose as he said down beside his daughter. He pressed his forehead to hers, touching their markings together. "Thank you for making that floating bassinet for my mate," he said with no small amount of warmth. She had never had such a thing, and I think she's in love with it."

"Rest is important both for you and the baby," Hermione said with a smile. "I figured the rocking would help and the warming charm too. At least Jötunn babies, from what Ishea has told me, do not indulge in unusually early examples of Gryffindor stupidity."

Severus nodded. "And I am glad of it. Still, she sleeps well and so does Falkor, and I find that I have an appreciation for the rich Jötunn breast milk that keeps them adequately sustained for the entire night instead of only for a few hours, like a whiny Draco."

Hermione and Alastor laughed together. "That must have been… something."

"Something all right," Severus said with a shake of his head.

"Are you talking about me?" Draco asked, frowning as he sat down next to them, taking a really big swig of a highly-caffeinated beverage, making a point of not looking at the other tables and what they happened to be eating.

"Not you currently," Hermione said rather vaguely.

Severus, not even bothering to deny it, said, "We were discussing your oddly Gryffindor proclivities as a child."

"I was NOT Gryffindor as a child," Draco protested loudly.

"On the contrary, I have many, many memories of you attempting to crawl into the stone hearth and set yourself on fire, ripping up the portrait of your Great-Uncle Beauregard, running starkers around the tables during your mother's garden parties, plucking the feathers from Lucius' prized albino peacocks—"

"What?!" Draco spluttered.

"Your father, of course, was utterly mortified that such objectionable tendencies might stay with you for life, so he sent you for proper conditioning with a very strange wizard named Blatherscythe."

"You are making all of that up!"Draco accused his godfather, shaking his coffee mug at the dark-haired Jötunn potions master.

"I assure you, Draco, I am most definitely not," Severus replied smugly. "I considered Obliviating myself of all those memories, but then, I wouldn't have the opportunity to remind you of your own childhood peccadilloes when your children start climbing the walls and setting the curtains and themselves on fire. I can then inform their poor mother that, sadly, it was all genetically predisposed because you are their father."

Draco glared blearily at him.

Severus arched a brow.

"I really hate you sometimes, Severus," Draco muttered darkly.

"Apparently there is quite a line."

Hermione leaned into her father. "I think the runed spear would probably deter most comers, if the increased size and changed skin colouring doesn't," she chuckled warmly. Hermione got a mischievious grin on her face. "You know father. You could always show them your other spear. I'm sure that would send them all into a fit as well."

"Daughter, are you recommending I show off my prowess in a duel?"

"Father, It's not like it was so strange a phenomenon for the Scots," Hermione noted.

Severus sniffed. "As accustomed as I have become to spontaneous acts on top of a well-placed sealskin, my dear daughter, I do not think that brandishing my admittedly impressive manhood would solve occasional threats upon my life."

Draco was blushing very, very red now and trying desperately to look in some direction that wasn't covered in a seal, acromantula, or some other random beast of the frost wastes.

"For someone who has become known as a wizard who delighted in shagging his girlfriend in public places, you are strange one to blush, Draco," Severus chided.

"That's different!"

"How?"

"You're old!" Draco blurted.

Severus arched a brow.

"Boy," Laufey said with a rumble. "What is old when you measure your lifespan only in low long it takes the environment to outsmart you or your enemy's weapon?"

Draco paled. "That's not fair! Severus wasn't a Jötunn but a year ago!" he protested.

"Hermione, love," Ishea purred as she came in with Falkor cradled in her arms. "Would you mind watching Falkor while I take the "old man" out for a walk?"

"Of course, Ishea," Hermione said with a grin, taking Falkor in her arms. She pressed her forehead to the baby's and smiled, wisps of her magic traveling along her markings and sharing her energy with Vali. Vali gurgled and smiled, settling the moment her skin touched his. Hermione, without any ado, tugged open her top and tucked Vali against the warmth of her skin, pulling the sling of sealskin around her head to make it more comfortable. Vali instantly silenced himself, cuddling into her warmth.

Severus reached over and kissed his baby son on the head and "allowed" himself to be dragged away by his mate— but not before Hermione dragged them both down by the ear and placed a lozenge on their tongues.

"Chew."

They did.

"Swallow," Hermione said suspiciously.

They swallowed.

"Good. Have fun, you two."

Ishea winked at her and pulled Severus by the robes.

"How is that even remotely fair?" Draco moaned pitifully. "My godfather is getting way more skin than me."

Pop!

Pop!

Poppop!

Vidar, Natsu, Raina, and Itzel ported in and landed on the nearby table and hoisted up a large acromantula leg between them and carried over over to the table where their mother was. "Hi, Mummy! Share a leg with us?"

"Break it up for us?"

"Please?"

"Oh! You have Falkor!"

"He's so quiet!"

"Survival instinct, yes?"

"Indeed," Laufey said with a pleased smile. "The child must be quiet lest he frighten the game away. We prefer our children to be left in shelter, but that is not always possible."

"Aww," Raina cooed. She pressed her head to the baby's. Each of the serpentlets did the same in turn, greeting their baby uncle as another Jötunn child would.

Hermione broke the Acromantula leg into several manageable pieces, smiling as her hungry serpentlets made quick but noisy work out of crunching the pieces up until they were almost gone.

Draco looked a little green.

Natsu raised her eyes to look at Draco. "Oh, how rude of us!"

"Oh! You're right!"

"Let's not be rude!"

Vidar broke off a chunk of Acromantula leg and pounced on Draco, holding it up in his face. "We didn't want to be rude, so we saved you some food!"

Draco opened his mouth to protest, but Vidar took it as an invitation and shoved the chuck of Acromantula leg into his waiting mouth. Vidar stared at him, extending his tail to work Draco's mouth up and down. "Chewwwwww," he directed. "Swaaaaallllow."

Draco's face twisted in clear distress, but he did as he was told, valiantly attempting to not remember what he was eating.

But as this throat muscles worked, his grey eyes widened in complete surprise. He gasped. "Merlin, that tastes like—like, like spicy tuna roll!"

The serpentlets shook their heads sadly at him. "You really need to get out more, Uncle Draco."

A/N: The irony here is that the serpentlets, barely over a year old, are the ones telling Draco that he needs to get out more.

Heh. Heh. Heh.