A/N okay, so you know what I said last update about this being the final chapter? That was a lie. Ragnarok, arguably the greatest film of our generation, was a godsend in that I can work it really well into the plot of this fic. So more chapters! Yay! Also this one is practically 5k long, so savour that.
This is really not my problem, Gwen thought as she sprinted down the twisted passageways with Astrid at her heels. He knows full well it's not my problem. He also knows that my judgement gets a bit… subjective when it comes to protecting kids. Oh, the bastard played me. He is not getting away Scot-free, even if it was for a good cause.
They reached a dead end, barely lit by torchlight coming through cracks in the ceiling above. Gwen knocked on it – sure enough, just as Loki had said there would be, it echoed in the way only heavy wooden planks can. Trapdoor. She felt sideways until she came into contact with a metal bolt, and yanked at the rusted shaft until it went sideways and the trapdoor fell downwards with a cascade of straw and other things she didn't much want to think about, accompanied by the overwhelming smell of horse.
Gwen turned round to Astrid. "I'll give you a leg up," she told her, "once you're up there, go to the stable with the open door and wait for me." She meshed her fingers together to form a foothold and knelt down. "Off you pop, kitten."
Face still wan with fear, Astrid climbed onto Gwen's hands, who winced – the girl was a lot heavier than she looked. With a grunt, Gwen launched her upwards and heard a soft "oof!" as Astrid grabbed the edge of the trapdoor hole and hauled herself up.
Right, Gwen thought, my turn. She would have much rather made her way to their destination entirely underground, but this was faster and speed was an imperative. She bounced on the balls of her feet a few times, then jumped up and grabbed the edge of the hole with her fingertips. She planted her boots on the wall of the passageway and pushed off, using the momentum of the swing to pull herself up until her chest was fully out and she could scramble the rest of the way without much problem.
As Loki had promised, the Allfather's private stables were empty that night, the men out cold and snoring in their beds after having drunk the wine a disguised Gwen had offered them. Loki had said not to even sniff it, as the sedative inside was extremely powerful for humans, and even the fumes that had risen off of it had made her dizzy.
She found Astrid waiting beside a big horse that someone who had not spent their entire life in a city would have recognised as a Palomino, saddled up with enough supplies to last two small-ish women a day or so. "You ever ridden a horse before, Astrid?" she asked.
The girl shook her head.
"That makes two of us, then. Right…" Gwen narrowed her eyes at the animal, who blinked back at her with the look in its own eyeball of pure, concentrated insanity (a look that can only be found in horses). "Kick me and you're burger meat. Capiche?"
She lifted Astrid by the waist and deposited her on the saddle, then dragged a stool out from the corner and climbed on behind her with no small amount of apprehension. It was a lot higher up on a horse than she had imagined it to be, and it smelled. Princesses in books never mentioned the smell.
She reached into one of the packs, pulled out a scarf and draped it over Astrid's head as a kind of hood. "Don't speak," she said, "be as quiet as possible. The way should be clear for another twenty minutes, but I don't want anyone getting suspicious. And hold on to that lumpy bit of the saddle, there. That looks important for not falling off, methinks."
She reached around the girl and took the rein in her hands. "Uh… hyah?" she said hopefully. "Go, horsey, go?" Nothing.
Gwen thought for a moment. Loki had said the steed was very intelligent and would need next to no guidance, but he hadn't included how to put it into gear when he was explaining. She wiggled the reins. Still nothing.
"Stupid bloody thing," she muttered, and kicked at its sides in frustration.
The horse reared onto its back two legs, and every one of Gwen's muscles locked in sheer terror as it galloped out of the stable, its footfall muffled by the leather cloths that had been tied around its hooves. The only reason she wasn't screaming was because every bodily function, except maybe the ones in her bladder, had stopped working as they tore out of the maze that was the servants' quarters at the back of the palace and out into the streets that were the only thing between Asgard's city and the wold that surrounded it, wold that eventually melted into high, purple mountains. Houses passed in a blur and Gwen realised that the horse was choosing the direction and speed they were going in, not her. This! Is! Not! Enjoyable! she managed to think, before her brain gave up again.
They were out of civilisation in minutes, and the horse slowed to a canter as the cobblestones gave way to dirt tracks that gave way to lush green hills. Gwen started breathing again.
"Thank Jesus he didn't give me the one with eight legs," she mumbled, and in front of her Astrid laughed. "You okay there, kitten?"
"Yes. Where… where are we?"
"Buggered if I know," said Gwen, "but it's just gone midnight now, and Loki said we'd be at the hunting lodge by witching hour. You sure you're alright? Don't need to throw up, or anything?"
"No."
"Good. Good for you."
Even with the pain of the saddle slamming into places Gwen tried not to think about, she had to admit that the foothills of Asgard at night were beautiful. The stars were properly visible now, not like last time when she had stayed in the city, and the alien sky was endless and incomprehensibly massive. Frigga's up there somewhere, Gwen thought, recalling what she had read about funeral rites in The Compleat Hiftory of Afgard. They would have put her on a boat and sailed her out and turned what they believed was her soul into pure starlight. Gwen, who had been raised strictly Catholic and had had the importance of the immortal soul drilled into her since birth, now tended to fall firmly on the atheist side of things even with a god for a lover, but the Aesir notion of afterlife was so beautiful it almost made her cry.
Just when Gwen thought that she could not take it anymore, the horse slowed down and stopped outside a little wooden hut hidden from the wind in a little valley, with a gurgling stream and a charcoal-filled fire pit outside it. She fell off of the horse, gave Astrid a hand down and walked bandy-legged over to where the fire had been, and poked it experimentally.
"Dead cold," she said, "and damp, too. Nobody's been here for ages, we'll be safe here. Get the bags off that bloody animal for me, will you, kitten?"
Inside the hut was a single narrow bed with itchy blankets, a chair and table, two buckets, and a tiny fireplace with a cast-iron cauldron mounted over the top of it. It smelled of goats, which was barely preferable to the smell of horse. As Astrid came in with the bags, Gwen hobbled over to the fire and lit it with the flint and steel hanging on a hook over the fireplace. She missed her lighter. And her packet of Black Russians. And methods of transport with wheels instead of legs. Central heating would've been nice, too.
The fire flared into life and, once the kindling had caught properly, Gwen threw a log from the pile onto it and immediately extinguished the flames. "Drat."
"I can do it," Astrid said, and Gwen waved a hand.
"You get some rest," she said, "I'll figure it out."
Four attempts and two burnt fingers later, Gwen gave up and called the girl over. She watched in awe as she coaxed the fire into eating up the heavy log. "You're a smart kid, Astrid."
The child shrugged. "They made me light the fires," she said.
"For cooking food?"
"No."
Right, thought Gwen, of course they did.
There was a griddle beneath the cauldron, and Gwen took the cold meat and bread from the pack and stuck them on there to cook. She boiled some water, too, and dropped a teabag each into two metal tankards. After having removed the scarf from Astrid's head and wrapped it around the tankard so she would not burn her hands, she removed the bag from the tea and handed it over to her.
"Let me introduce you to the magnum opus of my species," she said, "PG Tips. Don't tell Loki."
Astrid sipped at the scalding water, and winced as it burned her tongue. "He really is Loki," she said, "isn't he? He was supposed to be dead, but he's…"
"Doing a bang-up job of being a king, I reckon," Gwen said. "Better than his dad did, at any rate."
"What about Odin?"
"Alive," she assured the kid. "On Midgard for safekeeping."
"You trust him? Loki?"
"He trusts me," she shrugged. "Hence why you're still alive."
"But he's evil!" Astrid protested.
"Why? Because he belongs to a race of evil people?" Gwen asked. "Ain't that your backstory, too?"
"He killed people!"
"Yeah," she said, "I'll give you that. But life tends to be more complicated than that, see?"
"He tried to take over Midgard!" Astrid continued. Clearly, this was a bugbear for her.
"Yep. And then he saved Asgard, and now he rules it better than anyone's done in millennia. And he saved you, too." Gwen sighed, and tried to think how to explain it. "If life was as simple as good and evil," she said, "there wouldn't be any evil, because why would anybody choose not to be good? But instead, there's just… people. And people do some awful stuff, but they do some really great stuff, too. And they're not limited to one or the other. It's best not to get too caught up on the whole morality thing, I've found. Just try and stay alive and don't be a dick unless provoked."
Astrid looked at her, with big brown eyes that were too young and too scared to belong to someone who has been through the things she had been through. "That's not fair."
"Such is life." Gwen gave her a small smile. "You don't have to worry about any of that, kitten. This is your golden ticket to safety. I'm taking you to Alfheim."
"But I come from Alfheim! They'll know me!"
"It's a big place," Gwen said, "or so I've been told. And you don't have to run as far as people think before they forget you were even there in the first place. Loki knows these people – a lord and lady. They're elves, they got magic like you do. They can't have kids, and they're big on second chances. You'll be safe."
Astrid shook her head. "No such thing."
Gwen could feel her heart breaking inside her chest. "Kitten," she said, taking her hands. "This world is a cruel one, and it has been unspeakably so to you. I understand, I really do. But there are some people who are kind, and this couple are two of 'em."
"What about you?" Astrid asked. "I've never even heard of Ratatosk."
"I'm nobody," Gwen said. "I've just got fingers in a lot of pies. And I'm the only person Loki could trust to help him."
"He loves you," Astrid said. It wasn't a question.
"The evidence points to that conclusion, yeah."
"But you're not… you're not Asgardian, are you? Or an elf. You talk funny, you look… different. Why did you want to help me?"
Because when I look at you I see Lucy, and I see my child that died before it was even born. And I cannot and could not help them, so by the gods and hell on Earth I will help you. "Because I'm nice like that," she said, "and it's always good to have the king of Asgard indebted to you. Get some food in you, Astrid, and get some sleep. We've got a few hours before we need to move again, and the Einherjar won't have been able to follow us with the horse's feet covered up to leave no trace."
"But if someone does find us –"
"Then they'll have to get through me. And some of the hunting weapons in here look really interesting," Gwen said, which made Astrid smile. The girl wolfed down the food and Gwen pulled the coarse wool blanket over her on the bed, before sitting down with her own, now stone-cold, cup of tea.
After half an hour, she said, "That is the worst fake snoring I've ever heard. What's the matter?"
"I can't sleep," said the muffled voice of Astrid, who had the blanket pulled up over her head. "And you said I had to, and I didn't want to disobey you, and… sorry."
Disobey, thought Gwen, bloody hell. What have the bitches done to this poor girl? "You should've said," she told her, sitting on the edge of the bed. Astrid peered at her over the edge of the blanket, and Gwen pushed her hair back from her face. "You want me to tell you a story?"
"Why?" Astrid asked.
"It's what parents do to get their kids to fall asleep," said Gwen, "it always worked for me. That's probably because I got the bible, which is boring as all hell, but still. I'll make it more interesting for you."
"Yes," said Astrid, resting her head in Gwen's lap. "Yes, please."
"Right. Let's see if I can make something up…
"Once upon a time," she began, "there were two brothers, two princes in fact. One was big and bold and golden, and the other was small and silver and sleek. Golden was preferred by their father the king, Silver by their mother the queen, but both loved each other equally, both were raised as heirs to the throne and both got into an awful lot of trouble.
"But gold is always destined for greater things than silver, just as silver is destined for greater things than stone. The world was no longer balanced and, against his wishes, silver found himself being not a prince, but an outcast. He sought the help of a dragon, and dragons are not known for their kindness. In return for a half-hearted promise of a kingdom for his own, Silver found himself doing terrible things."
A small, skinny hand shot out and gripped Gwen's wrist so tightly she almost does. "Wait," said Astrid, "does this story have a happy ending?"
"Of course it does. The prince gets rescued by a knight in shining armour, and she and he run away to have great adventures together. But you've got to let me get to that part first."
%
Once Astrid had fallen asleep, Gwen sat on the open doorstep and smoked as she thought about it. Running away. It would be terrible, irresponsible, an abandonment of everything she had built and, what was more, there was no reason for it. But every time she saw Loki the urge to drop everything and fly was almost unbearable. It would ruin them both, if she wasn't careful. And she had to be careful these days, with so much riding on their shoulders.
He's selfish, she thought. He's arrogant, and dangerous, and he really is a monster when you think about it. It can't last. It never could. Quit while you're ahead. They didn't make any difference to how miserable she felt, but it had been worth a shot.
The cigarette glowed like the unfamiliar constellations sprawled across her head. "You know the answer, little mouse," she muttered to herself, crushing it beneath her boot. Smoke from the dead embers dissipated in the chilly night air. "You just don't want to face it."
She would have to talk to him eventually. But now, all she wanted was to go home and get this whole bloody business over with.
%
By mid-morning Gwen had dozed herself, and woke Astrid up with a mug of clear, cold water that tasted slightly sweeter than what she got out of the tap back home. The horse, which had stood waiting for them outside the hut without needing to be tied up, did not seem remotely tired as they climbed back on it and headed in the direction of the mountains, which had snowstorms billowing around them like wedding veils.
But that was not their destination. Just before the chalk and clay gave way to granite beneath the horse's feet, a collection of monoliths arranged in a large, perfect circle rose up onto the horizon like giants. Waiting for them was a hermit. He was definitely a hermit, thought Gwen, because he was bald, and had a long beard and bad teeth, and was also very naked.
"I am Rig," said the hermit, bowing. "You seek passage to Alfheim?"
"Mmhmm," said Gwen, determinedly looking anywhere but at the wrinkly and borderline offensively unclothed Rig.
"Your names?"
"Astrid," said Gwen, "and Ratatosk."
Rig's teeth rattled in his skull as he chattered in excitement. "I have heard your name across the Realms, Ratatosk!" he exclaimed. "In Asgard, ay, and Midgard too, in the pirate cove of Knowhere and in Alfheim to boot! So Heimdall sees, so I hear!"
"Fascinating," said Gwen, who was covering Astrid's eyes with her hand.
"And you ride Gullfaxi, the Allfather's second steed! I hear of this steed, though they do not think I am observant enough to guard the Bifrost, oh, no! Heimdall is stronger, so they say! Heimdall is wiser, so they say! Heimdall smells better, so they say, and wears clothes like some kind of heathen! Well, says I, if he is so strong and wise and trousered then why is Asgard so repeatedly bloody attacked, then? And they says to I, they says he still does a great deal more than you could, Rig, and they sends me out here to this bloody stone circle in the middle of bloody nowhere, and they says you isn't coming back to the city until you learn what clothes is! Hah! I says I shall learn what clothes is, and I wears socks in the winter to keeps my toes warm, and that doesn't please the bastards! Bloody king and his bloody horse and his bloody gatekeeper and his bloody bastard trousers! He can keeps 'em!"
"Look," said Gwen, "I mean, listen - Rig, as you've probably guessed I'm in good company with Odin, and there's people out looking for us, and if you'd be so kind as to forget you ever saw us after you let us through your lovely, um, stone archway, I'd be happy to drop your name into the conversation when I next see the king."
Rig's cataracts-heavy eyes bulged. "I wants two weeks in the palace, all expenses paid, no trousers to be a part of the picture," he said promptly. "And I wants to be honoured in that big fancy hall with all the statues of nuddy ladies in it, and I wants Heimdall to be there to watch it, and I shan't accept anything less, or you'll find my tongue'll get much looserer inside my skull."
"Deal," said Gwen. Loki had given her big fat coins to pay the man with, but this would yield much more entertaining results.
"Then step this way, my loveliest ladies, step right this way and I'll show you to Alfheim, so I will!" Rig cackled, and various body parts jiggled in an alarming manner as he hopped up the hill to the biggest stone arch. Through it Gwen could still see hills and various and sundry other countryside things, but they had no correlation with the world around her – Alfheim, she thought. "It helps to close your eyes, madam and miss, or your stomach gets right wobbly when the Realms meet."
Gwen didn't need to be told twice. She took Astrid's hand, walked up to the archway and closed her eyes before stepping through.
Her body felt very hot, then freezing cold; gravity stopped working for a moment, then came back with the full force of a brick wall travelling at terminal velocity. When Gwen opened her eyes she and Astrid were stood at the very top of a lone hill overlooking a forest of trees with blood-coloured leaves that whispered in the breeze, whispered words that Gwen could almost, but not quite, understand. It was a few degrees warmer here, and the air tasted like nectar. Upon closer inspection of a nearby tree Gwen could see that the leaves were not leaves at all, but petals, big heavy blossoms whose scent weighed heavily on the air and made her think of lazy sunny afternoons, and slow kisses, and sweet tea.
"You are Ratatosk?"
A woman and a man were approaching them, both tall and beautiful with facial features similar to Astrid's. They wore fine silk robes in colours Gwen didn't even know existed, and seemed to glide towards them rather than walk.
"That's the one," said Gwen, not letting herself appear even slightly disconcerted by the two physically perfect beings now stood in front of her. "Lady Alvida, Lord Einar. You're twelve seconds late." She did not bow to them.
The man opened his mouth to protest, but his wife laid a calming hand on his arm. "And this is the child?" she asked. "What is her name? Lejemand did not say."
"Astrid." Gwen kept the girl's hand held tightly in hers as Alvida knelt down in front of her. She knew that she should ask further questions before choosing to trust the elves, but there was a great and terrible sadness in Alvida's eyes that she recognised from every time she looked in the mirror. Lost children leave a mark on the soul that can only be seen by people who have suffered the same thing. "She is young, and scared, and has no faith in the world."
"We do," said Einar. "She will want for nothing."
"No," said Gwen, "not that. She will need for nothing. There's a big and important difference there, milord. Tell her the truth, not what you think is the truth. Teach her to do the right thing, not the easy thing. Give her rules, so she can break them, and learn what happens when you break the rules. Do not give her the world, but tell her that it is hers for the taking. Raise her not to be a perfect daughter, but a good woman. Because if you don't, sir, I will find out." She left the threat hanging, unspoken and half finished, in the air, and looked to Alvida and Astrid. "What happened?"
"We had two," he told her, "both boys, both stillborn. The second nearly killed her, too. We were not seeking another chance, but when we heard that there was a child of the clan about to be executed by Odin…" he shook his head. "The Allfather has been reckless, of late. The coven is one thing, but there are wars erupting all over the Nine Realms that he does not seem to want to deal with. There have been rumours, rumours of Ragnarok and far worse than that but still, he does nothing. He is distracted."
Gwen did her best not to look too guilty. "And Lo – and Lejemand came to you?"
"Yes. He said he could steal her from right under the king's nose, and said he would send a woman called Ratatosk to us with her. We had not heard of him before, but we sent out word and there was a story of a man called Lejemand and a woman called Ratatosk causing havoc in Knowhere with Tivan's collection. Anyone who makes Tivan's life difficult, we thought, was trustworthy."
So they didn't know he was Loki, then. Gwen quite liked the sound of these Lejemand and Ratatosk, roguish adventurers travelling the universe and causing as much harm as they did good. It was a shame to kill a dream as fun as that.
"You are wary," said Einar, "you have every right to be, just as I am wary of you." He spat into the palm of his hand and held it out. "Astrid will be safe and loved here. If nothing else, I give you my word on that."
Gwen smiled, then spat on her own hand and shook his.
"We will leave you a horse," said Einar, as Gwen released Astrid's hand and the elves prepared to leave. Ride it to the base of the hill. There is a cave there, filled with –"
"Purple crystals?" Gwen asked, and Einar nodded.
"Lejemand told us that he would meet you there by noon. Thank you, Ratatosk."
"Pleasure." But before they left, Astrid ran up to her and hugged her, squeezing Gwen so tightly she was pretty sure two of her ribs cracked. "Hey, kitten. What's that for?"
"Thank you," she whispered. And then the elves were gone and Gwen, a human in a strange land, stood alone on the top of the hill and let the sweet honey-wind dry the tears on her face. Once she was calm again, she chose to ignore the horse and made her way down the hill on foot, meaning she arrived there the same time Loki emerged from the cave, cloak pulled up over his head.
"Well?" he asked, throwing her a purple crystal. She caught it one-handed, squeezing the thing so hard it bit into her skin.
"Safe and sound. Can I go home now, please?"
"Not quite. I need to find a place on Midgard to keep my father for when Thor returns from his latest exploit –"
"I don't care," Gwen exclaimed. "I just want to go home. I've had enough of Asgard for a lifetime."
Loki's eyes narrowed. "What's wrong with you?" he asked.
"Nothing."
"You're lying."
"Take me home, Loki. Now." She took his hand and tried to pull him along, but he didn't move. "Come on –"
He pulled his hand out of her grasp and pressed his palm to her forehead. Gwen gasped as a rush of thoughts ran to the front of her mind; thoughts about them, about him, all the bad thoughts and the sad thoughts and the one big one that had been blossoming for a while now and had bloomed in earnest under the Asgardian stars last night. She staggered back, tearing herself away from him, and grabbed her hair to try and stop her head from spinning.
"You read my mind! You went inside my fucking head, you bastard! How dare you?"
"You were planning to leave me? Me? After everything we've been through?"
She spun away from him, storming across the perfect elven landscape. "I can't believe you did that," she said.
"Don't run away from me! Gwen, this is ridiculous." She could hear him coming after her, and sped up. "Stop being so childish, will you?" He reached out to take her arm.
"LET GO OF ME!"
Her voice echoed around the hills. In the distance, a flock of hummingbirds took to the sky in panic. Loki stepped back as though he had been physically hit.
"You stay out of my head," she snarled, eyes swimming with hot, furious tears. "What's in there is mine, you understand? Mine! Not yours!"
"I'm… sorry," he said, his voice almost a whisper by comparison. "I just – I don't want you to go. Please." He took a deep, shaking breath, and gave her a brittle-bright smile that didn't belong on a trickster's pointed face. "I think you're the only thing keeping me sane."
She could still feel his hand on her brain. "I can't," she said, crushing the crystal in her hand. By the time Loki started to lunge towards her, Alfheim was already dust on the wind.