A/N: Hi guys! Back again, woohoo! I know it's been a while - applications for college have been paramount at this point - but I haven't forgotten this story... or you.

I'm so grateful that you guys have all stuck with me thus far. I promise that this story is not done. In a few months I'll be able to give my full attention to posting on a more regular schedule.

Guest (guest): Thank you so much! I'm glad you've liked it so far. Hopefully you'll be able to find the new chapter!

C (guest): It's definitely not over yet! I'm so happy that you like it so much. Hugs!

gemma (guest): I know, I know! The update schedule has been so terrible - thanks for sticking with me. Hope you see this chapter soon!

(I can't remember if I responded to account-users' reviews, so here they are again:

Noxy by Proxy: Hope you like the new chapter! :)

Without further ado - the chapter. Which is really what you're here for, after all.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Although my words failed
You knew what I was trying to say
And though my hands weak by sorrow
Still would never let go of this memory
Where the trees bowed from the wind
You whispered "I promise, I promise you"
You held my hands tight
Comfort remains

- "Love Never Fails," Sleeping at Last

She was not looking forward to this upcoming feast, although it was still months away.

Asgard was beautiful, but she was tired of lying, tired of smiling and nodding and answering to a name that wasn't hers.

When Thor had first told her about the feast one day, she had groaned and said, "Do I have to go?"

Thor had laughed. "Alana, you have not truly experienced Asgard until you have been to at least one feast. There will be dancing and revels!"

She had sighed and pushed a hand through her hair, saying, "Can I at least leave early?"

Thor had winked at her and said, "You may not want to."

She had smiled slightly, in spite of herself, and grudgingly agreed to attend.

Odin sighed heavily. "Sumarsmal, Thor? You deliberately chose the largest feast of the season in which to let him loose?"

Thor gritted his teeth. "He is not an animal, Father. And he will not attempt to escape."

"I have many important affairs to worry about during Sumarsmal. You would add another?"

"You have my word, Father. Nothing will go wrong."

Odin sighed. "It is not your word I am concerned about." He passed a hand in front of his brow. "I expect that he remain unobtrusive. I expect that his… relationship with the armustar will not be revealed. And I expect you to enforce this. Am I understood?"

Thor bowed his head. "Yes, Father."

The Council had met in the war-room, along with a few others. But only one was a problem for Tyr.

He clenched his jaw slightly as he looked at her, her chin rested in her hand. She had remained silent thus far – appropriate for a Midgardian who knows nothing of war – but was following the conversation intently.

Sif touched his arm lightly. "Father," she whispered, "your hostility is apparent to everyone. Turn your mind to more important matters."

He grumbled but grudgingly complied.

His mind slipped back to her, once or twice, accompanied by a rush of anger, but he tamped it down.

What was so infuriating about it was the way that she had become an accepted member of his family. He had wanted another child, perhaps a son, but after Zisa had died, all thoughts of that sort had vanished once he was consumed with grief. This adoption had not been of his will, but of Odin's. He had waved his hand and she was pronounced "Tyrsdottir", but Tyr had had no say in the matter.

And this Midgardian, this mortal was the telepath of the realms, and had pledged to protect them – this child, who would live no more than a century, had bound herself to them quicker than he would have thought possible. And she had wormed her way into the hearts of those who mattered – Sif and Thor and Freya and Frey.

And Loki! He could have perhaps accepted her as a boon to the realm, if not as his daughter, if there was not this love for a traitor and a trickster and a liar, a false king, one who wrought destruction and fear.

Her eyes snapped to his from across the room, stormy and hard, and he reinforced his mental walls, slightly afraid.

But Odin still mistrusted her – that at least was something, something to prove that he was right. The king stood by him, even though he had forced her upon his family.

Zisa… what would she have thought of this arrangement? The centuries that had passed since her death had left him empty and cold. He had thrown his soul into the king and the realms, trained Sif to fight, to be as strong as her mother had been weak – and now this girl came in to tear it all to Hel, this careful life that he had reconstructed like a barrier around what was left of his family.

When Sif had been born, he had taken Zisa's hand and said that Sif must be blessed to have such a mother. Zisa had smiled and said, "All children are blessed, Tyr."

The armustar pulled her legs up onto the chair, tucking them close. Her gauntlets gleamed in the dim light.

Someone addressed her – Frey – asking her if she could begin to monitor the Asgardian population for anomalies – hidden N'itouri, Thanos sympathizers, and the like. She nodded, eyes serious, and Frey said, "Thank you, Sigyn," and turned back to Freya.

He noticed that her shoulders tensed and then slumped ever so slightly in reaction to the name.

"She will bring us victory… and if not…"

His words had branded her with a burden, even if she did not know it. He knew that her abilities made her powerful, and could change the war.

He realized that he did not know her real name.

Loki lay diagonally across his bed, feet hanging off the side. A book floated in front of him, pages surrounded by green light.

He flicked his finger lazily and the page turned.

He snapped the book shut and whirled up out of the bed, pacing around the room, fingers locked together behind his back.

Sumarsmal was one of the largest feasts of the year. It was also the most heavily populated. Nobles from all Nine Realms would be in attendance.

He passed a hand through his hair. Of all the nights for Thor to pick to let him out… this had to be one of the absolute worst. He did not look forward to being shunned by an entire kingdom.

But if that would gain him a few moments of peace with her, he would endure it.

There was a knock on the door, and Thor entered.

"What news?" he asked.

Thor sighed. "There was a Council meeting today – battle is coming faster than we had predicted. All sources say that Thanos will be planning a major attack soon, one that will most likely start the war," he said grimly. "I do not care for our chances of survival. But there is other news." He sighed again. "Father is not pleased, but has grudgingly agreed to let you attend Sumarsmal. But… he wants you to avoid Alana."

He clenched his fingers tightly but kept his voice calm. "He does not want our relationship to be revealed."

Thor glanced at the floor. "I am sorry, brother."

He exhaled slowly. "It's fine. Thank you."

Thor nodded and left.

Loki resumed pacing.

She leaned over the edge of her balcony, watching the sunset.

Her life had changed so much in so short a time that every morning when she woke up she thought it had been one long, extended dream.

And she concealed the hole that had been ripped into her as best she could… but in the mornings, when she did not awaken to his arm cradled around her, and in the evenings, when she lay silent and still in her bed – then she could not hide the pain.

When Kvasir had told her that she was the armustar, she had thought that she had been important – special, worthy of something greater. But in her time on Asgard she was slowly growing to realize that even those who knew that she was the armustar did not believe that she was capable of such things.

She sighed and propped her head in her hands, staring out at the water.

She missed Earth so much.

No – that was a lie. She missed the memories of her and Loki, alone, at peace, together without a thought of what would come next.

She slowly undressed and began to prepare herself for bed.

She fell asleep imagining pale arms tucked around her and soft lips pressed to her forehead.

Odin stared over a golden map floating in the air. Beside him, Freyr swore softly.

He rubbed his temple. "Prepare the vanguard."

Freyr nodded silently and disappeared from his side.

Thor strode down the hallways, quickly and without hesitation, approaching Alana's room. It was late, and the palace was dark, torches fluttering on the walls, each empty hallway adjacent to him full of shadow and deep darkness.

Freyr had woken him with a touch – he did not sleep heavily, these days – and told him of the situation, then had quickly left for the barracks, to wake the rest of the Einherjar who would be accompanying Thor.

He quietly let himself into Alana's room, well-oiled hinges making no noise, and approached her bed.

She was curled up in the sheets, taking up less than half of the bed, her arms wrapped around herself in a way that made his chest ache.

Gods, he could still see her pressed against Loki's side, that night that he had been so wretched – could picture him here, next to her, in this empty space, his arms around her instead of her own.

What was he doing? Was he really about to wake her up and tell her that they had to go, to fight? She was younger than Jane, she was mortal – despite her strength he feared for her as he had never feared for an Einherjar.

She stirred slightly, tangling herself in the sheets even more.

And Loki… gods. If – when – he found out where she had gone he would be driven mad with rage and fear – and Thor had no desire to subdue him again, with this small pale woman in front of him who would ache all the more for it – what in Hel should he do?

The answer slowly fluttered down to him, and he sighed.

He crossed to the other side of the bed and touched her shoulder lightly, saying, "Alana."

Her eyes bolted open quick as lightning and she sat up, eyes searching his. "What's wrong?" she asked.

"Gird yourself," he said with a heavy heart. "We go to battle."

And Alana merely swung her legs from the bed and walked to her closet and emerged forty seconds later in her boots and pants and shirt, strapping on her gauntlets as if he woke her like this every day.

She twisted the dial on her gauntlet and her armor flowed to her, gold and brown and blue, her fingers reaching out to pull daggers from numerous nooks and crannies throughout the room, fastening them at her sides.

"I'm ready," she said, and his heart sank even more.

Loki had barely fallen asleep when he was awoken by the creak of a floorboard.

He remained perfectly still, eyes closed – the only exception to this stillness was his fingers reaching out to pull a knife, secreted away from a meal, towards him from under his pillow.

Soft footsteps (two of them, I can take two) approached, and then paused beside his bed.

"He looks tired," a low voice commented. "He has not been sleeping well of late."

Thor. What the Hel was Thor doing here in the dead of night – and who was he talking to?

He felt the bed depress next to him – too light for Thor to be sitting next to me – and then another voice said, "He's not sleeping now, either," and touched his cheek lightly and his eyes are open wide now, turning to see her sitting next to him, a small smile on her face and clad in armor in the small hours of the morning and his heart dropped from his mouth into his gut – please no.

Thor said, "Alana, there's not much time. I'll be outside."

He exited and Loki's hand came up to cup her cheek – she closed her eyes briefly, her brow smoothing, and he said softly, "What's going on?"

She opened her eyes and said, "The vanguard is going to Alfheim," and with those six words he knew to what she was going.

"No," he said, "no, Alana, please – " and she embraced him hard, arms around his neck – her warmth and weight real and sturdy and there – and she was going to war.

She pressed her forehead to his. "Not war, Loki – not war. Just a place that needs our help. Just one fight and then we come home."

He turned his head away from hers. "Why do you have to go?" he asked, trying to hide the thickness in his throat, the pounding of his heart, double-time.

"Because," she said, "if I'm there, the chances are better that we all come home, that we all stay safe."

He was so close to losing her forever – half a day or an hour away from losing her to the depths, from falling there himself.

"And because," she said again, "If I wasn't going, I couldn't do this," and she pressed her lips into his, hungry and searching, and he can feel the moisture clinging inside of his closed eyelids, trying to memorize this – the taste of her, the weight of her, her smell and feel and every detail of her presence in his arms.

"Take me with you," he whispered into her lips as they pulled apart. "Take me with you, Alana, please – " and she pressed her forehead into his again and said, "I can't, Loki," and he felt as if he was about to shatter into a hundred thousand pieces.

"I need," he said roughly, "I need you to come back," and he cupped her face in his hands – "do you understand me, I need you back, Alana, swear to me you'll come back."

She kissed the tips of his fingers. "I swear," she said softly. "I'll be back soon."

And the image from the nightmare crept into his mind, of her burning on a boat in the middle of the river with no way for him to reach her – Thor bearing her body back to Asgard from this battle, never to smile or laugh or live again – he pulled her close to his chest again, trying to enfold her in his arms completely, so that there would be nothing left for Thor to take to Alfheim.

She pressed her hand flat to the center of his chest and whispered his name, once.

The door creaked open again – time running even shorter, sand flooding from the hourglass – and Thor was there, her name on the tip of his tongue, and as he spoke it, she whispered, "I love you, Loki," right against his pounding heart, her lips pressed against his chest for one second more – and then it was "Alana," from Thor and she was flowing away from him – please no.

He stood up quickly, right in front of Thor, a hand keeping him from moving. "Your word," he said, fiercely. "Again."

Thor hesitated for a second, then said, "I give it."

And then they left – the door swinging shut like it had never opened at all, like it was all some horrible nightmare –

He had forgotten to say I love you.

It was eerily quiet as they picked their way through the ash and the rubble of a small town in Alfheim. There was hardly a breeze, hardly a sigh on the air – even her breath seemed to evaporate into the stillness without a sound.

Thor had explained to her that the capital of Alfheim was under attack by a group of N'itouri – around forty or fifty. But they had been pummeling the smaller outer towns for weeks, burning and murdering and then disappearing again without a trace. It was suspected that they had infiltrated the capital by means of shape-shifting and then taken over the large palace at the city's center. It was likely that the minister of Alfheim was dead. The N'itouri had barricaded themselves inside, emerging every so often to pillage and raid.

They were approaching from the east of the city, through several ruined towns, and already Asgard felt so far away…

She stopped walking abruptly, and Thor noticed. "What is it?" he asked, his voice low.

"We're being watched," she whispered to him. "One N'itouri, about fifty yards away, to the left."

Thor did not turn, but his eyes flicked to the spot she had mentioned. "Are you sure?"

"Yes." She could feel the presence there, the light of its mind concealing the darkness within, turning her stomach, tensing her muscles.

Thor nodded and said, "Bring it to me."

She thrust her hand out to the left and pulled – there was a roar of rage as the N'itouri tumbled through the air towards them and landed in front of Thor, on his knees, hands behind his back.

He snarled at them and tried to move but it was futile – she had him tightly pinned to the ground.

Thor crouched down in front of the N'itouri. "You were watching us."

The N'itouri bared its teeth and said nothing.

"Why?"

When the N'itouri was again unresponsive, Thor said, "Sigyn," and she swallowed briefly before entering its mind, feeling it reeling, coiling, undulating and dark.

She pulled away and said, "He hasn't contacted anyone yet – he was looting the houses and got left behind when the other N'itouri invaded the palace."

Thor smiled tightly. "So no one would know if he was dead."

The N'itouri sneered at them. "You think killing me would accomplish anything? Think again, varshirkt. There are thousands of us and you cannot defeat your enemies when you think them to be your friends." And with that his plating began to ripple and shift – she kept a tight hold on him – and he melted into the form of a woman, her hair long and golden, her face kind but scared, clothed in blue. "Thor?" she asked with fear in her voice.

Thor faltered for a second, surprise and anguish on his face, but then he collected himself and growled, full of rage, and hefted Mjolnir in his hand, ready to strike – but she touched his arm. "Thor," she said. "I can still find out more."

The N'itouri shifted again and her stomach dropped, because now it was Loki, face gritted in pain, eyes reaching towards Thor. "Help me," he said, "please, help me."

She clenched her teeth, shook off the sight of his eyes reaching desperately out to hers and stretched out her hand towards Loki's – not Loki's – forehead, curled her fingers and pulled.

He screamed in pain but could not move – she began to sift towards the memories flooding towards her, the tendrils limp and weak – and his skin was cracking, peeling away – but it still had Loki's face and so she pulled harder, fingers tightening and the alien released the disguise, its high pitched scream continuing, ringing through the air – damn, it would give them away – and so she silenced him, preventing him from making a sound, still filtering the thoughts, the memories.

And then it was done and she released it, and the N'itouri fell panting to the ground, curling up into a ball, shaking.

She turned to Thor, her eyes meeting his (more afraid than he would care to admit), and said, "I know why they're here."

Loki watched the sun rise from his balcony, hoping that every second would be the second that they would return, that a point of rainbow light would flash out from the skies – but to no avail.

He pushed his hair back and waited, eyes hungry for a change in the horizon.

They crept towards the palace – Thor, her, and the rest of the Einherjar.

Her heart was hammering in her chest as they walked silently through the city streets – empty and dark. Thor had said that there would be N'itouri patrolling the streets… but so far she had detected nothing.

But then – there! A single dark mind was walking the streets as silently as they were. It was far enough away, for now… She touched Thor's arm and signaled silently to him where it was – he nodded and steered them away – five Einherjar peeled away from the group and crept in the direction she had pointed.

She tracked them as they stalked the N'itouri – who barely registered their presence before the light of its mind was extinguished.

She could see the palace, still flickering with lights – not so grand, nor so gold as Asgard's, but softer, rounder, more peaceful.

Of course, that was because all the inhabitants were dead…

Thor tapped her on the arm and touched his finger to his forehead. She nodded and her eyes flicked to blue, and he said, We need to determine exactly how many are in the palace, and if there are any elves still harbored inside.

She nodded and pulled away from him, closing her eyes, focusing hard on that pale building up ahead.

Around her there was Thor, bright and warm, and the three Einherjar, taking up positions around her, just in case – she concentrated and the city flew beneath her in her mind, the palace walls disappearing as she searched – three there, four there, ten there, two there - identifying the spots of boiling darkness.

She opened her eyes and touched Thor's brow.

There are forty-eight N'itouri inside the palace, and no other living beings. They must have killed all of the elves.

Thor nodded grimly and hefted Mjolnir, and the group began to advance towards the palace again.

The magnificent doors were hanging off their hinges when they reached the palace – it was easy to slip through them and into what was left of the large entry-hall.

Enough of the white pillars were there to still support the roof, but blood stained the marble, and rubble filled the hall, though torches still burned in their posts.

She grasped a dagger more firmly in her hand.

It was so quiet it was like a tomb…

Torches suddenly flared in a dark hallway leading off of the entry-hall – they all froze as the torches approached them, talons clicking on the marble…

A group of two N'itouri walked into the middle of sixty Einherjar and realized that they were trapped – guttural screams burst from their throats before they died, the noise echoing in the high-ceilinged room – and she could hear answering screams coming from hallways surrounding them, and the pounding of feet swiftly approaching.

Thor hefted Mjolnir and shouted, "To arms, Einherjar!" and they roared their battle cry as N'itouri flooded the room.

The clash of blade on blade and blade on armor and weapons firing filled the air with their clamor – and she began to throw her daggers, curving them through the air to take down one N'itouri after the other.

One charged her and she ducked – its swipe passed over her head, and she reached out and grabbed the creature, throwing it into the air and pinning it to the ceiling, then letting it drop hard and fast. It made a sickening crunch as it hit the ground and she swung around and immediately ducked – a blade flew over her head, so close she could feel it ruffle her hair – she turned the blade's flight and shot it and her daggers through the air – they weaved and spun through the N'itouri's chests, and they fell, one after the other – a scream from behind her and she turned and ran to the side of an Einherjar who had a gaping wound in his abdomen – she twitched her fingers and the N'itouri next to him flew into a pillar and fell to the floor.

She knelt beside him, her hand pressed to the wound in his side – he grabbed her wrist with wide eyes, breathing heavily.

"It's okay," she said, "you're going to be okay, all right?"

The blood was still running through her fingers – she adjusted her hands to cover more of the flow.

An N'itouri came raging up behind her – an abandoned dagger on the floor flew up and buried itself in its chest – the Einherjar's eyes were still wide with terror.

"Look at me," she said, softly. "It's okay. You're safe now."

And she closed her eyes and reached deep into his mind, into his body, soothing him, comforting him, knitting his muscles and nerves and veins back together – another N'itouri tried to surprise her but he was dead before he hit the floor – the Einherjar's eyes rolled back into his head as she touched his mind and told him to sleep.

She gently laid him down on the ground and lifted him across the palace floor, to an alcove where he could rest undisturbed.

The bleeding had stopped, but her hands were coated in red.

She was so tired, all of a sudden…

She felt a clamor taking place two hallways down – Thor was outnumbered and outmatched, fighting off ten or fifteen N'itouri.

She wanted this to be over, she was so weary, and Asgard felt so far away…

She hastened to help Thor – but a hand caught her boot, and she looked down.

"Sigyn," the Einherjar whispered and she knelt beside him. His eyes had opened now, and he was staring at her in wonder. "You have given me back my life."

She smiled faintly. "Rest," she said. "You have done more than enough."

He could only watch as she moved away from him, daggers spinning from the floor, through the air, into her hands.

It was midafternoon on Asgard and Loki had a pounding headache from pacing and worrying.

He rubbed his forehead with the heel of his hand, trying to work out the creases there, to relax his muscles.

He couldn't stand being in this room for any longer –

He twisted his fingers impatiently and a clone appeared, curled up in the bed.

He crossed to the far wall and touched it three times – the stone slid aside – he entered.

The passage, which he had discovered when he was young, led to several different places in the castle. He doubted that Odin knew about it – otherwise he would never have been allowed to stay in his chambers.

One of the hallways that the passage opened up on was close to Alana's room.

He didn't care if he was seen – he walked out without a second glance and into her bedroom.

It was empty, of course, (of course) – the covers of the bed still mussed and tangled, but only on one side – his heart ached at the sight, because his bed was a mirror image of hers – he could imagine them both, alone in the night, pretending the other lay beside them –

There was nothing personal in her room, just a vase of flowers on a small table and of course, the closet filled with gowns that she might never wear –

He sat down on his side of the bed, stretching out a hand to touch the tangled sheets – they were cold.

He was so tired…

He lay down, staring at the emptiness where she should have been.

Thor swung and took out two N'itouri (and another on the backswing) but he was getting overwhelmed, there was no doubt about that.

Three N'itouri suddenly fell, daggers buried in the back of their heads, and he let out a disgruntled huff.

"Took you long enough to get here," he said to Alana, who had joined him, her hands covered in blood.

She shrugged. "I overestimated your mightiness."

He chuckled in spite of himself and together they began to turn the tide, the grey-skinned creatures falling around them, one after another.

It was finally quiet in the room, but for the moans of injured Einherjar.

She moved from them, one to the next, kneeling beside them to try and heal them, and

hands began to reach for her, from the ground – Einherjar wounded and bleeding called out her name – she comforted them as best she could, reached down deep into their minds and sang them to sleep with the songs of their childhood, reached down deep into their bodies to try and knit them back together, over and over and over and over – most of the time it worked, but there were some – there were some –

She inhaled deeply and touched an Einherjar's neck – so much pain, wracking his mind – she knew that these injuries could not be healed, not even by someone more skilled than herself - with one hand on his neck and one on his forehead, she soothed his mind as she reached into his veins and stopped the blood, stopped the heart – his eyes grew blank and peaceful.

She lowered him down to the floor and closed his eyes with a touch.

Another one next to him, and another… she was so tired but if she did not do this they would die…

A hand tugged weakly at her boot – a young Einherjar with dark hair lay there, bleeding from a deep gash across his chest.

She knelt down beside him and tried to smile.

"It's okay," she said softly, pushing his hair back from his forehead. "You're going to be okay."

He smiled faintly at her – and then his eyes flicked to yellow and he lunged.

A hand touched his shoulder, and he opened his eyes and stood.

Thor was standing before him, hands wet with blood up to his elbows, and Loki's heart dropped out of his stomach, down to the depths – please let her be standing just behind him – a small choked noise emerged from his throat – Thor handed him a dagger with blood-slicked hands and knelt before him, throat bared.

"Do it," Thor said, voice wracked with pain. "I broke my word."

He let out a scream of anguish and pain and rage, and swung the dagger blindly – he felt it contact with metal and leather and then flesh and blood – and Thor did not make a sound, merely closed his eyes and fell softly to the ground.

He brought his bloodstained hands up to his face, his chest heaving – the dagger fell from his fingers to land on the floor – he looked down and Alana was lying sprawled before him, blood pooling on the ground, her eyes sightless – he screamed again and sank to his knees, pressing his hands to her chest, blood pulsing through his fingers –

He gasped for breath and heaved himself out of the bed, shaking and sweating.

He stared down at his hands, pale as always – her blood vanished – he buried his face in his hands, trying to control his gasps of panic and fear.

He wove the magic furiously, molding it together, shaping it tight – trying to find the charm on her necklace – trying to find her.

He wasn't sure if it would work – Alfheim was far away – but the magic complied to his demands, and a small dot appeared on the map.

He moved the map closer and closer and closer to the planet, zooming silently through empty streets made of light –

And she was there, a small figure of light, moving and fighting enemies he could not see – he exhaled slowly, his heart still beating fast.

He touched the tips of his fingers to her flickering shape, but there was nothing there but air and light.

He rested his chin in his hands and watched her move through the air.

The N'itouri went for her throat, and her senses kicked into overdrive, and time seemed to slow down.

She could smell the rancidness of its breath, feel the heat emanating from its body – gleaming ragged teeth lunging towards her – she tried to push him away with her telekinesis but she felt so weary, her reflexes so slow – and as the creature drew closer and closer, she thought, This is where I will die.

She felt a pang of regret – Loki had been so afraid, she had promised to come back, she had promised – but she could not grasp at the N'itouri's mind, nor its body, her powers sluggish and slow – I promised him I'd come back, I promised, promised, promised…

She closed her eyes as the maw of the beast drew nearer, one hand closing around the charm on her necklace, hot as a flame.

I'm so, so sorry, Loki….

She could feel steel-tipped talons grasping her upper arms – feel the force of its body pushing her back – registered the pain and shock and impact of flying through the air to crash onto hard marble – she felt the weight of its body, crushing her - she felt teeth graze her throat –

A blur of red and the N'itouri's weight abruptly vanished – she curled into a ball, hand still clenching her necklace tightly, tears streaming down her face.

A snarl and a roar and a crunching and everything was quiet once more.

Footsteps approached her, and Thor knelt beside her, enfolding her in his arms.

He murmured calming words as she cried into his chest, his huge hands gentle as they comforted her.

"You're safe," he said softly. "You're safe."

Loki was in a blind panic.

He had seen her thrown across the palace and land limp like a rag doll, had seen her curl into a ball, had seen her gathered up into someone's embrace, unmoving – and now she was floating through the air – being carried by someone from the palace.

She couldn't be dead, she couldn't be…

He felt as if he were suffocating as he paced the balcony over and over and over and over again – waiting and waiting and waiting for the Bifrost to awaken, for her to touch his mind –

He should have been there, he should have been there, he should have been there…

The first Einherjar that she had healed carried her, now, as healthy as ever – his name was Dagr, he had said, and that he owed her an unpayable debt – he kept expressing his gratitude.

She smiled faintly and told him to think nothing of it each time he brought it up – now she was half asleep in his arms, the gentle rocking motion soothing her to sleep – the weariness of the fight and of healing thirty Einherjar and of the last N'itouri had worn her down at last.

Thor walked next to Dagr and Alana, keeping an eye on her as the Einherjar moved through the streets of the city once again, those that were able carrying the bodies of their comrades in arms.

He had heard the thud of flesh on marble and had spun to see a N'itouri crouched over her still body and had charged without a second thought – once it was dead, she had wept in his arms – he had been so relieved to find her alive.

Thank the Norns that she was not injured too badly – a few broken ribs, perhaps, and a gash on her neck that he had quickly bandaged – but she was so exhausted from healing the Einherjar that she could not have saved herself if she tried.

A surprising amount of the Einherjar had been willing to carry her – the amazement and wonder on their faces once they found themselves fully healed had transformed into deep admiration and awe for her – Sigyn sal-frelsa he heard them whispering about her – the soul saver – and he knew that their trust in her was cemented.

Dagr had been the first that she had healed – he was flushed with the honor of bearing her back to Asgard.

They had reached the point from which they were to depart Alfheim. He called to Heimdall, and the skies rushed down on them, whirling them through the stars, back to Asgard once again.

Loki shot up as he saw a beam of light emerge from Heimdall's post, fingers clutching the railing of her balcony so hard his knuckles turned white.

A slow procession began to trickle out over the Bifrost, the light flickering underneath the dark shapes, some bearing the bodies of their comrades.

And then – and then –

Two small shapes emerged at the end of the procession – two men, one accompanying the other, who carried a smaller shape cradled in his arms –

He sank to his knees, fingers still clutching the posts, hope trickling away from him…

Thor shouldered his way into Alana's chambers, holding the door for Dagr, who inclined his head in thanks as he carried Alana into the room.

Thor directed him where to place her and thanked him – Dagr bowed and left with one last look back at her – Thor collapsed heavily into a chair.

After a few seconds of stillness, he felt that something was wrong, but he couldn't pin it down. He could have sworn that the other side of the bed had been untouched and unmussed when they had left…

It dawned on him; he sighed heavily and called out, saying, "Brother, show yourself."

Loki appeared out of the shadows, his eyes fixed on Alana. "What happened?" he asked, his voice rough.

He sighed. "She is fine – a few broken ribs, perhaps, but she is mostly exhausted."

Loki knelt beside her and took her hand.

Thor continued, "It's because of her that we survived – I underestimated the N'itouri's strength and tactics. And she healed thirty Einherjar before she was attacked again – her strength was depleted after that, but you should have seen the way the Einherjar look at her now – they are calling her sal-frelsa and saying that she will come to you in your final moments and quiet your soul and sing it to Valhalla or that she will make it as though you were never injured at all."

Loki remained quiet, the dark circles under his eyes speaking of his restless night, his thumb rubbing small circles on her hand.

"Stay with her," Thor said softly; Loki looked up in astonishment. "She deserves it. I can guarantee no one will disturb her until morning, but that is all, I fear."

He pushed himself up from his chair – he could not deny that a soft bed sounded better than Valhalla at the moment – but there was still Odin to brief and the Council to update, and Eir to inform about the injuries…

"You kept your word, brother," Loki said quietly. His eyes flicked to Thor's and he could see the raw emotion barricaded there. "Thank you."

Thor nodded wearily and left her chambers.

In her dreams, Loki lay beside her, their hands entwined– she asked him sleepily if she had died and was in heaven and he had kissed her brow and told her that she was alive, and that she had been so brave, and told her to sleep deeply; he was there, he whispered, and she was safe.

The sun shone warm and golden across her bed – she ached all over and didn't want to open her eyes.

A knock at the door and the sound of it opening: with an immense effort, she pried her eyelids open and tried to sit up – but a burst of pain shot through her chest and she grimaced.

"Lady Sigyn?" a woman's voice said. "How are you feeling?"

She turned her head – that she could do without pain – and registered a tall, dark-haired woman – Eir, the chief healer.

"Less weary," she said with a faint smile. "I think I may have broken a rib, though."

"Mmm." Eir approached her and began to push slightly at her ribcage – she gasped in pain several times. "Yes, definitely a few broken ribs. But I doubt you need me to fix them, after all." Her smile was knowing – she blushed a little and said, "I can't – I don't think I can heal myself."

Eir smiled again. "Well, perhaps you just need more practice."

She smiled back. "Thank you, Lady Eir, but I am sure that you can treat me better than I could ever treat myself – or others, for that matter."

Eir shook her head. "Asgard owes you a debt, Lady Sigyn – without your skills Asgard would be short thirty members of the vanguard. I have observed the Einherjar that you healed last night – they show no signs of injury, yet they described to me in vivid detail what had happened to them, and I say – they would be dead if not for you."

She felt a surge of emotion inside of her, moisture springing to her eyes, which Eir tactfully ignored. "Now, I will prepare a potion for your ribs. Stay in bed, do you understand?"

When she nodded, Eir smiled and swept out of the room.

She sank back into the pillows, and looked to her left – Loki was not lying next to her. It had only been a dream, then… though she had hoped differently.

She closed her eyes, wishing to sink into another dream just like it.

A/N: Yes, the smexy times are coming. I hear ya. Stay tuned.