A/N: Hey all! New chapter today, hope you like it. If you do (or just hate me because I take so long to update) please leave a review :) Thanks for sticking through with me as this posting schedule is absolutely terrible. I'm working on it. :'(

Thanks to RavenJayneAlucard, Ria (Guest), Arkytior's Song, PrettyRecklessLaura, AngelicaWasTaken, xlokiswolfx, Wildhorses1492, and ferbette for the lovely reviews on the last chapter!

TWENTY-NINE

Life is trial by fire

And love's the sweetest taste

And I pray it lifts us higher

To one safe place

- "One Safe Place," Marc Cohn

The funeral was solemn.

The boat that bore Odin's body was intricately carved, and Odin was dressed in his full armor, his sword clasped in his hands.

She stood next to Thor, a little behind and to the right of Loki, as Odin's boat and the boats of the others killed in the attack were slowly carried out into the sea.

Loki extended the hand that held Gungnir, slightly – the Einherjar archer lit his arrow and fired, and the arrow curved far out into the ocean, until it alighted on Odin's boat and set it aflame.

A small spike of pain drove through her mind – Thor, next to her, his eyes fixed on the boat on the horizon – and she blinked back a tear.

Odin had been stern, and calculating, but he had given her a place in Asgard, and for that she was immensely thankful.

The other boats were burning, now, lighting up the ocean, and as Odin's boat approached the precipice where the waters of Asgard left the void, Loki touched Gungnir once on the ground.

And Odin's boat sailed through the air, and she bit back a gasp as streams of what seemed like stardust rose into the air, shining, and ascended up into the night sky.

The people of Asgard lifted up the glowing orbs in their hands, which rose slowly into the air, filling the sky like a hundred thousand stars.

She looked over at Loki, his face set, standing there in full regalia, and she could feel the regret pouring off of him in waves – for all these deaths, for taking the throne, and, most well-hidden of all, the quiet regret that he never saw his mother sent off into the stars.

She bit her lip, lifted her chin, and watched the orbs rising into the dark.

Her bare feet were quiet on the stone floor, cold in the dark of the night.

She walked quietly through the corridors, fingers trailing on the walls, with her eyes closed.

All was silent, but she could feel sleeping minds around her, below her, above her – dreaming peacefully, restless, nightmare-stricken – and the few that were awake - reading, drinking, planning, weeping.

She swallowed as the emotions of the past few weeks rushed through her. The first days were the worst, with the sorrow and rage and fear amplified by thousands – and the Apple working within her meant that it was harder for her to suppress them.

That meant that she had been trying to restrain her tears for quite a while, biting them back when the waves of anguish threatened to overwhelm her, closing her eyes a little longer than necessary to blink the rising tears away.

She had barely seen Loki, barely had the chance to hold him and comfort him and reassure him – just seconds a day, sometimes, a gaze in the Council or a touch in the halls.

And Thor – Thor, stalking the palace with steel in his eyes and restless fingers – how she longed for a moment to apologize, for not being fast enough, quick enough to save Odin, for not protecting him like she should have.

She could sense him now, in his chambers, awake, looking at the horizon, probably waiting for more explosions, watching for invading ships, and everything else he had been doing for the last week.

After she had reawakened from the Apple, freshly scarred and slowly transforming into an Aesir, Loki had taken her hand in his and told her that he was the heir to the throne, his face worried, his mind tumultuous, and she had kissed him and enfolded him in her arms.

"We'll figure it out," she had whispered.

And now after the uproar from the ministers and the Einherjar and the servants and the people in the first week, a week in which Loki had had to use all of his word-spinning and reassurance to prevent a riot in the streets and she had had to use all her pull with the families and friends of the people she had saved, everything was calming down a bit, finally.

The coronation date was set, and Loki had announced the wedding, which had practically set off another explosion in Asgard for all the rumors that had been flying around, rumors that made her want to clench her fists and punch something – rumors that Loki was using her pledge to the realms against her, that he was forcing her into marriage, that she was being tricked, or drugged, or blackmailed. Six Einherjar had already proposed to her in an attempt to save her from him, and another four nobles had tried to convince her to call off the wedding. Three had offered her wealth beyond compare and utter loyalty if she assassinated him.

Those three were no longer in the palace.

She scratched her forearm absentmindedly as she walked and a little shimmer of green light protested the possible revealing of her newest scar; a small smile crossed her face.

The Apple was working, though, slowly but surely – she could feel her strength increasing, day by day, and sometimes she could almost feel it moving through her body, replacing mortal cells with Aesir ones…

She stopped in front of a door and knocked, softly.

"Come in," a tired voice said, and she opened the door.

He smiled faintly and stretched out a hand to her from where he was, at his desk. "Hello, love."

She crossed to him and took his hand; he kissed hers tenderly. "What are you doing?" she asked, softly.

"Mostly trying not to fall asleep, but in theory I am organizing troops from across the Nine Realms – or attempting to."

He smiled wryly. "The Jotunns are still not so keen on me."

She kissed the top of his head. "If anyone can do it, you can."

"I hope so," he said, sighing. "The longer this goes on the more I expect… him to attack again."

"I know."

They stayed there in silence for a moment, then Loki stretched and stood up, yawning. "But if I stay up any longer I'll be so incoherent I'll start another war."

She smiled a little bit and turned to leave.

"Stay, darling – please?" he asked, softly. "Just for tonight."

"I'll be right back," she said. "I just need to talk to Thor."

Loki sighed. "He's still not sleeping?"

"You aren't really either."

He smiled faintly as he unbuckled his gauntlets. "Touché."

"Go to sleep," she said. "I'll be back soon."

She kissed him gently and left.

Thor was standing, bowed over the balcony, as she hesitated in the entryway.

"Thor?" she asked, quietly, and hated how small her voice sounded.

He turned, tense. "What's wrong? Another attack?"

"No, no… I just… you haven't been… yourself."

He turned away again, shoulders slumping again. "I am fine."

She walked up beside him, on the balcony, and looked down at the city below. "Thor, you're not."

There was silence, and then she said, "It's been so crazy around here that I haven't – haven't gotten a chance – " and now the tears from all the pain, from people losing mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, crept up on her as Thor's pain stood out in her mind like a live wire. She closed her eyes for a second, feeling tears hot on her cheeks, and whispered, "I'm so sorry, Thor, I'm sorry I couldn't save him – "

She broke off and bit her lip, hard. "I'm the armustar, I should have protected him - it was my job to keep us all safe and I - I should have known – but I failed, and I – and I - "

She closed her eyes again, restrained sobs shaking her body.

Thor sighed, and wrapped his arms around her. "It is not your fault, Alana – you did nothing wrong."

She wiped her eyes, pulling away from him. "But – "

He shook his head. "It is Thanos, Alana, not you. Never you. Do not doubt yourself. He is the one that will pay."

"But Thor – you need to rest. You've been doing this every night – "

"I'm fine," he said. "I just… need a while."

She sniffled. "Okay. It's just that… well. I know what it's like to lose a father, and… if you need anything…"

He smiled faintly. "I'll remember that, Alana. Thank you."

She wiped her eyes again and started for the door.

"Goodnight, Thor," she said softly.

"Goodnight," he responded, barely more than a whisper, as he turned back to the balcony and the darkness of the night.

Loki's arms curled around her as she climbed into the bed, pressing her close to him.

"I missed you," he said quietly.

She rested her head against his chest and sighed; he felt the dampness of her face in the dark and tenderly wiped her eyes. "Sweetheart, what's wrong?"

"I can't lose you," she whispered, "I can't lose anyone, not again – "

He pressed his lips into her hair, inhaling her scent, and whispered, "You won't, darling, you won't."

She shivered. "But what if – "

"Shhh," he whispered. "You'll have me forever and ever now, remember?"

He twined his hand with hers, caressing Frigga's ring.

"You'll get very tired of me in a thousand years, love."

She laughed faintly and then hiccupped; he chuckled.

"It still doesn't seem real," she murmured, as she looked at the ring. "That something I wanted so much has to happen in the middle of – this."

He sighed. "I wanted to go back to Midgard to marry you – see your house again, the woods, the sky…"

She hummed in agreement. "Someday," she said softly. "When all this is done, we'll go back."

His eyelids were heavy; he yawned and stroked her hair. "When all this is done…" he echoed, tiredly.

She smiled. "Go to sleep, Loki."

She curled into him, her body warm and smooth, and whispered, "I love you," and he closed his eyes and slept.

Fire ripping around her and inside of her veins as the columns fall and Loki staggers out from the ashes with Thor beside him, carrying Odin…

Alana startled awake in the middle of the night.

She tried to breathe, to quiet her mind, which was racing to touch every mind in the nearby vicinity, is it safe, are there N'itouri, are there bombs or Thanos sympathizers or or or or –

"Darling," Loki whispered. "What's wrong?"

She inhaled shakily. "It's nothing, it's just a bad dream – "

"Your eyes," he said. "They were – "

She ducked her head. "I know, I know, it's just – ever since Sumersmal I can't help myself from checking everyone around me, just in case – just in case – "

She couldn't take it anymore, and swung her legs off the side of the bed, standing up. "I should go, I need to get ready for the patrols today."

Loki sighed. "It's barely morning, love, and dawn isn't for hours."

"I know, but – "

"Alana," he whispered. "I swear, it wasn't your fault."

And the tears came flowing to her eyes again and she bit her lip so hard she tasted blood. "I should have done something, I should have seen – "

"No," he said firmly. "None of it was your fault. No one blames you, Alana, couldn't Thor convince you of that? It was not your fault."

She sat back down on the bed, heavily; Loki wrapped his arms around her, pressing his lips to her shoulder. "It wasn't your fault," he whispered again. "It wasn't your fault."

"Are you sure about this?" Freyr asked, tensely.

Loki nodded. "We need all of the realms' help if we are to defeat Thanos. And that includes the Jotunns."

Tyr grumbled, "The Jotunns will never agree to this plan."

Loki ignored him and glanced at Alana, standing in between him and Thor with her eyes closed, her face tilted up towards the sky. "Are they expecting us?"

She nodded. "Yes," she replied, and opened her eyes, blood red fading to gray, and he repressed a shudder.

Throughout the whole planning of the military campaign, this was what he had looked forwards to least – facing his greatest pain, his greatest fear, his greatest hatred – the Jotunns.

He steeled himself and nodded to Heimdall, and the Bifrost opened around them, blazing light and color surrounded by darkness – and then they were standing on ice and rock, surrounded by giants.

He heard Alana inhale slightly in shock, but he inclined his head to their new leader, and addressed him.

"Greetings, Skrymir."

"Odinson," Skrymir rumbled. "It has been long since Aesir stepped foot in Jotunheim."

He smiled politely. "Yet times call for unity."

"Unity," Skrymir scoffed. "When have the Aesir ever been loyal to the Jotunns? They have hoarded our Casket for thousands of years while Jotunheim crumbles without it. They have entered our lands, murdered our brothers –" and here his gaze fell on Thor before flicking back to Loki – "and our king was murdered at your hands, Loki son of Odin."

Loki lifted his chin. "You will pledge yourselves to our cause, to the war against Thanos."

"And why should we?" Skrymir responded, a sneer on his face. "I ask again, what have the Aesir ever done for the Jotunns?"

Loki banged Gungnir against the frozen rock, causing instant silence (and, he was pleased to see, wiping the sneer off Skrymir's face.)

"These matters of the past are irrelevant. The war that is beginning is one that will shake throughout the universe, and the implications are more than you could begin to imagine. Thanos will not show mercy. He will not leave you be. He will raze your world, raze every world, until there is nothing left – nothing."

He paused.

"But," he said, calmly, "Asgard is prepared to return the Casket of Ancient Winters to the Jotunns in return for their service."

Skrymir shook his head. "An empty promise, and one we have heard before. We will not fight for the thought of the Casket while we die for you and our world crumbles if Thanos wins or if he loses. We do not trust the Odinsons – not in anything."

"I am no Odinson," Loki said, fiercely. "And I offer you the Casket – now."

And he twisted his hands and his magic brought it forth, and as he grasped it he felt the coldness travel from his fingertips, up his hands, through his torso, up his neck, unfolding across his face.

The Jotunns took hasty steps backwards, murmuring among themselves. "What trickery is this?" breathed Skrymir.

He smiled tensely. "There is no trickery, Skrymir – this is my own self. I am Laufey's son, and by all Jotunn law and birthright – your king."

Skrymir's face contracted. "You would steal the throne from me, you - runt?"

Next to him, Alana clenched her fists, and he felt her in his mind – Loki, are you sure about this?

I'm sure, he responded.

"Not at all," he said smoothly. "You may continue to rule the Jotunns as you will. I only call on you to remember, that as the King of Asgard, you owe your allegiance to me, and according to Jotunn law, my right to be King of the Jotunns is unassailable. I choose not to invoke this right. However, that is only if …"

"Only if we fight for you," Skrymir answered.

Loki inclined his head. "Yes."

Skrynir stared down at him for a moment, then nodded, slowly. "Very well, Loki son of Laufey. We accept your terms."

"Good," Loki said, and handed him the Casket, feeling the coldness retreating from his skin. "Use this as you will." He glanced at his fingertips as the last traces of the blue disappeared.

Skrynir bowed slightly, his eyes thoughtful. "You will be an interesting king, son of Laufey. Perhaps you will even find a way to lead us through this."

He smiled slightly. "Perhaps."

The Aesir he had brought with him prepared to leave; the Jotunns too began to disperse.

Skrynir glanced at Alana. "Is this your queen?" he rumbled.

He inclined his head.

"She looks twice as fierce as you," Skrynir said, with a smirk, and bowed slightly.

He looked to Alana and shrugged. "She is," he admitted, and banged Gugnir once on the rock – the Bifrost opened, and the light surrounded them once more.

As Asgard formed around them, and the light faded, Alana took his hand. "That was brave," she whispered to him, and pressed her lips to his cheek. "To let them see you – all of you."

He closed his eyes briefly. "Perhaps it will be the last time anyone does."

She smiled slightly. "I hope not." She rose on tiptoe and whispered in his ear, "I like you blue."

He bit back a laugh and she squeezed his hand once – and then the horses were there and they mounted and began to ride back to the palace, and deep in his heart, he dared to hope that what he had just wrought was good.

It was the day of the wedding and he was drowning in paperwork, trying to organize troop movements, supply chains, the warships and groundships and airships.

Thor entered, clad in his regalia, and sighed.

"Only you would work on your wedding day," he said. "This will keep. You must prepare yourself."

Loki glanced at the clock and swore. "You're right."

Thor shook his head, a faint smile on his face.

She swallowed hard – why was she so nervous? – and shifted from one foot to the other.

Her gown pooled around her legs, full and airy and undeniably the most gorgeous thing that she had ever worn, but she still couldn't stop her mind from racing, touching everyone's mind twice, three times, everyone within a hundred mile radius.

Everything is safe, she told herself again. Enjoy your wedding.

The maid curtsied beside her. "My lady, it is time."

She swallowed again, and the maid noticed, touching her shoulder sympathetically. "You do not have to marry him, my lady."

A burst of anger swelled in her heart. It wasn't him – why did they always think that it was him, that she was some helpless damsel forced into marriage? It was the damn war and the fact that he would be king – and –

She took a deep breath, attempting to clear her mind. "Thank you, that will be all."

The maid curtsied again and left.

She inhaled deeply once more and the doors opened in front of her.

Why was the aisle so long?

Barely anyone was here – only a few handfuls of court nobles, it seemed, but they were all standing, looking back at her – and she swallowed again, and then she saw him.

He was standing with his back to her, his cape falling down the stairs, Thor by his side.

She saw Thor looking back at her, smiling slightly and whispering to Loki, whose stance only grew tenser as she walked towards them.

The nobles merely gazed at her as she went by – she caught a few smiles, but overall this had a somber feeling.

Perhaps it would have been different if Loki had been crowned before the wedding – but he had insisted that the wedding come first – why, she wasn't sure.

Now, she kept her eyes fixed on his back, tense under the ripples of green, she could tell, she could see - nearly there – and finally, finally, she was walking up the stairs, Thor moving aside for her as she stepped up next to Loki.

He stretched out his hand to her – she took it facing forwards, not daring to steal a glance at him. It was some custom - they could not look at each other until the vows were done – otherwise it would mean catastrophe for the realm.

A superstition and no more, but neither of them would risk it.

But his hand anchored her, cool and steady, gripping hers tightly once and then lessening.

Thor was speaking now, addressing the silent onlookers, something about love and hope in the midst of war and how lives must go on, despite the horrors.

She wondered, absentmindedly, how many of the nobles still thought she was in love with Thor.

And then he was addressing Loki, whose fingers curled tighter through hers as he swore his heart to her forever, even after the fires of Ragnarok consumed Yggdrasil, even after Jormungand would poison the sky.

She knew what he was saying only because of her intensive tutoring in High Aesir over the past few months - the language roiling, flowing from his lips – a language that had been around for longer than her entire species, used now to seal his love.

And then there was silence and Thor waited for her to continue.

She refused to stumble over these words – she had practiced them for months, alone, staring at her reflection in the looking glass.

She opened her mouth and began to speak her love for him, and her fears began to ebb away, because no matter the surroundings, the world, the language, she would marry him a thousand times infinity because it was the truth.

She finished her vows and Loki's hand was tight in hers.

Thor placed a hand on each of their heads, warm and firm – my brother, she thought in shock, I have a brother again - and said, "Rise, Sigyn Tyrsdottir, and Loki Odinsson."

He said something else but she couldn't hear, she was looking at Loki now as they rose, how proud and tall he stood, the tension in his shoulders gone now, the wonder and love in his eyes, his face damp with tears.

Alana, she heard him say clearly. Her name is Alana.

She wrapped her hands around his neck, her eyes now watery too, and kissed him, feeling his hands around her waist, pulling her close to him, and she could hear in his mind her name, over and over, Alana, Alana, Alana, Alana.

Loki, she whispered to him, and she could feel him smiling against her lips.

Ministers of both war and peace were intent on hindering his brother that night, and he would have none of it.

He waved them aside at the feast, first gently and "with much regret" and then more forcibly.

This meant that they hindered him, but if that were the price he had to pay, he would pay it gladly, for when he looked across the room, it seemed that a burden of a thousand years had been lifted from Loki's shoulders.

The night wore on and the guests began to retire – with the noise and the commotion and the amount of rowdy ale-filled nobles congratulating the couple, he wasn't sure that Alana and Loki had been able to talk at all. He knew that he hadn't spoken a word to either of them since the ceremony.

He leaned back against a wall and nursed his ale.

As children, he and Loki had made extensive plans for both their marriages and their coronations – half-play, half-serious. Loki had always focused more on the coronations than the marriages, especially once they began to reach maturity, while Thor, in the throes of lovesick passion, planned a new marriage every other week, mainly as a result of the latest girl to strike his eye.

He smiled faintly and drank.

But both of them had always, always, thought that Odin would perform the ceremonies. Two marriages and a coronation, the king's hands laid on the foreheads during the marriages, the king's spear presented during the coronation…

He felt so much older, suddenly, like he had shouldered Loki's burden for him. To bury his father, to marry his brother…

Another minister, trailing and a bit drunk, it seemed, was heading on a mostly straight path towards Loki. He set his drink down and intercepted him, citing Loki's need for "one night off from strategy, surely you understand" and then waiting and nodding through a series of mostly nonsensical remarks about how the walls should be fortified using a combination of energy taken from stars and dark matter and something else about the quality of Vanir soups. He smiled and nodded and promised to think on it, slumping back against the wall as the Einherjar escorted the minister back to his quarters.

Alana appeared in front of him, a hand on his shoulder, smiling faintly and a bit wearily. "Thank you, Thor," she said quietly. "I know that you've been playing defense all night."

He smiled slightly. "It was my pleasure, Sigy – Alana. You deserve one night of peace – both of you."

She raised her eyebrows. "I think I could do with an eternity, to be honest."

He nodded, a rueful grimace on his face.

She touched his shoulder again. "Get some rest, Thor. You've done so much already."

He straightened slightly in protest, but he could feel the weariness in his legs, in his feet, in his head. "I'll just wait until everyone is gone. Pry Loki away from whoever he's talking to – after all, it is your wedding night."

She sighed deeply, and he grinned at her. "Do I speak falsely, my lady? Now, I believe that you both – "

"You're hopeless," she sighed, cutting him off, and kissed him on the cheek. "Get some rest, Thor, I mean it."

"I will," he said. "I swear. Once everyone has left."

Loki had apparently finished his conversation, walking up to them, his eyes tired but lighter than Thor had seen them in years.

"Hello, love," he said softly to Alana, wrapping his arms around her from behind, kissing the top of her head. "Sorry that took so long."

"It's fine," she said. "Thor and I were just talking."

Thor nodded. "She was insisting that I get some rest, and I was insisting that I would not sleep until I had seen my brother carry his wife to bed."

Alana rolled her eyes again, her cheeks only slightly flushed; Loki grinned, although she could not see him.

"That sounds amenable to me," he said. "What say you, wife?"

"Can we banish him?" Alana asked, and both of them replied, "Of course."

Loki furrowed an eyebrow. "Which one of us did you mean?"

"Both of you," she responded.

Thor laughed and suddenly groaned, drinking quickly from his mug and placing it down. "Here comes another one." He headed off to the left, intercepting a disgruntled minister of security.

Alana smiled slightly. "He's been doing that all night," she remarked.

Loki looked down at her. "Then what do you say we give him a show?"

He whisked her up into his arms – she laughed and said, "This is ridiculous, Loki," – and he kissed her fervently as he carried her out of the feasting hall, her arms wound around his neck.

At the threshold, he spun her around so they could both see Thor grinning at them from over the minister of security's shoulder – he nodded and made a small shooing motion with his hand. ("Oh, for god's sake," Alana said, her cheeks still flushed pink from the kiss.)

Loki took that as encouragement to continue, pressing his lips to hers again as he whirled her down the corridors.

The rain had slowed to merely a drizzle by the time they reached his chambers, and the room was cool, the breeze blowing in from the balcony.

It was dark – the candles, placed there hours ago, had been blown out by the wind. He waved his hand, and small orbs filled the room with soft light, hovering in the air.

She smiled and touched one, spinning it in the air. "I love these," she said softly, turning towards him.

He kissed her, lightly, gently, his hands tracing her cheeks, and she curved closer to him – he could feel the warmth of her, the life, and gods almighty, she was his forever.

Their lips parted, barely touching in the glow of his magic. Her eyes found his for an eternal moment, and then she turned around.

His hands came up to her head, and his fingers gently and methodically began to pull the pins from her hair, one by one. As her hair came out of its elaborate style, the locks fell freely down her back.

His hands threaded through her hair, his fingers unraveling the braids, and when he was done, they came to gently rest at the lacing of her dress (a question).

She pulled her hair over her shoulder, baring her back to him, (the answer) and his fingers began to pull the ribbons from her dress, slowly, carefully.

The dress slipped to the floor.

His hands traced down her sides and settled on her hips. The chill of his palms traveled through her and she shivered. He kissed the side of her neck, tenderly.

"Beautiful," he whispered softly.

His lips touched her neck again, his long fingers spreading across her stomach, just brushing her scars, and he tensed suddenly, his hands falling away from her. He let out a small sigh and whispered, "Look at what I have done to you."

She turned to face him, her eyes reaching for his.

He hesitated before touching the scars streaking across her stomach. "I have hurt you over and over. Look," he said, and his fingers trailed across the long scar on her arm and the small dark scar over her vein, where his blood had entered her body. "I did this. I did this to you."

His eyes met hers, full of pain, the wonder of the past hours forgotten. "Why are you here with me tonight, Alana? I have scarred you forever."

Her fingers pulled at his as she reached for his hand, placing his fingertips against the bullet wound on her collarbone. "I was scarred before you, Loki."

The heel of his palm rested over her heart. She could feel it beating, pulsing against his hand, and took his other hand in hers, placing it against her stomach. "And these – you saved me, Loki. You saved me."

Her hands traced up his chest – he was tense, his eyes closed, his hands still touching her scars. "Without you I wouldn't be here, Loki. Without you I would be dead by poison or by fire, or loneliness, or – name your pick, Loki, you saved me. You saved me."

"I hurt you," he whispered. "I hurt you, Alana."

"I don't care. I love you," she said, "and so I married you. So I forgive you." Her hands touched his face, cupping his cheeks.

"I love you," she said, softly. "Forever, Loki."

He turned his head away from her slightly – she could feel his fingers trembling slightly, still pressed against her scars.

"Look at me, Loki," she whispered, drawing his face nearer to hers, fingertips pressing gently to his jaw.

His eyes met hers.

Forever? he asked softly, watching her eyes shift to green for half a second.

"Forever," she whispered back to him, the light in his mind that was her presence repeating it again and again, forever; forever; forever, Loki; forever.

Her lips met his quietly, her body pressed up against his, and her fingers unfastened his armor and his leathers and his woolens, gently casting them aside – releasing him of all of his defenses, his plating, his invulnerability, and he kissed her back, skin pressed on bare skin, sweeping her up in his arms and laying her down on the bed.

He kissed the scar on her collarbone. "My queen," he whispered.

She let out a small laugh. "I'm no queen, Loki."

He smiled and kissed her scar again. "Not yet."

She inhaled sharply. "Oh god, Loki, I don't – I can't be queen."

He smiled again. "You'll be wonderful."

"No, I – I don't know anything about that, I can't - "

He touched her cheek. "Alana. Do you know why I pushed the wedding to before the coronation?"

She shook her head. "No."

His hand traced from her temple to her chin. "Because I never want to rule a day without you by my side."

He kissed just above the scars on her belly. "I love you," he whispered against her stomach, his voice muffled.

She stroked his hair, her hands soft and tender, and they ran down his back as his body skimmed across hers, her lips catching his, his weight comforting, reassuring, her Loki, hers, forever and ever and ever.

He pressed his forehead to hers, his eyes closed, and whispered again, "I love you, Alana," and her fingers spread across his back, pulling him closer, closer, closer –

She closed her eyes and smiled.

He awakened once in the night, disoriented at the sight of drapes and silks – he had dreamt that he was back in the dungeons again, sterile and white –

He looked to his right, feeling his breathing slow at the sight of her, laid across the bed beside him, her skin pale in the moonlight, almost glowing – all except for the scars.

The lines streaked across her belly, black and cold, making his stomach twist and his heart heavy, and he closed his eyes as the way that she had screamed echoed across his mind.

She murmured a little in her sleep, her head turning to the side, fingers curling slightly.

He watched her for a while, watched her breathe in and out, the scars rising and falling with every breath she took.

They were part of her, he thought suddenly with a shock.

He moved towards her, pressing his fingers hesitantly to the lines. She murmured again, her hand drifting down towards his, touching his wrist.

They were part of her now, the scars. They moved with the rest of her body as she breathed now, as she had breathed only the last night, her body warm underneath his, her hands down his chest and in his hair and across his back – so why had he avoided them for so long? They were her.

He shifted and pressed his lips to the dark lines – cool but not freezing, cold but not ice.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, lips brushing her stomach. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," she answered softly, a hand stroking through his hair. He looked up at her to see her eyes opened slightly, bleary with sleep.

"I woke you," he said.

She shifted slightly under him, touching his cheek. "It's fine."

He lay back down beside her, tracing the curve of her arm.

"I love you," she said quietly, and closed her eyes again, moving closer to him so that his chest was pressed to her back.

He kissed the back of her head. "Sleep well."