Hello and good evening to whoever reads this.

Firstly, I know it's been a SUPER long time since I've written this (any!) fic. I've caught up with all your comments, and want to say thank you so much for the concern and best wishes, and for reading. There's no other way to say it other than I got burned out from writing, took a break, and didn't regain my passion for it until the past few months. In that time I've graduated uni, lived and travelled in 2 different countries, had covid 6 (YES SIX) times, and now have a full-time working job like a real adult 😭 On the plus side, I had my plotline and notes for this story saved to my drive, so all is not lost!

But here I am with a new chapter, and for anyone who reads it, I hope you enjoy! As always, warnings are at the bottom of the page to avoid spoilers!

"Allmother."

The heavy golden doors creak shut behind you as Frigga embraces you. You return the hug, then gesture for the nurses to bring Magni forward. "How is he?"

She smiles at your son, but there is agitation in her eyes. "Not better, but no worse. I don't know what is wrong with him."

With some effort, you keep your countenance clear. "The Allfather works too hard, Allmother. I do not doubt his skill but ability also depends on age, surely? Especially under such heavy duties. What does Eir say?"

Frigga twists the end of one long gold curl, already turning her attention back to the figure currently unconscious in the bed. "The same as you... I confess she does not seem overly surprised. The allsleep has often restored his strength. We must pray it does so once more."

Not wishing to grieve the old queen - more than you already are - you murmur an agreement. "I sacrifice to the Norns for Odin every night, Frigga," you say quietly. "With any luck he will be with us in time for the Yule feast, and the realm may be comforted by his presence once more. Here, I will take watch at his bedside. Magni has missed you."

Your mother-by-marriage closes her eyes in relief, and lays a hand on your shoulder in voiceless thanks. Behind you, Magni cries out with glee upon seeing her. It is a small comfort to your guilty heart. Lifting the hem of your silk skirts, you step up onto the edge of the Allfather's cradle. He is almost small, lying with strained breath on the vast mattress, rich furs all tucked round him.

Frigga's taken Magni to the balcony. Sitting, you withdraw the small stopper with fast, practiced movements, uncork it, and bring it to Allfather's lips. He can barely move, but he swallows obediently as you tip the last drops of the mixture into his mouth. You reach out a hand to touch his face. It is deeply lined and clammy, and you tuck the stopper away and pick up the small goblet of water from the stool beside you to wash the toxin down his throat.

Silently you pray that he rots away in the great golden bed.

Upon leaving them some hours later, you are surprised to find Eir lingering by the doors. The healer gives a curt, professional bow before beginning. "My Queen, I heard you were here. A word?"

"Yes, of course. What do you need Eir?"

You respect the head healer - she has been in Frigga's trust since long before you had been a handmaid, yet never flaunted her authority the way other senior members of the staff were wont to do. Of course, once Thor had started courting you those same people had suddenly found plenty of time and smiles and manners for you.

Besides, in this situation, she may well become your biggest threat. She would need to be handled carefully.

Eir steps away from the door and beckons you to join her. "Only a moment of your time. I do not wish to worry the Allmother - not with everything she has already had to endure this year, but I feel a possibility must be voiced."

Your eyes fly to her. "What possibility?"

Odin will die. He will retire. Eir will force him away from the palace in perpetuity for the sake of what little health remains, and then you can stop all this plotting. It is so tiring...

"The possibility of this being unnatural, Your Grace."

Your feet stop as your mouth goes dry. "Unnatural? You mean... that someone is doing this to the Allfather on purpose? But who could do such a thing?" You try to infuse your tone with the appropriate measure of surprise and fear.

Apparently you manage it well. Eir interprets your reaction for horror, and she looks at you sympathetically. "Exactly that, my Queen. His body has certain symptoms not usually seen before. Frothing of the mouth, tremors, muscle wastage... I fear it may be poison, whether magical or biological." Your arms tighten around Magni. You are doing this for him, you must remind yourself, so that he does not grow to be Odin's puppet. "It may well only be that he is due for the Sleep," the healer reassures you. "As he well knows, I have long advised that he stop taking part in the stresses of court. Nonetheless, I will be keeping a closer eye on his progress to alay doubt."

"Have you told the King of your suspicions?"

"That is my next task. But I thought - with the Prince being so young - that you may wish to know first."

"Thank you for your loyalty," you murmur. "I will not forget. But Eir..." You pause as a servant hurries past, about his business, before continuing. "The King, of course, ought to know. And yet we have seen that he has made some... harsh decisions of late. And with the current unease between ourselves and Alfheim and the populace, I think it may be best to leave these concerns for me to break to him at a moment that suits. "

Eir nods gravely. Internally, you breathe easy again. "Very well my Queen. In the meantime, would you like me to send you a small antidote? Should the worst happen, it is always wise to have aid at hand."

"Of course you are right - I shall collect some from you when it's ready."

You thank her again, escorting her halfway to the healing rooms before veering off back to your chamber, only briefly stopping on the way to collect a dish for Magni from the kitchens. Your sudden appearance causes a flurry of activity, but you are so distracted you barely notice. Before you can reach your rooms, the Einherjar pass by, Loki with them, discussing some matter. You quickly turn down another corridor to avoid them all.

Despite what you tell Frigga, the truth of the matter is that the realm is not suffering without Odin. Many of the people seem appeased by their King's form of justice. While there had been much initial shock at the executions, it had given way to a begrudging respect from the soldiery, who were used to such brutal shows of strength. Even those who did not respect the hard consequence now regard Loki with a higher degree of fear than before - and that fear bred obedience. Now people bow and curtsey in the streets, where before they would have only whispered.

How easily Asgard accepts this new brand of justice unnerves you. But if Loki must flourish for the moment, in order to be rid of the threat of Odin's constant shadow, then you must accept it.

You reach your chambers, bolting the door behind you in case either of Magni's nurses come looking for him. Setting him down among cushions, you give him a spoon and encourage him to eat his own food, before flying to a wooden chest full of shoes.

Your riding boots - high and lined with wool, and never cleaned by the servants unless you expressly ask - conceal the item you seek.

The small vial, with a plain cork, lies in the palm of your hand. Inside, the deep dark droplets of your fresh brew of poison slosh around. For a moment you deliberate. You've come this far; if you could only sneak a little more into Odin's water, then he may worsen and that would be the end of it. Perhaps you are being too hasty?

But when you hear Magni chattering to himself, you know it is too risky. And so you take the vial into your washroom, and pour the venom down the sink. Rinsing the basin and vial for good measure, you return to Magni and unlock the door.

When the nurses arrive mere minutes later, you are sat watching him, cooing. They curtsey as always. One of them sniffs curiously. "There's a lovely smell in here, Your Grace."

You flash her a smile and lift the glass vial, now filled with clear fragrant liquid. Dabbing a small droplet onto your wrist, you reply, "Oh this? I found this perfume in the marketplace."

There are small mercies. With the Allfather ill and abed over the past few weeks, there have been no outside influences to manipulate you and your husband into each other's company. Loki does not ask for your presence again after your angry refusal all those nights ago. Now you only see him in the corridors or banqueting hall on the rarest occasions. He barely acknowledges you.

The coldness that has grown again between you has served a purpose - Loki spends his time ruling without the Allfather guiding him.

It is odd, you muse once you are back in your rooms, to think that not so long ago you had feared his retribution over the the slightest things. Now you almost feel numb to it. You had learned there was something worse than Loki; and that something you had managed to bring to its knees in it's very home.

You catch your train of thought slipping and reprimand yourself mentally. It would not help to grow overconfident in your doings, lest you betray yourself. If you did, even Loki's remarkable patience would run out. And you have no plans to end up with your own head upon a block.

In the darkest nights you do wonder - whether you should attempt to reconcile with him, attempt a seduction, attempt to exert your own influence once again. But a dead boy's corpse turns you away from the thought. For all his progress, you fear that if Odin recovers Loki will return to being his father's puppet. And in truth, you know he would see the lie behind your eyes.

There are many nights that you worry about the person you are becoming.

But the days give you no time to idle in thought. Yule is almost here; now come the ballads and winter ales, the great communal banquets and the felling of oaks. The twelve-day Yuletide feast is the largest that Asgard knows. There is not a citizen on the realm who will eat alone or miss the tree carvings, who will not share in the spoils of the Great Hunt. For centuries the Hunt has taken place on other planets; often Midgard for their huge boars. All that are slain are brought to Asgard for the festivities. Which you are currently arranging, for the sixth time.

Thor had loved the occasion and had always taken an interest in planning it with you - Loki seems content to leave it under your jurisdiction. That suits you very well.

With Odin gone, you have set to work curating love and loyalty for yourself and your son. You dance with generals at dinner and lunch with their wives and daughters; always in the interest of ensuring support for Magni. To markets and merchants and militia alike he follows you, always at your side, and they fawn over him every time. His future is being crafted in your hands and you are determined to produce such an outpouring from all of Asgard that will give pause to any who may think of causing him harm. Or of disinheriting him, the thought whispers deep inside your mind.

You have never considered yourself a jealous woman. It seems an ugly and petty emotion - living such long lives means it is only natural for the Aesir to have passing fancies here and there. But, in your opinion, a solid partnership is one where these things can be shared and dealt with swiftly, rather than resulting in an outpouring of rage or violence. So it is not out of jealousy but rather self-preservation that you wonder what Loki does with his empty nights.

A fair maiden he could bed discreetly - but there are those in Asgard who may pose a threat to both you and your son if he was to develop depth of feeling for them.

Not that you trust in his emotions anymore. They are clearly fleeting and fickle.

Unbidden, a memory of his hands on you, his lips, his promise, flicker across your mind. Shaking your head sharply, you immediately banish the thought. Surely whatever pleasure you had felt then had been only a trick of the senses.

In line with Asgardian tradition, there are no guests to be invited to the realm for the duration of the feast. It is strictly Aesir only - the day before it begins, yourself and Loki will receive tribute from each of the planets that Asgard watches over, either gifted by their ambassadors or brought by messengers.

Midgard and Svartalfheim are the only realms that do not contribute. Midgardian boar makes up the banqueting meat, which is its own tribute, and the planet of the Dark Elves was so thoroughly razed by the Aesir forefathers that there is nothing to protect. So instead on this day, after bathing Magni and doing some exercise in the training yard, you dress for court and make your way to the throne room.

As royalty it is your right to overstep those who wait in line for their turn before Hlidskjalf. But you do not - you know it endears you to the court. As the line moves quickly however, it is not long before Loki spots you. His eyes narrow momentarily and he interrupts the citizen already speaking to call out. "My Queen. Come forward."

The use of the possessive noun rattles you and your shoulders tense. But you ignore it otherwise. This should be an easy request.

"Your Majesty," you speak, "This is Asgard's first Yuletide without Thor among us. As his widow and the mother of his son, I humbly ask your permission to visit the place where he... fell, so that I may pay my respects to his memory."

Loki's answer is immediate. "Denied."

You are not the only person taken aback by his response; behind you, whispering ensues throughout the ranks. "But-"

"It is too dangerous."

You argue back, voice raising. "Yet traders and soldiers are using the old passageways are they not? Why are they safe enough for them but not for me?"

"Because you are the Queen of Asgard." Loki's voice is uncompromising. "Your safety is paramount."

"But I-"

"That is my final word." He watches you with steely eyes. You do not stand aside.

Muttering erupts in the court all around you. You can see Loki's jaw tic. "Was there something else, My Queen?"

You glare back at him, so lost in your anger that propriety is almost completely forgotten. In the corner of your eye, you can see courtiers watching with wide-eyed suspense. But you recover yourself and reply stiffly. "Only that we distribute the tribute we receive this Yule to the furthest and smallest communities among us. If it's not too dangerous of course, my King."

Incredibly, Loki chuckles at your barb. "Why of course not, my Lady. Who could deny you your performances of good deeds?"

The inference hits you like a weight; your face falls a little. Impossible - he cannot know - you have been so painfully careful!

Then you realise he is still smirking and that it is only a jab, and you calm your pounding heart. Giving the shallowest bow possible, you leave the throne room. Clearly, you will have to work on managing your response to suspicion.

Two days before Yuletide, the whole palace is summoned to the throne room. The crowd stretches from the foot of Hlidskjalf all the way to the huge gold entry doors. Loki sits on the throne, but it is a plump older man with an impressive beard who reads the declaration from the first step. Beside him stands a bald man with dark tattoos. You are not sure if he is familiar. "Listen well! By the will of our King Loki, the bifrost is to be put back to use immediately, so that travelling citizens may return home to celebrate the upcoming festivities. To this end, a new Gatekeeper has been appointed - Skurge!"

Skurge? You frown, trying to recall him. You cannot. The news is well-received though; cheers erupt from the court as the herald bids them to spread the word to the city. You know that by tomorrow morning even the farthest mountain villages will have heard the news.

Then you realise - if the bifrost is in use again, perhaps you will be able to go and pay tribute in Alfheim.

Chancing your luck, you step before the throne. One look at Loki's irritated face tells you his answer has not changed.

Wordlessly, you depart.

Finally all is almost done - the seating planned, the boars hunted, the ale poured. You sit at the high table in the feast hall at midday beside your husband, smiling and welcoming each ambassador in turn as they present their tribute.

Reels of silks from Vanaheim. Sapphire and obsidian jewellery from Jotunheim, the stone unnaturally resilient. An ornate new sundial from the dwarves of Niflheim. A massive crude pot of molten lava from Muspelheim, which makes the Einherjar shake their head and remove it before something catches fire. Clearly Surtur was not in the holiday spirit.

Alfheim's tribute is next, and with it comes a familiar face.

"Ambassador!" You welcome the light-elf warmly. Seeing him so suddenly reminds you of old times.

He bows low twice, first to Loki then to yourself. "Your glorious Majesties. Please accept this tribute from Alfheim, and the well wishes of King Freyr and Queen Gerdr this Yule." The accompanying servants lift a beautiful gossamer cloth to reveal a pale, almost silvery harp and you gasp. Bewitching music floats into the air as it strings itself unaided.

Even Loki is impressed. "A talented piece of magic. What is it made from?"

"The untouched wood of the high trees, inlaid with bronze, and the strings are from Queen Gerdr's own unicorn herd."

"Impressive. Send my thanks."

The ambassador bows again and thanks him, and you rise to go to him. You can feel Loki's eyes on your back. "It is truly beautiful, Ambassador," you tell him. Tentatively you reach out to touch the instrument. The melody changes as if sensing your mood; a serene, muted tune now begins.

"Nothing less would suffice," he replies politely.

He is more formal than he was before - but of course, he is not as familiar with Loki as he was with Thor. The Einherjar who had escorted Surtur's lava off return, and you seize the moment to guide the ambassador away. "A drink, friend? Our best elderberry mead only comes to the city once a year."

Together you stroll over to one of the long side tables that line the walls. As you pour him a horn, he speaks. "My condolences, Your Grace. I was appalled to hear of your husband's death. I trust your boy is safe?"

"Thank you. I think so - I am doing my best to keep him close."

His eyes flit to Loki and then back to you. "My own King and Queen were deeply distressed that such a tragedy occurred on our realm. They are of course willing to offer you any aid you may require."

His gaze locks with yours. But there are servants everywhere, and you have no idea how closely they are watching. You smile lightly. "That is very kind, Ambassador. Do thank them. I will pass your message along to the King."

"Of course. He too must grieve." You say nothing and the elf's eyes look to Loki again. He is distracted in conversation with one of his guards.

"Forgive me, Ambassador, but I don't recall your name. Could you refresh my memory?"

"Andvari. It means cautious spirit."

"Well suited for your post."

"Indeed. On Alfheim we name our children in accordance with their personalities. So, my name is an attestation to my character." You wonder momentarily what your name would say about you. But before you can discuss the matter further, Andvari exclaims, "Ah! Snow!"

Sure enough, fat white flakes are drifting down from the heavy clouds outside. You are thankful for the shields that bar the cold outside the open windows that look out over Asgard.

"Is it true that it does not snow on Alfheimr?" you ask him.

He nods rapidly, entranced by the winter element. "Never! It is eternally spring."

The thought cheers you; endless flowers and greenery and new life. "Perhaps I will see it for myself some day," you tell him softly.

The ambassador bows again. "The Aesir are always welcome among us."

Except for when an Asgardian dies on their land, you think suddenly. This brings you to a more somber topic. "I must ask you Andvari, how does Alfheim fare without our soldiers? I hope the enemy have not broken through your borders."

Andvari pauses, and you sense he is choosing his next words carefully. Your fingers tighten on your drinking horn. "As it happens," he says quietly, "the enemy has given up."

You smile automatically but it does not reach your eyes. "Oh... That is good news. I am happy for your people, that they remain safe, hopefully now in perpetuity! May I ask, when was this withdrawal?"

"Not long after your own soldiers returned home last Spring."

You know what he means. After Thor's death.

Loki is laughing - the first genuine laugh you have heard from him in a long time, as Skurge, the new Gatekeeper, regales him with some story. Your nails dig into the bone horn. "Well you should try this mead, Ambassador Andvari, it really is-"

The great doors of the feasting hall blow open and crash against the walls; ushering in an icy gust of wintry air. Instantly the Einherjar turn and Loki stands; around the room men and women jump to their feet, reaching for defences. Gold metal fills your vision as the closest guards converge around you in an instant.

But no attack breaks out. Instead, a stir moves slowly though the crowd and you can see heads turning. One of the guards who had leapt in front of you stands aside as you move forward, trying to see what has created the fuss. You do not have to wait long.

Fair-haired, long-legged and lashed, the sorceress strolls through the people, her gaze drifting about lazily. She wears a sleek dress the colour of mistletoe. Around her shoulders is a winter fox-fur. Loki smiles tightly when she reaches him. "Amora."

She gives an elegant curtsey, the emeralds in her earlobes glistening with the movement. "My King. Happy Yuletide - and my dearest wishes."

She stands, almost as tall as he, and turns to the sea of staring faces. Her smile is wicked. "Oh, and you all, as you were please."

Hardly anyone looks away at first. It has been a long time since anyone has seen Amora - not for five years in fact.

"He's here," Thor said, rising from the table. You followed him - uncharacteristically waiting for him to go ahead of you. Like your soon-to-be-husband, you were relieved that Loki is well. But the long weeks with no replies to your letters, most of them returning unopened, had made you nervous.

Perhaps he was going through something you did not know of, you reminded yourself. It would do no harm to be kind and ignore the events of your last interaction. The memory of him sneering down at you from his horse made you swallow.

As you leave the hall and the Yule songs faded into the background, your eyes adjusted to the dimness of the hallway.

There he was! Your shoulders relaxed as Loki came into view beside Thor, and you pick up the pace.

"... do not worry me like that again!" Thor is telling him, grasping his face warmly. "Mother was ready to go searching for you herself, she fretted so!"

"Not my intent, I assure you brother," Loki replied with a thin smile. It was comforting to hear his voice again, although he sounded a little distant. "I've been busy improving upon my seidr; there were opportunities too good to miss."

"What opportunities are these? You must tell me, since they were urgent enough to steal you away from Asgard for weeks on end!" When you draw near, the brothers you loved so dearly broke apart - and the frigid breeze does not compare to the look in Loki's gaze. You withered under his glare.

Thor glanced between you, and then took a step back. His hand slipped into yours protectively. "We have both missed you, Loki." You do not speak - Loki's hostility made you shudder.

"I have missed you, Thor," he replied. The exclusion stung. "Married yet?"

"No," you said. You would force him to acknowledge your existence. "We were waiting for you to come home."

That awful acidic gaze swept over you again. "How considerate. I can make no promises, I am suddenly a very busy man."

"Busy with what, Loki?" Thor's voice was still welcoming, but held a little wariness.

Loki smiled like a knife. "Many things brother. I plan first to journey to Jotunheim-"

"What?"

"- to learn the secrets of the ice magic, and then to the remnants of the Dark World. There are said to be ancient relics lost in the ashes of their cities. My companion and I are studying what hidden magic may linger there."

Thor frowned. "Who is this companion?"

In the shadows behind Loki, there was a stir - and then a beautiful woman materialised. Her face is lovely but her eyes are haughty. "Hello Thor," she greeted him, eyes roving over him hungrily in a way which you knew made him uneasy.

"Amora." Thor sounded less enthusiastic. She smiled at him beguilingly, and you shifted uncomfortably. Amora's gaze landed on you.

"And your little..." she paused, the insulting silence hanging in the air, "provincial."

Immediately, your betrothed stiffened. He was an honourable man and honour would not endure her disrespect. "That is enough said Amora. I wish you a happy Yule, but it will have to be in your own home."

"I'm afraid I have expressly invited Lady Amora as my guest, brother," Loki chimed in smoothly. His expression was viciously pleased. "But not to worry. We will stay far from your lover's quarrels."

"...is that?"

The light-elf's question pulls you out of your thoughts. You watch as Amora kisses Loki's cheeks, suddenly feeling as if you are high up in the air balancing on a thin rope. "Amora the Enchantress. A sorceress of much skill. She is... friends with the King." But there are more urgent questions to answer than to do with Amora. "Andvari, I understand if this is an odd question, but humour me." Your eyes sweep the banquet hall. "Do you see anyone here who fought alongside my husband?"

"King Loki?"

You swallow. "Thor."

The ambassador is silent as he looks about. Then he inclines his head, "Yes. Over there-" at a crowded table laughing uproariously, well-plied with ale, sits the renowned Baldur, "- I believe he was present. There were many more of course, but he is one of the few I remember distinctly."

"Thank you," you mutter. "When do you return to Alfheim?"

"Within the next few hours, Your Majesty. Before the bifrost is closed for Yule."

"I shall come and say farewell before you do," you assure him. Andvari returns to sipping his mead gingerly, and you glance at Loki. He is talking to Amora - Skurge long forgotten - and you pick your way across the hall, stopping briefly to exchange passing small pleasantries with dignitaries.

Like Thor once, you know of Baldur but have never spoken with him. When you had been Frigga's handmaiden many of the girls had sighed longingly when speaking of his chiselled jaw and handsome smile.

"Baldur?"

The man turns - he is younger than you by a fair handful of years, a few centuries you would guess. Indeed he is handsome; skin bronze from sun, laughing eyes, and a bright white smile. He sweeps a hand over his silky hair before rising and bowing. "Your Grace. I-"

"Come take a walk with me," you instruct him. Baldur does so, offering his arm in a gentlemanly manner. It brings a small smile to your lips; in more than one way, he reminds you of Thor. Leisurely, the two of you make your way out of the hall. "Have you seen the garden in winter?" you enquire.

He answers no. He is less drunk than you suspected; in fact he seems not only sober, but mild. You guide him and by the time you have wound your way down the stairs and through the corridors into the rose garden, the only people to be seen are those flittering about in the open windows above you.

Your favourite place is painted over with white. Long icicles hang from the cherry blossom branches, the flowers all flaked away and dead. Here and there, bunches of bright red berries pop into view. Underfoot, the clean snow crunches softly as you tread along the path.

You stop beside one of the only bushes that is in bloom. To your surprise, Baldur immediately lets you go and reaches out. He does not pick the three-petalled purple flower - instead he touches the pearl-like smaller bulbs that bend their heads down towards the ground.

"I am fond of snowdrops," he says. "They seem unassuming, yet they are one of the only plants that can survive and even bloom under ice."

You suppress a smile. By the way he speaks, he is clearly used to women hanging on his every word. "Indeed. But I have not brought you here to discuss flowers, Baldur."

"I supposed not." He looks at you sidelong with a smile that fades away. His voice becomes more somber. "You are Thor's wife." He releases the snowdrop; it bounces back into place, undamaged. "Forgive me."

"For what?" Your words are full of surprise.

Baldur sets his jaw. "For not dying with your husband."

He certainly is young. You shake your head, "Don't be absurd. There was no glory in that death, if that's what you think." He says nothing. You change tactic, "Besides, it may be that fate has brought you to me. I have questions about that battle, Baldur, and I hope you will answer them."

In the hall far above, there's a crashing noise and then an eruption of applause. When it dies away, you continue. "Who was the enemy you fought?"

"The enemy?" He frowns. "I could not tell you - there was not much time for speaking."

You consider this. "There were no terms or discussion at any point?"

"None, Your Grace. Truthfully, they were like mindless beasts."

"Beasts? Were they Jotun, fire giants? Perhaps creatures from the cosmos outside our realms?"

"Possibly," Baldur muses. He sighs. "I remember they wore ragged armour."

"What colour?"

"Silver and gold. Their eyes glowed too, like magic." More noise comes from the feasting hall. You move a little way along the path; it is too cold to be outside without proper layers. Baldur walks at your side, "Why do you ask my Queen? Do you suspect something?"

You are quick to reply. "Not necessarily - I only wished to know details of the situation. I have learned that this... army, have disappeared."

Baldur stop short. "Disappeared?" he repeats loudly. "From Alfheim?" You nod and he looks troubled. "Surely not. An army does not just turn into nothing! None of this is right," he says to himself, and you take his arm again, as the path turns.

"Did they speak any language, or were any captives taken perhaps?" you press.

He shakes his head, "No. No... they..." he trails off, as if unwilling to continue. You wait pointedly. "This will sound odd my Queen, but they were no men I had ever seen before. Though they had arms and legs and face, they were... wasted. Like wraiths."

"Wraiths?" you echo, disbelief in your tone.

Baldur sounds guarded, "Yes, Your Majesty. Wraiths. But perhaps it was only the heat of battle; I have fought agian since," he concedes. But you can hear the skepticism in his voice.

As the path circles back around, you let silence fall. Baldur is deep in thought. It takes you some moments before asking him again. "Baldur?" He pauses, beneath the cherry blossom tree again, and his eyes are the colour of the sky. "What happened that night?"

He drops his gaze, shame filling his handsome features. "I could not say, your Majesty. Only that at night we drank and washed ourselves, and Thor went to his tent for the night. The Warrior's accompanied him and... well. It was the hour of the wolf when I was woken from the commotion."

Silently, you entreat him with your eyes. His shoulders droop. "We were set upon by those... things. Don't ask me how they surprised us, I do not know. I went straight to Thor's tent, but I'm sorry, I was too late. I know soldiers said that Loki had been spied moments before, but he was gone by then. When I entered the tent..." Baldur swallows, hard. "I wept, your Grace. It was I who covered Thor in his cloak."

The scene plays out in your mind, absent details. When he finishes, you are choked up with tears. Baldur looks ashamed again, and takes your hands. "My lady, be strong. Thor was well loved, and this is Asgard. The Norns will grant justice to us when the time is right."

Baldur's words are kind and you appreciate them deeply; especially in this cold moment, with Thor's loss suddenly sharp again. You squeeze his hands in return. They are softer than you would expect from a soldier. "Thank you, Baldur. Truly, thank you." He tries to smile but you notice his lip trembling, and to save him the embarrassment of weeping in front of you, you lean forward and give him a comforting hug, so that he may compose himself.

As you stand with your arms around him, the skin on your neck prickles. You let him go, relieved to see he has regained his composure, and glance around instinctively.

In one of the high windows above the garden, Loki's figure stands, watching you.

As promised, you see off Andvari; he leaves you with a quiet promise of shelter on Alfheim for your son if needed. It is less comforting than he thinks it is. From the palace, all watch as the retinue leave, and the bifrost beams into the abyss, before the light retracts once more.

All around the city, a huge cry goes up, for Yule begins now!

Although you are grateful for his honestly, you keep your distance from Baldur that evening, not wishing to raise more sad memories for either of you. Loki spends the evening catching up alongside Amora; though more than once you think his eyes follow you angrily.

What for? It's not as if this day had been much different than the last few weeks.

When you retire, late, you have your answer. Loki tracks your movements outside the hall, all the way back to your apartments, and you don't even realise until you're stepping into your empty chamber. The door does not close behind you - when you turn, there he stands.

"Balding has settled in well then?" His voice is sneering.

"You know his name," you say sharply. "And yes he has. He's the only honest company I can seem to find these days."

Loki scoffs at your jab. "If you are lonely my Queen-"

"I am not."

"- then I suggest you focus on recruiting some ladies to wait upon you. Then you may giggle and flirt to your heart's content."

The last sentence makes you blink. "What?"

He leans forward to make his point when he speaks, an old habit from his youth. "I will not be made a fool of," he hisses. "I spared Lorelai only because she was your friend - but this interloper I will have no such concerns over. You will not flaunt yourself in my own home."

It's a ridiculous accusation and it riles you instantly. "You're only jealous," you spit at him. "You're sore because your wife won't sleep with you and everyone knows it. And you want me to, don't you?" As soon as you say it, you know you've crossed some invisible line. Whatever odd attraction Loki has developed towards you over the course of your marriage has never been spoken aloud. Until now.

Loki has gone very still. He reminds you of a snake, the way his eyes watch you. But for the first time there is slight colour on his cheeks after your words.

"No, my Lady," he says softly, "I fear it would be a lethal embrace."

Your heart does not pound nor do your thoughts fly to panic - and of that you are vaguely proud. But you mostly feel an odd sense of regret, as if you have forever lost something. Though you have not considered each other friends in years now, with those words it will never come back.

But that was only to be expected, no? Embraced even; that you could both finish this odd dance of false niceties and disguised tension. Now, surely, whatever battle comes next can be accepted without any sentiment holding you back.

And yet, as Loki turns away from you and the door falls shut on his storming figure, you feel the keenest sense of distress.

No warnings for this chapter.