Visitation

by kalimecat

Loki has returned to Asgard and is imprisoned for his crimes. While in prison he has the occasional visitor, will the love of others bring back the fallen prince or is he truly too far gone?

15. Revelations

A/N Hellllllllooooo Readers! HAPPY NEW YEAR! I hope you all had a Merry Christmas and terrific holiday celebrations all season long. I hope you all are having a wonderful year thus far I wish for all you the BEST IN 2014! Once again readers I have to thank you for your follows, favorites and reviews. They are constantly a source of inspiration to me and have kept me writing into the new year! I give you all a-round-of-applause (clapclapclapclapclapclapclap) Well without further ado...Here is the first chapter update of the new year for this story!

Happy reads and writes and most of all God bless you in 2014!

WARNING: Spoilers from Thor 2 contained! Though very mild.

"Sigyn! Wait!" Loki called out in futility to the blond Lady-in-Waiting fleeing from his cell. He could hear her muffled sobs echo in the emptiness of his solitary hallway even after she'd darted up the steps desperate to escape his presence. He rushed to the edge of his cell, straining and squinting to catch the last glimpses of her glittering, pink train before she disappeared up the staircase. "Sigyn!" he cried once more watching her golden tendrils bounce on her shoulders as she hurriedly climbed the steps to get away. "Sigyn! Wait!" he yelled once more this time taking a step too close to the force field, his porcelain fingertips had barely brushed against the shield, but still it sent an electric jolt through his body forcing him to gasp and take up step back. He shook his had noting how the shield smoked and fumed. Then he noted the redness of his fingers, singed from the slight burn. With a deep breath it was easy to soothe the sharp pain, with the blink of an eye it was a simple incantation to remove the welts forming on his hand.

The force-field was built for him, built for a powerful mage who Odin was desperate to contain. An enchanter whose power was untapped and untrusted. So those shocks were meant to dissuade Loki from using any magic. It was built for him, to hurt him, but not for her. It wasn't meant to hurt Sigyn, An innocent handmaiden, who was just paying a visit. He hadn't meant to hurt her. The shock it inflicted on Loki was minor in comparison to the burns and scars it had left on Sigyn's arm. He pictured the red marks turning black and blue on silky, tanned flesh. A horrible sight. "Sigyn, Please I can heal it!" the empowered prisoner shouted from inside his gilded cage. "I can heal...I can heal it...I can heal it," he shouted over and over, loud and desperate. Loki's voice cracked in the pleading scream, but the call fell upon deaf ears. Sigyn was long gone and he was in a bright, shiny case all alone.

Frustrated, he turned back to the glowing shield and struck it. Once again only to feel the electric current pulsate through his being making him jump back. He was huffing and puffing from the shock. It was a foolish move it was something that that imbecile Thor would do: punch a wall to unleash his fury. It was a shame to resort to Thor's techniques, but he felt so lost and confused, that he knew not what other course of action to take. Besides the pain was welcome. It was more welcome than the memory of Sigyn's trembling, amber eyes looking up at him so petrified and wounded. Loki slammed his pale eyelids over his evergreen pupils trying to block out the image. He saw the tears forming there. The way she looked at him. Like he was some animal...some wild beast...a monster that would devour her. Of course he hadn't seen, but he was sure that when she'd seen him as a disgusting Jotun, a hideous creature unworthy of love...even then he was sure she didn't look at him with such fear and distrust as when she'd looked up at him after he'd pushed her. She'd stared into his eyes and even when he'd tried to touch her she recoiled because she'd seen how soulless and black-hearted he was. He bit his lip. That was how he'd acted. All she'd done was tell him she loved him.

"You hurt her," the small voice offered.

'It was an accident," Loki explained nervously to the voice in the back of his head. It had been an accident with mother, too. Perhaps he was a savage, he only knew how to repay kindness with brutality. He only knew how to respond to charity with malice, only reacted to love with cruelty.

'Was it?"

"Yes!" He snarled turning around and looking at the bed as if he expected to see someone there. "She pushed me," he expressed more calmly.

"Oh." the voice stated sarcastically, "I can see how a woman's loving embrace and tender kiss would be enough to send anyone over the edge,"

"Stop it!" Loki snarled at himself. "it's better this way," he assured himself patting down his tattered prison garbs.

"Is it?"

"Yes!" Loki protested with a snap balliing up his fist. "Sigyn can move on with her life marry that Theoic and have a good life...be with someone who loves her..."

'Do you love her?'

"No." The answer came out too quick instinctual without time to process the question. He regretted saying it. Was it true? Did he truly feel nothing for the beautiful woman who had cared for him during his time as a blind wretch condemned to this cell?

"Oh?" the utterance from his inner self was a mocking.

"She is like a toy, she is entertaining for a moment, but easily outgrown," Loki explained stoically, as he smoothed porcelain hands over midnight hair. The words hurt to say. He regretted saying them they were so biting and unfeeling. Sigyn had been so good to him. So sweet and mild, warm and affectionate, she was full of care and compassion, but he so easily squandered her affection like she was a doll to be thrown away. He treated her like a toy while they courted.. He didn't deserve her love.

"Her love is real, you know that..."

"I don't love her!" Loki shouted.

"But why?' the familiar tone of himself questioned.

"I...I...I" Loki shook his head.

"Do you still know how to love?'

"ENOUGH!" Loki shouted turning and facing the wall. "Enough with you, leave me be," he grumbled walked over to the bed.

"Do you love Odin?" the voice asked. Loki had resigned to ignoring the faint whispers from a self long forgotten. He sat on the bed inhaling and exhaling with full concentration on his breath. As if his own shall breaths could drown out his conscience. "Do you love Thor? Mother? Dagmar? Asgard? Who?" the voice wasn't harsh but it questioned Loki furiously the more he kept silent the more persistent it became.

"Love is weak," Loki finally replied.

"Then what is strong?" his inner self debated further. "Anger? Rage? Vengeance? This pointless dream you pursue? Fear?" the provocative questions were relentless. "Fear is strong... you are afraid of Thanos...and you... look what it has led you to"

"BE QUIET!" Loki ranted. "It's too late! It's too late. I can't stop it. I can't stop it. It'll happen with or without me... I've made a deal with Thanos and I can't break that!" the raven-haired mage snapped. "Can't you see, that? Everything is about to align for me. Asgard will be mine and Thor and Odin and all will kneel before me," he nearly cackled recklessly smiling sickly.

"What are you?"

Loki rose from his bed and walked over to the corner where Sigyn's gift to him had been dropped. He stooped down to touch the fabric from the garment she had made for him. Scrutinized it for a minute, but the guilt of what he'd done registered again. She'd been so happy. smiling up at him like a child showing a parent something they'd made during the days schooling, looking for praise and acknowledgment and encouraging words. All he'd done was strike her down. Yelling at her for her foolish innocence and pushing her away. Perhaps it was her trust and genuine care that had infuriated him so. Or perhaps it was because he did feel something for her...deep, deep down in the recesses of his soul. After all she'd come and cared for him everyday: Feeding him, ministering to his ailments, bathing him like he was a child, how could he not... but then she didn't come for that brief stint. For those few days she'd avoided him and he'd thought...he'd thought that maybe she...like so many other's he'd come to trust had abandoned him and he'd missed her then. But he hated it. That vulnerable, needy feeling. It was so weak and insufferable. But when they kissed he couldn't deny that he felt something. They'd kissed many times before. It was always pleasurable. Sigyn wasn't much good for conversation but she put her mouth to good use in many other areas. But this kiss had been different than the times before. Before Sigyn was an object, a doll, he played with. Not that he necessarily sought to hurt her, no he had never sought to harm Sigyn, but she was expendable a play thing he could do away with if need be. And that's what he'd done. When the relationship was getting to serious, he tossed his pretty toy in the trash and he hadn't looked back. Until now. Now when they kissed and her lips were soft like flower petals and her voice was warm like the sun and her eyes were big and bright and gentle and he felt something... that stirred him and made him want to change want to be the virtuous prince she believed him to be. Why did he push her away?

The question toyed with his brain but the answer wasn't easily obtained. His hand trembled as he contemplated his actions. He was so ashamed of what he'd done. He could hardly bring himself to touch the garment as he pictured the way she'd presented it to him and in that moment how he'd flung her and her present to the ground. Once his skin came in contact though he immediately scooped it up embracing the smooth texture on his fingers. It was so rich feeling. He took a heaping clump in his hands mauling and rubbing it against his palms. It felt so good against his skin in comparison the ripped mesh that scarcely clung to his body. The prison tunics were rough and coarse leaving his thighs chafed and irritated. The velvet lined the inside of the trousers. He nearly sighed in relief thinking of how comfortable they would feel. The evergreen color of the pants were so dark in coloring that the were nearly black. Making the elegant stitching with the golden silk thread stand out all the more. Loki's index finger traced the spiraling pattern gold the gold stitching noting that it wove into a picture of two coiling serpents. His symbol. He felt on and then saw how the britches were not completely made of velvet but there was a strip of tender leather going down the leg of each pant leg. The leather was stained a lighter color green almost a jade. Such time had been taken to craft them to his liking. Such skill. She'd weaved him things before, scarves, socks, silly things that he'd scoffed at before. It wasn't as if he had enough of those things, but now he saw what she'd wanted to convey with her talent. These were garments fit for a Prince of Asgard to wear. His emerald eyes watered without him even having time to process what they were doing until he saw the watermarks on the pants legs. He brought the trousers to his face and buried his face in the soft velvet wailing hard as he did so. "I'm so sorry Sigyn?" Loki whispered pulling his face from the princely pants and wiped his eyes before rising to his feet.

---

My dearest Loki,

I know not where to begin. Not a day goes by that I do not think of you. . I miss you, Loki.

It has been many months since your funeral service. All of Asgard still mourns for you as far as I know. Thor tells me the flags remain at half-mast and says that they may for a quarter of century. I think you would have been pleasantly surprised at how so many spoke so highly of you during the services. It made my heart swell to hear their lovely words about you. Your old tutors, and those under your tutelage spoke, dignitaries from other realms came and described you as a witty, charming and most noble prince.

At the funeral, they burned a few of your things, your armor and finest tunics, just as the flame was being lit, your mother snatched up your helmet and held it to her chest as she wept for you. The all-father could not even render the words of your eulogy, he had to have Lord Algrim read the sacred rites, he was so overcome. Thor openly cried during the ceremony. He blames himself for your untimely death. If only he knew that the blame is truly mine.

I have written dozens of letters going on and on as if nothing has happened, but each time I begin such correspondence, I am torn from my joyous jottings only to come to the crushing realization that you our no longer alive to receive them. Every time the realization cuts me anew; tearing another gash into my heart so deep I feel as though I will bleed to death. I find myself sinking to my knees and sobbing into my hands as a clutch the letter close to my heart and watch as my tears wash the ink from the parchment. Often time I lie there crying so long that my maid, Ula must come and pull me from the floor and usher me into bed.

I have something very urgent very pressing that I must tell you.. I am finally finding the time to do it as I have been somewhat ill for the past few days. Father, has been very concerned for me, he thinks it is my grief for you, I thought it was too, but now I know it is something entirely the contrary, still Father has insisted that I stay in bed and gain my strength once more. So it is the perfect time for me to share this with you.

You see,I fainted at the funeral, I was going to place a rose upon the pyre and I was over come, I only remember waking up in my bedchambers afterward. I have been ill since. I have felt terribly nauseous, hardly able to keep anything down. I am nauseous and yet I am constantly hungry, but often time can find nothing to satisfy me. I have strange cravings for bizarre foods that I've never even tasted like sea prunes (you like sea prunes don't you) and chilled whale hide steak... and cold...I want all my food cold...it is terrible, I must be driving dear cook up a wall. I sleep all day and become restless at night and I run high fevers off and on. Then I am plagued with chills I feel so cold. My mood if fickle. I have never been so emotional. It is miserable.

So often at night I cry myself to sleep thinking of you, dear friend. Even on days when I have kept particularly busy, when I have been about with friends, have attended to matters of state or been dutiful in looking after the manor, even on days when I have made house calls to the sick people throughout my city trying to provide healing, on those days my mind is busy and I usually don't feel the pain of losing your as deeply, but by the time the night rolls around...by the time I rest my head on my pillow the memories come unbidden. They are bittersweet, bringing me immense joy so much so that my maidservants tell me they heard me laughing in my sleep and yet they bring me great sorrow, I wake up and find my pillow drenched with tears. Alas I am but helpless to succumb to where my dreams take me in my slumber.

I dream of us as children: playing in the palace courtyard as the snow falls down. I remember how scared I was...thinking that snow was some terrible icy omen of impending doom, but you showed me how wonderful and fun it was. We had such fun together, sledding, skating, building snow forts with all of our friends. Then we'd return inside for more subdued evening with entertainment from the jesters and jugglers, fireside chats where we' look at books together. How fond I was of you. I envision the spectacular displays we'd put on during the winter games in the magic competitions. How you'd light up and beam with pride at the applause from the crowd. I felt so honored when you'd chosen me to be your partner, I doubt I was the best candidate.

Images of the first time you said that you loved me come back into my mind like a flood when I rest. I see the pristine snow that blankets the gardens that night. I feel the chill of the air and the sweet sounds of laughter and song of those who assemble in the Royal Botanical Gardens to View the 3 Moon eclipse. It was such a magical night. We were but youths. You shyly, nervously took my hand and slid Frigga's ring on to my finger (the ring is so beautiful the sapphires beset inside it are the largest and most brilliant I have ever seen. I am in awe of the splendor of the trinket you have decided to bestow upon me) Your hand is unsteady and my own quivers. You dropped down to one knee, in the cold snow and look at me with emerald eyes that make me weak in the knees. You poured your heart out to me telling how long you have been in love with me... I was dumbstruck after hearing you. You took advantage of my speechlessness and put your own silver tongue to good use. I recall our first kiss. Every sensation rings fresh in my mind whilst I sleep as if it were happening still. Your cool lips pressed against mine delicately. The kiss is chaste and sweet, unsure, perfect. The world drifts away and our two hearts quicken in time with each other. Only for a few seconds, you are bashful and cut the kiss short. It was so romantic and even from such a light graze of flesh I was rendered breathless. You kissed me the way a damsel imagines being kissed by a chivalrous prince. I can picture your beautiful green eyes so filled with such happy, pure emotions. You pledged yourself to me then, kissing my hand and ring as if to seal the betrothal vows. I remember how I hurt you then. I see your jade eyes flicker, from the wound I'd inflicted, feel your touch grow rigid and hard in shock. I hear your heart crack.

Then my mind jumps, immediately and against my will it races to envision that last kiss that we shared. It was different. It was strong, passionate and it moved me through my core. I lose myself in my reminiscing, I feel your touch in my dreams. Your cool fingers sliding across my skin. It is impossible to imagine how a caress so cool could melt me like a hot knife melts a stick of butter. I yearn for it now. Touch me again. The way you ravaged me like a maestro ravages an instrument...your hands are everywhere all at once taking control, so much pleasure I have hardly anytime to think...I can't think... what more can I do than produce the sounds you desire. You were so passionate, so hungry, so desperate, but you touched me with reverence I knew if I would have asked you to stop you would have so I didn't. It is bliss never have I know such rapture. I wonder if you have placed me under some spell. Then, I conclude I don't care. Then I look into your emerald eyes and I see the hurt confusion and love there. They tell me that you are spellbound as you allow your magic to flow into me. I long to taste your silver tongue once more. It taste like sage and lime with a hint of new wine, mmmm so good. I want to hear call my name. The way you say it, crisp with every syllable punctuated perfectly. It sends my body into shivers. Oh how I crave for you to whisper seductive poems in my ear. Your breath so tantalizing as you murmur in my ear to me of your undying love...but love has surely died.

I blame myself for what has happened to you. Your death...It is my fault. That night... that night only 3 days before the Bifrost incident, only 3 days before you sent the Destroyer to Midgard, only 3 days before you allowed that wicked plan of yours to fester and ooze forth you came to me. You came to me revealing the truth. You poured your heart out to me. I knew the truth, that terrible secret. I saw the hurt and pain that it caused you, I knew how vulnerable and needy you were. When we made love, you swore your undying affection for me, I pledged my faithfulness to you and in the wee hours of the morning when we should have lied in each others arms...I... I ran way.

Oh Loki, I am so sorry! I'm sorry for how I ran away! I left when you needed me the most. When you were crying out to me for proof that my love was real I turned out to be little more than a turncoat. When you were depending on me to be a rock for you to cast your anchor on while you felt tossed on a stormy sea, I proved only to be sinking sand. I was overwhelmed. After what we had it shouldn't have mattered, nothing should have mattered save our love, but fear... Loki when I saw...I just became so afraid...but it is no excuse for me to have betrayed your love. Oh my darling, can you ever forgive me. I am unworthy of your forgiveness, but I beg of it. I do!

Oh Loki, I care not...I care not what you are. Aesir, Mortal, Jotun. It matters not at all what race of creature sired you. I care not whose son you are, son of a beggar... son of a king...Odinson...Laufeyson. I know who you are...You are Loki. You are my oldest friend, my most astute tutor. You are Asgard's silvertongued prince, who has stopped mounting armies with your skilled words. You are the most powerful mage in all the realms whose powers are legendary. You are a good brother and friend who has on many occasions been willing to lay down your life for your friends. You are a kind person, who has tutored under privileged children. You are mischievous ,but you always make me laugh. You are the man I had wished to be with until I crossed over into Valhalla. And Loki in all forms you are beautiful.

If I would have told you I loved you no matter what you were, would it have kept you from the path of destruction that led to your demise? Is that all it would have taken to keep you from the ending that you met? Had you known that you had my love, would that have been enough? Could I have saved you? I wish I could have saved you my dearest one. Knowing that you are gone, Loki is like knowing all the stars have left the night sky. It makes the night empty and hollow. It has no mystery or warmth, it is simply vacant, black and lonely. I will mourn you always. I will never forget you. I am so sorry. I pray now you are at peace, that no more turmoil engulfs you, be at peace now my sweet prince.

I'm sorry, I have digressed into these fitful tangents, but my mind has been so burdened with so many thoughts and I have had no outlet...I need to write this to you...Forgive the fact that the ink is smudging, but my hand trembles as I write, I am so nervous, excited, overwhelmed and relieved...finally to confess it... you see I have not told another soul. It is befitting though, I suppose, you should be the first to know. Often I dreamed of the day I would tell you such news. I had never imagined I would tell you like this. This is not the way it should be told. No it should be confessed in the most romantic of ways. So picture it if you can. I send a note to you via my servant girl. It says "Dine alone with me tonight, my husband" We have dinner in private out on the balcony of our suite that night. I wear something elegant and form fitting, with a low plunging back and a slit in the skirt up to my milky thighs. My hair is pinned up in a luxurious coif with gold and jewels braided in between my black mane. A few pieces dangle from the back. You are pleased and smile devilishly at me saying I've a whet your appetite and not for the meal. I chide and pull you toward the candlelit dinner table. You notice my abnormally veracious appetite. The servant brings you your normal glass of Vanaheim wine the one with the spices and you inquire as to why I don't join you in the beverage that night. I am giggly and giddy that night even without the wine and you quirk your eyebrow at my behavior. I get up from my seat and pull you to dance with me in the moonlight. "I have news," I whisper in your ear. You question me about the news, but I stop dancing and rush back into the chamber. You call after me confused by my flighty behaviors this evening. Finally you find me sorting through some things from my dowry, gowns, tapestries, a few tiny gowns. "My grandmother knit these for me when she found out my mother was pregnant," I explain as I hold up the small light-colored garments. You come over and feel the fabric, it is soft and finely knit together. I smile up at you.

"Lovely, but I prefer what you are wearing now," you tease as you place a kiss on my shoulder, "I'll like what you're wearing later most of all," you snicker till speaking with your lips against my skin as you sit with me.

"And what will that be?" I ask coyly leaning into the pleasant feel of the pecks you offer.

"Nothing," you breath lustily. I flag at you then take you by the hand, gently pulling you to sit next to me.

"This is the hope chest my mother made for me when I was but girl. She had taken ill, but she'd started to prepare things for me," I explain nodding slowly as I produce a medium-sized ivory box and place it in my lap as I sift through the contents. Most of the things are family heirlooms from my mother's side. Finally I come to the bottom of the chest where I find a tiny bonnet and booties, along with a blue blanket. A tear slides down my face and I try to catch myself but it is too late...you have seen it. You brush it away with your smooth thumb.

"What is it, Dagmar?" you ask.

I smile "She made these things in hopes of having a grandchild," I express squeezing your hand and looking up into the endless emerald sea which is your eyes and bring your hand to touch my mid section.

Loki, I am with child! Your child! I am in wonderment. It is as if I have been granted a miracle in having your child in allowing apart of you and our love to survive even though you are gone, lost in some abyss... I am overjoyed. I am so happy, so happy that a piece of you has survived and shall be carried inside of me. At the same time it fills me with sorrow. For you are gone. You are gone and we do not share the joy of having our first child together. You have left me to raise your child alone and it is my fault. Oh but Loki I am so frightened. I am so scared. Having a child should not be a shameful thing it should be something to be celebrated. The conception of our child should be news to be heralded throughout the realms that there is a new heir to Asgard's throne and, yet I cannot bring myself to tell my father yet, what will he think? My father will be horrified I am sure. What will everyone think? Do I tell your family? What will they say? Your mother wrote me a few days afore asking me how I was faring and inviting me back to the palace...perhaps I could have told her...but I am I'm afraid. Will I be branded a harlot, bearing the bastard child of a dead man? If I tell the story will your family blame me for your death? My mind reels.

I have other fears... fears for our child. I know not what our child will look like. I wonder if he will look like a Frost Giant. And yet I do not care...he will be beautiful like his father I assure myself. Perhaps he will have your emerald eyes, keen features, your devilish smile. Or maybe he will look like a Jotun. His eyes burning like coals in a fire his skin frigid to the touch and blue as ice rather than soft and pink. Whether his skin will be tender and pale or hard and azure I know not. If the latter how will he be accepted? He will be an outcast, branded a monster! What shall I do...lock the child away in some tower? No Frost Giant would be accepted in Asgard or Vanaheim or any realm for that matter and Jotunheim has been nearly destroyed... I could not live there... Perhaps I could find some enchantment to hide the child's appearance obviously that is what happened with you...I...it doesn't matter...He will be my son and I will love him. He is your son and I will raise him. He shall be our son and he will be perfect in my eyes.

I say son, because I think that you would like a male child first. But what if it is a girl? Would that please you? I can imagine you with our daughter, doubtless you would dote upon our daughter, you'd be wrapped her little finger from the first coo she made at you. I'd be jealous, seeing you fawn over her, but I'd fall all the more in love with you when I'd watch you hold our baby in your arms.

I have thought of names for our child, though I have always pictured us naming them together. If it be a girl, I...I would like to name her Veronika. It means "True Image" and I hope she is the true image of you. I hope she will have your laugh, your wisdom, your way with words. Your dancing green eyes. Do you like the name? I remember once you said you liked the name Hela for a girl, if that is what you prefer then that is what we shall call her. Be it a son, I would like to name him Einar. I remember the ring you showed me that your brother gave to you after you both went on the great Bilgeschnipe hunt. Thor inscribed the word Einar on it to describe you, "Warrior chief," should your son not bear the same title? Einar is a strong name, but to strong to suit a babe to me. While he is little I shall call him Nari. It is sweet sounding, is it not? He will no doubt be a sweet boy, perhaps he will have your love of literature...and the mystic arts. Einar Loki is what I shall name him, it is only befitting that your son have your name. Even though I may marry another.

That is the other thing I have been meaning to tell you. A man of Vanahiem has approached my father about my hand. II agreed to the marriage. You see why I must do you not. For your child, for our child... please try to understand that. He is a handsome suitor I must admit. I suppose I like him well enough those he seems old fashioned and traditional in his views on love and marriage. He is of noble birth and I believe he has been to the House of Odin before. His name is Olaf Dirkson. He seems a good man, with many political aspirations. We've courted for a few months and he has treated me well buying me many expensive things. He flatters me often and is very demonstrative with physical forms of affection. Too demonstrative. He comes from a large family and seems to be eager to reproduce being that he is the only male child in his family. He says I please him. I perhaps I shall find contentment with him. It is doubtful. I have had relations with him, he is rough, he does not look me in the eye, he doesn't speak accept to shout out orders, it was quick and unsatisfying.

I have started to send out announcements about our betrothal ceremony. I sent one to Thor and he has agreed to attend. I could tell from his correspondence that he is surprised. Thor can never hide his feelings as you know, not even through the pen. He mentions how it seems so sudden. He teases me saying that he should wish to inspect this lad who has swooped me off my feet so easily. He mentions you saying how you would be happy for me to find someone to share my days with. He's agreed to come. It is as if from Thor I feel I am able to take it as your blessing. I know not if that is fair to you, but it is all I have.

I could not have your son grow up being no ones heir. He is the heir to so much he is a Prince of Asgard, Prince of Jotunheim and the future Prime Minister of Vanahiem. I hope you approve of the things I have confessed. This is our secret and I will keep it, but not for all time, only until the child is of age. Then I will tell him how wonderful and powerful his real father was and how I loved him.

Prince Loki of Asgard, now you know...you are the first to know... You are the father of my unborn child and you are the only man I have ever loved. I Love you. I love you. I love you. I will mourn for you until Ragnorok, but I pray now you are at peace. You deserve to be at peace. I hope you are happy and I hope that this news is a glad tiding to you. Be at peace now beloved until we meet again.

With Eternal Love,

Dagmar

The words had been written in royal gold ink, but the scribbling instantly, changed to crimson to match the fury that burned in Olaf's round brown eyes. He allowed a low grumble to escape his lips. He suddenly slammed the scroll shut. He closed his eyes and clenched his large fist tight together crushing the smooth parchment in his rugged hands. He started to ball the parchment paper up to toss it into the furnace. He'd burn up that scroll and then what ever words she'd written to the disgraced prince would be burnt up and turned to ash along with the scroll. It would be done with and nonexistent just as her relationship with that cowardly monster, Loki would become. Once they were wed, he'd do away with her all too frequent visits to Asgard. He'd limit her work as a healer, the only ones she'd need to be concerned with healing would be the children they'd soon produce. He'd ensure that she had ten sons for him if that was what it took to keep her mind off of another man.

With that, Olaf shoved the now balled up parchment into the pocket of his surcoat and proceeded to march back to Dagmar chamber. He stalked through the palace's gilded hallways cantankerously grumbling to himself like a grouch bear. He pushed and shoved his way pass the palace stash and other courtiers without offering a word of apology as his strapping shoulders nudged the butlers and chambermaids from side to side. It seemed like it took him hours to get to the Western Wing where noble women in favor with the House of Odin had their chambers maid. He found Lady Dagmar's bedchamber and immediately he began to pound on her doors made of bedroom. "Dagmar! Dagmar!" he hollered as his furious fist banged on the chamber door.

"Sir Olaf," an elderly chambermaid came to the entrance way to Lady Dagmar's bedchamber, "May I help you sir?' she asked timidly setting her feather duster to the side and offering a small curtsy to the Vanir nobleman.

"Where is your mistress?" Olaf demanded testily raising his fist to the older woman.

The silver-haired servant gasped and brought her hand to her chest in fright. "I...I...I believe she went to the visit with her father, my lord," she stated. "Lady Dagmar has recently regained her strength since the extraction," the older woman went on. She had been a servant woman in the house of the Prime Minister's household for years and she'd seen Dagmar grow up since she was a girl. At first she had been excited for Dagmar to find such a handsome suitor amongst the Vanir such as Olaf. He was a gorgeous man and of a very respected and wealthy family in Vanaheim. He started out so polite and chivalrous. Ula, the old servant woman, had often time escorted Lady Dagmar in her outings with the young statesman. She was mindful to keep her distance in order to give the young couple some privacy, but she'd seen the way he'd taken Dagmar's hand and kissed it, the way he'd pick a little flower off a low hanging tree limb and tuck it behind her ear. During banquets and balls he would immediately swoop up Dagmar into his strong arms and whirl and twirl her across the ballroom floor. It all had seemed so romantic. Sir Olaf had proposed in only a few short months of courtship and Ula couldn't help but encourage her young mistress in the relationship.

It wasn't long after Lord Audric had agreed to betrothal of his one an only daughter to the Sir Olaf Dirkson, that she noticed other tendencies in the brunette representative from Vanaheim's demeanor. Olaf was a churlish man, overly fond of drank, an impulsive gambler and a bit controlling. He often talked over Dagmar and put down her passion for helping others he didn't support the young enchantress in her pursuit of knowledge.

"Mmm," Ula groaned as she tugged hard on the silk strings of the corset to an amber evening gown that Lady Dagmar had planned to wear to a dinner that her father was hosting in honor of the Vanir King's anniversary, "I must chide the laundresses, my lady," she began, gritting her teeth trying to stitch up the back of the dress. "They are getting quite clumsy with their washing and all your fine garments are shrinking, my lady," Ula went on clicking her tongue. Perhaps the laundresses were becoming a bit careless, but she couldn't help but notice that Lady Dagmar's figure had started to become a bit fuller. Not that she would dare call the lady of the house fat, although Dagmar had been a sweet, chubby little girl with freckles dotting across her round face. She had been adorable as a child, but she'd long since lost the baby fat of her youth and she'd grown to have a well-defined figure. It wasn't that the extra weight looked bad on the Vanir maiden, Oh the contrary, Ula had thought it had suited Dagmar, she had a glow to her. She was glad to see the rose had returned the pale skinned young woman's cheek. She'd been so ill for a few weeks.

Dagmar laughed pleasantly, "I shall just have to find an excuse to go dress shopping shant I?" she giggled and clandestinely moved her hand over her slightly bulging abdomen. "Tie it as tight as you can, dear Ula," Dagmar began sweetly reaching her hand out and squeezing Ula's leathery looking fingers and swung her hand about. "The get my golden cloak, you know the one with the golden the amber embroidery," she explained. "That'll be fine," she nodded and gave a wink to the elderly handmaiden.

"If you wish mistress, but what about the new gown you just brought the long, sapphire one with the empire waist and the silver satin ruffles at the bottom. That fit you quite nicely my lady," Ula replied back returning the beam. She started to scamper off the lady Dagmar's overstocked walk in closet filled with gorgeous apparel.

"It is lovely," The raven haired daughter of the Prime Minister nodded with a wishful look twinkling in her sparkling silver eyes.

"The color brings out your eyes, my lady," The gray-haired servant woman assured Lady Dagmar as she carefully pulled the exquisite garment from the closet and slung it over the love seat that sat in from the" three angled full length looking-glass.

"I love that gown," the pomegranate lipped noblewoman expressed with a sigh, "But I will wear what I have on," Dagmar consigned as she swallowed hard.

"But my lady, it doesn't fit, it'll be uncomfortable for you all evening," Ula responded her eyes instantly flashing up with concern.

"Olaf wants me to wear it, he bought it for me and he has been very adamant about the fact that we match in public and his family colors are brown and maroon, I wouldn't want to offend my betrothed lord," Dagmar Audricdottir slowly whispered as she dropped her head for a moment.

"Of course, Lady Dagmar," the elderly serving woman dutifully nodded rubbing her palms together, "I only thought...it being that you look so lovely in it and it is such a marvelous gown, that perhaps it would please Olaf to see you in it..."

"Please, Ula... he was very adamant about it," the regal woman insisted.

"Very well then my lady," Ula responded and promptly went back to trying to tie up the garment that was far to small for Dagmar's expanding midsection. For a few minutes more Ula busied herself putting finishing touches onto Dagmar's evening wear, helping pull the long golden gloves up and over Dagmar's slender fingers and to her elbows. "My lady...I...I don't mean to over step my bounds," She began. 'You are so special to me Dagmar," she began. "I've seen you grow up child and you are as precious to me as if you were my own..."

"You have always been there for me Ula," lady Dagmar replied.

'I mean to say... are you sure you want to marry this Olaf Dirkson. I know...i know I was for it in the beginning," she stated shaking her wrinkled crinkled fingers. "He's a handsome fellow and he seemed so kind, but I have noticed...I have seen he is a harsh man...I...you are too good for him..." Ula spoke up.

"Oh Ula, the betrothal is already underway and the wedding date has been set. He is a good man. He is rough around the edges, but he is a good man,

You've seen how well he's treated me..."

"In the past my lady, but now..."

"Ula, please!" lady Dagmar's silvery voice slight quivered as she raised the back of her hand by the side of her face and silencing the old maid. "I have need to take on a husband," she announced curtly as her silver eyes drifted down to take a glance at her protruding belly.

Ula's old eyes grew wide. "Dagmar!" she balked in shock. "Dagmar are you..." She sputtered. The silver eyed maiden did not answer verbally she shut her porcelain eyelids over her silver eyes and allowed her chin to sink against her chest as a salty tear rolled down her full pale cheek. "Oh my, oh my, oh my goodness," the old servant woman started to murmur nervously, wringing her hands with worry. "By...by...by...Olaf?" she inquired breathily taking the younger Vanir woman's hand in her's she could feel how Dagmar was trembling. Dagmar pressed her lips together tightly. She desperately wanted to tell someone it had been nearly 5 months and she hadn't breathed a word to another soul.

"Oh Ula," she began as she looked up at the old woman who clutched her hand with warmth and affection... "I...I...I..."

Before Dagmar could confess her deepest of secrets a ferocious bang rang against her door. It was so furious that it gave both the women in the chamber a start. "Dagmar! Dagmar!" Sir Olaf's voice echoed outside of Dagmar's chamber door. "Aren't you ready yet?" he asked with agitation. "Your Father is to have me seated at the king's table tonight," he explained in a huff. "I shall not have your female tardiness interfere with my first meeting with the King," the newly appointed representative to the Vanahiem court. "I expect you as my fiancée to be flattering to me and build me up before the king and the older nobles of court. Surely you aren't helping me make a good impression, dragging your feet as you do," he shouted.

"I'll be but a minute," Dagmar called back.

"See to it," the stately statesman ordered gruffly before they heard his large feet clump down the hall.

'Be quick, Ula," the raven-haired Vanir healer commanded in a soft tone as she gave a snap of her fingers to the serving maid. The elderly attendant gave an affirmative nod and quickly continued to finish lady Dagmar's dressing. She crowned her with a lovely golden wreath for the top of her.

"You look beautiful, my lady," Ula complimented as she draped a sheer gold sash over Dagmar's shoulder and across her midsection to conceal the tiny bump forming on her belly. The full lips of Lord Audric's daughter turned up into a small, but grateful smile to her kindly maid. Dagmar walked across her marble floor, with Ula at her heels carrying the train of her gown. "My lady..." Ula's voice quivered as she spoke up, "Is...the child...Is it Sir Olaf's?" she whispered timidly.

"No," Dagmar quickly murmured before leaving her room.

"She has been restless and most eager to get out of this room," Ula went on to tell the Vanir nobleman. "Lady Dagmar is a very active woman," she added in a word of praise as she dustest off her apron.

She watched as the soon to be son-in-law to the Prime Minister bared his teeth. His thick brown eyebrows knitting together and his whole face grew red as a tomato. The muscles in his hand bulged as his fist grew even more tightly shut. "You have no idea," he growled through gritted teeth.

Ula tried to keep from trembing and tried to ignore his angered tone. "Shall I tell my lady you stopped by?" she offered her voice squeaked and she gulped despite the fact that she was trying to act strong and unaltered by the burly Vanir man's presence. "She'll be so happy to know you've come to check on her..." she went on reaching for her feather duster and resuming her cleaning. She flashed a humble submissive smile to the Vanir lord.

"Where does Dagmar keep her letters?" Olaf questioned immediately turning a sharp and narrow gaze at the gray-haired woman.

"I...I...I" Ula stammered caught off guard by the inquiry. "I don't know," she shrugged.

"Lies!" Olaf accused, "You are her chambermaid are you not? You clean her quarters, you know everywhere she puts her things, now tell me where does Lady Dagmar keep her letters?" he demanded with a growl.

"Lord Olaf, please I cannot say," the elderly servant woman dropped her head. "Perhaps if we were at the castle in Vanaheim, I would be able to assist you, but here... it is very doubtful that Dagmar would carry letters to Asgard, it would seem quite odd," she stated shaking her head and turning to continue her dusting.

"She has letters," Olaf announced as her gripped the older maid by her bony and wrinkly arm. "I know," he said flicking her wrist so that she dropped the feather duster. "Now tell me where they are," he demanded squeezing tight on her wrist.

Ula squared her shoulders and forced her eyes to look into Olaf's the handsomeness she'd seen in his face before hand faded he was a grizzly beard of a man. "What concern are her letters to you?' the servant dared to ask back.

No soon had the words rolled off her tongue than did the faithful handmaiden to Lady Dagmar feel brass knuckles collide with her face. Instantly hot, thick blood oozed from her nostril and she felt the let side of her face begin to swell. She gasped and trembled as she attempted to bring a gnarled looking hand up to wipe her bloodied nose and keep the liquid from pooling around her lips. Her quivering leathery hands were snatched from making their way to feel the offended area and brought back down by her sides and pinned their in the roughest of ways. "How dare you speak to me in that way!" Lord Dirkson roared in the maid face. Ula shook violently, but was unable to pull herself free of the strong man's hold. "YOU ARE A SERVANT!" he reminded her boisterously. "I own you!" he declared. "DO YOU UNDERSTAND?" he continued to shout. Ula could make no utterance only terrible sobs as her head slumped forward and the blood from her nostrils dripped onto her simple rust colored frock. 'You don't question my orders!" he continued to rant. "I could have your tongue cut out for your insolence," he informed her cruelly releasing one of wrist only long enough to unsheathe a dagger and point it at her mouth.

"oh no! Oh no please! Please!" she whimpered feeling the tip of the knife playing with her lip.

"Once Lady Dagmar and I are legally wed, I will have you removed from the staff," He threatened. "I will toss you out onto the streets," he explained leaning into her ear.

"No, no, no please," the old woman begged.

"if I must I will rip this place from top to bottom and find to look for the letters that I know are here," Olaf Dirkson's voice was low in Ula's ear. "If I find them and find that you have lied I will not hesitate to punish you to the full extent to which lying servants such as yourself need to be punished," he promised pushing the handmaiden to the ground. He stepped over her shaking and elderly form and went over the one of Dagmar's shelves. An ornate piece of furniture made of alabaster it was filled with odds and ends, vials of mixtures and bottles of perfumes and ointments. Olaf punched through the glass door and proceeded in smashing the glass bottles.

"NO!" Ula cried watching as all of her lady's expensive beauty products crashed and tumbled to the ground in heaps of broken glass and liquid.

"Oh," Olaf turned around facing the gray-haired servant on the floor with her hand out stretched.
"Something, jar your memory?" He asked his long and curly chestnut hair swung from one shoulder to the next as he marched back toward her. Ula managed to push herself to a sitting position. "You know where the letters are?" he asked his voice suddenly eerily calm. Ula nodded still sobbing. "Good," the Vanir noble stated flatly and offered the woman a hand to her feet. Ula scarcely trusted taking the statesman's hand but she was too afraid not to. "I prefer not to break all of Dagmar's pretty things," Olaf expressed giving a slight inclination of his head toward the objects that he'd already destroyed. He then turned back and gave a heartless smile to Dagmar's chambermaid. Ula bit her lip trying to stop herself from crying so. "Find it." he ordered sternly. With a nod and yelp Ula snapped to do the Vanir lord's bidding. She scurried away furiously wiping at the blood on her nose, lips and chin. She returned to Olaf's presence rather quickly carrying a chest of fine cypress wood overlaid with gold.

Olaf took it from her hands, nearly snatching it. He examined the case and noted the lock on it. Ula watched as thick brunette eyebrows knit together and lips pursed beneath a handsome mustache with displeasure. "I don't have the key," Ula covered immediately.

Olaf looked up at her a smug sneer sneaking across his features. She recoiled. He swung the chest by its handle, hitting it against the wall. The lock broke. He started with a turn on his heels to head out the door. "Get this place and yourself cleaned up," he commanded.

---

With chest in tow under the crook of his arm Olaf Dirkson set a furious pace as he made his way to seek out Dagmar in her father's presence. A session of the Court of Foreign Interest was just ending. Normally it was a meeting that Lord Dirkson as a representative from another realm would be expected to attend, but he had domestic matters which were more pressing. He figured that Dagmar and her esteemed father would be leaving from the hall and heading to high tea. He'd confront her right then and there in front of her own father.

He arrived the small courtroom just as the councilors and foreign ministers were exiting he waited anxiously as a sea of ladies and lords headed out and made their plans for the polite tea social that Queen Frigga had arranged for the guests in the gardens. Prime Minister Audric and Lord Algrim were among the last to leave. "Prime Minister," Olaf spoke up as soon as the two regal men step foot from the court chamber and placed their feet on the dark purple carpet that led to the main corridor.

Prime Minister Audric turned to face his would be son-in-law. "Ahhh! Olaf my boy," he greeted. His narrow face full of pleasantry. He extended his arm as if to embrace the younger man of his people, but Olaf kept a steely and focused look in his eyes. He did not even acknowledge Lord Algrim. His beady eyes looked right past the pointy eared elf and narrowed staring into the courtroom to see if anyone was left in there. He returned his attention to the Prime Minister. "Where is Dagmar?" he demanded.

"You just missed her I am afraid," the long bearded Vanir man reported. "She headed out with a friend," The prime minister stated nodding jovially toward the elf to his right.

"Friend?' Olaf nearly snapped.

"Yes...yes...yes one of the warriors and she went for a ride or to the pools, something or other," the long bearded Vanir man expressed waving his hand flippantly.

"She is accompanying a warrior of Asgard to the pool?" Olaf asked. He was nearly fuming, his face boiling over read all though he tried to keep his voice inflections to a minimum.

"Why, yes," Lord Audric replied his white salt and pepper eyebrows quirked as he noted that the muscular Vanir nobleman was starting to look dreadful. "I did try to dissuade her," he informed. " I still think she should be taking it slow. She is not yet fully recovered from the extraction," he explained more to Lord Algrimt han to Olaf. "But she was insistent," he went on. "Anyway perhaps you would have been able to talk her out of it. I could not,"

"You allowed your betrothed daughter to go gallivanting off with some other man right under my nose!" Olaf's voice started to raise and his lip quivered angrily with his rash questioning.

Lord Audric remained completely composed as he rendered an answer to the young noble. "Why no of course not, my lord...it was it was one of Prince Thor's boon companions...a female warrior...Sigrid...Lif...Liv..." the prime minister snapped his fingers as he tried to place the name.

"Lady Sif," the elfin official of Odin's court finally spoke up.

"That's it!" Dagmar's father concluded. "A lady Sif. I don't know where they have gone to but I'm sure where ever they are they will be back before dinner time," he expressed gently.

"it is imperative that I speak with her," Olaf shut his eyes and spoke through gritted teeth.

"Yes, naturally," the prime minster continued nodding he finally extended bony fingers to clamp Olaf around his broad shoulders. "isn't that just like the young and in love, Lord Algrim, always so eager to be with one another?"

"Quite," the pointy eared man smiled. "I don't believe I have had a chance to extend my formal congratulations to you and Lady Dagmar for your upcoming nuptials. She is a most exquisite woman," Odin's chief adviser complimented.

"You may save your congratulations," Olaf stated flatly looking back and the periwinkle skinned creature. Algrim crinkled his features shocked by the reaction.

"Lord Olaf?' the gray-bearded man in regal purple roads interrupted Olaf's haggard breathing only to be met with a murderous glare. "Is something the matter, my boy?" the would-be father-in-law offered.

"Your daughter..." Olaf started to rumble his voice shaking with anger like the tremors one could feel at the base of a volcano about to blow.

"Ah, yes," the Prime Minister went on, he cast a look aside to Algrim who smirked encouraging and patted the powerful ruler from another realm on his back. "I have excellent news," Audric expressed taking a step closer to the large and impressive looking statesman. "Lord Algrim has graciously agreed to perform a ceremony of marriage for you and Dagmar here in Asgard," Dagmar's father's beamed.

"I think a cause for celebration is much over due," the court official informed the Vanir men. "Too much time has been spent dwelling on that wretched criminal, Loki," Algrim waved a flippant hand of dismissal as if shooing the very thought of the once prince from his mind. "Naturally we can invite dignitaries from all the realms and I am sure that the all-father would be honored to render his blessing over the nuptials. He thinks very highly of Dagmar, you know," he assured Lord Audric. "Her work as a healer and an ambassador is exemplary and of course after what she has done in helping with riding that vermin of his powers is cause for all the realms to celebrate!" Lord Algrim exclaimed. "We are most indebted to her and would be honored to see she is given a wedding that I'm sure would only be rivaled by Prince Thor's," The elderly elf went on.

"It is a marvelous wedding present!" Lord Audric immediately piped in. "I could do no better for my only daughter," the older gentleman squeezed his eyes close to keep from crying. "I wanted to tell Dagmar, but I didn't know if you would like to have the honors of bestowing such news on your soon to be bride?" Prime Minister Audric offered nearly bouncing in place to contain his joy. He threw his arms out to embrace the handsome young man who he would soon call son.

Olaf stretched forth strong arms thrusting the Prime Minister off of him causing the bone thin man to stumble backward into the skinny elfin councilman. "I say," Algrim grumbled as his helped the Vanir Prime Minister to his feet. "Do try and contain your joy young man," He admonished sternly, 'You wouldn't want to injure your father-in-law," he expressed.

"We need not to have such displays over a common concubine!" Olaf erupted leaning over into Lord Audric's face as he brushed down his long ruffled whiskers.

"Concubine?' Lord Audric questioned in confusion scratching both his balding head and his full-lenth bearded chin as he did so. "Whatever do you mean?' he nearly laughed at how crazy the young man was talking.

"This!" Olaf shouted tossing the scroll in the Prime Minister of Vanaheim's face. The Prime Minister scrambled to take hold of the scroll as it was falling to the floor. Lord Audric carefully unrolled the scroll and began reading it. Lord Algrim read over his shoulder.

"Oh my," the esteemed court official gasped taking in the details. "Perhaps I shall take my leave of you Lord Audric," the head of council in the house of Odin began. "This seems a personal conversation," he nodded and started to walk away. Lord Audric paid no attention to whether he was there or not.

'This blatant confession of infidelity, is written in your daughters own hand!" he accused.

'My lord!" Dagmar's father started shaking his head. "You cannot...you cannot think that Dagmar..." he began.

"Think!" Olaf raged his face turning nearly violent purple. "I need not think, I have proof from this very scroll and in this very trunk of years of her illicit and lascivious affair!" he hollered with flaring nostrils.

"NO!" Lord Audric protested. "This cannot be true. Dagmar was very ill during the time when this letter was addressed," the prime minster pointed to the date. "She was feverish, yes...she was writing this in delirium, you can see from the smudge markings...yes...the way her pen is unsteady, Dagmar was not well no doubt this is just some mere girlish fantasy that she jotted down to keep herself entertained during her convalescence," the bearded man tried to rationalize.

"She fantasized of another man's bed in such flamboyant terms. She fantasized of being impregnated by that vermin, Loki?" Olaf ranted on.

"Dagmar and Loki were friends for a long time. I cannot doubt that at some point she may have had a slight infatuation with him. He was her tutor you know, but my daughter was chaste maid I can assure you," Lord Audric was nearly begging tears welled in his eyes as he grabbed on to the hem of Olaf's hooded cape and dropped down to his knees pleading.

Olaf snatched the robe from out of the balded headed noble's weather hands of Lord Audric, 'Your daughter, beautiful as she may be is no more than a common whore!" he spat.

"No it isn't true! Do not shame Dagmar!" he objected. "It was just a bout of delirium, look at the things she rants of...Jotuns and Frost Giants ridiculous notions," he laughed nervously. "She was not thinking straight to right such' he chuckled nervously to himself.

"Not so ridiculous when you take into account that disgusting blue issue, she produced," he proclaimed his eyes bloody red with wrath.

"Your child was stillborn, and born too early, it lost oxygen, that is why it was born with blue skin," explained the Prime Minister once again regaining some composure and rising to his feet.

"LIES! I will not allow you and your daughter to make a fool of me any longer!" he snarled.

"Let me talk to Dagmar, I'm sure there is a very reasonable..."

"No...I will deal with my bride as I see fit!" Olaf declared.

---

Lady Dagmar and Lady Sif walked down hall laughing and dripping wet after a refreshing in one of the warm bubbling pools. Both brunettes sauntered down the hall catching the eyes of the guards and servants on duty and even the attention of elderly officials who happened to be walking by who had no problem wriggling their eyebrows or clicking their tongues in approval at the glimpses of flesh that they caught. Lady Dagmar had covered herself in a floor length shimmery silver dressing robe, but it was so sheer that the length of the garment was obsolete. She was still in her swimming toga. I white two piece toga, with a long skirt that had the sides cut out. Sif was a little more conservative n her swimming apparel. She wore a dark-colored full piece with a knee-length skirt. Swimming was a great form of exercise and she never thought that such flighty things as fashion should taint the purity of keeping the body fit. "Ahhh," Sif sighed rolling her shoulders and stretching, "That was just what I needed after a morning whipping those new recruits into shape," Sif expressed haughtily. "It's exhausting hearing those little girls whine about the fact that their tired, their hungry, it's early, they want to go home boohoohoo," Sif teased rubbing her eyes as if tears were coming out.

Dagmar burst into twittering laughter hearing her friends imitations of the hopeful. They were new troops, poor boys eager to make their mark and become generals and lieutenant and fine sailors like their father's but many of them were still wet behind the ears and even the hardiest of them was little more than a limp noodle after a day of drills and maneuvers with Lady Sif. " Oh stop it! Stop it, Sif," Lady Dagmar giggle flagging of the dark-haired shield-maiden. "They weren't all that bad," the Vanir noblewoman tried to defend the poor young men. She'd seen the way Sif ran her battalion. Waking up the lads before the crack of dawn and having them run for miles into the woods and then having then have to catch and track their own meats for breakfast. Then she made them run all the way back while she set a furious pace that was nearly impossible to keep up with. Once they returned she put them through extreme workouts of jumping jacks and push-ups, pull-ups, swordplay drills and practices. The poor young warriors, were mumbling, babbling, sore and simpering heaps at the end of a day with lady Sif as a drill sergeant.

"Ha!" Sif cocked her head back with laughter as she wrung out her still damp chestnut mane before sloppily managing to pull it into a messy bun. "Those little maggots," she jeered. "I'm telling you they get softer and softer every year,"she informed the young enchantress with a point in her face.

"Well I just think they thought you were going to go a little easier on them, that is all," Dagmar explained running her fingers through her ebony tresses to keep it from getting tangled, she decided to start braiding it.

"Why?" the warrior maiden asked with a curled lip as she whipped her head around to face one of her few female friends. "Because I'm a woman?" she asked although she knew the answer to the question was a simple yes. Dagmar merely offered a shrug. "Men take one look at a set of breast," Sif began to elaborated as she pointed to her set of bosoms. She had on simple, black bathing toga that was tight-fitting and strapless at the top, her mid-drift as exposed, revealing her rock hard abs and a six-pack that intimidated even the staunchest of Einherjar. The bottom of the suit was a simple black skirt that went to her thighs and had seductive slit up the middle. She twisted around the skirt so that the slit showed her tanned and toned legs. "And automatically start sizing a woman up as a fertile wife of nurturing mummy," she expressed with a bored yawn.

"Well how much can we fault them for that, it is their first exposure to the feature," Dagmar teased back, 'You know their not very bright," she whispered back playfully and watched a full smile trace across her old friend's face. 'Creatures of habit you know," The gray-eyed daughter of the prime minister gave a wink.

"Here, here," Sif declared as she clapped the beautiful silver eyed woman on the back. "You speak truth, you do," she nodded in happy agreement with the other young woman's jestings, "But still," Sif countered returning to a serious tone. "I'll have it be known that I have no intention of babying those boys who I am giving the privilege of taking through basic training. They are supposed to be the prides of Asgard joining the élite Einherjar, it shant be said that Sif's battalion is soft," She declared with a forthright nod. Dagmar couldn't help but replicate the facial expression. She also couldn't help but smirk. It was unquestionable that Sif could keep up with any man in the arena of war, she'd taken great pain's to prove herself t be every bit as fearsome a warrior as any fellow. Even going above an beyong most shield-maidens from across the nine realms who would join the Valkyrie...she'd proved to be in the ranks of men and joined Einherjar the most celebrated and masterful warriors in all the realms. But for all that Dagmar wasn't convinced that Sif solely saw men as mere rivals on the battlefield. Sif had never outright shared with her any feelings she'd had for a male, she felt Sif was surely to proud to admit such girlish tendencies even to an old friend but she remembered once she'd shared with a kiss with Prince Thor. It was late one night while they were all still impetuous youths and after a round of under aged drinking well things between the Prime Minister's daughter and the Crown Prince of Asgard escalated all too quickly. (In retrospect Dagmar regretted it, a two days later she would share a kiss with her best friend, Thor's brother. She enjoyed the latter more if she was honest with herself , but she hadn't been honest with herself then or with the sweet black-haired boy who confessed his love to her that day. Now that shy, hopeful lad was no more) When she confessed what had transpired between herself and Thor to Sif, at first Sif seemed greatly alarmed by the information, stricken even. Soon though, thin and toned Sif corrected her facial features and timidly posed a question to Dagmar, that she had least expected to here. Sif reached out her hands and clutched Dagmar's in earnest and whispered, "What was it like?' The ebony-maned healer was called out of her old reminiscing to hear Sif end her tirade on the liberation of womanhood by proclaiming that I am no man's mother," Lady Sif snorted cracking her knuckles. "And no man's wife,"

"Ha, well men most certainly know that," a joking voice called from right behind them. Both dark-haired beauties turned around only to see Frandal's handsome grinning face behind them as his body was perched in a doorway. "You haven't even any chest about you to properly feed a babe," he taunted his teasing grin growing wider under his yellow mustache.

Sif's mouth dropped open with shock. "Why I ought to..."

'Or to satisfy a man," Frandal continued naughtily. "Lady Dagmar," Frandal greeted the lovely Vanir healer. "So splendid to see you out and about once again," he went on stepping forward and taking her by her slender, porcelain fingers and planting a sweet kiss on her fingers. The young enchantress, laughed feeling Frandal's curly mustache tickle her hand. Frandal was a shameless flatter and flirt and quite the ladies man, but that was what she loved about him.

Before Lady Dagmar could even respond the blonde charmers words, Lady Sif's balled up fist met with the edge of Frandal's jaw. Frandal's jaw cricked and cracked as it twisted to the right side and Frandal tilted over falling to his side. "Do excuse me, Dagmar," Sif stated with a smirk, "While I whip this little girl into shape," she explained as she cocked her head at the fallen man writhing on his side clutching at his jaw. Lord Audric's daughter took a step back putting up her hands as if in surrender as she watched Sif march overtop of the pleasant-faced warrior. She straddled his body still standing and gripped his by the scruff of his collar. 'Comment on my breasts again and see what shall become of you?" Sif threatened her eyes narrowed as if she was focusing in the heat of battle but her lips bore a warm smile. "Did you think that there isn't a man to satisfy me," she growl dealing a blow to his shoulders.

"Run Dagmar, this is no sight for a lady," Frandal instructed. "What breasts, as I said you haven't any?' Frandal exploded into laughter as he teased. His fitful guffaw was met with his face being pressed into the plush carpet of the hall. Sif twisted him around til he was lying flat on his belly her heel pressed into his back while she pulled hard on his arms stretching them back behind him into the air.

Dagmar covered her pomegranate mouth demurely attempting to hide her giggles as she watched Sif continuously pull and tug and Frandal's limbs she nearly twisted the flirtatious swordsman's arms and legs into a pretzel. Frandal was howling like a wily boar that was about to be hog tied. Dagmar shook her head, somethings never changed. They were still wrestling much like they did as children. Actually, if Dagmar recalled correctly she was pretty sure that was how she had been first introduced the pair. Tussling though the palace grounds, Frandal squealing and screaming and occasionally throwing another insult in the direction of the feisty young woman once he'd manage to scamper away. Sif got our and tackled him like lioness would tackle her prey on a hunt. She ended their match shoving a wad of dirt in Frandal's mouth after making him proclaim that she was just as tough as any boy on the team. The silver-eyed maiden predicted a similar outcome this time.

"This looks like a personal matter, I need to leave you two to settle," Dagmar conceded nodding and tiptoeing backward still laughing and shaking her head.

"You don't have to rush away, this won't take but a minute to finish," Lady Sif explained through her gritted teeth as she continued to fold the blonde warriors limbs behind him. "Say it Frandal!" She ordered yanking at his golden hair, while bending his arm behind his back.

"No," Frandal replied immediately his pretty face wincing with discomfort. 'Yow, yow, YOW!" he called out through the pain as Sif pulled harder on his blonde locks. "Ahhh Sif, I just got my hair cut," he explained pleadingly. Frandal was one who always kept up appearances. He received the best dressed nomination for young min at the royal academy for nearly a decade.

"Say it," the dark-hair shield-maiden continued to taunt. "So Dagmar doesn't have to watch a grown man cry," she pressured leaning over into his ear and whispering while she pressed her bony knees into the back of his wrists that were pinned behind his back as if he were a prisoner to be lead away captive.

"Oh," the fair Vanir woman cried and she dramatically flopped her left hand over her forehead. "I can't bear to watch!" she played all the more and covered her eyes with bejeweled alabaster fingers. "Stay strong young Frandal! Stay strong!" the pomegranate lipped lady encouraged raising a fist in the air as she started to walk away.

Lady Dagmar made her way down the corridor all the while still laughing. She truly did hope that Sif didn't rip Frandal's hair clean out of his scalp. A wince slid across her plump mouth...she'd done it before. Poor Frandal, a vain youth was branded a bald head and had to shave his whole head to avoid the shame of walking around as a teenaged with patches in his mane.

She reached the door to her own chamber, she pulled out a small skeleton key from out of the pocket of her drape and stuck it in the latch. Lady Dagmar reached her slender hands forward pressing the door open and taking a sigh of relief. She smiled finding that the entrance salon was neat and tidy and smelling of freshly cut daffodils that no doubt Ula had taken time to hand select and cut.

---

Dagmar was heading back to her bedroom she suspected a quick nap would be in order before she went back to the healing chamber and then prepared for a lavished evening meal. As she made progress through her salon she couldn't help but notice the smashed cabinet door. She was shocked as she noted how all the items inside the cabinet had been removed. "Ula!" she called "Ula are you still here?' she asked her steps quickening as she darted to the back room. She noted that she heard muffled sobs coming from her fresher. "Ula," Dagmar repeated softly coming into her bathing room and finding a hunched over figure crouching by her tub. "Ula, oh dear, are you alright?" the younger healer asked in a quiet tone stepping behind the handmaiden and allowing her delicate porcelain fingers to fall on Ula's trembling shoulders.

"My lady!" Ula cried turning to look up at Dagmar with tearful eyes.

"Ula, your eye! You're nose!" Dagmar noted. The woman's normally thin and wrinkled race was swollen. There was a distinct bruising under her eye. It was all purple in tint and inflamed. Her nose which had always been only the size of a cherry swelled to looking like a tomato. "Oh good Yddrasil!" the fair-skinned maiden cried out aghast at how battered her servant was looking, "You need ice," she exclaimed immediately. Her basin was only partially filled with water, Dagmar waved her hand over the liquid and it instantly froze. She then gestured with her fingers allowing the newly formed ice to crack and a few icecubes floated into her palm. Immediately, he dropped down to the floor next to the servant woman and pressed the ice to her face. "Easy," she cooed feeling as Ula flinched from he impact of the cold.

"Oh Mistress," Ula began to babble finally leaning into the touch, "I'm so sorry, so sorry, my lady indeed I am," she went on.

"Nonsense," Dagmar shushed. "What is there for you to be sorry about? What happened?" she prompted. "I saw the cabinet in the sitting salon, did you fall?" the gray-eye enchantress asked gently.

"No, no Mistress," Ula replied shaking her head, "Wish I had though," she muttered quietly. "Oh Lady Dagmar, Lord Dirkson stopped by," she began her voice hushed whisper as she looked around still afraid that he might be in the room.

"Olaf came by? For what?" she asked slightly surprised, Olaf had visited her for only a few times in the month-long recovery process from the extraction. He was very concerned about catching some sort of magic induced sickness. It was foolish she tried to explain it to him, but he didn't believe her, he was overly concerned about contagions, but mostly, she thought, he just didn't like to see her sick. Not in the pitying way that her father didn't like to see her sick as he cared for her health and hated to see her feeling under-the-weather, but because he thought she looked less than the perfect and pristine porcelain, painted-lip dolly, that he expected her to be at all times. So she couldn't imagine that he had simply come by the check on her.

"He wanted the chest...he wanted the chest...I shouldn't have given it to him my lady I know... but... but," she stuttered to say.

"Ula, calm down, take deep breaths," the healer instructed rubbing her elderly friend's shivering back."Wanted what chest?" Dagmar's dark eyebrow went up in confusion. She had brought several chest with her from Vanaheim, full of her best gowns, but what interest would Olaf have with them.

"Your chest my lady, y-y-your chest of letters," Ula expressed finally breaking into heaving sobs and clutching on to Dagmar's bare arms. Dagmar wrapped her in a tight embrace before passing her a handkerchief.

"Why would he want that old chest...how could he even know about it?" she inquired.

"I know not, I know not my lady, but he knew...he knew...he had a scroll with your seal upon it in his hand," she expressed

Dagmar was alabaster skinned, but even her snowy coloring shot a shade lighter as she heard the words come from Ula's mouth. "The scroll," she uttered her bright starlit eyes wide with horror. "But that's impossible!" she declared. "How could he have...where'd he get the scroll from?" she pressured Ula. "Ula did you give it to him?" Dagmar demanded her tone wasn't cruel but it was certainly forceful. She looked at her servant straight in the eye. "Did you?" she questioned once more.

"No, milady, no," she shook her head in earnest. "I have never looked in your chest. I have never taken one thing out of there. Tis your private letters...I'd not be so bold as to search through your things in that way..." she explained, "Please mistress, please," she begged dropping her head and burying it in the skirt of Lady Dagmar's swimming gown.

"Shh, there... there, Ula" the noblewoman comforted. "I believe you...I just...how did he get the letter?" she inquired once more.

"I know not my lady I know not," Ula went on tears flowing down her face she leaned into Dagmar's shoulder like she was no more than a little girl. "When he asked me for the chest at first I tried to resist. I tried to tell him I didn't know. I even questioned him as to what concern they were to him, but then...then he struck me," Ula confessed

"Ula, no," Dagmar murmured taking her chambermaid's swollen face in her hands and cupping it studying the bruising. It was easy to see that her nose had bled, there were still faint smearings of crimson along her lip line and even her tunics had the blood stains upon them. Dagmar's silver eyes narrowed as she studied the shape of her swollen cheek there were ridges there that distinctly fit the shape of a man's hand. Ula blubbered harder with her confession. She was old enough to have been Dagmar's grandmother, but she hadn't been struck since she was but a wee girl. She had a very cruel mistress then. Her master was always kind to her, but the lady of the house had always been nasty and strict toward the servants, but she was particularly vicious toward Ula and her mother. Even if Ula simply spilled a cup of milk her mistress would beat her and call her names. She had been so grateful when she and her mother and 2 brothers had been sold to another manner.

"I tried to say no, but he threatened me my lady, he threatened to cut out my very tongue," the old woman went on sobbing. "I knew he would do it,"

Dagmar shook her head her silver eyes wide with disbelief. "Oh Ula no, I cannot believe Lord Olaf..." she started.

"He is a cruel man, Mistress," Ula spoke up her voice sharp and her eyes fierce. "What was worse, what was worse Lady Dagmar was that he said he would get rid of me," the old handmaiden began to explain tears falling afresh. "Oh my lady I couldn't...that was what broke me I couldn't bear to leave you, my dear...I have been with your family so long. I was there...I was there when your grandfather was installed as prime minster of all of Vanaheim," Ula explained. "I was there when your father brought your mother, home...beautiful bride that she was," Ula nodded reminiscing, wiping at her old gray eyes. "I...it twas I who was the first to hold you when you were born," she assured her young mistress. 'y-y-you all are my family," she whispered back. "I have no children, only my nieces and nephews, but they are so far," she rambled on.

"It's alright Ula, I wouldn't let him...I could not bear to part from you either," she told Ula as she wrapped the old woman in a tight and loving hug.

Just then and ferocious pounding came to the door. "DAGMAR!" bellowed Olaf out side of the silver chamber door.

Ula yelped jumping in Dagmar's arms. "He's here!" she squeaked looking around nervously.

"It's ok... it's ok Ula," Dagmar tried to soothe as if talking to a fretful child during a thunderstorm.

"I'm sure he shall be cross to find me still here," the silver -haired servant stated as she bit her lip looking up to Dagmar.

"DAGMAR!" once again the burly Vanir man roared outside her door.

"Oh...uhhh... just one moment," Lady Dagmar called back putting on a silvery voice. "Then he won't," she stated to her chambermaid turning and nodding. "I'm...I'm just dressing...just one moment," Dagmar called back. As she started to rise.

"Mistress," the old servant woman asked with fear as she scuttled to her feet.

"Stay, here, in the fresher," Dagmar ordered with a point of her ivory finger, before she exited the bathing room. Dagmar rushed from the bathing room and into her bedchamber, trying to pull out something to wear but before she could pull out a one of her fine silk gowns to dress in she heard to the clicking as the latch to her door opened. "Olaf!" Dagmar greeted coming out into the foyer and seeing him standing by the door. "I was just getting dressed," she expressed as she closed up her long pearly white, dressing gown over her bodice.

Lord Olaf Dirkson looked the lovely ebony-maned maiden up and down, he swaggered closer to her. His face seeming placid and pleased, but the way he held his mouth, propped in a menacing grin made her stomach turn. In the blink of an eye he had bridged the gap between them, his masculine hands snaking around her curving waistline. "I've seen you naked before," he reminded her, his bushy brown eyebrows arching ever so slightly as he looked at her rosy painted cheeks and starlit eyes.

Dagmar daintily bowed her head allowing her pomegranate lips to curl into a shy smile. 'Yes," she said keeping her head down and her gaze lowered. Her silver eyes took in the scroll hanging out of his surcoat pocket. 'Well," she went on still smiling, but swallowing, "we had agreed since...since the loss," he voice dropped to being barely audible, "that we would wait until the actual wedding night..." she reminded him.

His thick lips curled into a sneer. "You agreed." he said flatly, disapproval clear in his tone. Once again he smiled, "it seems an odd display of false modesty," he stated and undid the silk belt of her evening robe, he peeled the pearly gown back away from her shoulders exposing her bathing wear. Dagmar gulped as she felt Olaf's eyes rove over her ivory flesh.

'No, no," she chided him, "Not false modesty...but it's just...I..." she fumbled.

Olaf's mouth curved downward into a severe frown. "Is this what you have been in all day?' he demanded roughly pushing the robe off of her shoulders until it fell in a poof around her bare feet. "Have you been romping around this palace in this obscene..." he started to fume she could see the bulging of his veins. He gestured angrily at her outfit.

Dagmar looked down at herself, "No, I had only just come from the pools," she explained.

"And how many Einherjar did you flout yourself before in this lewd display," he snapped.

"How can you say such things to me? I was with no man, I was only with my friend, Lady Sif,"

"Might as well have been a man," Olaf grunted.

"Stop it!" Dagmar scolded. "I'll not have you speak of my friends in such a manner," she said as if giving a warning.

"Oh forgive me, I wish not to offend one of your sweet friends," he apologized with no remorse his tongue lapping over his full mustache with the word sweet as he pulled her, close to him. "Those whom you so love," his voice quivered in her ear.

"What is all this?" she asked and though she tried not to show it, her voice must have sounded affright.

"What indeed?" Olaf responded and released his hand from around her waist. "I'm sorry, perhaps it is just I am anxious to see you well again," he phrased rubbing his hands together, "to see your coloring in it's full radiance, to see the red of your lips so full," he offered and brought his thumb to bounce on her mouth. She stared at him in confusion her eyes large like a child's. He laughed. "To see your eyes so bright," he stated a distasteful smirk on his face.

" it is good to feel well again," she acknowledged. "Would you care for some tea?" she asked pushing away and starting to head back toward her kitchenette. He nodded. She quickly fetched the saucers and brought them back into the sitting room. Olaf had made himself comfortable crossing his legs as she reentered the room. "The tea will be but a minute," she stated placing down the china cups.

"I have words for you," Olaf whispered harshly grabbing Dagmar's thin wrist.

"Good." Dagmar stated snatching her arm from his clasp. "For I have words for you," she replied sharply.

Once again Lord Dirkson tossed his head back and laughed. "You do?"

"Why yes. I was informed that you threatened my maidservant, Ula," Dagmar announced.

"Were you informed of her disrespect to me?" the Vanir statesman shot back.

"I was told you struck her,"

"Yes," The Vanir lord did not flinch at Lady Dagmar's inquiries, "Just as I would beat a horse who was out of line, or strike a slave who forgets their place, or the way I beat that criminal Loki for the dishonor he dealt me," Olaf expressed. "The way I wouldn't hesitate to make an example of a woman who tried to make a fool of me," Olaf stated looking at her through beady brown eyes.

Dagmar shook her head. "Ula is a faithful servant to me, she is a trusted friend, I have never hit her...I love her and...

"She is my property!" the representative from Vanahiem erupted, " I have paid my bride price for you, the ceremony is merely a formality now," he explained leaning back into the upholstered cushion, "That means what's yours is mine to do as I please with,"

"Then I would think that your love for me would prompt you to bestow charity upon those who I hold dear," Dagmar explained.

"You would think," the brunette man shrugged his massive shoulders just as the tea-kettle whistled. "Go and fetch the tea," the statesman ordered dismissively. Dagmar complied rushing to her kitchen area. "But I would think," Olaf began as he moved from the couch and followed behind the raven-haired enchantress. "that after you pleaded with me, and I still went ahead and beat prince Loki with in an inch of his life that you would have learned better" he said his hot breath on the back of her neck as she assembled their tea. "Now I want you to answer me Dagmar," he instructed and his grubbing fingers rubbed over her back. "And answer me truthfully," he qualified.

"Answer you what?" Dagmar stated placing the teacups down on the counter so that her trembling hands wouldn't show.

Sir Dirkson gripped Dagmar by her braided ebony hair, yanking her head back." Have you tried to make a fool of me?" he continued pulling at her hair, twisting it back so that her slender white neck was stretched and strained painfully.

"Olaf please," Dagmar scrambled. "I have no idea what you are talking..."

Olaf pulled harder on her raven mane causing her neck to turn in a most uncomfortable position. "LYING WENCH!" he yelled in her face. "You were pregnant with another man's child?!" He raged releasing her hair only to thrust her to the ground.

The dark-haired maiden flew to floor clutching her neck and letting out a whimper as she started to sit up. "What are you talking about?" She asked breathlessly.

Olaf's hand wrapped around her forearm hoisting her to her feet, he could feel her quivering in his clasp. "Don't play coy," He threatened his tone still rumbling with anger. "I'm giving you a chance to come clean, Dagmar" He said calmly patting her face and hair with gentle caresses.

She pushed away. "I don't know where you are getting these ridiculous notions," she squealed.

"You don't know what I'm talking about? You have no idea?' Olaf inquired his brown eyebrows raise and his mouth curling with a wicked grin. "Perhaps this will jog your memory!" the mustached statesman ripping the scroll from out of his pockets and unfurling it right before her eyes. Lady Dagmar watched with horror and the long scroll unraveled, revealing her deepest, darkest secret. She recognized the scroll by its distinct stationary.

"No," she gasped.

"Look familiar?" Olaf Dirkson continued to taunt letting go of Dagmar so that she fell back onto the pink cushioned footstool by the daybed.

The silver eyed Vanir woman shot up like a rocket. "Where'd you get that from," she demanded standing to her feet and reaching for the scroll.

"Confirmation that it's your's," he spat beginning to circle her like a vulture.

"I confirm nothing" Dagmar instantly retorted. "How did you get that?" she continued to challenge.

"I caught Lady Sigyn sneaking it back from the cellar," Olaf began to explain his eyes narrowing as he looked at Dagmar till circling her but the circle was growing smaller and smaller every time he went around.

"Sigyn?" Dagmar repeated the woman's name immediately she was so confused, how could Sigyn have had access to her letters. Her mind reeled and she thought quickly. There was no day Sigyn had been in her chambers when Dagmar wasn't there. Sigyn was the attendant of the queen and Dagmar had her own maidens to do her cleaning for her. When? When? When? She thought. Then it dawned on her. That night... right before the extraction. Sigyn had come to tell her that Mistress Eir needed her in the halls of healing. She'd been is such a haste to leave...she'd thought that Sigyn had come out behind her, but she hadn't been sure. Sigyn? Could she have plotted this all out. A twisted scheme of revenge? Did she want her to share the same fate, to be branded a harlot before all? No. Sigyn was far to simple minded for such schemes...or was she?

"Is she your little carrier pigeon? Does she deliver your love notes?" Olaf asked licking his lips lustfully taking in her form,

The raven-haired maiden tossed her head back and laughed. "Sigyn loved Loki, but she was found unfaithful, they were do to be wed and due to her indiscretions she cost herself the throne, now she just seeks to plant rumors and lies on me to make me seem as she is," Dagmar explained. "Surely you can see that," she expressed. "It's just a trick from a desperate woman..."

"Your story would almost be plausible, if it wasn't that I have had the unfortunate task of holding conference with lady Sigyn, we all know she is no poet," He scoffed shaking his head, "I doubt she could concoct such lofty language," he stated reaching a muscular hand out once again and pulling Lady Dagmar close, "Mmm," he breathed in her exotic scent. "Sigyn couldn't even spell half of those words, let alone use them correctly in a sentence,"

'Anyone could have written it for her," Dagmar tried to defend herself as she felt Olaf's hand wrap around her porcelain neck. "Please," she rasped feeling a heavy thumb press against her wind pipe.

"Out with it! Tell the truth you lying harlot!" Olaf demanded shaking her by the neck. "Be proud! Be bold as your were in lascivious notes. Oh declare how he ravaged you like a minstrel on a harp! SAY IT!" He threatened squeezing tighter and tighter on her throat. "You were so forthright in your letter. What's this shame now. Ashamed of how you lied with that monster? How you mingled yourself with a filthy Jotun? That seed that grew inside you was nothing but the issue of murdering villain aren't you so proud? Don't you just want to taste his slimy Jotun flesh and breed a whole horde of that race for him," Olaf taunted endlessly leaning his bearded lips by her pale ear. He chuckled cruelly.

'Guards," Dagmar tried to call, but her voice was merely a tiny squeak. Her pale hands scrambling to pry his thick fingers from around her milky throat. "Guards," she called once again. "Olaf please," she continued to beg. She was feeling herself losing consciousness as he gave her a good rattle.

"I could have you stoned!" he shouted finally dropping his hold on her. "But you are so fair," he tisked coming up to her and nudging her chin up so that he got a good look at her face. She was indeed a rare prize. "Such a waste of such, beauty." She twisted her chin from being held by his forefinger and thumb.

"So what is it that you shall do to me?" Dagmar asked looking Olaf boldly in his beady brown eyes. "Shame me? Accuse me of harlotry before all?" She barked rubbing her sore neck.

"Ha," he blasted. "You would wish for that would you not? So you can give yourself to that condemned criminal? But I shall not lose my good fortune for you. I shall not lose the glorious riches that await me from your dowry. I shall not lose out on becoming Prime Minister of Vanaheim once your father is dead. Then I will be the most powerful man in all of Vanaheim. No you shall still be my bride beautiful Dagmar and you shall have the privilege to know I will never be faithful to you," he explained coldly. "That is your penalty, my dear," he declared stomping forth from the kitchen. And back to her foyer. Dagmar clambered to her feet and chased after him and she watched as Olaf gripped her trunk full of scrolls and letter and marched them toward the fire-place.

Dagmar coughed as she regained her breath. "Penalty for what?' asked still choking as she looked at his back and saw his shoulders heaving as he faced the glowing fire.

"luring me into this union under false pretenses," he rumbled.

"I didn't lure you," she insisted. "You asked my father for my hand. It was you who made advances to me before our wedding night! What have you suffered? Nothing! You have not been forced raise the child of another man! The babe is dead!" Dagmar shouted finally breaking and falling to her knees. "The babe is dead," she whispered with a shuddering sob, "You did not even mourn for the babe when you thought it was yours," she expressed looking up at him as tears spilled forth from her silverlining eyes. "You did not even comfort me, for the loss of my child," she wept.

"Why would I have mourned over that misshapen blue beast that you produced?" Olaf asked heartlessly glowering down at the lovely woman crying in a puddle at his feet.

"It was an innocent life," Dagmar replied.

"It was a horrific monster! I was disgusted seeing what you had yielded and then you had the nerve to try to disguise that Frost Giant Spawn and say that the child merely didn't get enough oxygen when it was born!" he shouted down at her. "I thought you too would be relieved that I disposed of that..."

"Speak no more of my babe!" Dagmar shouted.

"It is too monstrous to speak of, Olaf confessed and he spat on the ground near her hand as if the very mention of her offspring was too abominable to say. He spay to the ground next to her hand. "Now to get rid of your precious love notes. I shall know the passion of many women in my bed, and you shall not even have these whoring love letters to keep you company," Olaf declared tossing his head back in a cruel laugh.

"What? No! There is nothing in those letters..." Olaf Dirkson flipped the contents of the chest into the open flame. "NOOO! NO! No!" Lady Dagmar cried as she watched the leaflets, parchments and scrolls tumble into the swirling, hot fire. "NO!" she screamed in horror bringing her hands to her face and rushing toward the hearth. "No!" she protested as she watched each precious memory being lapped up in the fire. "There was nothing in those letters, NOTHING!" Dagmar shouted. "They were nothing but letters between friends, most of them were written when Loki and I were children," she expressed her silver eyes welling up with tears that flowed like a flood down her cheeks. "We wrote of books, of the weather, of our family, nothing salacious at all!" she declared tearing toward the fire and hurrying toward the flames her hands hovering over them as if she was tempted to dive her palms in and pull out the letters that she say turning crisp as they incinerated. Dagmar dropped to her knees frantically, fumbling with feverish fingers to snatch the parchments and scrolls that had fallen to the side out of the fire. She yelped and winced as she desperately tried to save some of her treasured correspondences.

As her hands fretted to pull a few scrolls out of the fire, she felt Olaf's rough hands grapple her by her soft forearms and hoist her away from the hearth. Dagmar screamed frantically, kicking her feet and clawing at Olaf's brawny and hairy arms trying to get back to all the letters from her childhood before they all went up in flames. Olaf flipped her on to the upholstered couch and climbed on top of her. "GET OFF OF ME!" Dagmar yelled.

"Ah-ah-ah," Olaf shook his finger in her face as his one hand was able to bind both her wrists above her head. "You said I was too quick before, you want a night of long love-making," he chuckled cruel lust in his tone as his left hand rode over her stomach and down at her thighs, tugging her skirt down. Dagmar kicked furiously. "you want me to look you in the eye," he breathed his breath on her face while his left hand caught her face to hold it in place and keep her from thrashing, he pressed his lips against hers and abrasively slid his fat tongue in her mouth. Dagmar jerked her head back and bit down hard on his tongue until she tasted his metallic blood. Olaf screamed finally ripping his tongue from her throat. He growled down out her a furious animal in heat, his bloodied tongue still dripping, the deadly red marring ivory flesh.

"GUARDS!" Dagmar screamed once more only to have Olaf clamp his large hand over her pomegranate lips.

Ula rushed in from the back powder room. "Dagmar!" the old woman cried as her eyes caught the brutal sight. Hobbling as quickly as she could the old servant woman made her way to aid her mistress. She gripped Olaf Dirkson by his long chocolate ringlets pulling at his head. "Let her go!" the woman cried. Olaf thrust his elbow back wielding a crippling blow to old Ula's gut. The elderly chambermaid flew back striking her head against the marble mantle and slumping down.

"Ula!" Dagmar yelled finally tearing her lips from beneath Olaf's disgusting hand. Her right foot flying up to kick him in the stomach. He grunted but he didn't budge from off top of her he was a solid muscular build. Once he collected himself he pressed down harder on her.

"Oohh," he crooned, "So fiery, here I thought you didn't like it rough," he teased. "You want a man to whisper sweet secrets to you, during sex," he panted in her ear. "Well I have a secret for you, my pretty," he went on. "Your bastard child wasn't born still birth, you passed out after losing, blood and the midwife brought me your hideous offspring," he began chuckling, "And I told her to get rid of it!"

Dagmar's silver eyes grew wide, The starlit silver coloring fading to a brooding and smoldering stormy color. Olaf felt a strong wind whip through the chamber as a tempest was brewing. Dagmar snarled. Using her powers she jettisoned Olaf off of herself and propelled him into the ceiling. She threw his body from ceiling to floor and then back to the ceiling. She held him in place with her one hands raised in the air. Dagmar waved her ivory hand toward the flame and manipulated some of the fire from out of the hearth placing it right beneath Olaf's body. She rose up the ceiling to face him in the midst of a swirling vortex of flame. With an invisible hold she clutched at his windpipe. Olaf struggled, scrambling for breath. "You are a cruel and merciless man," Dagmar declared before him her silvery eyes crackling with lightening. "I should drop you into this fire and let you burn!" she declared.

"No...p-pplease," he begged desperately as the flames rose and cackled until he could feel them making his flesh hot and uncomfortable. "Now tell me, where is my baby?' She asked as a river streamed down her face.

"I...I...I" Olaf started his breath cut off in her choke hold.

"TELL ME!" the enchantress roared.

"I...I... don't know..." he managed. "Probably dead..." he explained scared and tears in his eyes as the fire rose toward the ceiling.

Dagmar stifled a sob allowing the fury and rage to drain from her visage. The the fire burned down simmering into the carpet until it dissipated into nothingness. "Go to sleep, Olaf," she whispered quietly releasing a powerful sleeping spell. Dagmar dropped his limp body back to the ground just as the guards nd her father burst through the door. They looked around at the disarray of the room, the unconscious servant on the floor and Dagmar torn garments.

"D-dagmar?" Her father breathed, 'What happened?' he asked.

"Oh Papa!" she cried running into his arms.

---

The world was all a blur. It had changed In hue it was a swirling orb of blaring red and obscuring black. It shimmered in darkness. It was frightful. Her head throbbed. She'd never felt such pain it was as if every crinkle in her cranium was being pounded upon and about to explode. It was too much more than she could bear. She wondered if she was feeling herself form a tumor. Was this what a stroke felt like? An aneurism. It was merciless. Her whole body felt light and disconnected as if she was there and not there all at once. Her limbs felt numb to her, they were as distant as stars and she had no power over them to make the move or obey her. They were their own orbits and she was merely a will less galaxy with in which they were contained. It was such an awful feeling, she could not explain it. She was within and she was without, an observer and an unwilling participant in whatever was taking place.

Something had gotten hold of her. Something that at first had seemed so mysterious and fascinating, but in reality it was something poisonous and wicked. She didn't know what it was.

"Jane! Jane!" a frantic baritone voice called to her. Somehow she managed to hear it in the midst of the sea of spiraling sounds. So many sounds. Crashing, banging, clanging, beating hearts, furious foot steps, swishing and swashing, slishing and sloshing sounds, grating and grubbing sounds and ancient murmurs. They were most indecipherable to her ears, like no language she'd ever heard and her roommate in college hand been an anthropology and linguistics major so she'd heard many. Whatever this language was it was painful to the ears. She didn't like it one bit. No it sounds so harsh and violent without any pleasantry or sympathy within the syllables.

"Jane! Jane!" there was her name again ringing in her ears and calling her away from the foreboding darkness. She blinked bleary eyes blinking away the redness. "Hold on Jane, you shall be set right," the voice assured her. The words somehow drew her back to reality as the face became more clear in her vision. What a pleasant face it was. So handsome and chiseled as if it was made from marble. She felt as though it should have been in the Colosseum some replica of an ancient gladiator. She studied the face further, the sturdy jawline, the distinguished cheekbones, full lips and well shaped up beard, no no perhaps it belonged in the Pantheon of Greek gods. The eyes were so crisp and blue. Looking at them was like staring straight into the heavens, hair long and golden like sheaves of wheat. Then she remembered...no not Greek, Norse. Norse. Thor. Thor...Thor had returned for her as he promised...she was angry, overjoyed...then she exploded...kinda...and he was bringing her to his home...his home... bifrost...Asgard.

'Thor," she managed to sputter out, as the world faded from that horrid nightmarish tint and she was able to see things as they were. She was able to see a dazzling sky over head. She noted his arms. They were so big. She could hear Darcy calling them "musclely" she smirked to herself, their really wasn't a better word for them. That's when she realized that he was carrying her. She was slack against his bulging biceps. Despite the massive size of his arms and the might of his hands, he was carrying her with such tenderness and care. She felt like no more than a little baby girl in the arms of a loving father. "Thor, Thor," she called not meaning for her voice to sound so weak, "I...I think I can walk," she assured him. He looked down at her, his thick blonde eyebrows quirking with suspicion for a moment, but she nodded encouragingly and he returned to nod. Instantly they came to a halt. It was abrupt. It was then that she noticed that they had been on a horse. He dismounted with her still in his arms, but finally he sat her down on her own two feet.

Thor's arm never strayed from her body he still had it protectively wrapped around her waist, but she welcomed the touch, it had been so long since they'd been together. She looked up at him beaming. She felt foolish like a high school girl who keeps smiling because the start quarter back has noticed her, but she couldn't help it. She thought she detected a faint glow around him, maybe he was glowing or maybe it was just that the world around her was made of bright, glittering gold. "Welcome to Asgard," he whispered in her ear and he tucked a brown strand behind her ear and with his other hand gestured to the opulent outline of the city unfolding before their eyes.

Jane Foster was astonished. It was like nothing she'd ever seen before. She was a small town girl. She grew up in a midwestern dustball. Until she was 16 the biggest cities she had seen were on T.V. She had been grateful to go to UCLA for college just to get away from her small town. When she'd gone East Coast for the first time during Grad School she'd been in awe of New York City. It was glitter and glamor, a busy hubbub, lights camera and action, she truly believed it was the greatest city on earth. She had been wonder struck in London, it was full of so much culture and history, it was so sophisticated and smart, but this...None of those magnificent cities could compare to this. Monuments stood as tall as skyscrapers. There were stadiums and temples made of jasper stone and emeralds floating and hovering off of the ground. And there in the center in the midst of a world of wonder stood the Imperial Palace of Asgard. It rose from the middle of the golden city like a great gilded mountain. It was breathtaking.

Jane blinked her eyes rapidly and even rubbed her hands over them. "Is this for real?" she questioned out loud.

She could hear Thor chuckling by her side, "Yes," he replied, slowly ushering her along through the white diamond gates. "Watch your step," he cautioned her.

Naturally, she looked down, he feet slid and she noticed a crystal floor where all the colors of the rainbow were resplendent in its reflection. She nearly keeled over. She turned around looking at it. It led all the way through the city and then back to the Bifrost site. "I...I...I can't believe this!" she stammered with amazement. "This...t-t-this is the bridge! This is an Einstein-Rosen Bridge!" She exclaimed nearly jumping up and down.

Thor had to contain her. He beamed watching her overwhelming glee. "The Rainbow Bridge, yes" he shrugged. "Come, we must get you to a healer," he began trying to push hear along.

"Healer?" Jane whipped her head around and looked a the gorgeous prince as if he had 3 heads. "I feel fine," she flagged him off. "I have to take some samples of this, make notes...my studies... do I have my cell phone...I could take pictures..." she wondered.

"Jane you are not well," Thor warned her his voice going from jovial to stern. He started to push her along, but Jane stood her ground.

"Do you realize what a breakthrough this is?" she asked panting. Truth be told he didn't. The Rainbow Bridge was nothing of wonder to the people of Asgard, she imagined to him it must have been the equivalent of walking down his own street. She shook her head. "I...I have to study this," she explained best she could.

"After you see the healer," he admonished and she relented allowing him to guide her through the gate. Once through the gate they were met with much fanfare: resounding trumpets, heralds, bows and curtesies, oohs and ahs. There were many beautiful Asgardian woman, all a lovely as movie stars, calling Thor's name, waving handkerchiefs at him from the balconies above, and throwing flower petals as they entered the palace courtyard. It was like something from a fairytale.

They strode through the hall, Jane was lost taking in the opulence and splendor of the palace. The craftsmanship in the walls and the ceilings with their ornate designs, paintings and patterns. She was lost. "Thor!" A female voice greeted eagerly coming up on.

"Sif," The blonde prince of the realm called to his good friend.

"Where were you?" the brunette warrior woman asked a smile on her lips, "I was just going to ask you if you wanted to spa-" She froze in her words as she turned to see Jane, a dwarf in comparison to the grand man she was standing next to. Jane thought she allowed a smile to be displayed across her face. She remembered the fearsome female from the terrible battle against that robot on Earth. She thought she produced a smile, but from the way the woman grew ridgid and from the reaction of her face she thought maybe she'd scowled at Lady Sif. "What is she doing here?" Sif nearly barked.

Thor pursed his fleshy lips at Sif's disposition. "Sif, surely you remember Jane Foster?"

"I did not say I didn't remember her...I asked what is she doing here?" the shield-maiden snapped.

"Jane is not well..."

"She looks well," Sif said without thought.

"Something happened on Earth, she needs a healer," Thor explained quickly. Before nearly whisking Jane off down the corridor to the halls of healing.

"It's good to see you again Sif,' Jane managed to say before Thor could completely drag her.

"Lady Jane," Sif merely nodded and continued in a march in the opposite direction.

"Come Jane," Thor called pulling her down the hallway.

It didn't take them long to reach the Halls of Healing, the healers immediately swarmed around them. Jane couldn't help but feel like a gawdy and peculiar duck in a pond full of lovely swans. All the women of Asgard seemed to be flawless beauties. She felt like such a plan Jane in comparison. She felt like an insect under a microscope as the strapped her down to a table and put up a glowing shield-maiden over her body and manipulated the gears and knobs on it. "What is it?' Thor asked nervously as he came up behind one of the healers. A young woman, who Jane would have assumed was her own age except for having figured out that this young woman was probably centuries and centuries old. She was porcelain skinned and silver eyed.

She shook her head. "I know not...I've never seen something like this," she explained. "It is not natural, it is not of Earth or Asgard," she expressed, his bright silver eyes did not stray to look at Crown Prince Thor, but stayed on Jane. "It's distinctly, mystical," the woman explained.

"Can it be purged from her?" Thor pressed on, leaning over and observing Jane. She seemed to not be concerned about the conversation being had over her head. She was wide eyed like a child watching the intricate process that the healers were performing. "Can you perform an extraction?" he asked his tone nervous and worried.

Once again the ebony-haired healer shook her head as she worked her ministrations. The red, ooze started to seem as though it was drifting out of Jane, but then the machine would shudder and react violent. "It would be very unsafe, my prince," the young healer breathed. " This...this matter..." the pomegranate lipped healer began, "It protects itself," she explained once again as the team of healers working with her cranked up the knobs on the device only to have the red and black ooze pull and fight against them.

"Yes, Dagmar, but surely you...you and Eir could..."

"She is not as Loki," Dagmar explained she closed pearly eyelids over shining silver eyes. She exhaled through her thick lips. Shaking her head to clear it she uttered, "She is mortal...I doubt she would survive...not with my limited knowledge, I hardly know what contaminates her let alone how to remove it."

"Is this a quantum field generator?" Jane asked excitedly to the regal looking healer.

The starry-eyed noble woman twisted her features, "it's a soul forge," she expressed flatly. Jane went on to ask more questions about the device that they were using to work on her. The pale skinned woman answered in the affirmative.

Jane wore a smug and proud smirk on her cute face looking up at Thor she commented snarkily, "Quantum Field Generator," Thor beamed so proud of her wit and strength as he looked down on her with admiration.

"I could run some more test," the head healer announced, 'I will research the symptoms...I'm sure we can find what it is... I am beginning to think that it is Elfin," Dagmar explained the other healers continued busying themselves working on Jane, while Lady Dagmar took a small respite walking away from the patient with the Prince at her heals. "It reminds me some what of the some of the substances that I came in contact with when I studied among the Light Elves, but this is distinctly, dark...I...I...I'm not sure it's origins..." she stated looking at her hands and then daring to look back up at the Crown Prince of the Golden Realm.

"She's right," A regal voice confirmed as it entered the room. The voice was booming and commanding and all the healers who had been furiously working on the sick human turned and with reverence bowed to the royal figure who entered the room. "It is Elfin," he explained.

Jane leaped from the operating table. The medical workers clad in white robes tried to keep her down, but she was restless, she'd been on that table for what seemed like hours and was no closer to an answer about her condition. "Is he the head physician?" Jane asked walking over to join Thor, Lady Dagmar and the elderly man dressed in fine golden fabrics

The gray-haired man with the gold eye-patch bristled. "I am Odin Borson, King of Asgard and defender of the Nine Realms," he told her turning and pinning the scrawny mortal woman he a cold glance.

"King..." Jane balked her tongue feeling thick and she could feel her cheeks starting to flush.

"And you are?" Odin started. Jane opened her mouth to respond to the royal question. But the ruler of Asgard held forth a weathered open palm that silenced her. "Oh never mine, I know who you are, Jane Foster," he expressed, he never cracked a smile but his one eye scrutinized her severely.

Despite the gruff tone with which the King of Asgard spoke her name, Jane couldn't help but feel flattered, "You told your father about me?" she asked Thor with a giggled and Odin looked on with slight amusement as he watched his brawny warrior son chuckle back to the girls question. Odin's slate-colored eyes may have been old, but they could still spy redness coming over Thor's chiseled and ruddy cheeks. He shook his head in amusement. The great king could not say he was in favor of Thor's infatuation with this mortal woman. In the end he knew that Thor's love for her would only cause the boy great pain. Thor would be a young man and he'd be forced to watch his bride grow, old, gray and tired in less than a century. If they had children their children would be little more than toddlers and Jane would be an old woman, but still for all the logical reasons for the king to be against this blossoming romance, he couldn't help but allow a small smile to creep across his bearded lips as he noted their flattery of one another. It reminded him of his darling Frigga in the days of their youth. She was nothing but a country girl introduced at court. She was certainly not the damsel that the people of Asgard had thought would capture the eye of the crown prince, but she had. Her gentleness and patience, her wit and grace, he'd been smitten after only a few hours in her company. She was a loving mother, a faithful wife and a devoted queen. He could ask for no more in a woman. He couldn't help but want the same for his heir.

"Sire, you mentioned the malady," Dagmar spoke up.

"Yes," Odin confirmed clearly his throat. "It is Elfin, an ancient power gem of the Dark Elves," he explained in a voice that was almost a whisper. "it is called the Aether," he told them. "Follow me," he told the three young people. Odin moved quickly down the hall and lead them to a room filled with ancient knowledge. Jane was enthralled with the vast compendium of information that the room held. It was like a library and an observatory all in one, but she tried to contain herself from not looking like a silly little girl overly excited in a toy store. King Odin pulled out a large book and set it in the midst of a table that glowed with a fervent blue light. The blue like made the pictures in the book dance and come to life displaying themselves on the ceiling in hologram form. For that Odin explained about the Aether, the power source of the Dark Elves, an ancient and evil race who the Asgardians fought to destroy. The battle was won and it was thought that the elves and their crystal had been wiped out.

"Well if this dark crystal still exist then what about the elves, do they still survive?" Jane questioned immediately.

"The Elves were defeated," Odin said with finality in his tone.

"And what of Jane, Father?" Thor asked with great interest as he wrapped a strong-arm around Janes waist.

"Yes what of me?" the auburn haired human barked back.

"You must be separated from the Aether, before Convergence," Odin qualified.

"Convergence? What is Convergence?" Jane wondered out loud looking from Thor, to Odin and to Dagmar.

"It would take a mage of great power to do such things," Lady Dagmar interjected.

"Indeed," the gray-haired king confirmed.

"Loki," Thor answered his voice low and grave.

Loki?" Jane asked his face twisting with repulsions. "That mad man who attacked New York?"

'But Loki has faced extraction... his powers are gone..." the silver-eyed enchantress informed. She thought for a moment. "But perhaps he would have enough knowledge on how to tell others what to do," she perked up.

The ruler of the golden realm changed the subject. "Lady Dagmar," he addressed the ebony maned maiden, "Please take Lady Jane and see her to her chambers and see that she is properly made up for tonight's ball," He expressed allowing a favorably smile to befall his face.

"Ball?" Jane inquired.

"A Ball!" Thor voice exclaimed. "Father what a wonderful idea,"

"Oh no, oh no," Jane began waving her hands in front of her face. "That's not necessary,"she tired to explain to the royal group around her.

"It was your mother's idea," Odin explained giving a wink to his golden son with his only eye.

"Honestly that really isn't necessary," Jane insisted once more.

"Nonsense," Thor flagged off his brunette haired love interest's hesitancy. "A ball is truly the perfect way to introduce you to court and realm," he insisted.

"But,"

"Besides you wouldn't want to offend my mother," The blue eyed prince gave her a wink.

"Thor come with me," Odin ordered. Thor followed his father, but gave Jane's hand a squeeze ensuring her that he would be back to check on her as soon as possible.

Dagmar wrapped gentle silky hands around Jane's shoulders. "Come," she called to the young mortal. "Do maidens on Midgard so often dress in trousers?" She asked pointing to Jane's strange apparel, she couldn't suppress her snicker at the clothing

Jane looked down at herself. "Jeans? Yes." she answered shrugging her shoulders and giving a goofy lopsided grin.

"I see," Dagmar replied grin sneaking over her face. "Come with me and let us see if I can't find you something more suitable to wear," Dagmar offered slowly guiding her down the hall.

A/N: Well that was a long chapter, but hopefully it was a good one and it involved all the things that you were looking for! Believe it out not this was actually a trickery chapter to write. But it is the pulse changer and catalyst for out conclusion!