Author's Note: The events of this story take place during the 10th Chapter of Forged Anew, just after Lilith and Loki were arguing about 'Ilsa' staying on to work as a maid.

As much as I wanted to work in the garden- not to mention how badly it needed attention- I had a few other chores to see to first. Since Ilsa had shown up at the house a little over a week ago, most of our time had been spent out here or in the music room. I'd left Berda with most of the household tasks that I would have normally handled.

Not the kindest thing to do to my cook, in my opinion. I knew already what Berda would say about it; she'd chided me more than once that a Lady of my rank ought to be directing servants to take care of those tasks instead of doing them myself. But I think she knew why I didn't insist upon having more staff in the house, and never pressed too hard.

Personally, I thought it irresponsible for a Lady of any rank not to have at least some experience performing the chores of her household. How else could she expect to direct servants in a task she had never done? Or know if the hired staff was taking advantage of her ignorance?

In coming to this house from the palace, I was forced to accept that I had been very ignorant to how much work servants truly did. I had a better appreciation for the comforts I'd enjoyed while I lived there. Hadn't even the faintest idea where the linens were stored, much less the supplies needed to clean even the simplest of messes. If the host of servants in the palace hadn't cleaned, aired the linens and picked up after me, I would have been a sorry sight in just a few weeks' time.

But I'd learned. Had to. Berda- despite her mild disapproval- had taught me in those early days. She'd even tried to teach me in the kitchen. Tried without much success; I was a miserable cook. Would always forget something or put in the wrong ingredient- sugar where I should have added salt. Berda decided after the fourth disaster that I'd be more help if I just steered clear of her domain.

Speaking of help, I remarked to myself. It's long overdue that Ilsa starts picking up her share of the work around here.

Not that she hadn't been doing any. Keeping up with the garden was work. But it had been more of a means of keeping her busy while I tried to convince her to leave for good. And since she'd stubbornly refused to do so, I supposed now was as good a time as any to make better use of her help.

And I confess myself more than a little curious to see just how much experience- or lack thereof- she has when it comes to working as a maid.

As for Ilsa, she stared at me in silent determination. No doubt waiting for me to argue on the subject of her staying. She wasn't going to hear it. I'd said I wouldn't repeat my entreaty for her to leave and I'd meant it. And by now she'd seen enough of my husband's character to know what she was in for if she stayed. Any misfortune she suffered at his hands was on her own head; I couldn't do more than I already had to prevent it.

Short of locking the doors and instructing Berda not to let her in, I thought to myself. If I really wanted to keep her away I have the means to do it.

Rather than examine the reasons why I didn't do just that, I merely shook my head with a reluctant sigh.

"All right, then."

When I moved to turn back towards the house, a touch of confusion colored Ilsa's expression.

"Weren't you planning to work out here today?"

"In a little while, but first I need to take care of a few other things."

"Oh." She followed me into the house. I didn't offer any explanation at first, and her curiosity must have been peaked enough to ask, "What things?"

"The never-ending tasks that come with a household, I guess," I replied over my shoulder. "Rooms need cleaned, laundry put away- you get the idea. I can't leave them all up to Berda."

I didn't think much of the lack of response on her part, and just kept walking down the hall. Normally, I would have picked a room and worked my way through the house until I finished. But since that routine had been disrupted of late, asking my cook where I could be of most use would be a better idea. So we descended the stairs to the kitchen.

Berda turned at the sound of our footfalls, her expression slightly worried.

"Up and about, Lady? Didn't expect you to be down so early."

No, she wouldn't have. Since Ilsa's departure five days ago, I rarely descended from my room before late morning- or late afternoon if Danethar came back to the house for mid-day. A necessary precaution. Not just on account of the physical injuries I'd suffered, but also to mentally prepare myself to interact with someone else. Even if it was only Berda.

"I thought to get an earlier start today."

She said nothing at first before directing a pointed look at Ilsa. I could tell Berda thought she had something to do with the sudden change, and was not surprised when she made a comment to that effect.

"I see the Allfather's gift has returned after her extended absence. Thought she might have found the duties expected of her to be too difficult and decided not to come back."

Her tone bordered on insolent. Despite the few times she and I had crossed words over the past few months, I'd never heard her so outspoken before. But as her sharp gaze bored into the woman next to me, I got the distinct impression that Berda was disappointed in her.

Ilsa took it upon herself to answer the cook's rebuke, unflinching as she said, "I'm prepared to face any challenge put before me, Berda."

"Are you? Look forward to seeing it."

That retort pleased the younger maid not one bit. If I didn't do something to intervene, the situation would devolve into a heated argument very quickly. So before Ilsa could give voice to her outrage, I spoke up.

"Is there anything Ilsa and I can do, Berda?"

She cast a look in my direction, momentarily distracted from her quarrel with the maid. Disaster averted- for now. I'd have to keep an eye on those two going forward. Or at least until whatever differences they had were settled. Maybe this offer to help her with the general chores would help with that.

"You know, around the house," I added. "I thought it best to see what needed done before working in the garden."

Berda considered my words for a few minutes. She looked to me, then to Ilsa, and back. I couldn't be sure, but I thought I might have seen the barest of smiles tug at the corner of her mouth. A rare sight, and more than a little unsettling.

What could she have found so amusing about my request?

I didn't ask and she wasn't inclined to tell me. Instead, Berda gestured to the adjoining workroom with a nod.

"Aye, there is, Lady. The linens finished drying on the line this morning and could do with a bit of folding. They're in the laundry basket there."

"Easy day," I answered lightly. "Is that all?"

Another long, assessing look at Ilsa before she replied, "Why don't you see to that and we'll talk about any other duties when you're through."

"Sounds fair."

I skirted the island countertop in the center of the kitchen to get to the workroom. On the left side, food staples neatly lined the shelves; to my right, storage for various goods and supplies. The basket Berda mentioned sat on the tiled floor, contents mounded high above its rim. I regarded it with no small amount of resentment.

Didn't even know I possessed this much linen.

Would take the better part of an hour to get it all folded and put away. Hel, just getting the damned thing upstairs was going to be challenging enough. But far better to do the folding up there where I had more space for it. I reached for the basket handles.

"You really shouldn't do that yourself you know."

Ilsa's admonishment rang sharply in my ears. She must have followed me over here, and for whatever reason, objected strongly to what I planned to do. That was her problem, not mine. And so I paid her no mind as I adjusted my grip. But before I could lift the basket, Ilsa had grabbed the rim with both hands, keeping it firmly in place.

"Lilith, don't even think about it."

A wealth of bossiness in that tone. As if she thought she could order me around. Without even looking up, I muttered an indignant reply.

"You can't be serious."

"I absolutely am. You're a Lady- whether you care to think of yourself as one or not. A Lady of rank, I might remind you. You shouldn't be killing yourself trying to do all this work alone. And you can't tell me that Berda lets you do this without expressing a similar opinion."

"She has," I admitted coolly. "I've told her the same thing I'll tell you. I don't care what you think a Lady should or shouldn't do. I'm doing it, anyway."

If I thought that would satisfy her, I was wrong. She didn't budge an inch. Incredulous and somewhat furious, I tipped my gaze up to hers. From her expression, Ilsa was equally annoyed with me, although I couldn't see why.

"What," I demanded irritably.

"You're not taking that upstairs on your own."

A thread of steel ran through those words. Even after only knowing the woman five days, I already knew what it meant; Ilsa was not going to let this go. No doubt we would be locked in this impasse all morning unless I conceded. And then nothing would get done.

A Lady of rank she tells me. Ludicrous. Look at me- I can't even maintain control of my own household, I berated myself bitterly. A servant takes me to task and in the end I'm the one caving into her demands. Some Lady, indeed.

But cave I most certainly did, though not without letting her know I wasn't happy about it.

"I trust you've a better idea, then? One way or another this has to get upstairs. So I'm all ears."

She eyed the pile of assorted linens, saying nothing at first. I merely waited. At last, she seemed to make a decision. Rather than tell me what it was, though, Ilsa turned back to the kitchen.

"Berda- do you have a second basket? Anything big enough to hold some of this?"

I was surprised at her solution, but probably shouldn't have been. In fact, had I thought of it from the beginning, I could have saved myself the fruitless argument. But I hadn't. Didn't cross my mind at all to split the work with Ilsa. Why?

You were too busy trying to prove that you could do it on your own, that's why.

While I was cringing at my own self-criticism, my cook had answered Ilsa's question.

"Might try the corner behind the dry goods."

Sure enough, when I rummaged around the sacks of flour and other grains, a round wicker tub sat at the bottom of the pile. With a forceful tug, I wrenched it free and set it beside the other. By then, Ilsa was once more facing me. She watched in stoic silence as I stuffed a fair portion of the laundry into the second basket.

That done, I glanced up again and queried, "Is this less objectionable?"

"It'll have to do," she muttered under her breath, hoisting one to waist level. "Shall we?"

I grabbed the other and led the way out through the kitchen. Ilsa followed behind. As we passed Berda, she never said a word or seemed to stop what she was doing. But out of the corner of my eye, I caught her watching our procession with keen interest. Couldn't be certain, but she might have chuckled lightly once we reached the top of the stairs.

What is going on with everyone? Today is sure gearing up to be a strange one.

I can't believe I'm actually doing this, Loki told himself with a heavy, inward sigh. Carrying laundry like a common servant. Me. A prince of Asgard.

Couldn't be helped. In fact, he ought to feel fortunate that he'd gotten this far masquerading as 'Ilsa' without having to do any real work. Lilith had kept them to the garden, and that could hardly be considered all that arduous. Certainly not what he'd thought he'd be doing when he first conceived of this scheme.

Loki had begun to wonder if she would ever expect 'Ilsa' to earn her keep as a maid. Today appeared to be that day. And so here he was, trudging up the stairs with this awkward basket.

Could have just let Lilith carry it herself, a nagging whisper reminded him. Right on cue, as usual. Didn't you hear her? She wasn't interested in letting 'Ilsa' help her in the first place. You did that all on your own.

An action that concerned Loki more than he cared to admit. Not just the things he'd said during his argument with her, but also the flash of anger that had given rise to it in the first place. That was twice today he'd felt like he was losing control of his own game.

He refused to let that thought take hold, and found a better explanation to offer in return. Suppose she was expecting 'Ilsa' to volunteer, Loki proposed rationally. I'm playing a part, remember?

And just what part are you trying to play now, it struck back mercilessly. So hard to keep track when it changes so often.

Loki ignored that last comment, refusing to engage yet another debate with that wretched voice in his head. Just a rogue thought stirring up unnecessary trouble where none truly existed. Nothing to worry about. But dismissing the subject wasn't so easily done.

His thoughts circled back to it despite all efforts to move on. He'd seen Lilith reach for that basket and his temper snapped. Anyone with sense could see it would be far too heavy for her to carry all the way upstairs alone. And yet she would have done it, anyway. Why? Did she think she could convince 'Ilsa' to leave if she kept pretending she didn't need any servants?

Lilith doesn't need servants, he amended sarcastically. She needs a damned keeper to protect her from herself. Which is a full time job in and of itself.

A challenge unlikely to leave time for boredom, wouldn't you say?

I didn't say I was volunteering.

This time, the voice had no witty reply; silence was its own answer. As he set his foot on the final stair to the main level, Loki repeated sullenly. I am not Lilith's damn keeper or anything else for that matter. I'm just here to ruin Danethar and to use her gates to escape Asgard.

He kept repeating those words the whole length of the hallway. Lilith led them to back to her room, temporarily balancing her burden against one hip as she turned the knob to open the door. Once inside she nodded to the bed.

"Might as well set these down over there."

Loki followed her lead while taking stock of the room itself. He'd seen it earlier- briefly- when waiting for her to emerge from the bathing room. The last time he'd been to the house, it had been a battle scene- littered with the remnants of a shattered life. Aftermath from the night Danethar had nearly beaten her to death.

Lilith had cleared all that away in the five days that had gone by. In place of the mess…nothing. Aside from the bed, dresser and wardrobe, the room was empty. No art on the walls or anything personal lying around. Just a depressingly barren space.

I had better accommodations in my cell in the palace dungeon. After a slight pause, he reconsidered that particular claim. Well, except for the view.

Lilith must have noticed the direction of 'Ilsa's' attention. She combed her fingers through her hair with a sigh.

"I suppose it looks a bit sparse in here."

"I wasn't going to say anything, but…when are you going to redecorate this room?"

"I'm not."

"Say again?"

"I'm not going to redecorate. It'll just stay this way."

Loki frowned, gaze sweeping the room again.

"You can't seriously live like this."

"It's not worth it, Ilsa." She retrieved a hand towel from the top of her pile and folded it neatly. "I've already gone through this at least three or four times already. If I have anything of personal value to me, Danethar will just take it away. I don't want to do it anymore."

The words were spoken with a calm acceptance, which irked him enough to comment.

"So you're giving up- letting him win."

"I'm sure Danethar might see it that way. But who really won? How is he supposed to have fun wrecking my room if there's nothing in it? And I care a lot less about having a bunch of pointless things than he cares about destroying them."

She wasn't lying. Possessions mattered very little to Lilith. Loki wondered how much of that had been thanks to lessons Danethar had taught her. He suspected she had been more sentimental about her belongings before her life with the warrior. Only natural that she would have developed a sense of detachment in the months since, convincing herself not to care about the things she owned.

Except, perhaps, for that book she gave to 'Ilsa' not so long ago. Lilith certainly cared whether Danethar destroyed that particular possession.

He debated the wisdom of pointing that out to her, but ultimately decided this wasn't the right time to mention the book. That particular puzzle could wait; Loki had others that required solving first. For now, he was content to prod her further about the statement she'd just made, and replied with an artless shrug.

"Based on what I know of women, most of them wouldn't choose that particular answer."

"Most of them wouldn't survive this life for very long, either," she answered with a wry smile. "You've gotta get tough or die."

In this house, words like that are no laughing matter, Lilith. Danethar's relentless abuse should have killed her weeks ago. And yet she stands here making jokes about it. Loki found he couldn't share in the humor. Not today. Not after what he'd seen earlier when he'd first arrived.

Lilith sighed at his deadpan expression, returning her attention to the laundry. And having run out of excuses, Loki supposed it was time 'Ilsa' joined her at the task. How hard could it be, anyway? Suppressing a sigh, he tugged at the edge of what he'd thought was a pillowcase.

It wasn't. Yard after yard of rose-colored linen draped over his arm. Definitely a bedsheet. As Loki detangled himself from its billowy folds, he considered his options to attack and solve this puzzle. Start with the edges- the corners?

He found one and then another. But when Loki went to match them together, something seemed amiss. The edges wouldn't line up at all. He dared a sideways glance to Lilith to gauge her reaction. Luckily, she was too distracted by her own task to pay attention to him.

A second attempt finally succeeded in folding the sheet in half. After that, he found it much easier to manage. Fold after fold created an ever smaller rectangle, until Loki felt he'd gone far enough. Or at least it looked about the same size as the stack of other assorted linens that Lilith had already folded. So he set his finished work on top and moved onto the next item in his basket.

Just get this over with. The sooner it's done, the sooner I can try to get her out in the garden to talk about her gates.

Either way, after having dealt with the bedsheet without too much trouble, Loki figured nothing else would be much of a challenge. He spied more of the same rose linen, and he guessed it might be the matching pillowcase.

It wasn't. Not even close.

Oh gods, what nightmare is this?

Instead of straight-edged corners, these bunched and curled in on themselves. Elastic? Undaunted, he set to work at folding the material into something resembling a rectangle. The first try was a miserable failure, leaving him to start over; the second wasn't any better. As the third shaped up to be the worst disaster yet, frustration set in.

I am a genius. I've mastered the arts, sciences and magic. Designed schemes that required exacting tactical expertise. All of those things far more complex than laundry. Why am I having such a problem!?

This time his fraying temper escaped as an ominous hiss, and Loki did his best not to tear up the badly crumpled sheet as he tossed it back in the basket. Too annoyed to care that he was making a poor show of being the maid 'Ilsa' claimed to be. Too annoyed to care that Lilith had noticed.

This should have been easy.

I glanced to my right for the tenth time, catching Ilsa's agitated flurry of motions. While I hadn't been expecting a stellar performance, I had thought her competent enough to muddle through something as simple as laundry. But Ilsa was acting as if she'd never seen a bedsheet before. Even the most inexperienced maid would know something.

Unless she's the spy you suspected she was the first day she arrived, and isn't a servant at all.

A distinct possibility that couldn't be ruled out. In moments like this, the evidence suggested it might be true. I still didn't know what she was, or why she was here, after all. But I set that thought aside to comment on the situation at hand.

"So, uh…having a bit of trouble there?"

"Obviously," Ilsa grumbled. She held up the rumpled sheet. "How is anyone supposed to make sense of something like this!?"

Rather than remind her that a maid shouldn't be asking such a question of her employer, I merely replied with a casual shrug, "It just takes practice."

"There aren't any straight edges at all," she complained. "Impossible to make something like this square. It just can't be done."

"Sure it can."

Ilsa gestured to the basket. "Be my guest, then. I'd love to see it done."

I couldn't suppress a smirk as I cleared off the bed for room to work. Ilsa watched, silent as I found two corners and fitted my index fingers in the pockets caused by the bunched elastic on the short edge. Laying the sheet out flat, I let those points form the corners, found the other two and nested them inside to create a rough rectangular shape.

The one edge was still a little bowed; I folded it inward just enough to straighten it out. Folding the sheet into thirds down the long edge, I created a long narrow swath. No trouble at all to draw the ends inward before I folded it one last time into a neat rectangle.

Finished, I turned to Ilsa, but her eyes were fixated on the bed. I couldn't tell what she was thinking by the expression on her face. Disbelief and perhaps a touch of resentment. She certainly didn't want to accept how easy I'd made it look after she'd had so much trouble. That much I could tell. After a long silence, Ilsa finally spoke.

"Never," she muttered.

"Never what," I asked.

"I never would have thought of that solution," Ilsa admitted reluctantly. After a long pause, she ventured to ask me, "What made you think to do it like that?"

"I don't know. Just seemed the most logical at the time." She continued to frown at the neat pile of rose-colored linens. I took pity on her ego and told her," Don't worry about it- I spent a good hour or two trying to sort it out when I first came to live here and had to do this all on my own. In the palace, servants did this sort of thing for me."

My confession must have helped her feel a little less embarrassed. Finally, her gaze left the bed to cast a bemused look in my direction.

"So, is that an admission that you don't naturally excel at everything?"

"Since when have I ever said I did?"

"You didn't, but you certainly give the impression easily enough."

Now I was frowning at her- in consternation. Couldn't tell if she was only jesting with me, or if that was intended to bait my temper. I could take it as an insult, and start another argument with her. Really wasn't in the mood, though.

"Not sure whether I should take that as a compliment or not…but I'm going to, anyway."

She chuckled lightly, and assured me, "Of course it was."

I wasn't entirely convinced. The tone was a little two cheeky to be entirely sincere. As was her wry grin.

"Hmmm…" I hummed noncommittally while sorting through the remaining linens yet to be folded. When I spied a slate grey sheet with fitted corners, I pulled it free and tossed it at Ilsa. She managed to catch it just in time. "Shall we find out if you were paying attention, then?"

Ilsa glanced dubiously to the bedsheet and then back to me. I raised an eyebrow in good-natured challenge, which she accepted with all the stubborn determination I'd come to expect out of her.

"Have no fear, Lilith. I am confident that I won't forget this particular lesson any time soon."

She proceeded to fold the sheet, emulating the steps I had shown her only a few minutes ago. And while it may have taken her a little longer- nor was the end result quite as tidy- she did manage to accomplish the task. Ilsa shot me a triumphant look.

"What did I tell you," she boasted. "Easy."

"Easy, huh," I queried with a quiet laugh. "Well then, what say I leave the last few bedsheets for you while I finish the towels and pillow cases? Is it a deal?"

A quick daring look to the half-full basket at my feet. Ilsa was obviously calculating the amount of work in her mind. As a mischievous smile played on her lips, she gave me her answer.

"Deal."