II.

TWENTY-EIGHT

across the cosmos

My eyes fluttered open, slow to adjust to the gloom. A chill whispered across the exposed skin of my back and shoulders, the feel of which prompted me to grip the thin blanket closer to my chest. Shifting my head, I gazed upwards and took a moment to register the sight of that which stood above. Through the thick canvas of our tent, I could see the bare outlines of the trees overhead, the shadow of a passing bird, the light of the rising sun.

Ten months—that was how long it had been since we began. We'd been travelling across the Cosmos, from realm to realm, killing, scouting, surveying. On occasion, we even acted as emissaries for the All-Father. It tended to surprise me when Odin allotted us such tasks, but it was never long before I remembered why. Loki, despite everything, still retained his silver tongue.

With a drawn out sigh, I turned over in a tangle of cloth and reached out to the pallet beside mine. Empty. Heart dipping, I splayed my hand atop his bedclothes. Another nightmare, I thought. Gone hours ago.

The first few times he'd disappeared while I slept, I'd become frantic with worry. A part of me, small as it was, continued to fear that he would leave me, that something would drive him to solitude. I feared he would turn his back on Odin because his resentment never faded. But that was never the case. Loki would always be nearby, with a quiet sort of exhaustion about him. Neither of us ever commented on it.

His early morning absences grew more and more common, and my concerns mounted. It had never been typical of him to wake before the sun; I knew that well from the days we spent in bed together seventy years past.

Pressing my head back against my pillow, I took a deep, steadying breath and readied myself for the day. It was a challenge at first, having to dig through the myriad of blankets for my smallclothes, trousers, and shirt. After some struggle, I pulled them on, along with my boots, before ducking through the folds of our dark green tent.

A blast of cold air made me shudder, and I cursed my lack of magic, as I often did. In whatever spare moments we had, I tested myself in every way I knew how: I meditated, I attempted spells, I tried to sense Loki's magic. Now and then, I would feel a flicker of... something. Perhaps it was my magic. Perhaps I was healing, the bonds to my magic reforming once more. It could also have been my imagination, for it never lasted. Still, it gave me hope.

Weaving between the trees, I stooped beneath branches and came upon the cliff's edge. Dressed in naught but loose trousers, Loki stood, overlooking the lands of Nidavellir. We were in one of Nidavellir's milder climes, the landscape bereft of heavy snows. For several days now, we'd been tracking a band of raiders who were searching for the mountain-dwelling dwarves—an impossible task if one does not know where to look. It was our task to surveil the raiders and warn the dwarves if need be. Thus far, there hadn't been any trouble.

I paused in the shadow of a tree just to revel in the sight of Loki. The sun's rise cast a deep orange glow upon his pale skin, and the gentle breeze rippled through his tousled raven locks. He turned his head to the side, a smirk tugging at his lips. "You're not nearly as covert as you believe yourself to be," he said.

Despite the pall that lingered over our heads, I could not withhold a smile. I stepped out from the woodland and made my approach. He returned to staring across the land, any and all mirth fading from his features.

With a tentative hand, I ran my fingers along the scars on his back and his shoulder blades, the skin ashen and puckered. The wounds had properly healed, each resembling a burst of sparks—permanent markers of where the splashes of jorgandr venom had landed. They much resembled the mark on my arm, albeit tenfold. I leaned close to him, hand laid against his spine, and pressed a kiss to his bare shoulder.

"You woke early again today," I murmured. "Do you want to talk about it?"

He had never admitted to having nightmares, but I knew. It was not difficult to surmise. After all, I had my own wealth of experience with nightmares. Of late, my dreams consisted of a variety of scenarios, the images haunting, sometimes persisting throughout the day. Images of Thanos. Of Loki dying. Of my friends and family burning. Of pain and horror and death. I wondered if he suffered the same, but he refused to speak of it despite my assertion that the fog might lift if it were shared.

After a moment, he loosed a breath and tilted his head to look upon me. A twist wrenched at my heart when I saw his face: skin sallow, those ever-present dark circles even darker, if at all possible. The product of endless nights of inadequate sleep. Of course, he would never admit to that either.

"It's nothing," he said, averting his gaze. A lie. A rather poorly given lie, no less, which was shocking, coming from him. Perhaps he was too weary to conjure the proper effort to lie. Nevertheless, he made it clear that he did not wish to discuss it, so I opted not to push him any further.

Several long seconds passed before Loki turned, my hand sliding across his skin as he did so. When he faced me, he reached up to press his palm flush against mine. The gesture sent a chill streaking through me. This had become a habit of sorts. Almost every morning, we would meditate together, not unlike how we did in the palace library long ago. He'd first shown me how to tap into my magic then. Now, we strove to do the same.

Regardless of our continued efforts, there hadn't been any discernible change in my broken magic. But I knew I was healing. It was a slow process, to be sure. Lord Meyrick had postulated that such internal damage should heal in years—months, if I were fortunate. After ten months, my resolve remained. I was certain my magic was there, the tendrils reconnecting. I could feel it somewhere within, but I merely could not grasp it, not even with Loki as a guide.

We lingered there, at the precipice of the cliffside, for quite some time. My hand quivered along his as I concentrated on my centre, deep inside my life force. He did the same, hoping to draw forth on my energy.

It seemed he could not sense my power, for he soon asked, "Anything?"

"Nothing."

He nodded then—not in defeat, but with simple acceptance. We would try again another day. At times, I wondered if it bothered him. I supposed I often wondered what troubled him in general, as he never spoke of it. He'd never been in the habit of discussing his sentiments, something that only seemed to have worsened in the past seventy years. To say that our time apart had been difficult was an understatement; even so, it was not a frequent topic of conversation.

With a short breath, Loki glanced over the plains once more. Leagues of frostbitten grass lay ahead, the forbidding visage of mountain range after mountain range towering in the distance. Nearer to us, a valley dipped into the ground, one that provided a fair bit of cover for the Centaurian raiders we'd been tracking. And yet, the wisps of smoke wafting upwards did little to aid in their concealment.

"Daylight is upon us." He let his hand trail along mine, thumb stroking the inside of my wrist. My pulse quickened at his touch, which he seemed to notice, if his small smile was any indication. "We should gather our belongings. The Centaurians will be on the move soon."

Letting my hand go, he cupped the side of my face and pressed a kiss to my temple, brief and swift. Those small, affectionate gestures made me forget, for the barest of moments, that we'd ever been apart. That we had endured and struggled through so much. Heart fluttering, I watched him slip past me and stride back into the forest to return to our camp.

A heavy sigh escaped my lips while I gave Nidavellir a final once over. We would follow the raiders until the forces of Asgard found the opportunity to apprehend them. As honourable a task as this was, I had to wonder: what would happen to us when this ended? When the Nine Realms were at peace, would the All-Father let Loki be free? Or would Loki be forced to serve at Odin's behest to preserve his freedom? I was uncertain if Loki would accept such a fate. I did not want to imagine what he would do if he could not.

Closing my eyes, I ran my hands down my chilled arms before turning and making my way through the trees.

In our little clearing, Loki had already dismantled our tent and begun rolling up the blankets. I stepped around him to equip my armour, a new set that Sif had gladly commissioned from Ragna, her favoured blacksmith. Despite its youth, my former set sported dents and cracks dealt by the hand of Thanos—all of it damage that could not be repaired.

My new armour was not unlike the first, albeit with a more muted sheen to the metal. Midnight blue chased the edges of the armour. The hooded cloak I now bore was of a similar shade, which made for better sneaking than the white. I strapped on my bracers and tied Silvertongue's scabbard to my belt. Due to my newfound lack of magic, Sif saw fit to have me train with a new addition to my gear: a metal shield. It was a small kite shield of the same colour as my armour. I slid this on last, letting the handholds rest on my bracer.

With Loki packing away the last of our possessions, I sought out something with which we could break our fast. The ptarmigan that we'd killed and cooked the night earlier was finished, thus I had to resort to the pouch of jerky we'd been carrying with us for weeks. He glanced up, brow raised, when I pulled it open. I tossed him a piece, which he caught effortlessly with one hand.

"A feast fit for royalty," he said, holding the dried meat between his teeth.

Although I knew he made the remark in jest, it did make me wonder whether or not we really were royalty anymore. I supposed I was still the Dowager Princess of Alfheim. In light of Loki's true parentage, however, he was no longer considered a prince of Asgard. If anything, he could've been Jotun royalty. There was no way of knowing the truth, given our relations with the Frost Giants.

I had a mind to jest in return, but the echo of war cries intervened. At once, Loki and I straightened and tensed. The howls carried from the east, a short distance from our location. It was, of course, a grave concern considering the Centaurian raiders we'd been tracking were to the west. No one was supposed to be to the east; Loki had made certain of that last night. No one could've gotten so close so fast without us noticing beforehand.

Meeting Loki's gaze, I shoved the rest of my effects into the nearest rucksack and hefted it onto my shoulder, the straps digging into my cloak. He did the same, and we were soon running northward, ducking and winding through the trees. In spite of our haste, we could hear the roars behind, closing in on us. They sounded familiar, but the muted echo made it difficult to identify. Another band of raiders, perhaps?

Upon reaching the edge of the forest, we came to a stop. We stood on an outcropping, a mound of various boulders and debris sitting just below. I would've levitated myself down if I'd had my magic. Instead, Loki grasped my hand and lowered me onto the first boulder. I climbed the rest of the way down swiftly and easily enough, reaching the bottom with Loki close behind.

We paused for a moment to listen, my heavy breath coming out in soft white puffs. Footsteps resounded above us, advancing towards the outcropping we'd perched on mere seconds ago. "We can't stay here. They'll be upon us in moments," I whispered. "We have nothing to conceal us. We have to run."

Loki looked at me and supplied a single nod. Without a word, he took my hand in his, and together we headed out into the open.

The terrain before us was barren and flat, patches of frost lingering beneath the morning light. I kept pace beside Loki, gripping his hand tightly within mine. We trod several dozen yards, never faltering and never slowing. Regardless of our resolve, one sound in particular informed us that running was no longer a viable option: the unwavering hum of aircrafts.

Shooting a glance over his shoulder, Loki cursed under his breath and dragged me to a halt. I was about to protest until he faced me. "There's no outrunning them," he told me. "Whatever they may be."

I held his gaze, shaking my head. "Do you expect we'll be able to fight them?"

"I'd rather we fight then allow ourselves to be killed in the midst of running."

I blinked, unable to refute him. There was a chance—albeit a small one—that we could win a skirmish against several aircrafts, depending on their size. I'd faced a number of Chitauri chariots by my lonesome before. The memory made my heart clench, but I brushed it aside with haste.

"Then we best pray these aircrafts are not the size of quinjets," I remarked, withdrawing my hand from his. Bereft of his touch, I felt ill at ease until I let fall my rucksack and unsheathed my sword.

Shifting on my heel, I braced Silvertongue before me just as several aircrafts arrived, orbiting around us at dizzying speeds. I stared up at them, eyes wide, discerning their shapes from the blur. By some fortune, they were in fact Chitauri flyers. Loki dropped his bag next to mine and took position, his back to my own. The flyers did no more than circle us like vultures, as if they were waiting.

"What are they doing here?" I asked.

"I suspect they're not here to receive us with warm greetings." Loki withdrew a handful of throwing knives. "Are you ready?"

I glanced from his blades to the Chitauri above. "As I can be."

In a flash, he delivered the first blow, striking one of the Chitauri pilots in the throat. It sent one flyer colliding into another, both of them spinning to the ground. Out of the wreckage, three Chitauri rose, their staves at the ready. I swept forwards, rending flesh, slicing arteries, stabbing through chests. One by one, they fell.

Unbeknownst to me, another Chitauri craft had dropped down to offload several more soldiers. By the time I realized it, one of them was rushing at me. Before I could bring up my sword and shield, a dagger embedded itself into the Chitauri's neck, extinguishing his life in seconds. I peered across the field of battle and threw Loki a smile.

Our exchange ended when Loki was forced to parry a Chitauri staff using nothing but a dagger. A second soldier approached from behind, weapon in hand. Heart in my throat, I extracted a throwing knife from the nearest dead Chitauri and sent it flying.

I had to refrain from cheering when the blade met the Chitauri's skull.

Loki dispatched the final enemy, slashing his throat and letting him drop. Brow quirked, he cast a look at the last Chitauri I'd felled. "Glad to see your aim has improved."

I managed a smile. "Well, I did learn from the best."

He grinned in return, though it did not linger.

A company of Chitauri was barrelling towards us. We could not outrun them even if we tried.

At my side, Loki plucked up a Chitauri staff and waited for their approach. Once they stepped within a dozen yards from us, he let loose blast after blast. I greeted the first Chitauri with a laceration across the abdomen. He rejoined with a jab to my face, the force behind it making me taste blood.

Perceiving the sharp sound of an incoming blast from afar, I dropped to one knee and blocked it with my shield. The energy beat against the metal, erupting into a shower of sparks. Bringing my attention back to my adversary, I darted forwards to run him through. This time, he did not rise.

Rotating in place, I spotted Loki grappling with three Chitauri at once, his strikes too quick for them to keep up with. A further Chitauri advanced towards me, and I rolled to the left to avoid an attack. As I rose up, I could hear another flock of aircrafts nearing. Thoughts of warning Loki flitted through my mind, but I was sidetracked by the Chitauri spear just barely grazing my cheek.

With a cry, I swiped the weapon aside with the flat of my shield and thrust my sword upwards. The only indication that I'd killed my opponent was the unpleasant squelch of blood pouring from the wounded flesh of his neck. I barely had time to extricate my blade before the roar of Chitauri chariots overhead had me panicking—one or two we could contend with, but a whole fleet of them?

It seemed unlikely that I would be able to evade the onslaught of so many flyers. Times like this reminded me keenly that I was at such a loss without my magic.

Blast after blast rammed the ground all around us. I could feel the heat of each and every flare as they drew ever closer.

"Eirlys!"

My breath caught in my throat when Loki tackled me to the ground. A blast missed us by a hairsbreadth, streaking through the place where my head had been a split second earlier. The momentum of our fall caused us to tumble across the ground, rolling over once, twice—

And then our surroundings seemed to change.

Silvertongue landed somewhere nearby, clattering loudly. Loki settled on my left, half-lying on my shield arm. The ground beneath us was no longer frosted grass and dirt, but black stone, rough and hard under my fingers.

A screech and a horn sounded. We both looked to see a car looming over us, the large red vehicle struggling to come to a halt. In the blink of an eye, Loki scrambled to cover my body with his own, shielding me from any potential harm. But the car stopped, its front end little more than a few inches from Loki's shoulder.

Neither of us moved as he hovered over me, our heavy breaths mingling in the cool air. After several long seconds, he pulled back to survey me, his hands skimming my sides. I did the same to him, placing my palm flat against his chest to ensure that he was unharmed. The moment I was satisfied that we would both survive, a multitude of footsteps thundered about.

His grip tightened on my waist while a dozen soldiers surrounded us, each armed with heavy weapons. Familiarity tugged at the back of my mind, and it only increased when one among them stepped forward, wielding a bow.

Arrow aimed straight at us, Agent Barton furrowed his brow. "Son of a bitch. I never thought I'd see you two again."

Before either of us could respond, another familiar figure joined our gathering. Marching between SHIELD agents, she grasped Barton's bow arm and pointed it towards the ground. The stern visage of Agent Maria Hill was a rather welcome sight. "Everyone, stand down." They obeyed her command, training their firearms in safer directions.

With a thick swallow, I captured Loki's gaze with mine. I couldn't fathom how we'd found ourselves on Midgard, and he, surprisingly, seemed rather at a loss as well. An incredulous laugh bubbled up from within me. "I suppose we should consider ourselves fortunate."

"Positively blessed." He smirked, his fingers shifting on my side. "I can think of a number of places incalculably worse than this."

Almost reluctant, Loki removed his hands from my waist and climbed to his feet. Muscles aching, I moved far slower, making every effort to sit upright before accepting his assistance to stand. Stooping, I retrieved my sword and sheathed it in one swift motion.

A greater number of SHIELD agents encompassed us then, warding away onlookers and diverting every vehicle of which we stood in the way. Loki remained unmoving before me, watching as Agent Hill spoke into her earpiece. Beside her, Agent Barton eyed us warily, the fingers of his drawing hand toying with the feathers on his half-nocked arrow.

Once Agent Hill concluded her discourse, she made a quick hand gesture, bidding the SHIELD agents to draw further away from us. "I don't think it's a coincidence that you showed up here, like this," she said, motioning towards the ground on which we'd appeared. "And I'm not about to complain."

"Coincidence?" I asked, gaze flickering from her to Loki and back again.

Loki hummed and crossed his arms. "Allow me to hazard a guess: you have stumbled upon another predicament of sorts and you haven't any idea how to manage it."

She looked towards the building a short distance from the road—an old, decrepit structure full of broken windows, scuffed walls, and water stains. It was unremarkable in every way, but, by some means, I could sense something unusual about it.

Returning her regard to me, Agent Hill offered a curt nod. "If you've got a moment, we need your help."

To be continued in... Kingdom Come

IMPORTANT AUTHOR'S NOTE (Updated June 3, 2016): This concludes part two of the Shieldmaiden Saga. The third part of the series has now been posted. Check out my profile to find the link!

As I might have mentioned before, Kingdom Come will start out taking place during Thor: The Dark World. Technically, this chapter also takes place during Thor: The Dark World. So I suppose I should give warning about major spoilers for the movie in case there's someone out there who hasn't seen it yet (it's always a possibility!).

To my guest reviewer, Yesterday: Don't worry, no offense taken. In fact, all the things you've pointed out were written intentionally. Given all of their recent physical and emotional pain, I didn't think they would be as lighthearted as they once were right off the bat. I couldn't imagine everything being perfectly fine after a single conversation. It'll take time for them to heal and open up again, and I see Loki as someone who is rather averse to opening up and actually talking about things (especially his feelings). That's partly why I decided to write Kingdom Come; I wanted to give them more time to resolve these things at a proper pace. If I have approached this entirely wrong, then I apologize.

A big thanks to everyone who's ever read, reviewed, favourited, and followed! And I send my eternal gratitude to my wonderful beta, Hr'awkryn—I don't know what I would've done without all your help and support.

Until next time, my dear readers.