As with the previous chapter, this little story concludes the "Of Fathers Sons and Brothers" story arc within "Tales of the Third Brother". In answer to a reviewer that I am having problems replying to. Harry does not need an apple. The original agreement with Hela included his being granted the Aesir's long lifespan if he chose to return. It was the only way that he could have survived the whole process. So there will be no ceremonial giving of the apple in this chapter.

As this is the very last story in this universe - for now at least (never say never) - I would like to thank all of the readers and reviewers who have followed, favourited, read and reviewed these stories since Keeping the Stars Apart in April of last year. Love hugs and thanks to you all.

I would also like to pass on my special thanks to the lovely Ms Kitty Black, who what feels like centuries ago told me 'just write the bloody thing already!' and since then has been unfailingly supportive, while still telling me 'that's a really bad idea don't do it!' occasionally. I love you Kitty x

With love. Merrick

The pain in his head was gone, but his body felt tight, prickly and unfamiliar. Harry tried to lift his head, but right now it felt far too much like hard work.

Who was humming?

With an effort, Harry opened his eyes.

A girl was sitting in a chair by his bed. She lounged sideways, a large velvet cushion at her back, one leg hooked over the arm of the chair, dark head bent, utterly absorbed in the book on her lap. Fourteen by the look of her, although if this was still Asgard, anything was possible Harry thought. Tall for her age, lean and agile looking, dressed like a boy in the usual leather and bronze. Glossy black curls, loosely confined by a ribbon in the nape of her neck, hung almost to her waist. A strand had escaped to tickle her cheek, she tucked it behind her ear with a huff of impatience which was hauntingly familiar to Harry, as was the dusting of freckles across the girl's nose.

Could this be...?

Harry tried to speak, forgetting that after one hundred years of silence his voice would be little more than a breathless wheeze. It was enough though. He could see the moment when the girl froze, her bright green eyes lifting to his, as wide as saucers, as the colour drained from her face.

"Oh my... you're... you're ... awake!" The girl rose abruptly, resting a small slender hand imperiously on his chest. "Don't ... don't move – I'll be back..." Turning the girl hurried from the room - in the distance Harry could hear her giving orders to someone with the ease of long command.

"Tell my parents – Quickly. My father will be most displeased if he is kept waiting..."

Light hurried footsteps heralded the girl's return. Pausing momentarily at a side table, she returned to his side with a cup of water.

"Here, you must drink." A capable arm slid beneath his shoulders, helping him to lift his head. "Steady now, not too much at first."

When he had drunk, Harry cleared his throat and tried again. "Who are you?"

The girl perched informally on the side of his bed, one booted foot swinging . "Oh! Of course. I've known you my whole life – I forgot that we've never actually met. I'm Lilja. Princess Lilja of Asgard on formal occasions, but you're my Uncle Harry so you don't need to worry about that."

Harry frowned. "Lilja?"

The girl's eyes softened as she took his hand in hers. "It's me Uncle Harry. I'm the child you did this..." she gestured vaguely at Harry lying on the bed "...for. Hence my name. It means Lily, like your mother."

It had worked. Hermione and Loki had their family, and this glorious girl had grown up secure, happy and loved by both parents because of him. Harry hadn't realised he was crying until she wiped his face with a grubby linen handkerchief. She turned away to refill his cup, giving him a moment to compose himself.

"Sif will be so cross that she wasn't here. She's barely left the palace for ages because we knew that you would wake soon, but Uncle Thor had something official that he needed her to do." Lilja's smile was pure wickedness – exactly like her father thought Harry. "Sif was furious. I wouldn't want to be Uncle Thor when she finds out that she missed this..."

"... Sif thinks of me then?" Harry's voice was still harsh with disuse. Lilja raised an eyebrow and smiled, returning to her perch.

"Oh, every now and then I do believe." She lifted her head, listening. "Here come the hoards. I'm glad it was me that was here Uncle Harry. I'll leave you to them now..." Her hair brushed his cheek as she bent to kiss his forehead. "Welcome home..."

He watched her hurry out into the corridor to greet her parents, and only a moment later Hermione and Loki rushed into the chamber.

"Why didn't you just apparate?" Harry wheezed, smiling at the evidence of their haste. "They hadn't changed at all, he thought in amazement, wondering if he was any different.

"We can't. The wards in here are really powerful. It took Loki, Frigga, Hela and I to set them up in the first place. We weren't taking any chances." Hermione sank into the space just vacated by her daughter, and touched his cheek wonderingly. "Welcome home Harry. I..." her voice cracked and she fell silent.

Loki pulled Lilja's chair closer to the bed, resting a hand just above his wife's, on Harry's arm.

"You named her for my mother..." Harry rasped. Loki reached for the water cup once more.

"It was the least we could do." Loki's voice was rough too, and his eyes were suspiciously bright. "I have thought of you every day that you were away Little Brother, and been grateful for what you did for me – for us."

Harry coughed, wincing, but felt better for it. "Worth every moment. She's exactly what I would have expected your daughter to be. The perfect combination of you both."

Wrapping an arm around his shoulders, Loki lifted him carefully off the pillows, allowing Hermione to slip two more behind him. Miraculously the tickle in his chest subsided.

"Eir says you are not to attempt anything more strenuous than sipping water and talking – a little - until she gets her to give you a thorough check up." Hermione said firmly. "She knew that she wouldn't be able to stop us, but you are forbidden other visitors until she gives you the all clear. Sleeping for one hundred years is unusual even in Asgard, and she isn't taking any chances."

Harry discovered to his relief that his hands and arms were moveable, if still stiff. Taking the cup from Loki's grasp, he took another sip. "Have you seen Hela?"

Loki said nothing, but his expression told Harry all he needed to know. Hermione smiled. "She's installed in her own set of chambers in the family wing. She won't be here all the time, but we hope to see a great deal more of her thanks to you."

Harry closed his eyes for a moment, remembering the expression on Odin's face when he had said goodbye in Harry's old room in the House at the Gateway.

"Loki." The bright green eyes he had missed so much met his. "Loki, when you are ready – I think you should take a trip to visit Hela at home. There is someone who very badly needs to speak to you there".

A myriad of emotions crossed Loki's face in the minutes that followed and his grip on Harry's arm increased. He shows more, thought Harry, the mask has gone. It was a good thing – but this easier to read Loki would take some adjusting to.

"I will think about it..."

Harry nodded. At the moment that was all he could ask for.

In the distance a door flung open and the sound of running feet was heard approaching. Loki looked at Hermione in some consternation, reaching for the dagger at his waist... "That is not Eir..."

It was not Eir.

She was every bit as lovely as Harry remembered. Long black hair disheveled, and face flushed from her haste, she stood frozen on the threshold...

"Sif..."

Christmas the Third. The Palace of Asgard. Midwinter Eve.

Jane finished a final discussion with Thor's Master Of Ceremonies, and cast a final critical look around the banqueting hall, laid out in full ceremonial splendour. Across the courtyard, in the Throne Room the court was beginning to assemble. Frigga, who had been upstairs all afternoon supervising proceedings was waiting in an anti room, taking a moment to prepare for the forthcoming ceremony.

It had been a hectic time since Harry had awoken, for these occasions do not organise themselves, Jane thought, but they had waited so long for this already, who could begrudge the hasty preparations needed for a Midwinter wedding.

"Jane. It is time" The Queen of Asgard turned, smiling, finding Thor standing at the top of the hall, dressed in his full ceremonial magnificence.

"How is Harry?"

Thor smiled. "Calm, all things considered. More so than I – and far more so than Loki as I recall. Everyone is assembled, but even the bride and groom must wait upon us." He kissed his wife's fingers before settling them on his arm. "Have I told you how lovely you look?"

Jane smiled demurely, but her eyes twinkled with mischief. "You have, but please do feel free to tell me again. And you look very handsome. Shall we go My Lord?"

As the King and Queen were making their way to an anti room of the Throne Room, where the wedding party were assembling, Sif was fussing in a side-room. Unlike her husband to be she was as twitchy as a cat, and it had taken all of Frigga and Hermione's patience to keep her calm as the hour approached.

"Relax Sif. It is one pin that has slipped, and can be fixed in a moment. Just stand still please" Hermione wished that Sif were not so tall, as she stood on tiptoe to adjust the single curl that had slipped from beneath the coronet of elaborate gold filigree that Gayan had lost considerable sleep to create in time. The effect on Sif's black hair was both elegant and striking. Mission accomplished, Hermione stepped back, tweaking the heavy deep red velvet of Sif's train back into place.

"Do you mind?"

Hermione met Sif's eyes in the mirror, frowning at the anxiety she saw there. "Do I mind what?"

"Harry and I have all this for our wedding. Yours and Loki's was – so quiet – so much smaller."

"Loki and I had exactly the wedding we wanted. Thor offered us... all this, but it wasn't what we wanted at the time. Enjoy it Sif. The moment passes so quickly. Try to take a breath and savour it."

Sif leaned down to kiss Hermione on the cheek. "Thank you – for your friendship. For forgiving me..."

Hermione smiled warmly, returning Sif's embrace. "In cases such as this a good memory is unpardonable. It is all in the past Sif, and best left there." Entirely satisfied with Sif's appearance, she checked her own briefly in the mirror, smoothing her bronze velvet skirt with its gold embroidery, looking up at a knock on the door.

"Who is it?"

Her daughter's sleek dark head appeared around the door.

"Professor Dumbledore, mother. Who do you think? Uncle Thor asked me to tell you that everyone is ready. Uncle Harry is already in the Hall, so you can come out of hiding."

"Minx" sighed Hermione, "come here child and let me look at you." With a reluctant sigh, Lilja presented herself for inspection. Her gown, of a similar colour to her mother's, was simpler in design, and decorated with her favourite dark green. "You look lovely darling. Do try not to fidget."

"Mama I will have my hundredth birthday in the Spring." Lilja tilted her chin arrogantly, and the resemblance to her father was suddenly even more striking than usual "I'm not a baby. I do know how to behave."

Hermione huffed as she shepherded Sif and her daughter to the door. "Let us hope your brother does." Haldor had been tasked with assisting his grandmother with the ceremony – Hermione just hoped he wasn't too nervous. Unlike his sister, Haldor was quiet and studious, much as his mother had been as a child, and sometimes found these ceremonial occasions a trial.

Entering the anti room they found Thor, Jane, Bjarte and Brandt awaiting them, all in their full ceremonial finery. The twins were stiff with pride in their first full sets of armour.

Leaving Sif and Lilja with Thor, Hermione took Brandt's proffered hand and permitted him to escort her to her place - since Loki was with Harry - following Jane and Bjarte into the Throne Room.

"You look lovely Aunt Hermione" her nephew smiled, "... as does Lilja. Do you think she would mock me if I asked her to dance with me later?"

"She will probably tease you Brandt, as she always does, but she means nothing by it." He and Bjarte were growing up, Hermione thought with a pang, handsome strapping lads, the image of Aesir perfection, just like their father. Jane regularly thanked the Gods that Freya at least bore some resemblance to her mother... 'otherwise I would feel like I had no involvement in the proceedings at all.'

Taking her place on the steps, Hermione caught her husband's eye and smiled. Beside him, Harry did indeed look remarkably calm, in full ceremonial armour. There had been no time to make any anew for him, but the black and brushed silver had been worn once, for Thor and Jane's wedding, when Harry and Sif had had their first dance, so perhaps wearing it today was not inappropriate.

Frigga was in her place now and the musicians were serenading Thor and Sif as they made their way slowly to the step, preceded by Lilja, very much on her best behaviour, where Thor ceded custody of the bride to her proud bridegroom. Walking either side of the couple, the Lords of Asgard ascended the stairs to join their wives on opposite sides of the steps...

Raising her arms in welcome, Frigga's voice range clearly across the vast space.

"My Lords and Ladies, dear friends and family.

We are gathered here together on this joyous Midwinter Eve, to witness the joining in love of these two souls..."

The End...

Our revels now are ended. These our actors,

As I foretold you, were all spirits and

Are melted into air, into thin air:

And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,

The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces,

The solemn temples, the great globe itself,

Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve

And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,

Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff

As dreams are made on, and our little life

Is rounded with a sleep.

The Tempest. William Shakespeare.