Storm's Eye

Part 20/20

Within the city of Asgard, and, later, the field of Ida . . .

A tremor shook Sigunn's body, vibrating through Loki's chest; when she lifted her head, he said, low, "Are you well?" Memory assaulted him with a vision of the Victory-Bringer on the mountain-top, eyes empty, the fire gone from her, collapsing in silence into his arms.

She nodded. "I am. It was more than my strength that wielded the fire, just now." A tinge of wonder colored her voice. "It was you, with me."

"Yes." Dull heaviness dragged at his arms and hung from his shoulders, as if his cloak were woven from threads of uru. With an effort, he lifted his eyes from her face to contemplate the spray of glittering fragments that littered the floor around them, the last remnants of an eldjotun prince.

"It takes no great stretch of imagination," he said, "to foresee the howls of rage echoing throughout Muspelheim, when Surtur hears this certain piece of news." An ironic smile curled the corner of his mouth. "It is a foul draught to swallow, for a villain, when his long-laid plans come to naught."

She laid a hand on his chest, palm over his heart. "Let's drink the cup of victory instead. I think . . . it tastes like freedom."

He swallowed, his eyes lightening. "Freedom . . ." He reached within himself, let the dark energy hum along his nerves, felt it flow around the ashen weariness the fire had left behind, and wash it away. He plunged his hands deep into the well of power, and gloried in it. He could scatter stars across the ceiling of this room, he could create a thousand images of himself and place one on every tower in Asgard, he could conjure up a crown of oak leaves, red with the first touch of frost, and settle it on Sigunn's head.

He settled instead for letting out a breath of laughter, and with it a single word: "Yes . . ."

But then his gaze shifted, to find the eyes of his family upon him: Thor, his face light, Frigga, her hand to her breast, her whole body bent toward him, and then Odin, a brow raised, questioning. And when he met the Allfather's eye, the laughter died on his lips. A muscle moved tightly along his jaw, and she felt the sudden tension in his body.

"For now," he said.

She followed his gaze, and then she looked back up into his face, shock widening her eyes. "For now? But surely he would not . . . He can not! You have more than proven your loyalty! You have faced down an eldjotun prince for Asgard."

"'For Asgard'? It was for Asgard that he chained me. Who is to say he will not seek to do so again?" He lifted a hand and pushed back an errant lock of hair that had fallen across her brow. "And I did not face the eldjotun for Asgard. I did that for you."

Around them the courtiers milled and stumbled, gathering in knots to exclaim and question, partners separated by the chaos anxiously seeking one another in the swirling tide of people. But despite the confusion, a large, careful open space maintained itself around the two figures, one in black armor, one in a torn, green tunic. Loki released her, and stood, chin raised, eyes hooded, as the queen stepped down from the dais, and ran to him. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears.

"Loki," she said, as she cupped his chin with trembling hands. "My son. You are unchained!"

He looked down at her, and then, his movement stiff and uncertain, he slipped his arms around her and drew her into a careful embrace. Over her shoulder, he saw Sigunn smile, and mouth silently, "Someone else rejoices."

But then, as Frigga stepped back, he looked past her smiling face. The Allfather gazed at his younger son, and found the eyes of a stranger regarding him, cold and very wary. His jaw tightened, and an old sorrow darkened his eye.

Nevertheless, he reached for a smile, and said, "Hail, my son. You've done great deeds this day."

"They are the deeds of the Victory-Bringer."

When Odin's attention shifted to her, Sigunn bent the neck, and then raised her eyes to him, a faint challenge glowing in their depths. "The deeds of jotun and Idisi," she said.

Odin nodded, his eye inscrutable. "So they are. And so they shall be rewarded. For the Victory-Bringer has done more this day than merely defeat the enemy."

The doors to the Throne Room swept aside at his touch, and he strode in, the thud of his boot heels echoing through the empty space. The Hlidskjalf glittered in the sunlight as it spilled down in an endless fall into the room, and below it, on the expansive dais, the braziers were lit, and brightly burning. Beside one of them, his hands behind his back, stood Odin, Allfather, and beside him, red cloak glowing, Thor, looking stiff and uncomfortable.

At the foot of the lower stairs, Loki pulled himself upright, the straightness of his spine an ever-so-slight mockery of a warrior come to stand before his king. The silence stretched, until he said, finally, "You sent for me?"

Odin descended to him, saying slowly, "Nearly three days have passed since the events in the House of Halfdan."

"Indeed they have."

"And today we pass judgement on that House."

"You do, at least."

"And so I had hoped that you would come to me of your own choice. For there are words to be said between us."

"Are there?" Loki shifted his stance, and let his eyes sweep over the magnificent room, his gaze lingering for a moment on Thor, brow creasing, before coming to rest once more on Odin's face. "I have no words for you, Allfather."

Odin's jaw set sternly, but he allowed this to pass, and said instead, "The eldjotnar army can only have entered this Realm through a portal opened by Surtur himself. I have put upon him a certain amount of . . . shall we say, diplomatic pressure? I believe he will reveal its location. But it will take a great deal of power to open it."

Loki said nothing, his watchful eyes intent upon the Allfather's face. On the dais above, Thor crossed his arms over his chest.

"Why would you seek to open it, Father?" he asked.

Odin slanted a glance up at him. "My purposes will become clear."

He turned back, lifting one hand and tapping the fingers against his chin, his eye weighing Loki intently. "Together, Loki, you and I can break it asunder. Are you willing to aid me in this task?"

"Now that I am unchained?" A subtle, sharp challenge colored Loki's voice.

"Aye."

"And if refuse, will I stay that way? If I fail this test?"

Odin frowned. "Test?"

"Surely you are recalling, even now, the last time we stood alone in this room, you and I."

He could feel the fear, half memory and half new and green, rippling up his spine, crawling over his shoulders, trailing its cold fingers over the nape of his neck. He controlled it with fierce effort, but he could not prevent his mind from unrolling that day before him, the feet of his memory dragging reluctantly down that path.

"Have you forgotten, Allfather? The day you wrapped me in those chains? What a fine spectacle I made that day."

Above them, Thor winced at the ice in his voice. Odin said, voice low, "My memory of that day is just as clear, my son. And just as bitter."

For a moment, Loki's mouth dropped open; he drew breath, his chest filling now with a sudden storm of words. "Just as bitter. . . I beg to differ, Allfather. Was it you who hung for nine sunrounds on the Tree? Was it you who willingly offered up the blood-guilt, drop by drop? Was it you who bore the mocking stares of all of Asgard's worthy citizens as you hung there? Was it you, muzzled, bound, muscled through the city streets by one who would still, after all of that, term himself brother?"

His eyes speared Thor, whose whole body stiffened. He came down the steps to stand behind his father, his eyes glittering with pained memory, and opened his mouth to speak, but the flood of Loki's words swept onward.

"And then, oh, yes, then, was it you who stood in this room, cleansed and dressed in fine new armor, prepared to once again offer yourself, a stripped sacrifice, before all of Asgard's eyes and swear an oath of loyalty, like some duly humbled prisoner of war? Was that you?"

Odin held up a hand to stem the tide. "No, Loki. Neither was it I who sent the Destroyer to smite that one who calls you brother. Neither was it I who sought to . . ."

He took a breath, stopping his own words with an outrushing sigh. "But you know your own deeds."

Loki's eyes flashed. "Oh, never doubt that I do. And I have paid the price for them. I stood here in this room. Just like this. Crippled from the Tree, ready to swear the humiliating Oath, to do as you required. But that was still not sufficient, was it? So you summoned me, here, alone, and cast the venomed chains around my bloodied back! Just like this . . ."

His face changed, and a muscle trembled in his tight jaw.

Odin gave a wordless exclamation, low in his throat, and stepped forward. "No, Loki, I have not called you here for that . . ."

Loki spun away, unheeding; he did not see Thor reach out a hand. His voice rumbled from deep within his chest. "And here I am again. Dressed as before in fine armor, oh, but, this time, even better! For now you have your son and heir to bear you witness and this time a court of judgement is at hand-what a fitting occasion to once more chain me up. For Asgard! Always, for Asgard! And if I will not aid you in safeguarding Asgard, if you cannot make use of me, than let the chains be brought anew! That is your will!"

"No!" Odin thundered. "Aid me or no, that choice is yours! There is no test! I did not summon you here to chain you! And it was never my will!"

A breath rattled up through Loki's throat, and then he turned, and regarded Odin with dark, shuttered eyes. Odin gazed back at him, and then he spread his hands and repeated, "It was never my will."

"How can you speak so?" Loki said, finally.

"Did you not wonder, when Thor returned, bearing both you and the Tessaract, why Thanos did not pursue?"

"I was certain he was dissuaded by the might of Asgard." Loki said; he bent in a mocking bow.

"No," Odin said. "He assembled his forces, a great host, and threatened to bring them against our borders at once."

"What?" Thor turned to his father, his eyes widening in amazement. "Thanos purposed to march on Asgard?"

"And yet he did not." A glimmer of understanding flared in Loki's eyes. "Because you arranged a parley? Yes, you did, didn't you? And at this parley you had long words with the Mad Titan, about the actions of your mad son . . ."

"Not a parley. A bargain." Odin's face was drawn with pain. "His bargain."

Thor stared at him. "You bargained with him?"

Odin's gaze flickered to Thor's face, his eye stern. "I had no other choice before me. These are the burdens of kings."

Rage lit Loki's eyes with a green fire. "Oh, of course! Foolish Loki! A bargain, in which the weak-willed traitor will be chained in such a way that he will destroy himself. How amusing for everyone concerned!"

Odin sighed. "He was amused. Yes. And also willing to remove his armies and the threat of attack, in order to have the pleasure of that amusement."

"And how quickly you leaped at the chance!"

"No, Loki! I despaired! But thousands of our people would have died, and we are not such a great host that we can bear to lose them. It was a bargain, for Asgard."

Loki shook his head, his neck cording. "You could have told me this! I could have helped you devise a better way! For Asgard!"

Pain blazed in Odin's eyes. He said nothing.

And suddenly Loki was still. He lifted his chin, and studied Odin's face, and then said, his voice flat, "But of course you could not tell me. You were not certain that the deaths of Asgard's warriors meant anything to me. A traitor, a criminal, a liar. You went to Thanos alone, and you bargained alone, with the life of your disloyal son, because he could not be trusted."

Thor's head lowered, his face tight.

Odin reached forward, a hand that trembled slightly, and placed it, slowly, on Loki's shoulder.

"Your deeds, here, and on Midgard . . . You are right, Loki. I did not trust you."

Loki turned his face away, his jaw flexing.

"But," Odin continued, "I have never, from that day to this, lost faith in you."

Thor looked up.

Loki's gaze returned to him, limned with the white-hot edges of simmering pain. "Again I say, how can you speak so? Your actions say otherwise."

"I agreed to Thanos' bargain, in the hope that you would not destroy yourself. In the hope that you would . . . return to yourself, and free yourself."

"You knew I could not release myself from those chains!"

"Not from the chains, no. I had no hope of that, until the day that I saw the Idisi maiden with you. But the other chains, Loki . . ."

"Other chains? What others?"

"The anger and the bitterness and the . . . the terrible sorrow that has enslaved you. The bitterness I caused you, Loki. The chains of the spirit that are my fault alone."

Loki whispered, "What?"

"I have failed you. For all the long years of your youth, I did not allow myself to see the scars on your spirit. I kept from you your true heritage, and the strength that knowledge might have given you. And on the bifrost . . ." he paused, his eye glazed with the horror of the memory. "On the bifrost, I let you fall."

His shoulders rose and settled in a long breath.

"I let you fall. I should have leaped from the bridge, and followed you into the void."

Thor murmured, his eyes wet. "As should I."

Loki's head lifted to stare at him, unseeing, and then shifted to look back at Odin. The words fell on his ears, and rumbled through the corridors of his mind in strange echoing patterns. He heard, as from a far, faint distance, Odin's voice ask, "And have you freed yourself, Loki, son of Odin?"

Slowly, Loki stepped back, so that Odin's grip fell away from his shoulder.

He said, "Scars never truly fade."

Odin closed his eye, his face filled with sorrow. Thor made a low, voiceless noise, deep in his throat.

"But," Loki said, "Pain does. Pain lives in the fortresses of the past, and a man can leave those behind, if he chooses, and walk unburdened, and bear his scars in freedom."

"As Odinson?"

His eye was fixed on Loki, filled with a fierce hope.

Loki shook his head. "No. But as Prince of Asgard."

"You will claim the place and title of Prince, but not the name of Odinson?"

Loki lifted his chin. "This surprises you?"

A glint of humor flickered in Odin's eye, edging away the sorrow. "No, it does not. It is the sort of thing that only you would attempt."

Odin waited a moment, for him to relent, but he did not. Neither did he look upon Odin with cold, inscrutable eyes. In the green gaze, Odin saw his son, whether by name or no.

"So then, neinnOdinson, Prince of Asgard, Loki unchained, will you go with me and lend your power to the breaking of the portal? Will you accompany your father?"

Loki shook his head. "No. But I will accompany you . . . my king."

Just then the doors were flung open, and a double line of the Guard marched in, cloaks flowing, spears held at ready. They arranged themselves on either side of the room's central floor, and behind them, the courtiers and nobles of Asgard began to gather, flowing through the open doorways in a tide of rich clothing and anxious, tightly-edged voices. The events in the House of Halfdan shadowed every face, and every eye gleamed with equal measure curiosity and dread. Today Odin would pronounce judgement on one of their own.

With a final glance at Loki's face, Odin mounted the steps once more, to stand below the Hlidsjkalf and survey the gathering Court. Loki remained where he was, eyes on the floor, face abstracted and still. He felt rather than saw Thor come and linger by his side.

When at last he looked up, Thor said, "I wish that I had known."

"Of?"

"All of it. The bargain with Thanos. The scars you were carrying. The truth of your birth."

Loki stretched out his hand; for a moment the throne room of Odin fell away and he stood once more in Jotunheim, his wrist in the grip of a frost giant, his heart seizing in horror as he watched his own hand turn an alien blue. He blinked the vision away, and raised bleak eyes to Thor's face. "And would you have welcomed that, Thor? Rising up through the years of your youth with a jotun by your side?"

"It wouldn't have been a jotun, Loki. It would have been you."

"They are one and the same."

"Yes. Exactly."

And then, as the meaning of Thor's words sank into the deep, locked corner of his heart, he said, eyes slowly warming. "You wouldn't have been so eager, then, to slay them all?"

Thor laughed, though the humor was laced, all through, with regret and the heavy weight of after-knowledge. "No. And, like Father said of you, just now, I would have been the stronger for it."

At the rear of the room, the heavy door closed with a ponderous clang. As the room quieted, the side door nearest the throne opened silently, and the queen slipped inside, and beside her, a small figure that drew every eye: too small, too gentle-seeming, to warrant the sweeping stir of muttered warnings and worried frowns that greeted her appearance.

Loki smiled when he saw her. She was attired in glowing red, a walking flame, a deliberate challenge to those who would choose to fear her. No longer the insipid silver gown for the Victory-Bringer.

Odin stood below the Seat, and raised his hand.

"This is a day for rejoicing," he said, allowing his voice to fill the room and quiet the murmuring of the shifting crowd. "A great enemy has been defeated."

The murmur swelled again, for a moment, and then fell as he continued, "And treachery in the Realm has been exposed, and will be punished."

He nodded toward one of the side doors, where Fandral the swordsman waited, his hand upon the hilt of his blade.

"Bring them."

The door opened, and through it walked Gyrd Bragason, and Theoric his son, escorted by the warrior maiden Sif, her eyes cold. The old man walked slowly, the heavy bandage binding the wound over his heart clearly visible under his thin tunic. He held his head high, and glared, eyes forward, while Theoric walked with his gaze upon the floor. Fandral preceded them, and when they stood at the bottom of the throne's lower steps, he bowed, fist to chest, and said, "The House of Halfdan, Allfather."

Odin studied them, in heavy silence. Theoric's eyes flickered up at him, and then, away, at once, and settled on Sigunn, as she stood, alone. She held his gaze, unflinching, until he looked away.

"You sought to seat another king upon the throne of this Realm?" Odin's voice was low, but it filled the room.

The old man licked cracked lips. Defiantly he said, "I sought to advance my House. It is an ancient and honorable desire."

"Your idea of honor is sorely tarnished. You have committed the highest treason."

"There is no treason in serving one's own House first!"

"But treason indeed in offering aid and succor to the enemies of Asgard. And since you give your loyalty so earnestly to another king, you shall have your reward of him."

"What reward?" Gyrd's face stiffened.

"Surtur has no desire to challenge Asgard in open battle. And neither do I wish to merely butcher his sleeping army. So we have reached a compromise, between kings. Under the banner of truce, we shall march his warriors back to the portal from whence they came, and Prince Loki and I will wrench it open, and send them back to their own Realm."

He glanced at Loki, who lifted his chin, ignoring the mutter that rumbled through the watching courtiers. Then he continued, his eye cold. "And when they return to their lord and master, you, Gyrd Bragason, you and your son, will go with them."

Gyrd's face crumpled, with equal parts terror and rage. "You cannot send us to Muspelheim. There we will surely die at Surtur's hand!"

Odin shook his head, his face inscrutable. "If you are not immune to the bite, you should not lie down with the wolf."

He nodded at Sif. "For now, Lady Sif, convey them to the lower prison."

Sif stepped forward, offering the royal salute, fist to chest, first to Odin, and then, after a moment, she turned and tendered it to Loki, as well.

When he raised a brow, startled, she said, "It was a battle well-fought, my lord." And the title slipped off her tongue easily, as if it had not been absent for many months of days.

Loki said, glancing from her to Fandral, who inclined his head, "It was a game well-played. By all of . . . us." And the word did not slip easily off his tongue, but it came, nonetheless.

They nodded, and Sif turned to her task, her face hardening. But as she took a firm grip on the old man's arm, to lead the prisoners away, a voice stopped her.

"Wait."

Sigunn stepped forward to stand before the old man. He stared down at the floor, but then, with a scornful shrug, he straightened and looked down his nose at her.

"You were never worthy to bloom as a bride in the House of Halfdan," he sneered.

"No. I did not aspire to that honor, but I accepted it, for a while. Since you deem me unworthy, release me now."

Odin stirred on the dais, uneasily; from her place at the foot of the steps, Frigga said, "My dear, surely the pledge is a dead thing. A pledge given to a traitor is moot."

"Yes, I know that, my lady. And my father, for his part, has already broken the pledge. But I have been in thrall to this man all my life, and I will hear him say the words." She turned back to Gyrd, and took one step nearer, her eyes implacable.

"Say them, then, Halfdanir. Release me. Say the words."

He glared at her, and then at the rest of them, their eyes boring down upon him, the faces grim. The room was completely silent. Loki's hands had curled into fists.

Finally, he snarled, in an angry hiss, "So be it. If such empty words will content you, the pledge is no more. You are free."

"They do content me. They are the last words I will ever hear from you, and they are sweet."

Then she looked at Theoric, and waited until, at last, he dragged his eyes upward to meet hers. She said, "You did all this for honor, Theoric Gyrdson. May your honor be enough to comfort you in the days to come."

She turned away, and did not look back as Sif and Fandral led them from the room.

Odin beckoned her, then, and said, "You are the last of your people, and you have done Asgard great service. What reward can I offer you, Sigunn Vidardottir?"

"I am free. I need no reward, Allfather. Except . . ."

He waited, brow raised.

Slowly, she said, "Except that I ask to be free as well from the father who betrayed me. I would be no longer Vidardottir. Let me be instead . . . Sigunn Enginnrdottir."

No one's daughter.

He frowned. "Are you certain that is what you wish?

When she nodded, he sighed, his eye flickering, for just a moment, to Loki's face.

"So be it." He raised his voice, and the Court stirred expectantly. "Thus justice has been served in Asgard. As it has always been, may it ever be."

The room dissolved into a thronging sea of babbling talk. Thor climbed the steps to stand beside his father; Odin's eye was fixed on Sigunn as she walked away.

"The Victory-Bringer," he murmured. "She will be one of our greatest assets. It is our good fortune that the battlefire fell to Asgard and not some other Realm."

Thor looked at him, startled. "The battlefire is not Asgard's, father. It is Sigunn's, alone."

Odin returned his gaze. "Well, then, we shall duly hope that, if the time comes, she will choose to wield it . . . for Asgard."

When the court adjourned, she walked, straight-backed, through the turbulent throng, toward the farthest doors. They gave way before her, edging carefully away as she approached, and eddying in her wake, flicking sidelong glances at her back. But as she neared the doors, a tall figure blocked her way, and she looked up into Loki's eyes. He lifted his chin, regarding her with a transparent warmth that she knew he allowed very few others to see. The sadness faded from her face.

"Enginnrdottir?" he murmured.

She sighed.

"How can I give honor to a father who sold me into death? Who committed such treason against his king and his own family? I have no name, now."

He stood back, one finger tracing an uncertain pattern into the palm of his other hand. His eyes intent, he said, "I would give you a name, Sigunn. To stand beside your own. If it would please you. If you would wish it."

"Would you? Well, I am in need of one. I cannot even claim 'gentle Sigunn', any longer." She waved a hand out toward the courtier-filled room. "They will no longer sing of me that way in Asgard."

"They do not know you as I do. But no, not "gentle"."

"Ah. Perhaps I need to ride further afield? Let me see . . ." She cast her eyes toward the ceiling. "'Fire-breather'? 'Troll-slayer'? 'Bane of giants' . . ." She pointed a finger at his chest. "Always excepting yourself, of course . . ."

"Kona."

He reached up and captured her hand, his thumb sliding lightly across her fingers.

Her breath caught, and the jesting light left her eyes. Her lips parted.

When she made no answer, he spoke again, a faint anxious line appearing between his brows, "Konu Loki."

Loki's wife.

The throne room, the city, the entire Realm held silence around her, and contracted to just the vision of his face.

He continued, "Although every soul in Asgard will no doubt think you mad to share bed and hearth with the jotun prince."

"They do not know you as I do. And will they not think you just as mad, to open your arms to the Victory-Bringer?"

He shrugged. "Madness runs in my veins." His voice lowered, and his grip on her hand tightened. "You would . . . do this, then? You would desire this?"

She took a step nearer. "I would. I do desire it. And do you?"

He did not answer at once. He closed the small gap between them, and looked down into her face, and said, in the runespeech, the ancient words dropping from his tongue like molten silver, "Ek elska thik. . . "

I cherish thee,

And I would wed with thee,

And never be parted from thee,

Until the world ends.

She smiled and whispered the final words of the stave. "Thar til heimurinn endar, ok byrjar nytt."

Until the world ends,

And begins new.

And she added, quietly, "Asta."

She slipped both arms around his neck, drawing herself up against him. He grinned at her, and tilted his head out toward the cavernous room. Courtiers and nobles of every stripe still filled it, milling about exclaiming and muttering over the events that had just passed. More than a few curious glances were leveled their way.

"Don't you observe the proprieties, my lady?" he murmured, his eyes alight.

"Oh, come now, Loki, Prince of the Realm! Surely the censure of a few courtiers holds no terrors for you?" She widened her eyes in mock consternation, struggling to hide her smile. "Aren't you ever willing to . . . take a risk?"

His arms closed around her, and as he bent his head to her he said, "You have no idea."

"I rather think I do," she laughed, and he took her laughter into his mouth, and tasted it on her lips, and kissed her, very thoroughly, before all the court of Asgard.

And so, at the rise of the next new moon, the nobles gathered in the great feast hall, to see the second prince, resplendent in armor of black and gold, stand beneath the bower of fir boughs and acorn-laden oak. They watched the Idisi maiden come to him, walking with slow, graceful strides the length of the hall, her hair spilling down her back in fiery waves, bound at her temples with a bridal crown. They saw him offer her a blade, across his forearm, a ring of bright gold resting on its hilt, and the courtiers exchanged glances and frowns, for the blade was not the sword of long tradition, but a slim bronze dagger, fashioned in the shape of a horse's head. Only those standing closer to the bower observed the smile that hovered on the bride's lips when she saw it, and the answering flash in the prince's eyes.

The crown prince Thor remained at her elbow in his role as fastnandi for this maiden, since, as enginnrdottir, she had no father to stand guardian for her, though her sisters were clustered to one side, wide-eyed and rather pale. Only he heard Loki's words as she accepted the dagger from his hands.

"Let fly."

And, later, as the feast commenced and the music swirled and the bawdy jests filled the hall with clouds of laughter, they watched her bear to him the kasa cup, its wide bowl filled to the brim with sweet purple wine, and listened as she said the old words, satisfied that at least one thing about this wedding was firmly anchored in tradition.

Wine I bring thee, my oak-of-battle,

With strength blended and brightest honor;

With honed blades and mighty songs,

With runes of past and future blest.

But some of them frowned, still, leaning forward to see her better, for as she lifted the cup, the sleeves of her rich gown slid back, and the light caught and fractured on the symbol embroidered along the hems in bright silver thread: a strange symbol, a flame encased in crystals of ice.

The prince saw it, too, and smiled.

In his last duty as fastnandi, Thor placed Sigunn's hand in Loki's, and bound their wrists together with a silken cord. He raised their arms, so all could see, and then gave a sharp tug. The cord held; it was a true marriage bond, and a lusty cheer rose from every throat in the room.

As he unwound it, then, he paused, and touched one of the embroidered symbols along Sigunn's sleeve.

"I've never seen this before."

"No, it's newly made," she said, looking past him to meet her husband's gaze. "The sigil of the House of Loki."

A flash of pain glinted in Thor's eyes. Slowly, he said, "So then Loki has departed forever the House of Odin? He will never reclaim his name?"

She reached up and lay her hand along his cheek. He peered, startled, into her dark eyes, and took solace in the compassion there, as she said, warmly, "Dear brother. Do you not understand? Loki's name is his own."

He pushed the momentary sorrow away, back into the past, where it belonged. He smiled down at her, and said, "Do you call me brother, Lady?"

"I do."

It wasn't Sigunn who answered. Thor turned, and found Loki there, his arm extended, palm out. His heart thudded, a sharp, incredulous beat. Slowly, he reached out, and grasped his brother's forearm, staring into the green eyes. He saw, not his brother of old, for he knew that that boy was gone forever, but instead this man, his brother, a deeper, stranger creature, who was, nevertheless, in this moment, very familiar indeed.

He blinked back the sudden dampness in his eyes, and said, "It's good to see you wearing the green once more."

From Loki's shoulders, a long green cloak hung suspended. But, as Thor studied it more closely, he realized that it, too, was new. Not quite the same as before, a warmer, brighter green: a green that glowed as if lit by fire.

His eyes met Loki's again, and Loki lifted one brow, over an eye that flashed with mischief.

"Haven't I always?"

On the crest of a knoll, the stallion Bruni lowered his head to bury his nose in the deep grass, pointedly ignoring Hrafn, who stood, ears pricked toward the city; his keen hearing could discern the faint sounds of a raucous feast wafting out from the palace's high towers.

Their saddles were empty.

Behind them, the ground angled downward, into a hollow cupped secretly among the folds and rumpled hills of Ida's green field. Its sloping sides were carpeted with woodruff and clumps of eglantine, filling the night with their sweet, green odor. Here and there, among the tufts of grass, a constellation of small lanterns glowed, mirroring the infinite display splashed through the sky above, framed by the hollow's encircling rim. The light reflected faintly on the embroidery ornamenting a rich gown, which lay, abandoned, on a low rock, the filmy length of a delicate shift tossed over it. In the grass below lay a disordered tangle of black leather and a thick green cloak.

On the flat floor of the hollow, a deep nest of conjured furs spread like a dark pool. An arm, pale and slim, reached over the edge of this makeshift bed and a hand clasped the stem of a graceful, horn-shaped cup.

As she leaned away, Loki ran his fingertips along the curve of Sigunn's hip, admiring the glow of her skin in the starlight. When she rolled back toward him, and handed him the cup, he said, "I would think that, right about now, the revelers may have divined that the guests of honor have left the feast."

She propped her chin on one hand, the other tracing the gleaming lines of the nadr that coiled sinuously about his upper arm. "Only just now? Are they all that far gone in merrymaking?"

He tipped the cup back for a leisurely swallow, and then grinned at her over its rim. "The night grows old. They will wish to see the groom remove the bridal crown, and claim the bride as his own, and then shower them with ribaldry."

Wine glistened on his lower lip; she leaned forward and kissed it away, and then after a long, warm moment, levered herself upward with one arm to regard the crown of oak leaves, their fair, gilded tips just visible above the nodding blades of grass. She looked down at him, over her shoulder, and said, "How unfortunate, then, for them, that you have already done that."

He pulled her back down beside him, his hand sliding easily along the small of her back, palm cool on her warm skin, as his lips murmured against her ear, "I've already done both of those things."

She said, "If you include the ribaldry, I think it is fair to say we have done all three." He felt her cheek move as she smiled.

He lifted his head, nodding thoughtfully. "How briskly efficient we are. An example to newly wedded folk in all the Realms."

She shook her head, laughing. "I don't wish to be an example. Let's keep all this to ourselves."

"All this, my lady? All what, may I ask? I'm puzzled as to what you're referencing?"

She arched a brow at him. "Really? And you're usually so clever. It was not so many minutes ago, after all."

He lay back, favoring her with a truly wicked smile. "Perhaps I require . . . a hint?"

She pulled herself atop him, then, stretching her body the length of his, sliding her knee along his thigh, lowering her mouth to kiss the hollow of his throat. His eyes darkened, and ignited, and his arms closed around her as he murmured. "Ah, yes. All of this."

Quite some time later, after he'd followed her hint down a very satisfying trail, they lay, still again, with the soft night breeze stroking its fingertips across their skin. She studied his profile, etched against the lantern light, from her resting place on his shoulder. He was staring up into the pulsing sky; his face was solemn.

He felt her gaze and turned his head.

"What is it?" she asked.

He slid a hand up his bare chest to coil a strand of fiery hair around one finger. Examining it closely, he said, "You told me that you had vowed, once, to deal me only truth."

"Aye."

His eyes met hers. "Do you keep to that vow?"

She leaned up on one forearm, slipping a hand along his neck, her thumb caressing his jaw. "Of course. I will keep it all my days."

He nodded. After a long moment, he said, "That means much to me, Sigunn. Do you know that?"

"I think so. I don't understand all your reasons why it should be so, but . . . "

"You shall understand them." His voice roughened. "I may be the Liesmith, but I will deal you my truths as well. If you wish to hear them?"

"Is there even a need to ask? Tell them, Silvertongue. Speak the Lokasaga."

"The Lokasaga?" A breath of laughter escaped him. "I don't know if it deserves so grand a title. But it is a long tale."

"We have time enough. Unless all the revelers at the wedding feast come searching for us . . . "

He reached up and touched her face, the curve of her lower lip, his eyes deep and warm. "It's not a pretty story."

She kissed his fingertips, and smiled. "The important ones never are."

As she waited, her eyes upon him, slowly, he began, low-voiced, "Thor's coronation. Were you there that day? We stood together, he and I, waiting for the signal to enter the throne room, and I asked him, "Are you nervous, brother?', because of course I knew that he was, and of course he flatly denied it. . ."

And the words of his story filled the hollow, punctuated now and then by Sigunn's gentle voice, as overhead the stars wheeled and burned in Asgard's sky, and, below the rim of the world, the sun climbed toward morning.

I am Sigunn, of Asgard, last remnant of a vanquished people, daughter of none.

And wife to one.

They sing the songs already, foolish songs of the Lord of Mischief and his Gentle Lady, as if the heart of chaos does not beat with equal vigor in my own breast; as if Loki Prince of Asgard does not harbor, deep within, a soul that looks with gentleness upon the ones he loves.

I see his eye on me, when the bard in the feast hall lifts his voice and chants the staves. Sometimes I find I must look away, lest I offer great insult to the singer with my open laughter.

Mischief? Gentleness? Simple, humble attributes, are they not? Let them be noised throughout the Realms; let our enemies mock them and blithely dismiss us as unworthy of their hatred.

But if they march against us, those enemies, if the Mad Titan makes good his threats, then let them learn to their own destruction what chaos they court if they choose to face us.

For we walk in the midst of a ring of fire, he and I, a storm of ice that burns the body and flames that freeze the blood, and who can stand before us? Let them come. They don't know who we are.

Spell-singer, Sky-Treader; Fire-wielder, Battle-changer.

Lord of Chaos, Silvertongue; Idisi Mother, Victory-Bringer.

Frost and Flame.

Loki and Sigunn.

Each for the other, the eye of the storm.

FINIS

Anne LaMott said that "the act of writing turns out to be its own reward", and I find truth in that, but I've also found, in writing fanfiction, that the give-and-take between writer and readers offers a reward just as great. So I thank you, from the bottom of my heart if you'll forgive the cliche, for trusting me with these characters that we know and love, for giving your time to this long story, and for the many expressions of support and encouragement that you have offered me. The twenty weeks I have spent writing this story and posting this story have been a delight. Please do leave a final comment-I'd so love to hear from all of you!

Much love to you, readers!

Rene