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Chapter Text

The sun had sunk low on the horizon. No one was sure when it had become so late; time had slipped away from them in battle, and the shockwave from whatever had happened to Surtur had confounded everyone, no matter what side they were on. Most of Surtur’s army had fled, though there were still distant noises of battle from where groups cleaned up the stragglers. It was impossible to see where; smoke from dozens of fires obscured the sky, turning the sunlight into a sickly orange-brown haze that choked man and horse and demon alike.

The ground was charred under Sif’s boots as she walked and muddy where it was not. The smoke stung her eyes and burned her throat, but she paid it no mind, climbing over the corpses of demons and monsters and horses. Sometimes she would pause, covering one of her own men with his cloak so that those who were coming after her knew who to carry back to lay with the rest of the glorious dead. But they weren’t who she was looking for.

Occasionally, someone would see her and call out to her, but after getting a glimpse of the look on her face would fade back into the smoky haze. Their queen had some other task on her mind, they explained, and would come to them soon enough. Sif’s eyes were fixed ahead of her, sweeping the field for some sign, anything—

The ground rose beneath her feet, and for a moment Sif paused to turn and take in the destruction behind her. So many had made their way to the doors of Valhalla today, and so many to Hel, and Asgard was safe, and yet she could not even find the one person she needed here in this carnage.

She looked back then and that was when she saw him.

Sif scrambled up the rise, tripping over bodies and the detritus of battle (not so much here, not much had made it to this point so close to where Surtur had been), and dropped gracelessly to her knees beside Loki. He was still and pale, even his lips bloodless, and the battle leathers that had fit so well to him for so long were all but burned away – where they were not slashed to ribbons, showing death-white skin and angry red wounds underneath. He had burns, too – not just on his body, but when she reached for one his hands the fingertips were blistered and raw, and so were the palms.

“Loki,” Sif hissed, one hand holding his and the other grasping his shoulder. “Loki, please…”

He did not respond to her voice or to increasingly desperate shaking, until at last Sif could only rest her fists against his chest and then rest her forehead on top of them. His skin was cold, colder than it usually was, and Sif smoothed her hands over what she could of it, eventually sliding them up to grasp his shoulders again, unable to move, unable to do anything. All her skill in battle, all the exhaustion of the day, and suddenly it seemed worthless.

How long she was there, Sif could not say, only that the sun had lowered more by the time she felt strong, familiar hands grasp her shoulders and try to pull her away. Angrily – who could pull her away from her husband, her king? – Sif fought back, her hands clutching the tattered remains of Loki’s battle gear. Thor was stronger than she was though, and more determined, and he pulled her up and twisted her to face him. She almost lashed out, but then sense came to her and she could see the fear in her friend’s blue eyes, the fear for her and for his brother.

“Sif,” he said quietly, his hands moving from her shoulders, thumbs skimming her jaw. Weariness, heartsickness, it all pressed in on her as she grasped Thor’s wrists.

“He is cold,” she choked. “He is too cold, and he does not move, and—“

“Quiet now,” Thor murmured. With one hand still on her he reached out to his brother’s chest, his throat. “Be still, Sif.”

“Thor, what if he is—“

“Hush.” It carried the command of a king in it and after taking another gasping breath, Sif did her best to heed him. Thor did not always sound like that – she could count the number of times he had on her fingers – so when he did it was better to listen. And she was glad she had, for suddenly Thor went very still, as though trying to be sure of something. Then he released her and pressed his ear to Loki’s chest. His face changed, became strained, and Sif felt her heart constrict.

“So he is—“

“He lives,” Thor breathed, relief flooding his face. With one hand he took up Mjolnir, the other cradling Loki’s shoulders and lifting him up. He held the silver, star-bright metal of his mighty hammer up to Loki’s lips, and as Sif watched, she saw the silver dull just a bit, fogged by the barest puff of living air. Thor looked at her, the dirt on his face cracking as he broke into a smile. “Loki is alive, Sif.”

She froze, looking from Thor to Loki, reaching out a hand (there was a cut across the back of it she didn’t remember getting, she noticed in a daze) and touching her fingertips to his chest, sliding her palm up until it rested over his heart and closing her eyes. After what seemed an impossibly long time, she felt it. His heart was weak and slow, but it was there beating in his chest, and he was breathing, and while she could not put his nearness to death out of her mind hope blossomed in her chest as white-hot as the stars.

“He lives,” she breathed.

It was as if those words were a catalyst. Sif got her feet under her and pushed past Thor, scooping Loki up. She was a woman but she was not weak, and she felt a surge of strength in her, a need to protect him herself. It was awkward carrying him; he was taller and heavier than she, and for all her strength she had spent much of herself in battle and swayed dangerously until Thor put out a hand and steadied her.

“Sif,” he began, but stopped at her look, simply nodding and stepping back as she started picking her way across the battlefield as gently as she could.

He began to follow her but paused, looking over his shoulder. The Tesseract glinted in the blackened grass, and even though the reaction was much more subdued, Thor felt the hairs on his arms prickle under his mail. Grimly, he gathered up a corner of his cape and grasped the cube with it, wrapping it securely so that he would not touch it. Then he was off after Sif, moving ahead to clear her path as best he could.

When they finally reached the Bifrost site, they found that Eir had sent some of her junior healers out to do what they could to organize the wounded and stabilize the worst. One of the healers caught sight of them walking up and gasped, nearly dropping his armload of supplies.

“My queen,” he asked, crossing to her as quickly as he could as more healers looked up curiously, then with more shock as they realized who it was. “My queen, what—“

“The king needs Eir’s hand,” Sif said, and Thor did not hear his friend, only a leader giving orders. “He is alive but barely, and we have very little time.”

“Yes—yes, of course, this way.” He led them through the long rows of wounded and dying. There was a clear space in the center of it all, with people milling about – healers, the miraculously unscathed, horse-handlers, those not wounded enough to need care. Thor was a step behind her, and could see the strain shaking every muscle in her body. She needed care too – her armor was muddied and scratched, blood oozing from between plates and under mail. He would not ask to carry Loki for her, but as they made their way to the center of the cleared area, Thor touched her back and caught her eye, and after a moment Sif eased Loki’s feet to the ground and Thor shrugged one of his brother’s arms over his own shoulders.

“Heimdall,” Sif said quietly, “Open the Bifrost, bring us home.”

As he felt the magic gather overhead, Thor looked at his brother. Loki was bloodless pale, hair hanging around his face. He may be breathing, his heart beating, but if they did not work fast, he would die. Thor did not want to think about what would happen if he did; the very idea made his blood run cold.

*

The Healing Rooms were bustling again, but when people saw that Sif and Thor were moving toward them, with Loki lifeless between them, they moved aside as quickly as they could. Their approach sent some of the healers running for Eir, and as they reached the first open-air court, a fountain tinkling in strange serenity counterpoint to the chaos around it, she caught up to them.

“Let me see him,” she commanded, and obligingly everyone cleared back as she cupped Loki’s face and raised his head, felt under his jaw and along his throat and down over his chest crossed with wounds and claw marks and scrapes. When she went pale under her olive complexion, Sif’s stomach dropped.

“He will need all the aid I can give, and more besides,” Eir whispered, then raised her voice. “Thor, please help us get him to a room and then go find your mother, I will need her help on this. Sif—“ Eir considered her for a moment, then smiled. “He will need your strength as well, my queen.”

The three of them found an unoccupied room and Sif and Thor laid Loki on the bed as gently as they could. Thor saw his brother settled and then went to go carry out Eir’s request, and was surprised when she followed him to the doorway.

“How badly wounded is she?” the healer asked briskly. Thor glanced over at Sif without moving his head much, though he doubted she’d have noticed. She had already seated herself on the bed, doing her best to help the junior healers in removing torn leather and bent metal from Loki’s prone body. Her movements were businesslike, efficient, but her face was pinched with exhaustion and worry.

“Bad enough to need a healer’s attention soon,” Thor said. “Perhaps worse than that, even. Sif has a talent for masking her own hurts so well that betimes she forgets she has them.”

“Don’t I know it.” Eir pursed her lips. “I will make sure she is tended soon. Your brother is in grave danger, but I will not save him only to worsen her condition.”

“Yes, of course, Lady Eir.” Thor bowed, and watched as Eir turned and began issuing orders to the healers in the room. Loki lay atop the sheets, pale enough to blend into them, and Sif with not much more color than he. The sight made Thor’s chest ache, and he turned away, uncomfortable and anxious, and made his way out of the healing rooms. On the way people stopped him and Thor offered what words of comfort or encouragement that he felt he could, small though they were. Those he spoke to smiled, though, and seemed more content, and for all his weariness Thor felt a bit of energy come back to him.

A guard he asked said that the Lady Frigga had gone up to her rooms to fetch supplies she had there and that no one had heard from her since, and Thor was worried enough to duck out of an open-air terrace and fly himself up to Fensalir. His mother was not there, but he heard voices from inside and followed them through his mother’s day room and receiving chambers toward the bedchamber.

Something caught his eye – a pile of cloth, some of the paper packets of herbs he remembered watching his mother make and label in her neat handwriting, scattered across the floor. Had something happened here? Thor gripped Mjolnir tightly, the other keeping hold of the bundle of his cape that still shielded the Tesseract.

“Mother?” he called. The voices stopped, and his mother emerged from the outer balcony. Her eyes shone with tears that had not yet followed the ones leaving tracks down her cheeks, and before he knew it she had come and wrapped him in her arms, mindless of the grime that coated him head to foot.

“He is back,” she whispered. “He is returned.”

For a moment, Thor stepped back and looked at Frigga strangely, wondering if she’d perhaps been overcome somehow. And then he looked beyond her, over her shoulder, and his own eyes widened.

“Father?”

*

When Thor returned some time later, the Healing Rooms had become even more crowded. Servants were bustling around, making up extra beds in the shared rooms and carrying those who needed immediate attention to where they could get it. As he – and the two people with him – passed, though, activity stilled, voices stopped, save the moans and whimpers of those who were too delirious and wounded to be aware of their surroundings. The people watched the three of them with wide eyes and as they passed, started murmuring excitedly.

Thor held the door hangings aside and let them fall as soon as everyone was in the room. Sif had not moved from where she’d seated herself, though Loki was now stripped of the remains of his light armor and had been clothed in the soft trousers everyone admitted to the Healings Rooms wore. Thor sucked in a breath; even without the ripped leather to make it look worse, his brother had been battered and bruised far beyond anything Thor had seen before. Loki usually took pains to stay at the outskirts of battles, to use his magic more effectively along with his little knives. To be in the thick of things with a foe so powerful…

A clang brought him back. Eir had dropped a pitcher of water she’d been pouring into a basin, her eyes wide.

“My king, I—“ she began, then stuttered into silence, looking at the bed. “That is to say, Your—“

“Peace, Eir,” Odin told her, holding up a hand. “There are more important matters right now. My son?”

“I—yes, my lord, he…” Eir looked at Loki again. “He is gravely wounded, but it goes beyond that. I think it is—my lady, if you could?”

Frigga had already gone and pressed her fingertips to Loki’s forehead, eyes half-closed and full of sadness and worry as she looked over her second son. “It is his magic,” she murmured. “Is that what you thought as well?” At Eir’s nod, Frigga continued. “He has exhausted all his own – completely, utterly, but it goes beyond that.”

“The Tesseract,” Sif said. Her voice was rough. “He channeled its power through him, enough to dim the cube itself.”

“I had hoped that the stories of the Tesseract out in the Realms were untrue.” Odin went to the edge of the bed, pressed his hand over Loki’s. “He is lucky to live, if he touched even a sliver of the power the Tesseract can unleash.”

“With all due respect, my lord, he will not if we delay much longer.” Eir had refilled the pitcher and now steam curled from the basin she had poured it into. “These wounds must be cleaned and tended so infection does not set in, and he must be cleansed of Surtur’s taint. That is dark and powerful magic, and even then, it will be some time before he wakes.” She said no more, but the if he wakes was plain on her face. The only change in Odin’s expression was a tightening around his eye.

“Then I will take my leave. I must speak with my son and with Sif.”

“Father,” Thor said, slowly. “I think it may be best to let Sif stay with Loki. She will want to see him through what the healers do, and see to her own wounds.” He caught Sif’s grateful expression and smiled a bit at her in return, though he was nervy. In the past, every time he had stood up to his father had been for reasons of selfishness, of wanting something and being denied. It was a little more intimidating doing so with different motivations entirely. “I think it best if we all wait to see how my brother fares.”

There was more than one surprised look thrown his way, but Thor held his father’s gaze steadily. This felt as though it was the right thing to do, and so he would stick with it, for the sake of his brother and Sif and their ordeal. Odin’s one-eyed gaze grew weightier the more time passed, and out of the corner of his eye Thor saw Frigga’s hands still as she watched them, but at last Odin nodded in agreement.

“Then it will be thus.”

“You have only just awakened,” Frigga said briskly. She had already bent over Loki, her sure hands using a clean cloth to dab the grit and grime from one of the long slashes on his arms. “It is not for you to resume ruling, husband.”

“My lady, I—“

Frigga’s look was sharp enough to make her husband still his tongue, and for the others in the room to look away, slightly embarrassed. “The realm is in enough upheaval,” she said. “But what it needs now is the same as all of us need - rest, and care. Thor, go and have your hurts seen to, then go to your lady – she has been working so feverishly for us that I am worried for her own health. Send a healer in to see to the queen. And, husband dearest, you may wait here or elsewhere, but you are not to make decisions on affairs of state. Any that come up will be dealt with later. Right now, our king needs our attention.” She looked round at all of them. “Well? Go on with all of you!”

One by one they filtered out. Before he left, Odin paused at Sif’s side, looking at the hands she had clasped around one of Loki’s. Sif felt small under his regard, for a moment, but then remembered herself and looked up to meet his eye. For a long time they studied each other, and then Odin put his hand on her shoulder, let it rest there heavily, before he turned and left the room.

*

At some point junior healers came in with their supplies, eyes dark-ringed and meticulous robes rumpled. They were clearly exhausted themselves, but still they did their best to pry Sif away from Loki’s bedside, to get her to a couch not five paces away where they could work on her. She let them, for a time – let them clean the worst of the wounds, removed most of her armor, let them bring her a loose tunic and fresh leggings and old, soft boots and take the rest up to her bedchamber. When they left she took up her post again, watching as Eir and Frigga did what they could to clean and stitch torn flesh together, washing him with water that slowly turned a dirty pink.

When the suns had completely set over Asgard and the brilliant wash of Yggdrasil arched across the skies, they at last stepped back. At a look from Frigga, Eir left and her servants quickly began clearing away the dirtied cloths and the basin of water, until only the three of them were left. Frigga came and sat with Sif, facing her. For a moment they watched Loki. He had never been a match in size for most Asgardians, but now he looked even smaller, there in the furs. Sif clasped his hand again; it was still far too cold, but she knew she was warm, and hoped some of that warmth would reach him.

“We have done what we can for his body,” Frigga said at last, after she’d laid her hand atop theirs. “Using the Tesseract’s power as he did has left wounds we cannot heal with all our arts, though. If he wakes, it is a good sign. He will be weak until he recovers his magic, but he will live.”

Sif nodded, glad that someone was not dancing around ifs and maybes. “I will stay with him,” she replied. Frigga smiled gently.

“He is in no better hands than those of someone he loves.” She rose, moving about the room and opening the hangings so that light from outside filtered into the room. Sif watched the slow rise and fall of her husband’s chest, only half paying attention.

“How long?” she asked. “How long until he wakes, do you think?”

Frigga paused in tying off the last set of curtains. “We may hope for tomorrow,” she answered at last. “If but briefly. But it would not be a bad sign if he sleeps until the day after. Beyond that…” She drew a shuddering breath, and Sif looked over suddenly, for to her Frigga had always been steady, not unemotional but in control.

“Tomorrow,” she said, wrapping her hands around Loki’s again. “It will be tomorrow.” She just wished she was not trying to convince herself too.

*

Thor was sitting on one of the benches in a promenade leading to the Healing Rooms, elbows on knees, hands folded. Frigga’s heart ached to see him so; Thor was such a light to others that when he was sad, the stars themselves seemed a little dimmer to her. Perhaps it was just her mother’s heart.

He looked up at her approach. “My brother?”

“He sleeps.” She collected her skirts and sat beside him. “We have done all we can. The rest is up to Loki, I fear.” Thor drew in a breath and let it out slowly, and Frigga put her hand on his back, rubbing soothingly over the leathers he wore. It had always been frustrating for Thor, she knew, when a problem came up that his physical strength could not solve, and not because he was not intelligent enough to think through a problem but because he had little experience in it. He just had always had Loki beside him for those, but take one brother away and the other floundered.

“Your brother is strong,” she said. “He has been strong these last months, through many trials that would have given your father pause.”

“Our father…” Thor looked down at his hands. “Mother, I have a question…”

“Anything, my son.”

“…it is about Loki, and Father, and Loki’s heritage.”

“Ah.” Frigga stilled her hand for a moment, but then resumed her soothing motions. She had thought this might come up sooner or later. It was probably better her to speak to Thor about Odin. “You wonder why your father kept it from Loki – from both of you.”

“It has done so much damage,” Thor said quietly. “Loki and I—we fought when he came to Midgard, and there was so much hurt and anger in him, Mother, I thought I would lose him to it. I am still not sure if I did or not. I cannot but think that Father—that he made a mistake.”

“You and I both, my son.” Frigga sighed, watching the city. “I had wanted to tell Loki from the beginning, and as I watched him grow in his magic and mind and watched as he became more and more an outsider even within your group of friends, I tried more than once to prevail upon your father to tell Loki. We did not want him to feel different, to feel like his home was not here, that our family was not truly his. Your father has a soft heart, under all his armor. He could not bear the thought of one of his sons upset, unhappy, though he has a very peculiar way of showing it I will admit. We love Loki, as much as we love you.” She smiled a little. “I think he began to see it a little for himself, lately.”

“I hope so. It does explain much.” Thor looked at her. “I cannot see him ruling Jotunheim, Mother. I can see him king, but here. He belongs here.”

“I think he does too. Jotun though he is, he was raised as one of us, and he would never forget that. This has always been what he wants. Whatever he has said about being content with his lot, I know there is much ambition in him.”

“He is a good king.” Thor smiled a little. “A better king than I would be, in some ways.”

“In some ways, yes. But you have strengths Loki lacks in, just as he knows things you do not. You would be a very different king than he, but you would both be good kings.”

She could see another question brewing on Thor’s face, and imagined she knew what it would be.

“What happens now, Mother?” he asked at last. “If—when Loki wakes, there will be three of us. Who leads?”

“I cannot say now,” she murmured. “That is something the three of you must discuss. You will all know what is best for Asgard. I did not marry a fool, nor did I raise two more.” She rose again, pressing her lips to Thor’s forehead. “Go rest, my son. These are questions that can be addressed when a loved one is not so close to the gates of Valhalla, and your lady is missing you, I am sure. Now, say goodnight to your mother, and go.”

Thor smiled a little at the mention of Jane, and rose too. “Goodnight, Mother,” he said obediently, and kissed her on both cheeks before heading for the stairs. She watched him go, smiling a little.

I have raised two fine sons, she thought to herself. Stars, let them stay together.

*

There were no feasts that night, not even for the soldiers and Einherji who were not injured badly enough to stay in the Healing Rooms. The realm held its breath. Loki slept, and Sif tended him, steadfast as she stroked the sweat from his brow. He did not twitch or mumble in his sleep as he usually did, but wherever his dreams took him, she did not think they were very pleasant.

Far above them, in a balcony hung with red and gold, Thor let Jane relax back against him. They had moved one of the loungers out under the stars and piled it with furs, more for comfort than warmth, and when Jane pulled one of them up to her chin, Thor didn’t mind, even though he knew he’d be boiling hot soon. She had had to be pulled away from the work she was doing, helping the wounded as best she could. He’d been very dismayed to take her hand and pull her away from her tasks, only to have her turn an alarming greenish shade and vomit into the nearest potted plant, but she’d smiled at him and had eaten voraciously when he’d had dinner brought up and insisted she felt fine. But he could feel her weariness in the way she drew his arms around her under the furs and brought her legs up.

“How’s Sif holding up?” she asked, after they had spent several minutes watching the stars in silence.

“She remains at Loki’s side. I think she will stay there until he wakes or until Ragnarok itself comes.” Thor pressed his lips to Jane’s hair, as he had this morning. It was good to feel her warm and alive in his arms after the bloody business that had been the day, after seeing his brother lay near death with Sif looking nearly as pale as she sat beside him.

Part of him imagined that was why the idea that had been rolling around in his mind since he had returned from Midgard had taken root so quickly. Given more time he probably would have consulted others – his brother, his mother – but ever had he followed his heart. Thor’s heart was telling him this was right.

“I would stay with you until Ragnarok as well,” he said at last. “If you would have me, Jane, I would keep you by my side forever.”

She said nothing for a long time, but Thor felt her tense. “Forever is a really long time, Thor. Is it even… is it possible?”

“The apples grown in Idunn’s orchards are eaten by every Asgardian, to give us eternal youth and vitality,” Thor replied slowly. “I have never heard of a mortal becoming one of us through this, but I do not think it would be different. Think of it, Jane, you could live among us, be one of us…”

“You’re… in line for the throne, aren’t you? I would be queen one day wouldn’t I?”

“Yes…”

“Thor, I don’t know if I want to be queen or even if I want to live forever.” Jane twisted in his arms – though she didn’t leave them, at least, and that made it a little better – and looked up at him seriously. “I mean… it would be great to live here. I love your home, I love the people here, I love you. I just don’t know if I could give up my own home for it. I don’t know if I could watch all my friends and family grow old and die.”

“And I do not want to watch you die,” Thor said, a little more emphatically than he meant to.

Jane sighed. It wasn’t exasperated or frustrated at least, more thoughtful than that. “It’s not that I don’t want to marry you, Thor—I mean, that was what you were asking, right?” At his nod she continued. “I want to, I do. I just… I don’t know that I could live knowing everything I loved on Earth, everyone I knew and eventually all their children and their grandchildren were all gone. I know I could adapt eventually, I’d have all the time I wanted to learn about the stars, about the realms… but…” she sighed, untangling one of their hands and running her fingers through her hair.

They sat there for a while like that, until Jane headbutted his chin gently and curled back into his arms.

“We’ve got time to talk about it,” she said. “All I know is that however long I live, I want to spend it with you.” She paused, and he could feel her grin a little. “As long as you don’t mind that I fully intend to be the authority on Asgard and interplanetary travel via Bifrost within the next couple years. So that’s going to take up some time.”

Thor felt some of the darkness that had settled on him lift, and pushed the rest of it away. However they made their way, whatever their decision was, he would consider each year, each day with Jane a treasure. Their worth was not in their number, but in how they were spent.

“Then it is good that you have a very willing liaison,” he told her.

Jane stretched up to kiss him but he met her halfway, and the last of the tension drained from their bodies, replaced by the heat that was always coiled just below the surface, waiting for its chance.

*

The time candle marked only a few hours until dawn, but Odin had not yet found his way into the bed he shared with his wife. Part of it was, he thought, that he had spent the last several months asleep. Being aware of one’s surroundings was not the same as experiencing them, and for all that his mind had been occupied while he slumbered, his body had rested, and now was full of energy.

The other part was likely because of the situation he had found upon waking. Of his two sons Odin would have thought Loki the least likely to plunge Asgard into war, but when Frigga had sat down with him and told him of the events since he had fallen into the Odinsleep, Odin had begun to think that perhaps war had been unavoidable no matter if Loki was king or if he himself had ruled. It would have taken longer under his own rule, but he thought that between the two of them, Sif and Loki had prepared the realm as best they could, and despite that they led a people grown soft with long dominance, they had prevailed. Everywhere he looked as he wandered the palace, he saw exhausted soldiers, residents of the palace who despite their own inaction looked wearied, but in each face there was hope. That would never have been, not under a king who broke the spirits of his people.

Of course, he thought as he walked, even if Loki had been so inclined, he doubted Sif would have allowed it. But he did not think Loki would have done such a thing. The boy could be mercurial, prickly, malicious betimes, but—

No, Odin thought, pausing in his steps. Loki was no boy. Odin had looked away for too long and his foundling son had become a man, had married and been given Gungnir and ruled.

The terrace he had stopped in opened to the air and he went to the gilt railing, staring out over the spires of the city and the rim sea beyond. It had never been his intent to drive Loki away, to drive either of his sons away. Thor had been the easier of the two for Odin to deal with, but that was because Thor could not but be open with people he loved, and even then he felt he had managed to let Thor’s arrogance go unchecked too long. Odin had not known what to do with Loki, would not have known even if the burden of his secret parentage had complicated matters; they were too similar in too many ways.

He sighed and pushed away from the railing, making his way into the Healing Rooms once more. At this hour there were only a few healers circulating to the different rooms; most of the people therein slept, or came close to it in the haze brought on by being dosed to the gills with pain-deadening concoctions. Some who were awake he paused by, clasping hands with them but always moving on, and most seemed to know what he was about and left him alone. He could feel their eyes on his back, of course – Odin, son of Bor, who had been a-slumber all these months – but they said nothing and did not stop him.

The hangings were still drawn in the doorway of Loki’s room, and Odin eased them aside a few inches to see Loki still in the bed. He had rolled – or had been rolled – onto his side, and though he was still paler than usual, some of his color had returned.

Sif walked back into his line of sight then, in a light sleeping shift. She reached out, her fingertips brushing his cheek before she lay down on the bed and slid herself under one of Loki’s arms. After a little bit of adjusting so that his arm under her was situated in a more comfortable place, she put her hands over his and pulled them in, curling in on herself. She did not cry, simply closed her eyes, drew a small, shuddering breath, and fell asleep.

Odin watched them. Frigga had always said there might be more wisdom in wedding Loki to the realm – she had not approved of using him so, and he could see her face when she had suggested the union, her lips pursed in that disapproving way of hers but her eyes canny and measuring – and had insisted there was a ready bond between his second son and the lady warrior enough to make use of. Too many people discounted a woman’s wisdom, particularly his wife’s, and in hindsight Odin ought to have listened to her more often. He might be the one to sit the throne, but it was Frigga who did much to keep Asgard running smoothly, and even he could not fool himself about it.

He was about to drop the hanging when motion caught his eye and he hesitated, watching closely. Loki’s fingers curled around his wife’s, almost as if by reflex, and his breathing deepened and eased.

Odin let the cloth hanging swing closed and left as he had come. When Loki awoke there would be much to speak of, but for now he felt weariness creeping upon him, and left to seek his own bed.

*

For once, Sif did not wake at dawn. Wearied by war and worry, she slept curled against Loki until well after the sun had risen above Asgard’s rim. The healer coming in to build the fire back up and check on them was what roused her from sleep, and after she stilled the man’s hurried apologies, she pulled off her shift and let him examine the wounds crisscrossing her body. He seemed pleased, and smeared more ointment over her skin before moving over to Loki as she dressed again, this time in a loose dress that did not press too much against her hurts, and ate the cold breakfast a servant brought in.

As she was braiding her hair Eir came in and conferred with the healer a moment, their voices barely audible over the crackling of the fire. Sif watched them, moving back to Loki’s side. He seemed better this morning, at least. The lines between his brows had eased, and his color was back. Still pale enough for the slashes across his skin to stand out red and angry, but they were healing well, so she took up the pot of salve and began smearing it over them with quick, efficient motions.

At last Eir came over and checked Loki herself, seeming pleased. That was heartening.

“Has he awoken?”

“Not yet.” Sif paused, resting her hand on his chest. His heartbeat felt stronger than it had been when they’d taken him from the battlefield, his breathing more regular. She began binding his wounds with clean clothes, her worry somewhat abated for the moment. “But he is improving?”

“He is.” Eir looked at her now, grasping Sif’s chin in her fingertips and turning her head this way and that to examine the scrapes left by her armor and mail rubbing her skin raw. The least of her wounds, certainly, but Eir simply nodded and let her go. “As fool as it was to exhaust his magic and then try to act as a conduit for the Tesseract, he has strength in him.” She smiled. “I will leave instructions for the healers not to disturb you unless it is necessary. We will know if he wakes.”

“Thank you, Lady Eir.”

“No need to thank me, child.” Eir seemed to catch herself, and smiled again, a little more ruefully. “Forgive me, my lady. I still remember you and the king and prince as children. I forget that a thousand years have passed.” She bent, straightening the fur over Loki’s chest a bit, her expression going pensive. “It is easy to forget time when little changes.”

Eir left, and Sif sat there looking after her for a few more minutes, lost in thought, before she turned and slipped her hands around Loki’s again.

*

Like the night before, breakfast was not an affair for the full court this morning, but Jane and Thor went up a level to eat with Frigga and Odin, in the shade of a broad-leafed tree. Darcy was nowhere to be seen, but they had talked on the way up to the gardens and neither of them were worried for her; Thor had seen Haraldr looming solicitously around her the night before after he’d returned, looking weary and frightened and pleased all at once as he inexplicably handed her a crumpled tissue when she flung her arms around his neck. The boy would do right by her, surely.

Jane had voiced her own worries, though. She had spent part of the morning in the bathing room emptying her stomach, and still looked pale as the servants placed their food in front of them. She insisted it was because this was the first time she was meeting the Odin, and continued to insist despite Thor’s protests that his father could not possibly find fault with her.

So far, things were going well. Jane had only stumbled half a step when they’d emerged into the milky morning sun, and had held up as well under Odin’s scrutiny and questioning. Thor personally thought that his mother was the one whose goodwill it was better to cultivate, but it was clear by the way Frigga would gently nudge Odin’s arm when his questions began to take unnecessary tacks that Jane did not have to worry in that regard. Despite her pallor and the way she ate far more than usual, Jane held her own.

It was difficult to tell, with his father. For a long time Thor had thought that he knew his father’s mind without question, but it was obvious now that he knew very little. Even as breakfast ran down, Thor studied his father over the rim of his cup, and wished he was half as good at reading people as Loki was.

“Eir has said he sleeps still,” his mother was saying. “And Sif remains at his side.”

“She is not with the soldiers?” Odin made a noise as he pulled two grapes off the bunch still on his plate, and either ignored or didn’t see the sharp look Frigga gave him.

“Beyond even her oaths as wife and queen, she is a warrior sworn to serve and protect the king of Asgard,” she said pointedly. “Sif would not abandon this duty, nor would any soldier worth his armor question her, not when they all respect her as they do. In any case,” and she very primly sipped her flagon of chilled juice before continuing, “Eir has said that he may well wake today. And in that vein, do you need to speak with her, dear?” This was directed at Jane, who seemed to have lost her voracious appetite and was staring at the remainder of her food queasily. “You look white as a sheet and Thor tells me you were unwell this morning – you were yesterday too, were you not?”

Jane’s shoulders twitched in the way she had when something had just hit her, and her lips parted for a moment before she looked up. “Maybe… maybe I should,” she said, her voice sounding just a touch too high. “Can I talk to you too, Lady—uh, Frigga? Please?”

The women shared a look that had Thor putting his cup down to watch them curiously, wondering what they both seemed to know that he had missed. Then Frigga nodded and dabbed her mouth clean.

“I think perhaps we ought to,” she agreed. “Carry on, husband, Thor.”

The two men watched them go; Thor was by turns apprehensive about what could be wrong with Jane and pleased that they got along so well, and so he had a small smile on his face when Odin said, “She is a remarkable mortal.”

“She is the most brilliant one among them,” Thor agreed happily. “She believed me with most others thought me mad, she did not let their doubts stop her from giving me hope when I would have had none.” He paused as the two of them disappeared through a door to the corridor outside of Fensalir. “She loves me enough to have been willing to let me return home, even if it meant leaving her.”

He felt his father’s gaze on him, but did not flinch or look away when he met Odin’s one-eyed stare. “Do you love her then, my son?” he asked. “A mortal, fated to grow old and die?”

Thor thought of their conversation last night, of how Jane had reacted to the idea, and ran a hand through his hair. “I would have her become like one of us, but it is a choice I leave to her. I will not force her to bend to my will. I love her and so I respect her, for as long as we are together.”

“Perhaps wise. She is like your mother, in many ways, not least of which would be the very keen edge of her tongue.” Thor had to work to keep his face straight at his father’s words; Odin had made an offhand remark about humans being inferior in efforts of scholarship, and Jane had fearlessly told him precisely what she thought of that statement. Apparently nothing deterred her from speaking her mind.

“I mean to wed her,” he said, and was glad the reaction was less than he thought it would be. Odin put his flagon down and fixed Thor with a very piercing gaze, and Thor met it. The least he could do was be as strong and steadfast as Jane was. “If we have but a short time together, I would make as much of it as I could.”

“You are prince – perhaps king, soon—“

“No.” Odin seemed surprised that his son had interrupted him. If Thor was honest with himself, he was surprised he had done it as well, but now that it was done, Thor continued it, jaw set. “Loki is king, and he rules well and fairly, Father. I would not see that taken from him, not when he relishes it so much. And if he rules, I need not give up Jane, or my duty to Midgard.”

“What duty is that?”

“It is not only Jane who helped me when I was cast out – there are many I owe a debt of gratitude to, one I would see fulfilled.” He swallowed, trying to think of the words. He had never been as good at them as he knew he ought to be, but it had never been something he thought much of before. Now when he needed them he did not have the ones he felt were adequate, but he did his best. “Humans are different than we always thought, Father – there is heart in them that was not there long ago. They may not live as we do, but they should not be ignored.”

After sitting in silence for a while, Odin rose, and Thor did too. His father looked pensive, and he hoped that was a good sign. “We will talk more of this when your brother awakens, Thor.”

Before, Thor would have grown angry at so obvious a dismissal, and he did feel irritation begin to bubble up in his chest – why did his father not see what was right, what was necessary? Asgard had a ruler, Midgard needed a protector. Though he knew his displeasure showed on his face, he kept it to himself as best he could, nodded his head, and left.

He spent the rest of his day as best he could. Jane and his mother had disappeared, and when he asked after them in the Healing Rooms, he was told that they had gone to talk to Eir and would see nobody. He looked in on Sif and his brother, but she had fallen asleep, her head pillowed on her arm and her hand still grasping Loki’s, so he let them be. All of Asgard seemed to be holding its breath, waiting for the aftermath of the battle to be determined so that it could exhale. The Tesseract was safely locked in the Vault; Surtur was dead. But their king lay asleep, and their old king had awakened, and nobody seemed to know how to respond.

*

“…if…?”

Her eyes fluttered open slowly. Sif didn’t even remember falling asleep, could only think of a wave of weariness that overtook her suddenly. It was nothing to be ashamed of – she had fought a battle and won, she had been up most the night watching Loki sleep, it was only expected for her to be more than a little groggy.

“…Sif?”

His eyes were barely open, but his head was tipped toward her, his thumb slowly rubbing over her knuckles; she could feel his scabs dragging against her skin, but didn’t care, completely awake now. He was still pale, and there was little enough strength in his grip… but he was here.

Loki wet his lips, looking at her. “I had a dream,” he rasped. “I—I let go, and all around me was the void, but I was not alone, they were there—“

He closed his eyes in pain, and Sif pressed her lips together, reaching with her free hand and laying it upon his cheek. “It was only a dream,” she murmured. “You are awake now.” She smiled then, unable to contain it. “You are awake.”

Loki drew his hand out of hers and raised it to touch her lips, trace the shape of her face. He smiled too. “I am,” he replied, and then grimaced. “Water?”

She pulled away, pouring a flagon of the chilled water that had been left in a pitcher on a nearby table and bringing it back. Loki tried to sit up, but his arms would not support him when he did. Sif sat closer, slipping an arm under his shoulders and lifting him up to rest his head against her shoulder so he could take the water in small sips, leaning back when he was done.

“You were an idiot to exhaust yourself so completely,” she told him. Loki just smiled at her.

The sound of running footsteps outside the room made her slide away a bit, arranging the pillows so Loki could sit up a little more just as Eir, Jane, and Frigga burst through the hangings. Sif had never seen the master healer and the old queen so flushed and lacking composure, and stepped aside to let them both in close to Loki’s bedside. He seemed almost embarrassed at the attention, but wearily allowed Eir to poke and prod at his wounds, and let his mother press her hand too his forehead and chest.

She glanced over at Jane. Something seemed different about her; there was a small smile dancing around the corners of her mouth, maybe that was it, there had been too few genuinely happy smiles here of late. Or perhaps it was something else, something in the way she held herself…

Catching her eye, Jane smiled again and shook her head in answer to Sif’s unasked question. “Later,” she whispered. “It’ll keep. For now, I think we need to get Thor in here.”

*

Thor hated being idle, and so he had tried his best to fill the remainder of his day in the training yards. It felt an age since he had been there, and on the sands surrounded by wooden dummies, he picked up weapon after weapon and ran through what he could remember of his training forms. But instead of helping him it only served to frustrate him, and eventually he dropped the sword he held and called Mjolnir to his hand, smashing the dummies into kindling.

It was there, standing in the middle of the sands now littered with splinters of wood and panting through bared teeth, that the guard found him.

“My prince,” and Thor’s head whipped around. To his credit, the guard’s flinch was barely visible around the palpable air of excitement he radiated. “My prince, it is your brother the king—“

“Is something amiss? Has something happened?”

The guard could not contain his smile, full of relief. “My lord, your brother is awake.”

*

When Thor burst into the room and had to be restrained from sweeping his brother up into a bear hug, it began to feel very crowded. Junior healers kept peeking in or bringing things for Eir and Frigga. Loki endured it all and seemed to enjoy the attention, though when the others’ backs were turned, Sif saw him close his eyes and take a deep breath or two and knew he was tiring.

Frigga was now sitting by him, getting him to eat and watching like a hawk as he swallowed every spoonful of broth she held up for him (they had tried giving him the spoon to let him feed himself, but his hand had shook so badly Frigga had sighed and plucked it back). Thor was fidgeting by the side of the bed and talking of the realm and its business, all energy now that his brother was awake and, according to Eir, going to recover fully, and Jane was at his side with her arm tucked comfortably around his waist.

“I am certain I can manage it myself now,” Loki was saying as Frigga held another spoonful up. She eyed him until he sighed and leaned forward to swallow it down. “I am not a child.”

“You had to be helped up to sit,” Frigga replied briskly. “I am your mother, and you will listen to me until I am certain your sense of self-preservation is back to its usual place.”

“Your recovery will be quicker this way.” Sif had taken up her seat on his other side again. If anyone noticed that she occasionally reached out and brushed her fingertips over his wrist, none of them said anything about it. “Eir has said you are not to overexert yourself—“

“A thing we all ought to observe.”

Conversation stopped as soon as Odin walked into the room. Loki had just taken a mouthful of broth, but at the sight of his father he had frozen in place, eyes like chips of ice as he slowly swallowed his mouthful and sat back against the pillows.

“It seems I am not the only one to awaken recently,” he said. Sif looked between her husband and Odin warily. Her hand had gone to grip Loki’s wrist now, and she could feel the tension in him, through his exhaustion and weakness.

Odin lowered his gaze. “Our parting was not on the terms I wished it to be,” he said. “You are angry at me, and perhaps rightfully so, but I will stand by my decision.”

“Husband, now is not the time,” Frigga began, but Odin held up a hand. She stopped, but her brows drew together slightly. For a long time Odin and Loki stared at each other, both weakened still, both unwilling and unable to fight on any ground.

“Did I not tell you that you were born to be a king?” Odin said softly at last. “You have ruled well, my son. We have much to talk about, you and your brother and I, but you have done well.” Perhaps it was his condition, but Sif thought she felt Loki relax just a fraction under her hand.

It was at that point that Frigga very deliberately let the spoon clatter back into the bowl of broth as she stood. “While I am as aware as all of you that there is much that needs airing in this family,” she said, “Loki has only just awakened from a very grave state, and I will not let you put him back with your bullheaded determination to prove yourself right, husband, nor you with your well-intentioned hovering, Thor. You need your own time to rest and recover.” And even though Odin was giving her a very neutral look that could only mean a heated discussion was coming, and Thor was looking rebellious, Frigga made a shooing gesture with her hand. “All of you, out. I am certain Eir would agree if she were with us. Loki needs rest, and I intend to see him get it. Out!”

Jane took Thor by the hand and led him out herself, and after a very intense conversation of looks and expressions, Odin left the room as well. Frigga set the bowl back on its tray and put the two water flagons back by the pitcher. “I will see to it that more of this is made and sent up myself, but that will be later, and it is just as healthful cold as it is hot. Sleep, my son. And you, Sif, you both deserve the respite.”

Then she left too, untying the door hanging and letting it close and muffle the noise from the rest of the Healing Rooms, and they were alone.

Sif went to say something, but a glance at Loki’s drooping eyelids was enough to make her close her mouth and smile wearily. “Your mother’s advice is sound,” she told him. “Rest, and I will rest with you so your dreams are not so dark.”

Loki shifted his hand so she was no longer gripping his wrist but his palm, and being mindful of her own wounds, Sif kicked off her slippers and stretched out along the length of his body, pulling one of the furs over them both.

His voice was rough with sleep when he spoke, head somewhere above her, but there was a note of vulnerability in it that made her fingers tighten. “You will be here when I wake?”

“Of course.”

“Good.” Loki smiled – she heard it in his voice, rather than saw it – and seemed to settle a bit, though he held her as tightly as he could. “That is good.” He was asleep before she could respond, and not long after that, Sif drifted off too.

*

“It seems,” Odin said, “My absence has made you much bolder, wife.”

Frigga barely glanced up from her weaving, but he could tell by the tension in her back and the short, jerky way she moved, not her usual fluid grace. She had been short with him since this particular discussion had begun, as soon as he had closed the door and laid out what he meant to do. “You banish our first son,” she replied coolly. “You nearly ruin the other, and by the grace of Yggdrasil I had a way to put a stop to that. Now you propose to rip away the things they value, the people who make them happy? I do not call this boldness on my part, husband, I call it lack of vision on yours.”

“You knew my intent for Sif and—“

“—and I never agreed with it. I was not as blind as you, to ignore that it was the other son who looked upon her as a woman and warrior both, when Thor may as well have had a second brother in Sif. Oh, I do not doubt he occasionally paid attention,” and her voice turned fonder, “For he has eyes to see that she is beautiful as she is versed in battle, but they are friends, Odin, of the sort who would not benefit from that change to marriage. They are not us.”

He could not refute it, nor could he doubt that Frigga had more authority to speak when it came to marriages and matchmaking. But things had to be done to ensure preservation of the realm. “If he weds this mortal…”

Frigga did sigh at that, her hands stilling. “I do worry,” she agreed quietly. “Do not mistake me, Odin, I worry for the happiness of our sons as I worry about this realm and its people. I know that if she does not become one of us then she will eventually die, and a part of our son will die with her. But what purpose would it serve not to grant him what time they have? If she is mortal and yet our son has given his heart to her, how would it hurt to let them be happy? We are not cruel people, husband. We do things that are unfavorable to many but benefit all, but we do not coldly make such decisions.”

Odin remained silent, hands folded at the small of his back as he stared out into Asgard’s night, and after a time he heard the rustling of his wife’s skirts as she rose and came to slip her hands into his, her cheek against his shoulder.

“I have not slept long in the way our people mark time,” he said at last. “But it seems even that was long enough to send the realms on a different course entirely. With Laufey killed in the battle I would see Loki on Jotunheim’s throne, but I do not think that will come to pass. All those years I kept the truth from him, groomed him for kingship without thinking it might be Asgard’s throne he sits...”

“I think perhaps it is for the better,” Frigga murmured in reply. “We have raised two fine sons, husband. We have raised two leaders.”

“They are so young.”

“So were we, when we came into power. They have it in them.”

He sighed, gnarled hands tightening their grip on his wife’s. “I suppose it is the nature of children to derail the plans their elders have,” he said at last, and wondered, not for the first time, how out of touch he truly was with the realms.

*

Loki woke before Sif the next morning – not uncommon, actually, though the way she was still curled against his side rather than sprawled across him surely was. He looked at her tucked under his arm, looked at the dark circles under her eyes. Sif was exhausted still, and he would not wake her.

He had not held much back – less than he had intended to keep to himself anyway, and none of it had been potentially relevant to the situation at hand – as they had made their plan, and now that things had more or less gone the way he had anticipated, there was no need to tell her. Thor had been a fount of information for him when he had been in before, and despite the sluggishness of his mind and body, Loki had filed it all away, knowing he would soon have the strength again to properly analyze it. The strings he had not wanted to leave hanging were now snipped, though the one concerning thing was—

“I can hear you thinking, husband.”

Loki shifted his head – it hurt much less this morning, not like when he had woken yesterday and thought perhaps his brain was trying to pound its way out of his skull – and looked at the top of Sif’s head, which was all he could see at this angle. “How long has it been since we wed? Are you still surprised by my ability to lose myself in thought so easily?”

“Not surprised.” Sif shrugged his arm off her shoulders and sat up, eyeing him critically. “You still look awful.”

“I nearly died,” Loki pointed out.

“Your wit clearly has not.”

“I have taken pains to ensure my wit endures forever.”

“Or that we have to endure it forever.”

“You make it sound like a chore.”

“Dealing with you is a chore.” Something flickered across her face though, worry and fading fear and anger and more, and she suddenly reached over and gripped his wrist. “Do not put me through that again, Loki. Do you hear me? Never again.”

He was fairly certain she did not just mean his brush with death when she spoke, not with the way her eyes had hardened to flint and brown-green steel, and ducked his head in agreement. His free hand came over to cover hers on his wrist. “I will do everything in my power to keep it from you,” he said, and meant it. Seeing her thus made his chest ache uncomfortably. His words seemed to satisfy her at least, because she eased her grip and smiled a little.

They talked a little more, interrupted only by a master healer coming in to check them both over. Sif’s wounds were well on the way to healing, the healer said, and when she looked over Loki’s she seemed pleased as well, and said he could get out of bed today if he chose.

When she left, Loki nudged Sif aside and stood shakily, taking a moment before hobbling over to where clothes had been laid out for him, soft trousers and a black shirt to go under the green suede tunic. She watched him beadily.

“I suppose you think you are going somewhere,” she said, standing to help him pull the tunic over his head so he didn’t tug his scabs too much.

“A bath,” he said, after a moment’s thought to lay out his plans in his mind. “In our room, not here. Then my study. Then Midgard.”

“No.”

“To which part?”

“All of it, Loki!”

“The healer said I could get out of bed, and I feel just fine—“

“And who was it just reminding me he nearly died?” Sif grabbed one of his arms and slipped the leather-and-cloth bracer on over his sleeve, adjusting the buckles so it was snug. “But I suppose your stubbornness is far stronger than your sense. If you put yourself back in here with exhaustion, it will be your own head.” She sat back and watched him finish slipping his boots on. When they left, she was at his side, moving slowly and stiffly yet. They looked at each other once they were out of the Healing Rooms and laughed.

“What a pair we are,” Sif said as they made their way up a flight of stairs. “You hobbling about like a graybeard, and me still like an old grandmother.”

“Silver hair goes just as well with green as black does,” Loki replied, but reached for her. It took Sif a moment, but she worked out what he was about to do and started squirming to get away.

“Oh, Loki, don’t,” she began, and there was more than a little worry in her voice, “You are going to put yourself right back—“

It did hurt, more than he anticipated, and when they reappeared in their bedchamber Loki staggered and caught himself on Sif. She glared at him even as she steadied him, but muttered something that sounded like on your own head and stalked off to go see that her armor and weaponry was properly taken care of.

“See?” he called after her, but only got a noncommittal grunt in response and sighed. At least that is back to normal, he thought to himself, and went to take a bath.

*

Eir put her foot down about Loki leaving the realm until the next day – she wasn’t pleased with him leaving her care as it was, but as she told Sif while Loki was dressing again in the room, it did not matter how cunning they were, men were stubborn and had their own ideas that made no sense whatsoever to anyone with a brain in their head.

Thor, Jane, Darcy, and Sofia the linguist returned that afternoon, though. Jane said she wanted to speak to Thor in private about something, and that they would tell SHIELD and the others (Thor had said they called themselves the Avengers, a name that made little sense to Sif but Thor had seemed pleased by it so she had let it go) that most of the Asgardian royal family would be arriving on the morrow, and as Loki only made it through part of the celebratory feast before he had to retire, eyes glassy with pain, Sif thought it a wise decision to stay behind.

It had been good to see him among the others, though. The Warriors Three had come up and clapped Loki on the back soundly (ignoring the startled jerks from the guards around the room, who did not care that the Warriors Three had been companions to the king and queen for hundreds of years) and congratulate him on his cunning, and of course all three had gotten up to dramatically recount the tales of Sif the Dragon Queen at least five times that night. Their reaction to Loki, though, that had been surprising for her. They had always been polite with him, respectful of his station, but just as Loki had never really paid them much mind when he did not have to, they had done the same. Now they and others in the court sought him out, praised him for the things that they had once derided. Loki had seemed amused in some way by this, but even though he had at last asked her quietly to make their excuses, she could see he enjoyed the attention.

In the morning she woke up in her usual sprawl, with new pink skin showing over the worst of her hurts and the smaller ones barely even showing as scars. An experimental stretch met with little resistance or pain, and even Loki moved about with more of his usual fluid grace as they prepared themselves.

When they arrived in Midgard – Sif and Loki in their full formal armor in the front, Odin behind – it was not in a desert, or on the ship they had left behind, but a city to rival Asgard by the sound of it. At their backs, a grand fountain in the plaza below stood above a crowd of people, all craning their necks to look up at what was going on above.

“Central Park,” Loki said. “Stark picked the place, if I am not mistaken?”

Standing in the semicircle just in front of them Tony shrugged. “You aren’t. Do you ever hate being right?”

Loki put on his best and most confused expression. “No, should I?”

“I never do. Of course, I hate thinking that I’m wrong about someone I—“

“Can we not get into this out here?” Natasha cut in suddenly, a hand to her ear. “We’re too exposed, and SHIELD’s perimeter isn’t impenetrable.”

“The Avengers are standing right here.”

“And half of us are either unarmed or not carrying the kind of weaponry necessary to protect everyone here.”

Natasha ended up prevailing and there was a short wait while the streets were cleared along their route. Loki took the chance to sidle up to Thor – who had been looking distinctly more pleased than he had any right to be in the situation – and asked him what exactly he was grinning at. Thor got that pinched look of his that meant he had a secret he desperately wanted to tell but had been sworn to silence on.

“Jane will tell you when you reach Stark Tower,” he said at last. “She would be very upset if I said anything to you about it before she had a chance to, and since Father is here as well…”

“If it is that the two of you intend to marry, that is hardly any secret anymore.”

“Oh, no.” The grin was back, and Loki’s suspicions grew. “No, it is not that.”

Then they were gestured into the row of black SUVs waiting for them, and there was little enough talking done in the seven-minute ride between the park and Stark Tower, where they went down a ramp and pulled into a harshly-lit concrete garage. Sif paused as they were getting out of the cars, watching as Steve rolled up on his motorcycle and parked it. Loki gave it a glance and went to turn away, but she grabbed the lapel of his jacket and hauled him back.

“I want it,” she told him, looking for all the world like a hunter sighting prey for the first time. Loki gave the motorcycle another look.

“I am certain something can be done,” he told her.

They were shown their rooms for the duration of their stay – Tony had given over a whole floor of the building for a guest suite and had had it converted in the space of a few days – and then Sif and Loki were taken up to a conference room in the penthouse. It was beautiful – wood-paneled, comfortable seating, given an unparalleled view by the floor-to-ceiling windows – but the faces of the Avengers that took up places around the table, along with Fury, Hill, and Coulson, were less than cheery.

“So,” Tony said, leaning on the back of a chair and leveling his gaze at Loki. “You, big fella, have got some ‘splaining to do.”

Loki took a seat (not as carefully as he ought to have, it tugged on one of the remaining wounds on his body and he hid a grimace) and met Tony’s eyes. “Do I?”

“You pull a really bad joke on all of us, then bring giant flaming aliens to our planet, then come crawling back saying you want to make nice.” Tony looked around the table, eyebrows raised. “I think all of us want to hear why.”

Steve gave Tony a quelling look, folding his arms on the table. “It doesn’t make much sense to us,” he added. “Why the big show?”

He felt the eyes of everyone at the table on him, and took a breath before he spoke. Let them think it was to collect himself; it would be better in the long run that way. “It was part of the plan,” he said. “I could not count on all of you to be able to act on command – at least, I could not count on Thor—“

“Brother—“

Sif shrugged. “He has a point, Thor, you are worse at dissembling than I.”

“—and if he was not believable then it would be easy for the performances of the rest of you to be called into question. I did not know if Surtur would be watching; I had to assume he would be.” Not a lie; Loki had no illusions about being immediately drawn into Surtur’s inner circle, or that Surtur had designs to kill him upon receiving the Tesseract. “It had to be believable.”

“You did all that just because you thought some of us wouldn’t reach your acting standards?” Clint asked. He looked skeptical, until Tony gave Steve a very pointed look. Clint shrugged. “Got me there.”

Loki cut back in. “Too, Surtur is a creature of grand gestures and arrogance, and so like most with such a bent, he expects those around him to be the same. Luckily for the rest of you, I had no qualms about that part. I made him think what he wanted to think, see what he wanted to see, and used it against him.”

“It really was just a show,” Bruce said.

Loki spread his hands. “As you say.”

They did not know the rest of it, nor would they ever. Loki did not have any illusions about the kinds of people here, either, for he knew the types his brother attracted; he had read of them, watched them interact, watched them fight, and like he had always done had determined their usefulness to him. Singly, they were powerful, but together, they were a force to be reckoned with, and he had needed them together. They had made a statement, as he had intended (and as he was certain Fury had intended as well, there was a low, smug light in the other man’s face), and had made their presence on the board well known. Time to roll the dice on the next part.

“The other realms,” he said, “They are not like Asgard; some are friendly, but most will not see you in the same way as I might. Surtur was, as you might say, a very big fish, but he is not the only big fish, nor is he the biggest. And many smaller powers together can surpass a greater one alone. A show was necessary to show not only my commitment, but also that you were not weak, that you would defend yourselves if attacked. Though you are not on par with the might of other worlds.”

There was silence in the room then, everyone thinking. Fury finally spoke up. “SHIELD would be glad to ally—“

“No,” Sif cut in, before even Loki could speak. He gave her a surprised look, one he didn’t even have to feign, but she was too busy watching Fury with her lips pressed tightly together, and Loki could not fault her. He had warned her of the possibility Fury would do as he had but she had not believed him. Sif did not hold a grudge as well as Loki himself did, but she did not easily forgive and forget either. Fury would have to earn her respect, just as everyone else did.

Fury’s eyebrows rose. “You don’t want to ally Asgard and Earth?”

“Not through SHIELD.” Sif took a breath. “I have read something of the way your realm is governed. It is… much different than Asgard, but I think it would be more beneficial to all if we worked directly with the leaders of your government and the leaders of other countries, rather than allow one group to control it.”

Fury’s face had gone carefully neutral, but Loki smiled at Sif. Most did not give her mind the credit it deserved. “As wise as you are deadly,” he told her.

Sif gave him a look and said “Flattery gets you nowhere, husband,” but he could see the corners of her mouth twitching.

“My lady makes a fine point, and I am in agreement with her,” Loki said to the rest. “Your offer is most appreciated, Fury, all the same. We will, of course, liaise with you in matters of security. That does seem to be your area of expertise.”

It sounded innocuous enough, but nobody could miss the flash of white teeth from Loki to Fury, or the way Fury’s eye narrowed briefly before he replied. “It’s important to play to your strengths,” he said.

“Of course it is. Certainly we will want to sit down and formally write out these terms.” Loki sat back in his chair. “I would hate for there to be any misunderstandings in future. But it can surely wait – there is much in this place to see, and more to talk about, and we have only just arrived.”

A meeting was set for the next day, but before everyone could disperse Jane poked her head in and grinned at Thor. “Are you all done?”

That gleeful look was back on Thor’s face, and Loki narrowed his eyes as Jane went to join him, lacing her fingers with his.

“What in the Nine is going on with you?” Sif asked. “You have both been floating about for days.”

“We have an announcement to make,” Thor began.

Tony snorted “If it’s that the jock’s fallen in love with the nerd and they’re getting married—“ he caught Thor’s blank look and sighed, running a hand over his face. “Continue.”

“I guess you all can expect wedding invitations in the mail eventually, but it’ll be a while.” Jane grinned suddenly. “I’m pregnant.”

*

Mortals, Odin realized, were nothing like he had known.

Jane had been one matter – Jane and her assistant and the linguist who, according to his wife, had to be pulled bodily from the archives. He could understand exceptional individuals. But as he stood before a transparent screen, watching accounts of the recent deeds of these Avengers and those who supported them, Odin began to think that perhaps he was wrong about the realm as a whole.

“Pretty awesome, huh?”

They were fearless, for one thing, or at least some of them were. Darcy was one of them, standing beside him watching the videos play back. Most would tremble before him, and Asgardians would kneel; she just looked at him from behind her glasses as though he was any other person.

“I did not think there was such strength in those of Midgard,” he said. “Having news brought is different than seeing in person. I begin to think I have been too long away from realms other than my own.”

“Can I just say something?” When Odin gestured for her to go on, Darcy took a deep breath. “Asgard is great. I mean that. It’s a freakin’ alien civilization, its shiny magic highway makes Jane go nuts, it produces really attractive men and women, it’s got more history and more knowledge in it than any of us puny mortals would know what to do with. But… it’s all focused inward. You don’t know anything about the rest of us because you don’t want to know. You think what you saw a thousand years ago holds true still, and I guess in some ways you’d be right – it’s different for you guys, you’re all basically immortal. But a thousand years for humans? That’s a really long time. We’ve changed, we’ve grown up. We have heroes, too.” She pointed at the screen. “And not just the ones in costumes.”

After parsing out some of the words she’d used, Odin gave Darcy a measuring look. He could see she was nervous, anyone could, but she kept her eyes on him and did not look away.

“What would you suggest?”

“Get outside,” she replied, after a moment. “Go talk to people. Don’t just sit up in your castle in the sky and think about it. Go see how things have changed.”

Odin looked back at the screen. “Perhaps,” he murmured.

“I mean, it’s up to you. But I think it’s a good idea.” Darcy crossed her arms. “Anyway, Loki asked me to find you. He and Thor want to talk to you. It sounded pretty important.”

He had an idea what it was about, if the two of them were together, and between them and Darcy’s words, Odin was beginning to get a plan of his own. “Tell them I will return presently,” he said. “I need a little more time to myself. Thank you for your candor, Lady Darcy.”

“I’m no lady,” she said, but grinned and bobbled through a curtsy anyway. “And I think everyone should have someone to tell them exactly what they need to hear, not just what they want to hear. Especially if they’re a leader.”

“Would that more in my court had your sense.”

Darcy left, and Odin watched after her for a while, many thoughts passing through his mind.

*

Darcy sagged against the wall in the elevator. “You’re nuts,” she muttered to herself. “Insane. First you go up against Nick Fury, now you go for the extra point and go after the other one-eyed dude. Darcy, you are getting crazy.”

She was pressed into the corner, dramatically clutching her heart… so of course the elevator stopped before her floor, the doors opened, and Clint Barton stared at her from the elevator lobby. He looked adorably confused at what he thought was probably a heart attack in progress. They stared at each other until the doors began to close, and between him sticking an arm between them and Darcy lunging for the Door Open button, he made it in.

“What the hell happened to you?” he asked, hitting the floor he wanted. Darcy rolled her head along the wall.

“I spoke my mind to Odin,” she moaned. “I’m going to be struck down by lightning.”

“Wrong Norse god.” Clint kept his composure for all of thirty seconds before he broke into a grin. “Someone needed to say something. Good for you for being the one to do it.”

She couldn’t help but grin back at him. Being complimented by a guy with arms like Clint’s apparently still had the same effect. “Thanks. Off to save the world?”

“Practice. I’m not dressed for world-saving.”

The elevator dinged and he left, and Darcy sighed. Darcy, she thought to herself, You’re an idiot too.

*

When Odin arrived back to the guest floor, Loki and Thor were alone in the central common area, talking. For a minute he let himself slow, looking at them. He could remember the first time he had held each one of his sons, and though they were both thousands of years old and had been through trials and tribulations aplenty, Odin could not but see those babes, those small children running to him for stories and gifts after a trip.

They saw him coming and broke off their conversation, both turning to face him. There was a determined set to both their faces – so they had decided to put up a united front.

“Three kings,” he said as they all took a seat around a carved wooden table. “One of them heir to two realms.”

Loki did not visibly bristle, but his eyes were hard again. “Jotunheim is no more my realm than Midgard,” he said. “After spending a life being told I am Asgardian, it is not so easy to cast aside, Allfather.”

Thor shot Loki a disapproving look – perhaps not as united a front as to be in agreement on all things, but close enough. “And I am no king,” he added. “Not yet. I have fulfilled the enchantment you laid upon Mjolnir, but I am no fit king for Asgard. I would remain here with Jane—“

“You think only of yourself still?”

Thor’s face grew stony. “I love Jane Foster,” he said slowly. “She bears my child. I will not leave her. It would be dishonorable, and it would bring shame upon our House.”

Odin sat back. That Jane was pregnant he hadn’t known – well, he hadn’t been certain of, anyway. That certainly complicated matters. “More shame than is already there, with you having an illeg—“

Thor was getting to his feet, teeth grinding in his jaw, when Loki sighed and reached up, putting a hand on his brother’s arm and yanking him back down into his seat. He had bristled too though, lips compressed to a thin line. “Thor and I have been discussing the matter at some length. Jane Foster naturally has her own very emphatic opinions on it. It would be handled.”

“The people would never accept a half-human.”

“As they would never have accepted me for their king?” Loki smiled, but it was frosty. “They call me the quicksilver king, do you know, Allfather? I am certain they meant it as an insult, but it is hardly untrue, and I have made it my strength. They cheered me at last night’s feast. Now,” and had Loki been younger, less self-assured, Odin would have had him punished for the insolent glitter in his eyes, “Tell me again that Asgard will only have you or Thor as their king.”

The arguing went on for some time before they realized they were getting nowhere. The sun had begun to dip down in its afternoon trek, the streets below starting to gather shadows, when they all sat back, glaring at each other.

“It seems,” Loki said far too evenly, “That we three have reached an impasse.”

“I would see this resolved before long.” Thor had his arms crossed over his chest. Odin simply looked tired.

“If there were, perhaps, another party, a mediator,” he supplied. And, after a moment, it was Thor who lit up.

“I believe,” Thor said with a smile, “I know a scholar of politics, someone who might be of service.”

*

In the end it had taken remarkably little convincing for Darcy to sit down with her laptop and help them work things out, and despite protests from the others, Thor insisted she was a scholar of politics and that she was the one he trusted to do this, and after she’d grinned in a way eerily similar to Loki as she typed out something he had suggested, he seemed to warm up to her considerably. It had helped, as the three of them had shaken the tower with their yelling.

The document was officially called the Succession Accords, and it took the better part of the rest of the day to work through. With the city lights of New York City as a backdrop, the next several decades of Asgardian rule were outlined, and succession after that laid out. It was imperfect, but at least, as each one of them signed their agreement and pressed their personal seals to the drops of wax, they had come away with equal grievances.

Loki would remain king; Thor would spend the intervening years learning the statecraft he ought to have learned as a boy, preparing himself to rule after his time on Earth was ended.

“Jane and I talked about it, last night,” he said quietly to Loki as they both watched Odin press his own signet ring into the golden wax. “She does not want to give up her mortality, and as she explained it, I could see her reasoning.”

“You are giving up something you have wanted since we were boys.” Darcy was collecting the sheets of paper now, making a show of sliding them into the folio that someone had run out and gotten for them.

“I have much to learn,” Thor replied. “Perhaps you will be more interesting than our tutors.”

“Is that a challenge, brother?”

“Perhaps it is.”

“Hardly a fair one.”

“I have changed,” Thor said simply, more serious than the smile on his face let on. “The field may be more level than it was before.”

*

It took all of twelve hours for someone (accusations were levied against Tony, though he vehemently denied having any hand in it) to rename the Accords “The Darcy Declaration.” For all his impassioned denials of involvement, Tony declared this name to be better, and would refuse to acknowledge the other one unless pressed.

The negotiations for Asgard’s agreements with SHIELD and the United States government took much longer, and involved a lot more irritation for all parties. Sif was finding Fury as difficult to deal with as Loki did, and would often return to their bedroom swearing and calling for her glaive. She took little comfort in the fact that it seemed like Loki’s own progress with the president (who, Loki had to admit, was tolerable for a mortal despite being the head of a ridiculously overcomplicated and inefficient system of governance) and his advisors was just as slow. At least in his case it was less that they were asking for things that Loki was unwilling to concede presently, so much as they could not agree amongst themselves what it was that they wanted in the first place.

Over all of it, though, the weight of what part Odin had taken in the Accord hung heavy upon the shoulders of the Asgardians. It had been clear from the start that his time upon the throne was ended no matter who replaced him upon it, a point of displeasure that had nearly had the three of them flying apart. But a civil war in Asgard on the heels of the one only days concluded was something none of them had wanted, and when Odin had wearily (at least, he had sounded weary) made his suggestion, the brothers had agreed it was best.

“Midgard has their tales of my travels among them, disguised as a mortal,” he said. “And after so long it seems that I no longer recognize the realms. I think perhaps it is time I refamiliarize myself.”

Loki, who had eyed the Allfather speculatively the whole time he spoke, had drummed a knuckle on the table pretending to think on it before nodding once. “I think that might be wise, Father,” he had said. And whatever Odin calculated and schemed on his own, there had been that flicker of delight at hearing Loki call him father and Loki could not deny that, seeing it, he had felt a little lighter.

The mood in the guest suite was quiet, the night Odin left. He had adopted the guise of an elderly mortal, and for Sif, it was strange to see the king she had served for so long looking so… human. Thousands of years he had sat upon the throne and handed down judgments, always a figure aloof from the rest of them, and now he stood before them in trousers and a tweed coat in the mortal style, a simple black eyepatch in place of the gilt one. He even leaned on a cane, though he did not need to. It was, he explained to her over glasses of strange Midgard wine, part of the show.

“Much like the face one wears for the court,” Odin said, peering at her so that she felt small again. “Something it seems you have learned well.”

Sif looked down into her glass. The wine was weaker than she was used to, but it had a good flavor, and the deep red of it reminded her of her own favored colors. “I am not the kind of actress who truly excels at court,” she replied. “Though I do not think being a warrior and being a queen are so different anymore.”

Odin chuckled at that. “Truly they are not,” he agreed. “I watched, as I slumbered. I watched you and my son wed, I watched as you—“ he could not keep a smile off his face here “—took him to task for his lies of omission. Those were as much my fault as his…”

“Loki knew,” Sif told him. “Loki knew, and said nothing to me. It was his choice, as it was mine to forgive him.” Odin said nothing for a time after that, and Sif dropped her eyes again as the silence wore on.

“Your heart is a warrior’s heart,” he said at last. “Steadfast, honorable, dutiful… and compassionate. The things that make you so invaluable to Asgard’s defense make you just as invaluable to its people. And to my son.”

They both looked over to where the brothers were talking quietly with Jane. Or at least, Jane and Loki seemed to be talking and Thor mostly listening. Loki caught Sif’s eye, raised an eyebrow. She nodded slightly to tell him everything was all right, and he returned the nod and immersed himself in his conversation again. When Sif looked back at the Allfather, it was to see him smiling unguardedly, the corner of his eye crinkled.

“When I awoke, I thought for a time of dissolving your marriage,” he said. “Offering you the choice to free yourself of the burden of the crown, for I know you never asked for it, never wanted it – though I had hoped to see you with it one day, after you could be shown its benefits. But it seems you and Loki share it well.”

“I would have been insulted at the offer, Allfather.”

“Oh?”

“Your son…” she looked at Loki again, a small smile on her face. “He is maddening and proud, as easy to pin down as an eel, fiercely intelligent, devoted to his causes, and stubborn as a rock, and if he does not make me throw up my hands in exasperation at least once a day, I begin to wonder for his health. It is enough to make anyone, any lady with her wits, jump at your offer. But for all his trials, I would be insulted, and believe me when I say that this is only one of the reasons why.” Sif finished her wine and set the glass carefully on the table. “Because War does not give up, and it matters not what it fights for. Or who.” She stood and bowed, hand fisted over her heart. Odin watched her with that piercing, faraway look in his eye again.

“You are a fine match for my son,” he said at last, quietly. Sif’s smile turned wolfish.

“In that, Allfather, we are agreed.”

They bid him goodbye; Thor’s embrace warm and heartfelt, Loki’s less so if only for lack of experience. Odin embraced Sif, too, and kissed Jane’s hand, and then just like that, he was gone. It seemed anticlimactic to Sif, for such a powerful being to vanish so easily and simply, but under the hand she had tucked through Loki’s arm, she could feel her husband relax. It did not show much in his posture or on his face, but Sif smiled a little, knowing he had.

“I don’t know about the rest of you,” Jane said at last, “But I’m tired, and I’m going to bed. Being pregnant is hard work, and it’s barely even started.”

Thor watched her go with a mix of pride and adoration on his face. When she had shut the door to their bedchamber behind her, he turned his grin on them.

“She grows more beautiful by the day,” he said happily. “I had heard Mother and the other ladies speak of a glow that women with child have, but…”

Loki rolled his eyes. “Yes, brilliant as the sun.” Sif did not bother to hide her smile, and Loki gave her a dirty look; he had frequently and at length discussed his annoyance with Thor’s recent habit of waxing poetic over Jane.

“I am certain Sif would be radiant as well,” Thor continued, and Sif’s smile turned into a look of her own. “It would be well indeed if my child were to have a cousin – perhaps around Jane’s time, I have heard the both of you—“

“Never mind what you heard,” Loki muttered (he blamed an imperfectly cast muffling spell on emotions running high, as they were wont to do when he and Sif were apart for any length of time apparently), but Thor’s face had fallen slightly to see the shift in their expressions.

“Have I asked something wrong?”

“No, brother. But the truth of the matter is, I—“

“We,” Sif cut in.

“—we have spent much time musing upon parenthood, and childbearing, and the fact of the matter is that at this point in time—“

“We don’t want any.” Sif glared at the dregs of her wine.

“Perhaps in the future,” Loki added. “But neither of us feel so inclined at present.”

Thor looked confused. “Why not?”

“When you have spent months dealing with inquiries after your condition,” Sif told him, “Months listening to very pointed remarks about succession, having to politely decline dozens of herbal remedies, as though childlessness was some sort of malady that needed curing, when you have endured all that, Thor, you may perhaps understand why.”

Looking as though he had expected a puddle and gotten an ocean – which was to say, looking vaguely uncomfortable and unsure of how to respond without upsetting Sif more – Thor went with a polite smile and a nod. Loki took that as an appropriate cue.

“You should go rejoin your lady,” he said. “I, at least, intend to sleep.”

When they had changed for bed and slid under the soft covers, Loki shot a look sideways at Sif. She was holding one of the curious devices Stark had given them – a StarkPad, he called it – but not doing anything with it, simply staring off into the dark room with a pensive look on her face. She started when he gently plucked the thing from her hands and set it on the bedside table, and curled against his side when the lights dimmed the rest of the way.

“You are not even in this realm,” he murmured. Her hair was very soft under his fingers, and Loki let it slip through his hands, playing with it. It soothed them both, after all.

“Loki,” she said at last, “Do you suppose we will have children? Is it even possible? I have never heard of the mixing of Asgardian and Jotun.”

He had wondered on it himself; it had been on both of their minds much more after the Tesseract had made its tempting offer, but the court’s obsession with their ability to procreate had certainly kept it somewhere in their minds. A king was supposed to have an heir, after all. But the naturally low birth rate among Asgardians, coupled with their own differences, made him worry.

“I do not know,” he admitted, the words thick on his tongue. “I have never heard of such a thing myself, though I suppose it would be possible. Jotunn are not… ah, physically incompatible.”

“Aren’t you being coy,” Sif mumbled against his shoulder, but she was smiling. He stroked her back.

“Can you imagine us as parents, Sif, truly?” It was only mostly a joking question.

She wrinkled her nose. “Not at all. We are even less prepared than your brother.”

That led to wild speculation about their forthcoming niece or nephew, and when they slept, it was with smiles on their faces.

*

The negotiations with the President were far from completely concluded but they recessed anyway that afternoon, having laid down the framework at least for an exchange of ideas and resources that benefitted both of them equally.

The news that the President of the United States had been meeting with extraterrestrial royalty and negotiating an agreement had spread like wildfire. With the combination of other events – noticeable Bifrost arrivals near Albuquerque, the destruction of the SHIELD base, the bodies of fire giants left across Mexico that SHIELD containment teams were still cleaning up, and the incursion in Central Park, it would have been impossible to hide the fact that humans were not alone in the universe even had there not been Asgardians being dragged out of Stark Tower to coffee shops and sightseeing opportunities all over New York City. Darcy had taken her job very seriously.

Loki and Sif had returned to the tower after one such excursion to prepare for their formal introduction to the illustrious in the United States government, as well as to the leaders and representatives of other countries, and Loki was standing in the common area adjusting one of his golden bracers when Fury walked in with a sheaf of papers in his hand. He too was dressed well in an immaculate and crisp tuxedo, but the look on his face was hard as stone.

“I suppose you think we’re going to go along with this,” he said. Loki regarded him coolly.

“It would help your cause if you explained yourself.”

“‘Prior to the finalizing of this agreement between SHIELD and the Realm of Asgard, it shall be the responsibility of the Director to ensure that all Tesseract research is relinquished to the king, and his representative shall be allowed to make confirmation of such.’” Fury’s voice had not had any shake in it as he’d read, but his displeasure didn’t need to be vocalized.

“You said, when first we spoke of the Tesseract, that your unwillingness to return it to its rightful place in Asgard was so that your realm was not left undefended,” Loki replied. “And in return, one of your bases was destroyed and your realm was attacked. You no longer have the Tesseract, and you have my brother to aid in your realm’s defense, along with your other heroes. It would be unwise to become greedy, Director. The research is useless without the cube to test theories that come from it. What is your disadvantage in turning it over?”

“What do I gain if I do?”

“An ally. I would think that it was obvious Asgard’s continued cooperation with SHIELD is contingent upon this.”

Fury pressed his lips together, reading the section again. “Who is your representative?”

“Your people send emissaries – ambassadors, correct? Between nations, to foster one’s own interests and to speak with the authority of one’s leader at times?”

“Thor is off the table. I won’t have his interests conflicted.”

“Oh, no, I was not thinking of Thor.” He turned; Darcy, already dressed in her own finest, was helping Sif with the intricacies of Midgard’s cosmetics, though they appeared to have finished and were laughing at some joke. “She will do.”

Fury’s lips pressed further together, if that were possible. “There is a vetting and appointment process for representatives here on Earth. Most are usually more… qualified.”

“I think you will find that Asgard does not operate upon the same rules as Midgard. Miss Lewis, if you please,” he called. Darcy looked like a deer caught by hunters, and held up her hands in a warding gesture, but Loki crooked a finger, and she sighed, picking up the long hem of her gown and coming over.

“Look, I just wrote out what I was told,” she said. “And it’s only because I was the only one Sif trusted, she didn’t want to bring in anyone else—“

“And that is why I am bestowing upon you a singular honor one no other mortal yet holds,” Loki told her, very quickly organizing his thoughts and speaking with only the very barest tilt of his lips in amusement. “Darcy Lewis, for your loyalty and services rendered to the throne of Asgard and to the House of Odin, for your bravery in the face of… unusual adversity, and your willingness to go beyond your experience, I, King Loki of the House of Odin, hereby proclaim you citizen of Asgard by right of deed, with all honors pertaining thereto. Do you accept this offer?”

Darcy’s mouth had fallen open. “I… uh… what?”

“It is a yes or no question.”

“I know, I know—uh, yes.”

“Then I grant you the title of Lady, and a place in the peerage of the court of Asgard.”

Fury’s eye had narrowed. “Your Majesty, what are you doing?” Loki ignored him.

“As a peer of the realm, you are expected to obey the will of your king, and to serve should he assign you a task to carry out. It has come to my attention that my queen and I require a representative in this realm, to speak for us and to ensure our interests here are preserved. You have shown exemplary skill in matters of state—“

“This is insane,” Darcy muttered. “I don’t even have a degree yet."

“Do not interrupt your king.” Loki’s eyes were too bright with mischief to be displeased, though. “It is my will that you serve as Asgard’s emissary, and, when your education is complete, our ambassador to this realm.”

Darcy stared at him, apparently trying to work out if he was serious. “Are you nuts?” she asked at last.

“I sincerely hope not.”

“And you’re doing this to make the scariest man on the planet angry.” She rubbed her forehead, but he could see her starting to grin.

“You are intelligent,” Loki told her. “And remarkably brave, for one so young. You have no fear to speak your mind to those who are far older and hold more power than you. Any other choice might well be worse. Do you accept the will of your king?”

She waved a hand. “Fine. Fine. I accept.”

Loki turned a brilliant smile upon Fury. “Director Fury, allow me to introduce Lady Darcy Lewis, who speaks with the authority of the king and queen in this realm.”

“She’s just a kid,” Fury muttered.

“Do not discount her because of her age; there are courtiers who have held power for longer than my years who do not have half her fortitude. Unless you reject my decision?” Loki’s eyes were innocently rounded. “Though that would mean rejecting any agreement reached between our two realms—“

“—and I have endeavored to be so accommodating,” Sif added, walking over as she very carefully (and, he thought, somewhat pointedly) adjusted her crown to sit just so on her head. In a gown of emerald and shimmering gold, styled to look like scale mail across her torso and over one shoulder, she looked every inch a warrior queen. “The Lady Darcy is deserving of this honor. I would that you accept it.”

Fury looked between the two of them, and then to Darcy, who managed to straighten her back and not look terrified. “Do I have a choice?”

“Not if you wish so many of our arrangements to stand.”

“I would be displeased,” Sif added. “And I cannot imagine Thor would feel charitable.”

“Not at all.”

“So it’s no choice.” Fury gave them all one last look, but drew in a breath. “I’ll see that you’re set up with a security detail and offices, Ambassador Lewis.”

After he left, Darcy rounded on Loki. “You could have warned me!”

Loki shrugged. “Would it have been as effective if I had?”

She sighed dramatically and threw up her hands. “Whatever. Just… why me?”

“Well,” Loki said, “My father said that you effectively told him to go outside. That endeared you to me more than somewhat.”

Both Sif and Darcy gave him very level stares such that he knew they knew he wasn’t telling them the whole of it, but he simply spread his hands. “I believe we must make our way to this event, else we will be late. That would hardly be a good impression to make.”

Darcy was still muttering as she collected her clutch and left the room, but it took Loki a moment longer to conjure his helmet and settle it on his head, watching Sif out of the corner of his eye all the while. She was… a hundred words in a dozen languages crossed his tongue, but none of them seemed adequate. Instead, he settled on, “You look queenly.”

As though remembering their wedding day, Sif smiled a little at him as she stepped in close, hands following the long, curving lines of his armor over his chest, curling her fingers under the edges to pull him down. Her voice was a hiss again, but there was no venom in it, no edge as there had been months ago. “That was the intention.”

“Then it was effective.”

Their kiss was long and slow and hot, and when they finally broke apart, it was but reluctantly. There was a certain promise in Sif’s eyes that made Loki forget his bloodline was in ice, not the fire of Asgard.

“Do you not know, dear husband?” she whispered against his lips, one last teasing brush before she stepped back, slipping her hand through his arm when he remembered himself and offered it. “I get what it is I desire.”

“Oh, I think I do know,” he said. “Shall we make our last night here a memorable one, my lady?”

*

He fell, and all around him was the void.

Until it wasn’t.

He had never felt small, before, but when he stood and looked around him with eyes blurred from pain and the slow death of his body, all around him was space, and an endless field of rock and diffused light that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.

“Well, well. Something seems to have fallen through the cracks.”

He turned, but could not see the speaker clearly. They were only a huge, broad-shouldered shape against the darkness. If he looked, he could see the glint of strangely bright eyes.

“I… am—“

“I do not care who or what you say you are. I know.”

A second voice chimed in. “He reeks of the stars, my lord.”

“Of the Tesseract,” the first voice corrected.

He began to know fear again, and put his clawed hands in front of him. “I will tell you what I know of it, of who has it, where it is,” he said. Laughter greeted him.

“You know nothing we do not already,” the first speaker told him. “We see all that happens in the nine little realms you contain yourselves within. You are only a piece of flotsam washed up on our shores. But you may still serve a purpose for me.”

He felt relief. Then he felt nothing.

*

The ride back to Central Park was short, but as before Sif pressed her face to the glass, watching the buildings go by. Midgard was truly different than she thought it had been; its people, the ones lining the streets and waving at the cars as they went by, they were different stronger, smarter, prouder. She was glad she had been wrong about them, and put her window down to wave back, the wind blowing her hair back.

The cars pulled up in front of the fountain they had arrived at and everyone piled out. It was bittersweet, at least for her, to leave the people who had become fast friends with her. Natasha caught her eye and smiled a little, and Sif embraced her warmly.

“If you wish to visit Asgard, you have but to ask for Heimdall,” Sif told the redhead. “I will tell him to watch for you.”

“Not too often. I do have a reputation for sneakiness.”

“No, not too often.” They laughed.

Tony had one hip cocked and was eyeing Loki over his ridiculous purple sunglasses. “It’s a major holiday,” he was saying. “How can you not have heard of Christmas? You memorized the layout of a park you had never been to in a matter of minutes based on a throwaway reference and then led a bunch of flaming monsters through it, but you have no idea what Christmas is.”

“It is like Yule,” Thor supplied helpfully. “But not as long, and there is no hunt, and—“

Loki gave his brother a look. “I know what Christmas is.”

“And he was just screwing with me the entire time.” Tony threw up his hands. “I can’t deal with you. Get off my planet, but if you miss the First Annual Avengers Christmas Party I will personally hurt you.”

“Threatening a foreign head of state is a punishable offense by the standards of my realm,” Loki said conversationally. “But in my magnanimity I shall overlook it.”

“Yeah, you’re a true hero,” Tony muttered. “We promise to take care of your brother.”

“I have entrusted his care to Jane Foster already, and I think she will do a superior job of it.” Sif and Jane were talking off to one side; Jane kept running a hand over her stomach, though it was still flat. Loki wondered briefly what they were talking about with those smiles on their faces, but decided it was better that he not know, and instead went over to where Thor stood slightly off to one side. They stared at each other for a moment before Thor put a hand alongside Loki’s neck, a small smile on his face.

“I am going to miss you, my brother,” he said.

“You are expected to return on occasion, you realize,” Loki told him. “The document we three signed holds that you are to learn statecraft and occasionally actually practice it, in preparation for your own ascension to the throne. That and I expect Mother would be very put out if you did not bring her a grandchild to moon over.”

“I was there,” Thor replied dryly, but after a moment of fidgety silence, simply pulled Loki into a tight hug. After a pause, Loki returned it, not as awkwardly as the last time this had happened.

“You will come for Christmas?” Thor asked when they stepped back again, though his hand lingered on Loki’s neck. “You swear it?”

Loki reached up and mirrored his brother’s gesture, his hand pale against sun-warmed blond hair. “I think Sif will give me no choice in the matter. And I will have to ensure the plans for your wedding to Jane adhere to the rules of our House—“ he caught a look from Jane and quickly cleared his throat “—but I am sure that whatever Jane intends will be splendid.”

They stood there a moment, smiling at each other, the most relaxed they’d been in each other’s presence in a long time. Then Loki’s eyes slid to one of the people standing behind Thor, and his smile faded, replaced by a distinctly haughty expression as he dropped his arm.

Fury stood by one of the SHIELD vehicles, a silver case in his hand. He had a sour expression on his face, mostly hidden. Maria Hill did not bother hiding her displeasure so well, arms crossed and hip cocked as she stood slightly behind Fury.

“Show me,” Loki told him imperiously.

Fury thumbed open the case and showed Loki the three hard drives slotted into the foam lining of the case, and the file folders slipped into the pocket under the lid. “All the Tesseract research done by you and our own team, along with anything else we could find,” he said, then paused, the corner of his mouth barely creasing upward. “Guess it might be better off with you, where we can’t use it.”

“Yes, it might be,” Loki replied. Fury snapped the case closed and turned it toward Loki, handle out. Loki took it. For a moment the two men watched each other, still pushing dominance, still backing down on equal footing when they turned away from each other. Fury leaned back against the car, and Loki vanished the case with a very insincere smile. “I am glad we could agree on this, Director.”

He went to stand beside Sif on top of the metal disc set into the brickwork, glancing up at the clouds beginning to fill the midafternoon sky as he did. With a brilliant flash of light and a rush of sound, they were taken into the Bifrost, and disappeared.

“So those are aliens,” Steve murmured. He was smiling.

“Not exactly The War of the Worlds,” Bruce said, “Then again, that’s probably a good thing.”

“Come on, gentlemen,” Tony said, putting on his very best strut as he made his way over to one of the staircases going down to the plaza below. “We have adoring fans to greet and take pictures with. Should be a cakewalk for you, Cap. Pepper—uh, thanks,” Tony said, as Pepper, who had been standing off to one side talking to some of the personnel who had come with them, reached into her purse and handed out Sharpies. “What would I do without you?”

“Probably not survive a week,” she replied without missing a beat. “Go have fun.”

“Don’t I always?” Tony turned, walking backwards a few steps so he could point one of the Sharpies at Thor. “Coming, Hercules?”

“I had better not,” Thor called back distractedly. He had other things on his mind.

As Natasha and Clint peeled off back toward the cars, Jane lingered behind. Thor was staring up into the sky still, at the vaguely circular cloud pattern that was quickly fading from view. She knew that look, and slipped her hands around one of his.

“Hey,” she said. “Are you okay with this? I know you agreed to it and helped work this out and all, but are you really okay?”

Thor tore his eyes away from the clouds and smiled at Jane, turning his palm over so his hand cradled both of hers. “I am, Jane,” he told her, leaning down to put a kiss on her forehead. “It is just… it is a lot of change. But I think it is good change.”

“I know it is,” Jane said as they started walking back over to the cars. “C’mon, Thor. Let’s get back to the tower.” Her expression became more determined as they climbed into the SUV. “Just because the Tesseract’s out of our reach doesn’t mean there’s nothing for me to do anymore. I have an entire universe to learn about now, and I’m going to be the first one to do it.”

*

The hum of the Bifrost machinery spinning down filled Loki’s ears, and the dissipating magical buildip made his skull vibrate as soon as they were deposited back into the Observatory. Sif was already moving, walking out toward the door where their horses waited for them, and Loki watched her with an eyebrow raised.

“Are you so glad to be back?” he asked. “I thought Midgard had grown on you.”

“It has,” Sif replied, looking back at him over her shoulder. “But Asgard will always be my home. You know this, Loki.”

She left the Observatory, and Loki could not stop his lips from twitching up, just a bit. “I do know it,” he replied, too quietly for her to hear.

“My king,” Heimdall rumbled, and Loki turned to look up at him, hiding his surprise at the address. Heimdall had never been warm with anyone, but he had been more aloof with Loki than most; now, though, Loki would have sworn that there was, at the very least, respect in the other’s eyes.

“Vanaheim has sent word,” he said. “Their emissary has been shown rooms in the palace, and awaits your summons to an audience.”

“I will see to it,” Loki replied. “Right now…”

“Loki!” Sif was already on her horse, the reins of Loki’s mount grasped in her hand. Gylfi danced under her, pawing the multicolored bridge in his eagerness to be off. “Are you coming?”

Heimdall had bent his head to pull his sword out of the podium, and as he walked out of the Observatory’s arching doorway, he paused, looking along the length of the bridge toward the golden gates of the city that stood open, to the fluted towers of the palace beyond that, the place he belonged.

“Well,” he murmured with a smile, “I’m home.”