Twelve moons later...

In one of his rare and more poignant moods, Loki wandered through the darkness of Niflheim, head bowed thoughtfully and hands clasped behind his back as he passed beneath the stray beam of sunlight straining through the aperture in the ceiling.

Absently, he kicked at the dry bone lying in his path — what was left of a human mandible, two yellowed teeth still rooted therein. It skidded along the dank floor and, with a hollow sound, finally struck the moldering skull from which it had lately been torn. It echoed off the blackened walls of the cavern chamber, but Loki gave the bones no more thought than he did the flattened beetle beneath his boot.

He ducked his head beneath the draping root strands and entered the hidden chamber, his sharp eyes easily slicing through the blackness. Once inside the little space, he straightened up and coursed his gaze over the flat rock, opposite the entryway, and the runes carved therein.

The runes were cleverly arranged like Yggdrasil, and in a way the display was indeed a tree of life — a bloodline tree. And there, at the very topmost bough, was his name beside Aila's. His beautiful Aila.

Beneath the symbols sat the eagle and on his beak was perched the hawk. On another branch, at the opposite end, there sat two large ravens. From thence the bifurcations descended — from Renic and Brenna did Freyja come. And From Roth and Frida, Finn and Freki. But there, after Frida, was Heida. And from her branch was Laila begotten. Poor, tragic little Laila.

Renic had done an excellent job of etching the symbols, deep and clear. But Loki was in no mood to admire all that he had wrought. Not on this the anniversary of Aila's death.

His schemes and feats had not come to fruition without sacrifice. Without ever meaning to, he had lost his heart after all. But she had been worth it all.

At length he left the chamber, making his way back past the forgotten bones, through the serpentine tunnels, and, eventually, back into the sunlight. From there he divagated through the forest, the trees dressed with crimson foliage. But it was he that was the beast in the woods today, not Renic.

Finally he reached the edge of the woods and betook himself up and over the rolling fields towards the village, the sound of feasting already underway. From the shadow world he watched them, his presence no more than a ripple in the wind as he walked unseen around them.

And there was Eirik the Hammer Claw with his new bride on his lap, the cheers erupting as she kissed him soundly. He had always liked Aila's brother, and Thora was a good match for him. His sister would have been much pleased.

He pulled his gaze from them and studied his son atop the dais overseeing his drunken thanes like a benevolent god — but Odinssonn or no, he would always be of Loki's blood. Yet it was not this thought that curled his lips but the little child who sat propped atop Renic's lap. Freyja whose hair was already as red as her mother's; whose eyes were already as light as barley.

He shook his head, amused, as he spied a laughing pregnant Brenna with her mother. Little doubt had he of her ever not being with child, Renic being the man he was, and this amused him.

As for Epona, there too he harbored no doubts: she would love her granddaughter fiercely and the sons that would follow. They were in good hands here. That outlander had ever been a shrewd one, excepting, of course, in the instance of her only child's paternity. But if believing Brenna the last link to her homeland, and her past glory, was all that had kept her sanity intact then who was he to hold her blindness against her. Only a god, he thought with a smirk.

Ahh, but his quick-witted Brenna had unraveled things for herself, ever the gifted little witch. She was by far his favorite mortal, now that his Aila was gone from this realm. And Renic had been a fool to think himself resistant to Brenna; the woman was as wily as her daughter's namesake — she too would have made a fine goddess.

Erelong the shadows lengthened and faded into night, the fires were fed with more timber and the empty beer firkins were replaced with new ones. He had no stomach to watch the revelry ensue and so he took himself off to Aila's cliff, where he'd first met her as a girl, and there he stared across the Istyrr.

Perhaps he had loved her even then, that first day when she's tended his wounds. He was never awed nor surprised by mortals but she had evoked both in him; had so enraptured him that he had never stopped watching her since. He had wanted her for himself, even as a budding woman, for her spirit had seemed almost as old as his own.

And now Aila was no more — a consequence of loving a god; or rather the consequence of being loved by one such as he. And he was nevermore to be heart-whole again, he thought wistfully, though he'd have not had it any other way were he given the chance to have his life over. As much as it had nearly killed him to see that spear in her beautiful heart, he had not regretted her even as she'd lay dying in his arms. She had loved him when no one else had ever dared.

The breeze stirred and threw his hair back over his shoulders, and with it came her scent on the air. His beautiful Aila.

But the hulking shadow that appeared suddenly at his side suddenly was anything but female. The half moon's glow radiated behind him as Odin halted at his side.

"Come to collect what's owed, have you?" Loki asked wearily, in no mood to bate his brother. "Worried I've forgotten our deal? I haven't, you know."

"Not as yet," said he, "but soon I must; and you shall not interfere, I trust."

It was not a question and Odin expected no answer, so Loki gave him none. The Allfather was wily, granted, be he was wilier still. Instead, he turned to consider the white-bearded god — his one blue eye glowing expectantly beneath a thick white brow. "Have you nothing better to do then seek my company out? I'm in no mood to hear your poetries. Besides which, Roth and Heida are no longer here."

Finally relenting, Odin said, "You are your own worst enemy, I've always said that. I may have only one eye, but I can see that much; and I know to keep it peeled where you are concerned." With that he summoned the bifrost and was gone instantly.

Loki smiled, unconcerned by Odin's warning. Suddenly, he lunged out, like a viper, his fangs bared at the two ravens that sat watching him. With a startled flurry of snapping wings, they shot into flight and fled his black wrath. Ordinarily he suffered Odin his little spies, but tonight he was in no mood to tolerate anyone.

He moved from the cliff and headed down the slope to where a lonely apple tree stood towering over the shrubs nearby, clinging tenaciously to the merciless rock. Unexpectedly, an apple hit the ground at his feet with wet thud and, with a knowing smirk, he looked up. There sat Sigyn on a bough, a golden brow raised in censure.

"What deal have you struck with Odin?" asked she.

"Come down from there and I'll tell you," he replied.

Effortlessly, the goddess slipped from the tree, landing beside him almost soundlessly. "Speak."

"I gave him Laila."

"What?!" she thundered, her eyes blazing with violet fury now that she was no longer mortal. "Who are you to barter a child of my blood—"

"I dared because that was the only way to ensure Roth's life. That Laila exists at all is because I swore their child would be returned to Odin." His jaw clenched with guilt and ire.

"Returned?" she cried.

"He has supreme dominion over his valkyrie, Sigyn; and Laila is that ... and more. This he wields even over my own children, you know this. What choice did I have?"

She threw up her hands and gave him her back. "You might have sought my opinion on the matter."

"I sought to spare you the—"

"No, Loki," she said tiredly, "there is no vindicating your actions this time." She sighed. "And what happens now?"

"Your sons, as per your wish, will live full and happy lives. Heida must lose a daughter, tis unavoidable, but she has love enough to lavish on Frida's children."

"And what of Laila?" A troubled tear splashed wretchedly over the apple of her cheek. "Why must he have her?"

"Because mortals are all pieces in this game of Hnefatafl, all pawns to be manipulated by the gods, their lives to be strategized as we see fit."

"And is that what I was to you? A game? A pawn?"

"You, Aila, were my puppeteer. I have ever been in your power, not you in mine." He had not called her by that name in a long time. In some ways she still was that same fragile mortal to him. But that name had died with the mortal that had borne it.

Sigyn, however, was all goddess. And since taking her place with the gods, she had accordingly taken a celestial name as well. Sigyn, the wife of Loki.

She stood like a queen before him, eyes flashing violet and hair as bright as sunlight. "So Odin took from you your most prized pawn, do I have that aright?"

In a sense she was not wrong. "He knows what she means to me." He spoke not of sentiment, but strategy.

"You are speaking of Ragnarök." Her face hardened and her mouth twisted with disgust. "When will it end Loki?"

He lifted a mordant shoulder. "At Ragnarök." Obviously.

"Do not play games, I am in no mood to suffer then."

He sighed. "Odin has his warriors, his army of dead warriors, and I will have mine." He would see these lands proliferated with war-wolves if it killed him.

"Now I know where Roth's warmongering ambitions come from," she muttered. "Tell me this at least: will he kill our grandchild?"

He shook his head. "Laila will live a very long life, you have my word."

She gnawed her under lip, looking far from reassured. "Still, this will not end well, Loki."

"Have faith, woman."

"To what purpose?" she asked tartly. "For you persist in testing mine every day."

"Are you with me or not?" he said, the blue kindling rapidly beneath his fell brow.

She set her teeth, but gave a curt nod. "You know I am, though I hope it may all come to naught; and that the twilight of the gods remain but a bedtime story for the children of this world."

"You hope that if it pleases you, my love."

"Had you not better make peace with Odin?"

"No," he said tersely. "Odin fears my progeny. He always has, though he will not admit it."

"You speak of Fenrir."

🌟You asked for Aila's POV, and I thought it poetic that we should end with the person it all began with. Turn the page 🌟