Loki sat coiled around a branch watching Aila's clan as they basked in the glow of the afternoon rays. The embers of Gunnar's funeral pyre had long since sputtered out, and life would continue as it always had.

Every mortal's death was foreordained at birth, the span of their life-threads subject to the whims of the Nornir. All that was left to chance and luck was the manner in which that worsted length of yarn was best spent.

They mourned Gunnar, but they also celebrated his memory as was only right. There was no use in regretting what the Nornir had ordained from where they dwelt in the Well of Urd. They would ever carve their runes into Yggdrasil's trunk, weaving their webs like three little spiders.

Still, humans were such complex and frail creatures, he thought, their little hearts as fragile and resilient as the silken threads that wove their destinies. Fickle too.

But he, contrariwise, knew he should never recover if his Aila was taken from him. Ergo he had seen to it that that would never happen. Her preferences be damned! No part of her would ever touch the dreary plains of Hel where she would be lost to him forever. No, not if he had any say in the matter. And he did.

He could not risk the possibility of his only love being taken from him betimes, before he had time to convince her to abandon her tragic mortality. Her absurd desire to cling to her hopeless mortal fetters utterly confounded him. It was the only subject on which they clashed. She would stay; but he would have it otherwise. The Nornir had shown him something of her future. And it had terrified him.

It was a moot point in any event, her continued resistance, for he did not need to fathom that which he had every intention of avoiding — her premature death.

His strange serpent eyes flicked across her as she side-stepped Ragnar's sword with agile footwork. She loved her people, but she would not be able to stay with them for long. She was already different and they would soon begin to see what was already discernible to his eyes.

She was no longer one of them. She was of Asgard now. Or nearly was — betwixt and between. Just one more, and she will be made an Aesir...

"Loki, my brother, come down from thy post. Do let us speak of the one thou watch most."

Loki cocked his reptile head down towards the owner of that deep, distinctive voice. "Ever the poet, Brother?" He eased his coils along the oaken bark to better observe his unexpected interlocutor.

The chief of the Aesir was wont to speak in nothing but rhyme or riddle, thinking himself too wise by half, since stealing the Mead of Poetry, to communicate as prosaically as the rest of them did. With a flick of his forked tongue, Loki opened his mouth in a hideous parody of a taunting chuckle and slithered to the ground where he thence reposed, his body bulging and shuddering as his scales split apart.

Within moments he was covered in his thick, grey pelt, giving a vigorous shake of his massive body to rid himself of any scale that might yet have clung to his fur. He trotted over to the bearded man that was seated on the rock beneath the oak that Loki had only just glided from.

"You do realize how ridiculous you sound, don't you?" Loki opined, still diverted by his brother's words. And let us not forget pompous; and overbearing.

The war god lifted his shoulders noncommittally, his smile one of cold boredom, as he leaned back against the oak. "The prerogative of kings is to speak as they must; the lot of the lowly is to sneer with disgust."

Loki rolled his eyes at the mild rebuke.

Odin's one eye was fixed sharply to his younger brother the while he stroked his long, white beard with one hand, the fingers of the other drumming against the spear, Gungnir, that lay across his lap.

He was wearing a long dark cloak, similar to what Loki sometimes wore, and atop his head he bore a wide brimmed hat, his two ravens perched on his shoulders — Hugin on one side and Munin on the other. At his feet sat two black wolves, Geri and Freki, inert as statues, their golden eyes pinned intently to Loki.

But Loki was the larger wolf of the three, and with a satisfied wink, peeled back his bewhiskered lips and shot them each a pretercanine grin, his fangs clenched mordantly. "What is it you wish to speak of, Allfather? My ears are, of course," said he, pricking those very same pointed organs of his forward, "at your disposal."

"Thou fed her the fruit, and this I well know. She cannot stay here; with thee she must go."

"She will not leave her sons." Loki paced in agitation, for his brother had hit his mark well. Odin always knew where best to strike to let the blood; where his barbs would do the most damage. "Things are still too unsettled here." Though he had asked her many times to leave Midgard and reside with him in Asgard.

"The Aesir stood by as thou tampered with fate. Thine crimes have been many, thine blunders been great." Odin's face blackened as he spoke, a sign of his displeasure, and, in so doing, called forth the heavens to darken with fury, the storm clouds rolling in so suddenly that Loki quirked a derisive eyebrow.

"I have not meddled in many years, so be content that I have since been only watchful, Brother."

Odin gave a mocking snort. "Thine words are like specks of dust on the land: weightless and worthless, they slip from the hand. But heed me well and mend what hast been wrought. Or those that thou love will, like dust, be made naught."

"Is that an oath?" Loki growled.

"I drink of knowledge. I speak only fact: no longer is nature's balance intact. I tell thee this once: control thine pets. Or I myself shall remove those threats."

It rankled to hear the warning spoken with such menace, but Odin was not one to offer empty threats. Loki padded away from the shade of the oak to crouch amongst the bracken, watching his beloved as she bested that Ragnar fellow. It eased the ire from his chest to watch her so cheerful and free of the trammels of chieftaincy, for this moment at least, as she rarely had aught to smile about these days.

He turned to regard his sons, Renic laughing as he held Roth in a headlock; and his eldest son suddenly hooking his leg around his brother's and tripping him therewith, to the delight of the assembled crowd. His ears flattened though when he heard Ragnar's words reach him through the din of merriment.

He'd been spotted finally. He waited a moment longer, until Aila had also remarked his presence, and then disappeared back into the umbrage to resume his discussion with Odin. There was no doubt in his mind that she would seek him out later.

"And what of that Valkyrie of yours?" said he, tiring of Odin's hypocrisy. His brother meant to curb his maneuvering when he ought rather to attend the deeds of his own children first, Brynja especially. "Does she not also continue to interfere in the lives of mortals?" The Allfather could be so infuriatingly sanctimonious despite his own failings, and those of his erring familiars. It was no secret that the war god's own valkyries were far from perfect.

"The wings of mine favorite wert long since plucked. My edicts she canst no longer obstruct."

"How fortunate for you." Loki knew how merciless Odin could be and felt almost sorry for Brynja.

Odin, like himself, was not much loved, but feared in all the nine realms, and rightly so. The god was a brutal, selfish, and callous being. Even Loki had proven susceptible to love, but Odin loved nothing ... and no one, but himself. He might reward a favorite, but his heart was never affected.

"Another thing-"

"Of course there is." Loki shot his brother a sidelong glare that was returned full force by the elder. However, Odin loathed to be interrupted in the midst of a poem and it was all there to behold in his stormy countenance. I am immensely gratified then. Loki did so enjoy needling him howsoever he could. And he was the only one foolhardy enough to do so.

"Keep thine mongrels from Brynja's child. Blood of mine shalt not be defiled!"

"What can you mean, Brother?" Loki snorted, rubbing his shoulder nonchalantly against the jagged edge of a lichenous rock.

"There will be no mix of their blood with hers, lest we be worse plagued with more hellish curs!" Odin emphasized his words with a mighty fist to the tree, the trunk shuddering violently in deference to the Allfather's fell temper. "Keep thou accursed sons from her bed, or theirs will be the blood I shed."

Loki pondered his brother's words. "First I am to cease meddling, and now you wish me to intervene after all. Do make up your mind." Loki's eyebrow quirked thoughtfully. "Although, I do find myself excessively curious as to why you are so threatened by a mingling of the bloodlines?"

"Thou wit well of what I say." He then picked up his spear and stood to his full height. "Should thou disregard, thou shalt rue this day."

Then I best obey... His thoughts were wholly ironic; still, he grunted at himself for attempting his brother's eccentric vagaries, however facetiously. Albeit, to Odin he said, "Easy, Brother, I have no desire to be embroiled in conflict with the mighty Odin."

But nor was he prepared to allow the other gods the pleasure of dictating or managing the lives of himself and those that were spawned of his bloodline. He knew what the Vanir and Aesir said behind his back, but let them decry and plot as they chose, for he would protect and ensure the rights of his sons to "propagate aberrations" to their hearts content.

It began to rain then, even as he resolved his stratagems, the water sweeping in from the sea in immense sheets and powerful bursts. Loki remarked offhand how each drop fell from the brim of his brother's hat, almost as if time were slowing, Odin's single blue eye eerie in the tempest hush.

The gale was an inspiring touch, to be sure, but dramatic withal. Howbeit, Loki, never one to allow his brother to awe him, executed another bold, canine smile in the face of the Allfather's ill humor. "But perhaps we might come to an understanding?"

"I am listening..."

❅

He watched Odin retreat into the woods, his wolves at his heels and the ravens still perched on his shoulders. In the interim the rain had been reduced to a gossamer mist. Another set of footsteps soon perked his wolfish ear and, thereby, brought the warmth of sweet anticipation to bloom in his chest.

The wolf pushed himself off his forepaws to stand salient against the oak as his body protracted instantly into that of a tall man, his black mantle catching whatever precipitation still fell from the heavens. Thus he stood, concealed by shadow as Aila moved into view, her bottom lip caught in her teeth as she searched the trees for any sign of him.

He allowed himself the pleasure of observing her a moment unawares, but as she moved deeper into the heavily wooded copse he fell in behind her like a prying revenant. He knew the very instant she became aware that she was being observed. Her spine stiffened imperceptibly and she stopped to listen as he drew nearer, his feet padding noiselessly over the earth.

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