Author's Note: Sorry for another long wait, I've been incredibly busy! Gah! It's absolutely crazy to me how far this story has come, with such wonderful and devoted fans like you guys. So many chapers. So little time. And so few more left. It's bittersweet knowing how close the end is. Well, anyway, it's been taking me a long time to write the last few chapters, namely because I am busy in production for two different shows right now, but also mostly because they are very difficult chapters for me to write. War is not an easy thing. You people wanted a war, and so, here comes your war, at long last! I've also included a song in the sidebar that I jammed to while writing this chapter. I also jammed to it because I love Fall Out Boy. That's besides the point. So, check out The Phoenix by Fall Out Boy, off their new album. Good stuff. Onwards. 

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 Loki and I dash down the hall, side by side, ushering forth Frigga and my mother. Frigga keeps protesting that we cannot merely hide them away while we go off to fight, but I'm mostly tuning her out, trying to avoid the blood soaked images in my head.

Frigga stops suddenly, "You are our children. Do not expect that we will merely hide ourselves away in quiet while you go out and put yourselves in the very grip of danger. I will not stand for it!"

Loki opens a door and I shove our mothers inside. "Then sit awhile, mother," Loki says coldly.

"I'm terribly sorry. We love you," I say hurriedly. Loki grabs me by the forearm.

"And I love you...perhaps, perhaps you should stay here with them," Loki suggests, lowering his voice. I simply stare at him a moment before I twist out of his grip and laugh in his face. I head out of the room in a huff, and Loki trails behind, casting an enchantment over the room.

"I figured as much," Loki says. I don my helmet and Loki does likewise, somehow managing to pull off his golden horns. He makes it work, unfairly well. My helmet is silver, and arcs across my forehead, coming to a point between my brows. The sides fit snugly against my cheek bones, ending at my jaw. The pattern of golden and silver loops adorns the top of the helmet as well, forming neat rows until the ornamentation of loops meet in the back and swoop down, protecting the back of my neck in dangling rows of iron. I make sure all my hair is tucked inside the helmet for practical purposes. Nothing like getting dragged down and beheaded because you couldn't manage to keep your hair out of the way.

When he rejoins my side we head towards the actual battle. As we run, flying past grand pillars, and elaborate tapestries, I cannot help but wonder what will become of Asgard. Or what will become of us all. The fear rises up in me, as I expected it would, but I quell it with a thought of those whom we are protecting. Not only Frigga and Astrild. Not only the wealthy inhabitants of the palace. But the common people. The children. Embla. Vàlia and Narfi.

Everything Asgard stands upon, we fight for today.

Loki takes me by the hand just before the stairs leading down onto the Bifrost. I turn to him and give him a tight-lipped smile which he returns by grasping the back of my head and kissing me passionately.

"I never doubt for a moment your strength and intelligence and your cunning. But the thought of losing you nearly drives me to madness. I only wish to do what I can to protect you, and nothing more. You are what is most sacred to me, Valkyrie Sutton," Loki says, running his thumb over my cheek. I bring my mouth to his once more, lingering despite the fact that my body is screaming to go and fight. I close my eyes for just an instant, trying to remember this specific sensation—his body pressed to mine, hand caressing my cheek, tongue gently dancing across my lips.

I have seen the images of this war to come...the war that has arrived...and I cannot say for sure whether we will both make it out alive.

"I love you," I murmur against his lips.

"Ég elska þig," Loki responds and I needn't my temporary ability to understand Norse to know what he means.

We cannot keep putting this off—we hurry down the stairs and I spare a glance around. Everywhere I look there is fighting. In the distance I can see smoke rising from a nearby village and up above the sky crashes with thunder and lightning, raising the very hairs on my arms. As quickly as I have looked, Loki has disappeared into the madness and I dash off in my own direction, determined to get myself into a good fight. I stop at the edge of the Bifrost and look around, not a soul paying me any attention. I realize, quite honestly, I am not certain how to go about this. Do I ...do I merely start swinging my sword around or what? Dear gods, I am useless.

A piercing wail rises among the general din and it sends a pure shiver down my spine. There is suddenly a flash of images—someone attacking me from behind. Thanks to my foresight I turn around just in time to glance the blow off with my own blade. A creature—a Dark Elf thrusts clumsily at me, holding a double-ended sword in its long, gnarly fingers. We parry a few times, but the elf seems to be more interested in appearing to be menacing than warding me off. I close my right eye and watch his next several actions play out before me. Well, I think, maybe this isn't so bad after all. I open my eye, feeling only slightly nauseated and when the elf twirls the weapon in his hands I move quickly, kicking the double blade out of its control and I snatch it up. I plunge it straight through the elf's chest and its dark blood springs forth, running down the blade. It drops to its knees and I pull the blade loose, impressed with the sharpness of whatever the metal, cutting cleanly through the elvish armor. I stow my own sword, feeling out the weight of the double sword and using it to stab an elf who thinks it wise to sneak up behind me. This, of course, attracts the attention of another two elves that are a little easier to dispatch than the two before. The thought frightens me...that I may be getting better at killing. Without a second thought. I drop the elvish weapon, noting that their dark and brackish blood seems to be breaking the metal of their own weapons down. How clever. You can't say the elves are not clever.

I grab my own sword again and rush off towards the heart of the battle. I pass many Asgardian men fighting off the hellish elves, some triumphant, while there are still many not so fortunate. I praise Odin, briefly, for my foresight, truly believing it is the only reason I'm still alive right now. And so I dart my way into the true thick of the battle, one eye closed firmly, guiding me safely through as I look for a sign of Thor or Loki or even Odin. Near the edge of the forest, all is oddly quiet until I hear a rustling, so I turn my back, backing up carefully. I bump into something solid and warm and I turn around with a cry...only to find myself face to face with Volstagg. He smiles at me through the dirt and blackish blood obscuring his face and then quickly he lifts me up and tosses me over his shoulder and I catch a glance of the elf that had approached behind me that Volstagg now fights. I lift my head and a larger elf is barreling towards Volstagg's back, so I hoist myself up and throw my legs over so that I am sitting on Volstagg's shoulder. I notice that the large elf is wounded, and deliriously so, as he staggers towards us. I hear the sickening sound of metal through flesh and bone as Volstagg vanquishes his opponent.

I leap from his shoulder and tackle the wounded elf to the ground, using my dagger to slit his throat and leave him bleeding in the dirt. Voltagg helps me up and without so much as an imparting of words, we head off in opposite directions. I manage to go a while without seeing any elves so I take a moment to check myself over for wounds and catch my breath. Minor scratches and cuts, but nothing to be concerned with.

Thunder claps overhead and the sky darkens further, making me worry about Thor. I step over a pair of Asgardian soldiers, snagging a bow and half-full quiver of arrows from them. I throw both over my shoulder, realizing I am now a bit too laden with weapons. But no matter what I do, no matter how many weapons I possess, I do not feel safe. I stop a moment—crippled with the pain in my head, seeing the same image I've seen before, with my bloodsoaked hands trembling before me. I blink it away and look down at my hands, just to be certain and satisfied, I wrap my hands tightly around the hilt of my sword.

There is a hand on my shoulder and I turn around with every intention of cutting it right off. I manage to stop myself and lower my sword when I realize it is just Steve—his Captain America suit is marred with dirt and blood and his hair is plastered to his forehead with sweat. A Dark Elf missing both of its arms stumbles towards us and to simply spare the weary Cap, I embrace him in a hug, thrusting my sword between our arms and slaying the deformed monster behind Steve's back. His body leans into me and he falters on his feet as he falls towards me. I hold him out at arm's length and look down to see his blood on my armor.

"Steve, you're hurt!" I gasp quietly and he shakes his head.

"N-no. I am fine, ma'am," he stammers and I look him over for the wound. I find nothing but blood, damp on his front, until I turn him around. There is a broken tip of elvish blade lodged between Steve's ribs.

I curse under my breath, "Shit." He winces as I prod the wound and I know I should not pull it out, but I cannot simply leave it in there. I do not know what will happen to him either way and so I press my palm flat against his back and with my other hand I pull the broken blade out. He handles the pain remarkably well, making not a sound as I remove the chunk. I drape his arm around my shoulders and I wrap my arm around his narrow waist and I pull him along, determined to bring him back to the palace.

Steve gasps in pain but struggles against my assistance. "I have to...I have to get back to fighting."

"Come on, Steve," I beg. I watch him as he stumbles a few steps away from me and I dart to him, catching him before he falls. "Jesus Christ!"

I drag him along the outskirts of the battle in a futile attempt to protect him. Soon enough arrows fly at us, one managing to lodge itself just between my arm and my side, catching in my chainmail. My heart races and I let the arrow fall to the ground, stepping on it with a definitive snap as I drag Steve away again, the hail of arrows somehow ceasing. For now, at least.

I pull Steve to the steps of the palace and I use all my strength to hall him up and into the foyer of the palace. I lay him carefully beside a pillar inside the main doors, trying to keep him at least somewhat out of the way of the battle. I press my hands against his bleeding wound and I look around for something to staunch it.

"I'm sorry about your suit," I wince, gripping the fabric of his sleeve in my hands.

"Don't...don't," he gasps. He chokes out a cough, blood on his perfect teeth and then he smiles. "It's indestructible." But I look down, the fabric torn in my hands. He lets out a pained laugh. "I should have known better."

I rip his sleeve in half and then tie the halves together and wrap them carefully around his middle. I tie them tightly around him in the hopes that it will serve as a tourniquet and then I brush his hair off of his forehead.

"I've got to go, Steve. I'm sorry." I turn to go but he takes my hand.

"Be careful, ma'am," Steve says quietly. I press my lips to his closed fist briefly and then I take off back into the battle. Something strikes me from behind and I go tumbling down the marble stairs, unable to stop myself from continuously falling until I reach the bottom. I roll over in the dirt but I am pinned to the ground by a boot. A boot belonging to the foot of a Dark Elf. I peer up at him from beneath his weight and take in the sight of him. The elves are long and lean, in dark leather and metal, this one still wearing the mask that many of them have discarded. The mask creates an element of emotionlessness as I stare into the void of two dark eye holes. My helmet presses uncomfortably into the back of my head and I can feel a sticky warmth spreading from my hairline down between my brows. I struggle to sit up, only for the elf to abruptly kick me back down again. I grunt under the force as I try and grip his boot so that I may shift his weight. He draws his weapon; a glimmering battle axe. He steps up onto my chest plate, forcing the air straight of my lungs, and he places his other foot on the top of my helmet. With his weight he forces my head back, bearing my neck to his axe.

Somewhere, not so far off, I hear a cry amongst the usual noise. This cry is much different from the wail I heard earlier, different from all the dying cries I have heard so far in this brutal battle. This cry is different.

This desperate cry is different because it is Loki, calling my name.

I summon all my strength at the sound of his voice and get the Dark Elf off of me. I head off toward the source of the sound, but not without first burying the axe in the elf's chest, leaving him gurgling black blood through his mask.

"Loki?" I yell. There is no response. I hurry faster, my boots kicking up dirt, mixed with blood. I leap over bodies and dart my way between the slain until I find Loki. He is kneeling in the dirt, his chin dropped toward his chest, a gash on his cheek dripping blood down his pale jaw. There are not many left around this particular area, a circle of fresh bodies surrounding Loki, myself...and the Dark Elf.

This elf is different in appearance and the way he carries himself. His sword trembles in his hand. It is only then that I notice it is covered in blood—a vivid contrast against the shiny metal. His white hair is in a disarray, pulled loose from some sort of a war braid. He looks up and notices me and I am frozen to my spot, feeling as though I am watching myself do nothing. Loki follows the elf's gaze to find me and his eyes widen.

"Valkyrie," he breathes. He looks back at the elf, panic in his eyes. "Algrim...please. Do not hurt her."

Then suddenly, from nowhere, "ALGRIM!" Thor's roar fills my ears and he hurtles past me, tackling the elf, Algrim, into the dirt. I find the ability to move again and I slide through the dirt on my knees, finding my way to Loki.

His chin drops to his chest again and he sits back on his heels, a sigh escaping his lips. I put my hands on his face, fussing over his wound. I murmur sweet-nothings at him, praising Odin for his safety, and I run my hand over the front of his dirtied battle attire. Something warm touches my fingers and then runs down the back of my hand. My eyes widen, locked on Loki's beautiful, emerald eyes. Tears press at the corners of his eyes.

I look down and my hands are trembling—and slick with Loki's blood.