Chapter 7

Fool's Mate


Loki was near.

He was so close, Sif could practically smell his fear. Gripping her spear tighter, she glanced at her companions, who despite the dazzling scenery were also alert to the point of tense. It had been a lot of work, but they had finally found Loki's trail. They had followed it onto this point in Nornheim, an Asgardian province who prided itself in its relative independence. The trickster had apparently gone complacent, since he had lingered in the capital's library without hiding his appearance. One of Fandral's contacts had discreetly informed him, and ever since Sif and the Warrior's Three had been in hot pursuit. They chased him relentlessly through the streets of the capital for hours, playing a lethal game of cat and mouse. Somewhere along the way, Volstagg couldn't keep up and got left behind, but Sif didn't care; he was certainly well and she had to keep up the chase, and now this decision bore fruit. A little while ago, she had been so close to the fleeing Loki that she had even grazed him with her spear, drawing blood, but in a frustrating turn of events, he had escaped from her grasp. This had been only a few minutes ago, as Sif saw with no small amount of satisfaction that the blood on her spearhead still glistened in the midday sun.

The chase had led them here, to a small clearing in the forest near the capital, or rather what the people of Nornheim called a forest. Most of the trees were artificially grown out of a white crystalline matter these lands were so famous for, shining brightly in the light of the sun even to the smallest branches and leaves. Sif had thought that Loki would choose a dark place to hide, but she never would have imagined that instead of this, he would conceal his presence in one of the brightest places in this province, hiding in the brilliance of thousands of reflecting lights.

Against the scintillating odds, she noticed the shade of dark green fabric behind one of the crystalline trees not far from her position. There … there he was, hiding behind the heavily overgrown trunk of a tree and not moving out of fear that he would be detected. Sif knew that Loki had always had trouble upholding or casting his spells when he was injured, so it was entirely possible that he still thought himself magically concealed from their views. Not this time. Now she had just to spring the trap and make sure that this slippery bastard didn't escape again.
She didn't even need to nod her head in the general direction of her discovery – a discreet glance was all Fandral and Hogun needed to understand what she intended to do. Hogun even feigned discovery and investigation in another direction, which allowed Fandral and herself to circle Loki's presumed location. Again she made eye-contact with her companion, both of them nodding in silent agreement on how to finish their plan to ambuscade the so-called master of illusion. But when they both spun around behind their covers, weapons pointed at the place where their target was supposed to be, he was gone.

In his place, only a cloak hung from the tree, carefully attached to the crystalline vegetation. Despite herself, Sif practically snarled in frustration while Fandral contented himself with merely a disappointed look on his face. He also relaxed visibly, sheathing his sword in one quick, fluid motion. That small gesture was enough to boil up enough anger in Sif to even snap at him.

“Are you insane? He's still around!”

But Fandral, dashing and gallant Fandral who jumped to any and every challenge as long as it tested his blade suddenly looked serious, which was contradictory in itself. After a blink, this was gone and he smiled it away with all the charm he possessed.

“No, Sif. He isn't. That cloak there? It's slightly sun-bleached and looks a little damp. That thing has been hanging here for at least a few days. But knowing our mutual “friend”, it could also be weeks or even months, don't you think? He's gone for sure by now.” He placed his hands on his hips, almost looking a little wistful in his reminisces. “I've used this little trick quite often in my day. It never fails to put off any kind of nasty pursuer. They look for you in a completely different direction, and while they are occupied, you run as though Gjalp herself was on your heels.” He wrinkled his nose. “Norns, that bloody Gjalp-woman was hideous.”

Sif rolled her eyes, feeling like hitting something, but the only things available were Fandral, the arriving Hogun and the trees, which would probably give a symphony of clangor if she attempted such a thing. She settled instead for ripping Loki's decoy cloak from its position and threw it on the ground with gusto. It still didn't make her feel any better.

A few seconds of uncomfortable silence followed which was only broken by Fandral's weak attempt to appear chipper in the face of the humiliation of failure.

“Well, that's that. No point standing around and wringing our hands, is there?” While Sif could only glare at him, she noticed that her two companions exchanged a barely perceivable glance, understanding flickering in Fandral's eyes before he turned to her once more. “I think we forgot Volstagg somewhere in the town. I'm going to search for him. I'll meet you two at the town gates.” He bowed courteously to her before departing swiftly. Maybe he just wanted to defuse the situation, but Sif felt somewhat mocked.

She watched as Fandral walked away, apparently light-hearted and unconcerned as always. When she turned around, she noticed that Hogun was watching her intently, his arms folded before his chest, his gaze stern. At first, she tried to ignore him - she knew that look, knew that that this was his way of scolding people, let them burn under his the pressure of the steely rigor he radiated until they realized their mistakes and felt adequately sorry for it. There was just one problem with the situation: She was right.

“What do you want from me?” Even her low, almost dangerous tone wasn’t enough to deter his gaze and he didn’t answer. Why? What did she do wrong? It seemed like an eternity before Hogun finally decided to speak, slowly, but sharp in tone nonetheless.

“You want to kill him.” He stated flatly.

“So?”

“Thor would not approve.”

“Of course not!” Anger was brewing up inside her, but it felt more like righteous fury that had been held back for far too long. “After all he's done, he should have been executed four times over. Why didn't the Allfather give that command when he had him? He didn't even acknowledge him as his son anymore; why not be done with it?”

For the first time in many years, she now detected an unfamiliar look on her second's face. Normally, Hogun the Grim lived up to his name, his facial expression never showing anything less than utmost sincerity. But now, she could have sworn that his features softened ever so slightly for just the briefest of moments. His body was still taut and his voice steadfast, betrayed only by a tiny indication of mildness that was so unlike him. “Sif, he couldn’t. He still can't. Odin has sacrificed for all of us many times before, but this time, it was different. He could never do that. He doesn't know how.”

“So he just contented himself with doing nothing? I won’t have it!” Her voice could have cut to stone, she was practically hissing. She realized however that it was Hogun, the silent and strong Vanir she was snapping at. He was not her enemy, and she should know better. Closing her eyes, she summoned all her strength to calm herself. She had to explain herself, otherwise, her companion just might leave her or worse, tell Odin or Thor about her plan. “It’s important for both of them. Let them mourn his noble death, instead of having him stab them in the back again and again. You know as well as I that as long as Loki lives, Thor will never know peace. I’m doing this for him.”

The stoic warrior was still looking at her, as if he expected her to continue further. Suddenly, Sif felt like a small child being scolded for being caught in flagranti while doing some mischief. She struggled for words, not knowing how she could put her feelings into words without letting it sound so … wrong. So petty.

“You've seen Loki before his trial; we’ve all seen him. He’s changed forever. He will never be the same again; we all knew it, but Thor refused to see it. If he had his way, if he knew that he was still alive, Loki would be given chance after chance, and everything would turn just more miserable.” She was surprised that her voice sounded so anguished, that she felt so much anguish. Her resolve was strong, why couldn’t her voice and posture simply follow?

“You are going to lose him if you go through with this.” Hogun was by his very nature firm and intense, even more so now, as his words carried the weight of an ugly truth she had denied as of yet. Thor would never forgive her, even if she succeeded, but strangely enough, she didn't feel deterred in the slightest.

“I know that. He will never make this decision and I’m his friend. So it's my burden to make it for him.” Unwillingly, she had cast her eyes down and looked at the ground, right on Loki’s decoy cloak. “That’s the sacrifice I have to make for his sake.” It was a sad duty she had loaded on her shoulders, but it was the one and most important thing she had ever done for her friend, the one that mattered most to her.

“It is sacrifice.” Hogun said somberly. “But it is also betrayal.”Sif's gaze rested on him, a cold fire in her eyes and heart. Silent rage felt like an icy wind and her voice was dangerously low. “How dare you. How dare you to call my most loyal act betrayal.”

Hogun stood silently, his eyes almost imperceptibly widened at her intensity. But then, something changed in his features what looked like understanding, and he inclined his head respectfully to the battlemaiden. He said nothing, because everything he could have said would be a waste of breath – he was now of one mind with her on this. So there was little left to do for him than making an inviting gesture in direction of those strange woods, and they walked silently together in search of their companions.

---

When he thought that he had wandered off far enough so that Sif and Hogun wouldn’t catch up to him anytime soon, Fandal stopped in his walk. He looked around, took in the sight of crystalline trees glittering in the sun like a sea of gemstones. With a quick and fluid movement, he drew his sword and stuck the blade into the ground, only to sit down and lean his back against one of those wondrous trees. Usually, he was reasonably inclined to play games, but he could afford only so much time before his companions would start looking for him. Indulging his impatience, he sing-songed to the landscape “Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

It took only a second before Loki emerged between the trees. The others didn’t know it, but Loki hadn’t necessarily deployed magic to elude them. He had always had the uncanny ability to conceal himself in the wilderness, however that may look. Loki stood leaning at a tree, his arms crossed before his chess and a rare twinkle in his eye that Fandral hadn’t seen in ages. The unspoken agreement of non-aggression was even respected by someone like that trickster, who sounded awfully smug when he raised his voice. “You are losing your touch, great hunter. I’ve seen you hunt down much more skilled and prepared game, and yet, I won this round. How could you allow yourself to let go so much?” He asked, obviously faking hurt and disbelief.

Fandral smiled, but it was humourless and only managed to be a flicker of a twitch in the corner of his mouth. “Sif is one of the greatest warriors I’ve ever seen, but she is not as naturally gifted as huntress.” In many ways, this was true, and Loki nodded slowly. He had always had a soft spot for Sif, even if he wouldn’t admit it, and normally, he would change the subject quickly, but apparently, the trickster was in a wistful mood.

“Do you remember how she took on that troll when she was little more than just a child?” He asked, his face quiet and his voice wistful.

Fandral nodded. “It was one of the hottest summers that realm had ever seen. She charged to impress us and the troll, her battle cry filling in the air, her golden hair gleaming in the sun. The troll was so stunned, he never knew what hit him.” He reminisced, equally wistful, ending with a small chuckle that Loki echoed.

“We could all just watch while she just obliterated that poor creature. I laughed and laughed … I hadn’t laughed that hard since that Duke challenged you to a duel.”

Fandral remembered fondly. He straightened his shoulders, mimicking his gestures and facial expression from that particular incident and taunted the air, as if the Duke from such a long time ago was still alive and challenging him. “My lord, you and your belly honour me, but I just can’t duel both of you …” Both men indulged themselves for a moment, smiling to themselves while they remembered a time when they had still been close.

“Oh, I visited Midgard afterwards to see what had become of our little adventures.” There was a hint of the childishly excitable young man Fandral once knew in Loki’s face when he for the first time reported his findings, genuinely pleased that he could finally tell somebody. “Those silly humans got it all wrong. Nowadays, we are …” He built up the suspense, only to finish in a deadpan tone. “Merry men.”

Fandral snickered. “You are joking. I remember the times not being that merry.” Of course Loki wasn’t joking. He would always opt for the truth if it had more effect than a lie, that volatile boy that he was. Fandral’s smile died when he addressed a more important, more serious issue, one that he wanted to tell Loki for the longest of times. “I’ve read your book.”

Loki arched an eyebrow. “Oh? Which one? I’ve written a few in my time. I aspired to be a bard, if you recall; writing is paramount.”

“The comedy. You were very busy.”

Now, Loki’s boyish smile died as well, and there was a hint of hope in his face as he almost gingerly asked. “You really read it?”

“Oh yes.” Fandral nodded. He had enjoyed the asgardian translation of said script, one that lay forgotten and rarely read in the libraries of the capital. Even if someone stumbled upon it, the reader rarely really appreciated what he just had read and dismissed it as a work with little action and too much artistic freedom. But Fandral, having extensive knowledge about midgardian culture, had seen the work for what it was. “It was the work of a rebel.” He said, almost reverently. When great art was praised, one had to be genuine. “It was inspired, it was bitter. It was a thing of beauty, spiteful, masterful. I remember one particular part that stayed with me for quite some time …” While Loki now arched both eyebrows, Fandral searched his memory for the part that he liked so much and that he thought was a particular inspired piece of work in Loki’s “comedy.”

“Eru þínar heilbrigður þú wahrtet skilning
Tekur kenninguna vel með blæju
Vísur slæður sig krónum undarlegt!”

Fandral quoted in a majestic voice reserved for long speeches in a play. Using the ancient asgardian language right was every aspiring bard’s solemn duty, and Fandral was doing his damndest not to squander the verses when he used another language then they were intend for. There was a reason why Loki had opted for an midgardian language for his verses - either he thought he would get more understanding with it as a midgardian book, or he thought the ancient asgardian language not really suitable. When Fandral next looked at Loki, he saw the trickster in a rare condition: Speechless and motionless, as if he just had been struck by lightning. Fandral couldn’t help but smile. “O ye who have undistempered intellects, observe the doctrine that conceals itself beneath the veil of the mysterious verses.” He translated into the modern language. “It has stayed with me for such a long time, it’s almost a companion.”

Loki blinked, and Fandral could have sworn that the eyes of the trickster looked a little more glassy than before. “Loki, that came from the depths of your very soul.” He said gently, while slightly beating on his chest with his fingertips. “That came from the heart. That the truth hurts too much and one must protect oneself with a veil of lies, done by verses and words who carry so much more sharpness than weapons.”

In this second, Loki’s moved expression vanished in favour of irritation. He practically sneered at Fandral. “You know nothing, Fandral. It was a piece of art, but that was never your strongest suit. You only know jokes, basic pleasures and what ale is best to order. What do you know about art? Nothing.” He practically spat the last word again. “Nothing!”

That wasn’t really surprising. When confronted with his own emotions, Loki easily got angry, because dealing with helplessness or not knowing what to do always made him snap at others. Fandral just took it calmly, knowing that he wasn’t the target of this anger and mercilessly continued saying what he wanted to say to Loki for centuries. “I know that your work is masterful without compare. But it also shows that there are two things you know nothing about to this day, Loki: Love and Death. Thor loves you and would die for you, and that’s just one example of your lack of understanding.”

“Nonsense!” Loki snarled.

Taken aback by this intensity, Fandral was actually taken aback. Usually, Loki calmed himself very quickly unless a more serious issue still wasn’t unaddressed. “What happened, Loki? There was a time when we could say such things to each other.” Why was he still angry at him? Thor, Sif, Volstagg, they were all understandable, all of them had threatened or were threatening him with death.

“You betrayed me!” Loki’s voice was dangerously low, almost a whisper. “Appearances and vanity, that was important to you, not art, not adventure, not the quest. You were rather prancing in Thor’s shadow like the lowest of sycophants, that’s what happened.”

Anger welled up in Fandral and he wanted to say something biting, something witty but also something hurtful, but bit his tongue. In the darkest of hours and in the moments of clarity, there was truth in Loki’s words, that Fandral had, in a way, sacrificed their friendship in favour of the friendship with Thor. It had been an unconscious decision out of vanity, to rather be with the glorious Thor than his odd and bookish little brother. But he would rather die than to say that out loud.

Both men took a deep breath, releasing their anger and letting go, leaving a certain sense of tire and exhaustion behind.

“Do you remember our vow of silence?” Loki asked suddenly, equally fatigued by his own anger.

Of course Fandral remembered. They had both had tragedies in their lives, and both times, the other had witnessed it, the moment of despair, of sorrow and regret. These moments were something intimate and private, and although both Loki and Fandral weren’t ones that took many oaths, these promises to keep the other’s grief silent and safe was taken seriously by both. In both cases, the source of their sorrow had been a woman, be it lover or student, it mattered not.

Where there was a seething quality underneath to his anger, there was a fierce intensity in Loki’s sadness, which emerged suddenly and without warning. He let his wistful gaze wander over the scillanting landscape, as if he had little to do with his own words, that of course addressed the source of Fandral’s vow of silence. “She was fierce, she was proud, she was brilliant, and yet she died. She died a brave Queen, but still … she wasn't even a woman when she was killed by words and vows alone. I know everything there is to know about love and death. I know everything about the depravity, the hubris and hypocrisy of humanity.”

Fandral remembered the dark day he made his vow, when the girl Loki had tutored had died. It had been a brief visit to Midgard, and it had been their last. How could he ever forget what dark times they had left behind? “However this turns out, I will never break this vow, Loki. I’ve seldom taken a vow so seriously. Of that, you can be certain.”

“I know. Thank you.” Loki’s answer sounded genuine. He wouldn’t break his vow either, of that, Fandral was always certain. That much trust was left in him for the one who couldn’t be trusted. Odd, that they shared a secret so similar and took it in a similar fashion. Perhaps, they weren’t that different after all.

With a heavy sigh, Fandral rose from his sitting position while Loki took a step back, indicating his leave. The next sentence was a hard one, but one that had to be spoken. “We will meet again, and the next time will be deadly.” Deadly for whom, Fandral couldn’t say. He honestly couldn’t.

Loki nodded, serious, grave and apparently sorry. “I know. Farewell, Robin.”

Fandral smiled, hearing the old moniker again, but it was a sad smile, filled with distant memories of joy and sorrow alike. He felt the need to use Loki’s old name as well. “Farewell, William Scarabough.”

Before he could leave, he saw Loki turn his back, but visibly wrestling with some words. It took a second before he was able to say them. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry about your Marian.”

Fandral turned around as well, but he hadn’t to struggle with his words like his old friend. “And I’m sorry about your Jane.”

Notes