en.

Director Nick Fury read through the newest dossier concerning the Avengers Initiative. Most of the applicants fell through, but Romanoff and Barton were a promising beginning providing he could recruit them. However, two agents weren’t much of a defense against what was out there. He needed to find more—

Fury paused and slowly looked up. A dark-haired man sat in the chair on the other side of his desk, fingers stappled, merely staring back. The side of his face was heavily bruised and his lip was split, but his green eyes were keen and fierce.

Leaning back and closing the file, Fury said, “How’d you get in here?”

“Front door,” the man said, his voice raspy.

“How’d you get passed the guards?”

“Walked.”

Fury raised an eyebrow at that, and the man shrugged in response, readjusting his long, leather coat to cover him more fully.

“I’m not your enemy, Fury,” the man said.

“I’ll be the one to decide that. What do you want?”

“Refuge.” The man coughed, a bit of blood lining his lips. He didn’t bother to wipe it away. “And resources. In exchange I’ll help in your initiative—behind the scenes, of course.”

“Refuge from what?”

“Asgard. They just don’t like me very much.” The man gave a humorless smile.

“Why not?”

“It’s complicated,” the man said, “but let’s just say that according to the laws of my home world, I find myself secretly married to Asgard’s prince, and its king would very much like it to stay that way.”

“Why not just go home, then?”

“They don’t like me very much either, and if they find out about the marriage, it would start a war—one spanning across the universe. I may be considered the God of Mischief, but even that’s a little much for me.”

Fury’s eye narrowed. “A universal war?”

The man nodded. “My clairvoyance isn’t as sharp as the All Mother’s, I can see many possibilities, but not the path of our timeline. However, if a war that large breaks out, there’s no guarantee your planet won’t be dragged into it.”

“So, by keeping you hidden—from both sides—you’re saying that there will be no war? What’s to keep your Asgardian prince from saying anything?”

The man opened his coat, revealing the slight swell of his lower abdomen. “You have a saying in Midgard: ‘Hath no fury like a woman scorned.’ He married me, impregnated me, and left me, Director Fury. You help me, I’ll give you all the knowledge and power to not only make that bastard kneel before you, but to defend against all that the universe has to offer.”

Fury looked the man—at least he had thought it was a man, though he was pregnant—up and down. He was covered in bruises and clearly exhausted, but Fury could see determination in his eyes. This man was a fighter—and apparently a mother, as well, and if Fury knew anything about mothers, it was that they would go to any lengths for their children.

“Got a name?” he asked.

“Loki.”

to.

[Loki Past]

tre.

Loki woke with a start. He sat up, his hand automatically going to the empty side of the bed. Grasping the cold sheet, he listened to the heavy thunder roll across the night sky. Thor. He squeezed his eyes shut, his bonding mark burning the back of his neck. I need you. He tried to reach out, desperate to feel his mate, to feel anything. The only reply he received was the sound of Hela crying as lightening flashed across the room.

Shoulders drooping, Loki threw on a night robe and went to his daughter, his lille, his little one. She was so tiny and fragile looking, but even at only a few weeks old her lungs were strong and her grip fierce. Cooing softly, Loki scooped her up and cradled her protectively against his chest. The skin she touched returned to its Jötunn form, and she snuggled close to his cool comfort.

Hela took after him in many ways. She wasn’t the true blue of the Jötar, but her skin was so pale that when she was born, that for a moment he was afraid she was stillborn until she began to cry. She also had a tuff of soft, raven hair on the top of her head, and she preferred the cold to the heat. However, she had her papa’s eyes. They were so bright and blue. She was so beautiful to Loki, so precious. His lille. His Hela.

After changing her nappy, Loki ventured into the estate’s salon to feed her. Hela seemed to prefer this room over all others, with its floor to ceiling windows overlooking the garden and its vast assortment of potted plants. She liked the vegetation. He would have to make sure that their rooms were filled with greenery when they moved to headquarters next month—Fury only had them situated at the estate whilst Loki was pregnant; SHIELD was no place for an expecting mother, alien or not.

Once comfortably situated on the couch, Loki assisted Hela in finding his nipple, and then watched the night storm as she happily fed. Despite being Jötar, he had had an Asgardian pregnancy of twelve months, and Hela had been born a few weeks ago during the spring solstice. He had meant what he said to Fury: he was a woman scorned and he was furious, but that anger only carried him through the day. Every night he had called for his mate, for Thor, through the bond mark. Every night he went ignored.

He wasn’t sure what hurt more: the physical pain brought on by the initial stages of bonding sickness, or the fact that Thor didn’t care. Loki had escaped from Asgard over nine months ago. Even if the oaf didn’t understand his call, surely Váli had managed to inform Thor of the truth by now? So why wasn’t Thor here!? They were bonded! And even if that mattered not to Thor, did their centuries of friendship mean nothing? Did Hela mean nothing to him?!

The far door opened, startling a low growl from Loki as he wrapped his robe over Hela, concealing her from sight. His seiðr wiped through the room and then quickly engulfed the rest of the estate. This was the only intruder, unarmed. Looking over his shoulder, his eyes narrowed at the sight of a young, red-haired woman. He recalled her from Fury’s applicant files: Natasha Romanoff, a highly trained spy and skilled assassin.

“You’re early,” he snapped. “Fury said you wouldn’t be here until midday.”

She jumped slightly and blushed. “Sorry. I was told the house was empty.”

“Meaning you skipped out on meeting Fury, as you were instructed to do upon arrival. Had you done so, Fury would have filled you in, and you wouldn’t have shown up in the middle of the night.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” She gave him an apologetic smile. “It was a long flight, and I was tired, so I thought I’d just come straight here to sleep and talk to Fury in the morning.”

Loki sighed. “You’re lucky I already had your room prepared.”

“Oh, are you the housekeeper?”

He snarled, standing up to his full height, which was a foot taller than her. Housekeeper? The audacity! “I am Lo-” He was cut off by an involuntary squeak as Hela bit his nipple particularly hard. Pulling his robe away enough to look at her, he scolded, “Watch it, you little chit, that hurt.”

Hela just gurgled at him with a big smile.

Sighing, he melted at the sight and lifted her onto his shoulder to burp her. He nuzzled the side of her head, earning a giggle from Hela, and then returned his attention to the Midgardian. “I am Loki, a Jötunn, and this little beast is my Hela.”

“I’m Na-”

“Natasha Romanoff, I’m aware.”

She pursed her lips together, but didn’t say what she held tight behind them. Instead, she said, “She’s so tiny. How old is she?”

“Few weeks,” Loki replied. Despite what Loki had seen on the television of Midgardian women hording around infants, this one didn’t move, keeping a respectful distance. It both annoyed him—because Hela was the most precious thing in the universe, why wouldn’t you want to approach her?—but it also relaxed him, he was in control of the situation rather than defending against another’s actions without his mate by his side.

Loki was strong for an omega, but his seiðr was still weak from the pregnancy. Normally, a mate would never leave his pregnant omega’s side since all of the omega’s seiðr was focused inward on the fetus, severely weakening the omega, and then after the birthing, seiðr was infused into the omega’s milk to give the pup protection. However, without his asshole mate, Loki had spent the last year remaining vigilant, whilst also fighting against the first stage of bonding sickness. He was exhausted mentally, physically, and emotionally, and nearly everyone put him on edge.

Natasha Romanoff did not. She had a calming scent, her pheromones similar to that of a Jötunn omega’s. She was also the first Midgardian he met that didn’t, at least subconsciously, challenge him; yet, she wasn’t submissive either. Romanoff made him think of a boulder at sea, unmoved by the harsh waves, unthreatening, steady, unwavering, stable.

“You may approach,” he said quietly, “but be careful, your touch may be too warm for her.”

“Too warm?” she asked, calmly walking over, but making no move to touch Hela.

“She is half Jötar. Jötunheim is of ice and snow, harsh for Asgardians, and harsher still for Midgardians. However, the reverse is also true. Were it not for my seiðr, this world would likely be unbearable to her.”

“Seiðr?” Romanoff asked, the unfamiliar word awkward on her tongue.

Loki paused before answering, moving Hela off his shoulder so that she could snuggle into his chest more comfortably. “It is difficult to translate,” he admitted. “Upon first glance, you would probably think of your Midgardian magic or witchcraft. On Asgard, they approached it more scientifically. For the Jötar, I suppose both are true and not entirely accurate.”

“Could you tell me about it?” Romanoff asked as she lifted her hand, palm up, to Hela, but did not touch his cub. Instead, she allowed Hela to stare at the appendage in wonder and make the choice for physical contact.

Loki watched the exchange with trepidation. His body tensing when Hela reached out cautiously, but then immediately relaxed at the sound of her gleeful giggle.

“It is difficult to explain from a Jötar perspective. To us, seiðr is like the universe’s lifeblood, it is in everything and it is everything. The Asgardians relate to it as you would atoms.”

Romanoff hummed in reply, her attention stolen by Hela. “She’s really strong.”

“A gift from her father. He is the strongest man I know.”

Romanoff paused at that. Her brow crumpled, and then she blinked. The sight nearly made Loki laugh. Midgardians! But he had grown up in Asgard, so he understood her mental plight.

“I am her mother,” he clarified. “The Jötar do not have male or female.”

Her eyes widened and this time, Loki did laugh softly.

“So, you’re, um…” she said slowly, struggling, but Loki could sense no malice from her, nor disgust. She was merely suffering from her heavily bi-gendered language. Upon his arrival, Loki had quickly learned that most Midgardian languages, especially the ones most spoken, did not have pronouns for those like him. Though, at least the Midgardians tried to be inclusive within the chains of their own tongues.

“I am Loki,” he said simply. “I care not which pronouns you use in reference to me, for I am neither a man nor a woman, yet I am both.” He smiled then. “You’d be surprised at how few sentient species in the universe are like the Jötar.”

[natasha meets loki & hela].

Natasha Romanoff steadied her breaths as she walked off the practice mat and over to the table. She sighed as she took up her water bottle. SHIELD had impressive resources, but outside of Clint—who happened to currently be on a mission—there wasn’t anyone decent around to spar with—of either sex. Sure, they had elite soldiers, but Fury was right: there was the elite and then there was the ones he was recruiting for the Avengers.

A shout had her feet moving and a resounding crash had Natasha running. At the end of the hall, a wall cracked and then miraculously repaired itself. Eyes widening, she threw the door open and saw a man throw a child across the room. The little girl smashed into the concrete with a resounding thud and slid down it.

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING!?” Natasha roared, running over to the child, but was halted when the man appeared before her with a knife to her throat. Jumping back, Natasha kicked out, but he blocked effortlessly. She went to swing around with a second kick, but a twin of the man appeared and blocked her again, then a third and a fourth. He kept blinking out of existence and then reappearing, attacking and blocking, and pushing her backwards until Natasha was against the wall with a dagger once again to her throat.

“Yield, Romanoff,” the man growled.

“Leave mamma alone!” the girl yelled from the other side of the room.

Natasha looked past the man to find the girl perfectly fine, standing behind another copy of the man, this one kneeling and panting heavily. Her eyes returned to the one in front of her.

“Who’re you?” she asked.

“Loki.” The man in front of her disappeared as the one by the little girl spit out a mouthful of blood. “And this is Hela. I was going to allow Fury to introduce you once Barton got back.”

“You okay, kid?” Natasha asked as she walked over.

The little girl glared at her. “You stay away from mamma!”

“Jeg har det bra, lille,” Loki said as he wrapped his arm around Hela and held her close, her face snuggling into the crook of his neck. His eyes raised to Natasha. “You misunderstood, Romanoff. I was not abusing my daughter. She’s not as fragile as your Midgardian children.”

Natasha raised a brow and crossed her arms over her chest. “Midgardian children?”

“Midgard. Earth. We’re not from around here,” he explained.

“You’re new to SHIELD, then?”

Loki smiled at that. “We’ve been here longer than you.”

“How come I haven’t seen you, then?”

“Because I deemed it so. We are only revealed to those I allow; it is part of our arrangement with Fury. So, we’d be grateful if you kept your mouth shut.”

Natasha’s eyes narrowed. She wasn’t fond of Loki’s tone; it implied a threat. “And if I don’t?”

Another version of Loki appeared behind her. “Why ask questions you already know the answer to?”

“You’re not much of a threat when you’re spitting up blood.”

Loki laughed. “And yet I still beat you.”

“Touché.”

Loki stood and easily lifted the little girl onto his hip. Hela was the spitting image of him, except for the eyes. Whilst Loki’s were green and guarded, Hela’s eyes were a bright, brilliant blue, full of life and wonder. Though, despite the child’s obvious curiosity, one of her tiny hands was wrapped securely in Loki’s long, black hair.

“I think a proper introduction is in order,” Loki said. “Hela, this is Natasha Romanoff. She’s one of Fury’s Avengers.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Hela,” Natasha said. “Sorry for thinking your papa was hurting you.”

Hela’s bottom lip stuck out. “This is my mamma!”

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly, looking to Loki. “Are you trans-”

“No,” Loki interrupted and rolled his eyes, but he was still smiling. “You Midgardians are as bad as Asgardians. I’m Jötunn. My species doesn’t have male or female. I’m her mother because I gave birth to her.”

“I see,” Natasha said slowly, still confused. “So, um, what do I refer to you as?”

“In Jötunheim, I am referred to as ‘omega,’ since that is my gender. However, I understand that most Midgardian languages are not gender neutral. For the sake of simplicity, you may refer to me in the masculine, as they do in Asgard.”

Following along as best she could, Natasha turned her eyes to Hela, “Are you also an omega like your mamma?”

Hela bit her bottom lip and looked at Loki questioningly.

He kissed her temple and smiled. “Hela is unique. Her sire was not a Jötunn alpha, but, like you, of a species that has male and female. There are many similarities between females and Jötar omegas, so until puberty, Hela is simply Hela.”

[last night together].

The warmth of a dream, desperately longed for but hardly hoped for. The brush of skin, of feather kisses and a love born in infancy, matured in the shadows, like a fine aged wine, and realized in the indulgent fear of a last goodbye. They clung to each other for that one night, an accumulation of their lifetime together—from birth until maturity—bolstered by a bottle of Odin’s favoured brandy, commandeered by mischievous fingers.

But dreams are vampires that seduce the life from you in the cover of night and burst into flames at first light.

Loki awoke in the tangle of sheets to the sound of the door opening. His back, once warmed by that firm chest, was now left bare and cold, vulnerable to the truth. He looked over his shoulder and met with brilliant blue eyes, but not the ones he was searching for.

Frigga gasped at the sight of his neck, and her eyes filled with unshed tears. “Oh, Loki…”

Sitting up, Loki kept the sheet around his waist and reached back. His hair was a little long, but not long enough to cover the truth. Bringing his hand forward, Loki stared down at the crackled, dried blood on his fingertips. “Is he…?”

“Gone. Left hours ago,” she whispered.

Loki closed his hand. How could he have expected anything else? He was unwanted from the start, not even a night of drunken debauchery could change that.

“I could-”

“No,” Loki softly interrupted. “The AllFather has sent him to learn of the other realms. It is paramount that he does so before he is king.”

“But you-”

“Will remain in the shadows.” Standing, Loki transformed the sheet into elegant clothing, soft against his oversensitive skin. He had been in pre-heat since yesterday. “No one needs to know.”

“But the bonding sickness-”

He laughed, forced and cold. “As if an Asgardian’s bite will stick. You are a species of alphas and betas with very little magic. The mark will be gone within the week, I assure you.”

Frigga did not look convinced, yet she said nothing more on the matter. It was true that Asgard did not have omegas to bond with, they didn’t even naturally classify themselves in such terms. It was the Jötar that had such genders, in Asgard there were only men and women. However, her son was half of her blood, the blood of Vanaheim, and magic coursed through her people. It could be enough to make the mark take.

Loki was one of the few that could block her clairvoyance, and it worried her. He may only be their ward, but she was the one responsible for bringing him to Asgard, he was a son to her, and she had only ever wished to give him a life of love and happiness. Was this dream to be thwarted at every turn?

[first meeting].

Thor clung to his mother’s hand as his tiny legs struggled to keep up. He wanted mama to carry him, for he was cold and tired from walking through the endlessly long and frozen corridors of King Laufey’s castle, but Father wouldn’t allow such weakness in front of the Jötar. Thor didn’t understand it. He was six, how far did his father expect him to walk? They had been at this all morning, and Thor was beginning to wonder if it was worth it to throw a tantrum.

His mother gave his hand a squeeze, sensing his thoughts. He looked up at her with a firm pout, and she smiled warmly in return.

“Soon,” she whispered. “We’re about to meet with their king, and then we’ll sit for some lunch.”

“Do not coddle the boy, Frigga,” Father chided. “Váli is just fine on his own, so too should my heir.”

Thor looked back at his half-brother. The red headed boy looked ready to keel over, if you asked Thor. Váli was half-Midgardian and the same age as him. He liked the boy well enough when their father wasn’t around, but when he was Váli was always stand-offish, like now.

“If you believe that, then your other eye has gone blind as well,” Mother murmured under her breath.

“I’m fine,” Váli huffed, but was ignored by all but Thor, who tried to give him a reassuring smile, which was met with Váli’s glare.

“Quiet woman,” Father commanded as they approached a set of large, white doors, which opened with a gasp of frigid air.

The throne of Laufey was a marvel of winterous architecture. Large columns of ice held up a ceiling of crystalline filigree, bewitched to look like the cosmos floated within the mountainous cage of Jötunheim. The floor was a liquid white, marbled with blue that reflected the stars above. Had Thor been able to see any of it, it would have been wonderous and beautiful.

Instead, his eyes were locked with the crimson ruby eyes of a small creature sat on a pillow just out of sight of Laufey’s large throne chair. The creature was tiny and blue, with a head of raven black curls. Its pointed ears were pierced many times over with silver hoops, and its face was covered with an intricate series of raised lines.

“Odin of Asgard, welcome to Jötun…” King Laufey’s words faded off as he watched the blond, child Asgardian release its mother’s hand and bound forward. The child ignored its parents’ calls and stalked passed his two alphan sons and mate. Laufey held up his hand to halt everyone’s movement as the child approached his firstborn.

The too small omega looked at the child for but a moment, before breathing deeply and breathed out, “Alfa mín.”

In replay, the child took hold of the omega’s thin, blue hands.

Frigga gasped, starting forward, but Odin held her back as they watched in confusion—Thor wasn’t burning. The Jötar were a frozen people and were unable to touch any other race without giving the other frostbite. Yet Thor was unaffected. Frigga pushed passed her husband, her eyes widening as she realized why: the tiny Jötunn had transformed the skin of its hands to the pale flesh of Asgardians—a feat far surpassing the technical skill and ability of a mere child.

Seeing an opportunity present itself, Laufey turned to Odin as he gestured to the runt. “This is Loki, omega of Jötunheim. I shall consign him to you as part of our treaty.”

“We need no gifts of Jötar,” Odin retorted without realizing his mistaken understanding, but Frigga knew it immediately by Laufey’s words. The boy was not a gift, but an object of trade.

Her eyes swept the royal Jötar family: Laufey was in the center on his throne, his other two—much larger though obviously younger—sons were before him, and his powerful mate was just to the side, but a step in front of Laufey—a position to guard the king. Little Loki was behind the throne, just off to the side, nearly hidden from view. The implication was obvious, especially with the fact that the Realms only knew of King Laufey’s two alpha sons.

“The runt is no gift,” Laufey growled.

“A Jötunn will not survive the heat of Asgard,” Odin argued.

“If the runt can survive the barren wastelands of Jötunheim for a year, I’m sure he can manage your temperate climate.”

Frigga’s heart squeezed at that. Asgard knew of Jötunheim’s barbaric ways, and it is told that they abandon Jötar runts to the wasteland, but his own son? And for a whole year? But the child was hardly older than Thor! Stepping forward, Frigga placed her hand on her husband’s arm and declared, “We will accept the Jötunn runt as our ward.”

[hela recruits thor].

Intruder detected in-

“There is no need for introductions, Jarvis.”

Thor spun from the table and raised his hand for Mjölnir. The other Avengers stood to attention. A raven-haired girl sat on the island counter. As Mjölnir crashed through the wall she caught it and set it down beside her.

“Um, big guy, buddy, I thought-” Tony started.

“Who are you?” Thor roared.

Her oddly familiar blue eyes, thickly lined with coal, flickered to him. “War comes to Midgard.”

“What do you plan to do?” Steve asked.

Thunder rolled in the distance. “Win it.”

An arrow shot through the kitchen, but the girl disappeared before it touched her. It was a trick Thor had seen before, a long time ago.

“I’m not your enemy,” she said as she reappeared behind them. Mjölnir flung into her hand. Her eyes flickered to Thor and she handed it to him. “Yet.”

Thor took his hammer, his eyes never leaving the girl. “You have our attention, girl. What do you want?”

She turned fully toward him. “I have seen the future. Tonight, the Witch of Niflheim will receive a mortal wound, and it will be the catalyst to a war that will begin on Midgard and ripple through the Nine Realms, destroying all.”

“Niflheim has no witches,” Thor declared. “It is naught but a cold, undying hellscape.”

A smirk flickered across her lips. “Apologies, I refer to Niflheim Technologies, not the realm.”

“That’s Stark Corp’s biggest competitor,” Stark said. “What does that tricky tycoon have to do with galaxy wide destruction?”

“More than you know,” she said to Stark before returning her eerily knowing eyes to Thor, they reminded him of his mother. “The Jötar are very protective of their omegas, even ones forsaken by their king.”

Thor froze and for a moment he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t—it couldn’t be. It wasn’t possible. It had been sixteen years.

“Thor?” Banner said, placing his hand on Thor’s shoulder. “You okay?”

Staggering forward, Thor asked in barely above a whisper, “Who is the Witch of Niflheim?”

“Loki Laufeyson.”

[revealing how sick loki is].

Banging the door open, Loki’s legs gave out and he fell. Grabbing the toilet bowl, he pulled himself to it just in time. Nothing but bile and peppermint tea came up, tinted pink with blood. He spit the acidic taste into the bowl before flushing and leaning against the tub. He squeezed his eyes shut. It hurt, everything hurt, and it never stopped. His lungs labored to pull in oxygen, wheezing past his chapped lips. Sweat clung to his skin, yet he shivered even though he was so hot, his body unable to regulate temperature anymore.

Soft fingers wrapped around him, lifting him up, but they weren’t the thick, calloused ones he longed for; they weren’t the hands that would make this all end. Stumbling, he was wordlessly assisted out of his sweat-soaked clothes and into the bathtub. A cooling rag ran over his body, as frigid as the ice of his motherland. It soothed him, as much as a dying body could be soothed, as he listened to the soft hum of a mother’s lullaby.

When he was finally able to open his eyes, he was met with Siobhan’s warm smile, her gentle, brown eyes crinkled with crow’s feet. A descendant of Váli, she was perhaps Loki’s only friend.

“I brought you up some soup and grilled cheese,” she said.

“Perhaps after a proper bath,” he croaked. “Toothbrush?”

Nodding, she handed him the washrag, which he took in his bruised hands, and started the water before collecting his toothbrush. Teeth cleaned, Loki went about bathing, his hands shaking with a bone-deep exhaustion.

“Have you taken your medication tonight?” Siobhan asked, catching the sudd-filled rag as it slipped from his fingers. Methodically, she went about washing his back.

Loki shook his head and leaned forward. “Where’s Hela?”

“Out.”

He frowned and looked up at Siobhan.

[thor & loki reunion].

“You’re alive.” Thor stumbled forward, his eyes filling with tears. He could hardly believe it even as his fingers came to rest on the back of that long neck, but it wasn’t as smooth as he remembered, there was an odd, raised scar. He couldn’t look away, those eyes, so brilliantly green—Thor paused, those eyes were cold.

“Lok-” Thor choked on the name as a dagger slipped into his abdomen, and he stumbled back, falling to one knee.

“Do not touch me, Asgardian.” Loki’s tone was so hard, so unforgiving. Thor did not understand.

“Wha…why?” Thor coughed. “We are broth-”

“I AM NOT YOUR BROTHER!” Loki snarled, a droplet of blood slipping from his lips as his eyes glistened with tears. “I am not your brother. I am not your friend. You are nothing more than the poison creeping through my veins.”

“LOKI!”

Loki’s face softened as the door was thrown open, and he laughed softly, the sound light and hollow. “You’re late.”

Váli charged through the room, and caught Loki just as he collapsed. With more tenderness than Thor had ever seen from his half-brother, Váli cradled Loki’s head against his shoulder, and sighed.

“How far do you intend to push yourself, little omega?” Váli murmured against Loki’s pale brow. “It’s okay to let go.”

“What’s wrong with him?” Thor asked, pushing himself to stand, his hand pressed against his wound.

Váli looked to him, his eyes hard. “He is a bound omega whose mate has forsaken him.”

“His mate?”

“You, Thor,” Hela said.

“Impossible!” Thor’s mind whirled. “I-we nev-”

“It matters not,” Váli interrupted. “You are Odin’s son and you are set on marrying your Jane.”

“What?” Hela’s eyes narrowed. “You are marrying a second? But-”

“He doesn’t care, Hela.”

“Do not assume to know my heart!” Thor roared.

“Loki called for you for years. If you cared, you would have come,” Váli said with a deathly calm as he picked Loki up and carried him from the room.

Thor made to follow, but was halted by Hela’s hand on his wrist. Turning him, she put her other hand to his abdomen and healed the dagger wound.

“Let Váli tend to him, he knows what he’s doing.” Hela hesitated, biting her bottom lip before continuing, “Are you truly marrying another? According to the laws of Jötunheim, you’re already married.”

Thor sighed. “I don’t know. It’s complicated. I love Jane very much.”

“The bond mark wouldn’t have taken if you didn’t love Loki.”

“Not like that.”

Hela’s eyes narrowed. “Exactly like that. And if you don’t do something, he’ll die. The bonding sickness is slowly killing him. It’s only through his own genius that he’s been able to create medicines to slow the deterioration, but it is killing him. There’s no cure, save his mate.”

“I am not his mate,” Thor declared. Thundered rumbled in the background.

“Then you have forsaken him to die!”

“That’s enough, Hela,” a red-haired woman said from the doorway. “Go to your room. I will see the Asgardian out.”