The Seventh Stone

I feel… strange. 

Empty and hollow, yet still awake. 

Lights flash intermittently throughout the darkness in my eyes, until I start to recognize where I am—trailing behind a hospital bed down a long hallway, crowded by a number of figures talking and moving frantically around it. 

I’m not moving, though. Not entirely—I’m moving through space, being pulled like the anchor of a ship. My eyes move slowly from one person to the next, from one white coat and gloved hand to the next, until my eyes fall on the subject of panic in the room—a body laying motionlessly on the hospital bed, with the tips of its light, honey-colored locks tinted crimson red. 

The noises drown out for a moment as I focus on the face. The pale, lifeless face turning slightly against the pillow with every bump and movement, as the body is hauled around the corner, and into a room. 

The pulling ceases as the staff lifts the body onto a larger bed, and begins cutting away at the portions of her—of my—black suit, where the wounds continue bleeding underneath. At the sight of exposed, ribboned skin, I look away. 

That can’t be me. That’s not me. 

My eyes pass over everything else in the room—anything to not have to look at my dying body. I know that’s what it is deep down, and from the sight of the small, metal tools to the beeping machines, there’s little that can distract me from it right now. I feel it—the grief—but it’s a distant feeling, too far to acknowledge closely with my heart. There’s more peace here—wherever this is—than there is sorrow or loss. 

Loss… The loss of my life—I know it’s close. I don’t need machines to tell me that. I feel myself pulling away. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” a familiar voice growls behind me. 

I turn slowly, peering out an empty doorway as the beeping slows to a continuous hum. Fingers appear at the edge of the doorway first, followed briskly by a tall, slender figure appearing in the threshold, looking straight at me with light, blue eyes.  

No, not at me—through me. 

I step to the side, turning and following his gaze to the dead body lying in the middle of the room. The bustling continues as I look back at him, watching his hand slide slowly down the doorframe and drop to his side. I follow the black, leather sleeve up to his face—to his slightly parted lips, and brows hanging heavy over his widened eyes, amidst the disbelieving expression on his face.

He strides forward slowly. So slowly. I step toward him, staring at his sculpted profile as he stares down at my body, without so much of a flinch or blink of an eye. His chest rises and falls heavily for a moment, but settles motionlessly as he comes to a stop in the middle of the room, glancing at the humming monitors. I stride in front of him, stopping a foot away—perplexed by the anguish growing slowly in the narrowing corners of his eyes. 

With a high-pitched sound, a sudden jolt of electricity pounds through every floating cell of my ethereal form. I stumble—not even knowing I could stumble—and look back up to his blue eyes for a heartbeat, before another jolt throws me backward away from them, and onto the bed. 

My ribcage rises from the mattress as my eyes bolt open with a sharp breath. I drop back down, feeling my body sink further into it than it should—further into the soft, beckoning darkness that my mind wandered into what felt like moments before. 

***

I feel my breath first. Then, my fingers brushing against the sheets with a subtle flinch. Finally, the rest of my skin becomes perceivable, and my eyes slowly open to a white ceiling above my head. I blink as my vision normalizes, and I part my lips slightly—tasting the cold, stale air in the room as I lower my eyes from the ceiling, looking about as I turn my head against the soft, elevated pillow. 

A chair faces the bed just a few feet away with Loki draped over it—seemingly comfortably—with elbows resting on the handles and an ankle resting on his knee. His eyes are shut, but his expression is far from peaceful sleep. 

Did he bring me here? Did he save my life?

I lay both hands against the soft mattress, trying not expend too much of my energy as I lift myself up into a seated position. The stone—where’s the stone? 

I turn my head, looking from the small table at the foot of the bed, to the makeshift night stands on either side of it. A movement in the corner of my eye turns my attention back to Loki, who slowly shifts in the chair as he wakes. 

The moment he meets my eyes, a tight knot forms high up in my chest, and I look away—recoiling fearfully from him, and trying to lock the flashes of my horrifying vision out of my head.

“Lara,” he says softly in a low voice, and the chair creaks underneath him as he rises, stepping closer to the bed.

My eyes pass over the blue blanket covering the bottom half of my body—slightly in his direction—and I glance up at him briefly under a heavy, distrustful brow.

“Please,” he says. “Don’t look at me like that—you know I won’t hurt you.”

“That—” I choke, swallowing hard to quell my dry throat. “That’s a lot to—” I stop, and water pools in my eyes as a sharp scratching in the back of my throat forces a sudden cough. Stinging pain shoots out from my sides, and the water in my eyes deposits as I shut them tightly—trying to suppress another cough. 

I hear Loki’s boot slide against the tiled floor, and with the sound of pouring water, I open them again to his extended hand offering me a glass half-full. I peer up at him for a moment, at his unnerved expression, before reaching out to take it. I press the edge of the cold glass to my lips, and the water flows down my throat soothingly. 

Loki reaches out again after a few sips, to take the cup. Hurt twinges in my chest as I look at his hand reaching gently for me. Rather than bear that minute contact—which will undoubtedly render tears—I shift over on the bed, setting the glass back onto the nightstand myself.

His hand drops down to his side. “I suppose,” he says darkly. “I owe you an explanation—” 

“Where’s the stone?” I interject, peering up at him. 

He presses his lips together, staring down at me sadly for a moment—almost disappointedly, like I should trust him more. With a heavy sigh, Loki turns, lowering himself closely onto the edge of the bed. Holding my gaze, he reaches out and cups my right hand with his left—pulling it toward him with the palm facing up, and rests it on his knee—covering it again with his right hand. 

Something small and heavy drops into my palm, pressing against my skin as his grip tightens. A subtle rush of pressure flutters up my arm, and that’s how I know—it’s the stone. 

I look up at him. “Just like that?”

He lowers his head solemnly.

“Why?” 

Silence passes between us as Loki’s eyes fall downward. “Because if I didn’t try to take it in the first place, I would’ve been there to…” he pauses as an unpleasant memory dances across his eyes. He continues in a low voice, “It doesn’t matter. I don’t want it. And I shouldn’t have tried to take it.” 

The corners of my mouth curl downward briefly, as hurt steeps in my chest. “It’s not the worst thing you’ve done, is it?” I ask quietly. 

He shakes his head. “No, it isn’t.” 

“And you weren’t going to tell me about New York.” 

“I was not.” 

I pause. “I’d ask why… But I guess it’s pretty self-explanatory.” 

“I didn’t want to tell you because I’m not sorry for it,” he says. “I’m only sorry that you got hurt because of it.” 

I stare at him for a moment, dousing the sting in my chest. Finally I shake my head. “I don’t understand,” I mutter quietly. “Why did you do it?” 

He looks up at me, eyes hardening slightly as he pulls forward a piece of the cruel man I’d seen in my vision. “Simply because I wanted to. I’d been lied to about my lineage, deceived my entire life—I simply wanted to make good on that lie. Rule Midgard as a benevolent god.” 

My face sinks darkly as I look back at him. “That’s not an excuse, Loki.” 

“I never said it was an excuse,” he says. “It was a reason. I was a king, wanting what was promised me.” 

“A true king admits his faults, doesn’t he?” I say—parroting the woman from my vision. He blinks bitterly—recognizing the words—and his lips thin reprehensibly. “But I guess it doesn’t matter—you don’t need to be sorry,” I continue in a low voice. “You just need to leave.” 

His dour expression vanishes, as his hands loosen around mine. “Is that what you want?” 

I swallow a hard lump, nodding my head. “This conversation is pointless, you’ve already decided that you’re ‘not sorry’—and you don’t even know what you really did wrong.” 

“And what have I ‘really’ done wrong?” 

I look up, fixing my enraged glare on his intent eyes. “You gave up,” I scowl, frustration roiling  painfully in my chest at the memory of that day—of the chaos and grief he’d imposed on millions of people. “Someone hurt you, I can understand that—but you gave up. You chose to let it destroy your life. And if you think that’s an acceptable way to live, then fine—it’s your life. But it doesn’t give you the right to destroy everyone else’s while you deal with the same types of problems that everyone faces at one point or another. So someone lied to you, in a way that I’m guessing could’ve had very little impact on your life if you’d let it,” I shake my head, pulse rising as the memory of my own trauma flashes in my mind. “That’s hardly pain.” 

Catching the implication, Loki’s hardened gaze softens accordingly, and he casts it down once more—no doubt trying to find the right response. To my arrogance? To the truth? No doubt all of the above.

“Or maybe it is,” I continue, and he looks back up at me slowly. “And maybe you’re still not sorry because that’s just who you are. I don’t know—but it’s not who I am. So as much as I thought I understood you… I’ll never accept this way you do.” 

“I know,” he mumbles, peering at me with heavy eyes. “And I will go if you want me to—but you’re wrong. I do know pain. If only once, I knew it when…” he pauses reluctantly. “When I walked into this room and saw you dead.” 

Amidst the anger and hurt, a scintilla of warmth flares in my chest, and I inhale deeply—trying to subdue the wetness growing in my eyes. 

“But I will leave,” he continues tautly, repeating himself—maybe hoping I’ll stop him if he presses the nerve enough times. “If you want me to.” 

I stare at him tightly, feeling the raw vulnerability in his voice. My eyes fall to our hands, still laying warmly—safely—in their own small embrace. An unspoken truth blooms slowly in my mind—that deep down, a small part of me hiding beneath the rubble doesn’t want him to leave either. It wants him to stay, and try to be better. Make the effort, at least. Give the pain in my chest a reason to drain—though I know he won’t. He’s made that clear.

Fear rises and falls with every breath and passing thought, but through it all, I can’t deny the truth blaring in my head. That whatever he is and whatever he’s done, I’ve just… Damn. I’ve grown to care for him so much. In all the moments we’d spent together, through all the jokes and revelations, I’d deign to say… I might’ve fallen in love in the process. And that took away the heart I'd need to send him away right now. 

“Just…” I croak. “Do what you want.” I scooping the stone in my hand and sliding it out into the cold air, covering it again in my lap. 

I stare down at the stone, and my throat bobs as I struggle to keep the icy mask on my face, while Loki peers at me motionlessly. 

Finally he nods. “I’ll go find a doctor,” he mumbles quietly. “They wanted me to let them know when you were awake.” 

I nod in turn, and Loki waits for a moment before standing up. The bed shifts upward with his absent weight, and I watch the deep, green cloak trail behind him as he stalks slowly toward the door, catching one last glimpse of his sculpted profile.

The stupidly, beautifully sculpted profile of the person I’ve fallen in love with. Who fooled me with his moments of decency, to hide a horrible past. A murderous past—where millions of people suffered because of his own petty discord. 

Tears flood my eyes, and I can’t hold them back anymore. I hang my head over, letting the battle between love and pain erupt in a quiet sob. Loki pauses, looking back once more before crossing over the threshold, returning moments later—allowing me some time to compose myself anew. 

Loki enters first, followed by a doctor, the yellow-eyed king—and his two sons. My heavy eyes pass over Olen suspiciously as he strides into the room, closing the door behind him.

“Hello Lara,” the doctor greets me, striding to my left with one wrist tucked under the other. “How are you feeling?” 

I look up at her with a nod. “Fine, I think… Tired, a little nauseated.” 

“That’s normal—you came within an inch of your life, but you’ll be alright. Definitely do need to get some rest though,” she says, scanning the room demonstrably with her eyes. 

The king gestures to her, stepping up next to her. “We won’t be long,” he says, looking back down at me. “We just wanted to see how your recovery is coming along.” 

“As good as it can get, I suppose.”

“And,” he says, tilting his chin downward. “Did you succeed, in your quest?” 

I blink heavily, lowering my eyes down to my hand. “Yes,” I say, uncovering it—revealing the radiant, white gem resting in my palm. “Yes, we did.” 

He sighs heavily, glancing at his sons. I look up at them both—Olen continues staring blankly at the stone, while Yerul exchanges a subtle, contented glance with his father. 

“So it’s practically over, then—the war?” Yerul asks.

“We have what we need to end it now,” the king nods, grinning warmly at me. 

With a quiet knock at the door, Olen turns and opens it, allowing a tall, slender woman to pass through—clad in beautiful, flowing robes and jewels. His lips tighten as she peers at him disapprovingly, before trailing her eyes over to me. A grin spreads across her face as she passes by the two of them, and approaches the right side of my bed. 

“My dear,” she says, reaching down to take my empty hand. “My name is Valaryn—I’m so happy to have finally met you.” 

“Nice to meet you too,” I nod wearily. 

“You’ve met my sons,” she turns her head in their direction momentarily before looking back. “And my husband. I’m sorry our acquaintance has taken this long.” 

“Not a problem,” I nod again. 

“I understand you to be our savior,” she smiles, glancing at the stone. “You’ll have my gratitude eternally. Anything you need, you need only ask for it.” 

“Help is all I need,” I solemnly, looking up at the king. “There’s still work to do, isn’t there?” 

“Yes,” he says, shaking his head with a raised brow. “But now is not the time to discuss that. We should take a moment to celebrate this victory.” 

I lower my eyes, as heaviness settles into my chest. I don’t need a damn celebration, I just need to go home. 

“So we should,” she says, looking up at her husband. “A proper celebration is due, I think. How long must she stay in the hospital?” Valaryn asks, addressing the doctor now. 

The doctor turns, scanning the machines slowly, shaking her head. “A week, perhaps. Her injuries were deep, we need to monitor her condition for the time being.” 

The queen nods. “A week is just enough time,” she grins, looking back at me. “Something to look forward to when you leave here, isn’t it?” 

The warm sincerity in her eyes chips a bit of the tension in my chest, and the corner of my mouth curls slightly as I nod. It’s so confusing—how could someone so outwardly kind and gentle raise those two idiots? 

Then again, Olen was perfectly charming when I first met him too. 

Valaryn exhales sharply. “Well, it’s settled then,” she smiles, rising from the bed. “We should leave her now, shouldn’t we?” 

“Yes,” the doctor nods, looking down at me. “You need to rest, you shouldn’t exert yourself heavily—everything can be discussed and dealt with at a later time.” 

I look toward a sudden movement in the corner of my eye—at Loki lowering himself down into the chair.

“Of course,” the doctor gestures to him with a dark, slender hand. “Your husband can stay, but everyone else really must leave.”  

I blink, turning my head sharply. “Excuse me?”

“That’s right,” Loki interjects. “As she said—everything will be dealt with and discussed at a later time.” 

I look back at him—wide-eyed—clenching my jaw annoyedly.

“Lara,” Olen’s voice draws my attention away, and I peer up at him blankly. “I should apologize, for lying to you. I didn’t think you’d actually do it, but now that we’re all here…” he shakes his head. “I should’ve been wiser. I’m truly sorry.” 

My nostrils flare slightly for a moment, and I sigh heavily. “It’s alright,” I say darkly. 

“I’m sorry too,” Yerul steps forward, gesturing to me. “You know, for… Before.” 

“Mhm,” the corners of my mouth curl amusedly, seeing Valaryn nod approvingly at him. “I forgive you.” 

With a final glance, the royal family shuffles one by one across the room—toward the door. The king is the last to go, with a final nod of appreciation on his way out. 

“Let me know if you need anything,” the doctor says, reaching up above me with a syringe. “But for now, this will help you sleep. Give it a few minutes first, but we can always add more if you need it.” 

“Thank you.” 

“Of course,” she nods—once at me, and once at Loki before leaving the room, shutting the door behind her. 

I immediately turn toward Loki. “Husband?” My voice drops low. “That’s not funny.” 

“Not in the slightest,” he says solemnly. “Especially considering that Olen has been taking a keen interest in your recovery—all your procedures and medications. So I took it upon myself to ensure you’re not left alone with him.”

I narrow my eyes suspiciously. “Why would he care about that?” 

“I don’t know,” he shakes his head. “I had no intention of waiting to find out, either.” 

My shoulders drop exhaustively. “Fine,” I sigh, propping my hands against the bed to lower myself down. “Just… Let me get some sleep, will you?” 

“I’m not stopping you,” he says.  

The bed creaks slightly as I slide forward into the sheets, lowering my head and shoulders down into the pillow—letting out a deep breath as I sink heavily into its softness. My gaze trails back up to the ceiling, where it remains for moments more, as the medication slowly pulls me limb by limb into peaceful rest. 

***

One flash. 

Two. 

Three. 

Four drops of blood on the ground.

Now five. 

Now ten—as the fire closes in around me. My skin burns as three more flashes pass me by, and I flinch at the jolting pain in my side. I pivot sharply, only to feel the cold rim of a gun pressed against my forehead. I raise my arms up ahead of me—but there’s no figure for them to shove aside. I hear a subtle click, and—

I gasp sharply, bolting up from the hospital bed, raising my hands up to my forehead as my chest heaves aggressively. 

“Lara,” I hear Loki’s voice, suddenly realizing his tight grasp on both my shoulders. “It’s alright—it’s alright,” he says softly, releasing one of his hands, and raising it up to the side of my face. “Go back to sleep.” 

I look up, seeing him peer down down at me intently, brushing his thumb against my temple. “Go back to sleep,” he repeats earnestly, as a gentle warmth starts to spread through the side of my face—relaxing my eyes and carefully detangling the remnants of tension throughout my neck and shoulders. I feel my muscles loosen as I lean into the pillow slowly, drifting back into a cool, open dream. 

A beautiful landscape flourishes from the darkness before my eyes. Trees sway slightly far below, against the same, warm breeze that lifts the strands of hair off my shoulders. A ledge stretches out far over the edge of the cliff I’m standing on, and dirt slides under my feet as I stride out onto it slowly—looking out at the sun setting over a vast country of valleys and mountainous hills, outlined by the glinting branches of a river threading between them delicately.  

Even the air tastes sweet and fresh, sucking every last ounce of fear and tension from my body with every breath. 

Awareness suddenly spikes in my body, and I turn slowly toward the figure standing several feet behind me—tall in stature, with black curls trailing down to his shoulders, providing a sharp contrast with the light, blue eyes peering out at the scenery. 

They turn slowly, meeting me with a subtle reluctance. The minute his eyes lock on mine, affection blooms, while safety and familiarity warm my chest—pushing out what’s left of my fear. Safety, familiarity, and… Love. 

With a quick impulse, I stride toward him briskly—closing the space between us rapidly. His lips part nervously as I get close, but keeping his eyes fixed on mine, he doesn’t move. Not even an inch. The momentum lifts me onto the balls of my feet before him, and I throw my arms up over his shoulders, my lips collide with his. 

I pull back strands of hair as I drag my hand back along his jawline, pulling him closer. He exhales sharply, and his breath fans my cheeks heavily as his lips move against mine—with one arm wrapped around my waist, and the other gliding up my backside, grasping my shoulder tightly with his hand. My arms tighten around his neck as he lifts me slowly, almost completely off the tips of my feet, and I pull back ever so slightly. Enough to smile against his lips—still caressing mine softly—as I press my forehead against his, and let fire burn away the darkness, making way for bright, glowing happiness. 

I pull away further, gazing up at him as he sets me down gently. Heavy, blue eyes peer softly back at me—the eyes of a Norse god. Of a man that cares deeply for me. Of… a murderer. 

My smile melts away slowly. With a flash of the cruel, baleful eyes I’d seen once before, I pull back sharply—blinking hard with an abrupt return to waking life. 

I inhale, rising up slowly from my pillow, and place a hand to calm my heaving chest. Loki’s cold fingers brush against my skin as he pulls his hand away slowly—peering at me wide-eyed with shock and stupor, taking shallow breaths as he straightens up before me.

My breaths, however, are not shallow. Not in the slightest. Remnants of warmth linger in my chest as I tighten my fingers around the sheets—staring at Loki blankly. Maybe slightly horrified. 

Tension ripples through his jaw as he blinks, turning his head away sharply. He moves slightly, like he’s going to look back, but instead turns and lifts himself off the bed—stalking toward the door. 

“Did…” I whisper breathlessly. Loki stops abruptly at the door, turning his head to where I can see his profile. “Did you do that?” 

He glances at me, eyes filled to the brim with soft affection—and uncertainty. 

“Not all of it,” he says in a low voice, waiting a moment before opening the door, and disappearing through it. 

[to be continued]