bladesofasgard | Honeyed Lies

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Honeyed Lies

The announcement of a visitor was a rare thing, but not unheard of. Still, it interrupted Brunnhilde’s morning schedule, which had been tight to begin with. The news that it was the Lady Sif requesting an audience with her lessened her displeasure at the interruption somewhat, but did nothing to allay her surprise. She had a soft spot for the girl, as she had since she was a small child. She’d watched her grow, had lent her fair share of hours in training her when she insisted on following her desire to be a warrior. It was a disappointment that the girl still stubbornly clung to her loyalties in joining the Einherjar rather than abandoning Asgard for the Valkyrie, but Brunnhilde held no real grudge over the loss.

Not against Sif, at least. Odin, he was the one Brunnhilde held the grudge against. For a great many wrongs.

Still, Brunnhilde stopped short of entering, taking a moment to study the girl in the audience chamber, gauging her mood and her purpose. She saw more than she intended and her gaze narrowed as she went carefully still. There was something not right here. Somethin beyond the surprise of Sif’s unannounced visit.

The faint aura that glowed about the girl’s form had Brunnhilde going carefully still, a pang of regret searing through her before puzzlement replaced the ache. The ability to see Death’s mark was her heritage as Valkyrie, but never before had she seen such as this. A double halo surrounded the girl sitting patiently in the room, glowing with twinned light, fluctuating one over the other. It was a mystery, for Brunnhilde was not sure that a person could be marked for Death twice, but she could see no other cause for the double warning about the girl’s form. The existence of the halo hardly made the girl’s fate inevitable – it was faint enough that it was a possibility, but not certain. But the fact that it existed at all was indicated that the girl had landed herself in considerable trouble.

“Lady Sif,” Brunnhilde spoke as she strode into the audience chamber, her deep blue cape swirling out behind her. Her hands lifted, removing the crested help from her head, letting the twin golden braids free to tumble down her back. Sif stood with an easy grace to meet her – another thing out of place, an oddity Brunnhilde might not have noticed if she hadn’t been looking. Sif was rarely still, especially if there was something troubling her mind. Brunnhilde kept her thoughts from her face however as she approached the girl with a faint tilt of her head in greeting.

“This is an unexpected surprise. I was not anticipating a visit from you so soon after your last stay. Is all well with you?”

Sif dropped into a deep bow of respect, fist clutched over her heart as she ducked her head, dark braid swinging freely over one shoulder. “I apologize for showing up unannounced, my lady, but I bring dire news. I have come as quickly as I was able, to bring you warning.”

“Warning?” Brunnhilde’s tone was sharp, her gaze narrowing on the girl before her. A warrior before all else, the words ‘dire news’ instantly had her on high alert. “What is this news you bring to me?”

Sif ducked her head, expression one of mingled anger and regret. “My Lady Brunnhilde, there is trouble stirring in Asgard. The Allfather has slipped into the Odinsleep, as is his tradition. He has left his sons to rule in his stead.. This is not so unusual, but this is the first time they have had such full control. The Queen has not been seen since the Allfather slipped into deep slumber and her gentle restraint is most obviously missed. The elder prince, Thor, has grown restless and bored with the petty court politics and his younger brother has been his constant shadow, whispering intrigues in his ears. The councilors are uneasy, for Thor has turned away from them, preferring the company and words of his brother.”

Here Sif paused, taking a deep breath, obviously gathering her courage for the words she was forcing past her lips, her struggle evident on her face. “I almost did not come, my lady, but I could not stand by and watch, do nothing, not after the words I overheard. Thor is bored with peaceful times. He is young and rash and wishes for glory, wishes to make a name for himself. This is known, it is something that the king often indulged in his own way, and would be expected for a warrior in a time of peace. Were it only his frustration to be endured, I would not be here, but Loki plots from the shadows. They speak of war, my lady. Of earning their own glory, while Odin sleeps, unseeing and unhearing. And they intend to use you to do so.”

“Me?” Brunnhilde echoed, sounding shocked and skeptical at the accusation. Her attention was entirely focused on the girl and the words she spoke. But while she laughed, scoffing at this news, her mind was already picking apart the warrior’s words, her tone, her expression, searching for what was not said, and why. “I have not the time or patience to indulge a pair of spoiled princes in their play. What do I care for their childish ploys for attention?”

“Because they plot to stage an attack on an Aesir patrol with this, my lady,” Sif answered, shifting as she retrieved the bundled object bound at her back. The fabric fell away, revealing a familiar golden hilt, carved with the head of a dragon.

Brunnhilde’s fingers twitched instinctively at the sight of that familiar hilt, so long absent from her grip. “Dragonfang,” she muttered, surprise and anger in her tone. Sif held the sword out to her and she took it, her fingers curling around the hilt, feeling the familiar hum of magic as it reacted to her touch, finding its home once more. No imitation, this.

“How did you acquire this, Lady Sif?” the Valkyrie demanded sharply, finally dragging her gaze from the bared blade to fix the girl with a piercing stare. “None should have known the whereabouts of this blade save for myself and Odin.”

“I heard them speak of it, my lady,” Sif answered hastily, honesty plain in her gaze. “How they learned of it, I know not, but I overheard their plotting. With the Allfather asleep and the Queen in seclusion, I knew not where to turn with this. I only knew that I could not stand by while the king’s piece crumbled for some youthful folly. The Allfather would never approve of such actions and I cannot think my prince would have condoned it either, if not for the sweet lies whispered in his ears. “I could not let Loki’s plot come to pass, my lady, so I broke into the vault of which they’d spoken and retrieved this blade before fleeing the city. I hoped to warn you so that this terrible betrayal might not come to pass. With you forewarned and the blade lost to them, returned to its rightful owner, I thought this treachery might yet be averted.”

And there was the slip she’d been watching for. Brunnhilde’s gaze narrowed on the girl, her fingers instinctively tightening about the hilt of her blade. Brunnhilde was not known for her mercy and she accepted betrayal from none – least of all Odin’s line. She was Valkyrie. She was Vengeance. She was Death. Pleas had no affect on her and the warrior maiden knew this well. Sif would also know that the tidings she brought to Brunnhilde’s ears was the surest way to start a war. Which made every word the girl had uttered suspect.

Added to that was Sif’s own betrayal. Not to Brunnhilde or the other Valkyrie, but to herself, and her princes. Brunnhilde had known the girl since the time she was a small child, had fostered her here on many occasions. It had been to her the girl had fled when court and family had wounded her deeply, had mocked her, had tried to form her into the image they mistakenly believed best. Brunnhilde knew better than any that it was not blood ties or ambition or even any sense of loyalty to the Allfather himself that kept Sif trapped within the high walls of Asgard.

No, for merely that, the girl would have abandoned them all long ago. But for the two brothers currently holding reign in Asgard… For them, Brunnhilde suspected Sif would risk all. The girl had loved them with all her being for longer than Brunnhilde had even known her. Brunnhilde knew her sense of honor, her deep loyalty, and while she thought it misguided, it was something she had always respected in the other warrior.

The Lady Sif would die before betraying her princes. No matter what they asked of her.

Which meant that this was not at all what it seemed, even if she did not yet know why.

Still, Brunnhilde kept this knowledge secret, showing only icy outrage on her face. “Dire news indeed, Lady Sif,” she murmured, staring down at her blade once more, taking comfort in the warm hum of its own magic, the reassurance of its presence. Letting it soothe her as she contemplated her next course of action.

“If the young princes are so determined for war, who am I to deprive them of it?” she murmured aloud, pretending to miss the expression of dismay that flared over Sif’s features. That was a lie, for it was accompanied by an unlikely glam in those dark eyes, one out of place and easily seen, for one who was looking for it. So this one was not so skilled an actress as she seemed, whoever she was, or whatever her purpose here.

“I will consult my war leaders,” Brunnhilde decided aloud after a moment of contemplation, playing out the ruse. “We will decide the best course of action to pursue. There is a room readied for you, Lady Sif, and I will have refreshments sent to you, that you might rest and relax. Your words and experience may yet be needed in this,” she added, motioning to one of the servants hovering just out of sight.

Sif dipped into another deep bow of deference, her features carefully blank but her posture speaking of worry and uncertainty. “If that is your wish, my lady.”

“It is,” Brunnhilde bid her, then remained silent and still as Sif nodded and followed the servant from the chamber, casting one last glance over her shoulder at the Valkyrie before disappearing.

A moment later, there was a flicker of movement behind Brunnhilde’s shoulder as her second-in-command stepped from the shadows. “Do you wish me to summon the Council?” she asked softly, her gaze intent on Brunnhilde’s face.

“No,” the Valkyrie answered firmly, her expression thoughtful. “Not yet. I do not like this and while I believe Odin’s line capable of such duplicity, I will not break this long-held treaty on the word of one. Send one of our swiftest messengers to Asgard. Find Vania, she has been hidden among the court for many months now. See if she has any word of these mutterings of war. And ask if she has heard anything of note of the Lady Sif.”

Her second’s gaze sharpened, but the woman did not argue or question, merely clutched her fist over her heart. “As you wish, Valkyrie. I will send our swiftest rider.”

“Good,” Brunnhilde smiled grimly. “In the meantime, keep an eye on our guest. I want to be notified of anything odd, or if she makes any move outside her chambers. Quietly.”

“It will be done.”

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"If you know not why the true Lady Sif would trust me to such an extent, perhaps you do not know her as well as you think," he said, his voice gone cold. "And if you accuse me of such dishonesty, you accuse the Throne of Asgard of the same, and it seems the traitor that wears Lady Sif's face will have her way." He stood.

"Sit down, Prince."

Brunnhilde's voice was sharp and cool and carrying the full force of the command she wielded. Perhaps she didn't have the power to command the son of Odin in the Aesir court, but here, her word was law.

"You fling accusations about quite freely, Loki Odinson. I say this now that there are few that know the Lady as well as I. Perhaps even things you are unaware of. Fortunately for you, your Lady has spoken of you a great deal over the years. For that, I shall forgive your rudeness. That, and that I suspect you will not rest until you discover what has become of her. An answer I dearly wish to know."

"Mirelle," she called out to her second-in-command. "Have the Lady Sif brought to us. Without informing her of our visitor. And alert the outer guard, just in case."

His eyes narrowed, and almost, almost he lost hold of his temper.

But no. He was still there as the representative of Asgard's throne, and no one would be served if he threw the same sort of tantrum that had once made Thor infamous.

And if Brunnhilde wished to lord of him some secret of how well she knew Sif, let her. It didn't matter, so long as it got him the information he required. It didn't matter if his pride stung; pride was a useless vestige in matters such as this. "Perhaps I forget myself, Valkyrie. Your patience and good will in this matter shall of course be long remembered by Asgard."

He sank back down into his seat, his expression resuming its former pleasant mask.

"That was almost convincing, Prince," Brunnhilde replied, and there was the faintest twitch about the corner of her lips. "Perhaps you are not a hopeless cause after all. Although that sadly means you'll most likely deprive me of one of the most talented warriors I've seen in a generation."

She stood then, pacing along the windows, agitation in the line of her shoulder and her fingers twitching against the hilt of her blade, as if wishing for some action she could do something about. She paused near one of the white marble pillars and turned to fix him with a piercing look.

"You will find her, Loki." It was both a question and not.

That last comment, so offhand as it seemed, only made him angrier. Whether she knew something or was only implying it, that comment put her squarely in a place where no one but him or Sif had any business being.

Still, Loki hung on to his pleasant expression. He was Asgard's subtle knife, after all. He was very good at smiling while he contemplated how best to commit murder for the good of the throne.

But the anger, on top of so much other anger, he couldn't quite hide. A chill crept into the air around him.

"You do me great honor with your compliments, Valkyrie," he said smoothly. "Though perhaps you misapprehend the duty that has brought me here. Many of us owe Lady Sif our lives, including he who sits on the throne."

Brunnhilde was interrupted from answering by the sudden hurried sound of footsteps and she spun around as the door was flung open. Mirelle stood there, flushed and out of breath and utterly dismayed.

"She's gone, Valkyrie. The Lady Sif. She was not seen leaving the room - the guards are just as I left them and no alarms were sounded. She's just... vanished."

Loki rose smoothly to his feet. He look at Brunnhilde. "You know where my greatest talents lie. If it would please you, I'd like to have a look at the room she stayed in. I will be able to... divine if anything strange has happened."

"Do what you must," Brunnhilde answered quickly, motioning to her Second. "You will have any aid you require."

Loki gestured for the woman to lead on, following her down the hall with quick footsteps. He caught the smell of familiar magic when he'd barely entered the room. He hissed out a word of command, catching the shape of the spell - too hurried to have been hidden well - and another to catch a sense of the direction.

Short range teleportation, just outside the walls of the stronghold.

A knife appeared in his hand as he took hold of those arcane energies before they could dissipate, twisting them to his will and shoving his own power through the spell so that it took him to the precise place.

Still not quite enough. He twisted the dagger out of existence again and produced a round mirror, giving it the sense of the magic that had been cast, telling it to show him the caster.

The bastard traitor wearing Sif's skin was already on the bridge to Jotunheim. Trying to teleport onto the bridge was too dangerous.

The prey was running. Mistakes were bring made. It was only a matter of time.

Loki twisted the fabric of space and put himself back in the room he'd come from. "I will have my horse and take my leave," he said.

Brunnhilde stood in the doorway and watched him with a speculative look. She nodded at his demand and stepped out of his way. "Of course," she agreed amicably. "And if you have need of any aid, you need only to send word."

"I shall be certain to keep that in mind," Loki said, not forgetting that formality was still required, even if every fiber of his being was screaming at him to run before he lost his quarry. "I shall commend your assistance to my brother upon my return to Asgard."

With that, he strode away, steps purposeful but not panicked. Vakri waited for him outside. Without a backward glance he kicked the horse into a gallop, heading for the bridge into Jotunheim.

For all that he was a gentle soul, Vakri had strong heart, and ran with all his might to the bridge. As soon as they had crossed into the wastes of Jotunheim, Loki slowed them to a walk, then dismounted. With a whispered command, he sent the horse back, to the Valkyrie lands. This was no place for a horse.

He took the mirror from his pocket and scryed again, to find the traitor surrounded by Jotun. A smile that had nothing to do with humor found its way onto his face.

Curious, he reset the mirror, told it to find the dagger he had given Sif, in case she'd been hidden nearby, if this traitor had jotun allies.

The mirror showed him the same image as before.

Something twisted in his chest, because there were only a few possibilities for that. One was impossible, and the others...

A dagger appeared in each hand, and then he twisted space.

Fleeing to Jotunheim had been a last resort. It wasn't something Amora had particularly wanted to do, but she wasn't foolish enough to start such a risky venture without a backup plan. And while the Valkyrie had been a greater opportunity, they'd also been a greater risk. Brunnhilde wasn't entirely stupid, although she'd been disappointingly less so than Amora had hoped.

So. Jotunheim.

Amora didn't have a great many allies among the frost giants, but she had some. If they could even be called allies. What they could be relied on was having a perpetual grudge against Odin and all his line, enough that they would handily overlook the fact that she was Aesir if she handily gave them an excuse to bring death to their enemies. Which was a win-win in this situation and the reason for the satisfied little smirk that looked out of place on the Lady Sif's lips as she waited for the two Jotun to stop arguing over the fastest transport.

She wasn't out of the woods yet, but she was closer, and she suspected that even the younger prince would think twice before venturing into the frost giant's realm unless he actually wished to start a war. She doubted he was that foolish.

Loki was expert at certain useful, bloody arts, now. One of them was the ability to teleport very close to someone, far closer than was normally considered safe.

He appeared next to the traitor, one hand whipping out to wrap in that long braid of hair and jerk her against him, pull her head back and expose her throat. The other hand brought up a knife to touch her throat, not enough pressure to cut, but the tiniest movement would change that.

"Fancy meeting you here," he said, voice low, cold, and threatening. "I've a few questions for you."

Edited 2012-03-23 01:44 (UTC)

Amora tensed at the sudden voice in her ear, the blade at her throat as a shocked protest escaped her lips. The noise drew the attention of the Jotun surrounding them and several advanced, weapons forming around their hands until Amora gave a pained cry, feeling a trickle of blood slide down her throat where the blade had bit into pale skin. That halted the giants, who watched Loki with wary impatience, waiting to see what he would do.

"My prince," she spoke softly, her voice strained and hoarse as she stood tense and too-still in his grip, her voice an almost perfect imitation of Sif's. "What is this? What are you doing?"

"How odd," he murmured, "as those were the precise questions I was going to ask you, traitor. Do you really think that I will not slit your throat?" His lips were pressed against her ear. He inhaled deeply, hands steady on her. "You stink of magic not mine, lady."

"Traitor?" She echoed, a hint of a dubious laugh in her voice. "You are mistaken, my prince. I am no traitor. Not to you, not to Asgard. I was merely presenting you with an opportunity. One you are wasting quite fantastically if you slit my throat here and now."

His tongue flicked against her ear. "Liar," he whispered, the word almost like that of a lover. "Don't try to lie to a liar. We aren't ever fooled."

"Can a liar even know truth when he hears it?" Amora replied with forced lightness, suppressing a shudder that slipped down her spine. Her lips curved, a knowing smirk that looked utterly out of place on Sif's features. "I didn't expect you to be so ungrateful, prince. Or is it true that you prefer to play your brother's dog, rather than claim true power for yourself? I always thought you more ambitious than that. I've handed you a nice little power play and you're wasting it with this? Surely it can't be a soft spot for our dear Lady Sif?"

Amora's laughter was mocking at that, although she doubted it was something as simple as that. It was just more fun to taunt him with it. That and it bought her time while she tried to figure out a Plan C, especially when the frost giants that were surrounding them were growing restless. She wondered how long her alliance would last once they decided it would be more useful to be rid of both of them, rather than just one.

He recognized the twist of that expression, and he hated it, hated the person that spawned it. That, with what he'd already discovered, added up to a complete

"Ah, Amora," Loki said, smiling dangerously. "I thought I recognized your stench. I see your life as a petty little court bitch has become so boring, you decided to try out treason."

The other words hurt and angered him, but he was too good of a player for that nonsense, to be taunted like that. "I keep forgetting how unutterably dull you are." He pressed the knife more tightly against her neck. "I am my brothers knife, darling. And I'll be using that blade to flay you alive in short order if you don't tell me what it is I want to know."

He noticed, then, the necklace she wore. It was nothing that belonged to Sif, and that made it very suspicious. Still pressing in the knife to keep her still, he let go of her hair to grasp the pendant and jerk the necklace from her throat.

The moment he yanked the pendant from her throat, Amora let the illusion drop, her laughter taunting as she channeled her magic in a brief instant to teleport out of the circle of his arms and behind the nearest frost giant.

"What a waste, Loki darling. You've been such a disappointment. And here I thought your brother was the dull one. A sad state of affairs, for a prince's knife. At least I have accomplished one thing with my little game. Which will you save, Prince? Your brother's blade or his shield? Or perhaps neither, as your time is quickly running out. Tick tock, Loki," Amora smirked, her eyes cold and cruel as she motioned to the Jotuns.

"Have fun, boys," she purred in satisfaction before teleporting away to leave Loki standing alone with a pendant and half a dozen frost giants.

Loki's reaction was instant. He flung the dagger from his hand at Amora. The positioning was tricky; he would not be able to kill her, but all he needed was blood.

As the dagger left his hand he was already twisting another into being, thrusting the pendant into his pocket and summoning a second dagger into being as the frost giants closed in.

Then it was the confusion of an uncoordinated melee. The first jotun he dispatched as it charged toward him, punching the blade through the monster's sternum and into its heart. The others, he distracted with illusions, deftly manipulating the magic as he turned on his next target, slashing its throat as he spun.

It was not so easy as that. Blades of ice shredded his side. He fell to one knee, throwing a dagger end over end to hit another jotun in the eye. Then he was dragged over by one arm, the jotun raising a fist covered in ice to strike him, Loki twisting another dagger into being...

And somehow in the midst of battle they paused, both Loki and the jotun staring at his arm where the great blue hand gripped him. Armor had shattered away, leaving skin that should have burned with cold, should have gone black...

Instead it was blue, like the Jotun's. A shock of panic ran through Loki, then he mastered himself, took that moment of hesitation on the giant's part to slam his blade home. It let go and fell away.

There was no time to consider what any of it had meant. There were still two more jotun to fight and dispatch as blood soaked through his coat; he didn't even have time to try to stop the flow. And in the distance, he heard horns, more Jotun coming to aid their compatriots.

His movements more sluggish than he liked, Loki dispatched the last two, taking a deep gash across his shoulder and a slash on his leg. He called back the daggers he had thrown, storing them away as he backed up. Loki pressed one hand against his side, making the the worst of the wounds temporarily knit together, but really what he needed to do was teleport, which would only take him so far, not from the realm in his current state, or...

"Heimdall!" he shouted. "Heimdall, I have what I came for!"

He hadn't thought there were so many jotun in all of Jotunheim, and they seemed to be running straight for him. He teleported a short jump away to buy himself more time.

"Heimdall!"

The answer wasn't just the Bifrost. As the rainbow bridge thundered down, something came with it: the Destroyer. It advanced on the Jotun, guarding the way. Loki didn't stop to see what other orders it might have. Limping, he fled to the Bifrost.

On the other side, he fell to his knees. Hands grabbed at him; he shook them off, digging frantically through his pockets until he found the necklace he'd taken from Amora. For a moment he cradled it in his hands, feeling the weak presence of his own magic, strangely far off, hidden. Amora had said time was running out; he believed the venom in that taunt, knew he hatred of Sif well.

He dropped the locket on the floor, grappling with the magic that had been woven into it. He shouted a word of command, so powerful that the entire room shook with his voice. Indelicate and messy, but it got the job done, and quickly. The locket shattered, red hot shards of it shooting in every direction and even managing to hit a few of the less fortunate people in the room.

In its place, Sif lay stretched out on the floor. Loki reached out with a shaking hand to find the pulse point of her throat, ignoring the vivid streaks of his own blood he left on her skin.

She still lived.

Thor barely noticed the flash of heat beneath his eye, a small shard of the necklace that had apparently imprisoned Sif. Sif, who lay very still under his brother's hand. Thor fell to his knees beside him, and for a moment he did not breathe until her chest rose and fell faintly again. Relief flooded through him, tempered only by the sickly pallor of her skin.

He had not come to meet them alone. A pair of healers descended on her at once, undaunted, and Thor took Loki again by the shoulder that had not been injured, concern warring with something darker that fueled the Destroyer though its purpose was long fulfilled. "Will you hear me now?" He growled. "You are both going to the Healing Rooms immediately, come."

Loki sagged with relief, falling against Thor's side as the last of the rage that had fueled him burned away. He shook his head. "I would not think to argue with you, brother dear. But see, I've brought your friend back..."

He attempted to stand, but his legs didn't seem to want to work quite right. He half-fell back down, careening into Thor's side again.

There was a sound, something Loki's paranoia told him was laughter. Were that the case, he told himself, all the better. He'd made it his business to seem innocuous and even a bit useless. Best if no one but Thor realized what sort of mess he'd just cut through with his daggers.

"Thank you, brother."

They were too few words, but they were genuine. The healers lifted Sif carefully, their magic wrapping her in soft light that showed more clearly that she bore no obvious wounds, that she did not stir or wake but breathed still. Thor was, and had always been, a man of the present, and he took solace in the fact that both she and Loki lived. Someone would be made to pay - for theft and betrayal, and for what they had done to his family in his house.

"Come," He repeated. He shifted an arm around Loki's waist to hold him steady and took his brother's weight. If he could not walk still, Thor would carry him. There would be time enough for questions when Sif opened her eyes and when his hands did not come away from Loki's clothing streaked dark red.

Loki hung on to Thor rather pitifully. Between the fight and the wounds and all of the magic he'd done, he was feeling more than drained. He was grateful for Thor's support. "Lead the way, I don't think I've any choice but to follow."

He concentrated on simply gripping Thor's shoulder's firmly as they made their way. But there was some point of pride, that he wasn't having to be carried off by the healers. "And I've all sorts of interesting news for you, once there's a private moment to be had," he murmured, for Thor's ears only.

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thunders - 2012-04-03 00:10 (UTC) - Expand

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