Thor: Misery Loves Company

“| ==V== |”

Young Loki wandered a meandering path through the streets of Broxton, his steps wavering and him frequently stumbling. Were he taller and bulkier — and not garbed so strangely — he might be mistaken for a homeless drunk. Being short and slight, if he were dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, he might have been taken for something of what he was: an injured child (though his injuries were more of the soul than the body). Currently, his clothes marked him as an Asgardian, someone who could probably take care of himself and was likely dangerous to be around. So the people of Broxton, rather than helping or hindering him, pretended there was no such being as a young godling passing outside their windows.

Loki told himself that that was just fine, that he even preferred it that way.

This was a fine demonstration of why he was called the God of Lies.

He stumbled for the umpteenth time, banging his knee against the ground. He was grateful for the pain: it kept him awake. That was what all this walking was about, after all. He couldn't go to sleep.  He wouldn't dare. He'd already found that, if he slept at night, he dreamt about the lives his previous self had either taken or at least ruined. He suspected that his brother's face would be prominent in those dreams now — not that it hadn't been before, but this time his brother had died because of him, his now-self, not his past one. It didn't matter that Thor had wanted it, or that Thor had been doomed to die no matter what, that Loki had only made sure that Thor could take the Serpent down in the process. He regretted what he'd done even as there hadn't really been a choice in the matter — Loki couldn't shake the fear that there had been something he could have done, something he'd missed. The sight of his brother's still and lifeless shell, held in a weeping Odin's arms — Odin! Weeping! — would haunt Loki for the rest of his days — however few they might be.

Especially since a part of Loki was jealous of Thor. Odin would never weep that way for him — even if Odin hadn't sealed himself away forever in Asgard-of-Space. How sick was Loki to envy Thor his death, mourned by so many, as Thor had been at the funeral earlier that day?

It was just another thing to contemplate as Loki struggled on, bleary-eyed (or was that teary? He couldn't imagine having any tears left, though), waiting for dawn and an exhausted, dreamless oblivion, without even his evil pet, Ikol, to keep him company until then. He'd apparently disappointed the bird, never mind that the magpie, being the remnant of the old, evil Loki, ought to have been pleased that Thor was dead and that Loki-the-Child had facillitated that death ....

~(V)~

Look after Loki, please.

"Thor?" Volstagg jerked awake with the question tumbling from his massive maw; he could have sworn he'd heard the voice of his dear friend, clear as if the hero were standing right beside him. But that was impossible, of course; Volstagg has reluctantly made it so only a few days gone.

A dream, then — one that negated any chance of just returning to sleep. All he could see now when he shut his eyes was an image of the boy Loki, mourning the loss of his brother, his one and only friend in the world. Volstagg cursed himself for caring — and for being unable to forget the oath he had made to Thor, saying that he would look out for the child. He was pretty sure that oath was still binding, even with Thor gone.

Besides, as he had told Loki long ago, Volstagg had a soft spot for the little monsters known as children. If Volstagg and his wife were both to die, he would hope someone would take pity on his own progeny, show them comfort and compassion.

In the end, that was all that mattered: there was a lonely, grieving child out there, one who was unwelcome at any hearth. Well, Volstagg would change that. He grabbed a blanket, left a note for his wife explaining that he was going to check on Loki (for Thor's sake), and made his way through the night, to the stables of Thor's goats ....

But Loki wasn't there.

Volstagg tried looking by the World Tree, and by the place where Thor had fallen, and then random places around the ruins of Asgard, before moving on to Broxton. Not that he really felt he'd find Loki there: it was just that all that walking around had made him hungry. It was useful, owning a diner.

On the way out of Asgard, he stumbled — literally — across his dear friends Fandral and Hogun, who had fallen asleep outdoors around a now-extinguished fire ....

o==]======>

"If this is a wake-up call, there are kinder ways to go about it," Fandral complained, his voice muffled by Volstagg's fallen girth.

"So what are you doing, anyway?" Fandral asked once Volstagg managed to roll to his feet. "Did you think we were cold?" the Dashing added, pointing to the blanket Volstagg was gathering up.

"Uh .... yeah," Volstagg replied, his manner suggesting that such wasn't it at all. While the man told tall tales all the time, he was surprisingly terrible at dissemination. Fandral supposed Volstagg could use some lessons in lying from Loki!

Loki .... Suddenly Fandral had a pretty good idea of what the massive man was up to.

"Volstagg, it's okay if you want to help Loki. Thor would have wanted you — wanted all of us to."

"Best to keep an eye on vipers, in any case," Hogun mused.

Fandral had to admit that there was a small part of him that even wanted Thor to be right, to believe that Loki was truly good this time around. And if that was true, then the boy had to be lonely, scared, and grieving right now. How could they leave any child like that? And frankly, how could they expect Loki to behave any differently towards the people of Asgard if they weren't willing to do so towards him in turn?

"Well, I do not believe he is in Asgard," Volstagg revealed. "Perhaps he is in Broxton — mayhap even in our diner!"

"Sounds like as good a place as any to start looking," Hogun agreed.

In other words, it was getting close to dawn — and thus breakfast. Though he wasn't as hearty of an eater as Volstagg (was anyone?) or even Hogun, Fandral and his now-growling stomach couldn't argue with that.

Fandral supposed he should have questioned Volstagg further as they made their way, as it seemed there was more bothering the moving mountain of a man than the disappearance of a boy no one would miss, but Fandral's heart wasn't in it. He bore his own grief for their friend Thor, which eclipsed everything for the time being — as it should. It was bad enough that worry for Loki, of all beings, should infringe on their mourning! It was only for Thor's sake that they performed this quest even half-heartedly.

Happily, Loki himself brought their sort-of search to an abrupt halt — literally. They turned a corner on their way to the diner, and the child, coming from the other way, bounced soundly off of Volstagg's big belly, landing flat on his back.

Hesitating a moment, then feeling ashamed of that hesitation, for treating a child that way, Fandral reached out a hand to the boy. Staring at it uncertainly, Loki held a trembling hand of his own out and accepted it, letting Fandral help him to his feet. Minute tremors continued to afflict the small frame, which also swayed a bit. Fandral laid a hand on the boy's shoulder, to steady him. Was the child cold? Ill? Afraid? Whatever the cause, he seemed miserable. Was it even worth asking? Would Loki even tell them the truth? He wouldn't even meet their eyes....

Loki rubbed quickly at his face, and sniffled.

Realisation hit as hard as Thor's hammer: Loki really was grieving like the rest of them!

No, not Loki. Loki had tried to kill Thor — and the rest of them — more often than they could count! No, Loki was probably just upset that he hadn't gotten to do the deed himself, the little wretch, that the Serpent had beaten him to the punch. Fandral wiped his hand against his tunic, suddenly feeling filthy.

Loki seemed to notice the action out of the corner of his eye. It felt like the cloud of misery around the child got even more oppressive.

What if ... what if Fandral was wrong about the boy? Didn't he owe Thor, Champion of Asgard and one of his dearest friends, the benefit of the doubt? Sheouldn't he trust the late god's judgement?

"Come lad. We shall break our fast," Volstagg ordered, nudging the boy back the way Loki had come — and nearly knocking the child off his feet again in the process.

"Why are you out here, anyway?" Fandral asked, putting his arm around the child so that he could grab the youth by the tunic and keep him from falling anymore, if need be.

"I ... it does not matter," Loki replied.

"It does to me," Fandral insisted, squeezing the boy's shoulder in warning. If the boy was up to mischief, he would get it out of him.

"I have nightmares," Loki mumbled finally. "I walk so that I am too tired to dream, come morning."

Fandral wasn't sure what he was expecting, but that wasn't it. Moreover, it rang true, between the trembling, Loki's tired and morose demeanor, and, Fandral noted now, the dark circles under the child's eyes.

Except ... those eyes also looked red from crying, and there had been that sniffle ....

And Loki's lies had ever been the kind that was honey-covered words and sycophancy: method acting wasn't his style. Anytime Fandral could recall that Loki had ever been passionate, it had always been when his mask of lies had finally slipped.

Then again, this child was altogether an unknown quality; perhaps Loki was trying a new approach to lying?

Fandral ran a hand through his hair, sighing. It was altogether too early in the morning for philosophy.

"I know what will wake you up, boy!" Volstagg offered, slapping the child on the back, below Fandral's arm; Fandral kept Loki from taking a nosedive by keeping a grip on his hood. "Coffee! It is a delightful mortal drink!"

"I am well aware of it," Loki told him, patience clearly wearing thin. "I do not want to stay awake anymore, though — I'm finally tired enough that I want to sleep now!"

"Tough," Volstagg replied in a firm, fatherly tone, his usual silliness suddenly gone. "When was the last time you ate, lad?"

Loki ducked his head, mumbling,

"What was that?" Volstagg demanded.

"I'm not sure!" Loki snapped, voice croaking with fatigue.

"Take a guess."

"... Two days?"

"So you haven't eaten since I saw you last. In that case, unless you ate whilst we were separated before that point ...?"

Loki shook his head.

"Then try at least three days!"

Loki blinked in surprise. "Was it really that long?"

"Aye. I should know."

It was Fandral's turn to blink. Why should Volstagg know that? Had he been babysitting the child all this time?

"Well, it wasn't as though I was in a position to eat anything where—"

"Ah, here we are," Volstagg cut the boy off, pushing the diner door open for them and herding them all in. "You're certainly in a position to eat now, so no excuses!"

Fandral would have asked for an explanation of that cryptic conversation, but the waitress was there promptly, seating them in the corner. (Whether she meant to give them some privacy in that placement, Fandral wasn't sure, but he was grateful all the same.) She then asked what they wanted, and by the time Volstagg finished ordering, Fandral had forgotten what he was going to ask about.

Part of their order was already done by then, the cook apparently having been either eavesdropping or simply started cooking one of everything the moment Volstagg had walked in the door. After a glare from Volstagg, the green-faced Loki slowly forced himself to chew a bite of butter-and-syrup-laden pancake. (Well, the greenness might just have been a trick of the light, what with the boy's clothes ....) Just three bites later, Loki pushed his plate away.

"More than that, Loki," Volstagg patiently commanded.

"I cannot," Loki insisted quietly. "It hurts to swallow, and the food has no taste. And my stomach is in knots," he added, grimacing.

"Aww, we got the best pancakes this side of the Mason-Dixon, kid!" the waitress, coming back with more food, insisted as she laid dishes down in front of them.

Staring at it all, Loki looked even greener.

"He has a cold," Volstagg offered by way of explanation.

"Well, why didn'cha say so! What you need is some orange juice and somethin' spicy, clear those sinuses right up! I got just the thing...." Fandral let out a relieved sigh when the woman left, hoping the miracle food would take longer for her to procure than the other food had.

He turned his attention back to Loki. So was it grief that was robbing the child of appetite? Not that Loki had ever had much of an appetite to begin with, as Volstagg had pointed out not long after the boy's resurrection, but surely after three days without—

Wait a minute.

"Does this pain in your stomach have anything to do with why you haven't eaten in three days?" Fandral asked the question of Loki, but he was looking at Volstagg.

"Yes. I have not eaten because I have not felt well," Loki replied.

"Okay, I confess!" Volstagg wailed a split-second later.

Loki scowled at the mammoth man. "To what? Poisoning the last thing I ate? That's sort of a given with you as the cook, O Master of Scrambled Eggshells."

It was pretty obvious that Loki actually knew what Volstagg wanted to confess, and was trying to warn the warrior not to say anything. More evidence that this new Loki wasn't such a great liar? Or an act to convince then that he wasn't? Fandrall was getting a headache from trying to figure it out!

"Hush, boy! Do not interrupt your elders!" Volstagg chided Loki with surprising tolerance.

"I wouldn't, if they had something worthwhile to say!" Loki snapped back.

"Ah, but it is because I have something worthwhile to say that you interrupt me!"

Loki seemed ready to make another retort, but suddenly deflated back to his original, morose state. "Fine, it's your funeral." And then he looked stricken, obviously remembering that his brother's funeral was only yesterday. His eyes welled up with tears, which he tried valiantly to hold back but failed, and his lips began to tremble.

"Hey now, you will get salt on your pancakes, and then they will taste terrible!" Volstagg said gently, rubbing Loki's back much as Fandral had seen the man do when soothing his own children.

Fandral wondered if it could really be seen as comfort, though, considering the act apparently had caused a dam to break behind the boy's eyes. Warning bells went off in the swordmaster's head, telling him not to be fooled, but then Fandral realised they were just in his head: his gut told him that these tears were in no way crocodilian.

A sob escaped Loki's lips; he covered his mouth and scurried off to the restroom.

"Loki, come back!" Volstagg called after him; the warrior tried to follow, but he was stuck in the booth.

Before he knew it, Fandral found himself hurrying after the boy.

He found the child quietly worshipping the porcelain god, as he'd heard a human once say. His long-held belief that Loki was always and could never be anything but evil was steadily unravelling, fewer and fewer threads clinging to the possibility that this was Loki's most elaborate and convincing ruse yet.

Besides, what kind of man would Fandral be if he ignored the distress of a child?

Taking a page from Volstagg's book, Fandral rubbed Loki's back with a circular motion. "Yeah, I never thought the pancakes here were very good either."

Loki's face was a tear-streaked mess as he looked up, panting, seeming confused — and wary. Tears overcoming him, he buried his head in and arm, leaning against the toilet seat (causing Fandral to wince) and begged, as his breath hitched mercilessly, "Please, just ... leave me ... leave me be!" And then he began to sob in earnest, the sort of crying that left the afflicted feeling like their eyes were caving in, and barely able to breath.

Wincing again, Fandral sat on the floor. "Come here," he softly commanded, gently drawing the boy into his arms, trying not to think about the state of Loki's face (including the possibility of vomit and toilet-seat germs) as Loki sobbed into his doublet. He smoothed the child's hair with one hand, alternately patted and rubbed the boy's back, between the shoulders, with the other. He also rocked back and forth, saying, "There, there ... I miss him too. It's okay ...." Frankly, Fandral felt like crying himself — he'd counted Thor as something of a brother as well.

Loki's sobbing began to ease, but not the tension in his small frame. "What if not all my tears are for Thor? Is it still all right to cry? I don't want to be selfish ...."

"How do you mean?" Fandral asked, both puzzled and wary.

"I am ... frightened. The world hates me. The only one who ever loved me is gone; what will become of me, without him to stand between me and those that revile me? Without him around to encourage me to be good? I don't want to become the old me again, but how can you be good if no one believes you can, and will instead only believe the worst of you? After what I have done, I am not certain myself that I can be good. Are you still good if you do something horrible for the right reasons?"

Fandral felt a chill go down his spine even as he felt pity for the boy's obvious anguish. Volstagg came in noisily, but Fandral ignored him. "I guess it depends .... What ... what did you do?" he asked Loki.

"I helped him kill Thor!" Volstagg wailed, apparently picking up the conversation with his confession.

Fandral lifted his hands away from the child, feeling soiled. "What do you mean?" he asked both parties with icy calm.

Volstagg tried, but couldn't seem to get the words out. "Tell him, Loki," he finally managed.

And though it was difficult, his breath still hitching from his tears, Loki did. He told of how, after Odin had declared that he would raze Midgard in order to stop the Serpent, Loki had started having new nightmares mixed into the old, dreams that showed him death everywhere. He'd gone to the World Tree to learn how to stop the Serpent and save Midgard. What the tree told him was the prophecy Odin already knew, the one that said his son was the only one who could stop the evil of the Serpent — and that he would die in the process. Loki had also learned something that Odin apparently had not known: that the prophecy could not be fulfilled without the interference of another of his sons. The tree told Loki what to do, making it clear that everyone, Thor included, would die if Loki failed. Therefore Thor was doomed no matter what: the best he could hope for was a death with meaning, a death that would prevent the deaths of so many others.

Since Loki couldn't save his brother, he'd done what he'd thought was the next best thing: helped him meet his destiny with success.

Loki went on to tell how he'd gathered his army; there was no bragging in this, but Fandral was awed all the same. He thought Thor might be proud of the child's bravery, though dismayed at his actions. Fandral wasn't too pleased about them himself, but he supposed if the alternative was the loss of everyone in Midgard and the lives of countless Asgardians, either as the fallen or the enslaved, Asgard had not left Loki much of a choice, since none of them would have aided the child — save, it seems, Volstagg, as Loki next revealed the man's involvement.

When the story was done, ended with Loki's witnessing of the fall of his beloved brother, Fandral felt a sudden coolness on each side of his face, and found tears drying on them. He was astonished to realise the tears were for Loki as much as for Thor.

"It's not selfish of you to cry for yourself, Loki," Hogun, who had silently entered the room at some unknown point, told the boy, laying a hand on his small shoulder. "Even then, you honour Thor, by being afraid of a world without him."

"But you need not fear," Fandral added. "We took an oath to protect you, and we will continue to honour it, as our way of honouring Thor."

Hogun grunted and nodded.

"You are not angry with me for helping Loki?" Volstagg asked in a voice even smaller than the child's.

"Only for not letting us in on it, so that we could help," Hogun grinned, slapping the man on the back. (Or possibly the posterior, given their height difference.)

"Remember, Thor once released Surtur and his army so that, during Ragnarok, if we had to die, we could all do it nobly; you were only helping Loki to return the favour to Thor," Fandral reasoned. "If we were to villify you and Loki for it, then we would have to do the same of Thor."

"So if it was the right thing for us to do, why do I feel guilty?" Loki asked.

Fandral shrugged. "Because a good person would? Because you feel like there must have been some way to save Thor altogether and are angry with yourself because you didn't find it?"

"... I do feel like that, but... there was none. It is not rational to feel this way, then — so shouldn't I stop?" Loki asked. "Is it not frowned upon to be irrational?"

"Sometimes, but not in this situation. It is noble that you feel as you do despite ration. It makes you more likable," Fandral told him, ruffling his hair fondly. He wasn't sure when his heart had softened towards the child, but in honour of Thor, he wasn't going to question it. Thor had gifted Loki with a clean slate, and it was well past time they all let the child actually use it, unhindered. Fandral was beginning to suspect that they would all be richer for it, seeing as the boy had arguably saved Asgard twice now.

"We have a long day of rebuilding ahead; what say we finish breakfast and then get you to Volstagg's place for a nap?"

Loki nodded grimly. More tears fell, but he quickly wiped them away. "They won't stop," apologised, staring at his damp fingers.

Fandral grabbed a paper towel, wetting it, and gently scrubbed the youth's face. "It is fine, Loki. You cry all you want — I would be a lot more worried if you didn't. Besides, humanity looks good on you."

Volstagg had grabbed another paper towel, and was now noisily blowing into it. It sounded not unlike a great big hunting horn, and made them all laugh. Fandral was surprised again, this time by how much Loki's genuine smile and bright laughter, however (understandably) fleeting, cheered Fandral in turn.

As they made their way out of the restroom, their merriment was a cloud abruptly burst.

"Well there goes my appetite," muttered a man newly-seated at a table while the Asgardians had been away from theirs.

One of the man's companions turned and scowled. "What've they got ta cry about? We're the ones suffering because of them!"

"We mourn for my brother, who died to save you worthless, ungrateful sons of trolls!" Loki spat. "If I could trade you for him right now, I wouldn't hesitate, even though he, with his good heart, would hate me for it! The likes of your lives are a waste of his precious gift!"

"What'd you say, brat?" the first man asked, getting to his feet. He towered over the child. "I'm not in the habit of smackin' kids, but you're coming awfully close to temptin' me. You lost a brother? Well, my sister, who wouldn't hurt a fly, is dead because of you people! And so is his son," he added, pointing to one of his companions, "and his mother." He pointed to the second man who had spoken. The current speaker's eyes glittered with his own grief. "Seems to me the loss of your brother for the troubles you've brought down on us is a small price to pay!"

"We did not bring the Serpent here!" Loki  snapped. "Pin the Serpent's actions on the Serpent — we were victims as much as you were!"

Fandral laid a hand on Loki's shoulder. "Loki, quiet down. They are not bad men; they are just grieving, like we." And they had to be fairly brave, talking like that with the Warriors Three in their midst!

Loki pulled away. "No! They are laying the woes of the world at the feet of the one who died to save them! That is wrong!"

The tears that rained down Loki's face now were doubtless ones of rage, but Fandral suspected there was still fear and grief in them. He also had a suspicion as to what this was all about: Loki was seeing Thor as being treated as Loki had been treated, as a villain despite the good he had done. If a hero like Thor could still be seen as a villain, what hope had Loki? Ironic, then, that Fandral believed more than ever that this was no act — that young Loki really did love his brother and want to do good.

"That's enough, Henry," came a voice from behind them.

It was Donald Blake, Thor's (former) human host.

The man limped over to Loki's side. "Fandral's right: I promise that Henry and his friends are really good people, Loki, once you get to know them. They only have the perspective the media's given them, and rumours, on who the Asgardians are and what's been happening. It doesn't make it right for them to speak to you that way, no, but it's still natural and understandable that they would come to the conclusions they have."

Loki hung his head and nodded. Blake cupped the boy's cheek fondly and brushed a tear away with his thumb. "He really loved you, you know," he added quietly, offering a sympathetic smile, one Loki returned as best he could manage, though the grief tears began anew.  Blake drew the child into a one-armed hug, and Loki buried his face against the man's shirt, silently weeping with shaking shoulders.

Still holding Loki, Blake then turned his attention to the human men. "Still, you ought to know better than anyone, Henry, how wrong it is to lump people together and blame them all for the crimes of one, especially when you're doing so just because they a share heritage with that criminal. The Asgardians are no more to blame for the actions of that Serpent guy than you are for the murders committed by that drug-runner you were mistaken for a while back. The Asgardians, too, are distinct individuals. It wasn't Thor's fault that your loved ones were killed, but it sure as hell was his bravery that kept any more people from dying!"

Henry held his hands up, placatingly. "All right, man, you made your point. Sorry, for your loss, kid."

"And I for yours," Loki replied, having regained some measure of composure and holding out a hand. "And for the things I said."

Looking bemused even as his own eyes threatened tears, Henry shook the boy's hand.

"Maybe you should all get to know each other better? Share stories of your lost loved ones?" Blake suggested.

Hesitating for a moment, Henry and his companions agreed. They put the men's table against the booth, added a two-seater as well, and seated Volstagg at the end (so he wouldn't get stuck again). They swapped stories, with Loki just listening (understandable, since he'd forgotten most of his own history; for the first time, Fandral considered how awful that must be). At Volstagg's insistence, the boy tried to eat more, managing to get half the pancake stack and a couple of sausage links down before pushing the plate away and resting his head in his arms. The tension slowly left his shoulders, his breathing deepening as he drifted off into the exhausted sleep of the grief-stricken. On impulse, Fandral reached over the table and ruffled the boy's hair. He saw a faint smile pass the boy's lips, and wondered if the youth dreamt that it was Thor's hand that mussed his black mane. He caught Blake granting him a bemused smile and gave the man a chagrined one in exchange.

The humans, save for Blake, finished their meal and departed on friendly terms. Volstagg finally finished eating around the same time Blake did and, with Blake's help, carefully wrapped the sleeping Loki in the blanket he'd brought. Since Blake's clinic was on their way, the Warriors insisted on escorting him, Volstagg carrying Loki.

Near the clinic, the boy woke with a start, his brother's name on his lips. He caught sight of Blake and blurted out, "Can I wish him back? Like how he wished for me?"

"I honestly don't know," Blake admitted. "As I understood it, you Asgardians were supposed to die permanent deaths, now that the Ragnarock cycle is broken, so I don't really understand how he was even able to bring you back at all."

Loki pursed his lips. "My old self apparently got himself written out of the Book of the Dead. Perhaps I can broker an agreement with Hela for Thor!"

"But Thor is doubtless in Valhalla now!" Volstagg pointed out gently, his voice a rumble even as he spoke so quietly. "As much as we miss him, it would be selfish of us to rip him from there, even if we could, would it not?"

"Oh," Loki replied, falling back against Volstagg, crestfallen. "You are right; I would not see him taken from such joy. And since the likes of me will never find my way there, I ... I guess I shall never see him again."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that," Blake said. "Just be as good as he believed you could be, given a chance, and I'm sure you will have many adventures to tell Thor when you get there."

"You truly believe I could achieve entrance to Valhalla?" Loki asked the man, hopefull.

"I well and truly do," Blake assured the child.

Loki nodded, satisfied and determined. "It will be a lonely road, but the happiest of reunions," Loki mused, brightening.

"Not so lonely — you have us," Fandral reminded him.

Loki smiled, looking truly cheered. "Let us all see Thor again in Valhalla together, someday!" he said, yawning and drifting off to sleep again.

~(V)~

"Hello, my love," Volstagg's wife, Hildegund, greeted him as he came through the door. She was about to throw her arms around him when she realised he was carrying something — or rather, someone.

"Oh, the poor boy," Hilde tsked as Volstagg set the boy down in a chair by the fire.

"Who is that, Father?" one of Volstagg's daughters asked.

"Why, can't you tell, Gudrun?" Volstagg asked.

She shook her head, braids swaying.

"Well, he's—"

"Your newest brother, Lock," Hilde finished.

Volstagg looked at his wife, full of no little awe and admiration that she would so readily take the boy —this child, of all children — in. "You are certain of this?"

She nodded, smiling and kissing her husband on the cheek. "Aren't you?"

After a slight pause, Volstagg nodded, smiling back. "I am."

~FINIS~