Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1931361.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Thor_-_All_Media_Types
  Relationship:
      Loki/Thor
  Character:
      Loki_(Marvel), Thor_(Marvel), Odin_(Marvel), Laufey_(Marvel), Farbauti_
      (Marvel), Original_Characters
  Additional Tags:
      History, Kidnapping, Slavery, Post-Traumatic_Stress_Disorder_-_PTSD,
      Stockholm_Syndrome, Recovery, non-graphic_animal_death, Child_Abuse, Slow
      Burn, Torture, Character_Death, Human_Sacrifice
  Series:
      Part 1 of Manacles
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-07-10 Completed: 2014-09-19 Chapters: 37/37 Words: 59953
****** Mind-Forg'd Manacles ******
by needleyecandy
Summary
     The Roman Republic demands new lands, and the army, led by Caesar, is
     eager for glory. It is customary for them to take slaves from newly
     conquered peoples, which is how Loki, a Celt, and Thor, a German,
     find themselves torn away from everything they've known and loved.
     As slaves of Rome, the two boys respond to their captivity in
     strikingly different ways. As free men, their old ways of surviving
     become fetters.
     When they find each other, freedom finally begins.
Notes
     The first part of this work is very dark. The rape and most of the
     abuse happens when the kids are seven and eight. It's not graphic,
     but still. Same with the animal death.
     I used current writings on PTSD and Stockholm Syndrome when
     developing my characters, so while I think it's inaccurate to use
     modern and Western diagnostic terms for people from other times and
     cultures, I tagged them as trigger warnings.
     The second work in this series is a reference for this work, with
     things like character list, tribe names, etc. Information that is
     crucial to understanding a chapter will be in that chapter's notes.
      
     Chapter 1 notes- Different characters use different names for the
     same groups of people in this chapter. The Romans called all the
     tribes of Northern Britain "Caledonians." These tribes recognized
     their relationship and had some level of group identity, and while
     there are guesses on what they called themselves, no one has a sure
     answer. I chose to use "Pritani," to emphasize their connection with
     the "Britani" who live in the south. Loki is a member of the Taexali,
     one of the Pritani tribes.
***** First Sight *****
The Roman army mustered at first light. Loki had spent the night on the hill,
watching their camp for signs of movement betrayed by the faint light of the
moon, bracing himself for what he knew was to come. He knew there was no hope
of sleep for him, not with them so close and this sick knot in his stomach at
the very thought of them, so he had ordered the usual sentries to bed and taken
their place. As the Romans began to stir, he sent a summons to the Taexali
warriors to prepare themselves.
Aurelius took his place the right of Marius, preparing to lead one century of
the assembling company, while Thracius was at the head of the other. He looked
over the Caledonian warriors assembling at the foot of their hill-fort. They
were strange, tall men who wore no armor, not even leather; nothing at all, in
fact, but for the strange designs that covered their skins in dark blue. He
heard some of the soldiers behind him muttering uneasily at the thought of
doing battle with such men, finding their confidence worrisome. He had no such
misgivings; he was eager for the coming fight, eager to prove the superiority
of the Empire.
 “Aurelius, look,” Marius jostled his arm and gestured to the top of the hill.
 An even stranger figure stood there, a man dressed only in a slight twist of
cloth around his hips. His skin was covered even more heavily with the blue
designs than was the skin of the warriors, and his neck and wrists laden with
iron. Unlike the rest of the Caledonians, he had black hair, and his skin
looked like it rarely saw the sun. His eyes, from this distance, were black
smears.
 “He must be one of the magicians Caesar wrote of,” Aurelius said. “The ones
who do their sacrifices.”
 “That would explain why he is not fighting,” Marius answered. They would have
spoken more, but with a shout from the barbarians, the battle began.
When the Romans began to march, the Taexali were ready. Loki somehow held
himself together as he looked over the close-shorn heads and the uniform
clothing, heard the shouting in Latin. He promised himself that once this was
over, he could go be sick. Just get through this. We will win, we will be all
right, just get through this. Breathe, think about breathing and your work. Not
them.
The Romans were quickly flanked by rows of light chariots that charged past
them on both sides, well-trained horses needing little guidance as the
charioteers hurled spear after spear with deadly grace. Faced with spears
falling upon them from both left and right, the Romans held their formation,
but their shields proved to be of limited utility.
By the time Deglan ordered the warriors forwards, they had a much smaller force
to deal with, and the Romans’ movements were hampered by the bodies of their
fallen compatriots. Loki watched as the close combat began, weaving his prayers
and magic to send aid where it would be most useful, forcing his breath to stay
slow and even. It helped that many of the Romans, for all their vaunted
military might and their arrogance, had already fallen.
 The Caledonians began their attack with chariots; Aurelius would have been
embarrassed to be seen fighting in such an outdated mode, though he had to
reluctantly admit that they were more effective than he would have guessed. It
had been difficult to move large numbers of infantry over the uneven ground and
through the forest, so Valerius had sent just one company, expecting a hundred
and twenty soldiers to be more than sufficient to test this tribe’s defenses.
Yet perhaps a third had fallen to the charioteer’s spears, he saw, as he
glanced quickly back at the troops behind him. It was difficult to admit that
the barbarians who stood poised before them, wearing nothing but their strange
tattoos, could find any success against the Roman army. But then they were
charging, and Aurelius’ thoughts were consumed by the joy of battle.
Most of the company were dark-haired and olive-skinned, native Romans, but
there were a significant number of fair Gauls, so similar to Loki’s own tribe,
mixed in. He wondered how they could bear it, to be forced to fight in the
service of the Republic that had conquered them. His heart went out to them,
even as he said his prayers and worked his magic towards their defeat. He would
have preferred to see them freed, but with things as they were, the best he
could do for them was work for their deaths, loosing their spirits to find new
bodies, better lives.
His attention was distracted, though, when his eyes fixed on a soldier at the
front, fighting at the side of the centurion on the left. He was fair, like the
Gauls, but the resemblance ended there. Where their blond hair was pale, this
man’s was golden, and unlike their lean builds, his massive body rippled with
muscles. Another subject tribe, no doubt. A slave. The man had looked huge,
almost ungainly, when he stood still, but now, in battle, he was fluid and
graceful.
When it was his turn to cycle to the back of the company to rest and catch his
breath, Aurelius found his attention drawn to the magician on the hill. His
hands were moving constantly, and as the sun rose higher, lighting his face,
the movement of his lips could be seen as well. His eyes were still in shadow
except for a few moments when he turned his head slightly and they glittered
from within their hollows. He was utterly foreign, magnetic, and much as
Aurelius wanted to sneer, he could not help his fascination.
Loki watched as the giant slave stared at him.  It made sense, he supposed; he
must be as new and strange to the slave as the slave was to him. He had worked
with Lugha on ways to take the best advantage of his looks; how to play light
and shadow across his face to make him appear otherworldly, to better
intimidate whatever enemies might be fighting below him. One more way for him
to support the Taexali warriors.
The fighting raged for nearly an hour. For the small sizes of the opposing
forces, it was a long battle; Aurelius had time to move to the back to rest,
and cycle forward once again, before Marius gave the order to fall back. And
that itself was completely unexpected. Every Roman warrior that morning had
taken arms in complete belief that they would destroy their opponents easily.
The Caledonians let them retreat; their own forces were smaller, and their
warriors had had to fight nonstop.
As the Romans retreated, they took with them only those fallen soldiers whose
wounds looked minor enough to be worth the treating; Thracius had fallen,
leaving Marius in sole command for the first time in his career, and he was
unwilling to risk a slow retreat. It was already shameful to be brought so low
by the Caledonians; a rear ambush after their enemies had caught their breath
would be unbearable.
*****
If you had told either of them that day, the soldier or the Druid, that they
shared more things in common than few men ever did, they would have laughed at
you. But that laughter would be only the last and smallest thing they shared.
 
 
***** The Fall of the Sicabri *****
Chapter Summary
     What Rome wants, Rome takes.
Chapter Notes
     I forgot to note yesterday that the title is from William Blake.
Twenty-eight years before this battle, almost to the day, two women went into
labor. One was in a hut near the banks of the Rhine; the other was in a
roundhouse deep in the forest of northern Britain. Both were members of free
tribes, their territories perhaps desired by Rome, but not yet under threat.
They were both clever and resourceful, well capable of running both home and
farm when their husbands were away. If they had lived near each other, they
likely would have been friends.
Until the day when Frigga died in childbirth, and Farbauti lived.
*****
Odin loved all his children, but he wanted something special for Thor. His
beloved wife had died bringing the boy into the world, and he felt such a
sacrifice merited a special fate for the one for whom it was made. He worked
harder, and fought harder, to gain more land for his children. In most
families, the oldest boy would inherit his father’s land, and the younger sons
would have to make their way in the world. Odin was determined to gain enough
for Baldr and Thor to share equally. Other members of the tribe secretly
laughed, but never to Odin’s face; they knew well how much he had loved Frigga,
and if this was his way of dealing with the loss, well, it was better than
some.
 It meant Odin was rarely home, and Thor’s rearing became a matter taken on by
a widow whom Odin took into his care after her husband was drowned. The
arrangement got some looks by other members of the tribe, but the times when
Odin was home, he merely sat with Wealhþeow as they shared beer and stories of
their lost loved ones. They made Frigga come alive for Thor, these story-filled
evenings, and he grew to love her as he loved Wealhþeow.
*****
Loki was Farbauti’s first child, and when she saw he was a runt she wept. He
had no hope of being chosen king after his father, not with this small body.
She dreaded showing him to Laufey, dreaded his reaction to her failure. But
Laufey was warm to the boy, holding him carefully and smiling down at him. Loki
could not be king, but he could be trained as a filid, a scholar, learned in
poetry and law. In many ways, the fili were as important as the king, and their
lives tended to be much safer.
 When Loki was four, he was put into fosterage with Farbauti’s brother; it was
uncommon to foster a child to so close a family member, but his small size made
his parents protective. Ruadri was a warrior, not a scholar, but his roundhouse
was near enough to Laufey’s hill-fort that Loki could easily be taken there to
study daily with Vuuno, the court filid. He began with short, easily learned
poems, before moving on to epics. Once he knew all the most important poems, he
would begin the study of law.
*****
Twenty-one years before this battle, in the year the boys turned seven, the
Roman general Caesar attacked both their lands. First he built a bridge across
the Rhine, intent on making Germania Major a territory of the Roman Republic.
The Sicambri had little warning that an attack was looming; one minute life in
the main village was going as it always had, the next moment a rider on a
sweating horse charged down the road, yelling that the Romans were shortly
behind him. Wealhþeow had been visiting a friend, commiserating with her over
the discomforts of pregnancy in such heat. Fortunately, Helga’s husband was at
home, so she could leave immediately. He would take care of Helga; she had her
own charges.
Thor and Baldr were near the hut, splashing noisily in the stream and trying to
dunk each other when Wealhþeow came running up. “Come,” she shouted at them as
she ran into the house. They looked at each other, uncertain, before climbing
out to follow her. As they entered the door they saw her leaning forward,
speaking urgently in their father’s ear.
Odin rose and began to don his armor as Wealhþeow hurriedly dried and dressed
the boys, shushing their questions. Their father finished first, and he knelt
by them as their shoes were tugged on.
“You must be brave, my sons, and obey Wealhþeow without question. Can you do
that for me?”
They nodded, their eyes wide with alarm.
“My good boys.” Odin’s voice caught as he pulled them both against his chest.
“No matter what happens today, remember that I love you, and I am so proud of
you both.” He kissed the tops of their heads and was gone.
Wealhþeow tucked a small knife into the belt of her apron and took each of them
by the hand, leading them away from the hut, deep into the forest. They huddled
together, the boys nestled against her soft sides. Thor tried to hide his
crying, to be as quiet as Baldr, but it was too much, he was too scared, and a
few small sobs broke out.
He silenced as they heard the distant clank of metal, the shouts of men. They
had no idea how long the noises lasted, but finally the forest was again full
of nothing but its own noises. Wealhþeow rubbed their feet and legs awake and
stood them up. They walked back to the village. It had not been burned, which
was a good sign.
Other women and children were also making their way back from the forest,
staring around at each other, wondering what had happened. Then the men
returned, some of them striding tall and confident, others wounded, limping or
dripping blood behind them. And some didn’t come at all. When the king
returned, Baldr managed to catch his eye. He shook his head. No.
Thor wanted to break free, to run to the battlefield and find his father, make
him sit up, make him say it was all a game. Just playing pretend, son. Odin
liked to play with his sons. But Wealhþeow wouldn’t let go of his arm. She
pulled at him, and her voice was dim over the rushing in his ears.
“Come, Thor. Maelo is summoning all the tribe, we must go to the meeting hall.
I promise, we will go find your father afterwards, make sure he has a proper
funeral.”
A funeral. Not a game, at all. He stopped fighting and submitted dully. Odin
had never particularly liked this king, and told his sons many stories of the
better kings he had known in his younger days. His sons had taken on his
dislike, but they still had to follow orders. Especially now. Now that they
were orphans. He fought back his tears as he trudged inside.
Maelo sat in his carved chair upon the dais, watching as the room filled with
people. He did not look very tired for a man who had supposedly been fighting
for so long, Thor thought.
Finally the king spoke. “My people,” he began, “I am pleased to tell you that I
have negotiated a permanent peace treaty with Rome, one which will protect all
Sicambri now and in the future. Today’s battle was the only one we will have to
fight.”
There were murmurs among the crowd. Some people were pleased, but most wanted
to fight, to take revenge on the Romans for the deaths they had brought. The
king raised his voice and continued.
“Instead, we will send them an annual tribute. This will save us lives, and
even save us work and valuables as we will not be needing to constantly forge
more weaponry.”
A tribute. That was a heavy weight, indeed. Even if Maelo were right, that when
looked at coldly this tribute might be in the Sicambri’s best interest, they
were not a cold people. They were hot, and their blood burned for vengeance and
freedom. Yet the king was powerful, and no one dared fight him.
“What is the tribute to be?” shouted a voice from the back of the room.
“Ah, that. Goldwork, mainly. Our reputation as goldworkers is known throughout
Europe, and it seems it has become desirable. And just once, Caesar demands a
tribute of slaves be sent to Rome, to the city itself.”
At that, there was an uproar. Slave Sicambri!It was unimaginable.
Maelo shouted them down. “Because they have killed our men, it will be Rome’s
job to care for their orphans. It is only right that they assume this burden.”
Baldr and Thor looked at each other, Baldr grasping the meaning first. He
watched Thor’s face crack in anguish as realization washed over him. They were
to be made slaves in Rome.
“You just want our father’s lands!” Thor shouted. Until this second it had been
terrifying to defy the king so. No longer.  What worse could Maelo do to him
than had already been decided?
Maelo answered smoothly. “Those lands that are untenanted will return to the
crown, yes. This is what our custom has always been.”
There were more angry shouts at that, but no one seemed quite willing to risk
their lives fighting the king, not when their own children did not face
slavery. Only Wealhþeow spoke up, her voice shaky.
“For mercy’s sake, let them at least give their fathers’ the proper burials
first. They deserve that much.”
Maelo gazed at her coolly. “Caesar has a wagon train of goods returning to Rome
in the morning. The children will be on it. He waits for them now.”
Thor’s jaw dropped. To not even be allowed to bury their father. It was
unconscionable, against all tenets of their beliefs. Rough hands, those of
Maelo’s guards, took the boys by the arms and began to drag them away.
“I’ll do it,” Wealhþeow called after them, held back by the people standing
near her. “I promise, Odin will be buried as he should.”
That knowledge was suddenly the only good thing in their lives, and they held
on to it desperately. They cried together, the first night, until the Romans
beat them for making noise. Silence was their first lesson. More lessons
followed, worse ones.
 
 
 
***** The Pritani Agree *****
Chapter Summary
     The northern kings meet to discuss their response to Caesar.
While Thor and Baldr were on their way to Rome, Caesar and his troops were
travelling westward through Gaul, intent on crossing the Channel and taking
Britain. The summer was dying, though, and the water was rougher than they
expected, as were the Keltoi who met them. In the end, they conquered little
more than a beach in Kent before retreating for the winter. Word reached
throughout the island, and it was generally agreed that the Romans would be
back. The island divided into two groups: those who wanted to pay tribute in
return for keeping relative independence, and those who preferred resistance.
Laufey, and all the tribes of the Pritani, fell into the latter group. He sent
messengers to the other kings, inviting them to a peaceful council to discuss
how they wanted to approach the matter. He was glad when all four agreed to
gather. They met at the shrine on the western shore of Inchunagan, as near to
the meeting point of their territories as could be found.
When Laufey arrived with his advisors, he found Ricati, the over-king of the
Caledonii, already waiting. He assured Laufey that he had the right to speak
for the kings of each of their tribes; it seemed strange to Laufey that a king
might himself have a king, but the ways of the Caledonii were rather different,
so he decided to simply accept it without understanding. The next morning,
Drest of the Cavetii and Pidarnoin of the Venicones arrived, with Talorc, the
Epidii king, meeting them near dusk.
By the time Talorc arrived, the others had been drinking all day, and he
grinned as he rode up to them, welcome by boisterous cheering.
“So these are the great warrior kings I am to ally with?” he asked, chuckling,
as he swung down from his horse.
“You’ll ally all the sooner when you’ve gotten some of this beer into you,”
Laufey said. “Ricati brought it, as a gift from the Caerini, and it truly is
fit for kings.”
An aide handed a large cup to Talorc, and he took a deep swig. Though the day
was beginning to cool, it had been a hot ride, and he was well ready for a
drink. “A fine gift it is,” he agreed, wiping the foam from his lips. “Remind
me to send to the Caerini when my son is ready to marry.”
Laufey was grateful that everyone seemed to be getting on so well. He had met
Pidarnoin before, and Ricati and Drest were second cousins, but most of them
were meeting for the first time. They drank and chatted easily for a few more
hours before retiring to the tents their aides had assembled for them.
In the morning, before they began their war council, they went to the shrine to
leave offerings. The other kings watched Laufey and Pidarnoin with interest.
“What are you offering?” Drest asked curiously, laying down a branch of
mistletoe on the altar.
Laufey had walked past them to the shore, about to toss his offering into the
lake. He held it up for them to see; it was an iron torc, the ends decorated
with spirals feeding into spirals. They took a moment to admire the
worksmanship before he whispered a prayer and threw it into the water.
Pidarnoin followed with a pair of similarly decorated arm cuffs.
Devotions completed, they moved to the meeting area that had been hurriedly set
up by Laufey’s people and began their discussions.
“As you know, I have requested this council to discuss Pritani involvement in
the fight against the Romans. There can be little doubt that they will return
next year when the weather improves. I have received word that Cassivellaunus,
of the Catuvellauni, is becoming the leader of the southern resistance, and I
propose that we send a troop of warriors to assist them,” Laufey began.
“I do not doubt that Caesar will return, but what is the need for our
involvement? Has any of us ever been so far south?” Talorc asked.
The others shook their heads no, but Drest answered before Laufey could speak.
“Just because we have never been so far south, does not mean that Caesar will
not come so far north, if given a chance. He wants only a foothold in Britain
before he fights to take everything. I agree with Laufey; better to stop him
ever taking land anywhere on our island.”
Ricati nodded. “We have all heard of his treatment of our cousins in Gaul, and
I do not wish to see such a thing happen here.”
“And what say you, Pidarnoin?” Laufey asked.
He thought a moment. “There was a sickness, two winters ago, that killed many
of our warriors. There are few enough left that I do not wish to order any into
battle, but any of them who wish to join you will go with my permission and
blessing.”
It was a fair offer, and the others indicated their thanks. “And you, Talorc?”
Drest asked.
He shook his head. “I do not feel I can commit my warriors to a battle that I
do not believe we need fight. However, I give my permission for your warriors
to cross safely through my lands, as long as they themselves behave
peacefully.”
“You have our heartfelt thanks for that,” Drest said. The Epidii controlled the
narrowest point of the island, and the safe passage meant they would not need
boats as they made their way southward.
“So which of us is to lead the warriors?” Ricati asked.
“It should be Laufey,” said Drest. “He is young and eager for glory.” His voice
was friendly and teasing, but the words were true. Every young king was eager
to make a name for himself.
 “I thank you, my friend. It will be the greatest honor of my life to lead the
united Pritani into war.”
“I propose a peace treaty among Laufey and each of our peoples, while he is
away. We are not always such good friends as we are today,” Pidarnoin said,
“and he should not have to fear for his people or lands at a time when he is
fighting for us.”
“It is a good thought,” Talorc answered. “I agree.”
“And I,” said Ricati.
“And I,” said Drest.
Laufey smiled at them all. “And I promise that those of my warriors who remain
behind shall make no aggressive act against any of your people, in return.”
“When do you propose to go south?”
“After Imbolg, I think. If Brighde visits, we should be at home, that we may
return to new children,” he said, grinning at their knowing looks. It was well
known that on her festival, the fertility goddess sometimes visited those homes
where she was welcomed, and no one wishing for children would ever consider
being away that night. “I will meet them here, at this shrine, one week later.”
Everyone agreed, and then it was time for them to reluctantly take their leave.
Their tribes might be related, but it was rare that they met with such
equanimity, and no one wished to be the first to go. Perhaps if Caesar meant
the beginning of harmony among the Pritani, he was not <all> bad, thought
Laufey. He was the last to leave, as the tents and furniture were his, and it
took his aides time to pack everything up.
When he finally got home and told Farbauti, her eyes shone with pride. She,
too, was young and longed for glory, and Laufey leading this troop of warriors
reflected on her, as well. When Loki found out, he begged Ruadri to take him
along.
“You’re going, and father is going,” he said, “and so is Vuuno. My family and
my teacher will be together, should I remain behind?”
“It will be dangerous,” said Ruadri, “and you are young yet.”
“I’m nearly eight,” he argued.
In the end, it was agreed he would go. It would do him good to see more of the
world than their own piece of forest. But first they had to survive the winter.
 
***** Becoming Aurelius *****
It took months for the wagon train with with the Sicambri orphans to reach
Rome; the city was an impressive sight, even from their miserable position, but
they didn’t get to see much of it. Instead they were taken straight to a slave
auction. The children were shoved roughly into an animal pen. “We’ll try to
stay together, Thor,” Baldr told him as they clung together.
They tried to hold on to one another when a man came and grabbed Thor’s arm,
but another man came and pulled at Baldr until their hands slipped apart, and
Thor was taken away, still screaming his brother’s name when he was put up on
the dais. Several men came up to look at him, feeling his arms, pulling his
mouth open to look at his teeth. Then they moved away and they started talking
and yelling, until finally the man running the auction pointed to one of them,
and he came and took Thor’s hand to lead him away.
Thor fought, trying to run back to find his brother, but the man held his hand
firmly and Thor had to chose between walking or being dragged. He chose to
walk. He was still a Sicambri, still proud, and he would not be seen being
dragged through the streets like a sack. He promised himself, as he walked,
that he might one day see Baldr again. He knew deep within himself that it
wasn’t true, but it helped. They went only a little way before the man lifted
him into a wagon.
After they were away from the auction, the man spoke to him, smiling. His voice
was kind, at least. They went through a confusing maze of streets - surely all
of Rome wasn’t like this, the man must be trying to make sure he couldn’t go
back to find Baldr - and stopped in front of one of the buildings. The man
jumped out and motioned to Thor to stay where he was. He wasn’t entirely sure
why he obeyed, but the man certainly seemed to be the kindest Roman he had met,
so he decided to stay where he was.
The man came back a few moments later with a piece of food and gave it to Thor.
He bit into it reluctantly, to find that it was something vaguely like the
bread he had been fed upon for the past months, but where that was brown and
rough, this was soft and white. There was a drizzle of honey on top, the first
sweet thing he had eaten since being taken from home.
While he ate, the man began pointing at things and saying words, then gesturing
to Thor. After a moment he realized he was supposed to repeat them.
“Horse,” the man said, pointing before them.
“Horse,” said Thor.
“Cake,” said the man, pointing at his food.
“Cake,” Thor said.
“Master,” said the man, gesturing at himself.
“Master.”
Then the man pointed at Thor and raised his eyebrows in question.
“Thor.”
“Thor,” said Master.
Master let Thor eat the whole cake.
When they arrived at the domus and went inside, it took Thor’s breath away. The
floors of the atrium were glowing marble, and the walls were covered in bright
frescos. The center of the room had a statue to which Master made a respectful
gesture before leading Thor into a smaller room to one side. He left him in the
care of an older man who gave him food and bedding, and left him alone. It was
only the second time Thor cried since being taken from his home. Being here, in
a new and settled place, made him feel more fully how lost he was from
everything he had known. He remembered his lessons, though, and cried quietly.
He didn’t want to make them have to beat him.
 His new home proved to not be as settled as he thought; he was put to work
immediately the next day, packing things into boxes, and the day after that,
the whole household was in wagons, heading to a villa in the countryside. A
villa which put the domus in Rome to shame, Thor thought, as he gaped around
him. He barely had a chance to stare around before he was being put back to
work, though. He helped carrying boxes inside until Traianus took his arm and
led him away, into a small room off the atrium.
 A boy about Thor’s age was there, sitting next to an older man, both of them
hunched over a book. “Marius,” Master said, and the boy looked up, then
approached them. They spoke in words Thor didn’t know, and the boy kept
glancing at him curiously as they talked. Finally, the boy smiled happily and
took Thor’s hand. He led him to another room where several people were working
hurriedly, chopping things and stirring pots. Marius said something to the
older woman who seemed in charge, then nodded at Thor and left.
 The room was dark and smoky, but it smelled good, and the woman smiled at him
kindly as she gave him a knife and a pile of carrots. This quickly became
Thor’s life; he spent his nights sleeping on the floor outside Marius’ bedroom,
and his days cutting vegetables and kneading bread dough. It was dull, but no
one hurt him, and he was fed well enough. After the months in the wagon train,
it was heaven.
*****
Thor did not even realize how quickly he was learning Latin, until one morning
when Marius caught his arm as he left his sleeping spot for the kitchen.
“Wait, you’re to come with me today.”
Thor was puzzled, but obeyed. Marius took him along to the room where they had
first met, and found the old man waiting for them. He had big shaggy eyebrows
and a nose like an eagle, and when he turned his eyes to Thor it was
terrifying.
“Thor, this is Agapios, my tutor. Father wants you to begin studying with me in
the afternoons, Agapios will spend the mornings getting you caught up.”
Thor quickly found out that Agapios could be every bit as frightening as he
looked, but only when he thought he wasn’t being paid the attention he
demanded. He was a slave, like Thor, though he was from southern Greece. He was
a skilled teacher, and Thor made good progress on catching up with Marius in
his studies. He learned rhetoric, and mathematics, and logic, and history. The
splendor and glory of the Republic, and how greatly it exceeded that of any
other culture to ever exist or any to come. Rome was truly awesome, and he
learned how what had once seemed a cruelty, selling him into Roman slavery, was
in truth the best thing Maelo could have done for him.
Along with tutoring, Thor was gradually made closer to the family. They gave
him a new name, Aurelius, for his golden coloring, and occasionally invited him
to join them for meals when they had no guests. He learned that Master’s name
was Traianus, though he was never to call him that, and Mistress was Prisca.
The young mistress was Lucretia; she looked to be a year or two older than
Marius, at most. They were kind, and he was grateful to have been fortunate
enough to be made the slave of this good family.
 
 
***** Prophecy *****
Chapter Summary
     Loki is excited about travelling south, until he reads what the sky
     has written upon the water.
The British winter was too long and too harsh, as it always was, but finally
Imbolg came. Loki was given his own ring to throw into the holy well, asking
for the goddess’ blessing. And then they were packing, and finally riding
south.
When they crossed into Epidii lands, they were met with a surprise - Talorc was
there with a group of warriors to send with them.
“Over the winter I heard more reports of how Caesar’s troops behaved in Gaul
and Germania,” he said, “and I changed my mind. These are forty of my ablest
warriors, all of whom are sworn to follow you in fighting the Romans.”
Laufey was delighted; with this addition, they had nearly two hundred men to
take south.
Loki was so excited about the trip that he could barely sleep when they bedded
down each night. They travelled through the lands of many tribes, and he was
fascinated to watch as the landscape changed, growing more open, even marshy at
times. Once he even saw an eel swim right past his horse’s hooves. He
thoroughly enjoyed every moment, right up into the ninth day.
The sky hung gray and heavy, promising rain, and Ruadri made sure Loki was
well-covered in wool before they set off. This land was nearly desolate,
especially compared to the beautiful forests of the Pritani; the soil was dull,
showing barely more color than did the sky. But all this, he didn’t mind. It
was his first adventure.
Until they crossed a stream, and he looked down at the water. The clouds
cracked open briefly, letting the sun shine through and reflect in a dancing
pattern, and what Loki read there chilled him to the core. He froze, and as his
horse clambered up the side of the streambed, he toppled backwards, landing
with a splash.
Ruadri wheeled his horse back and pulled him up, only to find him shivering far
more than could be explained by a chill. By the Loki finally found the words to
speak, the entire delegation had stopped.
“The sky against the water… it was words,” he stammered, a tear running down
his cheek. “Writing.”
Ruadri frowned, pulling the boy close. He held on to his shaking shoulders as
he sent someone to find Dovoni. Laufey had debated long and hard about bringing
their tribe’s oldest and most powerful druid, torn between not wanting to
subject him to unnecessary rigors and the desire for the wise counsel he always
offered. It was settled when Dovoni arrived at his roundhouse one night and
informed Laufey that he was going with the delegation. Laufey was glad, now, as
the warrior found them together and explained that Loki had had an accident.
They rode together, back to the bank where Ruadri was still trying in vain to
comfort the terrified boy.
“My son, what is it?” Laufey asked, sinking to his knees beside him.
 “There was writing in the water,” Loki said, rapidly drying his tears as he
felt the weight of the druid’s eyes upon him. “I… I could read it.”
 “What did it say?” Dovoni leaned close towards him, intent.
 “It- it told of death, and pain, and horror. It said that something terrible
waited for us in Gaul.”
 “We’re not going to Gaul,” Ruadri told him gently. “Are you sure you weren’t
dreaming?”
 Loki shook his head, vehement. “I was awake,” he insisted.
 Laufey patted his arm, his face compassionate, even as he obviously believed
it had, indeed, been a dream. “Back on your horse, Loki,” he said. “We are
committed to joining the Catuvellauni, and we must go. But I will not take you
to Gaul.”
 Dovoni’s eyes were heavy upon Loki for another moment before he turned to
follow the king.
Twelve long days in the saddle brought them to the Catuvellauni hill-fort,
where the resistance were building their forces. Loki could still understand
these southerners, more or less, but he had to focus on their words, and
sometimes needed a moment to process them.
 *****
“But I want to watch the battle, father! Can’t I stand with Dovoni?” Loki
pleaded.
“I’m sorry, Loki, but even with Dovoni you might be in the range of spears,”
Laufey said. He wanted his son to see battle, he was beyond old enough, but he
was still so small… Laufey could not help wanting to protect the boy.
So when the Romans attacked, Loki could not tell what was going on, could only
hear the harsh clang of metal and the war cries of the Pritani and Britani, the
strange speech of the Romans. He was sheltered in Cassivellaunus’ hill-fort
with the Catuvellauni women and children. The women were busy comforting their
own children, and Loki desperately wished for his own mother, or for Alaca,
Ruadri’s wife, even as he was glad to know they were safe at home.
 The battle raged for hours upon hours before the noises pouring in from
outside finally quieted. Everyone looked up as the first footsteps approached,
anxious to see who had survived. As the steps drew near, though, they sounded
strange. Off.
 When the figures loomed in the doorway, they saw why. It was a group of Roman
soldiers, pausing to let their eyes adjust to the relative darkness. Several of
the women ran at the Romans with whatever they had suitable to use as weapons,
but were quickly struck down by the soldiers’ long swords. The remaining women
rapidly herded the children together behind them, blocking them with their own
bodies.
 The Roman soldiers poured in, once the brief resistance was over, and quickly
had the survivors bound. They were shoved roughly outside, down the fort to
where the surviving warriors were trussed and gagged. Loki’s frantic eyes
scanned the group, finding his father, but no other Taexali. Everyone else must
be among the piles of bodies that littered the battlefield.
 The captives were loaded onto wagons and driven eastward. Loki was with the
children, separated from his father, unable to ask what was going on. The
Romans fed them dry brown stuff, but no meat or early berries. They were
allowed off the wagons briefly, twice a day, to tend to their needs. Only in
small groups, and still bound, with no hope of coordinating or executing any
sort of resistance.
 They finally reached the seaside, and were loaded onto boats. It was
frightening, and Loki was quickly sickened by the motion of the waves, but at
least he was able to talk to his father.
“Where are they taking us, father?”
“To Gaul,” Laufey answered, stricken with the realization of Loki’s prophecy
coming true. “But then we may quickly cross it to another land,” he added
hurriedly.
Loki was not fooled. “There are worse things waiting for us there,” he said.
Laufey knelt, staring into Loki’s eyes as he spoke. “Son, you must promise me.
You will try to fight, and escape. I know this, because I know you, but you
must promise me, do not make any rash decisions. Act only when it is smart and
safe.”
Loki agreed hesitantly. “I want to go home, father,” he whispered as he gave
way to tears. Laufey held Loki as he wept for their lost friends, for their
lost home, for their lost freedom.
When they landed in Gaul, the children were again taken in separate wagons from
the adults. Loki had trusted they would continue travelling in the same
direction, but as his wagon turned south, Laufey’s went east. Loki, panicking,
watched as his father tried to jump from his wagon to run after his son, and
saw a Roman bring the handle of a sword down, hard, on Laufey’s head. Loki
screamed as he watched. There was a spill of blood as his father fell, and that
was the last Loki saw of him. He prayed for Laufey to be dead, his soul free to
be born into a new body. To not be a helpless slave like his son.
 
 
***** Clever and Good *****
Chapter Summary
     The boys are praised for their hard work in assimilating to Roman
     culture. Some praise is good. Some is not.
They travelled for perhaps three weeks. Loki felt dull; he had lost the care to
count the days. Finally they arrived in a city and were taken to an auction,
where Loki, along with some of the Britani children, was sold. At least he
would be with two others, he thought, someone he could talk to. But when they
got to their new home, they learned quickly that they would be beaten for
speaking anything but Latin. 
They were also beaten for not knowing Latin. The man who seemed to run the
household delighted in it, grinning ferally as he brought the whip down on the
backs of their legs, laughing when it drew blood. Loki learned quickly under
such pressure; the two older children he was with did not. He tried to help
them, whispering in the night, but it was never enough to protect them.
One morning, the cruel man, Porcinus, (he was called asteward, Loki learned,
and tried desperately to help the others remember) ordered the slaves to clean
themselves up in preparation for the master’s return. It was the first time the
children had been allowed among the other slaves. They felt safer as part of
the larger group, even if Loki was the only one who could really talk to the
others. There wasn’t time for much talk before Cassian Severus arrived home,
anyway.
 Cassian summoned Loki that evening.
 “So, boy, Porcinus tells me that you are clever,” he said.
 “Thank you, sir,” Loki said nervously. At least the man’s smile was kind.
Maybe things would be better now that he was here to keep an eye on Porcinus.
 “What’s your name?”
 “Loki, sir.”
“You’re a growing boy - is Porcinus giving you enough to eat?” he asked with a
wink.
“I… I would be grateful for a little more.”
At that Cassian beckoned him closer and tore off a chunk from the loaf that sat
in front of him and gave it to Loki, watching him eat.
“Thank you,” he said again when he was done.
 “You’re welcome, Loki. You see, I like clever little boys. Did you know that?”
“No, sir.”
 That night, and every night thereafter, he learned how much Cassian liked
clever little boys. He wished he’d never learned a word of Latin.
*****
The first few weeks, when Loki woke up, he didn’t remember where he was; or,
more accurately, he forgot that he wasn’t home. Then, after the brief moment of
forgetting - perhaps ten seconds - memory would rush over him as he become
aware of the pain, both in his bottom, where Cassian made him bloody and
sticky, and in his throat, hoarse from screaming. Each time the memory came it
was like reliving the abuse all over again, every morning. The torture of this
remembering felt even worse, somehow, than the actual cruelties that faced him
each day.
Then, as he became accustomed to his new life, he remembered from the moment he
woke up. He knew it instantly, exactly where he was, exactly what would happen
to him that day.
He would have given anything to have the few seconds of ignorance back.
*****
“Sir?” Aurelius had been waiting nearly an hour for Traianus to look up from
his work, not wishing to interrupt him.
“Ah, Aurelius. Have I lost track of time? Your mistress must be furious with
me.”
“No, sir, that’s not it. I was just wondering… why are you having me tutored
along with Marius? None of the other slaves are.”
“Oh, my boy, I just assumed you knew. When Marius joins the army, he will be
placed as a centurion or similar rank; in any case, a rank high enough for him
to have his own aide. I am proud to lose my son for the good of the Republic,
if need be, but when it became clear that he was to be my only son, I decided
to select his aide myself, and see that he got the best training. I am
willing to lose my son, but I would prefer not to,” he finished with a wink.
“So I am to be a warrior?”
“You are.”
Aurelius was overjoyed. He longed for the day when he would begin to learn to
fight, longed even more for the day when he would really be fighting, helping
to expand the glories of the Republic across the known world. He hated to think
of all the barbarians shivering in their hovels; allying with Rome would bring
them civilization and improve their lives immeasurably. He thought about the
Sicambri - the few memories that he still had - thought about the rude huts
they lived in. The way the wind came through the walls in winter, the way they
had to wash themselves from jugs or in the river.
When he was old enough, he would help them become civilized. It was the
greatest kindness that had ever been done him, sending him to Rome, and he
wanted more than anything to share his good fortune with the people
responsible.
*****
The next spring, Traianus took Marius and Aurelius to Rome to see the renewal
of the sacred fire of Mars. He gave each of them a piece of wood to offer,
winking at Aurelius as he did so; it was an honor to be allowed to make
offerings at this festival, and Traianus likely had to lie about his status to
get him included. When they returned to the villa, they took with them a
retired soldier, the celebrated Drusus, who had been conscripted at the age of
fourteen and rose through the ranks before leaving the army in his early
fifties. Traianus had hired him to train the boys in weaponry and battle.
 Before they got to anything fun, though, Drusus made them march. First they
had to march twenty miles in five hours; once their feet had managed to callus
over the horrible blisters that developed, they had to march the same amount
while carrying heavy packs. They were also expected to run, which was better,
especially once Drusus began setting up obstacles for them to jump.
Finally, when winter fell, they began to train in weaponry. It proved to be
much less fun than they had expected; Drusus outfitted them with heavy wooden
swords and shields, dedicated as much to building their arm strength as to
their abilities. Spring saw the return of the days of long marches, alternating
now with days spent practicing with the heavy weaponry. They had yet to enjoy
any of their training beyond the obstacle courses, but they accepted the
lectures about the importance of physical fitness and properly conducted
drills, and obeyed without question. Aurelius swelled with pride when Drusus
told him that he was every bit as good as a real Roman.
*****
Loki had been in Gergovia nearly two years when a current of nervous energy
began to ripple through the town. He first noticed it when he was sent to the
market to fetch more grain; while he stood humbly, waiting for the shopkeeper
to finish with the people ahead of him, he noticed people were fidgeting more
than usual, walking around with their jaws locked, and there was a sort of hum
in the air he couldn’t quite understand.
It made sense when he got home from his errand. Cassian had several of his
friends over, and they were sitting together in the tablinum, talking intently.
Cassian liked sitting there; it made him feel powerful and commanding to be at
the center of things and able to watch over his household. He never thought -
or perhaps never cared - about how easy it made it to eavesdrop on him. And
Loki was an excellent eavesdropper. It was the only way to learn anything
important. Cassian held a high rank in the town, so many of the important
decisions about Gergovia were made right here.
“I tell you, we have been too kind to the Gauls, that’s the problem!” Cassian
was shouting as Loki slipped in the back doorway. As though kindness was
something Cassian knew anything about.
“The cause does not matter, now. What matters is how we deal with it!” a voice
answered. It was an average sort of voice, but Loki thought he recognized it.
As the man continued speaking, he realized, yes, it was Quintanus, the Praetor.
His word was strong in every decision made for the town.  “We just need to
survive until we get reinforcements from Rome. Why, I received word only today
that they are sending a legion to put down this uprising, and enough grain to
make up for all the fields that have been burned.”
“But there isn’t enough wheat in the stores to last until more arrives. It will
be at least six weeks before it gets here, we have only grain enough for two
more weeks of food. The Gauls knew well what they were doing when they waited
until harvest time to launch their attack.” That thin and reedy voice could
only be Regulus, an unimportant clerk who always seemed to know the details of
things that Cassian liked to hear.
“It would be more than enough, had we less mouths to feed while we waited.”
Quintanus’ voice was coldly rational, and Loki felt a chill shudder through his
spine.  
 
 
 
***** Escape *****
Chapter Summary
     Gergovia had too many mouths... they had to get rid of some.
 
When Loki returned to the house a few days later, arms loaded with the last of
the available carrots at the market, he saw a stream of blood running down the
street, trickling through a crack in the wall of Cassian’s gardens. There had
been several sacrifices made there before, so he didn’t think too much of it.
When he slipped into the house, though, Gallus was waiting for him by the door.
He was one of the kinder slaves, and though a Roman, had never sneered at Loki.
“Stop, Loki, don’t go through there. Just stay here,” he told him.
Loki was confused. “But I always help clean up the sacrifices,” he said.
Gallus shook his head grimly. “Not this time, you aren’t. I don’t want you
seeing any of this.”
“This what? What’s happening?”
“Quintanus ordered it. Since the grain stores would run out before more could
arrive from Rome… he ordered that all households cull their slaves down to
two.” He started to put his hand on Loki’s shoulder, meaning to comfort him,
but Loki shied away.
“They’re all dead? All but us?” he whispered.
“They are,” Gallus said. “And I don’t want you seeing anything. It’s bad enough
you have to know. You stay here in the kitchen until I tell you that it’s all
right to come out. Come, crawl in here. I don’t want Cassian to find you idle.”
He held open a cupboard door and Loki crawled in.
Time moved torturously slowly. Loki forced his mind away from what Gallus was
doing, made himself think instead on the new division of household work. Much
of it would fall to Gallus, as Loki was simply too small for many of the tasks
that had to be done. Loki would likely be the errand boy and become the cook
and cleaner, while Gallus did the heavier work, caring for the horses, carrying
heavy buckets of water. He somehow managed to keep his mind occupied with the
minutia of his new work, to not think about things he didn’t want to know.
 He managed to string out his ignorance for nearly six hours. That night,
Cassian delighted in telling Loki every detail, savoring the tears that his
words drew forth.
*****
Loki was too terrified to act on his own behalf; he was small for his age, and
he was constantly surrounded by Romans, so much larger than he was, so much
more powerful. Too terrified, that is, until the day he was returning home from
his errands when he saw more blood running from the crack in the garden wall.
Muttering a silent prayer for Gallus, he turned and ran. His dark hair worked
for him; as he ran through the streets, the people he passed took him for a
Roman boy. His clothes gave him away as a slave, but for once their arrogance
was on his side. It was inconceivable to them that any Roman would ever want to
leave their society, so no one noticed as he made his way towards the city
walls.
He hid in the shadows until dark, then found footholds enough to scramble up
and over the wall. He ran blindly through the dark countryside, stumbling
through the burned fields, splashing through streams. He might have run all
night, were it not for a pair of strong arms suddenly grabbing him. He flailed,
hitting wildly, until the man spoke to him… not in Latin. He was so relieved he
could have cried.
 Loki couldn’t understand all the words, but perhaps half were familiar; though
the split between their peoples had become a matter of legend, they were both
Keltoi. So he answered in Pritani, and it worked well enough. The man seemed to
recognize the level of their communication, and spoke simply after that.
 “Come,” he said, taking Loki’s hand. Loki was glad enough to follow him, as
the man took him back to a camp, and led him to a tent. Loki didn’t understand
everything that was said to the king - for he surely was a king - but then he
was left there, and the king was speaking to him in simple words.
 “I am Vercingetorix,” he said. “Do you know me?”
 Loki did indeed know the name; this king, the king of the man who had saved
him, was the leader of the Gallic campaign against Gergovia.
 “I do. I am Pritani. I… I want to go home.” Loki did cry, then.
 Vercingetorix let him cry a few minutes before speaking again.
 “Britani?” he asked, unsure whether he had misheard Loki.
 “Pritani… north of the Britani. Caesar came,” he said.
 The king shook his head. He knew of the attack the previous year, how many
good warriors had died. This boy’s survival and return home would be a powerful
sign that Rome could yet be opposed, that the Republic was not an unstoppable
force. He had emissaries leaving soon to request support from the Belgae, to
the north of his territory. Surely they could take him to their cousins, the
British Belgae.
 “My friends can take you to Britain,” he said.
 Loki’s legs shook. The thought of going home, anywhere on the island, was
almost more than he could handle after what he had been through the past year.
Home to a place where people were kind to children, encouraged them to learn
rather than beating them. Where his mother and Alaca were, even if Laufey and
Ruadri were dead or gone.
Vercingetorix spoke quickly to one of the men standing at attention in words
that Loki half-understood. The man nodded his agreement and, taking Loki’s
hand, led him to a tent. Loki stiffened when he realized that they would be
sharing not only the tent but also the bedding.  Fear knotted in his throat and
his muscles began go weak and shaky, but he relaxed somewhat when the man just
patted his head awkwardly and told him to sleep. His dreams were haunted by
memories that shifted into monsters, howling in Latin as they hunted him down.
Finally, near dawn, he managed to rest.
 Loki had hoped to see the king again, but his tentmate woke him early the next
morning to lead him outside and placed him, somewhat unceremoniously, on a
horse. Ado didn’t seem to have much idea how to behave around children, but
after Cassian, Loki thought he was perfect. He was finally away from the
Romans, safe and free.
They stopped to eat at midday, and Loki was sitting on the grass, looking
around happily and enjoying the sunshine, when someone put a piece of bread in
his hands. Somehow, suddenly, he was back in Gergovia, an abused slave rather
than a free boy. He dropped it and scrambled backwards screaming, clawing at
the ground to get up and run.
Ado caught his arms just before he could flee, and held onto him, promising,
“No bread, no bread.” As he managed to process the words he was able to breathe
again, and gave a shaky nod. After that he was fed on meat, porridge, and
apples. Food that tasted Pritani. Tasted free.
 
 
***** Home *****
Chapter Summary
     Loki goes home, and a new path in life is found for him.
When they arrived at the lands of the Belgae, they explained their mission, and
were escorted to the king. Loki was happy to learn that Becurri’s queen, Saina,
was a Brigante; her tribe was not too far south of his own people, and it was
fairly easy for them to talk together.
 “There is a band going to the British Belgae next week,” she told him, “but if
you wait with us here a month, my brother will be visiting, and he can take you
with him when he returns home. The Catuvellauni submitted to Rome in the same
battle where you were taken; it would be safer for you to bypass their lands
completely.”
 What she also thought, but did not say, was that he was in no condition to
return to his family just yet. He started at every sudden movement, and his
eyes were hollow and frightened. If his mother saw him like this, she thought,
the poor woman would cry her eyes out. Better to stay here awhile and begin to
recover his equilibrium.
 In recognition of his status, Loki stayed in Becurri’s roundhouse. Life there
was not quite like home, but it was familiar enough that Loki was able to relax
more than he had in over a year, since the fateful day he read what the sky had
written in the water. The Belgae king reminded him of Ruadri, being quick to
both laughter and kindness, yet beyond deadly with a blade. Saina was more no-
nonsense, stern but fair, and she treated Loki the same as all the other
children in her fosterage.
 “I can’t imagine what he’s been through,” she sighed one night to her husband
after the children were asleep. “Should I try to be more motherly with him, do
you think?”
 “He’s a bright boy,” Becurri answered. “He would know if you weren’t being
yourself, and it might make him worry. We can help him best by letting him feel
safe.”
 She nodded, and made no attempts at artificial softness.
 Loki did not realize it, but he began to heal, just a little. Becurri was
right; Saina’s gruffness was comforting, somehow; it was a sign that everything
was all right here, the way she felt no need to coddle him.
 The month passed somehow, at once very fast and very slow. Fast, as Loki was
free to run and play with the other children in their free time, even though it
was hard for him to enjoy it the way they all seemed to. He did like
participating in the sparring classes given to those intended to be warriors.
He knew he would never be one himself, but learning to fight, to protect
himself, felt good. Time was slow at night, though, when the dreams came to
torment him. Things would be better at home, he told himself. He would finally
feel safe there. He counted the days until he could go back. He couldn’t
remember how long it had taken to get between Taexali and Brigantine lands.
Three days riding? Four?
 But finally, the month was over, and Gravicas, Saina’s brother, arrived. After
the initial family greetings were done, Saina brought Loki over to him.
Gravicas looked a bit like Vuuno, Loki’s old teacher, with the same shade of
sandy hair and blue-gray eyes. Surely that was a good sign, that he would be as
understanding as Vuuno was, that he would help.
“Gravicas, this is Loki. He’s a Taexali, taken as a slave last year. He escaped
during an attack on the city where he was held, and I’ve told him you could
take him back to Britain with you.”
The skin around his eyes took on friendly crinkles as he looked Loki over. “Of
course I can. You must be eager to get home,” he said, smiling at Loki’s quick
nod. “I was lucky to find the time to get away to visit my sister, and I can’t
stay long. We’ll leave for Britain in about a week.”
Loki couldn’t help bouncing on his toes with excitement. Becurri’s people were
kind to him, but he knew he would feel better once he was off this land
entirely, back on his island.
“And,” he added slowly, enjoying the anticipation, “I will send a group of
warriors to escort you back to Taexali lands.”
The relief was almost more than Loki could handle. He wanted to run, and yell,
and collapse, and cry, all at once. He settled for a heartfelt thank you before
excusing himself politely. After everything he’d been through, to be so near
the end… he needed to be by himself.
Gravicas watched him go curiously. “A strange child,” he said.
Saina nodded. “We haven’t asked what happened to him, but… it was bad,” she
answered. “He’s afraid of sudden movements, and he has nightmares every night.
His escort from the Gauls said he’s so frightened of everything Roman, he began
screaming when someone put a piece of bread in his hands.”
His jaw stiffened. “We have to drive them out of all our lands,” he said
grimly. “Loki looks to be the same age as Brude. When I think of my own son
taken like that… tell Becurri he can rely on Brigantine aid if Rome gets near.”
Saina took his hand. “Thank you,” she said.
After a week spent feasting, catching up with his sister, and cementing the
ties between their tribes, Gravicas announced it was time to leave. Northern
Gaul was flat, and their horses crossed it quickly. Every day Loki’s heart felt
lighter, as though he was shedding a heavy winter fur. The sea crossing this
time was a thing of fascination for Loki, the ebb and swell of the water as
their boat rode the waves, the curious creatures that leapt and danced - “they
breathe air, like us, though they live in the sea,” Gravicas told him - and
then, at last, the shores of Britain.
 The Brigantes welcomed Loki joyously; Vercingetorix had been right, that Loki
would be a sign that resistance was possible, that Roman might was not all-
encompassing. The Brigantines had lost several good warriors in the same battle
where Loki had been captured, and to see another victim of the same battle
returned was a balm to the still-grieving families. Several of the widows gave
him pieces of jewelry that had belonged to their late husbands, and it was with
heavy arms but a light heart that Loki and his escort set out for home the next
morning.
The ride home proved to be three and a half days, meeting no opposition in
crossing the intermediate lands. They reached the broad plain surrounding the
Taexali hill-fort in early afternoon. The sun was at their backs, blinding the
people who came at the sound of their horses, and Loki knew they would send
warriors out if he weren’t recognized quickly. His heart sped as his eyes
scanned over the small cluster, finding it full of familiar faces. His mother
wasn’t there, but -
“Alaca!” he yelled joyfully, urging his horse to a canter.
She raised her hand to block the sun, head tilted in confusion a moment. Surely
it couldn’t be… but it was.
“Loki!” she called back, running towards him. Then he was flinging himself down
from his horse and she caught up him, covering his head in kisses as she swung
him the way he had loved when he was little. A year ago he would have objected,
claimed he was too grown for such treatment. Now, though, it meant home more
fully than few things on earth.
Someone must have heard her and sent for his mother, because a few moments
later, Farbauti was there was well, wrapping her arms around him, tears pouring
upon his head.
“Loki,” she gasped, smoothing his hair back out of his face. “We thought you
lost forever. Oh, my son.” Her voice broke, and she stood still, just holding
him, until the Brigantines approached. She dried her face and reluctantly let
go of Loki to welcome them.  Ruadri had survived, it turned out, along with one
other Taexali, and several other Pritani, and someone sent a child to find him
and bring him back. He came at a run, laughing and crying all at once, and
swung Loki high in the air over his head, holding him up like a trophy.  
Deglan, who had become king after it was learned that Laufey was lost in
battle, insisted that the Brigantines stay for a great feast, enjoying the
hospitality and gratitude of the Taexali. The women cooked non-stop for two
days while the men hunted and talked together. Most of the children were left
with the women, but Ruadri was unwilling to let Loki out of his sight,
especially after the first night when Gravicas had told him, quietly, of what
he had learned from his sister. It broke Ruadri’s heart, to know that he had
been unable to protect his foster-son from abuse. He tried to ask Loki about
it, quietly, privately, but the boy was unwilling to speak, and Ruadri didn’t
have the heart to pressure him.
After the Brigantines departed, with repeated pledges of mutual friendship and
support, Loki’s life gradually approached as normal as it could hope to become.
Farbauti was going to send him back to fili training, but Ruadri remembered his
prophecy about horror waiting in Gaul. He didn’t know how truly terrible it had
been for Loki, but it was clear that the warning had been a true one, sent by
the gods. He had never had the heart to tell of it while Loki was lost to them,
but once he was returned home, he told the tale one night after the children
were asleep.
And so Ruadri succeeded in convincing Farbauti to have Loki trained as a druid.
Dovoni had been killed in the battle with Caesar, but his place had been ably
filled by Lugha, a druid from the north of their lands. Loki took to him
quickly. He was old, and slow, and safe.

***** Chapter 9 *****
When Lucretia turned thirteen, Traianus found her a good husband. Vincinius
Varinius was, like Traianus, a member of the faction that allied with Marcus
Antonius against Pompeius and the patrician powers of the capital. He would
have liked to find her someone neutral, for her own safety, but the division in
the senate and capital was growing sharper, deeper, demanding that no one
remain neutral. His own lifelong friendship with Marcus meant he had his pick
of young men for his daughter, at least. So he found her a good man and hoped
for the best. Vincinius was in his late twenties and reasonably handsome, if
one overlooking his hairline and twisted tooth. He seemed to not mind
Lucretia’s high spirits that Prisca had never quite managed to suppress, to
Traianus’ secret delight.
 It did mean a trip to Rome, though. Traianus preferred to stay in the villa,
preferred to keep his family away from the city as hostility grew among the
factions. Things seemed outwardly peaceful as their carriages rolled into the
city, but that night, as Aurelius settled down to sleep on the floor outside
Marius’ door, he heard shouting, followed by the sounds of distant fighting.
 Traianus took the boys with him the next day when they went to see the augur
to learn the best dates for the engagement and wedding ceremonies. He was tall
and grey-haired, with a nose like an eagle’s beak and eyes that stared far too
deeply for Aurelius’ comfort.
 “It is a strange time of year,” he said, “and not the most convenient for
weddings.”
 “We can manage with inconvenience, as long as the days are not inauspicious,”
Traianus answered.
 “No, they’ll do,” the augur sighed, “but the ceremonies will have to be on
sequential days, and soon, or you’ll have to wait a month. Have the engagement
tomorrow and the marriage the day after.”
 “I thank you,” Traianus said humbly, making the proper offering.
 “The blessing of the gods go with you,” said the augur, dismissing them with a
wave of his hand.
 After they left, Traianus took them around Rome for a few hours before
returning to the domus. Marius had barely seen more of the city than Thor had,
and they were both awed as they saw the Senate, the Amphitheatrum, the streets
packed with stores and dwellings hanging precariously above them. There were
people from all stations, wealthy women riding in litters, men of property
arguing politics as they strode purposefully, food vendors with boxes hanging
from their necks, slaves scurrying about. The boys begged Traianus to take them
to see the gladiator fights, but he just laughed.
 When they returned to the domus that evening, Aurelius was allowed to eat with
the family. Both Lucretia and Prisca were on edge, waiting to hear what the
augur had said, but they both knew their place, holding their tongues and
waiting for Traianus to raise the subject.
Fortunately, he made only the barest formalities of greeting them before
telling them what they wanted to know.
 Lucretia learned she was to be engaged the next morning, and married the day
after that. She took a deep, shuddering breath, but nodded politely. She knew
very well that she was luckier than most girls her age; her betrothed seemed to
be interested in her for more than children. It was a good start. Still, she
did not sleep that night.
 The engagement ceremony was in the atrium of the Aelian domus. Lucretia had no
one other than hired attendants, as her friends from the countryside had not
been allowed to come to Rome, not with the unrest. She stood stiffly as
Vincinius gave her an iron ring, before taking her hand for them to hold the
sacrificial knife together and made the offering. That finished, they sat
together for a meal. Once he left she was able to bathe away the mist of blood
that had settled upon her.
 With a smile, Traianus gestured the boys nearer to him.
 “Do you still want to see the gladiators?”
 “Father! Of course we do!” Marius said.
 “Please,” Aurelius added quickly.
 “All right, then. We must go now if we are to see them all.”
 They wasted no time gawking as they walked through the streets. They were so
narrow and twisting that it was impossible to gauge where they were until
suddenly the street spilled out into an open area and the Amphitheatrum was
before them. Traianus led them inside and took them to the proper seating. It
was thrilled to watch the fights, to see the battle-hardened men bent on each
other’s destruction.
 Aurelius listened to the conversations around them. One man was lamenting the
death of his favorite, just days ago.
 “He was only a slave, Gaius, you fret too much,” he friend replied.
 “He put on good fights, though, Gordianus,” Gaius answered. “Even if he was a
slave, he had skill.”
 “Yes, but they don’t really matter. Not like real people.”
 Aurelius looked up at Traianus’ face, uncertain how to feel at the easy
dismissal of someone of his own status. Traianus patted his hand.
 “Don’t worry about them, Aurelius,” he said. “You’re a different sort of slave
from the gladiators, everyone knows that.”
 He was still uneasy, but tried to let it go. The slave must have done
something to warrant him the thumb-down from his owner, ordering his death.
Aurelius was trying his very best to be the sort of slave who would never cause
displeasure. He just had to learn how to be perfect, and then do it.
 *****
 The wedding ceremony the next day took place in Vincinus’ home. Lucretia
carried a torch lit at the family hearth through the streets, escorted by her
attendants and family. Her intended was waiting for her at the doorstep, where
he offered her a new torch and a skin of water. Her attendants carried her over
the threshold into her new home. They spoke their words of consent, and were
married. After the customary exchange of gifts, her family left her in her new
home. Her eyes glistened suspiciously, but no tears fell.
 They left Rome the next day, returning to the calm and safety of the villa.
 *****
The time began to pass more smoothly for Loki. He spent the mornings helping
with chores on the farm and in the roundhouse, and in his afternoons he
attended lessons. These consisted mainly of listening to Lugha reciting the
words to their prayers and ceremonies, the students repeating his words back
over and over until they knew them by heart. The older students had morning
lessons, as well, learning rituals and actions, and Loki would sneak away to
watch them as often as he was able. It could take twenty years of study to
become a fully learned druid, and Loki was desperate to be done sooner.
He was naturally gifted - he knew this as a fact, without arrogance - and he
wanted to use his gifts to help his people. And to be prepared to help fight
the Romans. He was never able to shake the feeling that Cassian was coming for
him, in life as well as in his dreams. The worst thing was that sometimes
Cassian was there in life; Loki might see a brown leaf the exact shade of his
hair, or be walking past a brook and suddenly the trickling water would sound
just like the fountain in Cassian’s atrium. Sometimes it felt like he was
living a dual life; one Loki was at home, free, while the other Loki was still
in Gergovia, being forever abused.
Springtime saw a huge celebration. Loki’s cousin, Eilise, was to be handfasted
to one of the Brigantines who had escorted Loki home. Everything was in favor
of the match: Caranci was high-born, the pact between their peoples would be
solidified, and the signs sent by the gods indicated their deep pleasure. They
had caught each others’ eye in the week that his tribe was visiting, and for
the past two years he had been returning often to court her.
Loki was given the task of holding both the fasting cloth and the mistletoe as
Lugha recited the words of the ceremony. It was a rare honor indeed, but both
Eilise and Caranci had insisted upon it, as they showered praise and
appreciation (and sweets, when Alaca wasn’t looking) on him, crediting him with
their happiness.
He kept quiet about the nightmares that always worsened when Caranci was
around; it was difficult to be reminded of that time, and though he loved his
cousin, he was be glad that he would not be seeing the Brigantine anymore.
 
 
***** Lessons *****
“Aurelius!” Marius said it without turning his head. Drusus was still watching
them as they marched away, and they were under strict orders to conduct their
drills in silence.
“What? We’re supposed to be quiet!”
“Aren’t you tired of this? Let’s go to the lake. Once we’re over this hill
Drusus won’t be able to watch us anymore. If we swim naked they’ll never be
able to tell that the water isn’t all sweat.”
“But-”
“Aurelius, you can’t really be happy doing this all day. March, march, march.”
They crested the hill, and Marius stopped and took his arm. “We’re going to be
stuck doing it for years once we join the army. Why not have a little fun while
we still can?”
Aurelius was hesitant. “Fun doesn’t expand the Republic,” he said.
“Augh! The Republic! Anyone would think you’re the Roman and I’m the slave!”
“Marius, no one will ever look at us and think that.” Aurelius knew perfectly
well how much he stuck out among the southerners. He even looked different from
the blond Gauls.
Marius' eyes narrowed.  “No, I guess you’re right. And since you are the slave,
you have to do what I say.”
Aurelius heaved a deep breath and followed Marius to the lake. They ran, and
skipped, and hopped, and did everything other than marching to get there. They
laughed as they went, and by the time they were in the water, Aurelius had
forgotten all his objections.
And oh, how good it felt to play in the water. To let it, rather than their
sore feet, hold and carry them as they splashed each other. Their fingers and
toes began to pucker, which should have warned them how long they were taking,
but they didn’t pay attention.
“Race you to the far shore and back.”
“You’re on,” Aurelius grinned.
By the time they finished the race - Marius lost, but just barely - their
fingers were like dried fruit. And it was that, not their wet hair, that gave
them away when they came marching back. Drusus took one look at them and
pivoted on his heel to find Traianus. Marius and Aurelius looked at each other
anxiously.
It turned out that Marius needed not have worried. He was sent to bed early
after being given only a small dinner.
Aurelius, though, was right to fear. He was summoned to Traianus, who waited
for him with  Sergius. Aurelius knew him, this man who acted as manager of all
Traianus’ slaves, but he rarely had dealings with him. Sergius mostly dealt
with field hands, as the house slaves tended to be well-educated and well-
behaved. But tonight he would be the one to deal with Aurelius’ misbehavior.
Aurelius found himself stripped to the waist and his wrists bound around a wide
pole, his back left bare to  Sergius. The first lash didn’t even feel like a
whip; it felt like a tongue of fire, searing its way across his skin. So did
the second, and the third. At the fourth, he felt blood begin to soak into the
waistband of his pants. By the tenth, it still didn’t feel like a whip. But by
then his back was criss-crossed with streaks of agony, and each new lash was
another piece of a pattern, rather a single lick of pain.
After twenty, his hands were untied and he collapsed to his knees. He hadn’t
started crying until the sixth lash. By the time he was loosed, his face was
hot and red, covered in tears that did nothing to cool the burning skin.
 Sergius took him by the arm and forced him upwards, steered him to the slave
quarters where he was passed over to a woman in simple clothes.
“I am Virgilia,” she said gently. “Lay down on your stomach for me.”
He carefully eased himself down onto the cot and let his tears flow as her
gentle hands smoothed an ointment onto his skin. She left him, afterwards, to
cry himself to sleep.
In the morning Sergius dragged him back to the villa, his back still stiff and
burning. Traianus waited for him again.
“Did you learn anything?” he asked.
Aurelius nodded. He had made them teach the lessons they had tried to offer
more gently; he had forced their hand into giving him this whipping. He
understood now that could never be a true Roman; he had to exceed than their
own ideal. Marius could run off and play in the lake; it was his birthright.
Aurelius had no such luxuries. It was a hard lesson, but he was grateful.  “I
did,” he answered. “Thank you.”
*****
Loki’s nightmares were coming less often, though his sleep was still troubled.
One morning he work to realize that he’d had a different sort of dream, as
well. A beautiful selkie was in it, and they played together in warm water, and
she kissed him. He woke to find his bed wet with bitter salt, and went to
Lugha.
Lugha smiled. “I do not think you were actually visited by a selkie, Loki,” he
said.
“But the water…”
“That was not water. You’re beginning to become a man. I can see it in your
shoulders, hear it in your voice. I will make the arrangements for your first
tattoo.”
It was large, for a first one, but he was glad of it. It was a sacred oak, its
trunk following his spine and its branches spreading out along his ribs. It
made him feel as though everything that it covered was safe.
Except the first night, when the fresh pain forced him onto his stomach. He
used to sleep on his stomach, as a small child. After Gaul, he could not bear
it. It wasn’t that Cassian took him that way - he had, but he’d taken him many
other ways as well - it was the vulnerability, the feeling that anyone might
creep up on him. He tried to sleep, but it was impossible to relax. Finally he
got into the beer and drank until he could pass out sitting up, leaning to one
side against a support post. He was nervous that Alaca would reprimand him, but
after she took in the dark hollows under his eyes, she said nothing.
When it healed, Loki joined the older students, the ones who had recitation all
day long, rather than just the half-days to which he was accustomed. It was
difficult, at first, to sit and repeat for so many hours on end, but it was
both a great honor and a heavy obligation to be a druid, and he was determined
to do his best.
And the first tattoo was the only one to give him problems. As his strength
grew, reading the signs in the toss of the leaves, hearing them in the patter
of rain, he gained more tattoos to reflect his might. Each one that followed
made him feel more protected. The night after he got bulls tattooed on his
shoulders was the first one in years that he slept straight through.
*****
Pidarnoin continued to show Deglan the friendliness that he had offered to
Laufey, but the winter that Loki was thirteen, the Venicone king died of a
fever, and Allcallorred, who was elected to follow him, showed no inclination
to continue that relationship. Over the next couple of years, matters between
their tribes grew tense, then openly hostile. It began with Venicone raiders
sneaking into their lands and spying on their holdings, and soon they were
stealing Taexali cattle. Farbauti was skilled at husbandry, and she had lent
her talents to all the Taexali, resulting in their tribe having much larger,
healthier cattle than the surrounding tribes. They had to be retrieved.
Deglan took groups of raiders with him, each time bringing home a few cattle
and the heads of a few Venicones. Finally, though, he decided that a broader
assault was needed, and one frightening morning he marched away with nearly all
the tribe’s warriors, leaving just a few behind to provide protection.
It was the first time in five years that the Taexali had gone to battle, the
first time since Loki’s world fell apart. It was difficult to stand and watch
them go. As he watched Ruadri riding away, giving him an encouraging wave, he
couldn’t help seeing his younger self riding next to him, or his father at the
head of the company.
He didn’t sleep that night, or the two nights following. He finally collapsed
out of exhaustion, but it wasn’t restful, not really. Not until Ruadri came
home safe.
*****
Training with Drusus had always been a serious business, but it took on heavier
importance later that year, making Marius no more inclined than was Aurelius to
sneak away during drills. Caesar, backed by a single legion, had crossed the
Rubicon into the Republic proper, igniting civil war. Things were relatively
calm in the area around the villa; Pompeius and the Senate had fled to the
south, and they lived safely north of Rome, but it was still a time of
increased awareness and worry. Traianus’ close connection with Marcus Antonius,
and thus with Caesar, was well known. If things went poorly, it could mean the
lives of the entire Aelian family.
“Would we be killed, too?” Thor asked Agapios.
“You needed fear that, boy, we’re both too valuable to be killed. Taken and
sold, we’d be; probably into lives much like the ones here.”
Agapios didn’t tell him what would likely happen before that; the family’s
slaves would likely be interrogated. For slaves, that meant torture, as it was
assumed the slaves would be too loyal to provide useful information except
under duress. Aurelius didn’t need to know that, though. He would learn more
about what it meant to be a Roman slave soon enough, if the worst happened.
That year, and much of the next, were spent primarily with Drusus; the boys
were given to Agapios in the evening, for an odd hour here and there, or when
the weather was too bad for them to work outside. Their bodies were changing
from more than just the fighting, as well; along with the muscles that began to
creep over them, their voices were strange and funny, and they began to grow
hair in areas that had been smooth. The muscles were what mattered, though.
After a series of initial successes, things were not going well for Caesar; he
narrowly dodged a crushing defeat at a battle in Greece, and the Optimate
forces backing Pompeius were beginning to move back into areas they had lost.
Traianus was in his study all the time, reading and sending message after
message. His face was grim, and the tone of the house lost its laughter as
everyone took on the mood of its master. The relief that came with the news of
Caesar’s ultimate victory a few months later was palpable.  The army was still
busy, of course, but they were now far off in Egypt, and home became a place of
safety once again.
 
 
***** Firsts *****
 
In the third year after Caesar’s invasion of Rome, Traianus told the boys it
was time they saw more of city life. He took them not to Rome, as they
expected, but to nearby Perusinus. They had spent more time there, and it was
less of a thrill than Rome would have been, but they were hardly going to argue
over any break in the long marches that Drusus continued to press upon them.
“What are we doing in Perusinus, father?” Marius asked.
“The baths at the villa are small,” he answered, “and I want you to become
familiar with the proper use of thermae away from the eyes of Rome, where you
would already be judged lacking. It is my own fault,” he sighed.
“Is that all?” Marius asked doubtfully. Baths did not sound like a particularly
exciting reason to visit a city.
A slow grin crept over Traianus’ face. “You’re also becoming young men, and
there are other things besides bathing that young men should learn to do
properly.”
Aurelius stared. “You mean…”
“A meretrix at one of the brothels in Perusius has a particularly good
reputation as a teacher. You’re both to see her.”
The boys stared at each other. They had certainly joked and whispered enough
about this, but for it to be actually happening was something else entirely.
“Together?” Marius asked cautiously.
Traianus laughed. “No, I know you’re used to studying and training together,
but some things must be learned separately.”
Aurelius heaved a silent sigh of relief. He and Marius were excellent friends,
and they had certainly bathed together often enough, but this was different,
and he did have some sense of privacy. He also wondered, secretly, if a
meretrix would be willing to bed a slave; if she were to refuse him, he would
rather it be done without others there to see. A lower class of prostitute
seemed much more likely to willingness.
They rode to Perusius the next week, taking rooms at an inn with a relatively
decent reputation. It was evening when they arrived, and they did little more
than eat their dinners and stroll about the city before retiring to bed. The
next day the boys were sore from so much time in the saddle; they were
accustomed to walking for themselves, and the odd way their weight sat upon a
horse left an unwelcome memory. Seeing the stiff way they walked down the
stairs to the main room, eager to break their fasts, Traianus laughed and said
they would spend the day at the thermae, and visit the Lupanaria the day after.
The thermae were wondrous; Aurelius had heard of their magnificence, but he had
assumed them to be similar to the baths at the villa, only larger. But there
were several rooms with different pools, other rooms without pools, where the
air temperature was carefully controlled to avoid shocking the body as one
moved between pools, even a room just to be strigiled.
Traianus paid their admission and led them into the undressing area, where they
tucked their clothes into wall cubicles. He cast a careful eye over the slaves
who attended the room before leading the boys into the frigidarium.
“Some people prefer to start with the tepidarium,” he said, pointing to another
door out of the changing room, “but I prefer to start with a cold plunge and
move to the warm one later.”
They jumped into the cold water, shouting at the shock of it. Marius and
Aurelius carefully schooled their faces to look as though they were no more
affected by the cold than Traianus was. Aurelius wondered if Traianus truly was
so unfazed by the icy water, or if he too controlled his face. There was no way
of knowing, after all. It was the duty of a Roman to control his face.
Soon enough they moved into the next room and the tepid water, which felt
almost hot after the chilled bath they had just left. “We’ll stay here until it
no longer feels hot,” Traianus explained. They certainly adjusted to it faster
than to the cold one, and it was not long before he led them into a room of
heated air, letting their temperatures adjust before moving to the caldarium,
both water and air uncomfortably hot. They swam only a few minutes before
climbing out and letting the hot air make them sweat. They watched as some
people had pitchers of cold water poured over them, but Traianus led them away
from that area to yet another room.
Three slaves hurried over to them, their hands bearing pitchers and strigils.
Traianus nodded to them, and the slaves began to carefully oil them, letting it
mix with their sweat and rubbing it into their skin before scraping them
carefully. Aurelius had always cleaned himself determinedly, running his
strigil everywhere he could reach each time he bathed, but these slaves seemed
to take off years of dirt and skin.
Traianus laughed at the boys’ amazed faces. “It’s from all the bathing and
sweating,” he explained. “It loosens what is hard to remove. You see now why
thermae are preferred over private baths.” They nodded, watching ribbons of
thick gray sludge puddle at their feet.
Once they were cleaned, he took them back through all the rooms again, this
time finishing with a pitcher of cold water over each of their heads. The
slaves in the changing room hurried to offer them thick towels as they entered
it, dripping. When they were dried and dressed, they went outside to find that
dusk was already falling.
Back at their inn, they ate hearty dinners, surprised to find how hungry a day
of mere bathing had left them. “It’s the swimming. It’s more work than it
feels. Get a good night’s sleep, now, we’ll go to the Lupanaria in the
morning,” Traianus told them.
But in their room, tucked into their beds, they boys found it difficult to
sleep, knowing what waited for them the next day. “Do you think they make
sounds like wolves?” Marius whispered. “Surely they don’t bite like them.”
“I’ve heard they are called lupas because they lick you all over, like she-
wolves with their cubs,” Aurelius answered.
“Everywhere? Like between your toes?” said Marius.
Aurelius laughed. “Armpits!” Their nervousness lessened as they began to
speculate about where they might get licked.
“Navel!”
“Nostril!”
“ Penis! ” They completely lost it at that, giggling helplessly at the
ridiculous thought, until Traianus banged on the wall to shush them.
They settled down after that, though Aurelius found himself oddly unsettled at
the thought of a tongue there. Surely, surely not. Oh, but if…
*****
The next morning, after breaking their fasts, Traianus led them through a
series of roads, much more evenly laid out than those of Rome, and smoothly
paved.
They stopped at a building that had a sign hanging over the door with a picture
of Romulus and Remus being suckled by the she-wolf. Aurelius had noticed such
signs before, when they were in Rome, but had not understood what they meant.
He had vaguely assumed that the places were something to do with nursing
children. He had certainly never guessed that they advertized lupas.
Traianus led them inside, and a man came to greet them, bowing.
“It is a pleasure to see you, Traianus Aelius, as always.”
Marius and Aurelius looked at each other curiously.  As always ? Marius
grinned.
“You as well, Balbinus. I have brought these boys to see Regula, to make use of
her special skills.”
Balbinus looked them over. “Fine boys,” he said. “But surely not both yours?”
“Marius is my son,” Traianus said, ruffling his hair. “Aurelius is his slave
and companion.”
Balbinus’ eyes narrowed. “My girls do not normally see slaves,” he said.
Traianus jingled his purse. “I will pay extra. I am raising the boys together.”
He reluctantly agreed. “But don’t tell her what you are,” he warned. “She won’t
have you if you do. Say you’re a royal hostage from the north.”
Aurelius nodded. He didn’t like it, the thought of lying to this woman he had
never even met, but he was too well-trained to argue.
“And for you,” he continued in a brighter voice, turning to Traianus, “who
shall it be today?”
“Is Aquilina free?”
“She is. You know the way, sir.”
He smiled and turned to the boys. “Go with Balbinus,” he said. “Make me proud.”
Then he was gone up the stairs. He did, indeed, know the way.
Balbinus gestured them to follow him, not upstairs, but towards the back of the
house. There was a large, decorated door, and he went inside, leaving them in
the hall. There were low voices for a moment before he came back out and
motioned Marius in. He gave Aurelius one last, nervous glance before entering
and closing the door behind himself.
“Wait here,” Balbinus told Aurelius roughly, “I’ll bring you a chair.”
He returned with a seat and then left Aurelius alone in the hall. It was quiet,
but not silent. Muffled sounds came from behind many of the doors that lined
the hall. Moans, and cries, and low, flirtatious laughter. He shifted
uncomfortably as he waited. A few men left the other rooms, smiling at him
knowingly, and other men took their places. Finally, Marius opened the door.
“Your turn,” he said.
“Well? How was it?” Aurelius whispered.
Marius grinned. “You’ll like it.”
He did. Regula was patient, suggesting things he might do, trying things he
might enjoy. The act itself was strange and somewhat undignified, but she
managed to make him forget dignity, forget being a perfect Roman, long enough
to like it very much indeed.
*****
“Loki, have you noticed how Oria looks at you?” Lugha was curious. The girl had
been eyeing Loki for months, getting more and more obvious, but the boy seemed
not to notice. Yet he was at an age where he certainly should.
“I noticed that she looks, if that’s what you mean.”
“It’s not,” Lugha said. “Have you bedded yet?”
Loki fidgeted uncomfortably. He had never told anyone what had happened to him
in Gaul, too afraid to form the words. It was still too close. He was still
living those dual lives, and if he gave voice to the shadow-life it might
expand until once again that was all that existed. The thought of sex made him
sick, but Lugha was right. He was old enough, all the other boys his age had
been doing it for months, if not more. If he didn’t soon, he would have to
explain, and that thought was even worse.
“I haven’t,” he said dully.
“Do you not like Oria?”
“I do like her.”
He did. She was easy to like. It seemed unkind to use her to convince others
that he was normal, whole, but he didn’t see that he had any choice. So,
reluctantly, he did. Fortunately, his body seemed to know what to do without
him being there fully, and he was able to leave until it was over. Oria seemed
satisfied enough, which lessened his guilt slightly. Only slightly, though, and
he ended things with her as soon as Lugha stopped worrying, as soon as he was
persuaded that Loki was normal. Unbroken. Not someone whose mind had to leave
in the midst of sex, not someone who had to vomit afterwards.
 
***** Old Enough *****
Chapter Summary
     They both reach an age of significance in their lives.
Chapter Notes
     I hope this doesn’t need to be said, but please, please, please do
     not take foxglove. It’s much more likely to kill you than to do
     anything like what happens in this chapter.
Marius and Aurelius learned their fate in the same month that Caesar met his.
They were seventeen.
Traianus’ shoulders were heavy as he sat down to dinner one night, holding a
letter out to Marius. “Your orders,” he said.
Marius frowned as he skimmed quickly through it. He looked up at Aurelius. “We
are assigned to the fourteenth legion, the Gemina. We join them next year.”
That explained Traianus’ dejection. The Gemina was an unlucky legion; everyone
knew that. After they had lost so many troops at Atuatuca that they had to call
in reinforcements, no one wanted to join them. Traianus would certainly have
expected a better position for his son considering how strongly he had thrown
his support behind the Populares during the Civil War. Or he would have, before
Caesar’s death. But now he had no recourse.
“It just needs us there to get it back into shape,” Aurelius reassured them.
Marius doubled his drilling, determined to contribute to the redemption of the
legion.
Aurelius tripled his. It was not good enough for him to be as good as a Roman.
He had to be better. As Marius slept, Aurelius stayed up working Jupiter’s
lightning bolts, the Gemina’s emblem, onto everything he owned.
*****
The foxgloves bloomed late, not many days before Midsummer, as though they were
holding off in order to join in the celebrations of the year’s longest day.
Loki had watched eagerly as the buds slowly grew, then took on delicate hints
of color, before finally bursting into bloom. Lugha had promised him that he
was old enough, that this would be the year he would drink the drink. He had
helped prepare it for others for several years now, and he had seen the ways
they had changed in the time afterward.
He watched and waited for the flowers to go to seed. There was one patch,
purple ones, that had bloomed slightly earlier than most, and the day they were
ready to be harvested, Loki was there. He knew from experience precisely how
much he needed, and it was agonizing to have to wait for a second patch of
plants to go to seed. But finally he had enough, and he took them to Lugha. The
old man nodded.
“Very good. Call the younger ones, I wish them to learn this as well.”
Once the other students had gathered, Loki carefully ground the tiny seeds into
a fine powder, working them with a rounded stone against a large flat one which
had been hollowed over time. It spoke to Loki, telling of the ancient ways of
this practice; the stone was used for nothing else, and had been flat when it
was first set to this use. As Loki worked, Lugha recited the prayers, leading
his students along through the ceremonial preparation of the drink.
The powder was mixed into the clear stream water and left to sit until it grew
a fur. This depended on the weather, and while Loki had had to wait a long time
for the foxgloves to bloom, he had only a short wait for the fur to come. He
ate no dinner that night, nor breakfast the following morning. He snuck away
briefly in the morning to empty his stomach of its acid.
Lugha led him, followed by the other students, to a cool, dry cave in the oak
grove that was  perhaps a half-hour’s walk from the hill-fort. Shelves had been
carved in the walls long ago, and Loki set down the flask on one of them. His
companions added skins of water and plates of food - mostly fruit, with a
little dried meat.
Lugha spoke the blessing, and Loki made the proper responses. And then Loki was
ready to be left alone. Lugha put a solid, reassuring hand on Loki’s shoulder
and gave him an encouraging smile. “Have no fears, Loki,” he said. “We already
know the gods hold you dear.” He nodded at him, and led away the others.
Loki carried the flask outside the cave and sat down in the grass, waiting for
the forest to forget that he was there. The forest became more peaceful as its
noises grew; there was nothing to disturb the bees from their busy work, nor
the birds from their lilting song. There was a thick patch of clover at Loki’s
right knee, and he watched as it slowly filled with honeybees, greedy for
pollen. He reached over and very, very gently stroked one down its back. Its
fur was soft and downy, and it left his skin yellow. The bee didn’t even notice
his touch. It was time.
He eased the fur off the surface of the drink and took a deep breath to brace
himself before hurriedly swallowing it. He gagged, his body struggling to
reject the heavy mold. He fought for perhaps ten minutes to keep it down before
losing the battle and vomiting to one side. Away from the bees. He already
looked at them as his friends, and he was loathe to disturb them. When the
worst of the stomach knots had passed, he braced again and in a quick motion
drank down the contents of the flask. He was already worn out from fighting
with himself over the mold, and the drink came up not long after he swallowed
it.
He was grateful for the fast that preceded this ritual; if his stomach had been
full, the vomit would have foul, and he would have had to give up his peaceful
spot. This way, though, it sank into the ground and disappeared, letting him
remain with his new friends. He didn’t really know how long he would have to
wait, so he simply sat in prayer, enjoying the cool morning air and the sounds
of the animals that surrounded him.
He grew dizzy, and lowered himself to the ground to stare up at the sky. The
clear blue peeked through the gaps in the oak trees, making words he could
almost read. He had not read anything written in nature since the fateful day
he fell from his horse, but it seemed that he would again today. Strangely, the
reminder of that moment did not terrify him as it normally did. He picked up
the memory like a ball in his hands, turning it over to examine it curiously.
It was gray like stone and white like light on water, and it shone where the
sun struck it.
He looked around to find that the trees had yellow halos around them. How odd,
to have never noticed such a thing before, he thought. It reminded him of the
pollen on the backs of the bees, as though the trees were so abundant with new
life and potential that it clung to their very bark. And if the oaks were like
the bees, that meant the trees were his friends, as well. He had always
believed this, of course, but now he felt the warmth and caring that they
radiated towards him.
"You are one of ours, now, Loki. We love you," they said with their yellow
glow.
"I love you, too," he answered.
He stood up to walk through the grove, running his fingers across the rough
bark of the trees and collecting their glow in his hands. He ran it all over
his body until he, too, had golden light all over him. He knew they didn't mind
sharing; he had an oak tree on his back, making him one of them.
Loki found a spot where the sunshine dappled across the forest floor and stood
still, his face upwards, taking in the sun, just as the others did. He felt it
nourish him, casting its peace and caring upon the earth, and he understood
that this was what sunlight was: not just light, but love.
He could have been a tree for minutes or hours; trees measure time differently.
But then a little boy came into the grove. His bruised eye was as black as his
hair, and his legs had blood smeared on them. Loki became a man again and went
to speak to the boy.
"Don't be afraid, I won't hurt you," he said gently. "What is your name?"
"Loki," said the boy.
"Loki is my name too," he answered. "Come here. Let me take care of you."
He tucked the small hand in his own and led him back to the cave. He tore a
strip of cloth off his shawl and wetted it to wash the boy clean of blood.
"There," he said. "Now you're all clean. Come along, I will show you a good
place to sleep in the sun."
They walked to a clearing where a huge tree had fallen, leaving an open space
in the canopy. The small Loki curled up in the sunshine, and the big one
covered him loosely with his shawl.
"You sleep now," he said softly. "When you wake up, you'll feel better."
"Thank you," the boy whispered before closing his eyes and falling peacefully
asleep.


By the time Lugha returned to fetch Loki home, he had had many visions, he had
spoken to many gods and read their answers written in the sky, the leaves, the
stones. Many of these things he told Lugha: the way he became a tree, the
majestic bull that had appeared to him, the things the gods had said to him.
But the little boy he kept to himself, in his heart.







***** Men *****
Chapter Summary
     As they reach adulthood, Loki is slowly becoming better. Aurelius is
     becoming worse.
Chapter Notes
     Heads up- I added a torture tag for this chapter. It's a short scene,
     but rather awful.
 
The next spring, Marius and Aurelius left home. Traianus made a great series of
embarrassing speeches at the feast on their last night, while Prisca was proud
and silent. As they went to their beds for the final time in the villa (or
'bed,' rather, Aurelius still slept in his place on the floor outside Marius'
door), Traianus caught Aurelius’ arm. “A moment, Aurelius,” he said, and led
him to the small room where he received his correspondence.
“Sir.” Aurelius stood stiffly as Traianus closed the door behind him.
“Aurelius. You have shown over and over that I made the right choice at the
auction ten years ago. Your dedication and loyalty to this family have been
unwavering.”
“Thank you, sir. I am very grateful for all that you have done for me.”
“Yes… I have done many things for you, making you into a good soldier. But you
must remember, now, why I bought you, why I trained you. And remember it when
you go into battle with my son. Your life’s only value is in the protection of
Marius. I bought you to protect my son, and if needed, to die for him. I am
glad he has such a steadfast friend in you,” he finished, clapping his hand
congenially on Aurelius’ shoulder. “You have always been an excellent slave.”
“Thank you,sir. I will do my best in this as in all things.”
*****
It took nearly two months for them to reach their legion. Aurelius dreaded it,
despite his outward cheer. He knew that someone there would soon enough ask
about him, would say the things that had been carefully avoided. It happened
the third night after they arrived at their camp in northern Gaul.
Marius had brought their letters of introduction, which stated that he was to
be an assistant to Valerius and learn to become a centurion himself, and that
Aurelius was his slave and aide, trained to support him in battle. They were
given a tent next to Thracian, Valerius’ other assistant. After dinner on the
third night, several men from their area of camp were drinking wine together
and Thracian, drunk, grew curious about Aurelius’ appearance.
“So what are you, then? You’re obviously no Roman, and you look like no Gaul
I’ve ever seen. Your coloring and build are all wrong.”
Aurelius braced himself. “I am a German, sir.” Hoping against hope that that
would be answer enough to suit. It wasn’t.
“A German? This legion has history with Germans. What tribe?”
Aurelius’ throat clenched painfully. There was no way to avoid admitting it.
Perhaps if Marius weren’t here, he might have planned a lie. But he was here,
so it had to be said. “I was born Sicambri.”
The word fell from his lips like shattering glass. All eyes turned to him.
“Sicambri? The gods jest with us,” someone said bitterly.
Aurelius turned his head. It was Otho, an older legionary, who had been at the
fateful battle of Atuatuca. It was only a year after the Sicambri had
capitulated to Rome and taken Aurelius, while they were still in Caesar’s good
graces. His troops had been ravaged by the Eburones, and in revenge they
invited the other local tribes to plunder all that remained. The Sicambri were
one of the most vicious and bloodthirsty, and once they finished with the
Eburones they turned their hostility towards Rome. The Gemina were decimated at
the hands of the Sicambri. And now that was all they would see when they looked
at Aurelius, not the Roman he had tried so hard to become.
They were right, of course. He simply had to look at it from their point of
view. Were he a Roman, he would not welcome a Sicambri in their midst either.
*****
Each time Loki drank the foxglove, he seemed to grow a little bit better. But
it was dangerous to take it, and so each druid drank it only once every few
years. He wished he could hold on to the way he felt while it was coursing
through him, but the peace it granted faded along with the dizziness and
nausea. Not completely, though; he rarely had nightmares anymore, and it was
growing easier to control his panics.
Loki’s natural talents, paired with his steely determination, meant he finished
his training more than four years faster than most new druids. He continued to
work with Lugha, often, learning how to further develop his particular
abilities, but by his early twenties he was leading ceremonies and rituals
himself. With so much time spent in the caves where the students were taught,
and later in the oak groves where he was kept busy with rituals and prayer, his
skin was pale, and the way his dark hair hung about his face made him look like
the moon hanging in the black sky. So he readily agreed when Lugha suggested he
be dedicated to Rheganon, the queen of the night and death. Lugha was growing
too old to support their warriors in battle, and he wanted Loki to take over
that role from him. Having her stand with Loki as he watched and prayed would
be a powerful force for the Taexali.
Loki’s first time lighting the bonfire for Bealtain was bittersweet; Alaca and
Ruadri were there, and Farbauti, all watching him with pride glowing in their
eyes, but it made the pain of Laufey’s absence fresh once again. He had spent
the day helping with the rituals to protect the cattle before they were driven
to their summer pastures, but there he was one among many. Here he stood alone,
reciting the prayers to bring blessings onto the fire, that its ashes might
grant safety to those who sprinkled them on themselves and their homes.
He had periodically taken more lovers, just long enough to ward off gossip and
suspicion. They had all been women; that in itself was worthy of some gossip,
but he couldn’t face doing… some things, things he’d done with Cassian. And he
hated how he was using the women to conceal his secret; he had grown up with
them and he thought of them as friends, and they deserved better. So he worked
hard to develop the reputation of one who was too devoted to his calling to
have time or concern for fleshly matters.
*****
Aurelius spent the next years proving himself worthy despite his birth. He
largely succeeded, enough so that the only people who continued to face him
with hostility were the soldiers who had actually been at Atuataca. He even
built friendships with some of them. Good enough friendships that when a slave
was accused of stealing, he was invited to participate in the entertainment.
Lacking an amphitheater in which the slave might be torn apart by wild animals,
as was customary, the legion was forced to be inventive. The only complaint
made about the punishment that was finally devised was that it was a waste of
wine. It was determined, though, that wine would be faster, and most of the
soldiers didn’t want to devote too much time to waiting.
The slave was tied to a pole with his hands behind him, lashed too tight to
move anything but his head. He screamed, protesting his innocence, but his
voice was drowned out by the laughter of the soldiers who crowded around,
careful to not miss a moment of this. It was rare that they had such good sport
out in the provinces. Someone Aurelius didn’t recognize, a legionary, came
forward with a needle and thread, and knelt at the slave’s feet.
His screams grew bloodcurdling as the legionary worked, carefully sewing his
urethra shut. He briefly lost consciousness, but was roused by a bucket of cold
water thrown over him. Tears began to stream down his face as he begged for
mercy.
“We’ll let you die at the end of it,” Marius shouted. “There’s mercy enough for
the likes of you.”
“You should be thanking us. We could make this slower if we weren’t so busy,”
Aurelius added.
He glowed with pride at the laughter and approving glances that came his way.
The wineskins were brought out, and the slave was forced to drink skin after
skin, his jaw forced shut when he tried to vomit. Some of it spilled out of his
nose, but they managed to keep most of it inside him. Even with the volume of
wine, it took hours for his bladder to burst, and another two hours after that
for him to die. Once he lost consciousness for good, though, people began to
wander off. There was no amusement after he stopped screaming.
“Truly excellent sport, Aurelius,” Marius said as they walked back to the fort.
“You should be proud of yourself for having such an idea. No Roman could have
done better.”
The best part of the joke came two days later, when Valerius found the medal he
thought had been stolen. When he held it up proudly at dinner that night, the
whole room roared with laughter. The slave’s death had been excellent
entertainment indeed. And that was all a slave was worth, anyway. Even the
smarter slaves - like Aurelius - knew that.




***** Preparations *****
Chapter Summary
     The Gemina sail to Caledonia and march towards the Taexali hill-fort.
     Their timing could hardly be worse for Loki.
Chapter Notes
     Character death, not that it's a surprise at this point.
The day Lugha died was the most painful one of Loki’s adult life. The old man
had suffered terribly with the cold in his bones, his last winter spent almost
entirely in a pile of furs, and even spring had brought him little relief. So
Loki wept for himself, and for all those who loved Lugha, but he did not weep
for Lugha. His friend and mentor was freed from a body that was becoming a
prison, and the gods would soon grant him a new life.
He spent the entire week sitting next to the body, singing to it and sharing
stories of Lugha with his fellow mourners. The day of the burial came painfully
soon, and every cut he made into the aspen rod felt like it was being cut in
his own heart. Yet as awful as it was to do, Loki refused to let anyone else
take over; the fe must be perfect to ensure a proper burial. And then it was
finished, and Loki had to take it in to give it to the body.
There were arguments over whether or not a druid needed to receive the
directions to the afterlife, where he would wait for a new body. Many said that
because Lugha had given the directions himself, he would know them already.
Loki thought this was most likely, but he had a small nagging fear that the
shock of dying might have made him forget, so just before the interment, he
leaned down and whispered in the cold ear. As he straightened, he took off his
best bronze arm cuffs and placed them in the bowl on Lugha’s chest. His friend
would not lack for riches while he waited.
Then he backed away and nodded, and the earth was piled high.
Loki walked far out into the forest, far enough that no one could hear him
screaming his pain. In the years since his homecoming, Lugha had become a rock,
buttressing Loki’s hold on the here-and-now, slowly making the shadow-life
weaker and fainter. And now he was gone.
Loki spent the night sleeping against a tree. He dreamt of monsters that howled
in Latin. He dreamt of bread, and beatings, and violation.
When he returned home, he learned that Roman ships had been spotted in the sea.
The next day they made land. The day after that, one hundred and twenty of them
began to march inland. Towards the Taexali hill-fort. Towards Loki.
*****
It was impossible to maintain their usual stern Roman demeanor in the face of
such rumors. It was whispered throughout the camp that Octavian had decided to
invade Britain once again, to take the island that Caesar had failed to
conquer. It would establish him, once and for all, as both a worthy successor
and as one with the ability to supercede the leader whose very name had become
the title of the ruler.
At first, the whispers were ephemeral, barely breathed around the fires at
night. But with time, they grew stronger, the words taking on body and
strength. And then came a courier from Rome; not only did Octavian intend to
invade Britain, the Fourteenth Gemina would be the first wave of the invasion
force. It was their chance to redeem themselves after Atuataca, to shed the
veil of shame that had befallen them there. If they were part of a successful
invasion of Britain, the Eburones and the Sicambri would be utterly forgotten.
The isle was small, but wealthy in wood and rich farmland and, best of all,
tin.
They had expected to invade in Kent, as Caesar had, but the orders instead sent
them north, to Caledonia. There were fewer people there, to resist, it was
said; it would make a good base for invading the south. The day they packed up
and marched northward, to the furthest extent of Roman territory in Gaul, was
one of great pride. It took weeks to march to the shore where the ships waited
for them, and just as it began to seem that they would march forever, the
legion crested a great hill and saw the sea spread out before them like a
silver carpet, the ships no more than tiny toys as they rose and fell with the
waves. It was another day’s march after that, but it passed in mere moments.
The crossing to Britain was long and rough; rather than sailing straight across
the sea, the ships made a long, looping path following the depths of the
channel. They had to fight the current nearly the whole way, as it tried
unceasingly to drive them south, and the first glimpse of the British shore was
littered with the backsides of legionaries being sick over the sides of the
ship. They sailed for nearly a week before making land. The forests were so
densely packed in places it was clear that marching in proper formation would
be impossible. The situation was a new one, and there were decisions to be made
before they could stage their attack.
As the older commanders had reached the ends of their conscriptions and gone
home, Valerius had risen to Primus, putting him in charge of the entire legion.
Thracian and Marius had climbed as well, becoming the second- and third-
highest ranked centurions. The three of them talked late into the night,
discussing how to handle the formidable barrier that opposed them. It was
almost as though the strange tree gods of the Keltoi were defending them, some
of the soldiers began to whisper.
Valerius finally reached his decision. He would remain at the camp with the
bulk of the legion, while Marius and Thracian would lead a company comprised of
soldiers from each of their centuries. Marius’ troops would follow him on the
left side of their formation, and Thracian with his men would be on the right.
The legion - or at least a part of it - would finally be twins in fact as well
as in name.
There was considerable fighting among the soldiers in the two centuries. No one
wanted to be left behind at the camp, not when this could prove to be the
battle that would redeem the reputation of the legion. Aurelius did not have to
worry; his place was at Marius’ side twice-over, charged by his friend with the
destruction of the enemy and by Traianus with the protection of his son.
They rested at the camp for a day before beginning to move, giving the sea-sick
men a chance to recover. It was an unusual decision; illness was not usually
catered to, but this entire situation was unusual. And once the Gemina was
broken, each soldier, whether he was part of the attack force or remaining at
the camp, would have to be at his best.
The morning was slow in coming to the eager soldiers, but come it did. Marius
and Thracian mustered their force and began to march into the forest. Into the
unknown.











***** Battle *****
Chapter Summary
     The Taexali and the Romans meet in battle.
The Romans marched through the forest without a known destination. They figured
that soon enough they would meet with opposition, and they would crush it
wherever it might be. The found it at the evening of the second night, when
they broke suddenly  into a huge clearing with a huge hill at the center, and
some sort of wooden fence ringing the top. It was obvious that they had been
expected; a sizeable group of men were standing, watching them. Both knew that
the battle would not begin now. The night was falling too fast. Both knew there
would be no sleep, either.
Loki dismissed the sentry, too much on edge to go inside where he could not
watch the Romans. It was torture to look upon them again, to hear faint traces
of Latin carried across the breeze, to see their uniforms and short hair. But
it would be worse to know they were there and not be able to watch.
Marius pointed out the magician standing upon the hill, and Aurelius couldn’t
help staring.  He was utterly magnetic even in the midst of his barbarism and
inferiority. And then he had no more time to stare, as they were surrounded by
chariots raining spears down upon them. Loki, though, could stare. There was a
soldier at the front, massive and golden. He was no Roman, no Gaul either. He
moved like a force of nature; how fitting, that his armor was covered in
thunderbolts.
The battle took almost an hour, the Romans cycling through their troops for
rest, the Taexali forced to fight without stop. Finally, it was clear that the
Romans could not win, and in their exhaustion, the Taexali allowed them to
withdraw. The Romans retreated, taking along only the most mildly-injured
soldiers with them. The rest were left to die, rather than risk a further
attack once the strange blue warriors had caught their breath.
Once they were back at their temporary camp at the edge of the clearing, Marius
and Thracian withdrew in urgent counsel.
“We need to get back to the rest of the legion,” Thracian said. “These people
could even now be sending other warriors to attack. They have greater numbers
than we do, but these men fight ruthlessly. Valerius should have all the troops
at his hand."
"Return in abject defeat, you mean. Run back to camp with a third the company
we left with, bringing with us nothing but shame," Marius answered bitterly.
"Better bring them our shame then leave them in ignorance and let them share
our ruin."
"What if we withdraw to that clearing we passed yesterday and make camp there,
for a time. We can send scouts back here to see what we can learn. Then we
might at least take knowledge along with our ignominy."
Thracian sighed. “It is a good plan,” he admitted.
*****
Loki felt his racing heart slowly ease as the Romans withdrew. He kept a sharp
eye on them as they moved away, allowing the warriors to move among the fallen
and collect both the dead and the wounded. The dead were carried to the druid's
caves; Loki and the others would begin tending to them soon. The wounded were
taken into the hill-fort. Oria had grown into a powerful healer, and under her
skilled hands most of these men would live.
Rheganon was obviously with Loki as he worked his prayers and magic during the
battle; the Romans had lost or abandoned nearly sixty soldiers, while the
Taexali only had seventeen dead. Loki would not count their wounded, not yet.
He knew Oria's talents too well to fear for them.
Once the battlefield was cleared of all but dead and dying Romans, Loki walked
down the hillside. He jerked a spear free from one of the bodies, and walked
slowly through the plain, stabbing viciously at the wounded. He was nearly at
the end of the plain when one of his rough jabs caught the throat of the supine
figure on the ground. His heart was still strong, and when the point of Loki's
spear hit his jugular, the blood shot forth in a fountain. Loki stepped
forward, directly into the middle, letting himself be covered.
Something bubbled in his chest and for one bizarre moment it felt exactly the
way the man’s blood looked as it gushed forth, and he vaguely wondered if he
were bleeding too, when laughter spilled out. It was unexpected and this was
entirely unfunny, but he laughed and laughed as his white skin gave way to a
canopy of red, sparkling and stinking in the burning sun.
He stared straight at the Romans who stood watching him, their faces uneasy.
Well, let them fear. He was no longer a helpless child. He was a druid, one
dedicated to the goddess of death and backed by the victorious Taexali army.
They had barely begun to taste the iron of his vengeance.
*****
When Marius and Thracian left the tent where they had held their conference,
they found the remainder of their company lining the woods, watching the
magician. He was covered in blood and stood laughing at them. It was utterly,
unspeakably barbaric. They summoned the troops and ordered a quick removal. No
one argued.
It took the rest of the day for the weary soldiers to reach the clearing where
they would make their temporary camp. Dark was falling as they pitched tents
for the commanders. But finally they were able to rest. All but one.
"Aurelius, I need you to go scout," Marius told him after they ate a late
dinner. "It's just not something I can ask a free man to do. You understand."
Because it wasn't scouting that he meant, and they both knew it. He meant
spying. He meant debasing. But Aurelius had no status to lose. Perhaps, if he
had not been there, one of the common legionaries might have been persuaded -
bribed - into doing it. But Aurelius was here.
He slipped some hard, unleavened bread into a pouch at his waist and hung a
skin of water from his belt. Better to leave camp at night, in case they were
being watched by the Caledonians. It was better to assume that they were.
Better to assume the worst.
And worst it proved to be, when after long, exhausting hours he had nearly
completed the trek back to the hill-fort, only to be met with a knife sharp
against his ribs. The stench of the battlefield curdled in his throat as he
stiffened, ready for death.
But they didn't kill him. He couldn't understand their speech, of course - the
words were odd, almost like song, and the rhythm itself was lilting - but the
knife and the hand pressing him forwards spoke well enough.  
As they marched him past the battlefield and around the side of the looming
hill-fort to a settlement of round wooden huts, he tried to memorize as much as
he could. It was unlikely that he would leave here alive, but he was a trained
Roman soldier, and a well-educated one, at that. His crisp intelligence
certainly stood some chance against these miserable people. The focus also
helped to keep him calm and controlled.
He counted twenty of the huts before he was roughly shoved inside of one. It
was smaller than most, and it lacked the cheery glow of a cooking fire that
shone from the holes at the tops of the others. He was tied to one of the logs
holding up the roof, and left alone in darkness. He listened carefully for the
mechanism used to lock him in. As best he could tell from the rough scraping,
it was a piece of wood - heavy, no doubt - set into hooks on either side of the
door to stop it swinging open.
He was half asleep when the wood scraped again, and the door swung open. He
bolted to his feet, eyes straining to make out the figure in the doorway, no
more than a black shape against the bright stars behind it. The door creaked
shut.
“You’re no Roman,” said a voice in the darkness. In Latin.
 
 
***** Hope *****
Chapter Summary
     Loki and Thor meet, and Loki realizes he's met someone who may
     understand.
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
“You’re no Roman,” said a voice in the darkness. In Latin.
 “I am Roman,” he answered.
 “Born Roman?”
 “No,” he answered, reluctantly. “Nor was anyone here, so far as I could see,
yet you speak Latin.”
 The speaker ignored his implied question. “You are no Gaul, either, though you
almost share their coloring.” The man entered the hut, striking a flint and
letting it catch on a small torch. Aurelius could see now who it was. The
magician. He was dressed in trousers and tunic, a bright cloak thrown over
them. It made him look more like a man, less wild, now that he was cleansed of
blood and his tattoos were covered.
 “I was born Sicambri, but I am a Roman now.”
 There was a sharp intake of breath. “How does a Sicambri come to be fighting
for Octavian?”
 “I was taken to Rome as a child. I barely remember Germania. How does a
Caledonian come to speak Latin?” he demanded.
 “Caledonian.” The magician snorted. “I am Taexali, one of the Pritani. Once
again the Romans do not even bother to learn who they are dealing with.”
 “Pritani, then,” Aurelius conceded. “How does a Pritani come to speak Latin?”
 The man looked at him a moment, his eyes glittering in the firelight. He
looked like he might be about to answer, but at the last moment he turned on
his heels and was gone.
 *****
Loki would have liked to stay longer, but he could feel himself starting to
shake and had to get away before the prisoner saw it. It had been bad enough,
at the battle, to hear the cries and commands shouted in Latin. It proved far
worse to speak it himself, to feel how the words rolled around his tongue
before making their escape. He was intrigued by the prisoner, though, all the
same. He had heard of the German tribes, but never seen one before. He wondered
if they were all so huge and golden. No, he thought, surely even among his own
people, this man would stand out. He would go back to see him again, and not
just to find out about the legion’s plans.
*****
The magician took the torch with him, plunging Aurelius into utter blackness,
relieved only by the few stars that managed to twinkle through the smoke hole
in the roof. He hated being trapped like this, bound into helplessness. It made
it hard to breathe. With a surge of will, he turned his attention to the few
night sounds that had some chance of being man-made. That regular footfall that
came at certain intervals must be a patrol. It grew tired over the course of
the night, and Aurelius could tell that the man - for there was only one - was
not accustomed to long marches. A new guard, then, set up to watch for Romans.
He finally decided it would be best to get some rest while he could. Dawn was
already breaking, but it made little difference to a prisoner.
He woke to the sound of his door being opened, and watched suspiciously as two
people entered, a woman carrying a plate of food and a man with a spear fixed
on Aurelius’ throat. He sat still, waiting for them to leave before he rushed
to pick up the crude dish, cramming handfuls of food into his mouth as fast as
he could eat. The bread from his pouch was gone hours before, and his hunger
was still high from yesterday’s battle.  There was meat, roughly cooked but
savory, and greens that were undressed but peppery, and a pile of slimy
mushrooms. Those he ate only grudgingly, afraid of poison but too hungry to
leave them.
When his stomach was filled, he turned his attention to his bonds. If he were
in chains, he might have some hope of using it to wear down the log to which he
was trapped, but he was held with a heavy woven rope.
The sort of thing that could be cut, given time and determination. With a
slight sneer at the coarseness of the manufacture of the plate, he struck it
against the ground, trying to be quiet. The first hit merely chipped it, and so
he risked second, louder and harder, strike. This broke it into three pieces,
and he picked up the shard that looked roughest and began to saw at the rope.
He had cut halfway through the first of the three plys when the man with the
spear was back. So was the magician.  He had read enough about these people’s
barbaric practices to know that his life was about to end. He said a quick
prayer as the magician took the spear from the guard, and he stood up to at
least face his death on his feet. He held his head proudly, ready to die like a
Roman.
But the magician just looked at him, his piercing green eyes fixed on Aurelius’
own as the guard knelt. He cleaned up the broken pottery, and then produced
another piece of rope from under his shawl, doubling Aurelius’ bindings. And
then, with a gesture to the magician, the guard left.
The magician sat on a stool by the door, twirling the spear between his
fingers. It was strange, to prepare for death and then not meet it, and it left
Aurelius shaken. He could think of no other reason, later, why he would answer
the man's questions.
 “What is your name?” the magician asked him idly.
 “Aurelius. It means gold-”  
 “Yes, yes, I know what it means. But I want your real name, not the one they
put upon you.”
 Aurelius had to think. It was so long ago, almost as faint as his memory of
Germania itself. So he focused on one memory that had not lessened as he
wished, of huddling with his brother on the wagon. It was the night after his
one and only escape attempt, when their captors had not been satisfied with
beating him. Three of them had invaded him, one after the other, and it was
bloody and cruel and confusing. He remembered laying curled in a ball, shaking
silently in pain, afraid this would be their lives forever. His brother’s hand
stroked his hair, and his soft voice soothed him. It’ll be better in Rome. It’s
got to be. Believe me, Thor.
 “Thor,” he answered slowly. “My name was Thor.”
 “This pains you,” the magician said, sounding curious.
 “A memory,” he said brusquely. “That is all.” 
“Tell me.”
 “You tell me your name.”
 The magician laughed. It was low and smooth. “All right, then,” he answered.
“It’s Loki.”
 “Loki,” Aurelius repeated, struggling slightly with the unfamiliar ‘o’ sound.
 “Thor,” Loki said. “Tell me your memory.”
He didn’t want to dwell on it; he had pushed it far to the back of his mind,
until Loki had forced it forwards, and he would happily have sent it back into
the fog of memory. But he was afraid that if he refused, Loki would leave, and
his presence was the only thing that broke the tedium of sitting in this empty
roundhouse for hours upon hours. So he spoke.
 “It was when I was taken to Rome, with my brother. The men in charge of the
conveyance  beat us when we misbehaved, and I remember my brother comforting
me. And that’s how I remember my name,” he offered.
 Loki’s face was impassive, and he was silent a long moment.
 “They raped you too, didn’t they?” he said.
Aurelius twisted his hands together. How to make this strange man understand?
“Slaves can’t be raped,” he explained. “We have no rights to violate. And what
they did to me, they had to. I was trying to escape.I made them do it.”
Loki’s face contorted briefly. He rose, opening his mouth to speak, but closed
it again and left silently.
 Aurelius was left alone with his thoughts. They centered on Loki’s too. Surely
he meant beaten and raped too, yes? Not that Loki had been raped, too.
 A few minutes later, when a silent girl brought him a blanket against the
rising damp, he wasn’t so sure.
*****
It was hard for Loki, almost unbearably hard, to hear Thor’s memory. It made
him sick to hear Thor say that he deserved it. But even as the familiar
feelings threatened him, the knotted stomach and helpless lungs and the rushing
in his ears, there was a new one as well. A small spark of hope. Someone who
understands. Loki had spent so many years alone with this, and now he wasn’t.
As the night grew chilly, Loki fetched his best blanket and asked a serving
girl to take it to the prisoner. He couldn’t face him again, not just yet, but
he could give him a little of the warmth he had unknowingly given Loki.
*****
Loki was back the next morning, looking almost pedestrian as he carried in a
bowl of porridge with berries and held it out.
 “I brought you your breakfast, Thor,” he said.
 Aurelius stared at him impassively. “My name is Aurelius.”
 “Do you want breakfast, Thor?” Loki asked as if he hadn’t heard anything.
 He thought a moment. Was this really worth the fight? He still hoped to
escape, and would need every ounce of energy he could get. He reached out and
took the bowl, glad that at least he wasn’t being forced to repeat the name.
Loki stood silently, watching him eat.
 “Thank you,” he said when he finished. 
“You’re welcome,” Loki answered. “I wonder,” he continued, his voice taking on
the hint of idleness that Aurelius was already learning meant he was intensely
curious, “do you think the company misses you? Did they notice your absence, or
do they think you just another dead slave?”
 Aurelius shrugged. Little point in denying the truth.  “They know I am gone. I
was expected back well before now. But what are you, to speak so about me?” he
challenged. “A barbarian magician.”
 Loki’s eyes flashed. “I gladly take the name barbarian over that of the so-
called civilized world. And I am no paltry magician, but a druid.”
 “The difference…?”
 “We remember the knowledge, and we see to the happiness of the gods, and we
see.”
 “You see?”
 “We read the signs in ways the pathetic Roman priests can only dream.”
 Aurelius laughed at this. “If you see so much, why do you have these questions
for me?”
 Loki looked at him. “If I see so little, how did I know where to find you when
you came to spy?”
He had no answer.
 
Chapter End Notes
     My posting schedule may be erratic for the next week, but I am hoping
     to keep posting daily if possible. Especially now that things are
     starting to look up! :)
***** Reason *****
Chapter Summary
     Loki has questions that Thor can't answer.
Aurelius had been left alone for hours, and once they started taking away the
pottery when he finished his meals, he could see no way to escape. So when Loki
came to talk to him, he was glad of the diversion, if nothing else.
“Thor, you never answered my question this morning.”
 “What was it?”
 “Do you think they miss you?”
“Yes, of course they do. Marius, my centurion, has been my closest friend from
childhood.”
“So you were bought to be a friend?”
“A friend, yes, and an aide in battle.”
“Oh, I see. Your job is to die for him.”
“My job is to assist him,” Aurelius snapped, unwilling to admit to the truth.
“And to stay alive, and to fight for the glory of the Republic.”
“Glory,” Loki repeated bitterly. “How is it anything but shameful to enslave
and brutalize children?”
“Of course we make slaves of our prisoners.” Aurelius was puzzled. “ It weakens
the enemy and strengthens Rome. Do your people not do this?”
“Prisoners are sometimes kept in bond, for their labor to pay the debts of the
deaths they caused, but it is a different thing from Roman slavery. They still
have rights, and are not to be abused. Better put them to death than that.”
*****
The door to the roundhouse swung open, much later at night than he usually had
visitors, and he looked up expectantly. Loki crept in, a finger to his lips.
 “Thor,” he whispered. “You must leave, tonight. The wicker man is being built
to pray for the aid of the gods in fighting Rome, and you are to be part of
it.”
 Aurelius’ blood froze. He had read of the wicker men, used by the druids for
burning men alive. Better put them to death then enslave them.
 “Why are you telling me this?” he demanded. “Aren’t you the one who lights the
pyre?”
 “I am,” Loki hissed,” and I’d rather you not be in it.”
“But why? Why do you care?”
 Loki thought a moment. “Let’s say that I’m doing it for the little boy who
couldn't help himself.” He reached into his cloak and drew out a knife and
pressed it in Aurelius’ hand. “Be safe, Thor,” he whispered.
He took the knife. “I could kill you now,” he said, looking down at it.
“No. No, I don’t think you could,” Loki answered, and was gone. The door hung
open.
 Aurelius waited a moment, half-expecting a trap, and then rose and slipped out
and into the night. Wondering which of them was the helpless little boy.
 *****
When he reached the temporary encampment, everyone was gone. Everyone alive,
that is. The crows and wild dogs had made quick work of the bodies that
remained, and time and heat had made the remaining viscera reek so that his
eyes watered. There were no bodies on the hastily beaten path back to the
beach, at least; the Taexali knew these woods better, but the trees were too
thick for them to maneuver for war. So he followed the trampled plants back to
the legion.
It took him nearly a week to make his way back to them, eating little more than
wild berries, spending the nights shivering in piles of leaves rather than
sleeping. He couldn’t rest, not while his mind turned over and over on his last
moments with Loki, why Loki had set him free. When he returned, he was so
covered in grime that the guards at first took him for a Caledonian, until he
spoke to them in Latin, assuring them that Marius would be glad to see him. And
he was.
 “Aurelius!” he shouted happily as he approached. It took a moment to realize
what sounded so strange. Sometime during those nights in the forest he had
begun to think of himself as Thor.
*****
 “So how did you escape?” Marius was eager to hear all the details, the enemy’s
weaknesses.
 Thor had already planned out his story. “I was kept in a locked roundhouse,
but was untied. Once I figured out their patterns, I overpowered a guard and
took his knife.” His stomach rumbled loudly as he spoke, and Marius waved for
food to be brought to them.
 “How long ago was that? What did you eat?”
 “I slept out for five nights, and the brambles were full of berries,” Thor
said, holding out his arms to show the scratches that covered them. Some,
filled with mud, had grown infected and had a noxious ooze seeping from them.
 Marius hissed at the sight. “You eat your fill. I’ll have a bath drawn for
you, then you must rest,” he said.
 Thor nodded, his mouth too full of heavy bread to answer. He ate desperately,
not stopping until he grew sick to his stomach.
*****
“So tell me, what did you learn while the Caledonians had you?” Valerius
demanded.
Their druid knows Latin. He understands every word of your commands. Thor knew
he should say it. But he didn’t.
 “They are barbaric,” he said instead. “They eat no bread, and they live in
single-room roundhouses covered in mud. My guard fought well, but in a manner
very different from our own. That is all I can say.”
 *****
Life at the Roman encampment went on largely as it always had. The tattered
remnants of Thor’s company had met up with the rest of the legion; over fifteen
hundred men remained to take up the fight against the Caledonians. They waited
for orders from Rome.
 They occasionally saw scouts watching them, blond or red hair sparkling in the
sunlight from the top of a hill, always too far away for the Romans to attack
them. Thor found himself looking to the hills, watching for a dark head instead
of the constant stream of light ones. Finally, when he was near giving up, he
saw it.
 *****
Thor waited until dark before making his way out of the camp, towards the hill
where he had seen Loki. He carried no weapons, not willing to risk any metal
that might clang and alert a guard. If Loki wanted him dead, he would be dead
by now, burned alive as an offering to his gods.
Loki’s face glowed in the faint moonlight. “Thor. You came,” he said simply.
“I did. I don’t quite know why.”
“Because you know you don’t belong with them.”
“But I do. I prefer them,” he argued.
“You prefer their vile Roman ways to freedom?” Loki asked.
“To barbarian ways, yes,” Thor corrected.
“You choose the lesser part.”
“I don’t! Of course Roman ways are better than barbarian,” Thor protested.
 “How? Name one way,” Loki challenged.
 “Well, the wicker man, for a start. It’s horrible.”
 “Why?”
 “Why is it horrible to sacrifice humans?... I don’t even know how to answer.
It seems so obvious.”
“In Rome, they sacrifice animals, do they not?”
 “Yes, but animals, not men!”
 “They think themselves so far apart from nature as to believe men are not
animals?” Loki asked. “How can that be?”
 “We are a type of animal, but also different.”
 “As is a cow from a bird.”
 Thor fidgeted. He had been tutored in many subjects, but this was unfamiliar
ground.
 “And I have heard, also, that in Rome they sacrifice men not to the gods, but
for mere entertainment. How is this better than our way?”
 “You mean the gladiators? But they are only-” Thor caught himself before
finishing his sentence, but Loki knew exactly what he was going to say.
 “And if I had let you, who are also only a slave, be put in the wicker? Your
death would at least have served a purpose beyond entertaining bored Romans.”
 “Is that who you burn, then? Captives, slaves? These are fit offerings for
your gods? Rome would never make such paltry offerings.”
 “No.” Loki shook his head. “We burn criminals, enemies. The gods wish us to
maintain order, and this is how we do it.”
 “So why did you free me? You can hardly find a worse enemy than a soldier for
Rome.”
 Loki smiled at the wording. A soldier for Rome, now, not a Roman soldier.
 “Because you are no enemy. You are a victim of Rome. And I would see you free,
Thor,” he whispered.
 Loki’s voice was intense, determined, and it stirred something unexpected in
Thor. It felt tangled and confusing, and he stepped closer. Loki tensed and
moved back. Thor felt awkward, unsure what to do, until he was saved a few
moments later by the first birdsong. It was still dark in the deep woods where
they stood, but up in the canopy the sky must be growing light.
 “I must go back to camp,” he said hesitantly.
 Loki nodded. “All right, then,” he said.
 Thor started to turn away, stopped himself. “Will I see you again?” he asked.
His throat was oddly tight as he spoke.
 Loki smiled uncertainly, his voice weak. “I think that seems likely, don’t
you?” he asked, slipping away into the trees.
*****
Loki managed to wait until he was away from Thor before he let the sick shaking
take over. It hadn’t been this bad in a long time, but when Thor had drawn near
him it made him feel things he didn’t want to feel. The way his body craved
things which his mind rejected made it a treacherous companion, indeed. Yet
despite that, there was something comforting about Thor’s presence. He was the
only person Loki had ever known who might understand him. Even as his fears
tried to push him away from Thor, a small part wondered whether being
understood, being able to talk to safe ears, might mean the beginnings of
peace. 
***** Remembering *****
Chapter Summary
     Thor remembers something he had forgotten as a child.
Chapter Notes
     This is the first chapter where it hasn't felt wrong to say this, so
     at long last... Enjoy.
Thor returned the following night.    
“How are your wounded?” he asked Loki. He wasn’t sure why; he’d been the one
trying to kill them, after all. Still, he couldn’t help being haunted by the
fact that they were probably friends of the man who had saved his life.    
“Our healer is skilled, and she has saved nearly all of them.”    
“Your healer is a woman?” Thor was startled. Doctors were looked down on in
Rome, but even so, at least they were men.    
“She is, and we are fortunate to have her here. We are a small tribe, and we
cannot afford to ignore the talents of anyone among us. My own mother is so
skilled at cattle husbandry that she has to carry a weapon for fear of
abduction by another tribe.”    
Thor thought a moment, his mind dwelling on  Lucretia. He had liked her. She
had had a quick mind and a sharp wit. Would she have been a healer, or a
breeder, had she been given the chance? With her marriage chosen for her, she
had little more say over her own life than Thor had over his.  Still, there was
the natural order.   
“But women are smaller and weaker,” he argued. “Surely it is better for them to
be protected in the home.”    
“I’ll be sure to tell that to the men who are alive because of Oria’s care.”
  
He could think of no argument. So he simply said, “I am glad your friends will
recover.”    
Loki smiled at him. This time it wasn’t weak or uncertain; it was warm and
sure. “Thank you. I am as well.” He was tempted to add, I am glad they survived
you, but decided against it. Better to keep his attacks focused on Rome itself,
to make it easier for Thor to draw away from them. He didn’t argue when Thor
said he needed to leave; there was much for him to consider in his wish for the
health of those who had been his opponents two weeks ago.    
   *****   
Thor didn’t come the next day. But the day after that, he did. Loki was back on
the hilltop, watching the camp.    
“We have received our orders from Rome,” Thor told him.   
“And they are…?”    
“The legion is to leave Britain. Tomorrow we strike camp, and the day after the
ships will sail on the morning tide.”   
“Will you be on one?”    
Thor looked at him, confused. “What else would I do?”   
“You could choose freedom," Loki said simply. "This is likely your only chance
to take it, you know that as well as I do. You could live here, with us, or I
have friends in northern Gaul who could see you back to the  Sicambri, if you
preferred.”  He wanted - hoped beyond hope - that Thor would stay with him. He
knew, though, it would do him good to see Thor free of Rome, wherever that
ended up being.   
Thor frowned in thought. “I’ve never considered leaving Rome. It’s
unthinkable.”   
“It is thinkable. So consider it. I will remain at this place through the
night. At dawn, I will return to Taexali  lands, whether you are with me or
not.” Loki wasn’t sure if this was the right move, whether an ultimatum would
pull Thor towards him or away. But Thor seemed like he might be weakening,
might just require the right nudge from Loki.    
“Why are you doing this?”     
“The same reason I released you before you could be put in the wicker man. I
wanted you free then, I want you free now.”    
“How do I know I won’t be put into it if I come back with you?”    
Loki thrilled inwardly. He was actually considering it. But he schooled his
face to remain neutral. “Because you will be with me.”   
“Ah, but you are not the king.”   
“Not even the king will countermand my word, not in this.”   
“Oh. I see,” he said, even though he didn’t. “But why do you care?”   
Because there is no one else who understands. Because without you I have no
hope. Loki couldn’t say the words. “Just be here before dawn if you want to be
free.”   
*****   
Thor walked slowly back to the camp. He had much to think of. Not just Loki’s
words, though those were a part of it. He thought of how he was beaten while
Marius was only reprimanded. The many times he had had to lie about himself.
The gladiator who had died, but who was only a slave. The slave who was
tortured to death for stealing, and worse, how it was laughed at when he was
later found to have been innocent. And the worst of all, for Thor. The fact
that he had been the one to devise the torture, and how he had basked in the
praise of his cleverness.    
He stopped walking, sickened. That man could have been him, and everyone would
simply have laughed. For all his hard work to be the perfect Roman, it could
have been him so easily. Perhaps Marius would have cared. Perhaps. No one else
would have. He did still believe in the superiority of Rome, he couldn’t help
it; her armies, her architecture, her dazzling technical feats - no one else in
the known world came anywhere close. Even her culture, in most ways.
But he remembered something he had forgotten as a child. He remembered that he
did not want to be a slave.     
He turned and walked, faster now, back to Loki. And freedom.    
*****   
Loki watched Thor approach, trying to hide his relief. When Thor reached him,
they looked at each other in silence.    
“I’m not entirely sure this is the right decision,” Thor said honestly.     
“You’ll see. In time,” Loki answered.    
Loki knew a shorter, easier way back to the hill-fort, and he also knew where
along the way to find the supply stashes that had been left by the scouts who
were sent to watch the Romans. Each night was spent in comfort, curled up in
big piles of blankets that were kept wrapped in skins against the damp. There
was also some food - just dried meat, but good enough - to supplement the
berries they ate along the way.    
As each day took them further from the legion’s camp, Loki looked more relaxed
and confident. It was paralleled by Thor’s own rising anxiety. He had only
Loki’s word, after all, that he would not be burned alive as soon as they
reached their destination. No real reason to trust that the king would defer to
Loki in this matter, no real reason even to trust that Loki hadn’t simply
changed his mind about freeing Thor in the first place. But the legion was gone
now, on its way back to Gaul without him, and it was too late to change his
mind. There was some peace in that knowledge, if nowhere else.    
 
  
 
***** Home *****
Chapter Summary
     Thor and Loki return to the Taexali.
Chapter Notes
     In the next few chapters, before Thor can understand Pritani, Latin
     will be in quote marks and Pritani in italics, to distinguish the
     dialogue that he can't understand.
     Sorry about the formatting problems, I moved everything from google
     docs to word online and it stuck in a bunch of spaces where they
     don't belong.
     Enjoy!
 
The walk back wasn’t entirely bad. On the third day Loki said they were making
good enough time that they sat for an hour on a high cliff, contentedly gnawing
on their food and watching the crashing waves far below. Most of the path was
too narrow for them to talk, and each night they were too tired for much of
anything but sleep. Thor had had plenty of time to think, but this was their
first good chance at conversation since they had begun walking.    
“Loki?” he began, cautious.   
Loki looked at him, his head tilted in question. It was hard for Thor to
resolve this man with the terrifying magician who had laughed at them as he was
covered in bursts of Roman blood. Right now, Loki was stretched out and
relaxed, dressed lightly and casually for the warm day. The breeze teased his
hair and his eyes sparkled in the sunlight. Thor was unaccustomed to such
mercuriality.   
“You never told me how you learned Latin. Were… were you taken prisoner, too?”
 
Nothing changed. The sun didn’t go behind a cloud. Loki’s posture didn’t
change. Not even his face changed. Everything stayed exactly the same.   
Yet it was all different. Thor could see that this was that laughing man, now.
 
But Loki did answer him. He wasn’t really expecting that he would.   
“I was seven when Caesar invaded. A group of Pritani  warriors had gone to help
fight. I was kept in the    hill-fort, in the king's roundhouse   . I heard the
battle, and then the Romans came in and took us away.” His voice was hollow, as
though he were speaking from a long way off.   
“How long did they have you?”   
“Two years.” The words were    c   lipped, as though Loki were trying to make
them end as quickly as he could.   
“I’m sorry. I won’t ask anything further,” Thor offered. He was curious, but it
was only Loki’s good will that had any chance of ensuring his survival now, and
he wasn’t willing to risk it any further.   
“It’s all right,” Loki sighed. “Someone would have told you soon enough, if I
didn’t. As soon as you learn Pritani, you’d have found out.”   
“Will you teach me? It might be good for me to know some of your words when we
arrive.”   
Loki smiled at him, glad of the change of subject. He rose and led them back to
the path, but now as they walked, he took the time to stop and point to things,
telling Thor their  Pritani  names. The morning before they would arrive at the
hill-fort, Loki taught Thor the words to properly greet  Deglan.    
When they reached the clearing, entering it from the east, rather than the
south, as the legion had done, Thor saw it was still surrounded by guards. Word
must not have arrived here of Rome’s retreat, then. Loki took Thor by the wrist
as he led him forward.    
“What does this mean?” Thor asked, nodding his head towards Loki’s hand.   
“That you are… mine, I suppose. Not a prisoner, not with your hands free, 
and    not a threat, either.”   
“Nor equals.”  Not that Thor really should have expected anything better.   
“No, not for now. After all    this   , I’d rather you not be killed before we
see the king. But soon.”   
As they drew near, Loki hailed the guards. Thor recognized a few words. King
 was one. Peace    was another.   
The guards, even the ones who were significantly older than Loki, treated him
with a mixture of respect and friendship. That boded well for Thor’s fate, he
decided. As long as he could really trust Loki. He looked around curiously as
Loki led him in to the fort, after the guards had nodded and pointed towards
it. “The king is within,” Loki told him.   
They went straight to the largest hut, one that was half-draped with skins as
well as being covered in mud. It was a display of luxury and wealth, to be able
to devote them to ostentation rather than utility. The doorway was surrounded
by pieces of bronze and iron, animal sculptures and discs inscribed with the
same whirls that covered Loki’s body. Thor wondered when he had stopped
noticing the tattoos, when they had simply become part of Loki.    
The king’s eyes narrowed as he saw Thor follow Loki inside, but he looked at
Thor’s wrist, where he was held by Loki, and said nothing. Loki addressed him,
speaking rapidly. Again, Thor knew just a few of the words, but as the
suspicion eased from the king’s face, he began to feel… safe.    
 My greetings,   Deglan , Loki began. The Romans have left for Gaul, and I have
brought back their warrior. Thor is a  Sicambri  slave, and he has chosen to
leave them. I do not yet know whether he will wish to stay with us, or to
return to his own people, but he wishes for freedom, and I have promised it to
him.   
You make large promises on my behalf,  Deglan  answered.   
I promised no more than what is right. I trusted I could speak on behalf of the
king’s justice.   
Loki nodded to Thor, prompting him to speak. Great king, I beg peace and
shelter among your people, and I offer you my sword. His tongue stammered over
the unfamiliar words, but his speech was clear enough to understand him.   
Deglan  looked at Thor a moment before nodding to Loki. He is to stay in your
roundhouse until he leaves for Germania, or if he stays, until I    give
permission   .   
Loki tilted his head in acceptance. And he is to be a free man, not a slave, he
said firmly.   
Deglan  hesitated before he spoke. He is to be free, but watched.   
Thank you, Loki said.   
Thor understood that, and he quickly echoed it. He also understood what it
meant when Loki let go of his wrist.    
“Walk next to me when we leave,” Loki whispered to him as he led him through
the door.   
The word of Thor’s arrival had spread. The women stared boldly, not one of them
with their eyes lowered modestly as a Roman woman would do. The children danced
behind their mother’s skirts, peeking out to catch glimpses of him and
giggling. The men kept their hands on their weapons. Loki moved easily among
them all, nodding and trading words as he went. Thor watched it all cautiously
as he stayed close at Loki’s side.   
They were nearly out of the hill-fort when something wet clipped the side of
Thor’s head. He put his hand up to find he had been hit with a mud ball. Loki
was already whirling, his voice tight with anger. After days of seeing him as a
normal man, it gave Thor a start to see the sudden power that flowed through
Loki, the air almost crackling with his intensity. This is what it is to be a
druid, Thor realized.    
Loki’s eyes narrowed, and his voice, he could tell, was no more than a hiss as
he demanded to know who had thrown the mud. With a stir of fabric, Brisa came
out from behind her mother’s skirts. He softened. She was only nine, and her
father was one of men  Oria  could not save. But Loki could not ignore this
slight, not if he hoped to see Thor gain any standing here.    
Come here, Brisa, he ordered.   
Thor watched her approach. Her eyes were terrified as they fixed on Loki.
“Loki, she’s just a child. It doesn’t matter-”   
“It does, Thor. If one slight is allowed, they will only continue. People need
to learn that you are not a Roman. They must stop seeing you as an enemy.”   
Loki knelt as Brisa stopped before him.   
Brisa, he    began. He spoke gently, but loudly enough for the crowd to hear
his words.    Thor is my friend. I know he fought with the men who killed your
father, but you must understand that he is not one of them, and he is very sad
about the pain he caused. When he was no bigger than you, those same men killed
his father, and then they hurt him until he was confused about everything. 
Do y   ou understand that when someone is confused, they might do the wrong
thing because they believe it is right?    
She nodded silently. Her eyes were still wide, but the fear seemed to be
ebbing, Thor noted.   
 And now he’s here because he doesn’t want to be confused anymore. I want to
help him with that, because he is my friend. Do you think you might help me,
too?
She frowned. How?   
 The only words he knows are their words, and it might help him to not be
confused if he has other words to think in. Can you help him learn   Pritani  ?

Brisa looked back at her mother, who nodded. I will, she whispered.    
Thank you, Loki said formally as he stood up.    
“I think that will be all right now,” he told Thor as they continued on.    
Loki’s roundhouse was nearly as fine as  Deglan’s . It was at the very edge of
the  the  group of huts - a group large enough to be called a village, Thor
realized now - and its door faced southwest, away from the harsh winds and into
the forest.    
“Welcome,” Loki said, opening the door. Thor went inside as Loki paused in the
entryway, whispering something to one of the iron pieces that hung outside.
“Now  Brigh  knows that you belong here. She is the goddess of the hearth, and
she protects us when we are in our homes. It is best she know that you are a
friend.”   
“Should I greet her as well?” Thor asked, unsure how to behave.   
Loki smiled. “I think she will prefer it when you have learned some Pritani.
There is no hurry, she understands and is kind to those who are friends.”   
*****   
 It took Brisa three days to get over her shyness with Thor, at which time she
apparently decided to treat him like an inordinately large lap dog. It was
clever of Loki, he thought, to pair them. He certainly met with many more
welcoming smiles when he was being dragged about by a small and perennially
messy girl who constantly insisted that he repeat after her every word.
***** Settling In *****
Chapter Summary
     Thor is unsure of his place in the tribe.
Loki's home, despite its luxurious size, was largely empty. Against one wall
there was a large and thick pile of skins, topped with several of the same sort
of woven blankets they had used on their hike, but they looked plush and soft,
not the rough wool that had been waiting for them each night in the woods.
There was also a set of shelves that held Loki's arm cuffs and torcs on one
shelf, with animal figures and clay vessels of what looked like bits of plants
below. The horn of a bull sat at the center of it all, right at eye level. The
bottom had stacks of fabric. A table and an armless chair completed the
furnishings. More weavings hung on the walls, adding another layer of
insulation against the winter winds.
"Someone should be along with bedding for you soon," Loki told him. "I'll have
another chair brought, as well."
"Thank you," Thor said, shifting his weight between his feet.
Neither was sure what else to say after that. After a long pause, Loki asked,
"Would you like to go swim in the river? We've had many warm days."
Warm was an understatement. Few things on earth sounded as welcome as bathing,
Thor thought, even if it was just in a river rather than in proper baths. "I
would like that," he answered.
"I'll see about getting you clothing made. In the meantime, I think it would be
better if you borrowed from me rather than continuing in those things," he said
with a gesture at Thor's uniform. "People don't really need any more
reminding."
"Of course. Thank you," Thor answered. Loki rummaged through the piles of
fabric, which turned out to be his folded clothing, pulling out another green
shirt for himself and a bright madder one for Thor, and clean brown pants for
both of them.
Loki led the way, pointing out small path markers - the strangely red lichen
patch on the tree where they turned slightly to the left, the oak tree that had
split its trunk and grew back together further up - before they arrived at the
river. The water was as cold as the harshest frigidarium, and in the absence of
a strigil, Thor found a piece of slate that worked well enough.
When they returned to the village, Loki had Thor go first to show that he
remembered the way. The slightest error in woods so dense could mean getting
dangerously lost. But Thor did well, and when they got back to the roundhouse,
thy found not only another set of bedding, but a meal waiting for them.
"That was kindly thought," Loki said. "I generally eat with Deglan, but he must
have thought you might be prefer to be introduced more slowly." Or that he
wanted to discuss the new arrival without Loki's presence. He would not
countermand Loki in this, but he would be foolish not to seek counsel.
Thor tilted his head in question.
Loki explained, "Deglan, and his wife and foster children, along with my mother
and I, and all the other druids and the filid - poets and... lawyers, I suppose
you'd call them - plus his closer advisors, all eat together. It's generally
about forty people at a meal."
"That sounds more like a feast."
"It's part of the king's role. If he couldn't provide fitly, he would be
replaced by someone better able."
They sat on the floor together, each with a bowl full of food. The meal was
silent but companionable, After days of dried meat and berries, the stew, with
its thick and well-seasoned broth, was delicious, and they ate it gratefully.
Sated, they drank their beer more slowly than they had eaten.
"Loki?" Thor began.
"Hmmm?"
"What am I to do here?"
"Oh." Loki had not anticipated the question,  not thought beyond his own need
to have Thor near. "At times, you will be a warrior. What would you like to
do?"
"You think they'll trust me with weapons?" Thor was doubtful, but he had no
other real skills to offer these people in return for taking him in.
"In time." Loki nodded. "I do not expect Rome back for some long time, and even
today you would likely be trusted to aid us if the Venicones attacked. In the
meantime, you will likely be asked to assist with whatever chores are needed."
*****
'Whatever chores are needed' turned out to be gathering fruit, mushrooms, and
firewood in the company of women and children, Brisa taking care to point out
every new thing she thought important for Thor to know. The women did some of
the gathering, but they mainly stood alert, hands resting loosely on their
knives, while the children and Thor did the work of collecting.
Evenings, after the first one, were spent in the great hall of the hill-fort,
eating at Deglan's table and watching the lively conversations that bounced
around him. Thor bore it in silence for two weeks.
"Is this what I am to be? The companion of children and a silent face at the
meal table?" he demanded of Loki.
"For a time," Loki acknowledged. "But that time is already shortening. Have you
not seen the changes in how you are regarded, even after these few days? Each
day that you are kind to the children, and are guarded by the women, shows that
you are not the arrogant and superior Roman that many believed you to be when
you came. There was talk last night about taking you on the next hunt, if you
understand enough of our language to work with the other men."
"How much must I know? Find out and teach me!" Thor demanded.
To his surprise, Loki went back to the hall that night to ask what Thor would
need to know to be included, and from that evening on, they spent the twilight
hours working on conversation about hunting. These lessons were exhausting for
Loki, eating up as they did the few hours each day that were not dedicated to
either his students or his own work. At the same time, though, they offered him
fulfillment such as he had rarely known in his life. Thor continued to compare
Taexali and Roman ways, expressing his preference for the latter, but his
arguments grew slowly fewer as he grew slowly settled.
And the next time the men went on a hunt, they gathered for Loki's blessing,
and then they took Thor with them. Loki watched them go, feeling strangely
anxious at the sight. Thor strode confidently with the men of the tribe, taller
and broader but not looking too terribly out of place in his new clothes
that Farbauti had made for him. He carried a spear and a knife given him by
Deglan himself. He has no reason not to return. No reason to leave you.
But he did not sleep well until the men, Thor among them, returned safely the
next week.
Thor returned with a greatly broadened vocabulary. The men had taken great
delight in providing enough pantomime for him to understand their adult jokes,
slapping him on the back each time he caught on and laughed with them. He still
had trouble thinking of the words he wanted to use, but his understanding was
growing by leaps and bounds.
After this, while Thor sometimes went with the women and children to gather
food, he wore a knife, and took turns standing guard with the women. It was not
his turn to guard the day one of the children came across a bear clearing a
berry bush, but he had his knife, and he threw himself between the bear and the
children. The fight was brutal, and Thor had to be carried back for his wounds
to be tended. By nightfall they were festering and he grew feverish.
Loki and Oria worked nonstop for three days, him with prayer and magic and her
with her medicines, until the fever broke.
Thor cracked open sticky lids to find Loki's face floating above him. He smiled
and fell into peaceful rest.
***** Fitting In *****
Chapter Summary
     It takes some work to find Thor's new role in life.
Chapter Notes
     Enjoy!
 After Thor nearly gave his life to defend the Taexali children, a general
hearing was convened.  Deglan announced that henceforth, Thor was to be
considered a member of their tribe, no longer to be watched and guarded. Even
those who had lost men in the battle with Rome agreed to it. Everyone had seen
Thor's shredded body when he was brought back, and no one could help hearing
his pained cries as the wounds tortured him in his delirium. The women all
agreed that Thor placed himself between the bear and the children when he could
have easily chosen to spare himself. After their testimony was heard, no one
wished to speak against Deglan's order.   
 
Summer passed, and autumn fell. Deglan made no mention of giving Thor his own
roundhouse, and Loki did not mention it. He found Thor's easy breathing at
night to bring him to peaceful slumber of his own, and while their
conversations were still in Latin if they wanted to discuss anything of much
import, even these became easier with time.    
It is easy to speak of broad things. It is easy to say 'summer passed,' or
'Latin became less painful.' Generalities can be made light and pleasant in
ways that specific moments sometimes cannot.    Like the moment Thor broke a
table in frustration. He had been invited to leave off gathering food and
instead join the men in herding and caring for the livestock. At the time, he
was glad of the invitation, as he was still unhappy at being given the work of
children. Within a week, though, Loki could see him beginning to chafe in his
new role. It came to a head one evening as they sat in the great hall, drinking
beer and talking.    
Atti, a short, burly man with hair the color of walnut dye, had clapped Thor on
the shoulder. A good day, yes?    he asked cheerfully.    
Thor forced a smile. Yes, he agreed. But he said little after that, even
compared to how seldom he generally spoke. His Pritani  was improving, but it
still took most of his attention just to follow conversations. Loki watched him
carefully, his body absorbing the thrumming waves of tension that poured off
Thor. They walked back to their roundhouse in silence, Thor brooding and Loki
watching.    
Closing the door behind them, Loki spoke. "Thor? What is wrong?"   
Thor barely had the words for what bothered him, in Latin or Pritani. But he
tried. "I thought doing men's work would be better than the tasks I had been
given. But we do even less. There is little beyond standing and watching the
animals all day."       
Loki struggled to understand. Tending the herds meant they were at peace; it
was hard to see why Thor might not find this to be best. "You're... bored?" he
guessed.   
"I'm not just bored!" It was frustrating, not being able to explain himself,
and he    brought his fist to the table to emphasize his denial. He hit it
harder than he had intended, and the long plank of wood split, right along the
grain. "And now I've made things even worse," he groaned.   
"Is there something else you would prefer?" Loki asked cautiously.   
"I don't know. But... they already had more than enough men watching the herd.
I'm not needed there. I'm not needed at all."   
The words struck Loki through the heart. He needed Thor. He had come close, so
many times, to opening up, but each time his own fear held him back. He needed
to keep Thor happy, keep him here until Loki was ready to speak. His eyes
drifted across Thor's massive arms and muscular shoulders.    
"Excuse me. I'll be back as soon as I can," he said suddenly, and left   Thor
alone.    
Loki was halfway to his destination when he heard the remains of the table
being shattered. He moved faster. Engus went to bed early anymore, and Loki did
not want to wait for tomorrow.   
He was in luck. The glow from the smoke vent showed that the fire had not yet
been banked for the night, and he scratched on the door for
attention. Engus opened it a moment later, smiling when he saw who it was.
Loki! Do come in, my friend,    he said, moving back and holding the door
open.    
I hope I'm not bothering you, Loki began.    
 Not at all, not at all. Are you here for the figures for Lughanasa ? I expect
them to be finished in another couple of days.   
 No, not really. I have a question about   Judoc. The last time we spoke, you
didn't seem happy with him.    
Engus sighed. He's a good enough lad, I can't say otherwise. But he doesn't
seem to have the spirit for metal, and I can teach everything else, but not
that.   
 Then I hope we might be able to help each other. Thor hates the idleness of
herding, and he feels unneeded. I know he is old to take as apprentice, but he
is dedicated, and if   Judoc  is not going to be able to follow you, the
village will be in    need of a new smith one day.   
You mean one day when I'm too old. It's all right to say,  Engus smiled. Have
you spoken to Thor of this?   
No, I haven't. I wanted to talk to you first.   
 Ask him if he might take to it, and bring him to me tomorrow if he is
interested. He can work with us for a few days and see if     it suits him   .
 
Loki felt the tension ease from his shoulders. You have my deepest thanks,
Engus, and my blessings.   
The smith bowed his head. Then you have my thanks as well, he answered.   
Loki found Thor sitting in a file of wooden scraps, the pathetic remains of the
table. He looked up as Loki entered, but said nothing. His eyes were hollow,
and Loki felt a cold hand clench at his throat. If Thor didn't like this idea,
he might leave, take Loki's offer to return him to the Sicambri.   
"Thor... I was just speaking with Engus. His apprentice is not working out, and
he is growing old. I thought perhaps you may like to try metalworking? You
would feel every day how deeply your work is    needed, and it would put your
arms to good use," Loki said.    
Thor's gaze went to his own arms as he flexed them, his face looking vaguely
surprised as he watched the muscles bulge. "Yes. I think I might like that," he
said.   
The next morning, Loki showed Thor where to find the works and left him
with Engus. They had met many times before, and Thor felt immediately
comfortable as the smith showed him around the forge, described the tools, and
demonstrated the working of the bellows. Thor followed it all intently, and by
midday he knew that this was what he wanted to do. He had been afraid
that Judoc would resent him, but the boy cast him a grateful look as Engus gave
him a final dismissal.    
Loki could barely focus on his teaching for wondering how his idea was working
out. After the third time he forgot the words for the middle of a ritual, he
dismissed his class early and went to the works. What he saw set him right at
ease: Thor was hammering intently on a piece of metal as Engus pumped the
bellows for him. Thor looked perhaps the happiest Loki had ever seen; he
wielded the massive hammer as naturally as if it had been made for him. Loki
watched quietly until he saw Engus gesture for Thor's attention over the
ringing blows, and saw the smith nod his approval as he looked over the metal
that Thor had been working.   
Loki! Thor called, looking up and seeing him. Come see what I've done!   
He's got the feel for the metal,  Engus  told him. It took me nearly a year to
do work of this quality. The bronze sheet was glossy and rich, and remarkably
even for the work of a beginner.    
Thor's sense of peace and contentment grew each day that he spent in the works,
and Loki began to grow more secure    in the belief that he would stay. His
 smiles came readily, and his eyes shone with warmth when he looked at Loki.
Loki tried to hide    the way he    couldn't help    looking    at Thor, unable
to stop himself admiring how his arms grew    even    more solid and defined
with the heavy work, or the way he felt pulled towards him like a lodestone
when he cast one of his open grins at Loki.       
It slowly dawned on Thor that his life with Rome had been dedicated to death
and destruction, while in his life with the Taexali, he gave his might to
beauty and creation. And while he   hadn't progressed to making figures by the
time Lughanasa came, by Mabone   , he had.   
 
 
 
 
***** Four Festivals *****
Chapter Summary
     Thor continues to settle in to his new life, finding some aspects
     more comfortable than others.
Chapter Notes
     Enjoy!
Lughanasa and Mabon were joyous harvest festivals, and Thor participated in
them as much as he could, happy to learn from Loki in the evenings about the
gods of the Pritani, his own new gods.
Shamnain was the first time Thor saw Loki celebrating darker rituals, and it
was unsettling. The mass slaughter of the livestock for winter was the first
time he had smelled so much blood since the fateful day he had fought with the
Romans against the Taexali, and the scent brought the battle back to too-vivid
life. The sacred bonfire lit the faces of the druids from below, making them
look as otherworldly as the spirits whom they welcomed.
"Winter begins today, the dark half of the year," Loki explained as they
changed before bed. "But we do not view darkness as a bad thing. Both light and
dark are needed, and we honor both of them in the times of transition."
This idea, that darkness was of equal value to light, was a difficult one to
grasp. Loki watched the struggle play out on Thor's face. "But light is life,"
he argued.
"And darkness is death," Loki agreed. "And both are equally needed. The animals
died that we may eat, and one day we will die that others may have room to live
and grow."
Thor looked dubious, and Loki was loathe to press him. "It is all right," Loki
reassured him. "You will enjoy Yule, and by next Shamnain, perhaps you will
feel differently."
It was only after they had banked their fire and taken to their beds that Thor
allowed himself to think about how Loki had looked, leading the rituals. He had
been powerful. Beautiful. As though he had channeled the gods and was himself
to be worshipped.
*****
Winter came harshly, and Thor was grateful for his days in the metalworks with
their huge fires. Loki returned from the caves where he taught each day chilled
to the bone, and Thor learned to have their own fire built up each day by
twilight to welcome him to a warm home. Loki's prestige meant he never wanted
for furs nor woolens, and Thor had been given the skin of the bear he killed to
keep him warm as they went to the hall for their meals. At night, they hung the
furs and skins over the doorway and along the insides of the walls, adding
another layer of insulation to their roundhouse.
Not long before Yule, a blizzard struck suddenly. Engus sent Thor home as soon
as they heard the winds rise, but Loki, deep in stone caverns, was unaware of
the blinding storm until it was too late. He ordered his students back inside,
where the air was chilly but not deathly cold, and worried silently. There was
enough food for perhaps two days. He had seen a storm like this years before,
and it had taken a week before it was possible to move outdoors.
And worse, Thor was just the sort to come looking for him. He knew now that if
Thor died, hope would die with him, and he would be lost. At best, he would die
himself.
When he heard Thor's shout at the entrance to the caves, he could have wept in
relief. We're here, Thor, he called back. Come deeper. 
Loki! Thank the gods you're safe, Thor said as he ducked under the low opening
to the chamber where Loki taught. This space was generally reserved for druids
and their students, but these were unusual circumstances, and Loki was
confident the gods could be placated for this minor trespass. They had to know
what Thor meant to him, and he had always served them faithfully.
You shouldn't have come, Loki told him. Now you're trapped as well.
No. Come look, Thor answered. Loki followed him to the mouth of the cave,
squinting into the wall of whiteness without. Thor knelt and there was the
sound of a shifting stone. Look. I've...  "I unraveled my shawl and left one
end tied to the door of our roundhouse. We can follow this red yarn safely
home."
They hurriedly gathered the students and walked in a single file, Thor at the
front tamping down the snow for the smaller children to walk more easily, and
Loki at the back, gathering the yarn as they walked. Alaca would have his head
if all this wool were lost, and he knew it. He might tell the king what to do,
but he still listened to his foster mother.
When they got back to the village, it was snowing so hard that it was
impossible to see more than a few inches ahead, and Thor nearly crashed into
their door. The roundhouses were too far apart to make it safe for the students
to return to their homes, so the two men had a full house that night, keeping
the fire high and cheerful to distract the frightened children. At least the
smallest ones were too young to understand the dangers they had survived,
viewing it all as nothing more than some special excitement. Many of the older
children wept with relief, and the two men stayed busy all night circling and
comforting.
By morning, the ground had a blanket of snow too deep for several of the
children to move, but the air was clear. The students left to reassure their
families and break their fasts at home, the little ones riding on Thor's and
Loki's backs. By the time they had delivered everyone safely home, they were
both exhausted, and they ate in silence and fell asleep. They had stores of
food, so they made no attempt to leave the roundhouse for the next few days.
The days were so short at this time of year that there was little worktime
lost, anyway.
On the fourth day of their confinement, Loki left the roundhouse long enough to
gather some holly sprigs. It is three days until Yule, he explained. We must
give the holly king a joyful sendoff as he goes to his sleep, even as we
welcome the return of the oak king.
That sounds nice, Thor answered politely.
Loki laughed and explained about the two kings who were really one, each one
sleeping half the year and ruling the other half. The rule of the oak king sees
us back into the light half of the year. You'll like that.
Thor smiled. I will, he agreed.
The snow began to melt that night in an unseasonable warm spell. By midday the
next day, the village paths were muddy, and the only remaining drifts were
nestled in deep shadows. The warmth remained right up to Yule, so much so that
even though Loki was outside for hours performing the proper rituals, he wore
no more than a heavy tunic covered by a warm shawl.
Thor spent the day with Engus, who knew which ceremonies had to be attended and
which ones they could come and go as they pleased. It was fascinating, watching
Loki do his work, Thor thought. Everyone was bright with cheer, and close
friends gave each other small gifts. Thor had given Loki a scrolled pendant
that morning, and Loki had given him a glass bead to wear in his hair. Thor had
also made Brisa a tiny ring, which she wore proudly. She was just learning to
spin and gave him a short length of green yarn she had made. Meals were small
and light in preparation for the evening's feast, and by the time Loki set his
iron torc reverently on the altar, everyone was eager to begin the festivities.











***** Faelan and Maedoc *****
Chapter Summary
     "It is said that the Romans take the lowest in secret, and we take
     the highest in pride. How is our way lesser? It is both more
     respectful and more honest."
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
 
 
The feasting lasted well into the night. Loki sat in a prime spot next to the
fire, as was his right after officiating, and Thor sat with him. Their
ceremonies had a way of making Loki feel safe, reminding him that one was but
one tiny piece of a vast, vast plan. It didn’t make him feel insignificant, as
it might have; it somehow served to diminish the bad things that had happened
in his life, making his own choices and his own actions more prominent.        
So he relaxed, and drank, and laughed. As the night drew on, and the fire died
down, couples began to slip out together. Thor did not pay much attention to
them, as he was busy focusing on the conversation, until he watched one
particular pair with wide eyes.       
What, Thor?  Loki asked him with a nudge, his beer sloshing out of his mug. Oh.
Maybe he had gotten more drunk than he meant to.        
Two men, together, Thor answered.       
Yes…?        
It is… it is not like a man, Thor said.        
 You mean unmanly?     Engus asked, and Thor nodded.       
The smith    laughed. What is either manly or unmanly about someone taking
their pleasure where they will? It simply is. At Thor’s blank look, he said
more simply, It is good.       
Thor frowned. No, it is only for women.       He had certainly heard plenty of
stories about men together, a disgusting twist of the natural order, and jokes
about the character of the low men who would be willing to do such things. Not
to mention the punishments when they were caught.    
 Oh! Like they do     in Rome, you mean?    Deglan    teased.       
Loki could not, would not, let himself think about Cassian. This was a good
night, the gods were strong with them after the rituals, and with a surge of
will he forced the memory away as Deglan   continued speaking. The beer made it
easier; it quieted his hyper-vigilance, kept everything on the surface. Took
meanings away.       
 It is said that the Romans take the lowest in secret, and we take the highest
in pride. How is our way lesser? It is both more respectful and more honest.
And Faelan and Maedoc  are good to each other.   Thor frowned, trying to make
sense of the words. Loki leaned over and translated, his speech a little
slurred.       
Thor couldn’t find an answer, and not only because of the language. It was
frustrating. There were so many little moments like this, moments where his new
life butted, hard, against everything he had always learned and believed, and
even as he followed and agreed with Deglan’s   reasoning, yet it warred with
what he had always known.       
To lay with a man… he repeated, helplessly this time.       
You don’t have to, Deglan   said, but you might like it. His eyes darted
quickly from Thor to Loki and back.        
Thor was taken aback at the implication. Fortunately, the king was easily
shifting the conversation away, teasing someone about their last hunt and
sparing Thor having to answer.       
Loki was staring into his drink, closing one eye after the other and being
highly entertained by the way his reflection jumped back and forth. When he
realized how long he’d been doing it, he decided this should be his last one
for the night, and drank it down.        
I’m going to bed, he told Thor. You may stay.       
Thor nodded, his own drink still half-full. “I will stay to drink this, if… if
you’re sure I won’t disturb you when I come in.”       
Loki assured him that it would be fine. But when he stood, it seemed he was
not. The ground felt like a bog, shifting and unstable, and he lurched
dangerously forward towards the fire. Thor jumped up and caught his arm.       
“On second thought,” he said, finishing his drink quickly, “perhaps I’ll walk
with you.”       
Deglan   smiled his thanks at Thor, who nodded, and he led Loki out into the
chilly night. Loki’s foot caught on the threshold and he stumbled. Thor caught
him and put his arm around the slender waist to keep him upright. He felt Loki
tense briefly before relaxing against him, and they held together as they made
their way back to their roundhouse.       
Thor had to be drunker than he had realized, he decided. It was that mixed
with Deglan’s    hint that he should take Loki to bed. It certainly wasn’t
himself that was responding to the easy shift of Loki’s supple muscles under
his heavy tunic, or to the light smoky scent that clung to his hair. No. It was
the beer, and the king, and he must remember to be more careful around both in
future.   
*****       
Thor spent much of the next day tending to an utterly miserable Loki, coaxing
him to drink some water and eat a little light food. He put some water on the
fire to warm before stripping and washing himself roughly. He did miss proper
baths, but this was becoming familiar, and the longing grew slowly less. Also,
the    Taexali  made soap, a solid yellow thing of fat and lye, which, used
with water, seemed to clean better than he would have expected. He also washed
Loki's face, thinking it might help him feel better. It did, a little.
"Thank you, Thor. You are good to me," Loki sighed, eyes still closed against
the light of the fire.    
Thor tensed at the familiar phrasing. He and Loki were nothing like Faelan
and Maedoc. They couldn't be. "Just trying to help," he said gruffly.   
When Loki was still feeling somewhat unwell when the time came to gather for
the evening meal, Thor went to collect it from the hall. As he walked down the
path, going slowly to enjoy the still-warm air, they turned onto it a
ways ahead of him. He watched as he followed, looking for signs. Surely he
would be able to tell which of them was the more humiliated, the one who had
disgraced himself enough to play the woman's part, to allow himself to be
penetrated.    
There was nothing. Nothing at all gave it away. It was confusing,   and it made
him unexpectedly angry. There had to be something he was missing.    
And when he returned with food, he felt Loki's eyes, heavy upon his skin.   
He would not think about the way Loki had felt against him last night, his
waist slender beneath Thor's arm. Nor the confusing pull he had felt when they
talked on the hill above the Roman camp. Or the thousand thoughts he had
rejected as beneath him.  It was unthinkable. It was all completely
unthinkable.   
*****   
The weather broke and winter blew back all too soon. Thor continued to
impress Engus with his quick improvement, his instinctual feel for how metal
could best be worked that was honed quickly under the smith's expert guidance.
The snowdrifts outside were deep, but the forge was hot, and they both worked
stripped to the waist for comfort.    
So when the unexpected Venicone attack came, and Thor charged into the fight
half-naked and armed with his smith's hammer, it was he, among all
the Taexali,    who looked the most like one of them. It was an unfamiliar
weapon, but he took to it quickly, his broad arms able to swing its heavy
weight in whatever manner he chose. He brought down warrior after warrior,
feeling the crush of bones as it shuddered through the handle and up his arm,
and he laughed in savage joy at the chance to fight with his new-found people.
They still confused him, but he realized, as he fought, that he really did
think of them as his.   
And when he glanced to his left, and saw Faelan and Maedoc fighting side by
side, working together in unity to bring down Venicone warriors, it was
impossible to deny their strength and virility, that their manliness
equaled Thor's own. No more than he could deny, when the battle was won and he
looked to the top of the hill-fort where Loki stood watching, that Loki was as
beautiful as he was powerful. And that he and Thor   were good to each other.
 
In recognition of his ferocity in defending the tribe, Thor was offered his
first tattoo. Over the cups of celebratory mead that night, Deglan asked him
what he wanted.   
Thor spoke to the king, but his eyes were on Loki's. "I'd like an oak tree on
my back," he said.    
Loki blushed and looked away, but not before Thor saw his   smile.   
Chapter End Notes
     The reference page has notes on why I wrote their varying cultural
     attitudes towards sex this way, if you're interested. Some of it's
     pretty cool.
***** Revelations *****
Chapter Summary
     Loki does the bravest, most frightening thing he's ever done.
After the twin revelations that Faelan and Maedoc had nothing at all wrong with
them and very much right, and that he and Loki had the potential to be much the
same, Thor began to make careful efforts to approach it. He'd never had a
relationship, never had relations besides those with prostitutes, so he simply
followed his instincts that made him want to be closer to Loki, to sit nearer
together at the fire and to walk more closely, perhaps brushing hands.
Each time he tried, though, Loki's body would tense, and he would shift himself
uneasily away. Yet he continued to watch Thor. Mostly it was something felt, a
weight across his skin when he was turned away. Sometimes, though, he caught it
with his eyes, how Loki's face was written with apprehension and longing.
But this is not to say that things between them had become uncomfortable,
overall. No, for the most part, they continued to coexist happily, Thor
offering a cheerful presence in the roundhouse and Loki gently guiding him in
the ways of his chosen people, both in understanding their culture and in the
smaller things that he liked best.
"Your hair is getting long," Loki observed one night. "Does it not distract
you, having it in your face like that?"
"All the men here have long hair. And... I don't know how to braid," Thor
admitted.
Loki laughed. "Come here," he said, picking them out of his own hair and
running his fingers through until it was loose and free. "Watch me do one side,
and then you can do the other on me, before you try your own. It's easier to
learn when you can see what you're doing." He walked through a simple, three-
strand braid, explaining each step, and then shifted for Thor to do the other
side.
Loki's slender fingers made it look like the easiest task in the world, but
Thor felt huge and ungainly when he tried. "I'm sorry. I think I've left some
knots in there," he apologized.
"It's no problem. Alaca can give you some yarn to practice on. Would you like
me to do your hair in the meantime?"
"That would be kind of you," Thor said.
Loki stood behind him and ran his fingers through Thor's hair over and over,
picking out the tangles until it hung like a glistening golden curtain. Thor
closed his eyes as Loki gathered up the hair from one side of his face and
deftly weaved it back along the side of his head. It was so peaceful and
relaxing, to be cared for like this. He couldn't remember the last time someone
had taken care of him when he wasn't ill or injured. He had a dim memory of a
woman with kind eyes, before he was taken from the Sicambri. Probably not since
her, he realized. He gave a sigh of contentment as Loki took up the hair from
the other side, working his new glass bead in about halfway down.
It was... lovely, Loki thought, to simply be together like this, his hands
moving so easily through Thor's shining hair. The bead suited it beautifully,
too; it was a clear blue, almost the shade of Thor's eyes. A warm summer blue
that he could get lost in, so, so happily. "There you go," he said, finishing.
"It may take a little adjusting before you can sleep comfortably on the
braids."
But Thor didn't need any time at all to adjust. Even the hard feel of the bead
against his head when he slept on his left was welcome. It was a little piece
of Loki, close to him.
He got the tattoo the week after Loki did his hair for the first time. It took
from dawn to dusk, and when it was done he was ordered to stay in the warmth of
the roundhouse, without a shirt, until it healed. Nor was he to get warm enough
to sweat, so he had to forgo his days with Engus, the only part of getting the
tattoo he didn't like. Though he couldn't see it, he loved the thought of it on
him, the strong trunk running up his own spine, and the proud branches along
his ribs. Loki was still gone all day, working with his students, praying over
the sick, and preparing for the upcoming festival, but he sat with him in the
evenings, telling stories about anything he thought might be entertaining to
liven Thor's day. When he was able to return to the forge, his skin felt tight
across his back, like he couldn't move fully, but it soon eased with a cream
that Oria gave him. And it was well worth it. Like the bead in his hair, it
made him feel close in the only way Loki seemed willing to allow.
Thor bore his growing longing in silence for a time, hoping that his gentle
approach would ease things, but when Imbolg came with its promise of new life
and new joy, Thor took these promises to heart and resolved to speak as soon as
he steeled his nerve.
*****
“I can’t tell how you feel about me, Loki,” Thor told him as they sat by their
fire, sharing an evening beer. “I see how you look at me, but when I try to get
close you always move away.”
Loki didn’t want this. He wanted to leap up, to run, but he forced himself to
remain seated. “What do you want me to say?” he asked quietly.
“Just tell me how you feel. Do you care about me?”
Loki’s eyes rose hesitantly, meeting Thor’s. “I do.”
“Then… may I kiss you?”
He took a deep breath and nodded. And Thor’s lips were on his, barely there but
sending need shivering through him all the same, like an invisible wind setting
trees to dancing. This was somehow, actually, all right. Loki sobbed in relief,
Thor taking the sound as a signal to deepen the kiss. He nibbled lightly on
Loki’s lower lip before sliding his tongue forward, humming lightly in
pleasure. It was… nice. Loki liked this, the way their lips and tongues felt as
they moved together, stroking, teasing.
Until Thor cradled a hand to the back of his head, and suddenly Cassian was
there, his hands on Loki’s head, forcing something else between Loki’s lips.
Loki wanted to kick and bite and shove as his heart constricted and stomach
tightened and his skin was instantly frozen, but he forced himself to stay
still. It’s Thor, Thor, he lectured himself. Not Cassian. So Loki’s body stayed
with Thor while his mind fled.
Thor felt Loki’s body change, somehow, and he reluctantly opened his eyes to
find something horrible. Loki’s eyes were wide open, glassy and staring
blankly, the skin around them tight and wrong. Thor jerked back.
“Loki…Loki!”
Loki came back with a start, blinking at Thor. “What? What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong? I opened my eyes, and… you weren’t there. I don’t know where you
were, but you weren’t with me.” Thor’s face looked sickened.
Loki had no idea it was obvious when he went away. No one else had ever seemed
to notice. He decided bluster was the best defense. “I don’t know what you’re
talking about. Come, kiss me again.”
But Thor was shaking his head, drawing away. “No. I can’t. Not like that. It
was wrong.”
“Please, Thor. It’s not my fault, I can’t help being like this.” Loki could
have wept as he tugged at Thor's arm, trying to hold onto him.
“Like what?” Thor looked worried now, concerned as well as sick. His voice was
gentle.
Loki stared hard at the floor before he answered in a pained and bitter voice.
“Broken.” He looked up and everything was gone from Thor’s face except concern
and caring.
“Why do you say that?” Thor’s voice was soft, barely above a whisper. He cared.
And he’d been there, too. He could understand. So with a surge of
determination, Loki did the bravest, most frightening thing he’d ever done.
He told Thor.
Once he began it all came spilling out, everything that had been done to break
him, and the way that even now, twenty years later, something would happen and
he’d be right back in Gergovia. It took nearly an hour to tell it. He was
sobbing as he spoke, and was violently sick twice. Thor held his hair back and
brought him water to cleanse his mouth. Thor didn’t sneer, or laugh, or pity.
He listened and offered compassion without condescension.
When he was done with all of it, wrung into exhaustion, he looked again at
Thor. “And that,” he said, “is why I am broken.”
Thor’s eyes glowed in a strange mix of compassion and fierceness. “You are not
broken, Loki,” he said. “You are more brave than anyone I have ever known.”
Loki laughed hollowly.
“I mean it. You have survived so much, and carry such a burden, and yet every
day you continue to live your life. I don’t know how many people could do
that.” His voice grew cautious, hesitant. “May I hold you?”
He wanted the comfort Thor offered. Every part of him cried out for it, but the
thought of being wrapped in arms so much stronger than his own was
overwhelming. It was simply too much to bear after thoughts of Cassian. “Hold
my hand?” he asked in a tremulous voice, reaching his hand out.
Thor took it and held it. No pressure, no questions as he spoke gently. “You
must tell me what you want. I don’t want to do anything you don’t want to do.”
It made Loki angry, something he very rarely was. He was sad, frightened, hurt
all the time, but almost never angry. It was too dangerous an emotion to ever
let it start. But now he finally let it rise as he thought of how he had been
so robbed of the ability to do what he wanted.
“But I do want to, Thor,” he said bitterly. “I want to do everything you want
to, and I can’t, because of him. And as long as he’s stopping me doing what I
want, I’m still not free.”
Thor’s hand tightened on his. “Then we’ll take it back,” he promised.
“Everything he took from you, we will take it back.”
Thor dragged his bedding next to Loki's, and they went to sleep still holding
hands. Thor wanted, more than anything, to take Loki in his arms and hold him
and protect him, but he couldn’t protect Loki from his own demons. He could
help fight them, though, and he would. Loki had turned him from a slave into a
free man, one who had position and respect. He realized with a start how hard
it must be for Loki to speak with him in Latin, and resolved to spend every
spare moment perfecting his Pritani.
He waited until Loki was soundly asleep before he let his tears fall.
***** Learning *****
Chapter Summary
     Together, they begin to learn what works best. They also learn that
     the celebration of the spring equinox is even better with someone
     special.
Chapter Notes
     Enjoy!
Loki had managed to fall asleep only through sheer exhaustion, and he woke in
the dead of night, tension humming through his body and a cruel fist squeezing
inside his chest, making it nearly impossible to breathe. It was a familiar
enough sensation.
He lay quietly, waiting for dawn. Finally the earliest light began to peek in,
and he could watch Thor's sleeping face. He knew the way he felt now was from
the memory of their talk last night, when he had told. He tried to pretend it
was a nightmare, and that they had fallen asleep together after kissing, but as
the room grew light, he could see the salty trail that ran downwards from
Thor's eyes. They made it at once worse and better. He couldn't pretend it
hadn't happened, not with the evidence dried on Thor's cheeks (his own dried
tears were too common an occurrence to mean anything, themselves). But... he
had wept for Loki. That meant he cared, which meant not being alone anymore.
That came with its own set of fears, but he wasn't alone. Thor said they would
do this together.
Thor slowly opened warm eyes, smiling when he saw Loki looking at him. "Good
morning," he said.
It took Loki a moment to realize what he'd said, and his eyes widened without
answering.
"I'm not going to speak Latin anymore. Not unless I need to ask a word. You've
been so kind, letting me hold on to something familiar. I didn't know how it
must have hurt you."
"It wasn't so bad. Not with you. But I do prefer this," he answered.
"Then this is what it will be, from now on."
The queasy hand gripping Loki's stomach began to relax its hold. His hand crept
out, searching for Thor's. When they touched, Thor took it gently into his own,
holding it just enough to feel secure, but loosely enough that Loki could
easily pull free.
And that was how Thor continued to touch him in the following weeks, making
sure that Loki felt safe as they held hands, or when Loki took Thor's elbow.
Thor didn't kiss him again until a few days later when Loki initiated it. It
was the night of Imbolg, and the rituals had, as always, made Loki feel
stronger. It helped, too, that Thor moved slowly, signaling to Loki exactly
what was coming and giving him time to decide it felt safe. And when something
didn't, he never pressed, just returned easily to what he had done before. Thor
liked to talk to him between kisses, too, his low voice murmuring words of
reassurance, urging Loki to answer, showing that he hadn't gone away.
They quickly found that it was better if they kept their eyes open. Thor's warm
blue eyes, so different from Cassian's brown ones, helped Loki stay grounded
and present. The way they crinkled at the corners from kind smiles Loki
couldn't always see helped even more, though he didn't realize it.
Thor slowly began to touch him more. Never anything grasping or tight, but he
would cup Loki's cheek gently as they kissed, or run his hand lightly over
Loki's chest as they lay in their beds next to each other, low voices
recounting their days to each other. With each new touch, Loki would have a
spasm of fear. But nearly all were eased away by Thor's quiet, even voice. And
as the days turned into weeks, he could feel his heart blossoming with the
spring, bursting joyously open like the buds of the bluebells that suddenly
carpeted the forest around them.
It was, strangely enough, more difficult for Thor to bear than it was for Loki.
Each time Thor felt Loki stiffen under his hands, he had a surge of anger, a
near-overwhelming desire to track down the monster who had done this and tear
him limb from limb. And each time he fought it down, letting it fuel his
determination to do what he could, here, now. He also brought it to his work,
hammering with ever-increasing strength. "Easy there," Engus finally said, when
he had hammered completely through a sheet of bronze. "Whatever happened, I'm
sure it's not the fault of the metal." 
Thor sighed. "I'm sorry. I'll rework it."
"You know," Engus told him, "druids can give good counsel. Whatever troubles
you, you might try sharing it with your friend."
He had no idea how to broach the topic, though. He could hardly tell someone
who had been subject to such violence that the way he responded made Thor feel
violent, as well. But when he found himself having to rework the same piece of
metal for the third time, he decided that he would have to find a way.
Elben Aile, when the day and night were equal, came quickly, the subject of
celebration. "Happy Elb'aile, Thor," Loki said, sinking to his knees next to
the bed where Thor was just waking. He was already dressed in his finest
clothing, his proud iron torc heavy around his neck and massive bronze cuffs
shining on his wrists. It was strange, now, to see him without the pendant Thor
had given him for Yule; he had taken to wearing it daily when he did not need
his ceremonial garb. But he looked magnificent as he smiled down and held out
his hand, putting something smooth into Thor's.
He looked. It was an egg, stained the same red that Loki liked him to wear.
It bore a trace of memory. "We did this as well," he said slowly. "For Ostara.
We gave eggs."
"I don't know Ostara, but eggs are the best gift for the equinox," Loki told
him, the unfamiliar word awkward on his tongue.
"But I have no egg for you," he said.
Loki patted his hand. "It's just dawn," he said. "You've got all day. I must go
now, but no one will expect you to work today. Sleep more if you like. The
celebrations will continue until nightfall, you won't miss anything. And when
you get up, take the basket with you." He set a basket next to Thor's head as
he stood.
Thor peeked inside, to find it brimming with green-dyed eggs. "There are no
more red ones," he said.
"No. I wanted one that was just for you," Loki smiled.
He left the roundhouse, and Thor did sleep, then, after setting his egg
carefully among the folds of Loki's bed, where it would be safe until he got up
to put it on a shelf. The next thing that woke him was the sound of revelry
outside, people singing and laughing as they walked the path to the hill-fort.
Of course, the ceremonies would be held on top of the hill, nearest the sun. He
rose and dressed, quickly joining the stream of people outside.
The plain, twice-over a battlefield in Thor's memory, had become a place of
joy. Near the base of the hill, people gathered, listening to Loki and his
students as the celebrated the rituals. At a respectful distance away, some
bards were playing and singing, and there were people dancing all around.
Further yet, the children shouted and ran in their games. Thor joined the crowd
by the hill, feeling a surge of pride and admiration as he looked up. Loki
never looked so beautiful as when he was happy.
He watched nearly all day, drinking in the sounds of the slightly archaic
language used for these rites, and he realized again how close it sounded to
song. That was the first thing that had struck him about their speech, when he
was a prisoner, but he had become so accustomed that he had stopped noticing.
He would not forget again.
Loki loved all the festivals, the cycle of the year that repeated eternally
even as it moved ever forward, a wheel on a chariot that never faltered as the
gods rode out the eons, and he was proud to help celebrate them. But this
festival was one of his favorites. He still thought fondly of the first year he
was deemed old enough to help Alaca color the eggs, and the pride with which he
passed them out to his friends. And now, as he chanted the rituals, he watched
as Thor stood below, handing out eggs to those same friends.
Thor still carried scars on both body and soul from his life with the Romans,
but as time passed, he seemed to remember more and more of his early life with
his own people. It pleased Loki, seeing Thor growing closer to the man he might
have become had he been free all his life. It also pleased him to learn how
many parts of their cultures were similar. It made him feel close, like they
might have been lifelong friends had they had the chance. He watched fondly as
Thor nodded his respect before leaving to walk towards the roughly hewn food
tables.
The benches were crowded for the midday meal, but Oria waved a hand and scooted
over to make room for Thor to wiggle in, resting the basket of eggs on his lap
and offering one to her with a flourish.
"Thank you," she said happily, offering him one that was dyed a deep blue.
"This is beautiful," he said. "Have you any more like this? I wanted to give
one to Loki that is not like our others."
"I'll trade you, I need one to give Faelan. Green's his favorite."
"So what do you think of Elb'aile?" she asked, taking another bite from her
huge pile of fresh greens, so welcome after the long winter's dried foods.
"I like it very much," he said. "It reminds me a little of when I was a child."
"Really? That's fascinating. What do you remember of it?"
"Not much beyond the giving of eggs, to be honest. But I remember that I liked
it."
She nodded. "It is a good day. One of my favorites, as well."
They chatted through the rest of the meal before wandering back to the plain.
By dusk, when Loki set down his torc, Thor's basket was emptied of green eggs
and full of others.
Thor climbed the hill towards Loki, at the front of the stream of people moving
towards the great hall for the evening feast. He smiled with surprised pleasure
as Loki took his hand and held it as they walked. "I liked these ceremonies
very much, though I did not understand all the words," he said.
"I will explain them to you later, if you would like," Loki offered.
"I would, very much."
Loki drank nearly as much as he did at Yule, and in the middle of his fifth cup
of beer he climbed into Thor's lap and draped himself over the strong torso.
"Is this all right?" he asked. "I like to be close to you. I've had such a nice
day, and this makes it perfect."
"Of course it's all right. And yes, it does. It does make everything perfect."
Thor wrapped his arm around Loki's waist to keep him upright and pressed a
light kiss onto the gleaming black hair. Loki rested his head on Thor's
shoulder and they spent a perfect evening with their friends.







***** Things That Are Entirely New *****
Chapter Summary
     "Happy Elb'Aile" has never been so true.
Chapter Notes
     Things happen in this chapter while Loki is in a state that we now
     consider to make someone unable to give consent. Thor isn't entirely
     sure how to handle it, but he *is* trying to do what is right, and
     nothing happens that Loki doesn't want. Anyway, I wanted to give a
     heads up to that because while it's tons better than what happened to
     Loki in Gergovia, non/dub con is a lot worse when it's one of the
     good guys doing it.

On the way back to the roundhouse, Loki kept stopping for kisses and refusing
to move until he was satisfied. By the end of their walk they'd made a game of
it, Loki laughing playfully when Thor would dodge his lips a moment before
swooping in to meet them.
And when they got home, Loki was as forward as Thor had ever known him. He was
also very drunk, though, and Thor was unsure how much it was right to allow. He
didn't want to feel that he was taking advantage of Loki's state, but he also
knew the things that Loki wanted them to be able to do together. In the end, he
settled for not stopping things, but not initiating anything they had not done
before, either.
Loki sank to their bedding piles as Thor built up the fire to warm the house
for the night, staring at Thor from beneath his heavy lashes and twirling his
curls around one finger.
"Are you flirting with me?" Thor asked teasingly.
"I am," Loki purred. "Come down here."
Thor sank quickly to his own bedding, by now piled up right next to Loki's.
Again, as in the great hall, Loki climbed onto him, sprawling completely atop
him. The easy shift of Loki's weight pressing him down into the thick pile of
furs was dizzying; Thor had not had pleasure from other than his own hand in
years, and this was the closest contact he had had with anyone since his last
visit to a meretrix. He tried to will his erection away, worried that it might
be too much and become upsetting, even as Loki lazily rubbed his own against
Thor. His attempt was an utter failure, but Loki didn't seem to mind. He ground
them together as he claimed Thor's lips, over and over, murmuring half-breathed
words.
Loki instantly loved lying atop Thor like this; the contact, warm and close,
was both secure and arousing. His breath sped up as he moved his hips slowly,
enjoying the feel of Thor's hard length pressed against his own, only the thick
fabric of their clothes to separate them. And he had been so separate, for so
long. When Thor brought his hands up to stroke gently down Loki's sides -
careful never to reach around, never to trap him - the touch sent pleasure
rippling through his body.
Thor froze as Loki shivered at his touch. Too much, he thought. I've ruined it.
"No, don’t stop. I like that," Loki said. "Is it too cold to do without these?"
he continued, plucking lightly at Thor's shirt.
"I don't think so. I'll keep you warm," Thor said.
Loki sat up to tug ineffectually at his own, while Thor slid out of his easily.
He reached up to help, as Loki had somehow managed to get tangled in the
fabric, but he shied away. So Thor let him battle his own way out, glad that
Loki was still aware of his limits, temporarily broadened though they might be.
It made him more confident that Loki wouldn't hate him in the morning.
By the time he managed to get it off, Loki was laughing at himself, and Thor
was chuckling along with him. But the laughter faded as they took in the sight
of each other, so very near. They'd been casually naked around each other, of
course - sleeping nude all through the hot summer, swimming, changing clothes -
but this was different, charged like the air in a summer storm. It made Loki's
heart race. He brought a tentative hand to Thor's chest, taking in the massive
muscles and the blond hair that glistened upon them, and the heat of his skin
despite the chill of the room.
Thor arched up into it, his body crying out for contact after long neglect. And
Thor realized that wasn't all; perhaps it was the least of it. The feel of
Loki's hands against him was a revelation. To be touched this way by someone he
cared for, and who cared for him, was an entirely new experience. He hoped
desperately that it wasn't just Loki's drunkenness allowing him to do this,
that they could continue on. He didn't care how long they waited for sex - he
was well accustomed to tending those needs privately - but now that he'd had
this, he didn't think he could go without.
Loki watched the surge of emotions washing over Thor's face, fading from shock,
to something almost like pain, and then to glowing, open joy. With a tremulous
smile, he brought Thor's hands to his own chest, holding them gently as he ran
them down his skin. Thor's eyes looked wondrous as he slid up and down the
lithe torso. When one finger lightly brushed a nipple, though, Loki moved him
away slightly. "Not there? Not yet," he asked. Thor nodded, glad to guided in
what exactly was most welcome for him to do.
Thor forgot how to breathe as Loki eased back down upon him, dropping playfully
demanding kisses all over his face and continuing to rub them together. Loki
began to moan lightly as his kisses grew slower and longer, moving down until
he was mouthing at Thor's throat. Thor stroked down his sides, memorizing the
long, lean muscles that rippled as he moved. Between the feel of Loki's cool
skin beneath his hands and his hot mouth on his neck, and the rutting, harder
now, he was rapidly growing close.
"Loki, I'm-" he gasped.
"No, please," Loki panted, striking a new cinder of worry in Thor, before he
pleaded, "wait for me?"
Loki had never, never had this before, the chance to stay in his body and take
pleasure in it. It was strange and peculiar - and very, very good, he thought -
and the only thing that could make it more perfect would be to share the moment
with Thor.
Thor nodded and gritted his teeth, trying to drag his mind somewhere far away
from their bed even as his body continued to be urged on towards his peak. It
was useless; every searing wet lick, every grind down against him, every heady
moan wound him tighter, and he wasn't going to be able to stop himself- until
just in time he felt Loki stiffen and gasp, "yes, yes... now, Thor," and he let
go, let that screaming pleasure explode outward, his body bucking upward as
Loki's slammed down to meet it, both of them crying out before Loki collapsed
on top of him.
Once it was over, Thor wanted, more than anything, to wrap his arms around Loki
and pull him close. And he knew he couldn't. One day, he promised himself. It
wasn't long before the wetness began to chill. "Perhaps we should clean up a
bit," Thor suggested gently. When Loki didn't answer, Thor twisted his head
around to see his face, and smiled. Loki's boneless collapse had shifted
fluidly into sleep. Thor was loathe to wake him, but the thought of their
clothes in the morning made him determined. 
"Loki?" He shook the slender shoulder gently.
"Hmm? Oh, Thor. Hello," Loki said, lifting his head momentarily before sinking
it back down to rest against Thor's shoulder.
"Loki, we need to clean ourselves," he said. He was met with an incoherently
mumbled response.
In the end, Thor had to roll Loki off and bring him a damp cloth and clean
trousers before he could get him to do anything. Loki got as far as undressing
and washing before falling back to sleep. Good enough, Thor decided, throwing
an extra fur over him, before taking care of himself. 
Loki was in miserable shape in the morning, waking in the middle of a moan and
throwing his arm over his eyes to block the sunlight. With considerable
wheedling, Thor managed to coax him to drink some water and eat a little
porridge, and then stroked his hair until he fell back asleep. When he woke,
Thor's hand had stilled, but he was still there, watching over him. And he did
feel much better. Not entirely, but not deathly, either. "Good morning, again,"
he mumbled.
"Good afternoon," Thor smiled back.
"Oh, no. Really?" he asked with a groan.
"Really. Don't worry. You needed it."
"Mmpfh. I suppose I did. Remind me why I drank so much?"
"Because it relaxes you, and you like that?"
He sighed. "Yes, that's it." It did serve to quiet his hypervigilance, and he
needed that sometimes. He just wished he didn't feel so dreadful the next day.
"Loki?" Thor began tentatively. Loki cocked an eyebrow. "Do you remember last
night?"
He thought. It was a little blurry in some parts, but    he remembered enough
to smile fondly.    "   Yes, I do. What about it?"
"I just wanted to make sure it was all right. That I didn't do anything I
shouldn't have."
Loki put his hand to Thor's cheek. "No. Everything was just right."
Thor smiled. "I'm glad. I thought it was wonderful."
"Me, too."
Thor was even more hesitant to raise his worries after that night. They had
come so far, so suddenly, it seemed like a terrible idea to risk anything. The
next evening, though, he changed his mind again. It happened when they were
laying together, Loki again draped over Thor, before they had even begun to
undress. Thor brought his hands up to rest gently on Loki's waist - something
that had drawn forth nothing but breathy sounds of encouragement on the night
of the equinox - and Loki froze with wide, frightened eyes. He let go, and
resolved to speak the next day.
He brought it up just as they entered their roundhouse after the evening meal,
as Loki stood at his shelves, taking off his ornaments.
"Loki, there is something that has weighed on me for some time now, and Engus
told me that one of your tasks is to give sound advice."
"It is," he agreed, curious.
"It's about... us, and I'm not entirely sure how to begin."
"Well, when someone has trouble speaking about themselves, it is often easier
to speak of a 'friend.' Lugha told me that, and I have found it to be true."
Loki smiled and took his chair, patting Thor's, beckoning him to sit.
"A friend."
"Yes. So, tell me, what is the problem your friend is facing? I hope he knows I
will help as much as I am able."
"All right." Thor took a deep breath, sank into his chair, and began. "My...
friend has someone he cares for very much, and this person has been treated
cruelly in the past. And now, when they are together, sometimes the dear one
grows fearful, and it makes my friend angry at the person who did it to them.
But he is afraid to show his urge to violence, to let it be seen by the one who
has already faced so much. And he doesn't know what to do."
Loki looked thoughtful. "I suspect that if this person understood your friend's
feelings, he would not be overly troubled by them. He might even welcome them,
as a sign that your friend won't let anyone hurt him ever again."
"Really?" Thor was a little suspicious. The answer seemed too convenient, too
easy.
"Yes, really," Loki reassured him. "He might be startled by the anger at first,
but if he cares for your friend, which I suspect he does, very much, he would
not want your friend to feel he had to hide his feelings. And it really will
help him feel safe."
That night, as they curled against each other, bared to the waist and caressing
gently, Thor's thumb accidentally caught a nipple, and Loki jerked away with a
sharp gasp, breaking instantly into a cold sweat. Thor's eyes narrowed, and he
growled in Loki's ear. "If anyone so much as thinks of touching you in
unkindness ever again, I will tear their still-beating heart out."
Loki tensed for a moment at the ferocity of Thor's tone, but then he relaxed
back into his furs. "I know," he whispered, pulling Thor towards him to hold
him close.
 
 
 
 
***** Offerings *****
Chapter Summary
     When Thor offers the weighty metal pieces at the sacred well, he is
     unburdened of more than their heft.
Chapter Notes
     Another long one, there wasn't a good place for a break. Enjoy!
They had to draw back slightly from all they had done the night of Elben Aile,
but not completely. And Loki didn't hate Thor for any of it; in fact, he seemed
happy at all the new things he had been able to do so easily (and, yes, he was
particularly happy about one thing in particular, but that was only natural, he
thought), even if he wasn't ready to try them again right away.
The ewes had been giving milk since just before Imbolg, their bodies preparing
for lambing before the lambs actually came, and their rich, heavy milk was
dizzyingly delicious after a winter of nothing but water and beer, livened with
the occasional small cup of mead. Seeing how much Loki loved it, Thor took to
taking just a few sips of his own daily cup before insisting that Loki finish
it.
"You must like it, Thor," he had argued.
But Thor insisted in the one way that he knew would be convincing. "I do enjoy
it," he agreed, "but I enjoy watching you even more."
The extra fat went straight to Loki's body, and Thor loved to see it fill out
after the lean winter. His cheeks lost their sunkenness, and his eyes lost the
hollow look that made Thor worry. He radiated health and happiness. His hope of
getting better had become a promise, and there was nothing better in the world.
He wasn't there yet, but he would be. And for now, that was enough for both of
them.
****
Thor was working harder than ever; Bealtain was drawing near, when the cattle
would be driven to the summer pastures, and the men were busy inspecting the
fences and bringing back pieces to be repaired. It was a new skill, almost
entirely different from the working of raw metal beyond the need for the forge
and the incessant ringing of his hammer. He had almost forgotten quite how loud
it was: after he had been properly trained, he had copied Engus in plugging his
ears with beeswax to dull the sound. But now they worked with open ears again,
for Engus to explain how to coax broken or weakened metal back to a strong
solid again.
And Loki had a request, as well: could Thor make him a torc of hollow iron? The
one he had worked well enough for most rituals, but Bealtain was filled with
processions, and it grew tiring to spend the day walking with its heavy weight
on his neck. Thor spent hours on it, working into the evenings after he had
finished his repair work for the day, sometimes hammering until the mothers
begged him to be quiet, the children needed to sleep. And he could not remember
when he had last been so proud as the day he presented it to Loki, the metal
gleaming dully where it curled down, the ends ornamented in careful whorls, but
the whole thing weighing perhaps half of the one to which he was accustomed.
No. He did remember when he had been this proud. It was when he had been
congratulated on his thoughts for punishing the thieving slave, who had not,
after all, been a thief. The memory hit him like his own hammer, right into his
stomach, and he fought to hide his sudden sickness from Loki, who stood before
him, smiling in pleasure.
Loki noticed, but pretended to see nothing. He did not think his questions
would be welcomed while they were among others. But that night, before they
fell asleep, he slipped his hand into Thor's, and whispered to him. "What
troubles you about my torc?"
Thor's heart sank. The last thing he wanted was to burden Loki with his own
problems, but nor did he want to lie. "I felt so proud, when I saw your
pleasure in it," he answered, "and it reminded me of another time. I had done
something... horrible. Unforgivable, and.Ibathed in the praise it earned me."
Loki squeezed his hand. "Can you tell me?" he asked gently.
Thor considered it before shaking his head. "I don't think so. I don't mean to
withhold myself from you, but I don't think I can bring myself to put it into
words."
"This was a crime against another?"
Thor shuddered in the darkness. "It was. A slave like me. He died, horribly,
because of me."
"I wish I could give you absolution, but I cannot. But if you forge an
offering, I will take you to a sacred well to pray to the gods to grant special
kindnesses to his soul. Tell Engus that you wish to make offerings to Daghda
and Brigh, and he will help you design something that will be pleasing. The
most important thing, though, is that it is made and offered with an honest
heart."
"Thank you. I would like that, very much."
Loki pressed a kiss to his temple. "I like to help you. Just as you like to see
me grow fat."
And for the first time, they fell asleep close together, Loki's arm across
Thor's chest. It felt protective.
*****
Bealtain came, and with it the sacred bonfire that lasted all day and into the
night. Loki carried the heavy torch, lit from the tall fire, as he walked
through the village, stopping in each doorway to let the smoke fill every
roundhouse. He circled the hill-fort and visited each building within it,
before making the long trek around both the summer and winter pastures. He had
worked almost without cease, pausing only to eat quickly or tend to his needs,
and it was still well after dusk when he was done. The hollow torc had made the
day seem to fly by, compared to earlier years. His neck and shoulders still
ached with exhaustion, but usually he was in agony by this time.
The entire village sat around the bonfire, talking and laughing late into the
night. Thor noticed, with no little curiosity, that Loki did not drink as he
usually did on festival nights. They left as the fire grew low, Loki's older
students dedicated to tending it until it burned out.
Walking back to the roundhouse, the entire village still smelled like the torch
smoke, with its sweet wood resins that had been soaked into the burning fabric.
It granted safety to the land Loki had circled, to the homes he had visited,
the fragrance drawing the gods down to be close to them.
"You did not have so much beer as after most festivals," Thor said as the door
closed behind them.
"No, I didn't." Loki smiled.
Thor's eyes widened in surprise as Loki lifted off their shirts, and pulled him
down to their bedding. And then they closed in pleasure as Loki settled himself
atop him and almost immediately began to rub them gently together. Loki was
already hard, and Thor matched him almost instantly. "I don't want to need beer
to do this," he whispered. The sweet smoke was heavy in the air here, and it
felt like a warm blanket over them, offering care and protection. Nothing could
hurt him tonight, while the gods walked along the paths through the village.
He rested more of his weight onto Thor, freeing a hand to slide down between
them, his fingers wrapping around Thor's length through the thin fabric of his
trousers. "Oh, Loki," Thor breathed. The heat of it was gloriously alive, as
though it had absorbed the sacred bonfire itself. Loki moved again, tugging at
Thor's cord belt and reaching inside. Thor cried out, arching up against him as
his fist closed around his cock and began to move.
Loki remembered exactly what to do, and even that did not bother him, not
tonight. He was safe, and happy, and he wanted to make Thor happy too. So when
Thor panted, "Loki... I can not bear this long, and I would share it with you,"
he stopped long enough to draw away the rest of their clothes before lowering
himself once again, keeping his hips slightly higher to take both their cocks
as much into his hand as he could.
Loki's fingers felt so soft against his skin, a reminder that his hands were
dedicated to mysteries rather than labor, and it was endlessly exciting as Loki
worked them closer to another, private, mystery. Thor brought his hand up to
stroke against the side where Loki's fingers could not close, and they moved in
unison, drawing each other ever higher, smiles intermingling with murmurs of
praise.
Thor came first, his body tense and arched, his free hand fisting into the pile
of furs. He took Loki's cock in his hand as soon as he could move, working
intently, pulling Loki after him into that cloud of bliss that saturated the
air about them. Thor's hand fit so perfectly around him, and Loki felt the
tension coiling up in his belly and he vaguely wondered how this could have
anything in common with the tension that usually filled him, but then he
couldn't think, could only feel, as it snapped free and he came with a shout,
hips driving down hard against Thor's.
When it was finished and Loki had collapsed with a faint moan next to Thor,
Thor cleaned them off with his shirt, lying still puddled next to them. He
would have washed them, as well, but walking seemed notably unlikely.
As before, Loki was not ready to repeat their more ambitious activities right
away. That was fine; neither one had expected anything else, and for each step
back they kept making two steps forward.
One evening, Thor came home carrying two pieces of metalwork for Loki's
approval. There was a massive iron cuff for Daghda, its entire surface covered
in whirls that spiralled together in a dizzying repeat. For Brigh, he had made
a hand mirror of bronze, one side polished to a high sheen and the back
decorated in smaller, more restrained patterns. He had embedded three stones in
it.
"Do you think she will mind that they are common stones from the river? They
are clear and even, and I thought they suited this pattern, but I do not wish
to be insulting," he told Loki.
Loki patted his arm reassuringly. "Remember what I told you was the most
important thing in making them? You chose these stones for their beauty. She
does not expect a smith to make a kingly offering."
Thor smiled. "When can we go to the well?"
"If we leave in the morning, we can be there the following day."
"I would like that."
But the next morning, Loki did not lead them to the well right away. Instead,
they went to the hill-fort and stood atop it, looking down upon the plain. "Do
you know what today is?" he asked Thor.
Thor frowned in thought. "Twelve days after Bealtain. Is it something else as
well?"
"It was a year ago today that I first saw you. Right there," he pointed. "You
were beautiful and deadly, and I knew at once that you didn't belong there with
the Romans. I have my own offering to make at the well, to give my thanks for
you being brought here to me."
They looked at the plain, each of them remembering how the other had first
appeared before them, and then Loki took Thor's hand and led him northwest,
through the woods to the well. As with the walk back to Taexali lands from the
Roman camp, Loki knew where to find secreted packs of food and bedding along
their way, and the forest was ripe with fruit, so they had little to carry
beyond skins for water and the sacrifices.
The evening was chilly, and they slept more closely together than was their
habit. Loki curled up behind Thor, one arm around him, at once keeping them
warm and ensuring that he wouldn't find himself trapped and panicking under
Thor's heavier arm.
They reached the well at about midday. The trees about it had scraps of cloth
hanging from them, and Thor looked around, curious. "The Caledones also hold
this well sacred, and in times of peace they are allowed onto our lands to pray
here. Some of them believe they must hang a garment in the tree next to the
well, and their prayers will be answered when it has fallen into decay."
"Do we ever do this?" Thor asked.
Loki smiled inwardly to hear him call the Taexali we. It was still new and
welcome. "No. The gods are not so unkind as to make us wait like this."
"But prayers are not always answered, surely, and certainly not immediately."
"They are not. But nor are we so arrogant as to assume that our prayers are
ever more than humble requests. These rotting rags smack of demands."
"Then our offerings...?"
"Well, mine is of thanks, so I am reasonably sure it will be accepted. And
yours... I cannot promise, but your sacrifice is made honestly, and it is not
selfish. Unless your only concern is making yourself feel better?" Loki looked
at him a little sharply.
"I do hope to feel better," Thor admitted, "but my main care is not for
myself."
"Then I do not think you need worry." Loki squeezed his arm. "Would you like to
go first?"
"I'm not sure what to do. I'd like to watch you, if I may."
So Loki approached the well, his steps even and reverent. He stood next to it
for a moment, murmuring a prayer, before tossing in his offering. He had worked
on it secretly for months, turning the wood, carving so carefully, polishing it
with sandstone and then his thumbs til it shone. It was a rough figure; he was
no artist, but this crudely shaped statue of a man bulging with muscles had
been made with gratitude, more than he had ever thought he would be able to
feel.
Thor watched in silence. When Loki returned and stood next to him, he began to
walk forward. "Daghda first," Loki told him. He nodded.
He did not know the prayers as Loki did, but since he had not been instructed
in what to say, he trusted that he needed but to be honest. So first he prayed
to the Lord of the Dead, that the slave - Thor didn't even know his name, but
he summoned a picture of the man's face into his mind - be given peace and
happiness. When he let go of the heavy iron and watched it sink into the water,
he felt much lighter than just the weight of the metal would explain. And again
with the Lady, he prayed for her care and kindness in watching over the man. As
the mirror sank into the water, it spun over and caught the sun, giving a last
flash of brilliance before it was lost to the deep. "Thank you," he whispered. 
It was with joyous hearts that they walked back to the village, Thor grateful
for the chance to do something for the slave, Loki grateful for Thor. With
their packs so light now they made good time, and the second day they stopped
to swim in the river before returning home. They dove into the clear water,
tumbling and jumping. Loki wasn't quite ready for Thor to hold him, but he
wrapped his arms easily around the broad shoulders, laughing as Thor suddenly
shot up from the water and tossed Loki free into the air.
"Let's do this every day, all summer. After we finish our work, let's meet
here," Loki said. He had missed so much fun as a child, and as he grew freer in
spirit, he found himself eager for the years of lost play.
Thor was only too happy to help.
***** Shedding *****
Chapter Summary
     Another fear is cast off, as is another lie.
Chapter Notes
     Enjoy!
They did, indeed, spend nearly every summer evening in the river. Loki was
silver and agile as a minnow as he swam, his slender figure cutting through the
water more deftly than Thor's bulk. Being freed from gravity, able to move with
near-equal ease in any direction, made him feel both secure and free. The few
evenings they did not go, because one of them was busy, they spent extra time
the next day, leaving their tasks in the late afternoon to meet on the river
path. Like the day after Midsummer; Loki had presided over the rituals late
into the night, and they needed to make up the lost time.
"Guess where I'm going next?" Loki told Thor, his eyes bright with laughter as
he took a gulp of air and disappeared beneath the surface. Thor scanned the
shore, watching for a pale figure to climb up onto the rocky outcrop over the
deep part of the river, where it was safe to dive. What he was not expecting,
but what happened, was to hear the water break just behind him and Loki's arms
to wrap about his chest.
"Got you," he whispered into Thor's ear, planting a swift peck on his shoulder
before letting go and sinking back down.
Thor treaded water, waiting to see where Loki would appear next. He smiled when
Loki popped up right in front of him, water streaming down his face as he moved
in for a kiss. They were alone in the water, for once, and Loki's arms wrapped
around Thor as he deepened it, tongue coaxing at Loki's lips. Thor felt the
first stirrings of arousal twining their way around his cock and he gave a soft
sound of pleasure. It gave way to pleased surprise when Loki grasped his
treading hands and pulled them loosely around his back. Thor had to work his
legs hard to keep himself upright; his muscles did not float so easily, but he
was not willing to let go. Not when Loki was, for this first and precious time,
wanting to be held. He wanted to squeeze tight and never let go, but he
restrained the impulse. That would come, and Thor knew from experience that it
would come all the sooner if this first attempt went peacefully, with nothing
to startle Loki into sudden alarm.
Loki felt his heart racing but fought to keep the tension out of his body. It
wasn't that he was trying to hide anything from Thor, but he had come to
realize that when he managed to keep his body relaxed, it helped him keep
control of his mind, as well. So he floated and enjoyed Thor's embrace as best
he could, until his pulse began to thud in his veins. He gave Thor another
quick kiss and pointed his toes, letting himself slide quickly into the deep of
the river before swimming up next to Thor.
Thor smiled at him when he surfaced. "I liked that," he said gently. "I would
like to do it again, when you are ready."
He was growing skilled at telling Loki what he wanted in a manner that was open
and honest without any trace of pushing. And Loki liked it that he didn't hold
back from sharing his own feelings and desires, even when he knew it would be
some time before they were acted on. But today, this desire would not have long
to wait. They bobbed downstream next to each other until Loki felt his body
ease back into peace. With another smile and breath, he dove again, and again
resurfaced in Thor's arms.
They played at this over and over, each time lasting a little longer than the
one before. And finally, Loki moved forward to rest his head on Thor's shoulder
and he whispered to him. "Tighter."
Thor closed his arms around Loki's back, pulling him close. He felt Loki's body
freeze in his arms, but he made no move to leave, so Thor continued to hold him
tight, one hand stroking gently down his back, murmuring to him softly until he
felt the tension bleed away into the water. Thor closed his eyes and pressed
his lips against the dripping black hair. "I've wanted this so long," he
whispered.
"Don't let go," Loki whispered back.
"Never."
*****
It was a good thing that they had gotten to the river so early that day, they
realized, as they finally looked around to see how far they had floated
downstream. They hauled out of the water, a little sad to let go but glad in
the knowledge that it was only the first of what would be countless embraces.
They held hands as they walked along the silty shore back to their clothes.
Loki had been waiting for the right moment for some time now. He hadn't wanted
to speak too soon, but Thor deserved to know what he meant, and this timing was
suddenly perfect. He rubbed his thumb along the back of Thor's. "I love you,"
he said.
Thor stopped dead in his tracks, almost knocking Loki as he still held onto his
hand. "Loki," he said. He stared at him in wonder before bringing his hand up
to cup the dear, dear face in his hand, as soft and delicate as a flower petal.
"I love you too."
Once it was said, neither could seem to stop repeating it, and their speed
dropped in half as they kept stopping to say it over and over in rapturous
voices, half-crying in their shared happiness.
They had always walked single file on the path home, finding it not quite wide
enough to go side-by-side. It turned out to be just big enough if they walked
with their arms wrapped around each other's waists.
*****
Thor worked extra hard making new figures for Luganasa, and by the festivities
that evening, while Loki chatted with their friends, he was content to sit
tiredly and trace the lines of Loki's arm tattoos with his finger.
"When do you think I will get more?" he asked a little shyly when they returned
home.
Loki smiled. "I will talk to Deglan tomorrow for permission. I don't think
there will be any problem."
It turned out to be better than simply no problem.
"Yes, of course!" Deglan said in answer to Loki's question. "I did not mean to
allow him only one. I meant it to be simply the first. Was he waiting my
permission?"
At Loki's acknowledgement, he shook his head. "Do take him my apologies, and
tell Laudoc that Thor is to have priority for his time when he wishes another."
Loki nodded his thanks.
"Have you time to sit and talk with me?" Deglan asked. "I've begun to think of
remarriage, and I want your thoughts."
"I would be happy to," Loki said, taking one of a bench. "Auricca was a great
loss, but I know she would wish you to find happiness again."
"She was a wonderful woman," Deglan agreed. "And... I think Oria is another."
Loki absolutely beamed at the thought of his friend being made queen. "One of
the best," he said. "Are you sure she'll have you?"
Deglan laughed. "I hope so." For the good of the tribe, he was glad of Thor's
presence because of his skill at smithing and his prowess in battle. But he had
his personal reasons as well. Loki was one of the very few members of the tribe
of a rank high enough that Deglan could be on terms of friendship with him, and
it was a joy to see his friend growing happier almost by the day.
*****
Laudoc sent word that he was ready anytime Thor knew what he wanted, and it was
only a matter of days before Thor showed up, his design sketched on a bit of
worn cloth. The matching tattoos covered more area than the tree on his back,
but they were largely outlines, and they went quickly. By the time Loki got
home Thor was there waiting for him.
"Shields," Loki said, looking at them. "They're beautiful."
They were; the paired designs were rich with swirls and spirals that covered
his upper arms, curving around the massive swells of muscles and up onto his
shoulders. There was a patch on his right arm that Laudoc had left bare,
bringing special attention to one of his scars from the bear attack.
"So that all may see my strength and know it is for the protection of those I
care for," Thor told him.
Loki smiled fondly.
Thor was under strict orders to stay out of the river for a week, but he didn't
mind. Watching Loki enjoy the late summer water was enough.
*****
It was not long before Mabone, the first time Thor took Loki into his mouth. He
was hesitant, apprehensive. This was a thing, he had been raised to believe,
that was so low it could not even be requested of a meretrix; it was reserved
strictly for slaves and the lower orders of prostitutes. The legion had
bantered with slurs about each other's willingness to do this, and bloody
fights had broken out over the words. Yet to be such a topic of such
conversation, there had to be something to it, and Thor was resolved to try.
And he quickly decided that there was nothing but happiness to be found in
giving Loki pleasure in this manner. It was yet one more lie of Rome, to
pervert an act of caring and mutuality into one of violence and degradation.
They had just returned from a swim in the river, where Loki had been as
graceful and playful as an otter, and his beauty had taken Thor's breath away.
His skin still tasted like the fresh cold water, with its hints of gray slate
and new green life, as Thor lowered his tongue and Loki arched his back in
pleasure.
The next day, he began to forge another offering, this time one of
thanksgiving.
***** Good Matches *****
Chapter Summary
     Deglan and Oria get married in the fall. This winter is more bitter
     than the last, but even that is not so bad with a loved one held
     close. And spring... ah, spring.
Chapter Notes
     Enjoy!
The bite in the air was growing by the day, but the late afternoon sun was warm
on their skin as they stretched on the rock overhanging the water, watching
their reflections below. It was too cold most days to swim, now, but they still
found it peaceful simply to be here together, near the place they had first
spoken their love.
"We suit," Loki said, leaning over to bump Thor's shoulder with his own.
"We do," Thor agreed.
"Night and day. Both better together than either one could be alone."
Shamnain was approaching, and after the way it had troubled Thor the year
before, Loki was eager to show him its solemn beauty.
Thor looked at him wryly. "I know what you're doing, you know," he said.
"You do? Is it working?"
Thor chuckled. "Perhaps."
*****
Before Shamnain, though, there was the wedding. Deglan and Oria had planned to
wait for Imbolg, to have the special favor of Brigh on her feast day, but when
Oria's courses stopped, they decided not to wait. Thor had been to several
Taexali marriages, of course, but this was by far the grandest. It was time,
again, to remove the beeswax from his ears and learn as Deglan gave them a
piece of gold to forge into a circlet for his bride. Working the soft metal -
such a tiny piece compared to what he was used to - was yet another new skill,
and Thor found himself grateful that the wedding was sooner rather than later.
Engus was growing tired; he seemed much older than he had just that spring.
Thor wanted to learn everything he might need to know, so that Engus would be
able to leave his work in Thor's knowledgeable hands whenever he felt the need.
Loki was glad that he was not expected to behave solemnly while officiating the
marriage ceremony; it would have been nearly impossible to keep the smile off
his face at the sight of two of his closest friends, good people with warm and
kind hearts, joining together. It was celebrated at dawn, and the pink tint of
the sky matched the roses in Oria's cheeks as she blushed in happiness. The
thin band of cloth that Loki wrapped around their wrists was a light spring
green for their new life together.
When it was finished, Deglan and Oria turned towards the gathered tribe -
slightly awkwardly, with the ribbon still tied in place - and the people knelt
in recognition of their new queen. Loki, standing behind them, bowed his head
respectfully. The couple beamed at each other and at the tribe as Deglan
motioned them to rise. Oria rose on tiptoe to whisper something in his ear.
"The feast!" he announced.
The large tables and benches had been set out the night before, and bowl after
bowl of food quickly appeared on them, the women making a long line from the
hill-fort down to the plain as they carried everything out. Loki sat by the new
couple, as was his double-right as both druid and friend, and Thor sat with
him.
"I'm so happy for you both," Thor said warmly.
"Thank you," Oria said, squeezing Deglan's hand and smiling.
The tables were arranged so that everyone could share in the entertainment of
watching the new couple trying to eat with only one hand each; the wedding was
over, and this meal was a good predictor of how the marriage itself would go.
When the couple worked in unison, it boded well.
Oria and Deglan quickly worked out a system for eating, her using the fork to
hold the thick piece of ham still while Deglan cut off a bite. She gave him the
first piece in respect for his status, but after that he urged her to eat her
fill, wanting to keep her well satisfied as their child grew within her. It was
an excellent sign, everyone agreed afterwards, as Deglan carried her away, back
to his-now-their roundhouse for more intimate celebrations.
The rest of the tribe spent the day on the plain. Three bards had come, and
they sang long poems and played music, and the fili told stories, and the
children played while the adults danced. Thor was learning their dances, but he
still had far to go before he could join in the more solidly formed ones. For
these, when he tried to sit to the side to watch and learn, Brisa quickly
assumed her old role as teacher, dragging him firmly by the hand into the
children's circle and talking him through each step.
Farbauti, Loki's partner in this dance, leaned close and whispered to him,
"Look at the other ring." He glanced over and nearly collapsed in laughter at
the sight of Thor being tugged through the complex motions by the small girl
who barely passed his waist. She smiled fondly. "He has a good heart. I am glad
for you, my son."
Loki's eyes were warm as he nodded his agreement.
*****
That night, after they somehow made their way back to the roundhouse holding
each other up, Loki used his mouth on Thor. He couldn't open to receive, not
yet, but he found that his tongue and fingers were more than enough to take
Thor to dizzying heights. Near the end, he hesitantly let one wet finger ease
downwards into Thor's cleft, not pressing to enter, but circling lightly, to
see how this touch would be received. He found it rather hard to believe, after
his own experiences, that it might bring pleasure. Maedoc, though, had spoken
in enough length and detail about his own enthusiasm over the evening's feast,
once he was well drunk, that Loki had decided it was perhaps worth a try.
It was. Thor bucked and came with a shout, his entire body trembling and
spasming as he lay gasping for air afterwards.
That was good to know.
*****
The chill of winter was in the air the morning Engus spoke. "The cold begins to
eat into my bones, Thor," he sighed. "I fear some days you will find yourself
here alone."
Thor was unsure how to answer. "I hope you know that I wish only for what is
best for you," he said carefully. "While I am still very much a student, I hope
that I have learned enough that you feel it is all right to remain in your
roundhouse on any day which you may need."
Engus smiled. "An excellent student," he said. "I think I will make it a point
to teach you those particular skills that there has as yet been no call to use.
You will be ready to take your own apprentice soon enough, and I will be a
quarrelsome old man who sits about in luxury all day while others labor."
"Come sit here when that happens. You will enjoy watching me work."
"I will indeed," he said.
*****
The winter was long, with the cold uniformly bitter for what felt like ages
upon ages. Even with their skins hung along the walls and the fire built high,
the roundhouse was too cold for them to be without their blankets. Often it was
too cold to rouse any desire beyond that for closeness and shared warmth. So
they passed the months held tight in each others arms, Loki slowly losing any
lingering apprehension he felt about being constricted in such a way. Every
time he needed to move away, Thor let him go.
And every time Thor let him go, it made him want to come back.
*****
Spring crept in on a wave of snowdrops. The little white blossoms appeared, it
seemed, overnight, bobbing their heads in the breeze and shooting their new
green leaves up through the drifts of packing snow. With the arrival of these
first flowers, the sap once again flowed in the trees and in their veins. First
it was spent in the careful motion of hands beneath blankets, reaching into
clothes, then in bared bodies moving against each other, savoring the feel of
each others skins and the soft furs around them. And one gorgeous day it was
finally warm enough to be bared to the air, and Thor spend hours pressing
hungry kisses against every inch of Loki's body before taking his length into
his mouth and glorying in the pleasure it bestowed.
When Loki had caught his breath, he urged Thor to rest back, eager to return
joy for joy. His finger slid back to draw tight circles as he licked and
kissed, and Thor arched his back, nodding his head frantically as he breathed a
please. Loki watched Thor's face as he eased it in, ready for any sign of pain,
but his moan was purely from gratification. It was strange, Loki thought, to be
doing something in caring that Cassian had done in cruelty. He was not entirely
sure, at first, how he felt about it. Even when Thor came explosively before
collapsing, boneless, on the bedding, he was unsure.
Thor looked at Loki from beneath iron-heavy lids that were begging for sleep.
Loki's face was cautious, as though he had not yet made up his mind how he felt
about what had happened. "May I hold you?" he asked. He had long ago stopped
asking this, but now it somehow seemed best. Loki nodded and laid down next to
him. Thor brought his arms around him and felt the faint trembling that
vibrated through his form. "Was that all right?" Thor asked carefully.
And Loki smiled. "Yes," he said. He really hadn't known until the moment Thor
asked. But when he asked, the fact that he asked, made it all right. Made it
good.
***** An Accident at the Smithy *****
Chapter Summary
     Engus had been having strange muscle spasms in his arms. He should
     have stopped working when they began, he knew that, but there was so
     much work to be done, and so much still to teach.
This year, when Thor held his cups of milk out to Loki after taking no more
than a taste, Loki made no argument before drinking it. And again, he began to
fill out, his body's worrisome hollows filling into sleek valleys. It was even
better this year, being able to feel the transformation beneath his fingers.
Thor could happily spend hours running his hands over Loki, taking it all in.
"You're trying to make me fat, Thor," Loki said one evening as they sprawled
comfortably together.
"I don't think you're capable of that. But I do worry with how thin you grow
over the winter."
"Fat," Loki repeated contentedly, pointing at a slight fold of skin on his firm
belly.
Thor laughed and pulled him close.
*****
Even with the beeswax stopping up his ears, the sound of the hammer against the
hot metal was loud, and the ringing that echoed from each stroke hung heavy in
the air. So it was that Thor didn't realize, at first, what the sound was that
he was hearing. But when he stopped hammering to work from a different angle,
the ringing subsided and it suddenly hit him what the noise was. It was an
eerie, agonized howling, and it was coming from Engus, whose face was a mask of
shock as the screams poured forth. Thor set down his hammer and rushed towards
the older man, to see what was wrong. As he came around the anvil, he saw.
Engus had been having muscle spasms in his arm, and one must have hit him as he
worked. His hammer had fallen onto his foot.
Thor raised it off slowly, cringing at the shift in Engus' cries. His face
remained a mask of blankness as the weight was removed. The foot was already
swelling and purpling, but no bones had broken the skin. There would be no
infection; he could at least be confident that Engus would survive, though he
might be crippled by it. He tried to speak, but got no response, so he lifted
him bodily and carried him to the bench where they took their rest and laid him
carefully down, the injured foot raised on a pile of rags kept for wiping their
sweat.
"I'll be back as soon as I can," he said, unsure whether Engus heard or
understood him.
As he made for the door, Ruadri came bursting in. "What has happened?" he
gasped.
Thor explained quickly. "Do you know where the queen is?"
"I do not. I will go through the village asking who has seen her while you go
to the hill-fort and see if she is at home."
They both took off at a run, slowing only to tell others of the need to find
Oria and send her at once to the smithy.
Thor burst in to the great hall, gasping for air after running straight up the
hill, uncaring that he was interrupting the king with his councilors as he
asked where to find the queen.
Deglan stood, answering quickly that she was in her workshop in the village.
"Do I need to send for her?" he asked.
Thor shook his head no. "Ruadri went that way," he said.
He took another moment to breathe before explaining what had happened. Deglan's
face was grim as he took it in. "She'll want him carried to the village, where
she can watch over him," he said. "Go to her old roundhouse and fetch her
patient litter, and take it to the smithy. I will meet you there to help carry
him."
Thor nodded and obeyed. When he arrived with the litter, it seemed half the
village was standing about, their faces covered in worry. No one knew how to
help, and everyone wanted to; Engus was well-loved. The screaming had stopped,
and Thor wasn't sure if that was good or bad. He went in to find that Oria was
running light hands over the injured foot, now swollen like a water skin, while
Judoc held a piece of leather between Engus' teeth for him to bite.
"Thor," Oria managed to smile at him. "I would like him carried to my workshop,
please. Judoc, fetch me as much beer as you think him able to drink. I would
prefer to spare him the worst of what I must do. And send someone for Loki, ask
him to meet us."
The crowd murmured when they saw that the king himself was helping to carry the
litter. It was a high mark of favor, a show of how valued Engus was to the
tribe even now, when it appeared his days of useful work were ended. Oria
walked alongside, her heavy red braid tied up in a rough knot to keep it out of
her way.
*****
Loki was with his students as they recited the words for Imbolg, his ears
carefully attuned to find any stumbles or mistakes, when he heard a cry from
the mouth of the cave. "Go see what it is, Arduc," he said, annoyed at the
interruption. But all annoyance fled when Arduc returned, his face blanched.
"There's been an accident at the smithy."
An icy hand grabbed at Loki's throat, blocking his air. "What?" he asked
faintly.
"I don't know. Brisa must have run all the way here, that was as much as she
said before she collapsed."
Loki ran faster than he knew he could, and had never felt so slow. His lungs
were on fire and his heart slamming like it might burst from his chest before
he was halfway back to the village, but he never slowed. When he finally burst
into the clearing, Ruadri was waiting for him.
"They're at Oria's workshop," he told Loki, pointing.
"Thor?" Loki gasped.
Ruadri shook his head. "Engus."
He was in agony from the run, but the frozen terror released and let him take
deep, shuddering breaths as he leaned against a tree, recovering briefly before
taking to his heels towards Oria's.
He found Engus on the bed, his head supported by her graceful hand as she
poured a large mug of beer carefully into his mouth. He drank steadily, sending
a grateful glance towards the door as Loki came in.
"What happened?" he asked softly, sinking to his knees next to Thor, whose hand
was turning purple as Engus squeezed it in pain.
"I'm not sure, he hasn't been able to talk. I think one of his muscle spasms
took his arm. He had dropped his hammer on his foot."
"It's..." Loki didn't have words for how the foot looked.
"She's going to reshape it once he loses consciousness," Thor told him.
Loki nodded. "That is best." He turned from Thor, then, to take Engus' free
hand and murmur prayers over him. His low, even voice seemed to bring some
peace to the sufferer, giving him something to focus on, and his tense hands
relaxed slightly as he continued to drink.
Once he passed out from the beer - it had taken so much, the sharp pain cutting
through the haze - Oria motioned Thor towards the head of the bed. "Hold his
arms down, in case he wakes. Deglan, please hold his good leg." Her face went
slightly green as she palpated the foot, rearranging the bones as best she
could through the swelling. Loki prayed constantly, and the gods were kind
enough to let Engus sleep through everything.
*****
"Oria still dresses simply for her work," Thor commented to Loki that evening
as they collapsed, exhausted, to their beds. "Deglan did not order her to
ornament herself for her new station."
Loki smiled. It was a relief to have something to smile at. "If he were the
sort of man to do that, she would never have married him."
"No, I suppose she wouldn't. I like them both."
"Me, too."
Loki moved towards him, curling as tightly into Thor's arms as possible. He
could barely remember, now, why this had frightened him; it had come to mean
the ultimate in peace and safety, having Thor's strength all around him, the
ornate shields on his arms a ceaseless promise of protection.
"I was afraid it was you," he said, his voice muffled by Thor's shoulder.
"Brisa could barely speak by the time she got to the cave, all she said was
there was an accident at the smithy, and I was so afraid it was you. And I'm so
glad it's not, and that means I'm glad it was Engus instead, and it makes me
feel awful."
Thor smiled sadly and rubbed his arm. "If it were anyone else speaking these
words I believe you would have wise advice for them. You can be glad it was not
me without being glad it was Engus. You can simply be sorrowful that it
happened."
Loki nodded. "You are right, of course."
"It is what you would say, is it not?"
"It is," he agreed.
Thor gave him another tight squeeze before relaxing his hold, letting his arm
come to rest across Loki's waist.
"I love you," Loki murmured, as they were halfway into merciful sleep.
***** Home is Best *****
Chapter Summary
     Home is best," Loki said, wrapping his arms around Thor. "And this is
     home."
Chapter Notes
     Enjoy!
Thor reluctantly took over the smithy. He had never felt less confident about
his own abilities, even as members of the tribe sought him out to share their
thanks. The king even gave him special acknowledgement at one evening meal,
ordering him to name the reward-prize he wanted for his service. His first
impulse was to refuse any gift; it felt wrong to accept anything after the way
Deglan had allowed him to come join the tribe after he abandoned his legion.
But on second thought, he did have a request.
"I would like the promise that Engus' family will be provided for, now that he
cannot work to support them," he said.
The shocked faces that met his request made him think he had made some terrible
error, and he began to stammer an apology.
"No - no, Thor, you misunderstand our reaction," Deglan told him. "Your wish
speaks well of you. It is simply that we would never consider letting his
family go without, after his many years of work for the tribe."
He relaxed. "Then I am content. I thank you."
Deglan grinned at him. "I will choose for you, then," he said.
Loki slipped his hand into Thor's. "That was a kind thought," he murmured under
his breath as Deglan turned to other talk.
"It seemed only right," he answered.
"Yet many would not have thought it."
The next morning, a servant arrived at the smithy, bearing a handsome bronze
cuff, inset with garnets. They were small but nearly flawless, and their color
was a rich, dark red.
"We're going to have to get you your own set of shelves soon," Loki commented
as Thor set it down next to Loki's own cuffs.
"I don't know. I like how they look together," Thor said.
*****
Oria kept Engus for two weeks, watching over him every night and sleeping
through the day while the women of the tribe took turns. Thor visited each
morning on his way to work, and Loki came each evening, on his way home. He had
many other visitors as well, trying to keeping his spirits high. Everyone
brought what beer they could to ease his pain, though Oria allowed it only at
night, to help him sleep. "It slows healing," she explained in a tone that
brooked no argument, "but so does lack of rest. This is best."
And then the night came when Loki got home to tell Thor that he would be wanted
in the morning to help carry Engus home. "The swelling is down and he is out of
danger. It is too soon to know if he will be able to walk on it, but he will
rest better at home."
"As will I, knowing that he is to go. He has spoken of nothing else for days
now."
"To me, as well. And he's right. Home is best," Loki said, moving close to
Thor. He wrapped his arms around Thor's broad shoulders as Thor embraced his
waist, and he melted against the strong body. "This is home," Loki whispered,
squeezing tight.
"None better," Thor agreed, bringing his lips to Loki's.
*****
Elb'Aile came again, with its bounty of festively colored eggs and joyful
celebrations filling the field by the hill-fort. There was a universal round of
cheering when Thor and Ruadri arrived carrying Engus on a litter, setting him
onto one of the long benches to drink and enjoy the celebrations and blessings
of the day. By the evening, when people began to move to the hill-fort for the
feast, he had so many eggs they had to talk Brisa into helping carry them all
after him. Thor spend much of the day talking with him, and was glad to hear
that it seemed to be healing better than anyone had expected, especially at his
age. He was rapidly growing more cheerful, as well, and promised that soon he
would start paying visits to the smithy to talk Thor through the other types of
work he had not yet had the chance to learn.
"How different are the metals?" Brisa asked, perched on his knee.
"Well, they're all different hardnesses, and they take the heat differently,
and the size of the piece has much to do with it as well. Thor has learned
large and small work with iron and bronze, but gold is the only precious metal
he knows how to work. There's also silver, and it's much harder than gold, and
works completely differently," he told her.
"I like bronze best," she said.
"That's a useful metal, indeed," he said. "You have good taste."
The people slowly made their way out into the night, mostly paired off. Thor
and Loki were part of a group helping Engus home before they walked alone to
their roundhouse and continued their more personal celebrations of the festival
late into the night, matching touch for touch and pleasure for pleasure.
*****
At Bealtain, Loki spent so long letting the torch scent Engus' roundhouse, in
the hopes of drawing the gods close to grant him rapid healing, that the smith
began coughing, and waved him away. "Healing my foot will do me no good if I
choke to death," he grumbled cheerfully. He was sitting up, his bound foot
elevated before him and a cluster of children scattered about, listening to his
stories.
The sweet fragrance lingered about the village as it always did, offering its
renewal of blessing and protection to all the Taexali. And, as it always did,
it made Loki feel safe and bold as he at last drew Thor down to their bedding,
groaning in relief as his tired shoulders eased into the softness.
"You have had a long day," Thor said, rubbing at his stiff neck. "Let me show
you my appreciation." He coaxed Loki's clothes away with deft fingers, before
efficiently shedding his own.
Loki stretched and gave a pleasured sigh as Thor began to kiss his way down his
torso. He paused over a nipple, looking up. "May I?" he asked.
Loki thought a moment and nodded. "Gentle?"
Thor smiled. "Of course." He brought his lips down, butterfly-light kisses
dancing across it. Loki's body came crashing suddenly upwards into him, and it
was a heartbeat before he realized that what he had at first thought was
sobbing was in fact giggling.
"Maybe not quite so gentle," Loki gasped as his giggles calmed down.
"As you like. I wasn't expecting you to make that particular noise."
"No, neither was I. I didn't know I could."
The kisses, when they came back, were firm but no less tender, and Loki relaxed
into them. Thor flicked his tongue out, across, and he heard Loki gasp but felt
no anxiety tensing his muscles. He lingered here, watching Loki's cock respond
to his ministrations, until it lured him to continue his wandering path. Loki's
soft, pleased sound was dizzying as he slid his lips down and began to work him
with careful sucks.
When Loki grew close, Thor lifted his head. "May I try something else?" he
asked, his fingertip drawing small circles just at the back of Loki's scrotum,
suggesting what the something else was.
Loki took a deep, shuddering breath, willing himself to stay calm. The
fragrance of the sweet smoke swept into his lungs, and even the clench of
stiffness in his neck helped remind him of the security of the day. "Just... a
little?" he asked.
Thor pressed a kiss to his thigh. "Of course. Stop me any time you want," he
said. "I will always stop when you tell me."
Loki knew that; Thor had proven it over and over, and he said it constantly.
Loki always loved to hear it again, though, loved to be reminded that he was
safe and respected here, in Thor's caring hands.
Thor wetted a finger in his mouth before bringing his tongue back down to the
head of Loki's cock, drawing intricate swirls as his finger moved slowly back.
When he got to the nervously fluttering muscle he stopped and circled it,
offering touch without pressure. Loki gasped and Thor froze.
"No, don't stop," Loki said. "Nothing more, but that... that's good."
Thor gave a glad sound and continued, feeling Loki's muscles being to tremble
with his spiraling arousal. Thor coaxed it higher and higher, until Loki felt
himself flying among the stars as he climaxed, Thor accepting everything,
swallowing quietly.
"You, too," Loki said, shifting to press Thor down into the thick bedding.
He rose, then, to Thor's confusion, before he retrieved a stoneware vial from a
knotted pouch in his shawl. "Hazelnuts give a pleasant oil," Loki explained.
"Aren't hazelnuts sacred to Ainu?" Thor asked suspiciously.
"They are. As is the oil."
"Are you sure it is allowed to use a sacred oil for..." his voice trailed off.
Loki laughed. "Is what we are doing not sacred to her as well? This is sacred
to her," he said, bringing his lips to Thor's. "As is this," he continued,
stroking his hands down Thor's torso, "as is this," he finished, dragging his
fingers as light as cobwebs across Thor's cock. Loki let go just long enough to
spread a thin layer of oil across his fingers before returning to Thor's supine
form, his eyes already fallen closed in anticipation.
Loki stroked him with warm, slippery fingers and light, teasing tongue. There
was no urgency to this, not tonight, nothing but slow, relaxed pleasure that
Thor already knew would coax him to greater and greater heights before his peak
arrived. From the look his face, Loki knew as well. Loki seemed to enter him
readily this time, his prior hesitance lost. Whether it was the protection of
Bealtain or the blessing of Ainu's oil, Thor had no way of knowing, but the
nimble fingers within him were heavenly enough to carry all the goodness of
both.
*****
“Loki, what do you think happens when we die?”
"What brought this on?" Loki asked lazily, playing with the heavy coils and
braids of Thor's gleaming hair. They were tangled together, sweaty and sated,
and the question seemed entirely incongruous.
“I was just thinking about everything that we’ve been through in order to find
each other,” he said. “Do you think we will be together?”

Oh. Loki stroked Thor’s hair as he spoke. “I believe that after we die, our
souls follow a path to the afterlife, where we dwell with the gods until they
choose to send us into new bodies. I have served them faithfully all my life,
and you began to serve them as soon as you learned of them. I do not believe
this will go unrewarded. We will have different names, different faces, but
yes. I do think we will be together.”
***** Battle and Burning *****
Chapter Summary
     The Venicones attack again. This time, not all their survivors get
     away.
Chapter Notes
     This chapter contains human sacrifice, and it's semi-graphic - the
     events aren't glossed over, but I don't go into details, either.
There was more warning before the Venicone attack this time. One of the scouts
came running into the great hall as everyone was finishing their evening beers
to say that he had just seen their warriors on the move towards Taexali lands.
"How far?" Deglan demanded.
"At a walk, two days. At a run, shortly behind me, though I think they were too
laden to run more than a very little."
Deglan spat out orders, sending the warriors of the tribe home to collect their
battle gear and return to the great hall as quickly as possible. Loki went with
Thor to gather his own preferred garb for overseeing battles. He hadn't worn it
in over two years. Two years and six days, to be precise. Thor's eyes lowered
as Loki donned it, staring at the floor.
"Does it trouble you to see me so?" Loki asked him.
"Only with the memory of how I once dismissed your strength," he answered. "You
know well what I was raised to believe about druids. My former ignorance shames
me."
"Thor." Loki grabbed his arm. "What opportunities had you to learn anything
else? You have always shown yourself eager to learn. Grant yourself the same
kindness that you would show any other in your position."
Thor relaxed slightly. "I suppose you are right," he admitted.
"Good. Now let's get back and prepare."
They joined the stream of people moving towards the hill-fort, laden with
weapons and possessions. Though there would be efforts made to protect the
village, it would be foolhardy to leave everything unattended, and the fort
offered greater safety.
The men slept rough, their bodies a ring around the top of the hill, ready to
jump to arms at a word from the sentries. Loki stayed near Thor, but he did not
sleep.He spent the night speaking silently to Rheganon, asking for her aid in
the upcoming battle, and for her gift of death to be heavy in the weapons of
the Taexali. And I beg of you, he asked, please, please see fit to leave Thor
here with me.
The Venicones arrived late in the afternoon. They massed on the far side of the
plain. They did not show their tiredness, but they had arrived less than a full
day after the scout who had brought the news at a run. Deglan quickly gave the
order to attack before they had a chance to rest.
The warriors shed their clothes, displaying their tattoos and their
fearlessness and prepared to charge down the hill. Loki gave Thor a swift kiss
just before he was drawn away by Deglan's shout, neither one wanting to let go.
The charioteers swept ahead of them as they ran down the hill and across the
plain. Thor was at the forefront, golden hair streaming behind him and his
massive hammer held high. After the last fight, he had made one specially for
battle, modelled on his smith's hammer but making it balanced and weighted
perfectly to swing and crush.
It was the first time Loki had felt the impulse to charge into battle himself;
he wanted to stand beside Thor, fight beside him, throw his body in the way of
any harm that approached. But he stood firm, rooted by the knowledge that he
could aid Thor best by filling his own role, calling to Rheganon for the deaths
of the Venicones and working his magic to aid the Taexali.
The charioteers did their work well, and the remaining warriors had to climb
over the bodies of their kinsmen to continue fighting. They did it, but the
awkward scramble left them vulnerable until they were safely over, and the
charging Taexali reached them in time to take down much of this new front line
before they were over. They shifted their approach, then, and began to take the
field from either side of the barrier of fallen, and the Taexali had to split
into two fronts to fight. Loki watched with pride as Thor fought at the front
of one group. His body was pure grace as he whirled, swinging his hammer to
take down two, three, four enemies in a single attack.
Once the Taexali who stood fighting near Thor realized the amount of sheer
destruction he was wrecking among their enemies, two other warriors took up
defensive places on either sides of him. They focused their attention on simply
protecting his flanks as he spun, urging his hammer to greater speed, letting
him abandon his shield in favor of maneuverability.
Loki watched in mingled gratitude and worry. It was difficult to tell, at this
distance and through the commotion, whether Thor was safer now that he had the
fighters defending him, or whether letting go of his shield was too much of a
risk. He watched in fear as one particular Venicone got far too close with his
blade before he was smashed down by the whirling hammer.
The attackers fought with increasing desperation as they saw their numbers
dwindling, until, at a shout from their leader, they melted away back into the
forest. Some of them did not move quickly enough, and the Taexali warriors,
bloodied but triumphant, found themselves with three hale prisoners as well as
the many who had fallen but not died of their wounds. No Taexali had died,
though several had dragged themselves, wounded, away from the battle. Thor
looked back to where Loki stood, still alert, keeping his eyes on them. He
would not rest for a second until the prisoners were bound into helplessness,
Thor knew. At Deglan's signal, Oria sent one of the serving boys to run out,
bringing with him a pile of rough ropes. The slighter men drove before them
those prisoners who could walk, while the burlier men carried the wounded.
It was more than a little surreal. Thor couldn't help thinking back to the day
when he stood close with Marius as they watched Loki walk among the fallen
Romans, a black-and-blood-colored bringer of death. He knew now, of course,
that if that hadn't happened, the wounded would have gone into the wicker man;
though they did not know it as they died, Loki had delivered them a mercy as
well as giving himself succor.
And the fire was what waited for these men whom he was now carrying back. They
would be burned alive, as he was to have been, had Loki not intervened. He
looked up, watching Loki's figure grow slowly larger as he approached. Bringer
of life and death alike, his lips at the gods' ears even as they sounded on
earth. His ears, then, at the gods' lips. Thor did not like the wicker man, he
never would, but he was learning that some of the Taexali ways that he disliked
still had good purposes behind them. So he walked silently, carrying his
moaning burden, and deposited him in an empty roundhouse. Not the one where he
himself had been kept; this one had no bar over the door to hold it, as this
prisoner would not be making any escape attempts. His only escape would be to
go to the gods.
Thor was grateful for all the repair work needed by their weapons and shields
after the battle; it kept him in the smithy, kept him from having to help build
the man. Loki was kind. He could read the trouble knotted in Thor's forehead,
and offered a peaceful, quiet presence, willing to hear Thor without pressing
him to speak.
It took four days to build the structure of the man, leaving open enough spaces
to fit the prisoners inside. Four days that Loki spent overseeing the work of
the builders and then coming home, smelling of fresh-cut wood. Four days that
Thor pulled away from him, sleeping with his back turned so that the scent did
not interrupt his dreams. Loki watched it all with a heavy heart.
On the fifth day, he spoke of it. "I must go collect some green wood," he said.
"The man is dry, and will burn quickly once it sparks. I am going to put green
in the bonfire at his feet, for smoke. Your help would be welcome, but I
understand if you prefer not to."
"Smoke? So that their lungs may burn as their skin does?" Thor asked bitterly.
He should have fought harder, hit harder, made sure he left none alive. He did
not mind killing enemies in battle - he delighted in that as much as ever, even
if the enemies had changed - but this was something else entirely. And as much
as the gods might demand it, he did not have to like it.
"So that they will have lost consciousness before the fire reaches them," Loki
corrected gently. "Not all my duties are as pleasant as solemnizing marriages,
nor are all sacrifices as easily made as offerings dropped in a well."
"No, they are not."
"You blame me for this." He said it calmly, without accusation. A simple
statement of fact.
"I cannot help it. I am sorry."
"No, I understand. But think how slowly the wounded would die if I did not do
this. And how many of them lie there suffering from hammer blows? I am giving
them a quicker and easier release than the state in which you left them."
"And the unwounded?" Thor spat.
This was their request. They were offered the choice of the man or servitude.
They could have chosen to do the work that will be left undone by our own
wounded. They preferred death."
Thor was taken aback; he had not realized the men had been given such a choice.
"I did not know this."
"Because you have not spoken to me, or anyone, in days."
Thor stood. "I will help you collect the wood."
"Thank you. You are not expected to attend, you know."
Another day passed before the sacrifice was made; a bank of clouds was rolling
in slowly, and they waited until it covered the village. In the late afternoon,
the Venicones were taken from their prisons, the wounded screaming and moaning
in their pain as they were jostled, the uninjured stubbornly silent. By dusk,
they were tied within and the last bits of wood and wicker built around them.
And at dark, Loki, surrounded by his students and assistants, lit the pyre. It
did smoke, billowing around and up, lit from within by the slowly growing fire.
Screams gave way to violent coughing, and then to the rasp of clogging lungs,
and then silence. As the fire caught the legs of the man and began to lick its
way upward, there were no sounds of pain. Nothing but the sounds of flickering
flame as it climbed rapidly up the structure until it was all alight, towering
above them, the thick logs at the core holding it together so they could watch
in safety. The clouds caught the light and the sky was almost as bright as day.
The Venicones would see this from their own village, if they looked. And look
they would, and perhaps doubt the wisdom of attacking the Taexali again. The
gods were wise, and had many reasons for every thing they demanded.
Thor lay in the dark in the roundhouse. He did not sleep, waiting for Loki to
return. Waiting for it to be over. The light of dawn crept in the smoke hole
before he was back, smelling not of fire, as Thor had expected, but of the
river. Despite being up all night, he had taken the time to bathe rather than
bring home that scent. Thor looked at him more closely as he moved into the
light. He looked completely drained, as though this sacrifice had kept him up
for weeks rather than a single night. As though he did not like it, either.
Perhaps it was not for Thor alone that he had washed away the smoke scent. Thor
looked up at him silently.
"They did not suffer," Loki said.
Thor nodded. He did not speak, but when Loki settled onto the bed, Thor moved
close.
***** Retaliation *****
Chapter Summary
     After two Venicone attacks, Deglan decides they must make an attack
     of their own. Being left behind to wonder and worry is hard.
The Venicones had attacked twice now, and Deglan decided it was time to
retaliate. He did not have the lust for war that the best kings did, but his
desire to protect his people was no less strong for it. He announced that they
would wait until after the Midsummer feasting, and then the warriors would
attack, leaving behind just enough for protection. Loki and his older students,
along with many of the women, would support them if needed; even those not
dedicated as warriors were trained to fight ably enough to defend themselves.
It was with a glance of apology - at Loki, not Thor - that Deglan did not name
Thor as one of those who would remain.
Attacking was far more dangerous than defending, as Thor had seen; the forest
was too dense to take along the chariots, while the Venicones would certainly
put theirs to their maximum utility. Not all the Taexali warriors would not
return home. They had three more nights together, and that might be the end.
And he wasn't ready. There were so many things he wanted to do, to try
together, and he wanted to spend years upon years telling Loki that he loved
him.
He spent two nights trying to decide how best to ask for what he wanted,
knowing how difficult it would be for Loki. But then the third night came and
there was no more time for thinking. Loki was settled between Thor's thighs,
three fingers moving headily inside him and tongue making stripe after delicate
stripe up his cock. Thor's head was thrown back, his mouth open as he fought
for breath. "Please, Loki," he murmured. "More."
Loki moved back slightly, looking to where his hand still worked, trying to
figure how best to add in a fourth finger, when Thor shook his head. "More," he
said again. "You."
Loki froze, staring at his face.
"Not if it will distress you. But... I love you, Loki, and I want this."
Please, he thought. I may march to my death tomorrow. I want this at least once
with someone I love, before it is too late.
Loki nodded uncertainly as he eased his fingers free, reaching for the vial of
oil to slick himself. He felt a little queasy as he moved into place, and hoped
desperately that he wouldn't get sick in the midst of this.
"Only if you want, too," Thor said. Loki was more than a little tempted to
stop, but he took in the anticipatory flush on Thor's face, the excited heave
of his chest, and resolved himself. The pressure was so, so tight as he slid
in, and it had to hurt, it had to be agony to receive this, even though when he
looked up, Thor was gazing at him in awe. "Oh, it's..." Thor breathed.
It burned slightly, but not painfully, and they had never been so close as
this, their bodies intermingling as though they could melt into one another. As
though they were becoming one and all this sudden pleasure was his body
rejoicing in it. Loki's smile was shaky. "You like it?" he asked, uncertain how
it could be possible.
"More than like. It's wondrous."
So he moved again, going a little faster, and Thor began to moan, but the slick
noise of his cock was louder, and it was still tight, it had to hurt, and he
was doing this anyway, and as he kept moving he found he couldn't breathe and
his heart was going to explode from his chest and he had to hurry, had to get
this over with, had to go away-
and Thor stopped moving beneath him, and stilled Loki's hips with his hands.
"Shh, Loki," he soothed. "Stay with me, stay here. Stop if you need to, but
stay with me."
Loki's breath caught as he struggled to hold on, not even letting himself blink
as he focused on Thor's face. "I don't want to turn into him," he whispered.
"Oh... no, Loki. Never. That will never happen. Do you feel how close I am?"
Thor moved Loki's hand to the hard length pressed against his stomach. It was
burning hot, throbbing with need. His eyes returned to Thor's, questioning.
Thor smiled encouragingly. "Trust me when tell you what I like."
Loki felt the fear, that awful fear that he was becoming Cassian, begin to ease
its grip. Thor did like this, he was not doing anything Thor didn't want.
Wanted very much, Loki amended, as the cock in his hand gave a jump. He began
to move, watching the pleasure grow on Thor's face with each glide of his hips.
With the added touch of Loki's hand, Thor came quickly, bucking and gasping his
pleasure as he spilled across his stomach. Loki made to withdraw, but Thor
stopped him. "In me. Please?" he asked. So Loki moved faster, urged on by
Thor's murmured words of love and praise, and when he came with a shower of
silver stars in his vision, there was no room in his mind for anything but Thor
and love and this exquisite pleasure. 
It was the only way they managed to sleep that night, Thor was sure. He wanted
to fight away the heavy blanket of slumber that slowly spread over him, wanted
to spend these last few hours with Loki awake, talking, touching. But if he was
to survive, he needed to be at his best, and he reluctantly let himself go.
Loki stayed awake, listening to the even sound of Thor's breaths, soaking up
his warmth like he was trying to gather enough for a lifetime, knowing it might
have to be. When the dawn began to peek into their house, he wished that light
had a body, that he might tear it to pieces with his knife. But the sun moved
inexorably upward. Loki felt fragile as glass, as though at any moment the next
new ray of light would shatter him to pieces.
Thor woke at the shouting outside, intended to summon the warriors to gather in
the great hall for a meal with their families before their departure. For a
fraction of a heartbeat, he couldn't remember why they were being woken so
early. Then his eyes flared and he pulled Loki to his chest, unspeakably
grateful that this was no longer something that set him to fear. There was
already enough fear in his eyes as he looked back at Thor, his hands shaking as
they held on tight.
All too soon, Loki let go. "We must go," he said, so that Thor would not have
to.
Thor nodded. They dressed in silence, gazes heavy on each other.
And then it was time to leave. They clung together, kissing desperately. "I
love you, Loki, I love you so much," Thor murmured into his open mouth.
"I love you, too," Loki told him. Choking back his tears, he told Thor the way
to the afterlife. "Promise me you will remember," he demanded.
"I promise."
"Repeat it, tell it to me."
Thor recited it back, word for word.
Loki nodded. "Good. Remember that, and whatever happens today... I will see you
again."
"I promise," Thor said again.
Loki made him recite it, over and over, the whole way to the great hall.
*****
Oria's jaw was firm as she bid Deglan goodbye. "Come home quickly," she told
him, running her hand over her hugely swollen belly. "Your child and I will be
waiting for you."
He kissed her and smiled. "I will be pleased," he said.
Thor held Loki tight until the last possible moment. After the previous night,
it was even harder to say goodbye, but he didn't regret it for a second. If he
died in this raid, if Loki never saw him alive again, he would at least have
that final memory of Thor welcoming him, wanting them to be wholly together.
Those who remained stood on the hill, watching as their warriors marched across
the plain and melted into the forest. Some of them turned back to give a last
wave. Thor did not. Loki neither expected nor wanted it; he had had enough of
goodbyes. He turned, about to walk back to his roundhouse to curl up in Thor's
bedding, when Oria staggered forwards with a pained gasp.
Alaca caught her. "You hid it well," she said. "Just stay quiet a little
longer. How close are they?"
"Ten minutes," Oria gasped. She had labored all night in silence, hiding it
from Deglan lest the face of her pain distract him in the battle.
Farbauti took her other arm and the three of them together walked into the
fort, taking Oria home. "Loki, will you remain close by today? In case we have
need," she asked him.
He nodded. His mother was skilled at aiding in the birth of calves, and Alaca
had borne several children herself. They were the best the village had to offer
when the midwife was the one giving birth. It would be dangerous, more
dangerous than marching against the Venicones. His prayers, and the gods' ears
bent to his words, could be vital in seeing Oria and her child through this
alive.
Loki sat on the hillside, moving with the sun to stay in the shadows. When Thor
was back, they would bathe in its warmth together. Alone, he wanted no part of
it. He spoke to Brigh, asking for her aid, his prayers becoming more intense as
Oria's screams began to ring out. The day passed somehow. He stood when a
serving girl came out to fetch more water.
"How is she?" he asked.
Dera paused. "My lady does not have good hips," she said reluctantly. "They are
too narrow. Please, keep praying."
He nodded. "I will."
Near dark, the screams grew suddenly worse, sharper and more intense. He paced
aimlessly, begging Brigh with all his heart to help his friend. Just when they
grew too much, when he thought there was no way she would survive this, her
cries ended, and there was a new one. A child, shocked at the suddenness of the
world. His face broke into a smile. New life, in the midst of such death, was
something he needed desperately. But then she began screaming again, and an icy
hand clutched his heart. He had not heard this before, not after the child was
born. It mingled with the sounds of the baby, and when it ceased a second time,
he collapsed to his knees. "No, please," he whispered to Brigh.
The people began to make their way up the hill, asking for news, taking fright
at his face. But then Dera came outside to meet them. "She is well," she said.
"They are well, the queen and her sons."
Loki nearly laughed in joy. Twins. It was welcome news. Though the king was
elected, it most often went to a son of his, who was raised and trained for it.
For Deglan to have an heir at last... they needed it. And two was better. Now
they just needed him to come home and live till his sons reached manhood.
The new boys were a distraction for the tribe as they awaited the return of the
warriors. Loki spent the days sitting on the hillside, watching for them to
come melting back out of the trees, the way they had left. Others sat with him,
anxious wives, worried children. Farbauti kept him company much of the time.
"How did you bear it?" he asked, thinking of the far-off day he was a happy
child, riding off with Laufey to join the Britani. She had gone years with no
word of their fates. This had only been four days and Loki felt like he might
tear his own skin off.
"I don't know," she said simply. "I suppose it helped that it was at the time
for breeding the cattle, and I was needed. I had not yet taught it to anyone
else, and I knew the tribe was depending on me. The way they depend upon you.
But it is too soon to worry," she told him, taking him into her arms as though
he was still that child.
"It has been two years and forty-three days since the first time I saw him,"
Loki said. "One year and six days since I first told him I loved him."
"And you will again," she reminded him, "either here or after."
He nodded. "I know."
"Now, my son, you must be strong. The others look to you for their own faith.
Come to me tonight, when no one will see you. You can let it out then."
He did as she said, and they sat in her roundhouse together with his tears
wetting her dress as she rocked him. "He has my prayers as well," she told him.
"He's bringing back my happy little boy."
"I'm thirty," he said, snuffling.
She laughed. "You're always my little boy. It's the happiness he's bringing
back."
He fell asleep with her, her cool fingers smoothing his hair.
***** Attack *****
Chapter Summary
     The warriors attack the Venicones. Most of them return home.
It took two days to reach the Venicone village by foot; Deglan had elected
against horses, afraid of a siege in the dense woods. They camped roughly, but
the cheerful fire and determined high spirits of the other warriors kept Thor
from sinking into too deep a mood. He realized, now that he was facing real
danger, that he actually cared about dying in battle. Before, he had simply
accepted it as a likelihood and given it no further thought. But now, he did
not want to be parted from Loki, even with the promise of meeting again in the
afterlife or new bodies. And he worried about Loki, still so fragile but
working determinedly to rebuild himself. He had come so far. Thor's heart
swelled with pride as he thought of the strides Loki had made. Thor knew Loki
credited him with it, just as Thor knew Loki had done it all himself; all Thor
had done was give the care and respect he needed to do it.
It was late afternoon when they arrived at the clearing by the Venicone hill-
fort. The Venicones were waiting for them, as they knew would happen. Even as
they took up defensive positions with their backs to the woods, the chariots
were already sweeping down, arrows arcing high, the stone heads glinting in the
sun before plummeting downwards. Thor heard a cry behind him; someone had been
injured, but not, it seemed, gravely. He lashed forwards suddenly, smashing the
wheel of one the second chariot to pass by them. It collapsed to its side, and
with quick blows the charioteer and the archer had their throats slit. The pile
of broken wood and the frantic horses wove disarray through the Venicone
attack, as the horses wheeled wildly to dodge the sudden obstacle.
With the withdrawal of the confused chariots, the Venicones lost their largest
advantage. True, the Taexali had walked for two solid days, but they were used
to hard work, and were not so tired as the Venicones had been when they made
their attack. And there were already two dead near Thor's feet. The warriors
ran forwards the moment the ground was cleared, and there was a crash that
shook the heavens as shields and swords smashed together in a single massive
wave.
It quickly became clear that the Venicones had held back some of their best
warriors when they attacked before Midsummer; Thor continued to take down his
opponents, but he was dimly aware of the figures of the men at his side falling
to the ground. He pressed on, grimly reminding himself that whoever survived
here would come, bringing death to his own village.
Deglan fought his way closer to Thor's side, shouting orders as he went. When
they stood together, he gestured with his shield at a tall man with twinkling
brown eyes and a snub nose. "That's their king," he said. "His nature is as
foul as his face is charming, and I want him dead."
Thor nodded and changed the direction of his attacks, bringing down each
warrior who moved into his path. The battle-lust was surging through his veins,
and he saw little beyond his goal. The dull crush of bone against metal rippled
up his hammer and gave him new energy, and then there was no one else in his
way, and he brought his hammer down right onto the sneering face.
A Venicone warrior gave an abrupt shout, and they put up their shields and
lowered their swords as one, indicating their willingness to end the battle.
Deglan gave the order for the Taexali to do the same. Thor stood, sides heaving
for air, as he watched the retreat. His blood slowly calmed, and by the time he
turned to face the rest of their force, his vision was no longer tinted red.
It was with a melancholy shock that he realized Faelan and Maedoc had fallen
together, side by side in death as they always were in life. He knelt next to
them, placing their hands together. Looking up at Deglan, he asked, "Can we not
take them back for proper burial?"
Deglan's face was sad as he shook his head no. "It is too far in the narrow
woods, and the weather is too hot."
Thor nodded his understanding. He leaned down to where their heads lay pillowed
together on the grass, and whispered in their ears. The funeral rituals were
good, but this knowledge that Loki had demanded he learn was all they truly
needed. Their souls would walk the path of the afterlife hand in hand, and
dwell with the gods together. He knew well that his mourning was for himself;
they had died gloriously, and what waited for them now was pure companionship
and love. It was what he hoped for himself and Loki, one day.
They dressed quickly and walked as far into the woods as they could before it
became too dark to see, and they slept rough, curled up in their clothes. The
moment dawn broke they were on the march again, eating and drinking as they
walked. The blood and offal that crusted their skins felt tight and itchy, and
it was beginning to smell, but they were too eager to return home with news and
reassurance to stop to bathe.
On the second day, after their midday meal, they broke into a run, ready to
speed away the last few hours. Thor was grateful that he did not know these
woods; it meant that he was one moment among the trees, and then, without
expecting it, he was on the plain, staring forwards at the hill-fort, where
Loki was even now rising to his feet to come down towards them.
Loki could not move too quickly down the slope, but once he was on flat ground
his feet pounded against the dirt as he ran towards Thor, laughing his relief.
The moment he was in Thor's arms, wrapping his own tightly around the strong
back, was the most blissful he had ever known. Thor's breath was heavy and his
heart pumped hard from the hours of running, and Loki took it all in, every
sign of life more precious than gold. He wanted to gather it all up and hold it
forever. He clung to Thor as his eyes scanned over the returning warriors. They
were filthy, crusted blood all over their skin that was starting to flake off,
and they had never looked so good.
Thor felt it the moment Loki realized who was missing. He pulled back to look
in Thor's face questioningly.
"They fell together," Thor said.
Loki nodded. "It's how they wanted it."
"And... we couldn't bring them back for proper burial, but I remembered what
you told me, and I told them before we had to leave their bodies."
At that Loki smiled. "Then they are together. It was good of you."
"I owed them my happiness. I never told them," Thor said, bringing a hand up to
brush a stray hair from Loki's forehead.
"You were a good friend to them. I think your conscience can rest easy."
Thor smiled, a little sadly. "Thank you," he said. "Would you care to go to the
river together? I don't think I can stand this blood on me another hour."
They spoke little on the walk there, simply holding one another close, staring
as if unable to believe they were back together.
It seemed everyone had the same idea, and soon the river was full of people,
all splashing and laughing in the warm sun and cool water. Soon Thor's skin was
gleaming clean, and he and Loki joined the stream of couples walking back to
the village, eager for more privacy than the busy river could offer them.
"How fared things here while we were away?" Thor asked as they walked, arms
around each other's waists. Thor carried his clothes, which he had rinsed but
still needed a good washing to remove all the dried blood inside them.
"Oria bore twins, sons," Loki said, glad to have good news to share. "They are
all well."
"That's wonderful!" Thor exclaimed. "What has she named them?"
"The elder is Drust, and the younger is Aodhan. Apparently Drust sleeps more,
and Aodhan keeps waking him."
Thor winced in sympathy. He had never had any particular interest in babies
before coming here, but he soon learned that it was different among the
Taexali. For the first time in his life, he was friends with women as well as
men, and care for their children came to him naturally.
They felt back into silence. Loki kept glancing down, pretending to be
secretive, and his smile growing each time Thor caught him and gave him a
squeeze. By the time they were halfway back, it was becoming visibly clear that
Thor's interest matched Loki's, and they began to walk faster.
The door was barely closed behind them before they were all over each other,
Loki's anxious hands running over every inch of Thor's skin, reassuring himself
that Thor was indeed uninjured. Thor busied himself with Loki's clothes. They
kissed frantically, driven by all the fears and worries of the past week, as
though this was the only way to reassure themselves that they were alive and
together.
When Loki was undressed, he pulled Thor down to the bedding and set about
kissing everywhere he had stroked, cherishing each moment as a precious gift.
He slicked his fingers and eased them down and back, stretching Thor gently
open to receive him. He continued long after Thor was shaking and moaning with
need. Finally he laid back and nodded.
Thor looked at him uncertainly. "You won't feel trapped if I'm above you?" he
asked.
Loki shook his head. "I don't think so."
So Thor moved over him, taking a careful hold on Loki's cock and guiding it
smoothly in, sinking downward until they were pressed together, his own weight
driving Loki in deep, as far as he could go. Thor held it, savoring the
closeness, before he lifted up and eased back down. "I missed you so much,
Loki. I love you," he said.
Loki smiled. "Say that again," he said.
"I love you."
"Again," Loki said, his voice filling with rapture.
"I love you."
The words set the pace for their lovemaking, Thor repeating them each time he
slid down until he was too far gone to form them, and then he said them with
his eyes, so warm as they looked into Loki's own. Even when they came, they
managed to keep their eyes open, watching the shared pleasure wash over their
faces, taking in every second and locking them safe within their hearts.
***** A New King *****
Chapter Summary
     After Thor killed Allcallored, the Venicones had to elect a new king.
     This one is very different from his predecessor.
Chapter Notes
     Enjoy!
Engus continued to improve, and by Mabone he was on crutches, making his way
about the village. Just as he had promised, he was often in the forge, giving
Thor the benefit of his experience while thoroughly enjoying the experience of
watching someone else do all the work. "I'm not sure how much I'll get out in
the winter, while I'm using these things," he said, gesturing to the crutches,
"so I've got to get in my society while I can."
"As if you won't have more visitors than you can handle," Thor laughed. "The
great hall will sit empty while we all crowd about you."
"Tell me how the children are," Engus said. After so long waiting for an heir
for Deglan, the two babies had quickly become the children. It was difficult
for Engus to climb the hill, so he did not see them often, and their well-being
was of the highest concern to the tribe.
"They grow so quickly," Thor said. "They have begun to kick, and they both love
music."
"Babies do," Engus agreed.
"Do you miss yours being so young?" Thor asked curiously.
"Gods, no," Engus laughed. "Months at a time without enough sleep were hard
enough when I was a young man. But I do love having grandchildren."
*****
Winter came gently, this year, and there were fewer nights that they were
unable to do more than hold tight for warmth. Loki grew more relaxed with
Thor's gentle explorations of his body, until one night he gathered his courage
as Thor drew tiny teasing circles, and he whispered, "Yes."
"You're sure?" Thor asked, kissing Loki's forehead as he hovered above him.
Loki nodded. "I want... more. Everything. And I want to work towards that. I'm
tired of fear making my decisions."
Thor nearly forgot how to breathe as he reached for the small vial of oil and
coated his pinky. It meant less dexterity, but his fingers were large and
rough, and he wanted to make this as easy as possible.
Loki fought to keep control as Thor's hands returned to him, drawing those
teasing circles again before trying anything more. "Kiss me?" he asked. Thor
smiled and leaned down, bringing their lips together lightly at first, slowly
growing more demanding. He parted his lips in invitation, and as Loki slid his
tongue between them, Thor pressed inwards. Loki gasped in shock and braced
himself for the expected pain, but it never came. There was only Thor's gentle
touch and hungry kiss. As he relaxed, Thor began to ease backwards with
dizzying slowness. His erection, which had flagged, began to stiffen again.
"May I?" Thor murmured against Loki's lips, and Loki nodded. Thor worked his
way downwards, teasing with soft kisses and tempting licks until he reached
Loki's cock. He kissed and licked all over it with equal care before easing his
lips down over it. He slid up and down in time with his finger, his eyes
crinkling in the reassuring smile that his mouth was too full to make as Loki
looked down at him. Loki smiled back, a little uncertain but sincere, and
rested his head on the thick bedding. He could still see Thor's golden hair, a
radiant reminder that he was here, now, safe. When Thor began to suck with each
stroke, the room filled with quiet pleading sounds. It took Loki a moment to
realize they were coming from him as Thor drew him close.
When Loki began to whimper, Thor looked up quickly, but the eyes that met his
own were hazy with lust, and he moved faster. Loki began to move with him, just
the faintest shifting of his hips, but it meant everything. And when Loki
clutched hard at the bedding, his cock throbbed between Thor's lips in time
with the heady tightening of his passage.
Loki came with a soft cry, spilling into Thor's mouth and feeling the warmth of
it gush around his cock before Thor began to swallow it down. And each swallow
pulled on his cock again, urging his climax to continue, to give just one more
pulse, and another, and another. When he collapsed back, sated, Thor gently
withdrew as he took his lips away, pressing gentle kisses into Loki's thigh.
"That was good?" he asked. "All of it?"
He looked down at Thor, too spent to smile. "It was. I wasn't sure at first,
but it was."
Thor smiled and dropped another kiss on his leg. "I'm glad."
"But you... you still need-"
"There's no hurry," Thor said. "There's no hurry with anything."
*****
At Midwinter, Thor gave Loki a large bag of dried apple slices. He had
collected the apples himself, and dried them in the heat of the forge, in
anticipation of this day. There were still a few shriveled apples left in
Deglan's storehouse, but they would not last long, and Thor had seen the
wistful look on Loki's face last year when it had been announced they were
eating the last of that year's apples. These dried ones would offer him
something sweet while they waited for spring.
It was not so grand a gift as the one he had given the year before, but he knew
Loki better now, and he hoped the care and thought put into it would make up
for that. It did; the joy with which Loki received it was wholehearted. He
pulled one out and ate it, his face blissful, before hanging it from the roof
to keep it safe from pests. It left his kisses sweet and rich.
Loki gave Thor another bead for his hair, carved from a stone as black and
glossy as Loki's curls. Thor looked at it carefully, running his thumbs over
the smooth surface with pleasure. "It's made of jet," Loki said. "The Votadini
find it on their beaches. My great-grandmother was one, and she brought this
with her when she came here."
"It's beautiful. It looks like you," Thor said, looking up. Loki flushed with
pleasure. "But surely it should remain with your family."
Loki put his hands on Thor's. "It's mine, to do with as I wish."
"Then I thank you." Thor braided it in quickly as Loki put on his ceremonial
robes.
After last year's harsh winter, these celebrations were particularly joyful.
The bonfires burned extra bright, the singing extra loud. Even the mead seemed
extra sweet this year, as the tribe gathered in the great hall that evening.
Thor noticed Farbauti looking at the new bead in his hair and he blushed, but
when she caught his eye, she smiled and nodded her approval. He smiled back
gratefully.
With the warm winter (and, Thor hoped, the apple slices that Loki crunched so
happily before bed every night), Loki's body kept more of its sleekness. He
lost weight, as they all did each winter, but not so much as to worry Thor. He
loved to run his work-roughened hands down the long smooth muscles, so
different from his own, so endlessly fascinating. It pleased him nearly as much
as Loki's growing confidence, his sense of safety as they continued to explore.
He began taking Thor into his mouth, encouraged by the gentle murmurs of
pleasure it brought forth. As the months passed and Imbolg came, with the
prancing lambs that never failed to make everyone laugh, he slowly welcomed
another finger, then another, Thor's mouth always coaxing him to his climax as
his free hand held onto Loki's.
*****
Not long after Imbolg, a Venicone emissary arrived at the hill-fort, his weapon
held backwards to show that he meant no aggression. He was surrounded quickly
and taken to Deglan. Their arrival interrupted a meeting with his advisors, and
Deglan's face showed his annoyance as the man began to speak, but he grew
intrigued as he listened.
"I bring the greetings of Seisyll, king of the Venicones, to Deglan, king of
the Taexali. I am bid to tell you that he believes the actions of Allcallorred
in making enemies of our people to have been unwise. He bids me to say that he
wishes for nothing but peace between our peoples."
"And his warriors support him in this?" Deglan asked.
"They do. Many of us expect that Rome will continue to attack our coast, and we
believe an alliance between the Taexali and the Venicones is in the best
interest of both our tribes."
Deglan mused a moment. "Send for Thor," he told one of his guards. "I would
have his thoughts on this."
Two of his advisors looked shocked until his swift glare made them school their
faces. The remainder had sense enough to recognize the wisdom in his decision.
Thor came quickly, sweaty from the heat of the forge. The guard had told him
nothing beyond that he was wanted, and his face showed his curiosity. Deglan
explained quickly. "So tell me. Do you believe Rome will continue to attack our
lands?"
Thor nodded slowly. "As long as Octavian is ruler, I think it likely. At his
best, Julius was a great leader, and Octavian has ever tried to outdo him. He
will fail, but he will not stop trying."
Deglan turned back to the emissary. "Take this message back to Seisyll:
'Deglan, king of the Taexali, sends his greetings. I invite him to meet in nine
days from now at the shrine of Inchunagan to discuss this matter."
The advisors looked at one another, their gazes heavy with meaning. Thor
watched them, perplexed. It had been too long since that particular history had
been sung; he did not know that the shrine was where the Pritani kings had met
and formed a pact. Deglan inviting Seisyll to meet there, of all places, was
tantamount to acknowledging that he wished to renew the peace made by Laufey
and Pidarnoin.
Loki explained it to him that night as he moved deeper into Thor's embrace. He
was growing stronger, better able to deal with his memories, but they were
still painful, and he was grateful for Thor's hand gently stroking his hair as
he spoke. He was also grateful for Deglan's kindness in not asking for Loki's
company, nor demanding Thor's, for this meeting. For all that, though, his face
was less anxious than Thor's as the tribe gathered to watch the king ride off
with his advisors and guards.
"Has he enough guards? They could be waiting to ambush him, anywhere along the
way," Thor asked uneasily.
But Loki shook his head. "It will be well," he said simply.
"You're so sure of this?"
"I heard it in the rain."
It was not often that Loki said such things, but when he did, they never failed
to prove true. "You should tell Oria, then. She looks worried."
"And tired," Loki said. She did, yet she stood proudly as she watched them go,
one child at each bared breast. He walked over to her and spoke quietly so as
not to disturb their nursing, and Thor watched her face soften in relief.
*****
A day and a half of riding saw Deglan's party to the shrine. Seisyll was there
already, and his people hurried to offer them beer. They subtly but clearly
poured from the same skin for both kings, and used Deglan's own cup, to show
there was no intent to poison. Deglan grinned openly as he watched them.
:"After Allcallored's long kingship, you are accustomed to treachery from my
people. I merely wish to show that I do not intend to follow him," Seisyll
said.
Deglan nodded graciously. "It is already clear that you are a very different
sort of king," he replied, taking a deep drink. It was cold, from the skin
being kept in the chilly lake, and after the long ride it was hard to imagine
anything more refreshing. "You know about me, of course. Tell me of yourself."
"I am not of royal blood," Seisyll admitted at once. "I was raised a warrior,
with no expectations of greater position. But Allcallored lacked the wisdom a
king should have, so when he died, our people were loathe to elect one of his
sons to follow him. I have some skill for strategy on the battlefield, and when
it came to the vote, I was chosen."
It boded well for the relationship between their tribes, Deglan thought.
Seisyll was free of the undue pride of his predecessor, while being honest
about his strengths. And if he was good at strategy, he had the ability to make
wise decisions quickly. Just what the Taexali wanted in an ally against Rome.
It would not do to bring up the reason for their meeting too quickly, though,
so they passed the day and evening drinking and talking. Seisyll congratulated
Deglan on his sons, and promised that they would soon sleep through the night.
Seisyll himself had a daughter a few months older than the twins, and his words
were very welcome.
They finally retired for the night, two guards from each tribe standing guard,
though it was already clear that this was no more than a formality. In the
morning, a peace would be made. They both slept better for the knowledge.
Deglan's people provided the morning meal for both parties, after which the two
kings walked to the shore of the lake and made their offerings. They smiled at
this reminder of the closeness of their two tribes as they watched the gleaming
metal spark in the sun before sinking into the depths.
"I desire a peace between us," Seisyll said simply as they sat down before the
shrine.
"As do I," Deglan agreed, more cautiously. "There is the matter of repayment,
however. Your people stole our cattle and killed more of our men than we killed
of yours."
Seisyll nodded. "I am willing to agree on a reasonable amount. Would you accept
two gold beads for each cow, and four gold beads for each fallen warrior lost
beyond our own losses?"
Deglan considered. "Five per warrior. We lost some of our best men."
"Five, then." Seisyll nodded and motioned forward one of his guards. "What were
your losses?" he asked as the man opened the trunk he was carrying, displaying
the gold inside.
"Twenty cattle and eight men," Deglan answered. The guard carefully strung
eighty beads, tying the yarn off into a rough and gleaming necklace. He lowered
it respectly over Deglan's head. "We are now at peace," he said. "Your emissary
also spoke of an alliance against Rome, if they invade our lands again. I
desire this as well."
"I am glad to hear it," Seisyll said. "And perhaps... when they are of age, our
families might meet and see if there might be affection between my daughter and
one of our sons."
"If there is affection, it would be a smart match," Deglan agreed.
Kingly business completed, they left the shrine to return to their relaxed
seats where they had talked the night before to share their midday meal. When
they parted to ride home, it was with mutual cordiality and the beginnings of
friendship.
*****
Deglan and his escort returned to the village three days after they left, their
jovial faces telling the outcome well before they were near enough to speak of
it. The tribe gathered in the great hall that night to hear him. "Seisyll is an
honorable man, very different from Allcallored. We are now at peace with the
Venicones, and we have an alliance to join together if we are faced with Roman
attacks." It was exactly what everyone had expected from the moment they saw
the party's glad smiles, but it was good to hear it spoken. Mead was shared and
a day of rest and general celebration was ordered for the following day. The
Venicones were their nearest neighbors in both land and custom, and it was
beyond good to be friends again.
***** Free *****
Chapter Notes
     Enjoy!
The foxgloves bloomed early this year, several weeks before Midsummer. It had
been several years since Loki had taken it, and it was time again. Thor didn't
like it; Loki had explained the dangers, saying that some druids died because
their hearts couldn't bear such fullness. But this was who Loki was, so Thor
put on a brave face as they kissed goodbye. He knew, now, how it must have felt
to stand on the hill-fort and watch him march away into the trees.
Farbauti approached him silently, and he started at her voice. Her words were
soothing, though. "His heart is strong. You know this," she told him.
He nodded. "I do. I just wish I could do this for him."
"I believe he feels the same about you."
"I know. That doesn't help."
"No. It never does."
*****
The violent sickness that the fur and the drink always caused had grown no
easier over the years, but with experience, Loki managed to find it less
objectionable. Sometimes, painful things had to be borne to reach the good at
the end. This thought filled his mind as the dizziness took him and he lay back
to watch the clouds.
The clouds danced across the sky, taking on fantastical shapes for his pleasure
and distracting him from his more somber thoughts. A unicorn raced a winged
bull, a wildcat tumbled playfully. A kitten, then. Loki cherished the few
glimpses he had had of wildcats in his life, but none of them played so. As
always, he rested in a patch of clover, enjoying the sound of the bees in his
ears. They hummed gentle secrets that set him halfway asleep. He felt himself
sink into the earth, limbs stretching and reaching until he could touch the
ocean. The water of his eyes became lakes, his nose the highest mountain. His
hair streamed out in rocky cliffs, and his mouth was a cave full of sparkling
crystals. He wiggled his toes and caused the tides, and when he inhaled he sent
new life into the roots of everything growing in Britain.
The sun shone warm on his soil, and eventually he grew dry. He pulled back into
himself and rose to drink the water that had been left him. It was cool and
faintly sweet. The trees were coated in their yellow haloes, and he covered
himself in it as he walked through the forest.
To his surprise, he found the dark-haired little boy again. He had not seen him
since the first time he used the foxglove. He was laying on his back in a patch
of yellow flowers, watching the clouds. He sat up when Loki walked into the
clearing. "Hello. I've been waiting for you," he said.
"Have you now?" asked Loki, bending down next to him. "Shall we see if you like
butter?" He plucked one of the flowers and rubbed it on the boy's nose. "Ah.
You do. I do, as well."
The boy laughed. "Everyone likes butter."
"Very true," Loki agreed. "Now tell me, why were you waiting for me?"
"I want to play," said the boy.
"All right. What do you like to play?"
The boy's smile faltered. "I've forgotten."
"Don't worry. I've remembered."
Loki took the small hand in his own and they walked to the river. He knelt and
explained how to pick the best stones before skipping one across the surface of
the water. The boy's eyes lit up and he began to send stone after stone across
the river. At first they sank with harsh splashes, but Loki was a skilled
teacher, and soon the stones were gleefully hopping their way to the other
shore.
Finally, the boy spoke again. "You should go home, it's getting dark. Don't
worry about me. I'm all right now."
Loki smiled at him. "I know," he said. He rested his hand affectionately on the
small head for a moment before turning towards the village. As he walked, the
sounds of laughter and water followed him, until they at last faded beneath the
sound of crunching leaves. And then he was home, and Thor was there. He had a
yellow halo, too.
Thor looked up at the sound of the door to see Loki, dazzling in the firelight.
"Tonight," Loki breathed. But Thor's anxious eyes took in the twitching limbs,
the hectic sheen of sweat, the pupils blown black, and he shook his head no.
"Tomorrow," he answered gently.
*****
Thor had expected that the first time Loki took him inside himself, he would be
on his back with Loki astride; it would give Loki the control, and let him keep
his eyes fixed on Thor’s face, keep him grounded in the moment. So he was
surprised when, after he had carefully prepared him with warm oil and gentle
stretching, Loki rolled away, onto his side. He pressed his back against Thor’s
chest as he breathed his readiness.
“You don’t want to face each other?” Thor asked.
“No, I want you to hold me,” Loki said.
“I can’t, not right at first.”
Loki nodded. “I understand.”
Thor ran his hand lightly along the back of Loki's upper leg. "Bring this up
for me a little?" he asked. Loki nodded again and pulled the knee to his chest.
Thor positioned himself carefully and began to push. Loki forced his breathing
to stay even, telling himself over and over, it’s Thor, it’s Thor, and then the
pressure eased into something fuller. Thor put his arm around Loki’s chest
then, holding them close together and murmuring constantly into his neck, words
of love and praise and reassurance. Loki twined his fingers with Thor’s and
squeezed each time Thor slid in a little more, giving Loki time to adjust in
between. He was so slow and gentle, and his low voice so tender, that by the
time he was completely in, Loki felt himself beginning to relax.
This was completely unlike anything Thor had ever felt before. It was so tight,
so hot, he could barely process the thought of it. It had taken all his self-
control to restrain his pace. It was only the tension he felt in Loki’s neck
where it was pressed against his lips that held him back. He didn’t like not
being able to see Loki’s face; when the tension eased, he wasn’t able to tell
if it meant that Loki was losing his fear, or if it meant he had gone away.
“Are you still with me, Loki?” he asked, breath hot against Loki’s skin.
“I am. It’s… not what I expected.” Not what I remember, he thought, but did not
say. Giving the memory voice would give it more power than it deserved. Better
to let it be washed away under these waves of pleasure that Thor would bring to
him.
“I’m going to move now,” Thor told him, a question in his voice.
“Yes,” Loki breathed, and oh, Loki sounded even hotter than he felt, like his
voice had set Thor on fire, and he groaned helplessly as he slid back and then
eased forward again. It was a bit too fast, more than Loki was ready for, and
he couldn’t quite suppress a whimper. Thor froze.
“A little slower?” Loki asked.
“Of course,” Thor promised. “If you can let go of my hand, it may also help if
I touch you.”
Loki shook his head no. “I’d rather stay like this,” he said, squeezing Thor’s
fingers.
So Thor began to move as slowly as he could. The slow drag through the velvet
sheath was delicious, intoxicating, and he gritted his teeth to maintain his
control, barely able to hold the languid pace.
Once Thor slowed down it was glorious, and the remains of his tension eased
into nothingness as Loki felt himself get caught up in it. The pleasure that
Thor had sparked with his fingers returned in a rush, and he began to move with
Thor, his sleek body undulating within the safe embrace. Thor’s breathing
hitched as he felt Loki’s body respond to his own. “I’m all right, Thor. You
can go faster now.” He tried to say it, but it came out as little more than
air.
It was the way he spoke, just as much as what he said, that set Thor off, and
he let himself free, strong smooth drives in and urgent pulls back making the
tension that coiled deep in his belly rise up and threaten to overwhelm him.
“I’m getting close, Loki,” he warned. “Do you want me to-”
“In me,” Loki answered. His own need was so demanding now, so urgent, it would
take only the tiniest bit more to set him off, and he took the hand he was
holding and moved it lower, wrapping Thor’s fingers around his cock and his own
over them. Thor growled into his neck, working his hand and his hips at the
same maddening pace. Loki felt so hot around him, so hot within his hand, and
he barely managed to choke out Loki’s name before his vision became a wash of
stars and he gave one last thrust before he froze and felt the tension in his
belly snap and spill.
It was that last desperate thrust that did it for Loki, the feel of Thor so
deep within him and the heat of his spill going even deeper, and the way Thor
said his name in the midst of his pleasure, and then Loki was coming as well,
gasping Thor’s name and feeling the pulses of his release through Thor’s hand.
Thor moved his arm back up, wrapping it around Loki’s chest again as he
carefully withdrew. He pressed kiss after kiss against Loki’s neck, his head,
the tops of his shoulders, lost in drowsy contentment. Which turned suddenly to
fear as Loki’s shoulders began to shake. “Loki? Loki!” he said urgently,
squeezing his arm.
He was cut off as Loki rolled over to face him. Loki was shaking with delight
so pure it could only be expressed as laughter, and his eyes were bright with
joy as he moved forward for a kiss. “I want to do that again,” he said.
***** Epilogue *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Seven years after Thor came to live with the Taexali, Roman ships were again
sighted off the coast, sailing north. Deglan sent an emissary to Seisyll and
summoned his warriors.
"Thor. Do you remember enough Latin to translate their commands for me?" Deglan
asked.
"I do." For nearly twenty years he had lived and breathed for Rome; their words
were not so easily forgotten.
"Then you will be at my right. I want to know everything they're saying. But if
any commands are given that require an immediate response from us, I want you
to give the order directly, and translate after."
Thor's stomach knotted. It was a huge responsibility; Deglan was putting the
lives of every Taexali warrior into his hands. When the battle was over, he
would have to face the women and children whose men had lived or died at his
word. He felt at once the burden that sat upon the king at every conflict. When
he nodded his assent, it was with renewed respect. The one criticism he had
heard of Deglan's rule was that he lacked the proper desire for war, but Thor
understood it now.
The Venicone warriors arrived the day before the Romans did. The great hall was
packed with men for the evening meal before they camped all along the ridge of
the hill, ready to attack at a single word.
*****
Augustus still wanted the island for his own, and he wanted revenge on the
Caledonians who had sent his army home in such disgrace at the last attempt.
They landed not far from the place where the Gemina first set foot on
Caledonia, but they did not make the same mistake of thinking this would be an
easy victory. The entire legion made the difficult way through the woods,
setting up camp at the far side of a clearing near a hill-fort. Two tall, eerie
figures stood watched them all night, one dark and slender, the other huge and
golden.
The Caledonians rose at dawn, stripping off their garments to display their
barbaric tattoos and gathering into tight formation at the top of the hill. The
Romans mustered quickly in response. The giant stood at the front, near the
center. They could not see the dark man, not until with a shout the Caledonians
poured down the hill, and a stream of chariots poured out from either side of
it, the horses leaping forward eagerly. Then they saw him standing still atop
the hill, his face in shadows and his eyes glimmering from their depths, his
hands moving in strange ways. There was only a moment to stare, though, before
the charioteers were on either side of them, sending a stream of arrows
cascading down. They raised their shields, but the arrows came from both sides,
and many soldiers fell before they even met the Caledonian force.
They marched forwards, keeping ranks as best they could while clambering over
the bodies of the fallen, the centurions shouting orders as they rapidly
covered the plain, and then the battle began. Each time they regrouped or
changed tactics, the Caledonians somehow matched them, move for move. The
Gaulic slaves looked at each other significantly, nodding their heads towards
the dark figure on the hill. The centurions had no explanation for such magic,
though, so they merely continued to shout orders, hoping to find some means of
attack that would regain them the upper hand. It proved to be their undoing. By
the time the Romans retreated, there were no centurions left to give the order;
the surviving legionaries simply decided to save their own skins. The
Caledonians watched them straggle back into the forest.
That night, their camp was sieged. Two soldiers were left alive, and they
returned to the ships in humiliation, sending word to Rome of the Caledonians'
might and magic.
 
Two years later, Octavian made his final attempt to conquer the island. This
invasion was made in the far south.
 
And Thor and Loki lived out their days in love and happiness, as they well
deserved.
 
 
Chapter End Notes
     Thank you so much for reading and for all the feedback, everyone! I'm
     so glad you enjoyed my story.
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!