We made our plans. I would ride in, do something spectacular, demand to meet him. A simple ambush.
I would ask to meet him alone. I would make him think I was giving in, that I would be his.
I would not kiss him.
Well, not if I could avoid it. Then the rest could dogpile on him, weapons of choice available. It was dishonorable in some ways.
But he had, I rather thought, removed all right to honor. He was no longer what he once was, and I had to admit that saddened me. Even if I had never known that, I had seen the edges of a loyalty he had once claimed.
The king is the land is the king. Sacrifice. I still had to deal with that. I was not sure murdering…and let’s give it it’s name…him would make the sacrifice that was needed.
Would we be doing more harm to the beleaguered realm?
With that thought I took myself outside, on a trail that led towards an ancient passage to Jotunheim. I had not realized where my feet were leading me.
Of course I could not ask Angrboda to help. She would melt in Muspelheim. For advice? Maybe.
But I stopped short of actually heading into that realm. I stood on a mountain trail above a high valley, and I saw plains.
The dwarves did have some flat land, or at least rolling rangeland where they could grow crops and herd animals.
They were not merely their stereotype of dwellers in caves, although never in darkness. There was nothing dark about the hall under the mountain.
This land, I thought, was beautiful, but it did not call to me, it did not try to draw me to itself.
It belonged to dwarves and their kin. I might have been able to learn to love it, but it would be an exile.
Weird thoughts, those. I had no intention of hiding here. Mostly because I feared it would not work.
The trail led around the mountain and above the sun, bright on this land. Dwarves preferred to go forth at dawn and dusk, their eyes used to the dimmer light in the caves.
I did not mind the day. The brightness.
I felt as if something was indeed coming to a close, and I remembered childhood. I was glad to have that restored to me.
The memory of being innocent and not understanding what it meant to be Loki’s daughter.
I clung to that. It might be what would keep me sane.