The Lokistone

Lokistone 9

For the SECOND section, I listened to the "Brave Soundtrack: Noble Maiden Fair," followed by "Norwegian Folk Song-Tor Jaran Apold-violin"

For the THIRD section, I listened to Julie Fowlis-Tha Mo Ghaol Air Aird A' Chuain.

Both VERY softly.

Enjoy.

VVVVV

CHAPTER NINE

"The greatest explorer on this earth never takes voyages as long as those of the man who descends to the depth of his heart."

~Julien Green

Jane opened her eyes.

She blinked slowly, and opened her eyes again—watching as both of them focused precisely, directly, and showed her a flawless image of the crackling golden flames swaying back and forth in the stone hollow of the fireplace.

Jane shifted her shoulders and sighed, frowning as an ache ran through her body. She was lying on her right side on the couch, covered with the quilt from her bed, her head on her pillow. She hazily remembered limping into her bedroom last night and changing out of her wet clothes and into pajamas, then wandering back out to the living room and just standing there dumbly before Loki had commanded her to lie down. Which she had done. She frowned a little harder. She didn't remember getting the pillow or blanket from her room, though...

Her attention fell on a gleaming object on the couch near her feet. The many surfaces and edges of Loki's helmet, its wicked curved horns and open face turned toward the mantel, glinted with the slow, eerie dance of the flames.

She swallowed. Then did it again. Images and sensations of blazing light—stinging pain—crossed the front of her mind. A chill coursed through her. She halfway sat up, then brought her left hand to her face. Her fingers shook. But they met smooth skin, even as she ran them all over her cheek, nose and forehead. And nothing hurt.

She paused, her heart going quiet as an old memory rose up.

"Whatever happens, he will protect you. Understand?"

"How are you?"

She jumped, and sat all the way up, grabbing hold of the blanket.

Loki came around the couch, taking his long coat off as he did and draping it over the back of the armchair. His dark eyes found hers instantly, his brow already furrowed.

"I'm...okay," Jane answered, having to think about it.

"Let's have a look." He strode up to her, knelt down on the carpet so he was level with her and slid his hands around her face.

Jane sucked in her breath, stunned.

He stopped, watching her—looking intently straight back into her eyes.

"Have I hurt you?"

"No," Jane said, shaking herself and trying to breathe. She blinked, and swallowed. "No, you're fine."

He gazed back at her a moment longer, the lines between his eyebrows easing. Then, he tilted her face with his right hand, and with a profoundly-soft and expert touch, he explored the curves of her forehead and cheekbone with the fingertips of his left. Jane's eyelashes fluttered and tingles ran all across her cheek to her lips—and breathing wasn't getting any easier.

"Hm," he muttered.

"What?" Jane almost jumped, her eyes closing. "What is it?"

"You don't have a scar after all," he answered.