Fever

3

"You're Vanir," he said in realization. That explained the clothes. The Old Gods favored the old ways–-including their style of dress.

The woman blinked at him, expression flexing with a sort of distant recognition, like someone trying to place a familiar face out of context.

It also explained the memory wipe.

Aside from Asgard, only Vanaheim had the sorcery to wipe a person's mind completely clean. And only the Vanir were known to actually use such an awful spell.

"You must have committed a pretty serious crime," he said, watching her eyes darken with confusion. "Last I heard, the Vanir reserved full wipes for only their most dangerous criminals. Generally, as an alternative to execution."

"Vanir," she said faintly, leaning towards him with obvious concentration. That sound familiar.

"Yes. Vanir. You are of Vanaheim."

"Vanaheim." Something flickered in her eyes-–a flash of pain breaking through the confusion, a glimmer of loss.

"Vanaheim," he said again. "Your home."

Soundlessly, her lips shaped the word. Home.

Loki watched her try to make sense of it. Watched her eyes narrow with concentration, lips parting. Frustration creeping in around the edges of her features.

"It's alright," he said softly. "You don't have to remember now."

The truth was, she might never remember. Loki had not seen it at work himself–-at least, not to this extent-–but he knew from his study of sorcery that the spell was a lasting one. Some of her memories would undoubtedly return over time, but... there was no telling which, or how many.

She might be like this for the rest of her life.

The effect the realization had on him was astounding; his heart dropped, squeezed with regret.

Stupid. What do I care?

"You must have a strong mind," he told her quietly, "Or else the spell might have ruined you."

"Spell?" she murmured, eyes still glazed with sadness and frustration.

"You're a Volva. Or you were," he went on, thinking aloud. "And I'll wager you're a goddess of healing, else you would have forgotten the art when you were wiped."

The fact that she remembered how to do healing magic at all–-or rather, that the instinct remained-–was enough to convince him of that. Perhaps her healing abilities had protected her mind somewhat as well. A full memory wipe could cause serious damage, to the extent of leaving the sufferer with compromised brain function.

"I might be able to help you recover some of your memories. When I've regained my strength, that is."

She was frowning, holding his hand again–-when had that happened?–-and leaning down a little.

"Loki," she murmured, free hand rising to his face, fingers to his lips. She shook her head. Stop. Rest.

The spell and all the talking had worn him down, he realized. His throat was dry, voice rasping.

"Water," he said. "Please."

She turned and picked up the gourd, tipping it carefully to his mouth.

On impulse, he turned his chin away. "You do it."

Her gaze flickered with surprise, a trace of confusion. He'd been drinking from the gourd on his own since yesterday. She lifted it again, not understanding.