The Bargain

Chapter 47: Forty-seventh Installment

Forty-Seventh Installment: Final Piece

The Ljósálfar of Alfheim bent knee to Freyr, a strong and competent leader who was Odin's closest ally. Loki had never met him, but he knew some things about the king that most others did not. Freyr was a master manipulator, capable of putting on a smile and speaking the kindest words when inside he would be spitting poison.

Not unlike Loki himself.

He will have the last Casket? the Aether asked.

"Yes," Loki said aloud. "He inherited it from his late wife. Until a few decades ago, it remained hidden in Vanaheim."

He will give it to you? she asked.

Her thought processes, Loki noted with a slight smile, were growing more coherent. She was actually putting concepts together instead of simply feeling things like need or want or anger or love. She was creeping ever closer to becoming a partner instead of a simple weapon. He reached up and touched the crystal, the most visceral way to let her feel his love for her.

"Yes," he said again, "but it will take some doing."

Though he did already have a plan. Freyr, who had lost his wife almost ten years ago, was still wrapped up in his grief over it. Even his sons could not convince him to move on and live again. Loki had a few ideas how to help the king and earn his trust and gratitude, only a slightly different approach than the one he'd used with the dwarves of Nidavellir.

The most difficult part would be convincing Freyr to part with his Casket without a physical exchange. With the dwarves, it had been easy. A trade of his skills for their services. Freyr wouldn't need anything from Loki. He was a Ljósálfar, which meant he possessed his own magic ability, and of course almost all female Light Elves did, too. Magic wasn't rare in Alfheim.

Of course, Loki thought with a smile, no mages had his unique skill set.

The Aether staff vanished, and Loki transformed into a crow. He enjoyed flying, it was always accompanied by an elation and sense of total freedom. In fact, many animal forms could provide the same. When he reached the city, he retook his Aesir form and appeared in a haze of shimmering green. All nearby Ljósálfar gave him startled looks as the Aether staff reappeared in his hand and he strode with purpose toward the royal palace.

By the time he reached it, word of his presence had arrived. Three tall, flaxen-haired royal guards were waiting, and they inclined their heads.

"Prince Loki," the one in the middle said, "King Freyr's sons are awaiting you. Please follow me."

Though Loki enjoyed far less renown than Thor, mages paid attention to their own. Freyr's sons were among the few royals in the Nine who had never treated Loki as strange for his study of magic rather than war. The staff rematerialized in his hand, a silent announcement of the sheer power he now commanded. The Aether swirled lazily inside the crystal globe, glowing black and so obviously the Aether.

The audience hall of the royal palace in Alfheim was a little smaller than that of Asgard. Instead of gold, everything was a gleaming silver with accents of white marble. The pillars in the room formed a wide walkway to the dais on which the throne rested, and they were lovely works of art with gilded leaves carved into the stone. The throne itself was empty, and the king's two sons stood in front of it.

Faðir and Fiǫlvarr were both fair-haired and tall, like their father, though Fiǫlvarr was slightly taller and his hair was more golden than flaxen. They were fair of face, the typical bearing of their kind, strongly reminding Loki of Frigga. There were no members of the court present, and the three royal guards all took up positions by the door as Loki strode across the floor.