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Karnilla is spooffed by Rogue
*
A flicker of light and loud snap, announced the presence of Amora, the former Enchantress, of Asgard's presence to the manison of the Asgardian princes. The wardings did not entirely block her out, not now when she was seeped in another's magic and emotions. But she had not the strength to do more than transport both herself and the ashen swordsman to the very front entrance of the sprawling manor.
A high wail followed as she bellowed for aid, sending servants scrambling as she hollared at any in sight. Her mortal illusions had been shattered, her charms that she'd been using to store meager sources of magic had been blown out. The ghostly lights that had dangled at her wrists now barren and dark. Tears trailed down her cheeks as she clutched at the fallen figure, cradling Fandral in her arms as she struggled with the overwhelming emotions that raged through still hollow heart.
"Someone help! LOKI! SOMEONE!" She was shaking, her features flushed red as she gasped for air. Yelling until her voice was worn ragged. "Anyone." She hiccupped.
*
Fandral lays prone in her arms, unconscious. His lips are tinged blue, his skin pale like the winter snow and his normal golden locks are drained of color. If it wasn't for the rise and fall of his chest one might think the man was dead. Instead he is slumbering in a magical sleep, his body unable to be present because he has given everything that he is to another.
*
Servants do indeed come running; particularly in the recognition of the voice, the hysteria attached, and the name called out in request. The front door is wide open in seconds, and immediately they all begin their duties to their lord. One reaches to take Fandral from the Enchantress in order to bring him in and lay him upon a bed (The Crown Prince is away, so his will do on the second floor!), while another makes the attempt to attend the obviously shaken Amora, ushering her in as well to give her warmed, spiced mead in an attempt to calm her down so news can be passed.
There, upon the Bridge, the Watcher of Realms stands, regarding the scene below. A scowl creases his face, and he turns away; a call is now sent out.
*
The servants would find it difficult to get Fandral from her trembling grasp, but eventually would succeed as she realized that they were the /someone/ that had come out for aid. It took more than a little effort to get the hysterical Enchantress inside and sitting down with a mead in hand. Still, she demanded to sit on the edge of the bed beside the fallen Aesir. The mead was nearly spilled as she could not halt her trembling, continuing to cry as she looked around frantically.
"Where are the princes? He needs help," She rasped, coughing as she struggled to breathe. "I don't have the m-magic." She was starting to hyperventilate, and set the warm mead aside as she struggled with the emotions that whirled inside her. The borrowed emotions leaving her too warm, flushed and shaking as she peeled back her sweaty hair from her neck.
"HELP HIM! Where are the princes?!" She shouted again, curling up as she sank back against the bed, pressing her hands against her features. Her knees drawn close as she sat at the foot of the bed.
When it became apparent that the servants weren't able to answer the 'where' and screaming for Loki did nothing, she fell to the last possible person on her list. The Queen. A hand rose as she clutched at the quartz crystal that hung around her neck, as if it were some totem to summon the Nornqueen. She said nothing out loud, but her will. The absolute need and mental cry of anguish that followed was more than enough.
*
Fandral doesn't react to comfort Amora or stir in the bed that he was placed. Just the even breath of a man in deep rest. As the servants examine him, they find no wound to explain his state. He might be only sleeping if it wasn't for the alarming changes to his color. But he doesn't appear to be in pain or distress.
*
As if in answer to Amora's pained cries, the skies darken to almost black, and lightning dances from cloud to cloud before a great bolt of electricity slams down upon the street before them, revealing the form and figure of a man in armor, red cape, and hammer in hand. Thankfully the traffic isn't that busy in the road, but it does cause some alarm as there is now something of a Norse design etched in the road.
Immediately the Prince takes the stairs up to the door, and whether not the door was closed to him, it certainly doesn't bar his way. A quick glance gives Thor the information needed, and he begins to take the steps two by two.
*
Even on the Upper West Side, residents turn a blind eye to shouts for help. A bleeding man on the sidewalk gets ignored. No one comes out to see the source of the screams. Someone calls the police, and considers their civic duty done. New York is pitiless to the despair of its children.
Nornheim is not.
In the hubbub surrounding the Wildenstein Mansion, the front door opens and a woman steps inside. Was it before Thor got there or afterwards? It's relatively unimportant. Shivering wards convulse harsher than they did for Amora and Fandral, sliding over the black-haired woman in a crisp Chanel suit. Every inch the lady who lunches among the pearl-clad philantropy set, she acts very well like she belongs here. Sooner or later a servant will notice her even in a somewhat human illusion. She gives them exactly twenty seconds.
At 21, if no one has come, Karnilla states in crisp Aesir, "Take me to mine apprentice."
If so, then she heads directly towards Amora. Whether or not a servant guides her is really quite irrelevant.
*
It was impossible to miss the thunder clap and lightning that announced the Thunderer's presence and return to Midgard. But whether Amora cared enough to halt the torrent of tears that spilled from her cheeks was another matter entirely. She simply sat, still curled up and sobbing, on the foot of the bed. She was as she normally was in Asgard. Green corset, short, whispery skirts and black tights clung to her legs— which she clutched at with both arms.
Even as her panic spiraled outwards to sickening levels, grief, terror, anger and a myriad of other emotions that had been unfelt for over a month's time now coursed in every fiber of her being. Even if this was temporary, it was a brilliant burn. As if she was unable to handle or organize her thoughts around anything else than the agony of the empty void in her chest and the sight of the wintery aesir before her.
*
Fandral has fought by Thor's side thorugh the centuries, received wounds that would fell a mortal men, but never has he looked so close to death as he does today. He wasn't taken down by a sword, flair, spear or hammer. It was a kiss, a kiss in which he filled an emptiness that she had and took the void into himself. The reckless, foolish man thought it might help the Enchantress, free her enough to find a way to find what was broken. But in his impulsive act, he never considered the potential price to himself.
*
The door to his chambers is open and Thor bursts in to see the view before him; Amora there, crying, and Fandral lying prone as if in death. As she breathes, Thor moves quickly to Fandral's side, the first question off his lips, "What was done?!" The last time Amora was in an emotional state, she was about to cause hardship to Asgard in the way of famine. And now? "What was done?!" The second question is more emphatic than the first as he wheels to look at the Enchantress, unheeding of the presence of Karnilla. "Amora.. tell me. Stop your tears," and that hasn't yet sunk in, "And tell me!"
*
Karnilla's heels, French designer as is the rest of her apparent attire, tap a steady beat on the floor to warn all comers whom is there. The jaunty tilt of her pillbox hat might be strange for she's never seen without some variation on her crown. A purse tucked under her arm is left to slide to her hand, the straps securely ensconced in a gloved grip. She takes in the sight of fallen warrior, furious prince, wailing apprentice without comment, but when she halts, that silence prevails where footsteps went before. Three seconds. Then she taps her toe, a wordless reminder. The patience of some younger Asgardians is limitless; the Norn Queen's is not.
*
Thor's bursting into the room roused enough of Amora's senses to drag her flushed, tear stained features off her knees to stare at him. Her lips parted as she struggled for air, gasping like a man coming up from a depth of water for air. A choked sound followed as Thor's gaze swung toward her and he repeated his question, and told her to stop /crying/. Yet even the command of a Prince of Asgard couldn't halt the torrent that filled her green eyes and trickled down her cheeks.
"H-He g-ga-ave me—" She coughed, gritting her teeth as the echo of borrow emotions warred within her. But then between her struggles for air, for speech, her eyes went to Karnilla and she was lurching to her feet.
"Fix him! P-please." Her voice hoarse and rasping, and she clutched at her chest with both hands.
"Put them back, please put them back…"
*
Fandral doesn't rouse when he prince is yelling. Nor does he react to Karnilla's arrival. He continues to lay in the state that he arrived, no better or worse. Even as the voices in the room are louder, which should pull him from his slumber, he does not move or react. The void continues to hold him in sway.
*
It is not a sleep like Odin's Sleep <tm>, that is for certain. Well, as certain as Thor could be, given the circumstances. He stares at Amora, at first unseeing and with a decided lack of understanding exactly what is going on, but soon enough, the fact that the Enchantress is crying begins to seep through. Brows crease, furrow before his question is raised, "What did you do?"
Now, the fact that Karnilla is behind him, Thor twists around to check on her. There is something going on here, and he means to find the bottom. "What has happened here?"
*
"Prince, will you grant me right to divine it?" The formalities must be observed in this off-world extension of Asgard, and Karnilla grants the question in keeping with her current persona of the upper crust power wife, right down to the tones of her voice. She sounds and looks exactly like a New Yorker. "Apprentice, you called and thus came I. Do be quick about explaining. The warrior looks in poor shape and requires stabilization." The fact may be obvious, but she speaks of it anyways, lending credence to the request.
*
Anger lit up her eyes as she spun on her heels and glared at Thor, "I didn't do it!" She snarled, her voice quivering as she inhaled gasping breaths. Her eyes squeezing shut against the bubbling rage that choked her throat. A hand clapped over her lips as she sank back against the bed, a grimace pulling at her lips as she averted her eyes under Karnilla's command.
"He g-gave me everything. All o-of his emotions an-and magic." She choked out, her hands running over her tear stained features.
"Put it back, I don't want this." She whimpered, sniffling.
*
Winter. Darkness. A sheer stone wall sits behind his back while a sheer drop to no where is just inches from where he crouches. Fandral doesn't remember what he did to get here. He is alone, trapped and disconnected. There are soft murmurings coming from the wall behind him, they mean nothing to him, the words are too far away to hear. He shouts to them, "Hello?!?" But they continue to murmur without hearing him.
To the world around him, Fandral continues to lay there quietly in slumber, none of the powerful beings around him able to hear his inner voice.
*
Thor stands by his friend's bedside, well.. his bed, his chambers, but upon the request, there is that moment when he hesitates before he relents. A step away gives the physical cue of his acquiescence, followed by, "If you would."
The words from Amora, however, as to what transpired, brings another frown to the Thunderer's face, though it fights with added concern as he looks back at his friend. "Fandral.. you didn't," is murmured. "By the All-Father, you didn't."
*
Karnilla taps her handbag twice and the smart Vuitton clutch unravels lengthwise, shrinking down to a fraction of its width and standing taller than the sorceress. A fine twist of orichalcum encircles it, framing the shaft of crystal forged into a spear-like point at the top. Holding the staff in her hand, she presses her fingertip to Fandral's brow and imperiously swipes her arm back. A fine golden thread emerges, crackling weakly as the first strands braids around one another in the complicated knotwork beloved of their people. A faint mist falls around them, resolving as she tells Amora, "Bring a bowl to catch thine tears. Then at least they may serve a purpose."
The thread stretching from Fandral reflects off the staff, and rapidly stitches left to right on that eldritch loom. The Norn Queen needs only to direct the invisible shuttle of her magic once or twice around a knot, and a vision takes shape even in the growing tapestry as perceived behind Fandral's proverbial shoulder; the conversation a good two or three minutes before he shifted his emotions to the golden-haired sorceress. "Behold, Prince of Asgard, and be firm of purpose. Such is the tale inscribed upon his fate, and such is subject to no obfuscation or deception before the wraths of the sisters three."
*
A mutter to the servants was followed at the edge of the door as Amora did, mostly what was directed. She waited at the doorway as Karnilla worked her magic, and a bowl was brought to her. A twist of Amora's lips followed and she sat off to the side. Her head bowed as the moments leading up to Fandral's fall followed, broadcasting Fandral's statements of care. Of how she had dimmed since losing her heart and how vibrant and beautiful she had been. And then, the moment she had stood to leave, to hunt the jotun and the fatal kiss that left the god of spring and desire ashen and wintry.
Her jaw squared as she watched, trembling faintly from the emotions that still roiled in her stone heart. If only because of Karnilla's order to catch her tears had occurred, perhaps it was that none fell then. Even though Amora was clearly affected, her whole figure strung as taught as a bow ready to be fired.
*
Thor stands quietly, his jaw setting, his cheek twitching. Blue eyes watch the shuttle of the Norn Queen, attending the creation of the thread that is his friend, and as it shifts, he draws breath where there had been none, waiting. In it's telling, at least now he has an idea; and still, Odin will not be happy. "Can you bring him from this?" is virtually whispered. "This may yet be a better state than what the All-Father may wish for him."
*
"Aye, heal him the wounds on his body and his mind," says the Norn Queen, looking where the frayed thread grows thinnest as the image fills in. Luminous details rise out of memory, as though the three looked into a window at the very interaction playing out before them. Her staff anchored solidly against the ground does not threat to nudge an inch, even released.
She sinks down to one of those burning edges that wisps away, framing it with her hands in a series of complex gestures that might seem to spindle it around her fingertips. "Apprentice, water. Be it your tear or a pitcher poured in the bowl." The instructions hold a decidedly cool edge, not precisely clipped. Her gaze moves back to Thor. "Thine father shall hold many questions about this." The obvious is spoken between them, and the shades of many questions follow only in an arch of an eyebrow. It boils down to one. "You are prepared for his summons?"
*
Darkness. The Void. There is no spring in this world that he is now trapped. He feels the cold under his fingers as he explores the sheer wall. Fandral takes a coin from his pocket and drops it over the edge. He waits and waits. Nothing. He frowns and tries to remember how he got here. It's all very disorienting for him.
Fandral breathes evenly in his deep slumber and does not react to the talk of All-Father or the possible consequences for interfering in Amora's punishment.
*
"If you ask me if I am prepared to watch yet another friend suffer for an act, no, I am not," is murmured in return. Thor looks saddened now, his head hanging such that should he turn away, his face would be obscured by hair. "I cannot take his punishment from him. I would that Loki were here so that he could speak in Fandral's behalf, but even then…" There is little defense from deliberately disobeying the will of Odin. Even his own sons have no immunity. "Ah.. Fandral," comes as a sigh. "What did you do?"
*
Amora moved, a pitcher of water brought and emptied into the bowl. It was a mechanical movement, her eyes drawn to the thread and taspestry of memory that Karnilla spun between her fingers. A heavy lump formed in her throat as the conversation continued and she held the water out with a tremble in her grasp. Her eyes narrowed to pinpricks of emotion as she glared at Thor.
"What law did he break? In seeking comfort for my pathetic state what law was there that Amora cannot have emotions? There was no decree made by the All-father in regards to mine state such as that. What could be possibly be punished for? How dare you suggest that this is a better state for him when he is so near death? When he said that such a void would be the worst punishment for him beyond death itself?" She choked out between her teeth, her features flushed with the warring emotions that stole her breath and welled tears again to her eyes.
"If I were not so feeble I swear Odinson.." She bit off her words with a hiss, her gaze turning back to Karnilla.
"Take these borrowed tears back and give them back to him Karnilla. They've caused naught but pain!"
*
"Thine house is not without its champions or advocates." Karnilla spreads her fingers apart again and that frayed, thin cobweb exposed between them shows exactly the damage done. Torturous knots swim past at a slow pace, accelerating for a moment, forming a back eddy that threatens the integrity of the gossamer strand. "His life's thread has not yet severed. Take hope, and work be done."
The sorcery is not spectacular for the depth of mastery it entails. Looking over the smooth water in the bowl, the Norn Queen draws a rune and speaks a word of power, freezing the image. She lofts the damaged thread skyward to catch upon the point of the staff, suspending the images playing out before the rest. Flicking her fingers sends three iridescent beads onto the lifeline, a transmission down a telephone wire to electrify Fandral's spirit.
The ghostly shapes of the couple appear separated, one of them in a jail cell, another in rags; then Fandral standing upon a rocky shelf of Jotunheim swaddled in furs, bleeding on the forest floor of Vanaheim, twirling through a bevy of Asgardian maidens with eyes for none but the girl in sky blue. Laughing upon a stage, facedown in dark waters mired in oil, striking a blade through a vast copper-scaled serpent, holding a tiny incarnation of himself, and staring up into Freyja's own face. A vision of golden Asgard crashing from the sky while Amora holds the broken shaft of a spear, and elven laughter scores the ears to a howl of wolves.
"Awake." In her iron-clad command, there is no room for denial.
*
Fandral gasps for breath as the pieces that he gave away are shoved back into his system, jolting him out of the void and into this plane of existence. His lips are no longer tinged with blue, his skin is the golden color of old and his hair regains it's previous luster. He opens his deep blue eyes in surprise and confusion because the events leading up to this one are glossed with the bits and pieces that she recovered. His gaze passes over the women and immediately fix on the face of his prince and he breaks out in his usual Fandral smile, "Prince Thor, did I tarry in bed too long? My apologies my prince, just give me a moment and I will exit this bed." He sends a look of apology to the women who are clearly here for his benefit.
*
"Silence, Amora." The words are harder than Thor really wants, or expected really, but they're out and done. "You are here at the Queen's side only by sufferance of the All-Father."
It's those strands, then, that take the Prince's attention, and he watches enrapt, transfixed. As that last bit, blue eyes widen as if he's pulled from a trance, and he looks to Karnilla. "Wait.. wait.. speak to me of that. Show me again…" The fall of Asgard?
Fandral's breath of life, however… that simple sound pulls Thor from even that thought as he takes the step back to bedside. He looks relieved on the one hand, yet still looks worried. "Fandral.. remain. I would have you find your rest until such time as you are prepared to rise. You have caused me grave concern that is only lifted a little by your return to reason."
*
A grit of her teeth followed Thor's sharp command and she glares at him, tears spilling over her eyelashes again. Her cheeks stained red as she stared and struggled with the rage that choked her throat and stole her breath. Still, she held her tongue, watching the haze of the fate wash over the threads Karnilla twisted between them. Then she was looking away as Fandral's eyes opened and he breathed anew. Her shoulders forming a tense line that followed every fiber of her being as both the Prince and swordsman spoke.
*
In her mortal guise, Karnilla is beautiful in a statuesque, timeless way. Her eyes are bewitchingly dark rather than the bleak, terrifying windows upon the vastness of fate and futures. Though for just a brief moment the illusion alters as she moves to the bedside over Fandral, watching his colour return pitilessly. A comely woman in a French designer suit carrying a tall spike of a staff with one's lifeline wrapped around it hardly constitutes a normal awakening.
"Heed the Norn Queen, warrior of Asgard," she says. "For thou hast returned from the near shore of the river Gjoll, worn of spirit and diminished in stature. For whilst you may seek to rejoin the frivolities and pastimes of the hall, you may not yet. What I have lent you is borrowed. Make thine own trueborn feelings slowly and all shall be well. Burn too bright, and you shall discover in you no fuel for those emotions. An empty cupboard feeds no man, and you are down to the last pulses and moldy seeds of grain. Do you understand?"
Amora's anguish is not forgotten, nor Thor's request. But she lends him a mild shake of her head. "First, thine man and mine apprentice. Do you take the Norn Queen's advice, telling tales of good memories will do him well. Not to drunkenness, but filling a winter's night. It hastens the healing." Yes, she just told Thor to have story hour in front of the fire.
*
"Of course my prince, I did not seek to worry you," Fandral tells him, starting to check himself to see what grave wound might have given his prince concern. He does not seem aware of why they are all in the bedroom but there is something in Amora's distress that causes him to reach out to soothe her. He reaches out…and then pauses because he's depleted…very depleted as if he did something on a monumental scale. He flashes a look to Thor with concern but keeps the smile on his face for the ladies, "Well then, please forgive if I do not rise. It appears that I am not myself right now." He is not himself at all. Images of the threads still there on his mind. He pauses as the woman confirms the warrior's wound is of the soul, not body and the uneasy man lays back down.
*
Thor glances at Amora, but his attention is pulled back to Karnilla. His request thus answered, he'll be asking again, now that he's seen it. Home. The Golden Realm.
A deep breath is taken, as is a nod in response to the instruction so given, and he looks to his friend again. One of his best friends. "We shall both suffer for it then, friend. Drink is kept from you and I shall share in this punishement." Looking around the room then, he pulls up a chair in order to settle himself down into it to guard his friend's recovery. Before the two are summoned to Odin's court, that is. "Did you know about the leitjotnar that lives beneath the mountains here on Midgard…."
*
And in the basement, at this very moment?
*
Amora drew back, keeping her silence as she wrapped her arms around her middle and found a convenient wall to lean against. Her gaze distant as she struggled with the storm of emotions that lacked a heart to rest in. She had no control over them, no filter with which to translate the borrowed feelings that rattled in the empty hollow of her chest.
So she waited, glowering at the Prince especially with a heat that would have scorched and leveled a realm had she any power behind it. Yet such as it was, merely a glare. She waited for Karnilla to turn her gaze back to her, for whatever was to come. Her body exhausted from the shaking, the fear and panic that had laced her chest and stolen her breath. For now, she nursed a kindling fire of anger to keep her instead.
*
Karnilla does not respond to that smile, not in the least. Then again, everyone in the room shared the vision of dirty and not so dirty deeds Fandral has or may commit. She curls her fingers around her staff, turning it, and in a moment it drops back into a pretty little purse again. Never doubt a lady keeps all the elements of power in her purse, or that it holds an entire dimension inside four walls.
"What have you learned of this, Amora?" Her dark eyes slide back towards the weeping blonde. "Thou beseech me take this unasked gift from your shoulders. Too strong a drink for you after abstinence, I grant you. We do this the old way." She opens the purse, within revealing the gleam of fashioned crystals, each glowing with a rune suspended in its heart. "Select one."
*
"Prince Thor…it is fine," Fandral tells him softly, "I am injured but as the Her Majesty said, I shall heal from this wound. Then we shall get back to adventuring like we have before." Ahh, the joys of an empty heart and mind that just now only has enough in the well to keep his awake and alive. While the images are disturbing and confusing, he will not give into self-doubt while the women are present in the room. At the mention of no drink, Fandral does give his friend a pained look, "Surely a small taste of ale will not wound me greatly." But it is a weak protest. He knows that something is very wrong with him and is silently grateful that Thor is by his side.
*
Thor looks to Amora, studies her for a long moment, his gaze lingering before he tears it away once more, trying to ignore that which goes on around him so he can attend his friend. "You shall heal from the wound," is repeated softly, but there is still that look on his face as he tries to feign more relief than he feels. A chuckle does sound from the Thunderer, and he shakes his head. "No drink from you until you can stand upon two feet, and then fall upon your face like a man."
*
Green eyes lifted, glassy with emotions that swam therein at Karnilla's words as the Queen turned her attention toward her. Silence filled the space between them, for there was nothing for Amora to say in answer to what she had or had not learned. The cementation of her rage and pained despair hardens her expression, and she stands away from the wall, swallowing a dry knot that had formed in the back of her throat.
A manicured hand lifting upwards to select one of the glowing crystals from the Queen's grasp. "Take it.." She whispered, her voiced ragged as another trickle of tears escaped from black eyelashes. Her eyes close as she swallows further words.
*
A gleaming stone drawn forth almost sizzles in Amora's palm. The sparking contents align and twist into a vertical bar, two slanting lines forking downwards in parallel lines.
The very mark of Odin himself. Ansuz.
Karnilla parts her fingers and seven blades spill from her hand, each a miniature: Sif's blade, Fandral's, Hogun's, Hela's, Loki's, Freyja's, Volstagg's. "Mine apprentice, something was literally stolen from you as you steal from another. Seven swords warn you be mindful of what impact your actions shall have, for clever as your machinations and tricks may seem, they will cut you and your enemies. The stones have spoken. Their gift be mine to you." Her gaze rests upon Amora, and the quartz crystal starts to take on a gentle glow. It leaches away the unwanted emotions like a sponge, starting to pull all of them in… except one.
*
"Fair enough my friend, fair enough," Fandral tells Thor with a smile and pauses as Amora tells Karnilla to take the emotions that he freely gave her away. There's confusion because the Fandral that gave her the gift of himself would have protested but this man in the bed barely remembers what lead him there so he does not even react to the events occurring around him. He does recognize that Amora is broken…something is not right but it doesn't concern him like it did before. If anything, he's worried about Thor who seems upset by what is going on. He watches the Queen work her magic with a frown, knowing it's important, not he isn't sure why. Things are so very confusing for Fandral.
*
Runes. Why always runes? Perhaps later he'll go back to Loki and ask for another lesson in them. One day.
Thor lowers his head for a moment as he listens in on the casting, his gaze for his friend. "Sif should be along later. She has some stories for you that even I know not what they are. I hope soon to make that visit to Vanaheim and perhaps Hogun can be found." Trying to keep it light. Trying to keep it upbeat…
*
Amora staggered backwards against the wall, breathing hard as she feels the slow leech of what she'd been given. The slow creep of coldness that starts at her fingertips and expands upwards slowly marching up her arms and legs and toward the hollow her chest. A breathless gasp pulls from her lips as she sank, shaking as the warmth fled her and her tears stalled. The only traces that they'd existed at all now the tracts left on her cheeks.
A soft whimper draws from her as she clapped a hand against the cold stone that represented her heart in the hollow of her chest.
*
As that statement is left, Karnilla inclines her head. "We will discuss matters anon. Apprentice, warrior, your highness." Then in that moment, her step backwards sends a whirlwind of fog around her. The wards shrill again, and no doubt impart quite the headache upon the protector of Midgard as she vanishes into the ether.
*
"Sif," Fandral murmurs to himself, "It will be good to see her." None of the earlier conflict from learning of her budding new relationship with Thor beats into his heart. Just a general feeling of friendship remains in his husk of a soul. He does speak out to no one particular, "I am drained…perhaps I should take a nap before Sif gets here. I wouldn't want to fall asleep on the woman. That would be rude." And then he closes his eyes and enters a natural sleep, healing sleep rather than the void that trapped him earlier.