[ The door is left open; sunlight and warmth filter through the cracks in the crude logs which make this crude cottage, this little offering of gentle solace. The light warms his back, as his body warms Loki in turn better than any sheets or furs could do; and all around them is the pungent herbs and the scent of sweat and skin, drawn on every breath, a taste of life and desire and renewal. If Loki's words remind him of the shadows of their love, it is only that which Thor accepts and shoulders willingly as the burden of care. With life there is death, with joy there is grief, and with summer there is winter; they are vital to one another.

So Loki taught him. He leans down his head so that they rest brow to brow, reluctant to answer. He knows what he ought to say, yet this is the first truth and the last: that he cannot tear his life away from Loki's hands again, if the king of winter should want it. There is so little left to tear. ]

Once you bade me vow that I would never fall by your hand. I kept my oath; but please, my heart, do not ask me to keep it again.

[ His eyes open and he looks at Loki beneath him, held between Loki's hands. ]

Will you not vow yourself to me this time? That we will know and love one another, and that if the knowing should ever fade, better we fall together than be torn apart once again?