So, this is the end, and I hope it's a good end too. I've added in the promised slash. :)

I'd like to take this opportunity to thank you all for reading this far, and to apologise for anything that has become out of context as the story had grown, spelling mistakes - including the mistype of my own characters name in the last chapter (that should have been Alena, not Alaya) and anything else that may have occurred that I haven't noticed.

I'd also like to ask you to please review, and let me know your thoughts.

Enjoy. Xx

Eighteen months later

It is three days since our battle. I lie in darkness, and every inch of me is filled with pain. This is what you get for trying to be clever, my fever addled mind tells me over and over again.

For eighteen month we had played our game, drawing our enemies in, making them believe us weak, until eventually we had been able to bring them close enough to smash in a heated battle. Eighteen months had given us plenty of time to figure out their weaknesses, and we had used oil and fire and their own ferocity against them. That time, as I had feared, had also given them the opportunity to learn our weaknesses.

It was near the end of the battle that I had come across their new leader. I never learnt his name; I thought of him simply as The Man With The Silver Rapier. It was a hard fight. I had removed my useless armour sometime before, after it had been crushed against me, badly bruising my right shoulder. I had fought as bravely as I could against my foe while he slashed me again and again with that blade, wounding my cheek, my arms, my leg. With each thrust I had grown weaker as the poison seeped into my blood stream. Eventually he had overpowered me, pushing his blade into my shoulder deep enough for me to feel it grind against bone. He'd pulled it out again quickly, aiming it carefully over my heart. That was when Ray had stopped him, stepping up behind the vampire and taking his head off.

I was already done for though. My foe's blade had been dirty or poisoned with something other than silver. Infection is deadly for anyone on this world – we posses no medicine to cure it – but, for reasons unknown, for us wolves it's much worse, taking hold quickly and spreading like wildfire through our bodies. I'd made Guy tend to the other wounded before me. There had been many of them, and by the time he came back, the infection had set in. He had cursed me for a fool in every language he knew.

I had fought the infection valiantly for three days now; if I'm lucky, I may have three more to live. There's nothing to be done. I lie in the fever's harsh grip, sweating as it burns me, shaking with cold, dreaming truly awful dreams. Most of them involve me killing Loki in some way. In one horribly vivid one, I watch as Loki tricks his way onto the throne of Asgard. Disgusted and ashamed, I throw my prized silver necklace at his feet. He has me shackled and imprisoned when I try to walk away from him. In my rare waking moments I listen to Ray's tearful death laments, spoken in our own language. I do what I can to comfort him before I am overcome by shaking and sleep again.

After a long period of exhausted sleep, I wake suddenly to be greeted by another sound – the sound of distant thunder. I would have thought it my imagination if Ray hadn't got up and left the room. Guy moves anxiously over to the window. I wait for hours, or so it seems, for Thor to enter my sick room, which he does with some force.

"What is the meaning of this?" Guy exclaims, his voice unusually harsh.

"You just left him here to die!" shouts Ray as he tries to take Thor's arm.

"That's a mistake I'm trying to rectify now, if you'll let me," he says, turning, and he gives Ray a shove that sends him back into the wall.

The raised voices have somehow convinced my fevered brain that I must fight him, and I try to no avail. All I succeed in doing is pulling at the wound in my shoulder, causing myself more pain.

"You're not allowed," I say weakly. "It's not allowed."

"Fool," Thor says softly. "I'm trying to keep a promise I made my brother."

I'm still trying to fight him when my stitches give out. The pain is immense, and, falling into the blonde's arms, I blackout.

I guess it's quite a while before I wake up again, but I can't be sure. I stay still with my eyes closed, trying to gage the situation. I'd been dying, I know that, but now I can feel no pain, no fever. It's almost as if I hadn't been ill at all. I shift my shoulder and feel it twinge a bit, but that's it. I'm bone-tired and weak, but otherwise well, apparently.

"He's mortal, what do you expect?" says a woman with a sharp voice somewhere off to my right, startling me.

"But he's strong, for all of that," Thor answers her.

"For a mortal, yes," she replies doggedly.

I open my eyes. Has Thor really brought me to Asgard? Judging from my surroundings, I'd say that he has. Thor steps over to me when he sees me move, ending the conversation with the woman. He doesn't stop me when I slowly sit up.

"How are you?" he asks.

"I don't know. You tell me."

"You'll live," says the woman. She has sharp features to go with her sharp voice. "The infection and the effects of the silver are gone. The wounds you'll have to deal with alone."

"Thank you," I mutter, unable to think of anything else to say. She dismisses us.

As we leave, I look down at myself. I'm still wearing the think cotton garments that I had on when Thor had taken me from Edolie, but they're clean now. I can see a small dressing covering my shoulder wound. The other wounds have been cleaned and re-stitched.

"How long have I been here?" I ask him.

"Twelve hours or so."

He leads me into a side chamber of some sort, and starts handing me clothes. They're finer than anything I've ever worn, even back home, before Mertice turned my life to shit. I put them on with care, marvelling at the lightness of the material. "Where's Loki?" I ask him.

"He'll be along soon."

I've got so many questions for him that I don't even know where to start. Looking at him now though, I see the answer to one. "He doesn't know I'm here does he?"

"He didn't know that you were ill, and he didn't know that I planned to bring you here."

"You're still playing him very carefully, aren't you?" I ask harshly.

"I'll always play him carefully, now that I know what's at stake."

I calm myself, trying to remember that this man has, in fact, just saved my life. "Why are you breaking the rules again for me? Does your father know?"

"He will soon," he says with a sickly smile. "Don't worry, I'll deal with him. To answer your question, I've done it because Loki asked me to look out for you. I was forbidden from helping with your war, but I was never told about the aftermath. I'm just sorry it took me so long to get to you."

"Thank you," I mutter again, but those two words don't express my gratitude to the extent that I want them to. He accepts them graciously enough though. "Gods, Ray's going to be pissed that I disappeared again," I say to cover any awkwardness.

He beams at me and bids me follow him. I do so warily. What does he have for me now? He takes me away from the healing room at a leisurely pace, and it's not long before I hear a male voice singing. We come out at a large outside seating area. Over the balcony before us is a fantastic view of the night sky. I pay it no heed, for the voice, song and language suddenly have my full attention; it's Ray, singing a song from our lands in our mother tongue. I feel a silly grin spread across my face as I watch him. It's a slow song, and he's really getting into it now, feeling every word. His language is a little rusty, but that's to be expected. We haven't spoken a single word of it for over six years.

"Gods, but I never thought to hear him sing again," I say quietly.

"He used to sing?" Thor asks with genuine interest.

"Only when he was in his cups," I say, and then indicate the ale horn next to him. "What have you given him?"

"What he needed," he answers.

As we had been talking I had been gazing at the assembled people here. There are plenty of Asgardians, but scattered throughout I can see Alena, Percy and a few others of my own people.

"You brought them, too."

"They wanted to come, so I let them."

We listen to Ray in silence for a bit, and then I bring the conversation back to Loki. "When did you fight your battle?"

"Over six months ago. It was an easy victory with Asgards help."

I'm sure it was, I think, and wonder where the hell Loki is now. In the dungeons? More than likely. I feel it then, a strange, familiar sensation at the edge of my consciousness. It takes me a moment to place it as the feeling grows; its Loki's magic of course – his real magic. It feels familiar because I had lived with it for weeks, unbeknownst to be at the time. Well, here it is now in the open, and it feels kind of wonderful. It feels like him. Gazing over to my left, I watch him walk in the way that Thor and I had come, and I have to smile at the comic double take he does when he sees me. So, he's not in the dungeons then. I wonder how he wangled that. He closes the distance between quickly so that he can embrace me. It's a little cold, a little distant I feel, and he breaks it quickly. The seeds of doubt are immediately sown in my mind. What if I'd been waiting for him all this time, while his own interest in me dwindled? I tell myself not to be such a fool, but the thought won't be banished that easily. His eyes are piercing, as ever, but I seem to have lost the knack of reading his face.

"What are you doing here?" he asks, frowning when he catches sight of the others.

"Um…it's a long story," I say awkwardly. I'm saved from having to answer him further when my friends notice us, and we're pulled apart.

"How are you?" Ray asks.

I look around for Loki, but he's slipped away into the crowd so that he can talk to Alena. His magic hasn't lessened though – on the contrary, it's much stronger than it had been. I feel myself growing hot all of a sudden. "I'm actually OK," I tell him, and find that it's true, physically at least. A little of my strength seems to have returned, but my doubts about Loki keep growing.

I want to go and find him, to ask him how he has been and renew our bond, but over the next few hours I find no opportunity to break away. I see him intermittently, and feel his eyes on me constantly while his magic begins to do funny things to me. At first I just put it down to the infection and whatever they did to heal me, but it's much more than that. It's not the beer either, because I've taken hardly any, although I'd definitely say that I feel intoxicated. No, this has his stamp all over it; the somewhat familiar and comforting caress of his magic, but now with a darker, more mischievous edge to it. He means to lead me away, and I mean to find a chance to follow.

It's not until about twenty minutes later that I make it happen though, and only then after he ups the ante. I've been daydreaming a little as the others around me carry on some deep conversation. Suddenly, I imagine that I can feel his fingers brush the back of my neck lightly, invitingly. The vision is so vivid that I feel my loins stir, and I know for sure that I've put off my escape for too long. I slip away from the gathering quickly and quietly after that.

Finally free to pursue him, I find myself walking into the corridor in a trance. I no longer feel like I'm in control of my own actions. I didn't feel like this last time I was here, did I? my woozy mind asks. I can't for the life of me remember. I run my left hand through my hair and then stumble drunkenly to my right. My right hand brushes the stone balcony that I walk beside, and I stop, momentarily distracted by the feel of it. I lay my hands on it, hoping that it'll cool me down. That's when I smell it; his scent.

Like a flower following the irresistible pull of the sun, I turn and, stumbling with every step now, follow his lead. I walk corridors, turn corners and climb stairs, until eventually I come to a set of chambers. They're definitely his, judging by how thick the scent is here. I smile, pleased that he had been allowed to stay here, and not in a cell all this time. A quick look around tells me that he's not here but I decide to stay anyway, wanting to be alone for the moment. My mind is foggy and sluggish, and the chase has made me hot. I begin to strip off my layers of opulent clothing, letting each garment fall to the marble floor, where it crumples without a sound. Then, wearing only my thin cotton trousers and shirt, I flop face down onto the huge bed. My head swims – not entirely unpleasantly - and I let this strange, erotic feeling take me where it will.

Down and down I follow it. My hand moves slowly, as if in a dream, and I bury it in my hair. Each fingertip traces a line of golden fire across my scalp. I catch my lower lip between my teeth, and bite down on it. From far away I hear myself groan. I can almost feel his presence; can almost feel his touch.

"How are you feeling?" His voice pulls me slowly from my trance. His tone is smug.

"You know perfectly well how I'm feeling," I say, and my voice is calm and cold, with no hint of the slur I had expected. I feel his magic abate a little, and I roll over slowly onto my back so that I can watch him step from the shadows, barefoot and silent. He's dressed only in a pair of tight fitting linen trousers. His look of hunger is quickly covered by an impish grin.

"You almost embarrassed me out there," I say, faking annoyance.

"How so?" he asks, clearly amused, and sits down on the edge of the bed.

Instead of answering him, I take his hand and place it on my crotch. The thin material of my trousers does absolutely nothing to conceal the hardness or the heat there. A rare look of shock passes his face – he knows I'm not normally so forward, even with him - and I grin wildly.

He recovers quickly. "I didn't think that it would affect you so deeply," he says, raising a mocking eyebrow. He can no longer hide the hunger in his eyes though, and it emboldens me.

As I sit up, he tries to remove his hand but I hold him fast. "Liar," I whisper, and I brush my lips lightly against his. I move out of his way when he tries to return the gesture. "If you wanted me to yourself, you could have just asked," I say.

He laughs quietly. "Where would be the fun in that?" He stops trying to take his hand from me. Instead he squeezes with it, all the while turning up his magic again. My skin prickles, and when he moves his hand experimentally upwards, I can't help the little sound of surprise and pleasure that escapes me as the rough material makes contact with my skin. I pause, caught off guard, and he kisses me for the first time in eighteen months.

I immediately wonder why I've been putting this off for the last few hours. Why hadn't I just come looking for him earlier? Had I truly believed – gods forbid – that it wouldn't feel the same as it used to? He hadn't taken his eyes off me all night, yet I'd still been fool enough to think that his feelings for me had lessened. Well, he's certainly putting paid to that thought now. It's the most passionate kiss that I've yet received from him, like he's trying to make up for every kiss that we've lost. For the moment he forgets everything else, and simply wraps his arms around me so that he can pull me closer to him.

For myself, I think it's a very different experience. Having so much magic in such close proximity to me is…..indescribable. I can feel it on his skin as I run my hands slowly up his arms, and feel it on his hands as he brushes them lightly over the skin of my back. I let out a shuddery sigh when he traces my lower lip with his tongue, and can I feel lust stirring me. If I hadn't been hard before, I certainly am now. My body feels weak and my mind foggy, but my skin is extremely sensitive. Every touch of his raises goose bumps and sends off small explosions under the surface. I can feel myself shaking ever so slightly.

He breaks off from a lingering kiss so that he can remove my shirt and then he pauses, as I guessed he would, when he sees the patch on my left shoulder. Mixed emotions flit across his face quickly, and they're gone before I can identify them. His cool green eyes meet my gaze, and I can see a hint of the bitterness that had haunted him for so long kindling anew.

"You fought your battle then? These wounds are fresh," he remarks, running the back of his index finger below the stitches on my cheek.

"We fought and won, three or so days ago. These wounds will be gone soon," I say, taking his hand from my face as he takes in the sight of the mottled bruising covering my right shoulder. "It's nothing."

"It's not nothing! I should have been there with you, Charlie, not biding my time here."

"Why haven't they sent you back to me?" I ask, voicing the question that had been on my mind all night.

"This is meant to be a punishment, remember? They were always going to drag it out."

"I do remember. That's why I expected to find you in a cell."

"Oh, I've been on my very best behavior," he says with a sly smile. He gently runs his thumb over my lips, sending shivers down my spine, and then continues. "The only way back to your world is along the Bifrost. I couldn't risk upsetting the apple cart, or leaving. If I had, we would never have seen each other again. I've missed you," he says, earnestly, making me feel guilty for doubting him. "I needed to get back to you, so I stayed quiet, doing everything they asked of me. I even put up with being re-acquainted with Thor's Earthean friends. In return, they've afforded me more freedom than I could have hoped for. I've had some news of you, thanks to Mother, but not nearly enough. She wouldn't tell me what you were planning, only that you were alive and well."

I stay silent for a moment, processing his words and finding truth there. Even with Frigga's influence, it must have been near impossible for him to stay so meek. I also wonder when he had last been updated on my well being, and find myself annoyed with these people all over again. "I will be taking you home with me when I leave here," I say quietly, trying to put as much feeling and truth into the words as I can.

"That sounds like a promise."

"It is. I won't leave here without you again!"

He smiles fondly. "Ah, there's my brave wolf," he whispers, and kisses me.

After several glorious minutes he breaks from me again. This time he pushes me gently backwards until I'm lying down. Our conversation had cooled me down a lot, but he quickly reminds me where we were by sliding his fingers beneath the waistband of my trousers. I lift up my hips when he pulls them downwards, making it easier for him to take them off. He slips off the bed, discarding them, and then it's his turn. Rather than letting me fumble around, he goes for the strip-tease option, and he somehow manages to turn it into one of the sexiest things that I've ever seen. Naked and aroused, he climbs back up onto the bed and crawls up between my legs. Things progress quickly after that.

He begins the proceedings by pushing my knees wide apart and stroking his fingers over my inner thighs. Moving upwards, he kisses the skin inside my right thigh, nipping at it when he gets nearer my groin, and then he places a cool hand on my cock, making me jump slightly. He quickly follows it with his tongue, running the wet warmth upwards towards the tip of my erection. I look down at him to find him looking back up at me. His expression has gone far beyond hunger now and, when he takes me in his mouth, I half expect him to actually start devouring me. Instead he spends a few agonizingly blissful minutes teasing me with his lips and tongue. I watch him every second, turned on beyond belief by the sight of it. By the time he stops, my breath is coming out in quick gasps. He splays his hands over my torso, and moves them upwards, following them with fluttering kisses over all of my most sensitive areas. It's only now that I notice that the background magic has receded a little, and then he starts to concentrate the majority of it into his hands. My skin prickles where those hands have been, making the tickling sensation of his lips seem even more wonderful. When he reaches it, he takes a nipple between his thumb and forefinger, squeezing gently. The other he takes in his teeth and sucks it, hard, before continuing his passage upwards.

He kisses my neck, and I groan when he places a hand on my cock again and begins to pump it fast. I bend my knees so that I can place my feet flat on the bed and my hips begin to move of their own accord, following his movements. All the while he's nipping at my neck, the line of my jaw, kissing my lips lightly. He pulls back from me slightly, eyes open, and we stare at each other for a moment while I gasp and moan under the ruthless stroking of his hand. And this, I think as I gaze into his eyes, this right here is why I stopped questioning his control over me in the bedroom. He can have me sweating, shaking and screaming his name out with minimal effort, even without magical assistance. Tonight, apparently, is going to be no exception.

He pushes himself into a kneeling position, releasing his hold on me so that he can pivot my bent knees upwards, making sure to keep my legs apart, until I am fully exposed before him. Satisfied with my position, he reaches over me and takes a green pot from the bedside table. He removes the lid, and inserts two fingers into it. They come out wet and gleaming with some kind of ointment.

"What's that?" I ask him breathlessly.

He smiles. "Oh, I think you'll like this, Charlie."

I give a startled gasp when he cups my balls with a slightly cool hand. With the other he applies the ointment gently to my exposed behind. The stuff is cold to start with, and then it begins to tingle as it warms up. I hold my breath, guessing what's coming next, and then let it out in a long groan when he slowly slides his fingers inside me. The cold spreads as he goes deeper, quickly turning into a hot, tingling mixture of ointment and magic. When he is in as far as he can go he begins to move his fingers back and forth, making a point to massage my balls in time with the movement. I feel myself begin to sweat, and my breathing comes quicker as the tingling feeling grows. The ointment seems to be making me extra sensitive, so that even the slightest movement sends shivers through me. Whatever this stuff is it's fucking incredible.

"You're right," I groan. "I…ugh….Yes….I do like it….I do…" He chuckles low in his throat - something that's always guaranteed to get me going – and slowly removes his fingers. "Hey ―" I begin, disappointed, but he shushes me.

He obviously wants to move things along, and I begin to grow a little more excited. I put my left arm under my head, giving me a better view of him positioning himself between my legs. He spreads his thighs and pulls me a little closer to him. Now he'll do it, I think, but instead he leans down to kiss me, rubbing his thumb roughly over my nipple. We touch tongues and then he pulls away, running his hands down my body as he sits up again. Ok, now he'll do it. By now I'm desperate for him to fuck me. My penis twitches a little in anticipation, and I take hold of it in one hot hand. He sees this and pauses again to offer me the pot of ointment. I hesitate only for a second, and then, using my thumb, I take a little and apply it to the tip. The effect is immediate and intense. He watches me for several seconds as I work my hand, clearly enjoying the show, and then he's smoothly sliding his way into me.

I cry out loudly – it seems that he's not only concentrating the magic into his hands - and then do it again as he takes hold of the tops of my thighs and pulls me closer to him, moving himself even deeper inside of me. As he shifts back again I move my leg and rest my heel on his shoulder, allowing him to get a better grip on me. He moves forward again slowly, and I manage to keep my voice a little quieter this time. Back again slowly, forward again slowly, repeat; he's getting a rhythm going and its fantastic, but somehow it's still not enough. Sometimes we can make it last for ages like this, but tonight, after so long, I need more from him.

"Faster," I hear myself beg. "Please, just a little faster."

He obliges me, moving faster and staying deep. It hurts a little, but that's fine; I'm used to pain, and I'm finding that it augments the pleasure nicely. I'm still working myself with my hand, and I move the speed up, making sure that each stroke is in time with his thrusts. I know that I'm not going to last that long like this, but I don't care. I need the rush, but more than that, I need to find the place that only he can lead me to, the place where I can forget everything. Here, it doesn't matter where we are, or who we are; there's only him and me, the movement between us and the feeling it generates. As always, me immersing myself in our passion like this and at last being able to let go of my worldly worries is the calm before the final, crashing crescendo. This particular crescendo comes much faster and harder than I had anticipated, and I arch my back, shouting out my pleasure as my own warm liquid rains down onto my midriff. He comes shortly after, and far more quietly than me, simply drawing in short, sharp breaths as he convulses violently against me. He pauses a moment afterwards, breathing hard, before extracting himself from me and finding something to clean me off with – I have no idea what. For the moment I've lost the ability to move.

When he is done he lies beside me, throwing his arm over my chest and burying his face in the crook of my neck. I have no will to move, or talk, and lie still as his breathing becomes more even. I'm just beginning to let myself sink into that feeling of post-sex lethargy when he speaks.

"Why are you here, Charlie?" he asks. Something in his tone suggests that he's expecting me to answer with a lie, so I don't.

"I was dying," I say quietly, and feel him move so that he can look at me.

"What?"

"I was dying," I repeat, indicting the shoulder wound, "and Thor brought me here to be healed."

Again that mix of emotions passes his face. This time there's one that stands out to me; confusion. "Why?" he asks, and then backtracks when he sees the look that I give him. "I'm not saying that I'm not grateful, of course, Charlie. If you'd have died, everything would have been over for me, very quickly. I just….I don't understand why he keeps breaking Odin's rules for you. Why does he care so much?"

I look at him, and see the truth there. He actually doesn't get it. "He's not breaking the rules for me, Loki. He's breaking them for you. He cares because you do, and he knew what it would do to you if he let me die of an infection, when the cure was so easy to accomplish here."

It's another few moments before he speaks. I watch him frown, staying quiet. He'll work it out eventually. "I've been allowed to do nothing where you were concerned," he begins slowly. "I asked him to watch out for you, if he could, not expecting him to actually do it. All this time, I thought that he had been watching….someone else. But he kept his promise, and more." This last is said in a tone of utter disbelief.

"I think it's time you had a little more faith in him," I say. I know that it's a step over the line, but I take it anyway, unsure as to how he'll react.

He surprises me by nodding shallowly, but then he runs a hand through his hair and sighs loudly. "You now that come tomorrow, Odin is just going to send you home again. You think that you'll be able to convince him that he should release me any more effectively than you did last time?"

The obvious answer to that is "No", but something occurs to me then. "I think somebody else may be taking care of that."

He stares at me. "Ah, so this is that faith thing that you mentioned. What makes you so sure that he'll fare any better than you?"

I'm not sure where to begin with that one. It's just a growing thought, but I'll bet you anything you like that it was Thor that had been speaking up for Loki all this time, convincing them that he didn't need to be in a cell any more, and getting him other small freedoms granted.

"He'll get what he's asking for, because he'll be asking as you brother," I say.

He reacts as I expect him to. "He is not my brother."

I don't back away from the menace in his voice. "He knows it," I say, using the tone I usually reserve for frightened animals, "and it doesn't matter to him, Loki. To him, you are, and he'll always fight your corner."

He tries to stare me out, but he's the first to look away. "How can you be so sure of him," he mutters.

All I can do is smile. "You'll see," I say softly.

The next morning we find that I was right.

"Go, before he changes his mind," Thor says as he leads us back to Heimdall.

Between Thor and Loki few words are spoken, but the thanks that Loki gives him before his freedom is granted is heartfelt. I have high hopes for their future relationship, but I also hope that it'll be awhile before we see this place again. The Bifrost gears up, and then me, Loki and our friends are on our way home. We touch down inside the courtyard, and I watch his face closely as he takes in the sight of the castle. The building is now as battle scarred as those who live in her, but like us, she's still standing firm.

"I know that it needs some work," I say jokingly, "but it's home."

He looks at me and smiles. "Charlie," he says. "I wouldn't want to be anywhere else."

The doors open, and my people pour forth. I can tell that he's humbled by their excited reception. I find myself hoping for a quiet life from now on – we've both earnt it – but deep down I know that, with him by my side, our next adventure won't be far away. The thought makes me smile.

THE END

I've been thinking for a while now about doing a sequel, but it depends entirely on your interest. Basically, one of the portals is tampered with, sending Charlie to Earth. Lost on this strange world, and knowing that Loki now has a new, dangerous enemy to face alone on Edolie, he turns to the only people that can help him - the Avengers. Let me know what you think.

Thanks again for reading - Laura Xx