Rona slept soundly, aided by the copious amounts of honeyed mead that Thor had poured into her cup. When the morning sun finally roused her, she rolled onto her back and stretched like a well-rested cat. What she had agreed to the night before came back to her slowly, along with irritation at the smug look on Fandral's face. He had his reasons for being disdainful of Loki and she didn't fault him for that, but the fact that he seemed to have written off Rona as well, before he even knew anything about her? She couldn't stand for that. 

The others were already at the training field when she arrived, the air thick with dust, the clash of metal against metal ringing in her ears. She stood on the fringes, watching the sparring, until Thor turned her way and lifted a hand in a beckoning wave.

"I see you started without me." She smiled as she approached them, moving languidly as if out for a morning stroll. From the corner of her eye she saw Sif watching her warily.

Fandral grinned. "We were merely warming up." His gaze moved over her, his dismissive expression sparking another surge of annoyance. "We have yet to break a sweat."

Thor waved toward a pile of weapons. "Would you like to practice alone first...?"

Rona shook her head. "I'll spar. Do I get to choose my own opponent?" Thor nodded and she smiled as she turned away. "Fandral, wasn't it? Let's see if you've warmed up enough." 

Fandral bowed, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. Rona pulled two knives from the heap of weapons, running her fingers across the tips. "I hope these are blunt enough. Wouldn't want to hurt anyone."

Thor chuckled as she stepped away, moving to her right in a slow circle. Fandral began to weave in the opposite direction, his steps almost casual, barely gripping the large wooden sparring stick that he held. He obviously thought this would be an easy win. Rona smiled to herself. She suspected he was right. But not in the way he thought.

She continued to move, the knives clasped loosely in her fists. Her eyes watched his movements, noting the way he set his feet, the tension in his arms. She saw his shoulder dip and waited for his strike. When she felt the rush of the air moving past his weapon she twisted in the other direction, spinning around behind him and tapping the back of his head with the hilt of her knife. He spun toward her, face creased with a startled frown. Rona grinned.

His next move came hurriedly, almost clumsy. She countered easily with one arm, the other knife scraping across his wrist guard. As they scuffled, plumes of dirt flying up from their feet, Rona could see the warrior coming out in him. His movements began to take on a precision, an aggressiveness that surprised her. Several times they were locked together, only their weapons between them.

Fandral swung the stick startlingly fast, the edge of it glancing off her chin, jerking her head up. The training field went silent as Rona staggered backwards. When she righted herself, Fandral and the others were staring at her, waiting for her to concede, perhaps? She felt a warm dampness on her chin and raised a hand to swipe at her face, her fingers coming away stained with blood. She smiled. Then she was leaping toward Fandral, her blades flying, pushing him back. One of her knives nicked his cheek, blood trickling in a thin stream down his face. Their feet tangled and they fell to the ground in a confusion of arms and legs.

Thor lifted her off Fandral as if she were no bigger than a child. "Rona, that's enough. I think you've won." Fandral picked himself up off the dirt, blotting his cheek with his sleeve.

"Okay." She pulled herself from Thor's grasp, frowning up at him. "I think that's the first time you haven't called me Lady."

"You fight like no lady." Fandral leaned on his sparring stick, breathing heavily. He grinned as she turned her frown toward him and she wondered briefly if he meant to insult her. But she detected no mockery in him now as he appraised her once again. He straightened, sweeping a hand through his hair and dislodging a small cloud of dust. 

"Only a warrior fights like that."

                                                                                        ***

The sun had already dipped below the horizon, staining the sky crimson and coral, as Rona hurried to see Loki. She had meant to visit earlier, but after leaving the training field dusty and coated with sweat, she could think only of a cool bath and clean clothes. When she returned to her room, she'd found half a dozen exquisite dresses laid out across the bed, silk and satin glistening like jewels. Someone, likely Frigga, wanted to be sure she felt at home. 

But she had no time to linger over her new wardrobe. She knew Loki would grow restless the longer he waited for her, and unsurprisingly found him pacing his cell when she stepped through the door. He turned as she approached, perching on the edge of the table and affecting an air of indifference.

"I was beginning to think you had tired of Asgard and returned to your friends." He smiled thinly, only his eyes moving as he watched her step into the cell.

"Don't be petulant, Loki." She moved toward him, her deep red gown rustling across the floor. "I was merely getting acquainted with your friends."

"I have no friends." He frowned as she drew nearer and reached out to tilt her chin toward the light. His thumb brushed across the shallow scratch Fandral's stick had left, his face darkening. "Who did this?"

She pulled away from his grasp, a smile tugging at the edges of her mouth. "I was sparring this morning. Fandral got a shot in."

His eyes narrowed at the name. "So I see you have not tired of Asgard at all. You are blending in splendidly." He picked up a book that lay on the table beside him, flipping the pages idly. "I hope you won, at any rate."

"I did." She smiled at the memory of Fandral's words to her once he'd picked himself up from the dust.

Loki watched her for a moment, his fingers tapping softly on the cover of the book. "Yes, you seem to have become quite accomplished at fighting since the last time we met. But you were quick to learn, even then."

Rona moved closer, sliding a hand up his chest. "So you do remember some things."

"Not just some." He reached for her, pulling her against him, one hand stroking her cheek. His eyes held her with a burning intensity. "Everything, Rona. There was not one day when I did not think of you." His thumb slid across the scrape on her chin, his face tightening as a slight shudder passed over her. "I never imagined finding you so little changed."

She smiled. "I thought you said everything has changed."

His brows rose slightly. "And you said nothing." He smiled, twisting a few strands of her hair between his fingers. "I believe we may both be right. You are certainly harder than you used to be." He leaned closer, face hovering just inches away from hers. "Or is that just a shell you hide behind?"

"No thicker than the one that you wear." She watched him blink, his face moving away from her by the merest fraction. She sensed a hesitation in him, and it pained her that he still couldn't bring himself to trust her. She sighed. 

"Loki, how long will we keep going back over the same ground? I have hidden nothing from you. Ever." She raised her chin, spreading her hands. "Ask me anything you wish, and I will answer honestly, I promise you."

He moved away again, and she felt the space between them like a physical ache. He leaned back against the table, feet propped out in front of him, his eyes moving over her thoughtfully. A few long moments passed before he spoke. 

"Were you angry when you learned the truth about your father?"

Rona's eyes widened a little in surprise at the question. She could have imagined a hundred more he would ask before that one. "I was..." She shook her head. "I felt sorrowful. To know that it could have been different for us." She moved closer. "That I could have stayed with you."

He smiled bitterly. "Do you really think Odin would have allowed that? He knew what you were, and he still sent you away."

"You don't know that for certain, Loki."

"You don't know him." He straightened, face darkening with a scowl. "I wanted you, and banishing you was just one more opportunity for him to deny me what was rightfully mine."

She frowned, struck by the force of his anger, the depth of resentment that suffused his words. "He's your father, Loki..."

"He is not my father!" He stepped closer, eyes blazing. Rona felt the heat of his fury as if she stood before a roaring fire.

"But he took you in, he raised you. He must have cared for you."

He shook his head. "He cares for nothing but his own purpose." He moved forward another step, taking her face in his hands. "Believe me, Rona. Whatever reason he has for letting you stay, it is of benefit only to himself."

She smiled almost sadly. "Do you see good in anyone, Loki? Or have we all failed you so terribly?"

His eyes roamed over her face, fingers sliding across the back of her neck, sending chills down her spine. "Not all." He lowered his head to brush her lips with his own, slowly, lingeringly, pulling away with the lightest of sighs. "I have another question."

Rona's eyes were barely opened, her head tipped back against his fingers. She moaned inwardly, only wanting him not to stop kissing her. "Ask it, then."

"How many other men, Rona? All those years we were apart, how many men knew you as intimately as I have?"

She raised her head, eyes open and fixed on his. "None." She shook her head. "There has never been any other for me."

He held her gaze for a moment, as if he could read the decades they'd spent apart in the depths of her eyes. He smiled. "Then I must make sure that is one thing that does not change." 

He leaned in, mouth covering hers, tasting her as if she were a succulent morsel, a rare delicacy. Rona felt every nerve in her body vibrating, a fog of pleasure enveloping her, swallowing her, consuming her. 

She pulled back, one word escaping her in a low gasp. "Loki."

He smiled, sliding his tongue across his bottom lip as if he were still tasting her. "It's not the first time I have kissed you, Rona."

She shook her head. "No, but I don't...I don't remember it being like that."

He chuckled. "That's because I thought you were mortal. I was holding back. But I assure you that will no longer be the case." He bent closer to whisper in her ear. "Brace yourself."