The Witch and the Sorcerer

Jotunheim. One of the coldest of the Nine Realms. Where it is winter year-round, and only the strongest of creatures live. There was no vegetation to speak of, nor was there sunlight. The land was made of jagged rocks and mountains, snow, and ice. In comparison to the other realms, Jotunheim was an icy wasteland, but when the frozen shell was cracked, one could find treasures hidden beneath the surface.
A black horse, with a shaggy winter coat, and as tall as two men stood in the cold blizzard with its rider. He snorted and blinked the sharp snowflakes out of his eyes. His rider looked from side to side, seeing nothing but rocks and a storm of snow flying down from the angry black and blue clouds above. It was late in the day, though one could not tell without a keen sense of time. However, the rider knew, and he also knew that the storm was here for the night, and his quest was cut short for the day.
The horse shook his man furiously and his rider could feel the animal’s muscles twitching. The creature was cold, as was his rider. He pulled his furs tightly around him and nudged his steed in the sides with his heels. The horse snorted and began to move forward. It was time to call it a day and return to the cave he had been calling home for three days and nights. Though home in the cold, he was tired of it, and though would never verbally admit it, he wanted to be in the warmth of Asgard and eat what he pleased, not what he had to make do with. He longed for a nice soak in a bath of hot water, surrounded in the scents of Asgard’s finest fragrant oils and go to bed with a full stomach and his palace finally back in order—in it’s original splendor. Yet, he was alone in the mountains of Jotunheim in search of a measly rock that would do his dirty work for him. He was freezing and hungry, but his pride was still intact. As far as he was concerned, working to get what he wanted was quicker and easier than having men do it for him.
He looked around at his surroundings as his steed trudged through the snow, knowing exactly where to go. He had had half a mind to make the palace his own and turn it into a world all his own. Crystal replacing gold, and firelight replaced by magic. A throne made of ice. Even Jotun runes etched into the floor of the throne room. However, the prince-now-king was not raised in Jotunheim. His lineage was Frost Giant royalty, but he was raised to be king of Asgard as an Aesir. Now, he was king, and he was ruling Asgardians. They were his people. It was them he was loyal to, and he would repair the palace as it was when he was a child. However, he would fix it his way. He may have been Loki, the son of Laufey, but now he was Loki, King of Asgard, and he had responsibilities. He knew how to rule, for he had been trained for it. However, he also knew how to do great things with a sharp mind and clever illusions.
The horse, who was tired and ready to go back to the cave, snorted and yanked his head upwards. Loki was snapped from his thoughts as he looked up to see two figures race through the snow and disappear. Loki squinted, watching their forms fade into the blizzard. They were undoubtedly Frost Giants, but he found it peculiar that they were out and roaming around. He could not help but wonder what they were doing. He had a strange feeling that they were up to some kind of trouble. He could tell just by their body language, even from a distance. He feared for a fleeting moment if they had discovered his cave and ransacked it, but Loki was not foolish enough to leave traces of himself behind. Besides, the cave was carefully protected by an enchantment that could only be detected by sorcerers. It was Aesir magic, and though Frost Giants had some amount of intelligence, this magic was far beyond them.
When he could no longer see, nor hear the fleeing Frost Giants, Loki found himself curious as to what the two were up to. Had they found an edible creature? Were they hiding something? He could not resist, so, with a click of his tongue and a tap of his heels, the horse trotted forward through the snow, which was quickly becoming as thick as fine beach sand.
Loki guided the horse around a clump of large rocks and up a hill, following the quickly disappearing footprints of the Giants. On top of the hill, a figure lay in the snow. It was significantly smaller than a Frost Giant. Thinking it was an animal, Loki dismounted his horse and trudge through the snow to the figure. He tucked one hand inside his furs and gripped his dagger, in the case where the thing would attack him. However, as he grew closer, he could hear the thing cry and see it shake. It was no animal, nor was it Frost Giant. Seeing this, Loki moved faster through the snow and stood above it. The surrounding snow was melted and red, soaked in the figure’s blood. The figure had long, dark hair, wet from the snow and blood. It was a woman, skin pale as the snow, and her breathing was shallow.
Loki got down on his knees and gently rolled the woman over. He gasped when he saw her face. He thought the face was familiar, though it was contorted with agony and tears.

“Could it be?” he whispered to himself.

He gently grasped her chin, making her look at him. She blinked, and when he saw her eyes, he knew exactly who she was. As chilled as he was, he felt his blood run cold. Any other person, he would have left, or put out of their misery. Had it been a person of his realm, he may have returned them to Asgard and placed them in the hands of the palace medics, but this person was no stranger to him. It had been years, but he had ached for a reunion with this woman—he just wished it didn’t have to be like this. In a blizzard in Jotunheim, bleeding and near death.
She let out whimper and clutched her side. Blood was coating her fingers. Loki reached for his dagger and pulled it out of its hidden pocket. The dagger could have been used to kill the woman and put her out of her misery, but Loki could never bring himself to cause her harm. She was the only woman in the Nine Realms whose life he would willingly save—he just wished she didn’t have to suffer like this.

“Stay still,” he ordered.

He took the dagger and ripped open her clothing, which was not the clothing of a Jotun, nor was it Asgardian, but rather, Midgardian. The wound in her side was deep and festering, a sign of being stabbed with a diseased knife. He knew the infection was already spreading. He pressed his hand to the wound and closed his eyes, reciting a spell in a foreign and ancient language. The bleeding stopped halfway through the spell, and when the spell was completed, the wound was sealed, leaving nothing but the infected pus that oozed out of the sealing wound. Loki scraped it off with his dagger and set it on fire, killing the infection so it would not try and kill another.
The woman below him whimpered, her breathing shaky. Loki pulled her head onto his knee.

“Remain calm. You’re safe,” he said softly.

Loki whistled for his steed. The horse trotted up to him and the wounded and sick woman.

“Can you stand?” Loki asked her.

Her eyes rolled around in their sockets. She was delirious from fever. Loki gritted his teeth. Had he been foolish enough, he would have waged war on Jotunheim just for this, but he had other worries.

“Come,” was all he said to her.

Loki wrapped his arms around her and lifted her up. The woman was barely comprehensive, and Loki had to help her into the saddle. He then climbed up behind her and held her to him. He nudged the horse on, and as quickly as the creature could go, he raced her to the safety of the cave.
Inside the cave, he summoned fire and started a small campfire in the cave. He laid the woman down in a bed of furs he had been using as his bed, then covered her with the ones he had been wearing. He fed his horse, then reached into his knapsack for several corked bottles. He poured water into a pot out of a container, then poured a bit of the contents of the bottles and made a sort of tea. When it was brewed, he brought a ladle of it to the woman and made her drink it.

“Swallow,” he ordered, “It will flush impurities from your body.”

She dumbly did as she was told. Loki would not show it, but he felt anger and sadness churn into a dangerous mix and course through him. He hated the Jotuns for harming her, and seeing her too sick with fever to know how to function broke him. He gritted his teeth and tried not let his anger get the best of him as he held the ladle and the woman, making sure she drank all of the tea. When it was polished off, Loki gently helped her back down. She was sweating profusely, and it would only get worse as the tea flushed her system. He knew she was burning up, but he had to keep her warm and break her fever. It was essential for her survival.
As she fell into a fitful sleep, Loki made himself something to eat, watered his horse, then threw a blanket over the stallion before returning to the bed of furs to check on the woman. She was no longer sweating, and some color had returned to her face. However, this was not over. He knew as soon as he got what he came for, he would have to take her to Asgard as soon as possible to get the proper care.
Loki shrugged off his boots and leather jacket, then his armor and set it on a rock ledge. He proceeded to cast a heat charm over the cave, so when his fire went out, he and his company would remain comfortable throughout the night. In the morning, he would retrieve the crystal he sought, then return to Asgard and tend to the woman.
Loki slipped under the furs beside the woman and watched her as she slept, her mouth open the breathe, for her nose was too congested to breathe through. Loki furrowed his eyebrows.

“What are you doing here?” he asked out loud, knowing he would not receive an answer.

Loki sighed and laid down. As soon as he did, she rolled over curled into his side. Loki jumped and raised his arms up, unsure of what was happening. When he saw her forehead pressed into his ribs, her now cold body seeking warmth, he sighed and timidly put an arm around her. He did not know how she ended up wounded in Jotunheim, but it had been too long since he had seen her, and he was determined not to let the woman slip from his grasp again.