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Chapter Text

Loki = God of Mischief and Lies, (adopted) son of Odin, and of the race of the frost giants. In mythology, he is a sworn blood-brother of Odin who made him a god, his element being fire.

Odin = God of War and Death, etc. and king of Asgard. He created the cosmos from the remains of the first being Ymir and is therefore commonly called All-Father.

Thor = God of Thunder and the eldest son of Odin and Queen Frigga. In mythology, he is the son of Odin and Jörd, Goddess of the earth.

Frigga = Goddess of Marriage, Prophecy and Motherhood, and the wife of Odin. Her name is 'Frigg' in the mythology, and she is the mother of Baldr/Baldur. She is often used synonymously with the Vanir Goddess Freya.

Gna = Vanir Goddess of Realm-Travel and mother of Y/n. In mythology, she is the Goddess of Wind and runs errands for Frigg in other realms on her sea-treading horse Höfvarpnir.

Heimdall = The Gatekeeper of the Bifrost. In mythology, he is a son of Odin and nine mothers and of keen eyesight; known as The Watcher.

Valkyries = Maidens sent to the battlefields to choose who was worthy of a place in Valhalla. These foreboders of war rode to the battlefield on horses, wearing helmets and shields; in some accounts, they flew through the air and sea.

The Norns/Nornir = Female deities responsible for shaping the course of destiny.

Laufey = King of the frost giants of Jötunheimr and the father of Loki. In mythology, Laufey is Loki's mother.

Ymir = The first being and the ancestor to all the beings in the Nine Realms. When he slept, several other giants were conceived asexually in Ymir's hermaphroditic body. The divine brothers Odin, Vili, and Ve then slew Ymir and fashioned the cosmos from his corpse.

Tyr = often cited as the god of war in Germanic mythology. Tyr sacrificed a hand to the monstrous wolf Fenrir, allowing the wolf to be captured and chained. Ragnarök predicted the wolf or dog Garmr would kill and devour Tyr during the battle.

Bragi = traditionally known as the god of poetry and music in Norse mythology. He was famous for his wisdom and mastery of words, not to mention for having the most extensive knowledge of poems and songs in the Nine Realms.

Idun = wife of Bragi and the guardian of the magical apples that maintained the youth and vigour of the Æsir.

Einherjar = Odin's army of warriors who died on the battlefield and lead an eternal afterlife of feasts and fighting in the great hall Valhalla.

Hel = Goddess of Death and the keeper of the underworld. In mythology, she is the daughter of Loki and the giantess Angrboða. She is half corpse, half human, and lends Loki her army of the dead when Ragnarök takes place.

Fenrir/Fenris = The giant wolf prophesied to devour Odin at Ragnarök. In mythology, he is the first son of Loki and the giantess Angrboða.

Jörmungandr = The Miðgarðr-Serpent or World-Serpent, said to be so big he can encircle the world and bite his own tail. In mythology, he is the second son of Loki and the giantess Angrboða. Odin took Loki's three children by Angrboða and removed them from Asgard. The serpent was tossed into the great ocean that encircles Midgard. At Ragnarök he is prophesied to kill Thor with his venom.

II. Places

Yggdrasil = The World Tree. An enormous ash tree that connects the Nine Realms, with Asgard at its crown and Helheimr at its roots. Midgard is in the middle, whereas the remaining realms are different branches.

Asgard/Ásgarðr = Home of the Æsir gods and kingdom of the Nine Realms. It consists of twelve different regions (Jennia being the desert region).

Midgard/Miðgarðr = Earth.

Jotunheim/Jötunheimr = Realm of the frost giants. Also known as 'Útgarðr'. Here, Útgarðr is a place in Jötunheimr.

Vanaheimr = Realm of the Vanir, the other race of gods in the Nine Realms.

Valhalla = Odin's 'Hall of the Slain'. The afterlife for soldiers who died in battle.

Hel/Helheimr = The 'underworld'; final resting place of the vast majority of the dead. Oftentimes not seen as its own realm but as part of Niflheimr.

Álfheimr = Home of the Ljósálfar ('Light Elves').

Muspelheim/Múspellsheimr = A realm of fire, guarded by Surtr. Southern region of the primordial void 'Ginnungagap'. When the sparks of Muspelheims fire met with the ice of Niflheimr, the sun, moon, and stars were created.

Niflheim/Niflheimr = Translates to 'World of Mist'. Is a realm of primordial ice and cold, with the frozen rivers of Élviágar and the well of Hvergelmir from which all the rivers come. Northern region of the primordial void 'Ginnungagap'. The drops of melted ice created the primaeval being Ymir.

Niðavellir = The home of the Dvergar ('dwarves').

Svartalfheim/Svartálfaheimr = Home of the Svartálfar ('Black/Dark Elves'). Svartálfaheimr is primarily attested in the Prose Edda, written in the 13th century by Snorri Sturluson. Scholars have noted that the svartálfar appear to be synonymous with the dwarfs. As dwarfs, the home of the svartálfar could possibly be another description for Niðavellir ('dark fields'). *Footnote about this particular problem in Chapter V

Bifrost/Bifröst = The rainbow bridge connecting Earth and Asgard, guarded by Heimdall (in the MCU, it connects all the Nine Realms with Asgard).

III. Races/Peoples

Æsir/Asgardians = The Æsir gods and goddesses are seen as powerful and wise, representing the forces of life, love, strength, and death in the world. They serve as protectors of the laws of the cosmos, and their wisdom and strength guide the Norse people through their lives. The Asgardians are the people of Asgard, who are not of the race of gods.

Vanir = Group of gods associated with fertility, wisdom, and the ability to see the future. They are responsible for wealth and commerce and subordinate to the warlike Æsir.

Hero-Born = Unique race of children born from the union of an acclaimed hero (often times midgardian) and a god/goddess. Y/n is the supposed last of the hero-born, for there have not been any heroes on Midgard for over 500 years. [my own fictional invention]

Jötnar = Race of the frost giants of Jötunheimr. (sg.: Jötunn)

Dvergar = The dwarves of Niðavellir. (sg.: Dvergr) Great craftsmen, and allied to Asgard.

Ljósálfar = The light elves of Álfheimr. (sg.: Ljósálfr) Here, they are an all-female race, able to conceive children through either homosexual intercourse or heterosexual intercourse with males of a different race.

Svartálfar = The dark elves of Svartálfaheimr. (sg.: Svartálfr)

IV. Recurring Words/Phrases

Y.o.N = Year of the Nine.
Modern Asgardian Age began with Odin Borson's conquest of the Nine Realms – the year 0, so to speak. An Asgardian year cannot remotely be measured by human standards; a year does not even necessarily consist of four seasons. Oftentimes a year is a single long winter or a summer for Asgardians. Yet they eventually took up the human notion of separating a year into 12 months consisting of roundabout 30 days. Albeit for them, the perception of time is wildly different. They physically age about two years in a century, whereas hybrid offsprings age twice as fast, often three to four years a century.
The present day timeline (Thor 2011) would therefore stand for 4300 Y.o.N.

Ragnarök = The foretold cataclysmic doom of the gods and end of days. Ragnarök will be portended by a series of omens, such as a bitterly cold winter that never ends, and humankind's descent into war. Mythologically, the apocalypse will start in earnest when the children of the mighty wolf Fenrir catch and devour the sun and moon, plunging the world into darkness.

Seiðr = A certain kind of rune-related magic gifted to the Vanir goddesses by the Norns and eventually gifted by the Vanir to the Æsir as a means of peace-offering following the great Vanir-Æsir war. Gifted to women by nature, men would only achieve this power if trained by a goddess familiar with the art.

Mjölnir = Thor's mighty hammer and instrument to channel his power. Forged by dwarfs Eitri and Brokkr to gift the God of Thunder, it holds great significance to the Æsir Dvergar alliance.

Gungnir = The spear of Odin. It is known for always hitting it's mark regardless of the attacker's skill. A masterpiece of dvergar craftmanship, it holds a unique power only the All-Father can wield without consequence. The first being that was killed by this legendary spear was Ymir, the father of all things that came after himself.

Yngri Hetja = (hopefully) Icelandic and translates to junior hero/heroine. Nickname used by Loki for Y/n.

Lítið Snjókorn = Icelandic and translates to little snowflake. Nickname used by Revna for Y/n.

Kyrtill = An ancient formal norse dress.

Elskan = Icelandic and translates to darling.

Kærasta = Icelandic and translates to girlfriend/darling.

Ástin Mín = Icelandic and translates to my love.

Flétta af Hugrekki = Translates to braid of courage, which is worn by the light elves whenever they venture into battle, symbolising their courage and strength. [my own fictional invention]

Sálufélagar/Sálufélagi = Icelandic and translates to soulmates/soulmate.

Réttarhöld yfir Sálufélögum = Translates to Trial of Soulmates. [my own fictional invention]

Galdr = Old norse for Enchantment.

Vegvisir = 'Carry this sign with you and you won't get lost in storms or bad weather, even in unfamiliar surroundings' (Huld manuscript, p. 60). It translates to Wayfinder and symbolises the Nine Realms, with the meeting point in the middle representing Earth. (There's a lot of speculation and doubt about it's origin and whether it actually was a popular rune symbol used by the Vikings in their prime.)

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Author's Note:

Hello, You! How am I supposed to start something like this?
Oh well, let me start by saying that my bound and tethered soul is more than honoured to have stumbled upon you stumbling upon this little, big, dear to my heart, and so nooot at all nerve-wrecking project of mine. Basically, this so-called book has been in the works for almost two years now – it's October 6, 2023 and Loki-season-two-release-date-day for me right now – and it's my biggest, most daring project I've sent out into the world to date.
Mainly, because it's a whole a** book and not another one of those short story books I've published before.
Man, this took time, braincells, and most definitely patience (oh, and probably whatever my best friend once enjoyed about my endearing little voice memos).
Yeah, that is that.

Also, there will be a playlist on Spotify updated with a new song each chapter. All of these songs either inspired this story or gave me comfort while writing about this infuriatingly charming norse god.
I hope we'll get to enjoy this journey together, and who knows, there might as well arise some pretty entertaining conversations from the depths of all our simping hearts and minds!

Lastly, all I can say to end this is: Read and never stop reading; the secret power of the vast land of stories is... that it may one day change your life.

Chapter Text

For the soulmate who got me through this. She's gunpowder, gelatin, dynamite with a laser beam, guaranteed to blow your mind.

P.S.: I never told you this, but you shaped my Revna.

BOOK I
Sálufélagi

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P R O L O G U E

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▪︎ betrothal ▪︎

Chapter Text

▪︎ glorious purpose ▪︎

'You are going to meet the All-Father today, lítið snjókorn,' she said while she made to rid me of my silly violet-coloured nightwear. Half of her dark chocolate hair was braided back, with one particular lock shaped into something that resembled an arrow snaking itself around her head, its end magically fixed to her temple.

'If that is so, I wish to have my hair arranged just like yours. Might that be realisable for today, Revna?'

'You learn that you will meet Odin himself today and the first thing that comes to that pretty little mind of yours is how you wish to have your hair arranged?' Her voice held a deep chuckle within, a familiar sound that always succeeded at making me feel right at home.

'And now all she does is gaze at me with those bewitching little doe eyes! Norns, what extraordinary creation you have placed in our midst indeed! You truly are one of a kind, my lítið!'

'Odin is the All-Father, no? Therefore, he is family – at least in a way he is, right? And isn't meeting family, though a joyous, yet all the same a rather... ordinary occasion?' I asked her, matter-of-factly. Revna merely gave a curt nod, likely trying to puzzle together where I was heading with this.
'Then tell me, why should I feel any different than before, silly?'

I grinned up at her, and she gave my nose a tiny boop with her index finger, shaking her head in genuine amusement. 'And yet you still wish for your hair to be like mine. Which is anything but an ordinary technique, Y/n/n.'

'My hair ought to be a proper match to that kyrtill I must wear, oughtn't it?'

'It's neither considered a traditional Vanir nor Æsir hairstyle. Especially not for an encounter with the All-Father. It is worn in battle by my people – the Ljósálfar! If one were to seek a matching hair for a kyrtill such as yours, this is far from what they'd covet, my lítið.'

'It might fail to be a match in one's eyes but it most certainly is in mine, Revna. And I believe it to be just so in yours, too,' I retorted, already settled on my decision. I knew she saw the mischief gleaming in my gaze. Or maybe in the insidious grin, I can't say.

Sighing in defeat, she took a chair and pushed me gently onto it by my shoulders. A cocky smile of victory spread on my face as she began to braid that single silver lock of hair around my head. Born with it, I'd always been oddly proud of my stand of ice nestled in between all that black. That's what Revna liked to call it. Strand of ice. Which is also why I was her little snowflake...

Naturally, I was delighted then to see it displayed that way. But most of all, I felt giddy about getting to honour Revna's people by sporting this special hairstyle.
Back then, I couldn't have known that, just like the Ljósálfar, I was indeed about to march onto nothing less than a battleground.

That this day was undoubtedly meant to be a very extraordinary occasion, I, of course, had always been aware of. But back then, all I could ponder was the grandeur of the festivities – and most importantly, the feast – when gazing down all those elaborate garments fitted onto me.
My mother had raised me to become a princess of Asgard, the home realm of the All-Father and the Æsir; therefore it was crystal clear to me why the king's visit was deemed so important.
The infamous rainbow bridge Bifröst, its all-seeing guard Heimdall, and the magnificence of the royal palace of Odin Borson – all these details on the realm of the great Æsir, I had already memorised by the tender age of one hundred.

Yet, what I didn't know neither questioned was: why I was destined to become a princess of a realm that wasn't even my home; a realm that I hadn't even seen with my own eyes yet.
When I was first told, I simply didn't think much of it – my attention had been focused on my friends joyously frolicking outside in the mud. Their skin glistening from all the rain. Without me. With time passing, Asgard became just another chapter in my extensive curriculum.

I simply hadn't expected this day to arrive so soon.

The second I descended the stairs to the ballroom, my gaze gravitated towards my mother, seated between Odin – whose visage I had encountered countless times within the pages of countless books – and his wife Frigga, Goddess of marriage, prophecy, and motherhood.
Quite ironic really, to think that all three attributes of hers were to become so significantly meaningful to me in no less than half an hour later. And that for far beyond the duration of the day's festivities.

As I made my way to my mother, I felt more eyes on me than just the three pairs ahead, but I knew better than to break eye contact with the royal family.
Odin's authoritative, rich voice made sure to fill the room once I had curtseyed at the foot of the stairs.

'Y/n of Vanaheimr, Luziodóttir and last of the hero-born,' he addressed me. 'Say, do you still indulge in the studies of Midgardian cultures, just as your had mother informed me of those many moons ago?'

'Yes All-Father, I very much still do so.'

'Dear child, do enlighten us further.'

'Certainly, All-Father. I thank thee.' In order to express my gratitude for his interest in my upbringing, I went for yet another curtsey. 'My studies on Midgardian culture, especially on the European culture of my Sire, commenced half a decade ago.'

I went on to share with him my knowledge of the great Scandinavian war, in which he himself had taken part in – an heroic feat which led to the Midgardian worship of him and the Æsir race of gods. They were deities for them – all-powerful and undying. Which they weren't. But what did Midgardians know?

I had delved deep and thorough into the topic of the Crusades by then.
It was undeniable that I failed to conceal my fascination with the 11th and 12th centuries of Midgardian time counting – what the humans nowadays call the High Medieval Period.
My father's time.

Born in 1203 in Florence, Italy, to the Vanir Goddess of winds and the messenger of spirits Gná, and the Midgardian hero Luzio Auditore, I had arrived at a time of great upheaval. My father had liberated the Earth from an extraterrestrial threat amid the Crusades. He passed away when I was but thirty – as absurd as it may sound to an Midgardian – to him, I had never been more than a babe.
He had met an ordinary end, which fit the seemingly ordinary life he had led to the outside. Unfortunately, this meant that I would never be granted the gift of wandering the great halls of Valhalla alongside my father. He hadn't died a hero's death – a death on the battlegrounds.

Before him, there had not been a single hero for over two centuries. Even the preceding millennium had only seen about a handful of true heroes.
Heroes had always played a significant role in our prophecies; mine was no exception. Most of Midgard's heroes had risen in what they now call the ancient world.
Since my father, there hasn't been a hero for another eight hundred years.

I was a hero-born. But most importantly, I was, supposedly, the last of my kind.

Today, I understand the occasion of the Allfather's visit those five hundred years back. However, at the time, all I knew was what I was. Lacking any profound understanding of what it truly meant to be me.

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▪︎ sons of odin ▪︎

'It is with great pleasure that we hear of your progress as well as of the heartfelt dedication you show towards your studies on the Midgardian realm. You honour your father indeed, Y/n Luziodóttir, for his legacy appears to have found a rightful abode within this blood and these hands of yours, dear child,'

Odin's words of praise offered some solace in this rather uncomfortable situation I was in. Casting a fleeting glance towards Frigga, I inclined my head subtly, signifying acknowledgement of Odin's use of the term us.

Rule number one when in the presence of the God of Gods: regard the Queen as his equal, especially in matters such as this – matters concerning my fate.

'However, whether you can truly uphold this legacy remains to be seen, a tale yet to unfold ere all our eyes for us to witness and decipher.'

Once again, the implications for my future remained elusive but I had always been aware of the fact that each step of the way would have to be planned out delicately. Carefully.

'Now my child, we have reached a juncture in our history where fate alone shall direct the subsequent steps we are to take towards an era of great prosperity for all the Nine Realms.'

I sensed a shift in Frigga's and my mother's stance as they began to appear bigger to the eye, exuding an elevated air of significance – if that was even possible.
The consciousness of some impending announcement soon to be addressed hung thickly in the air, nearly suffocating my tiny form.

'As you must certainly have been made aware by now, are you, Y/n Luziodóttir, not only hybrid but also the last of your kind. The hero-born, known to be the offspring of goddesses and the Midgardian lineage of heroes. Naught but a handful of Midgardians are bestowed with the honour of the title hero, let alone heroine, rendering your kind an insufficient yet all the more precious one. For the hero-born are fundamentally entwined with prophecies regarding the end of our days – Ragnarök.'

My mother tried to conceal her malaise, but I had caught her palm gliding down the folds of her kyrtill – an action mirrored by my own, as I too attempted to rid it of the dampness that gradually gathered there.

'There has been a prophecy nagging at the back of our existence for over half a millennium now. You might have heard of it, though not been in the wisdom of age to comprehend it yet, ung kona.'
The All-Father's gaze shifted towards his wife and he extended his hand, beckoning the goddess to accompany him at his elevated position on the dais.

'When the ascent of the last of the hero-born doth transpire,
to forge a lineage mightier than any afore,
they shall unite with an heir to the throne of old; ensuring henceforth the lineage of the mightiest of kings.
For once more, the result of this union shall be the delay of Ragnarök,' the Queen's voice resonated through the room carrying the words of the great prophecy.

'Hence, you, my child,' she stepped closer, bridging the gap between her radiant presence and mine by placing her hand – gleaming with raw, unbridled power – upon my cheek, 'play a vital part in the preservation of our race.
'Are you aware of what this union entails, hrein stelpa?' Her tone had softened and I felt as though she addressed me alone. In a way, it gave me comfort, knowing she wished for me to fully comprehend what was expected of me.
Though Odin had made use of the term child in an exceeding frequency throughout the day, it was not a child he truly addressed, but rather the hero-born bound to safeguard his prosperous future. But the Queen? She might have actually seen me... A child about to be upended from everything she knew.

'I must be wed to a son of Odin.'

'Indeed, my dear, but you must also bear his children; grant him an heir. Do you understand that as well, Y/n?'

'I do.'

I did not. Of course, I did not.

'And when I'm of age, I shall be worthy enough to wield the mighty Mjölnir in battles of evil against gods, vanquishing them all with sheer might!' His small arms swung around his body in an arc as if he wielded an imaginary hammer for better presentation. It prompted my hand to jerk up and cover my mouth so it would stifle my giggles.

'Indeed, you shall, my prince! However, I must take leave, for 'tis most evident that the future princess of Asgard seeks to make Your Highness' acquaintance!' the guard replied, inclining his head in my direction. The blonde boy's head whirled about and his gaze landed upon my grinning face.

'Were you laughing at me, m'lady?'

'Oh! No, not at all! All I am guilty of is laughing because of you! For your enthusiasm is something quite extraordinary, I dare say.'

'You are the first to not address me as my lord or my prince. I reckon that I dare say, that your courage is something quite extraordinary!' His voice, though sweet, resounded powerfully even then, while looking not a day older than twelve.

'I did not deem it proper to address a prince of Asgard by title, seeing as I shall be anointed a honorary princess of Asgard by... Wait, what was it? Oh, right – today! Does not this make me your equal, my prince?'

'It does. It does indeed,' he stammered, 'And may I add, that I see courage as a virtue to strive for. Therefore, I perceive you as most blessed to possess it at such a tender age. You have my respect, Lady Y/n.' He bowed before me, letting his cape fall in front of his face, and then clumsily straightening back up again to readjust the red fabric at his small back (yes, he was still small back then).
Wordlessly, I stepped behind him to smoothen out the cape for him. The redness in his cheeks had harmonised perfectly with his cape.

'And now you shall have mine, Prince ... ?' I hesitated, uncertain which prince I had before me.

'Oh, Thor! Son of Odin and scion of Asgard!'

'Prince Thor. It is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance!' Giving a brief curtsy, I then met with his bright eyes once more. I couldn't help but give him a childish smile, 'Now, pray, tell me more about Mjölnir!'
His eyes lit up at the mention of the great hammer, once forged by the dwarves Sindri and Eitri, never to miss its mark.
And thus, he did as he was told.

Chapter Text

▪ a tutor or two ▪︎

1522, Asgard

Y/n

By the time I found myself lying awake in my enormous bed at four o'clock in the morning for the fourth time that week, Asgard had been my home for almost a whole month.
Struggling under the weight of the thick blanket favoured by the Æsir in seemingly every season nature has to offer, I felt a sense of suffocation.

Which is exactly why I welcomed that strange noise jolting me up and out of this dreadful bed.
Admittedly, I could have left my bed without any reason whatsoever – I'm fully aware of that – but trust me when I say, the Æsir aren't a people for equipping a nine-year-old's chambers with anything a nine-year-old ought to actually enjoy fiddling, or, Gods forbid, play with. A golden miniature statue of my mother, positioned alongside Odin, wasn't exactly the kind of toy normal people would think of first, I'd like to think.

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▪︎ tell me ▪︎

Present day, Asgard

Loki

Next to fall is Mjölnir's pedestal, even though the weapon never actually rests down here. Today is no different.
That is Thor's force of destruction.
This is mine.
I send a blast of seiðr towards the wall to my left, and three more pedestals crash onto the marbled floor. This marble may not break, however, this all-consuming noise of chaos that gradually envelopes me is nothing if not music to my ears.

In the corner of my eye, a blue light flickers distinctly, and I catch a glimpse of the Tesseract beneath all the wreckage I've just caused.
I flick my wrist once, quick and sufficient enough to send the blue cube flying across the room. I might consider taking it with me as soon as I'm done here, as a trophy perhaps, a reminder of how fickle Odin's empire truly is.

Rising my gaze from the Tesseract, my eyes travel across the last pedestal standing, the one reigning over all others from the far wall – the wall that is actually a door. Bright light shines upon it from the door's many crevices.

The Casket of Ancient Winters.

How he obtained it, my father once explained to me as follows: 'Our armies drove the Frost Giants back into the heart of their own world. The cost was great. In the end, their king fell, and the source of their power was taken from them.'
This Casket in front of me, this said source of power, it is capable of producing an infinite icy wind that can freeze whole landscapes and plunge an entire world into an ice age. Captured by his Einherjar it was then sealed in Odin's Vault, wherein it has remained to this very day.

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▪︎ get help ▪︎

1587, Asgard

Y/n

You see, Loki and I had shared minimal interactions beyond our weekly seiðr lessons, leaving me acquainted with only a fragment of his character.
Mostly he kept to himself, absorbed either in perfecting his seiðr or immersed in books within a library section I – thanks to my age – couldn't yet access.

Initially, I held hope he might join Thor and me during those scarce hours of freedom, but upon the arrival of the others he'd recline even further back into his seat. Unfazed. With his nose held high, his shoulders stiff and controlled, he would return to whichever book he was carrying around at the time.

I refrained from broaching the subject during our sessions; I was too young, and all I inferred from his behaviour was the simple wish to be left alone.
The only friend he seemed to have, and genuinely wanted to have, was his brother.
Oftentimes, when I observed from my chambers' window, the two princes were embarking on a ride out, and I could glimpse the genuine joy on their features and that good mischief in their postures.

Revna had more than once recounted instances of maids discovering their gloves filled with sticky honey and tutors having their writing utensils stolen, only to later have them reappear on the very edge of the Bifröst.

'See? Hófvarpnir doesn't seem particularly enthused about your plans either,' I muttered, attempting to mask my brittle voice underneath my snide tone.

'They are not my plans, lítið snjókorn; they are your mother's,' Revna replied while securing a saddle onto the winged white steed.

'You still haven't given me the true purpose behind Mother's decision to delegate her responsibilities onto you.'

'Are you not aware of your mother's desire for retirement so that she may devote herself more to her duties to the Vanir – our people? Ever since the tragic demise of the Lord and his sole heir... You know that your mother bears a crucial role in safeguarding the realm, lest the Lady recovers from her profound state of grief and takes up her responsibilities again.'

'And it's your duty to serve as a communicator and retrieve information concerning the well-being of the realms, I know. But how often are you to leave? And for how long? I've read that Niflheimr is more than a month's journey away!'

'My lítið, I have been granted permission by your mother solely to visit Midgard. Other attendants of Gnà and Queen Frigga will oversee the remaining realms. You must have been made aware already that only your mother and the All-Father himself have unrestricted access to travel the Nine Realms; the rest of us require their consent.'

'So your absences won't be overly prolonged, then?'

'No, lítið, I'm only required to run errands thrice a century, and I assure you I won't be away for more than two months at a time. I can assure you that, snjókorn.' Leaning down to my level, her gentle hand tucked the silver strand of hair behind my ear before resting atop my shoulder. 'I believe your mother chose me for Midgard so that I may offer you something much more tangible than a hundred books worth of lore on your father's realm ever could. Wouldn't you like that?'

Her words settled in my mind, causing my eyes to brighten instantly. All I remember is a warm embrace and a loving kiss on the top of my head before witnessing Hófvarpnir vanish into the clouds.

Her return, a mere seven days later, left me quite literally electric with nerves.

Dashing up the hill on Asgard's southern edge, colossal wings flapped so forcefully they toppled me backward, so that I landed flat on my bottom. The consequence: a tangled mess of hair atop my head.

'Y/n/n, my lítið, you appear to have gone completely mad with me gone! Haven't you?!' Revna exclaimed, a blend of hysteria and concern as she dismounted the magnificent creature, hurrying towards me.
'I thought you to be quick-witted enough to know that giant wings ought to easily harm someone as lítið as you!'

'I'm sorry, Revna,' I panted, trying to catch my breath. 'I just couldn't wait for you to tell me about your adventures over-realms!'

'Hmmm, and?' One of her eyebrows arched upwards in suspicion.
She knew me too well.

'And to see if you brought me something,' I confessed, avoiding her gaze. A melodious chuckle escaped her lips, a sound that, looking back now, reigns unparalleled at providing me such comfort.
Without lifting my gaze, I wrapped my arms around her and let out a contented sigh. Patting my hair and running her fingers through its length, her chuckle vibrated through her body, which only caused me to giggle against her belly in turn.

All of a sudden, I felt something cold slip inside my collar and down my neck, making me gasp and release Revna. With the object now dangling from her fingers before my face, Revna quipped, 'So you expected a souvenir from Midgard? Well, it seems as though... you were absolutely right about that!'

In a heartbeat, I clasped the golden object between my palms, showcasing reflexes that matched Revna's expectations.

'Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! I love it! And I adore it even more!'
As I leapt into her arms I clutched my gift tightly in my hands.
'But what exactly is it? Is it jewelry? An ornament to polish my chamber's walls? Something—to eat?'

'No, lítið snjókorn,' she said, placing my feet back on the ground, her smile tender. 'Let me tell you a story I heard on Midgard.'

Beckoning me to join her at Hófvarpnir's side settled comfortably in the warm grass, I sat beside her.
She began weaving a tale that brought the unfamiliar lands of Midgard to life in my mind so vividly that she had me captivated with just about every word she uttered...

And so, there I was: completely engrossed in the study of my gift. So much so that I failed to notice two boys approaching our small band of people. As a consequence –naturally – I didn't register the body hurtling my way either.

With a sickening thud, I collided with the ground, the weight of a person nearly suffocating me as I struggled to gather myself. Despite the impact, an odd numbness delayed any immediate sensation of pain. Thank the Norns.

In the distance, someone was calling my name, their tone filled to the brim with shock and regret, while yet another voice exclaimed something with rather an reproachful undertone.
However, none of their words' actual meaning would register.

Without fully comprehending who or what was crushing me still, I made to push the weight off – whereupon I found that the person in question was trying to help with the cause. Finally, I was freed from the distressing grip of asphyxiation.

'I'm so sorry, Y/n! He thought it would be a amusing to welcome your handmaiden back in this manner! I would never have participated in the scheme, let alone put you in harm's way, had I known you were here! Are you hurt? Feeling unwell?'

The torrent of words left my head spinning, and all I could manage was to shake my head no.
After blinking several times and adjusting my vision, I was able to identify the person kneeling in front of me as Prince Thor; a concerned Revna shadowing him. She was accompanied by guards who were in the process of pulling me back up onto my feet.

As I was gradually lifted into the air, a sharp yelp of pain escaped me, prompting the guards to gently lower me back down so they might examine me more closely for bruises.

'It's my leg! A terrible wave of pain shot through me as soon as it left the ground!' I hissed, still experiencing the lingering agony from that wave.

'I told you we mustn't do it today, Loki!' Thor exclaimed.

It was as I followed the intensity of his gaze towards a certain dark-haired Trickster, that it dawned on me that someone had in fact been responsible for this excruciating pain in the first place.
And that by transforming me into their own personal mattress!

Of course it had been Loki's idea.

Of course it had miserably backfired.

I had not only been made aware of his tendency to scheme whenever boredom struck him, but also had I witnessed it on multiple occasions too. And now, I had experienced it firsthand.

'What in Hel's name do you call this?! Deliberately harming a young maiden is far from what I'd consider an innocent scheme or prank! The saviour at that!' Revna's fury blazed, momentarily forgetting that the kneeling figures before her were Asgard's princes.

'We did not plan to harm anyone! We call it "Get Help", and every now and then we pretend one of us is injured – most times that's Loki – and then we seize the advantage to throw the other into the... the caught-off-guard guards!' Thor explained, throwing his hands expressively through the air as he once again struggled to form the right words.

The schemer in question remained silent, casting a nonchalant glance at the ground as an air of supposed indifference was plastered onto his face.
Could he truly care so little about his actions? Actions which had caused harm to another person—that person being me?
Regardless of how much he tried to deny our acquaintance, our shared seiðr sessions every Monday morning suggested that at least he didn't hold any genuine animosity towards me. Why would he? We shared too little for me to have ever properly offended him.

'And what do you have to say for yourself, my prince?' Revna addressed the youngest prince directly, crossing her arms over her chest after she'd carefully brushed off the dust from my hair.

'Well, I did suggest tossing him instead. I hate it when he does it. It's humiliating,' the prince replied.
And that was that.

'You don't feel even the slightest bit of remorse now, do you, Prince Loki?' I could hear Revna's disappointment ring through her question.

'This would not have happened had I been in charge. So, no,' he retorted matter-of-factly.
Revna sighed in defeat, preparing to rise from her kneeling position. However, before she could, Loki added, 'But I do feel responsibility and pity for Lady Y/n's injury,' his tone taut with monotony.

After pondering the sincerity of his words, Revna eventually spoke up, 'If that truly is the case, you will apologise to her in the same manner your brother just did.'

By then, a guard had already cradled me in his strong arms, careful as to my injury. Loki rose from his seated position and approached me. He met my gaze, unwavering and in earnest.

'I am sorry,' were the only words to leave his lips.

However, his steady gaze conveyed more than his apology did. There was a fleeting moment where I sensed his embarrassment, perhaps even an ounce of shame. This thing in his eyes explained his immature behaviour towards Revna – at least to me it did.
Whether those around us picked up on this too, I couldn't tell. But I had sensed some peculiar certainty in the sincerity I saw hiding behind there. Right behind the green of his eyes.
And I wondered if I was the only one who he had ever let see this far.

Spending three weeks in bed with a broken leg is the most excruciating experience an eleven-year-old could possibly endure.
Remember when I said years fly by on Asgard for the young? Well, scratch that for now: three weeks felt like three years.
Or rather, thirty.

While Thor did make occasional visits whenever he miraculously managed to persuade his father, and Revna hardly ever left my side, I still...
I felt the absence of my mother.
The inevitable boredom weighed heavily, successful in giving me homesickness.

Back home on Vanaheimr, I had girl friends, whereas on Asgard all I had were fellow students.
Except for a single friend who happened to be my age, yet who was laden with so-called princely duties.
Oh, and he was my potential future betrothed.

The girls in the palace already had their clique, if you could call it that. And as if being the new one wasn't already enough of an obstacle; I also happened to be the future wife of one of their princes – always receiving special treatment in one way or another.

On that fourth Monday of my confinement, that persistent yet gentle knock I remembered from those early weeks here on Asgard roused me from a light doze.
This time, he seemed to deem it wise to announce himself rather than risk another mishap.

'Y/n, it's Prince Lo—it's Loki. May I come in?'

A moment of awkward silence passed before I responded, 'It depends. Did your father grant you permission to visit me?'
Praying he wouldn't detect the intrigue and puzzlement his visit had stirred in me, I swallowed hard in an attempt to better control my tone.

'He didn't, but he also never sanctioned our weekly training of seiðr, did he?' he gave.
I'm quite positive he was able to hear the faint chuckle of amusement in my voice – no matter how soft it might have been – when I replied, 'I wouldn't call something that hasn't happened in three weeks weekly, you know?'

I was openly challenging him from behind the closed door, grinning proudly to myself.
I thought myself so witty back then, but I was still far from the match for him I would eventually evolve into.

'Well, I suppose I shouldn't call it training either then, since you still seem unable to heal yourself,' he remarked, brushing aside the impropriety of entering the healing room without permission and closing the door behind him.

'Hey! That's unfair! We've never attempted Healing before,' I protested, just as unfazed by his impudence as he was. I was way too focused on this challenge I so needed to win.

'A successful pupil studies and practices ahead,' he replied, lips pursed.

'But you explicitly told me not to!'

'Though I enjoy your deference towards me, it's a defect of character you ought to loose. Or do you truly believe you'd have endangered yourself while trying to heal one puny broken bone?'

'Well, since you, you know, caused the predicament I'm currently in and seem to possess such impeccable healing skills, you ought to have healed me right away. Don't you agree?' I crossed my arms and leaned back against my pillow, more than satisfied with my respone.

'"As long as it isn't one's own seiðr, healing seiðr is not to be used on younglings under the age of fourteen." Herbals and the Art of Healing Seiðr, chapter eighty-one,' he retorted, flashing his mischievous smirk. Realising that I had no proper response to offer, I turned towards the window, avoiding his gaze frevently. Child that I still was.

'Anyhow, come on now, my seiðr won't last all day,' he said suddenly, extending his hand for me to take. Resisting it, I inquired in full bewilderment, 'What seiðr? Where could you possibly expect me to go like this?!'

'Don't you trust me?' he smirked.
Did I? Perhaps a bit too much for comfort already.

He took notice of the way I struggled deciding whether or not I should risk him pulling a prank on me. So, what he did was simply reach for my hand.
The moment our skin had touched I found myself seated on damp grass, the open sky above.

'Well, it appears that my remaining seiðr managed only to get us outside your window. Looks as though I'll have to carry you to the horses.'

'Carry me? Horses? You expect me to ride with a broken leg?! Loki, what in Hel's name—!'
Swiftly taking me in his arms – although I could clearly feel seiðr tingling the hairs on my body – he shushed me.

'Not that kind of horse, yngri hetja.'

Moments later, I came to understand his meaning, as I beheld the two majestic autumn-coloured steeds, sunlight reflecting off the water droplets covering the millions of leaves the beasts were made of.

'You did this?' I asked incredulously.
He nodded.
'But how?'

'You do know what seiðr is, don't you?'

Absentmindedly, I slapped his shoulder as I marvelled at the creatures' magnificence.
'Your seiðr is spectacular, Loki!'

I could have sworn I heard  him blush – and that's not even possible.
For the first time in minutes, I turned back around to face him. 'I mean it. Thank you, Loki. For this.'

'No other solution, was there? Come now, we have some catching up to do on that seiðr of yours!'

And with that, he had seated me onto the leaf-steed, already saddling his own. One flick of his wrist and both the creatures started trotting towards his secret hideout, Loki careful to keep right behind me.

From where I sat on the bench by Loki's pond, I was only able to perform the simplest of seiðr. I was still too inexperienced not to rely on the earth beneath my feet granting me its energy.
This had, in fact, been Loki's first instruction: 'Always let your soul connect with the earth, or else it will connect with the force nearest you. And that would be crucial. In this case, crucial for me,' he'd remarked.

The mental image of him being flung into the pond by the power of my seiðr nearly made me burst into laughter; I had to bite my lip to stifle it.

Therefore, we opted for a brief session. But when I had expected him to command me back to the horses, he instead settled on the bench beside me.

'I've noticed you obsessing over some golden necklace the day I crushed you.' I couldn't help but smile at his wording. 'What was it?' he pressed.

'A gift Revna had brought me back from Midgard. I actually have it with me now. And it's most certainly not a necklace.'
When he remained silent and watchful, with arms resting atop his thighs, head propped on one hand, I took that as a sign to go on.

'Revna told me about this man she met in the so-called Holy Roman Empire. Extravagant, isn't it? It's right that the centre of a thing they call a continent, which in turn they call Europe.'
Gods, was I rambling.
'Anyhow, his name was Josef Henlein. His father crafted this piece himself.'

'And what exactly is it?' Loki cut in, always eager to unveil the magic behind the art.

'It's called a pocket watch, meant to tell one precisely the time of day.'

'But can't they tell from how far the suns are apart?' Loki inquired, scoffing.

'I believe they only have a single sun. But apart from that, Midgardians live for progress and, quite simply, convenience,' I smiled to myself, my thoughts wandering off to my own father.

'They only have twelve hours a day down on Midgard?' Loki asked, serious interest lurking behind his eyes as he further inspected the watch.

'As far as I know, they even have an additional two – twenty-four in total, if I recall correctly. This indicator here goes around and around... And I suppose the Midgardians can eventually discern whether it's dusk or dawn. After all, they've got to be clever, just like me,' I teased, trying to mimic his characteristic self-assured smirk. I expected him to roll his eyes or mock me as he almost always did.
What I didn't expect was to retrieve a sincere chuckle from those mocking lips of his. But that was exactly what I'd got.

'Anyway, the actual story is yet to be told, so would you mind shutting your biscuit-hole for now, my prince?' I quipped, shooting Loki a sideways glance. Much to most likely all of Asgard's surprise, he stayed silent.
Something inside me tumbled over something else at that, not at all unpleasant.

'Revna told me about how the man's father would disappear for weeks, lost in his world of inventions. That's why one fateful day, he realised the pain his family was in to be of his own wrongdoing – his abandonment of them. So, the skilled inventor that he was, he crafted a pocket-sized watch, a delicate symbol to keep track of time. That way he could always count the exact hours he had spent apart from his loved ones.'

I caught Loki's gaze fixed on me while I was finishing the story. 'Revna told me the man never spent more than half a day away from them ever again.'

'This pocket watch must be of great value to the storyteller. Why then did he gift it to Revna?' Loki inquired.

'I asked her the exact same question. After the man had shared this beautiful story with her, she couldn't bear to lie to him anymore than she had to as he asked about her own family. So she told him what she could without sounding too much the madwoman. He then decided that she needed the watch more than he did. And now she has passed it on to me, so I can hold her to her promise of a swift return every time she has to leave for Midgard!'
I smiled proudly to myself, though my attempt at suppressing the rising sadness within proved quite unsuccsessful.

'So you must care deeply for her then,' Loki stated matter-of-factly, his eyes still fixed on the pocket watch.

'Of course I do; she's like the sister and the father I never had!'

'Father, really?' he repeated, a bemused expression on his face.

'She couldn't be like a mother to me with my own mother still around, now could she?' I chuckled, shrugging.

'At least she has never left your side since your—since our incident.'

'Are you suggesting I ought to think less of my mother simply because she prioritises her state affairs over nursing her almost grown-up child back to health?'

Loki held my gaze for a few moments before his reply. 'Revna has never left your side these past weeks – those were my words. The others, they're entirely your own.'

All of a sudden, I had found myself at a loss for words. Utterly, utterly dumbfounded. What was it about him that made me so self-conscious?
I sighed as I redirected my focus on the ornament in my hands, trying my hardest to ignore him.

'Let's get you back to bed. Your leg needs more rest in order to heal properly, yngri hetja.'

Loki's soft palms gently squeezed my shoulder, leaving me in an even more profound state of bewilderment than before.

Who was he to refrain from probing further into the topic of my mother's absence and, moreover, to show sympathy by letting the matter pass...? Surely not the God of Mischief.

'Thank you,' was all I managed to mutter. Next thing, I was seated on my autumn-coloured horse once more.

10 pages

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Chapter Text

▪︎ of trust and tricks ▪︎

1665, Asgard

Y/n

In the 3954th Year of the Nine, and around the Midgardian year of 1665, a small uprising rose steadily in the south of Nidavellir.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

'Just so you know: I will now lay down and slumber for a moment or two. Do not dare leave without me!' Thor exclaimed from a universe far away from ours.
'Oh, yes; sure,' I replied, clearing my throat in-between.
'Why will not you join him, Loki? You do appear quite fatigued yourself,' Y/n stated, catching me yawning at the sun. 'That way I can properly bathe.' With that, she was heading in the direction of a big boulder emerging from the waters underneath a tiny waterfall at the edge of the pond.
'What do you mean by properly bathe? Like, properly?' I called after her, perplexed.
'Those were my words, yes,' she gave a short laugh. 'As to why should I not? Who can say for how long we'll be walking until we find another pond? There's water here; why not make use of it?'
I exchanged a look with Thor, who was wide awake and sitting upright in the sand. 'Come now, Loki, we shall use this slumber in order to restore the energy in our bodies so that we may carry the Lady some more later.'
'Pah! It would sure serve you right, since it was you who did ravage our every last pastry and grape!' her voice called over to us from underneath the waterfall, while letting her fingers run through the length of her dark hair.

Minutes passed, and all I could do was gaze up at the sky. 'Hey, Loki?'
I wasn't the only one struggling with falling asleep, then. 'Huh?' I replied.
'What if some wild animal tries to attack her? Ought we not make it our duty to keep watch, you know, for her safety's sake?'
'You want to look, Thor.'
'No, I do not! What makes you say that? Brother, all I care about is her safety! Besides, it seems you can't sleep either. Why is that, brother?' he taunted.
'Alright. We will keep an eye out until she's done! Just make sure to keep your eyes on the dunes!'
'Good! On three? One, two ... three!'
Immediately, I made to fix my gaze on the dunes to my right while Thor took care of the left side. About a minute had passed when I felt my eyes slowly but surely wander left, pulling my head along with them. In my peripheral vision, I was able to make out a person's silhouette against the horizon, all skin and hair, appearing to have her back to us still. But then she turned, ever so slightly. My gaze clued itself to the side of her chest, barely distinguishable, yet mesmerizing. I choked, ashamed, and had to cough violently ,and quickly forced my head back to face the dunes.
'Oh, you're awake? Struggling to fall asleep, are you?'
'Yes, we are on the lookout for any breasts—beasts! Beasts, is what I meant!' Good job, Loki, good job.
'Oh. Thank you, I guess! Although I suppose I can hold my own if some dessert mouse decides to attack me anytime soon!' One could practically hear the grin playing on her lips from the way her voice was oozing smugness. Oh, how I desired the power to wipe that grin off of those lips.

Not long after, she joined Thor and me at our little camp site, clad in a linen gown Aesir women wear beneath their festive kyrtills. 'You two ought to consider washing your gear as well. It smells like the Wolf's Pit of Ringsfjord around here,' she said as she sat down next to Thor. 'It's time for my rest now, but I've picked us some wild berries on the way here. Don't look at me like that! They grow right around that rock over there where I've put my clothes to dry.' She lay down and closed her eyes, adding, 'They're fully edible, we have them over on Vanaheimr. Eat.'
'Yes, Mother,' Thor mumbled and, in turn, received a slap on the shoulder from an already half-asleep Y/n. I smiled to myself as I plopped two berries into my mouth and made to shed most of my layers.

About half an hour must have passed before Thor and I settled back down on the ground of our campsite, fully washed and revitalized. As I sat at Y/n's feet, reaching for some more berries, Thor lay down to Y/n's left, basking in the warm sunbeams. 'Say, does she always slumber this peaceful? She appears almost to have passed in her sleep.'
'How ought I to know, you oaf? I don't usually share her bed, you know.'
'But do you wish to?' Thor teased after a moment's pause. 'She's the only maiden I ever see in your company.'
'Did it ever occur to you, dear brother, that may be because she's the one who seeks my company? I, for a fact, have no choice in the matter.'
'You, the great Loki, God of Tricks and Schemes, and no choice? I never thought I'd hear you admit to something like that,' he bellowed, a little too loud for my liking. I shot a glare his way. Still, he continued on, 'It's either you're lying, as usual, and you, in fact, do like to have her around, or your words indeed carry some truth in them.'
I took a small, mocking bow, replying, 'I am perfectly capable of speaking truthful words from time to time too, brother. Thank you for acknowledging that,' My focus shifted back to the berries in my palm.
'If that were truly to be the case, then she is the first person you allow to have the last word. Which leads me to believe in some truth in both of these options ...'

Dumbfounded, I gaped at my oaf of a brother, who had chosen that day to use his brain properly for the first time ever. I beg to differ, I was about to say when a small noise coming from Thor's right caught our attention. It had unmistakenly been a moan.
'Oh! The Lady indeed is alive after all!' Thor jested, and I shushed him. Another moan. 'What if she's having a nightmare?' I mused, eyes not dare leaving her features. 'I doubt it; it's Y/n we're talking abou—' Cut off mid-sentence by Y/n snuggling up to his torso with a shiver running over her body, Thor whirled his head around to face me, bewilderment and unease written all over his face. When yet another moan escaped her lips, it could not be mistaken that the bewilderment was quickly morphing into triumph on my brother's features.
'It appears that for her to properly rest she needs me to hold and warm her,' he said, smug. Eventually, she made yet another sound. It was a word neither of us were able to distinguish. And all of a sudden, her breath quickened; her chest was heaving vigourously, and her limbs became restless. Small moans atop small moans were now escaping her lips, and Thor grew evidently more agitated. 'We ought to wake her, do we not?'
Before I could respond, another sound had reached my ears. Only difference, this time, it was clearly audible. 'Loki. Oh, Loki,' —there it was, that siren's call. A whine in the shape of my name falling from her lips. For the second time that day, I found myself utterly dumbfounded. 'Alright, I will wake her now!'

Could it have been jealousy I was seeing adorn my brother's features? Could it?
'Y/n, it's alright; it was just a dream! You're safe! You're with me and Loki,' Thor exclaimed as he was trying to calm an bewildered Y/n back into reality.
'Oh, I didn't know where I was for a second there ... Thank you, Thor,' she mumbled and pushed a lone strand of hair out of her eyes. While watching her come back to her senses, I felt as if she avoided looking at me.
'What did you dream about? The noises you were making sure sounded agitated,' inquired Thor.
'Uhm, there was a struggle. A Jötunn, in the desert. Ironic, isn't it?' Her cheeks had reddened to a degree where I couldn't tell if they did because of the heat or something else entirely anymore.
Thor spoke up, 'You know, Mother once told me how back in the days of yore there was a legend saying our dreams are actually nothing but a window into another universe existing parallel to ours. If we were to believe in this legend, it would mean that what you've just dreamed about happened to you in another universe.' I wish I could've wiped that smug grin off of Thor's face, for he certainly didn't buy Y/n's dream story any more than I did, no matter how much of an oaf he usually is. Was it possible that I had misheard the whispers in her sleep? Little did I know that only seconds later, my brother's smugness would get eradicated by the mere turn of her head. For the first time since Thor had woken her up did her eyes fall upon my person - right when he had uttered the last word of his sentence. I can't tell you now what my reaction had been back then, for all I remember is pure perplexity taking over me. How much time had passed until she cleared her throat, stood up and announced that we ought to hunt us some dinner and just make camp here, I can't say either. As Thor and I made to follow her into the thick bushes behind the waterfall, Thor wouldn't speak even a single word - and my grin only grew broader.

The sun had just set and Thor was already sound asleep. Perhaps it was the snoring that made Y/n get up and wander off to the far edge of the pond, gazing into the water's reflections. I had let a few minutes pass until I ceased trying to fall asleep next to this wild sow in labour that was my brother. Settling to her left, I followed her gaze to the light dances on the water's surface. 'It's nothing like back home at your secret pond,' she said, keeping her eyes on the water.
'It's also your pond. The second one shares a secret, the secret is a shared one.'
Her eyes finally met with mine; I had waited for long enough. We both shared a silent smile with one another and went back to watching the waterworks in front of us. An rather icy breeze hit me, and I silently thanked the Norns we didn't venture too deep into the desert, or else we could've all frozen to death that night.
'It's cold,' I stated matter-of-factly; an awkward 'Mmm-hmm' was all she gave in turn. With a flick of my wrist, a blanket had manifested around my shoulders, warming me in an instant. I caught her attention by wrapping the fabric tightly around my torso, and her eyebrows arched in bemused confusion.
'I could conjure one for you, if you'd like,' I said, sure to add a slight smirk.
'I tell you what, you could conjure me a new outfit. As good as it is for battle, as awful it is for sleeping.'
'The linen gown was to ... summery, I suppose?'
'That's one way to put it, yes,' she chuckled warmly, and suddenly, I felt as though I wasn't in need of the blanket any longer. Another flick of my wrist, and the blanket now covered us both. Our eyes met again for another brief moment, and in order to keep the warmth enclosed between us and the blanket, she made to close the distance between our shoulders. My heartbeat sped up, and still, I was fighting any rational explanation as to why it did.
'It's not very snuggly,' she stated all of a sudden. A light chuckle escaped my lips as I replied, 'Okay.'
'Is it tablecloth?'
'No,' I exclaimed, feigning hurt pride. 'It's a blanket.'
'Well then,' she started, but simply couldn't get herself to hold my gaze and yet again averted her eyes while adding, 'thank you.'
Before I had a chance to give a reply, she had put her head down on my shoulder and let out a sigh, which felt to me as though she had been holding it in for far longer than anyone could've ever guessed.
'My pleasure.' And it was. It truly was my pleasure.

She had indeed been a force to be reckoned with, and suddenly, I realised that, in fact, I didn't despise that about her in the slightest.

Chapter Text

About a week or so earlier, the Mirror of Mycha had come up in one of our lectures on Asgardian Relics and Where to Find Them. The Mirror is an enchanted object capable of causing the person gazing into it to fall in love with the one holding it. Perhaps Lady Edda ought not to have disclosed to us its current location in her lecture...
That same day, I waited patiently for the guards at the Vault to change shifts – just for safety. Swiftly, I'd make my way into the vault by casting a cloaking spell to shield me from their watchful eyes.
Odin's Vault used to be vast and gigantic when I was no taller than my father's hip, but on this particular visit, the walls and ceiling felt like they were caging me in. The room no longer appeared as wonderous and full of glory; instead, I was instantly beset with unease.
Quick, I lunged for the mirror, and in an instant, gone again I was.

The veiled mirror in hand, I sprinted down the corridors, heading for the courtyard where I knew I would find Thor, Y/n, and Sif.
Almost bumping into Thor and, as a result, dropping the mirror. But he'd caught it just in time, then offered his help to carry it.
'And you don't even plan to inquire about what it is I'm, most suspiciously, carrying through the halls? If it's perhaps some part of my next grand scheme, no?'
'No, Loki. You see, somehow I'm convinced that the Norns are finally on my side when it comes to your mischief-making, brother,' he replied casually. 'So if you indeed plan something sinister, then perhaps you ought to reconsider your choice of day.'

Pah! Sure, brother, you wish, I thought.

Just before he could exit the halls and step into the courtyard, I hastened to say, 'You can give that back to me now, thank you,' snatched the mirror from his meaty hands and added, 'Oh, and would you please be a dear and tell Sif Odin sent for her to deliver him this mirror? I'll be here, waiting for her.'
An acknowledging grunt was all I got from him in turn. Not long after Sif entered the main hall, yet to my horror, Thor was trailing behind her like a petty dog. Such a good boy.

'Odin asked for me?'
'Yes, uhm—' I trailed off. I couldn't possibly unveil the mirror with Thor present. How could I get this damned oaf to leave?
Before I was able to say even anything at all, Thor had snatched the mirror from my hands in a single swift motion, leading the veil to slip off and fall noiselessly onto the stone floor.
'What is so special about that mirror that the two of you must carry it to father together?'
'No, Thor wait!' My plan was about to take a drastic turn for the worse. Neither Thor's jealousy – nor Y/n's, for that matter – would be triggered if Sif were to fall in love with Thor, and not me!
Had Thor been right? Could it be; were the Norns about to throw a wrench in the works of my absolutely glorious scheme?
'Loki? Thor? Are you in here? I didn't know where you were off to so I– Oh...! Thor, I uhm—'

No, no, no, no, no, I cried out – merely inside the sacred doors of my mind, not into the palace halls. Aside from a million and one different curses, my cries were doing quick work of fogging my mind in deafening waves of unspoken sound.
Y/n was gazing deeply into the mirror. By the way she failed to meet the eye of the blonde-haired oaf holding the mirror, I knew my plan had just disastrously backfired.

'Are you alright, Y/n?' Thor inquired reluctantly when Y/n's cheeks had begun to look as though they were to explode at any given moment.
'I—I—Yes, I am. Thank you for asking, Thor,' she replied, not daring to look at my brother. Thor set down the mirror and closed the distance between him and Y/n with determinded strides.
'Hey, look at me,' he said and placed his index finger underneath her chin, lifting it up. 'There's something wrong, isn't there?'
There was a short, uncomfortable pause. Sif threw me a look.
'I never knew your eyes were this—this blue...'
'What?'
'What?' Thor and I let out in unison,  utterly perplexed.
'I mean it. I've never before encountered a more beautiful set of eyes,' she went on, and, unlike earlier, now she couldn't keep from staring at him.
'And those... lips... They almost make me want to lean in and...'

Thank the Norns she did not finish that thought. I might have choked out my innards and most of my soul through my mouth if she had.
Y/n smiled sheepishly up at Thor, and finally, Thor put his palms atop her shoulders, gently yet surely forcing her a few inches away from him.
'Something is definitely wrong. This proves it,' he asserted as he struggled to free his right hand from Y/n's extremely tight grip.
'Have your hands always been this huge and... and manly?' she mumbled in a daze, focused on nothing but his meaty paws.
Wow, if all love does is turn us into brainless imbeciles, then I don't want it, I had then thought.

'It has got to be the mirror! Isn't it rather obvious that Loki stole the Mirror of Mycha from your father's vault?' Sif cried.
This irritatingly insufferable, golden-haired, second-rate shield maiden! Thor would've never remembered about the lecture if it hadn't been for her!
'Did you plan all this? Answer me!' Sif demanded, her eyes burning holes through me. If looks could kill.
'Yes. Obviously.'
'And how did you plan to reverse this mess of yours?' she was yelling now.

Oh. I hadn't thought of that yet. Perhaps I wasn't even planning on it. Perhaps it would've been great to have the golden girl of Asgard lust over me for all of eternity.
'You cannot be serious right now, Loki!' Sif exclaimed after she had failed in extracting a verbal response out of me. By then, Y/n was twirling a strand of Thor's hair around her finger, dreamily gazing up into his eyes, whilst Thor, in an awkward silence, was scratching his head and grinning back at her in measurable unease.
'I guess I'll better be searching the library for a cure then!'
'Yes, I believe you better be! Or else I must consult your father about this, my prince!' Sif's horrid voice rang painfully in my ears as I sprinted down the halls.

It was nothing if not unbearable having to hear the mocking mutilation of my royal title falling from lips other than the ones that were currently busy lusting over my brother.

You know, after wasting an entire night away sifting through a library consisting of 300 million books, you'd consider requesting a new godly title, too.
Mischief can backfire, and it can backfire hard. If you were to ask me, there's nothing quite as challenging to handle as mischief. Thunder? Please – Thor has his hammer to compensate for all that ferocious lightning. War? Tyr has armies to lead, and if we're being honest, he lets them do most of the dirty work. My personal favorite, though: Bragi, God of poetry and eloquence. The sound of it alone; pathetic! Well, I suppose words can be quite a challenge for some, indeed.
But mischief! For mischief, you must be prepared for consequences coming your way in all shapes and sizes, working malevolently to ruin the next few decades of your life.
I started to fear that's exactly what had become of this most recent little scheme of mine. And the ridiculous part? It hadn't even been that grand of a prank to begin with! How could I have let it come to this? And to let her fall for that oaf out of all the things...

Two days; three days; eleven days passed, and still, no sign of a cure. Not until I had taken to consulting my mother.
My mother is a Vanir – part of the most powerful seiðr-wielding people in the realms – she simply had to know. Books could never provide me with the same knowledge she possessed. That's why she decided to train me in the craft these many centuries ago in the first place. Because, whenever I yearned for knowledge, to confide in someone, I turned to her, not to Odin.

'Loki dear, what do you mean you've turned Y/n into a brain-dead oafette?' Frigga stopped my ramblings at one point.p
'I mean that, by letting her gaze into the Mirror of Mycha, I doomed her to fall in love with Thor – by accident; I promise! Since then she has been stuck to Thor's soles like a squished grape! You have to bring her back for me, Mother; I beg of you!'
'How did you come into possession of the Mirror of Mycha?' Mother inquired, utterly unaware of the utter seriousness of the situation, or so it seemed.
'Mother! That's nothing if not useless information! We must make haste, please!'
'Do we now? And why is that, dear? Is Y/n in pain; any discomfort?' she asked, voice calm and unwavering, and in crass contrast to mine. 'No,' I answered, 'no, but—'
'But what, Loki? Go on, do speak your mind, my child.'
I didn't. All I did was concentrate on my heaving chest, gradually ceasing its agitated movements.
'The one in pain is you, is it not so, dear?'
'I—I—' I stuttered; a sensation quite foreign to me and one never to grow on me. Irritating, vulnerable thing, that. Following this day, it would only ever happen again thrice. And each time, I was with Y/n.

Plus the Vault. With Odin.

'Don't try putting it in words yet, dear. You will come to understand soon enough.'

'It's simply—too revolting to see her like this—this devoted little puppy dog... That's not her! She's fierce and independent and glorious, not this—this— Oh, Mother, you should have seen her! Only yesterday, she was sitting outside Thor's chambers waiting there, shivering and unrelenting until he agreed to let her sleep in his bed! He then called for me, so I would cast a sleeping spell over her and let him take rest in my chambers. By the Nine! Can you believe that when I'd entered, her eyes wouldn't leave Thor's form for even just a second? Worse still, the day before that, she insisted on dressing him for his combat training – insisted! In fact, even Fandral and the others appeared to have been rather uncomfortable with the situation! And—and she plans on consulting Father about announcing an early binding ceremony; can you believe this?! With Thor! All this and not a single glance in my direction! It's—It's—'
'I understand, Loki dear. And you are right. You are,' her warm palm caressed my cheek as she went on. 'We will right these wrongs, I promise,' she said, remaining as calm as before, yet, by then, comfort was beginning to seep into me from the calm she possessed and the way she took my hands into hers. 'Come now, tell me all you've learned of the Mirror so far.'
And I did.

'So, considering all this, what would you say ought to cure a lovesick mind best, Loki?' my mother inquired eventually, having beared my blabbering for over half an hour by then.
'Making her see he's a disgusting, dopey oaf, perhaps?' I mumbled, more to myself than to her. Still, she heard.
'Loki!'
'I'm sorry, Mother. You know I don't mean it. Not all of it at least.' My glance wandered off into the distance, where it stuck to a portrait of Thor and I as young boys, lurking from behind my mother's figure.
'Yet,' she said, 'you're right, dear.'
My eyes let from our younger selves and focused again on my mother opposite me. 'What?'
'Hate; jealousy; hate caused by jealousy. Envy. Those all-consuming emotions might clear her mind from this love she believes to feel sufficiently enough for you to enter it and clear the rest of the spell from it.'
'I can't just enter her mind, Mother! It has to be you!'
'Loki, entering a mind – truly setting foot in it – is far from simple seiðr, and you know that, dear. One must know their way around a person's emotions, their essence, in order to do so. If you should fail, surely I won't succeed either.'
'But manipulating a mind doesn't require any of this! That, I know for certain!' I huffed.
'But it isn't manipulating what you shall do with her mind, now is it?'
'No, of course not... I would never.'
'Precisely. You want to fix it. And it won't be easy. But I put full confidence in your ability, Loki; it's a gift, don't you forget it, dear.'
I blushed, nodding at my mother as a sigh left my aching chest.

'So. Jealousy, huh?'

'Son, I don't like the sound of that.'

'You want me to do what?' Sif exclaimed, aghast.
'Seduce Thor. Quite simple, isn't it?' I repeated, nonchalant. 'Given how besotted he is with you and all.'
'Indeed not!' Sif retorted, steadfast.
'Indeed so. Trust me, I've known my brother for far longer than you have, blondie.'
'Cease your impudences this instant, Loki!' Sif shrieked. The way my name was rolling off her tongue in unfiltered contempt made my toes curl with disgust. 'And now, tell me precisely how you envision all of this to unfold.'
'Seeing reason now, are we?' I grinned.
'Shut up.'
'All that's required of you is to sway your hips from one side to the other a few times and entice him to your chambers. As for what you plan to do in there, I'll leave for you to decide,' I explained with a mischievous glint, one eyebrow raised in suggestive jest. 

'Ouch!' With my cool palm, I massaged the tender spot on my cheek the golden-haired had just struck. 'What was that for?'
No response given. Naturally, I knew what it had been for. The stinging only made me grin the more. I had won whenever they resorted to violence; always.

'So will you do it?'
I had her.
'No.'
Beg your pardon?
'It's your duty to right these wrongs; I refuse to humiliate myself solely for you trying to keep your beloved from the arms of your brother—'
'She isn't—'
'—the arms you opened for her in the first place, Loki.'
I felt the rage brewing from the pit of my stomach. 'Very well,' I hissed through gritted teeth. 
Had she known me longer, she might have had experienced a certain, nagging inkling – as Y/n once put it – that she wouldn't be getting away with this.
As to how I managed into her chambers, I will say as much: A certain oafy friend of mine once got his father to agree to lending him a spare key, just in case the maiden might ever be in need of rescuing from - gods beware - any nightly intruder. Pathetic, really. Just because her chambers are situated at the ground floor did not mean anyone with criminal intent wouldn't succeed reaching any of the windows above. For the love of Valhalla, we are all gods here!
Anyhow, all I had to do was retrieve said key from the oaf's own chambers – an effortless endeavour, if I dare say so myself.
As I was close to completing with my task, for the first and only time in twenty minutes, Sif stirred in her sleep, causing me to stumble backwards and collide with the mirror on the wall. Mirrors, truly detestable.
A deafening, wall-rattling scream reverberated past and around my ears. Then and there, I vowed never to be the cause of another one of those ever again.

My ears still ringing and vision still blurry, she began her assault.
'What are you doing in here?! I'm a Lady; you cannot simply barge into my chambers at whim! What did you intend to do to me?! I shall send for the guards immediately! No, better, the All-Father! You—' her rant abruptly ceased. Shaking my head lightly so my vision would return to me, I glanced up at her. She was standing a mere two feet from me, towering over me like the great Níðhöggr herself, teeth flashed and all.
Yet, instead of fixing her death glare at me, her vacant eyes bore into something behind me. Knowing what she must be seeing before her very eyes, I flicked my wrist once and vanished from the room.
I stood in the middle of the palace's gardens; more or less right outside Sif's door. In retrospect, my seiðr might have been a little off at that time. Hormones, I suppose.
I hadn't been the only one out there, of course. Nearly the whole of the household must have woken from that dreadful scream, and to be honest, I was surprised we didn't witness the likes of a second one.
Odin, Mother, Revna, Thor, Fandral, Volstagg, Hugin, some of the other Æsir, and Y/n all stood at the gate. Perplexity and unease etched into almost all of their faces.
As I took a better look at the assembly, I also took notice of Y/n's hand leisurely lying in Thor's.
Whilst keeping myself from audibly retching, Sif had exited her chambers.

'You.'

'Sif.' My tone was benign, gentle yet collected.

Her hair didn't shine golden any longer. Standing before me now was a brunette. The admittedly rather big chunk of hair I had cut in hand, she advanced on me.
'You conniving, craven, pathetic worm. You did this!'
'I—I couldn't have known!'

*smack*

A gasp emerged from the crowd behind me, quickly swallowed by bemused chuckles and snickers.
I've always despised this band of low-life half-wits.
'I hope you know you deserve to be alone and you always will be,' she spat.
'After all we've been through? How inconsiderate.'
Next thing, a sharp pain shot through my groin, and I sank to my knees. 'Some punishment!' I groaned as I, under considerable agony, regained my footing.
'It was just—' I flipped my hair back and straightened my garments, 'a bit of fun.'
I cast a fleeting glance back at the crowd. Fandral and the others were whispering to each other at which Thor gave Fandral a shove. I didn't want to know what in Hel's name they had been bickering about; unfortunately, I was bound to find out soon enough.
Before I turned and strode off towards the gardens, I caught sight of Y/n's hand letting my brother's fall.
I thought nothing of it.

A few minutes had passed, and I was just letting my gaze travel over the blossoming flowers underneath the full moon when Thor was trotting up to me. Acknowledging him with a nod, we walked together in silence for a few more, long seconds. Eventually, he spoke up, 'I believe the spell to have subsided.'
Irritated, I in turn, asked him, 'Whatever is it you mean?'
'The infatuation spell you have cast on Y/n, dolt.' He smiled weakly, giving my shoulder a nudge.
'But– I– Sif didn't—'
'Whatever you did, it worked, brother,' he said as he gave me a pat on the shoulder. Relief was washing over me. But still, something wasn't right.
'Why does it feel like you aren't in a state of rejoicing?'
'What? Oh, uhm—well,' Thor stuttered.
'Well?'
'You see, it's that she... I suppose she has grown on me. Not that I didn't absolutely adore her before – it's not that – it's just that I—'
His discomfort was visible in the way my usually boisterous brother had slumped into himself. 

'Oh no, you did not!'
At that, Thor's eyes had shot up to look at me, bewilderment written plainly on his flushed face. 'You fell for her too,' I stated, dared to.
'She never actually fell for me, though! It was but an enchantment.'
I know, I thought. It wasn't her I'd referred to.
'But it's probably for the best. For it is sure to grant me the chance to get my head straight, and all that.'
'Sure, sure,' I murmured, nodding in fake agreement with my stare fixed to the grass at my feet. We ventured deeper into the gardens.

Thor spoke up at one point, 'You wish to know what Fandral said about you and the Lady Sif?'
'No.'
'Okay, well, he claimed for you and her to have... you know. You know.' Thor made an awkward gesture even the Dvergar would've been able to understand.
'Which is supposedly why you had visited her chambers this late in the first place. Oh, and that you took some of her hair as a trophy as well.'
'So, that's his impression of me, huh?'
'I know! The Lady Sif would never.' I shot him a glare. 'And I suppose you wouldn't either!' he added hastily.
'But let's not dwell on that,' he clapped a hard hand on my shoulder, unaware of my apathy towards him continuing with his tale.
'Just as Fandral was speaking his mind on the matter, Y/n let go of my hand and shot him the very same glare you were just shooting me. She was back to normal then. If not, she would've never taken such an interest in their conversation as she did. When Sif came walking up to us, Y/n simply left. Just like that, without so much as another word! That's when I knew without a doubt that the spell had been broken. You know, since she hadn't left my side for nearly two weeks by then.' He shrugged his shoulders.

I struggled to process my brother's words, and when his gaze turned to me, all I did was shrug my shoulders too.

The remainder of that day had slipped away in a blur while I failed in my attempts to fathom, with my still rather limited amount of wisdom, how I had managed to break the curse. Oh yes, it had been a curse; no one may tell me otherwise.
The next morning, I made haste to set out for our pond. I was in serious need to clear my head. Also, I needed to practice my counter jinxes. In our latest session, Y/n had achieved the ultimate triumph of besting me with my own spells! I couldn't let that happen again anytime soon.
So, there I was, engrossed in minding my own business stunning the dummy I had conjured to attack me, when suddenly, I was thrown sailing through the air.
'Ahhh!' I exclaimed when I was about to plunge head first into the pond. To my horror, yet not to my surprise, Y/n stood there, staring back at me when I resurfaced – no one but her could have jinxed me, catching me unaware of her presence even as she approached.

Fury was blazing wildly behind her y/e/c eyes.
'You did this!' she roared.
I offered no reply, just stared at her in shocked bewilderment as I made my way out of the pond. I was soaked. Naturally.
'Don't pretend not to know what I'm saying! It's been you carrying that blasted mirror around all of Asgard! You jinxed me to fall in love with Thor! Admit it!'
Never before had I witnessed such fury in her – in the way every muscle in her body pulsed with it.
However, I couldn't grant her the peace of speaking the words she wished to hear from me.
'But I didn't. Not deliberately, that is.'
'Ugh, spare me your riddles! Whatever is it you mean, Trickster?' By the way she had spat out that last word in pure disdain, I knew she was to take no further nonsense from me today. 

''twas the Lady Sif who had initially been my target. She was supposed to adore me – fall to her knees and kiss my feet before Thor's very eyes! All it was meant to be was just a bit of fun.'

There was a surge of power ripping at my skin, and with a loud crash, her seiðr had thrust me against the weeping willow behind us. A blink, and she's inches from me. Lodged between the bark and her elbow at my throat, it was then that I took notice of the bejeweled dagger in her hand.
The suns reflected itself in the sharpened silver and I wondered whether she had ever put it to use before. And if not, if I were to receive the honour of becoming the first to paint it red.
She wouldn't dare. Would she? Should she?

'Fun?! I had to endure this miserable state for days!' she cried out, exasperated. I, on the other hand, remained silent, gazing off into the forest, unwilling to let her see the shame etched into my face.
'And instead of finding a cure to rid me of this—this blasted curse... You—you just strut off and bed her! All so that you may still get to torment Thor! What has he ever done to you to deserve this? What has Sif ever done to you to deserve what you've done to her?' she roared. There was a pause.
'What have I ever done to you to deserve this?'
'I told you, it wasn't meant for you!'
'It isn't the love spell I speak of.'
There was another pause. It wasn't often that I found myself at a loss for words, unfortunately, back then, I was.
'This time,' she used her seiðr to pull me towards her, her voice cooling to a horrifying degree, 'you've gone too far.' I wouldn't meet her eyes, so she forced me; the dagger buried itself in the bark, so close to my face that I feared the splinters flying might so much as blind me.
With my eyelids pressed shut, she flicked her wrist once. My eyes were being forced back open. The power to bore her death glare into my pupils now being at her disposal, she seemed determined to leave internal scars.
'You've hurt more than one person today; that, I want you to know.'

Eventually, my seiðr triumphed over hers, and I fixed my eyes on the glittering pond behind her. I simply couldn't bear to see the hatred smouldering behind the eyes I so adored. Shame was starting to overwhelm me to a point where I wouldn't let myself process her words. However, what she read from this behaviour, I soon came to realise, was indifference. And, with that, I was damned.
'I see, I see...' she hissed, her eyes dropping to the ground as she appeared to be mentally arranging her next words. 'Getting the girl and the brother's humiliation. Classic Loki.'

There was a short pause, for I was struggling to find the right words myself. Around her I felt as though I didn't know myself.
Her seiðr pushing and pulling at my muscles had fully ceased by then, giving up.
Then, my lips failed to beat hers by mere moments – one of the things I regret most in my entire millenia-long life.
'It's what you do, isn't it? All you will ever prioritise is your entertainment, your reputation as the God of Mischief. And you simply do not care whoever gets caught in your whirlwind of chaos. I hope you're aware that what you seek is chaos, not mischief, Loki. And in case you didn't already know: chaos destroys things.'

My gaze flicked over to where she had been standing before me, now desperate to meet hers, but I was confronted only with the fading, pale green of the weeping willow and a thin veil of pale violet, fading fast.
She had gone.
And it would be twelve years of dreaming of her forgiveness.

Chapter Text

Colours. So many colours. And noise. That's wind.
Norns, it's too much.
Sharp pain in my shoulder. Blonde hair. A hand gripping mine. With. So. Much. Force.

'Y/n! Hold on tight!' says Thor's voice. No, screams.
A crash. I... I crashed... Oh, so, so much pain.
It's solid ground I feel beneath me. For how long have we been falling? Thirty minutes? Three? Less? More? Time is blurred.
Ugh, my chest. That has got to be the worst pain.

Come on now! Why won't they focus? I feel the urge to scream from the utter desperation to see. The worst mortal punishment of all must be blindness, for this is excruciating.

Thor! Thor was with me, wasn't he?

'Thor!' I call out. Or did I?

Gods, my eyes hurt; I'm blinking my eyelids to shreds.

Suddenly, the colours fade; my vision must have cleared, yet everything is drenched in darkness. This is far from an improvement.

Tiny glittering dots. They won't move, even not so when I blink.

Is it ... night? A starry sky? Oh, Odin, please let it be a starry sky I see and not my irrevocable reality.

'Whoa. Does he need CPR? Because I totally know CPR.'

A voice? It appears that I must have been concentrating on my sight excessively to fully block out any noise around. And I must admit: my ears are still buzzing - but a voice had cut through, of that much I'm certain.

If I could just turn my head - or even move at all - I would be so much the wiser!

'Ugh,' drawls a male voice only a short distance away from me.
Thor. Thor! Thor, are you okay?!

'T-Thor ... are you-' I am physically unable to finish my inquiry and, once again, I want to scream in nothing but utter frustration.
Suddenly, a commotion. Right next to me. Shuffling of feet.

'Hammer! Hammer!' Thor's voice again.
'Yeah, we can tell you're hammered,' that other voice answers.
'Y/n? Where are you!' I want to crane my neck so I can see him - so he can see me. But I am physically unable to.
'You mean her? She's here. I think your friend is over here. Unconscious, though,' says a male voice, near, and it's not Thor's.
'Oh my God, Erik! Look at this-' Another voice. But hers is drowned out for Thor is once more calling out my name - this time, an anxious edge to it.
I sense his warmth close to me, calming me.

He's here. He's with me.

'Y/n, Y/n, look at me! Are you-'
I try and do as he tells me, and his sentence gets cut off by a short yet sharp cry filling the space between us.

'Jane, we should get them to the hospital—'

'You! What realm is this? Álfheimr? Nornheim?'

'Thor ...' I groan. I attempt opening my eyes, and I succeed – and this time, there's light.
Yet, before I can take anything in, a figure is advancing with quick, huge steps. Thor's face is in front of mine, and my vision clears once and for all. Still, I blink a few more times so I might defeat this terrible throbbing behind my eyes.

'Y/n! By Odin, you're awake!' Thor exclaims, overjoyed and apparently much relieved.
'Yeah. Wh-where are we?' I squint, taking in my surroundings - and its people.
'Who are they?'
'They are Midgardians. This is—'
'They are WHAT?!'

No. This cannot be. It simply cannot. We are not even allowed to visit Midgard;  only my mother and his father are. Revna was.
No, no, no.

Yes... The bifröst. Loki. Odin's spear. The void.
Yes.

'We're on Midgard,' I think, which is a lie because I said it. To myself. Or to Thor. It doesn't matter, really.
We. Are. On. Midgard.

'Yes. Heimdall appears unable to hear us. And Mjölnir won't come to me. We-'
'How long?' I ask, cutting him off. Thor throws me a confused, disconcerted look.
'How long was I gone?'
'Oh. Almost for half the day, I reckon,' Thor turns his head to face the still to me unknown people, who are watching the scene before them with wide and curious eyes. 'No?'

'Yeah, yeah. That's about it,' mumbles the girl with the dark hair and glasses hastily. All the others do is nod and shrug, seemingly overwhelmed by the situation.
I draw in a deep breath, pushing myself up on my elbows to try and maneuver into a sitting position. Halfway there, Thor comes to my aid.
His touch overwhelms me in multiple ways impossible for me to explain, and everything starts to crush in on me.
'Loki he–by the Norns, he–he– he did this to you! To us! He—'

'Shh, shh, it's okay. We're okay,' he reassures me, then turns to face the Midgardians. 'I would be more than grateful if you were to grant the Lady Y/n and I privacy.'
His voice is soft yet firm, revealing a newfound authority that succeeds at surprising me.
The three of them nod hastily, rushing to exit the space, so only Thor and I are to remain.
He doesn't speak, prompting me to do so in his stead.
'What was it he said to you? What was it you said to him that could lead to– to this?!'
'How much did you hear?' he asks of me, refusing to meet my eyes.
'Well, I was wandering along the shore, trying to clear my head - to find the right words to say to him after ... after the ceremony. And then suddenly, I see this flicker of green spread across the horizon, and I wonder whether I ought to set out and search for him. I've seen traces of his seiðr no one else could on many occasions before, but all it ever lead to was ... chaos.
'When I called for my horse I heard the deafening crash coming from the Bifröst, and- and,' I stutter, my lips trembling as the gravity of the situation threatens to overwhelm me once more.

'Loki had driven the spear into the floor,' Thor says, his voice barely a whisper. 'Only my hammer or Odin's spear hold the power to break that marble. Loki is in possession of Gungnir.'
Thor's words only serve to further deepen my unease as he explains to me that Loki is in possession of the most formidable device the Gods had ever had at their disposal - and the fact that he could wield it. I had recognised the weapon in his hands the moment I laid eyes on him, yet saying it out loud made all of this so much worse.

'I see ... Well,' I clear my throat of the dryness and of the weight pressing down on my consciousness.
'As you might have already guessed, I then made my way to the Bifröst. And I heard Loki's faint voice echo as I was nearing the gates.' I struggle to continue, cautiously repeating the words Loki's voice had painfully etched into my mind.
'He- he said that he ought to have known. Ought to have known that you've always desired me, and now that I was to be yours, I was finally free for you to take, and- and-'
My voice betrays me again, feeding on the hurt and aggravation rising within as I recall the menace Loki's words had held.
He had declared me nothing more than an object - to be taken at whim whenever the Norns or the All-Father pronounced me free for the taking.

Slowly but surely, anger overpowers the hurt and despair gnawing at my core.
Curtly, I finish, 'I believe you're familiar with the rest.'

Thor reaches out and delicately brushes the silver strand of hair behind my ear. The fleeting moment of comfort is swiftly replaced by the painful realisation that Loki would have done the exact opposite.
Whenever he means to console me, he takes to fiddling the lock of hair between his fingers, and when he lets go, places it so that it frames my face perfectly. Every touch tender and sweet and benign.
Vivdly I remember the day he had woven my silver hair into this neat, arrow-shaped braid, fastening it around my head with fingers as light and gentle as feathers - the way it had graced my head the first day we met. The light-elves' braid of courage.
Oh, how I wish I was in possession of that courage now.

My finger brushes away a single tear clinging to my eyelashes, and I clear my throat. Straightening my posture, I don't look at Thor as I say, 'We ought to call these people back in. This is their home, and I shall express my gratitude for the hospitality they have shown to me as I am no more than a stranger.'
In the corner of my eye, I catch Thor's irritated expression. 'As are you, by the way,' I add. 'I presume you've forgotten to do so?'
From the silence filling the room I can easily deduce the answer.

'Please, call them back in, Thor.'
And so he does, and with measured steps, they re-enter.

'I'm terribly sorry. I am Y/n Luziodóttir of Vanaheimr and Midgard. I must thank you for your selfless hospitality. These are your lodgings, yes?'
'Y-yes,' responds the second girl. 'And that's no problem at all.'
'T'was the best we could do after having run the two of you over twice ...' adds the mumbling girl next to her.
'Wha- ran us over? How? When? With what?' I stammer out. Gods, this is too much for just two minutes of being awake.
'Well, the first time when you fell from the sky and you landed on our hood. And then, after big guy over there had broken the two of you out of hospital.'
'Bad place,' Thor interjects. 'Tried to confine a son of Odin with puny bindings and clad in nothing but a mockery of a gown.'
'A bad place? Thor, a hospital is a place where humans tend to their wounded. And you broke us out of it?!'
'I- I couldn't have known ...' he murmurs shamefully.
'You should have seen him carry you out of there. His muscles were all bulgy-like, and he was stumbling from all the drugs they gave him. He must really love you, that's for sure,' the spectacled girl blurts out - far from mumbling now.
I try to meet Thor's eyes, but he only averts them and clears his throat.
'She's weak. These human forms need sustenance.'

The girl in whose lodgings we had stayed in - Jane, she had told me while holding open the door to her vehicle for me - proposed driving us to a place called a diner. I had read about them before, yet I never expected them to serve food this savoury. But perhaps it was only my now fully mortal body, deprived of any energy. Darcy - the once-mumbling girl with spectacles - swore that diners were "the best thing that's come out of human inventing, like ever. Oh, and cell phones, I suppose. Say cheese!" And then she held a small device right in front of my face, doing what only the Norns know what with it. Nevertheless, I found myself growing fond of her.

My head still fuzzy, I am only semi-able to engage in any actual conversation. I drown out most of what Thor, Jane, Darcy and the older, watchful, skeptical man called Erik Selvig, converse in as I eagerly devour my food.

'This drink, I like it,' Thor pronounces to my right, my ears alert as I anticipate what's to come next. Before I can intervene, he exclaims, 'Another!' and smashes his goblet to the floor. It shatters, and all the heads in the diner whirl around to stare at Thor.
'Thor, you shan't do this here! It's actually regarded as quite rude-' my sentence trails off as I join Jane in tidying up the mess. I sense Erik Selvig's eyes bore into the back of my head.
'I meant no disrespect,' says Thor, and Jane sighs.
'Alright. Well, just no more smashing. Deal?' she replies, visibly irritated.
'You have my word.'
I take in a deep breath and return back to the feast before me, and Thor is quick to follow my example. Shortly after, some men enter, and apart from a quick glance at them I don't regard them further - still too focused on ridding me of the dreadful ache in my head by filling my body with nutrients.

'They're saying some kind of satellite landed out in the desert.'

'Yeah. We were having a good time with it. Until the feds showed up.'

'Excuse me. Did you say there was a satellite crash?'

'Yeah.'

'What did it look like, the satellite?'

'I don't know anything about satellites, but it was heavy. I mean, nobody could lift it.'

All of a sudden, Thor pushes his chair back, approaches the two men, and grabs one by the shoulder. 'Which way?' he huffs.
'Fifty miles west of here,' the man answers. Without another word, Thor returns back to our table, gently pulls me up by my upper arm, and drags me out the door.
'Wait, what- Thor!'
'Well, I wouldn't waste my time,' the man's voice echoes from behind us. 'Looked like the whole army was coming when we left!'
'Where are we even going? Thor, cease your games! Explain, now!' I yank my arm free from his grasp. He turns to face me as I perceive the sound of footsteps hurrying after us.
'Why ought I? Didn't you hear, Y/n/n?'
Irritated, I shake my head, replying, 'Well, no. I'm still a bit- Ugh, it matters not! Speak.'
'These men spoke of Mjölnir! They mentioned a place fifty miles west from here and an object which they could not lift. We will go there.'

'You just intend to go in there and take it? The government seems to think it's theirs, you know?' Jane scoffs over my shoulder.
'If you take us there now, I'll tell you everything you wish to know,' Thor proposes, looking at Jane imploringly, a smile playing on his plump lips.
'Everything?'
Before he answers, Thor meets my gaze, and I nod.
'Yes. All the answers you seek will be yours once I reclaim Mjölnir.'
'Myeu-muh? What's Myeu-muh?' Darcy interjects from the sides, but her companions all but ignore her.

Dean would've come to our aid, I think. But Thor has never heard of Dean, and no one has ever heard of Dean, and I successfully banish the name from my consciousness - as I should.

'Then this is where we say goodbye,' says Thor, a smile still playing on his lips.
What, h-how?
He lifts Jane's hand to his lips. Jane giggles; I just stare with my jaw hanging loose. Darcy sets her forefinger beneath my chin and closes my gaping mouth, whispering, 'He's yours, huh? Should've known. The hot ones are always taken.' And she shrugs. Instead of giving her a reply, her words manage to tug at my heartstrings, and I remain silent. I don't want to cry, so I simply clear my throat and tug on Thor's arm.
'Don't you go thinking I will conjure up a horse or anything of the like! My seiðr still hasnt't returned to its former strength.'
He glances down at me, gives me the same stupid smile, and returns his attention to the others. 'Jane Foster, Erik Selvig, Darcy, farewell.'
Selvig faces me. I believe he has caught the emotions bubbling beneath my skin, given how he awkwardly clears his throat. 'All right. Back to work.'
And the two women turn to follow him back inside.

A hand grips mine, and I'm once again being dragged from the scene.
'Hey!' I yank my hand free once more. 'Stop that, will you!'
Thor inclines his head, silently apologising.
'How do you suppose we get to Mjölnir now, Thor? Lacking any aid of the Midgardians! I may have read about cars, but I sure as Hel do not know how to get one to move!' I cry out in exasperation.
For the first time in minutes I see a flicker of uncertainty flash across Thor's features, and without answering me - again - he takes to scanning his surroundings. Concentrated, he does not take notice of how my glare aims to burn holes through his thick skin.
Then, he just strids off, chest puffed out, a determined expression plastered onto his features. 'Hey! - Oh by the Norns, Thor!'

Further down the road, he pushes open a door and waltzes in, exclaiming briskly, 'I need a horse!'
I glance up at the sign adorning the outer wall of the building. It reads Pet Palace. I decide to wait for him here - Surely I won't be sharing this embarrassment with him.
A large beast of a car halts right at my side and I jump.
'Hey, you still need a lift?'
Jane's warm smile is beaming down on me, and all I feel is a massive pang of relief.
'You're sent by the Norns, Jane! Thor was just about to mount a dog into the desert!'
Before I even get to finish my speech, the Aesir in question appears at my side. And then we mount the vehicle.

'That's no satellite crash! They would've hauled the wreckage away; they wouldn't have built a city around it,' Jane declares, lying flat on her stomach on the ground before me and Thor. Binoculars rest on her nose - a device, as she's explained to us, used for spying things too distant for the naked human eye to see. I'm still silently cursing myself for my seiðr, which stubbornly refuses to return to me. In the car, I had tried at creating little fireworks in my palms - a trick Loki had once performed for me when I needed it most. Yet I failed to succeed, and all I am left with now is a tear dangling from my eyelashes at the memory.

I ought to curse him, not myself.

'Stay here,' Thor instructs Jane. 'I will return the items they've stolen from you. Deal?'
Some vile organisation called S.H.I.E.L.D had stolen her belongings and all of her work, as Jane had explained to us while in her car. And those people were also the ones guarding Mjölnir.
'No,' Jane retorts. 'Look what's down there. You think you're just gonna walk in, grab our stuff, and then walk out?'
'No. He's going to fly out,' I blurt from behind them, already picturing the scene. Only then do I realise how strange that must have sounded to Jane's Midgardian understanding. Yet, Thor seems far from this comprehension and throws me a large grin, nodding. 'Exactly.'
Jane doesn't say another word. All she does is stare after him as he strides off towards the secured area ahead. Before I descend the hill after him, I brush her shoulder reassuringly - at least I hope that what it did was reassure her.

At the foot of the hill, I reach for his hand. 'Thor. Wait. You will be alone in there. I ought not try and aid you while I'm this weakened; all I would is hinder you.'
He puts a hand on my cheek, looking deep into my eyes. 'You are worth more than the power of your seiðr, Y/n/n. But if it's your wish, then my wish for you is to return to the Lady Jane. There, you will be safest.'
'I-' struggling to find the words, I sense his enthusiasm starting to unsettle me. Before I know it, he has pressed a kiss to my forehead and is off.
While I watch him slip behind the white veil, immediately caught and pursued by men in black, my common sense fights an inner battle with my fear for him. Decided, I focus on my seiðr, certain to find it slumbering somewhere deep within.

'Now, all you have to do is exhale. Exhale everything but air!'

Loki's words from centuries past echo and reverberate through my mind.

'Imagine, yngri hetja. Exhale the pull.'

And just like I did back then, I do as he says now. This time, fireworks do erupt in my palms. Before anyone can catch my violet sparks, I flick my wrist in a swift and smooth motion, and my vision blurs at the edges. Looking through what appears to the eye a veil of nothingness, I know myself to be invisible to others.
A commotion to my right forces my attention towards an important-looking man in a suit ascending some metal steps, and I advance on him.

It worked. I gaze down at the mud-covered ground beneath. The space resembles a colosseum of sorts - an ancient Midgardian arena of old I had once read about in books. In the middle, on a makeshift pedastal, rests Mjölnir, as though carved into stone.
Thor is tiny from where I stand next to a man sporting a bow and arrow, its tip pointed at my blonde god.
So he does have a good shot at Thor, indeed.

I remain calm; if it comes to it, I will be able to prevent the archer's attempt.

The rain has my hair soaked already, and a waterfall of droplets drip from the arrow tip. Thor advances on his hammer at a leisurely pace and my breath quickens.
'Last chance, sir,' the archer says, and for a split second I think he addressed me.
I ready myself to fight off any attack the archer might let loose. Yet, several times I glance down to where Thor now stands before his mighty weapon, gazing at it longingly. Slowly, he extends his hand towards the short handle sticking out, as though waiting for its master to retrieve it.
His fingers enclosed around it, Thor flexes his muscles, and when he attempts to lift Mjönir off its muddied stone pedastal, he fails.
Irritation etched in his features, he propels his feet further apart and places both hands on the handle, giving his next attempt more effort. But Mjölnir remains rooted in the mud. Straining and groaning, Thor eventually ceases the grip he has on the hammer, and throws his head back. He stares up at the sky. I know he isn't looking at me, and neither is he searching for me. He isn't even aware of my being here.

The roar that erupts from his throat manages to produce a shudder running through my already trembling body. It is agonising in the way it is raw and unfiltered, aimed to reach the ears of one who is dearest to him. The one who has banished him here on this, to him, alien realm.
Now that he is deemed unworthy of wielding Mjölnir, we are not only incapable of returning home, but the realisation must have also dawned on Thor that he has lost his brother in more than one way today.
Nothing will ever be the same again, and only then do I realise that I'm on the verge of collapsing.
My breathing is no longer mine to control, and my consciousness struggles to keep up my seiðr. If the veil slips, the archer will shoot me - and somehow I just know that he has never missed a target before.

On the ground, Thor's knees have hit the mud, and his head hangs low.
The gladiator has been defeated - what follows is the killing blow. But it won't come.

'Alright, show's over. Ground units, move in.'
The archer lowers his bow, and as my bewildered gaze leaves his form I see guards grabbing hold of Thor below us.
No, no, no. I need to stun them; freeze them; anything. But my seiðr won't listen. It still trembles inside of me, even though my body has ceased to do so.
I watch them remove Thor from the scene and then it's my turn to collapse onto my knees.

Chapter Text

Descending the marble with Revna after Midgardian Studies. That was when I first noticed the voices.
The bickering. Familiar, that. Drawing nearer to the Grand Hall, the noise only increased in its magnitude.

'Well, Loki's really gonna have to hoof it then.'
It was Thor's voice carrying over from across the hall to where I stood plastered between the two sides of the massive door.

A ring of Æsir loomed at the foot of the throne, centred around a large stone table adorned with what appeared to be some kind of miniature display of life. Without halting to listen in, my intrigue at this godly assembly – to which I hadn't received the invite to – proved too overpowering, and so I marched onwards.

'Why is it suddenly me having to hoof it?'
Loki.
That I found comfort in the sound of his voice – layered with that familiar twinge of theatrics – ultimately managed to unnerve me. Rather ironic, really.

'Well, because it's your turn,' sounded Thor's voice, now only a few steps away from me.

'Says who? Why? Why is it suddenly me?' By then, Loki had his back turned to most of the other attendants as he was busy in a face-to-face brawl of wits with his brother.

Meanwhile, I had arrived at the table and settled between Idun and Bragi. With a certain gesture, the two gods acknowledged my arrival. From the far end of the table both Frigga and Odin greeted me with an incline of the head – their faces adorned by an expression which appeared far from welcoming to the idea of my being there.

'Because clearly this isn't me,' Thor retorted matter-of-factly.

'Just because it isn't you, it isn't necessarily me either.'

'It's got your shape to it. I am broader.'

'What do you mean, it's got my shape? It's wearing armour; it could be anybody.' Loki was growing more exasparated by the second – and so was I.

'It's wearing a helmet. It doesn't look like anyone!' I huffed, sharper than I'd anticipated.

'I just don't think it's me,' Loki mumbled. He had to have the last word no matter what, remember?
A silence was now dangling over the table, and I believe the Æsir gave it just so the princes could discover exactly who had interrupted their petty little quarrel.
Heads turned, and eventually, they had me detected.

'Y/n. Wh–what are you doing here?' Thor stuttered. Loki, though visibly surprised, remained uncharacteristically silent.

'Your bickering could be heard all the way down to the kitchens. Apart from that, I mean to learn of your endeavours here, as why should I not?'

Defiant, I locked Thor's gaze in mine. At that, I sensed the All-Father's eyes on me, fiercer than before. Yet I refrained from meeting his raven's stare.
Odin's mighty voice carried across the table, 'What you see here before you, my child, is the desert of Jennia – as you might have recognised by now, seeing that only a few summers past you traversed these very dunes yourself.'
Thirty-five Midgardian summers had passed, yet here on Asgard, the seasons, much like the time, expand far more than Midgardian understanding would ever be able to comprehend.

I glanced down at the table, this time concentrating on what lay before me without any bickering taking up most of my headspace. The miniature display of life was indeed Jennia, its dunes and endearing springs proving as much. Heat emanated from the golden sand and the tiny waters sparkled mysteriously.

I recognised the magic – it was Loki's, or rather, Frigga's... The sensation of her seiðr enveloping me, tickling the hairs on my skin, felt almost exactly the way his did. And it made sense – all that he knew, his mother had taught him, and everything he created on his own, he did so on the foundations she had paved for him.
Sometimes, I forget that Loki is one of only a few existing seidmen in the Nine Realms – Frigga had fortunately seen the potential her son bore and had crossed the boundaries of natural law, deciding to instruct him in the art of wielding it.

'Moments prior to your arrival, I had proposed to my sons the matter of a royal venture to the grove of Garmr, the packless wolf. Another verse of the prophecy has recently been translated, and the wolf appears to be universally linked to Ragnarök,' Odin explained, his spear Gungnir in hand.
He then made to hover the spear over the display of Jennia.
The magic the spear holds is different from seiðr. Instead of gliding over my skin, it reverberated around me, a sensation I know only those that wield any kind of magic themselves can perceive. Underneath its faint golden glow, a figure emerged from the sand and I recognised it as the tiny armoured mannequin Thor had just moments earlier shoved into Loki's face; another armoured figure standing a few paces from it.

'For the past two winters the desert has grown increasingly dangerous, which is why Tyr has laid out a route for us to embark on. We have been informed of an increase in the population of eitraðir eyðimerkurbúar – the sand serpents. Not only were there reports of their growth in size, but also are we in possession of further proof of their evolution. Details, which I, however, will refrain from disclosing to all of you as of now.' Odin made a pause, his eyes drifting from the display to his sons. 'Tyr will be in dire need of a partner for this quest.'

At the mention of the name, I let my gaze travel across the room. The god in question was nowhere to be found.
Tyr, God of War, with an affinity for wolves – and yet, he was missing from the list of attendants. But I wasn't to dwell any further on such curiosities because Odin went on.
'The post ought to fall in the hands of a son of Odin, as both princes aspire to one day defend our noble realm as its leading generals. Yet, it appears to me, not one of my sons here wishes to go on such a quest for our people.'

'Father, that is not—' Thor was silenced by the deafening clamour the two sides of the massive door produced by clashing. A broad and sturdy figure of a man was advancing with measured strides.
Thor must surely idolise him.

With his right hand pressing his left against his abdomen, the expression on Tyr's face was crestfallen. Perhaps I wasn't alone in thinking Tyr to have suffered an injury to his muscle-packed belly, expecting blood to gush from his flesh the second he would lift his hand. But we were proven wrong, for not from his abdomen did the blood seep onto the polished floor, but from the hand itself.

Holding the marred hand at an odd angle, he declared, 'All-Father, please excuse my delay, but I come bearing ill tidings. On our way here from the forest of Mimir, my men and I were attacked by a coven of witches from the North. Yet another attempt was made to thieve Mimir's Head.'

'I see, I see. And I take it, it thus transpired that your dominant swordhand had been injured?'

'Yes, All-Father. My palm has been sliced to the bone; movement is hardly possible.'

'He needs rest, my love,' The Queen interjected from behind her husband. 'Notice his pallour. He must've lost a grave amount of blood on his way here. He shan't venture from Asgard today, nor anytime soon. Don't you agree, dear?'
There lay a mysterious glint in Odin's eyes as he glanced over to his wife – and back then, I thought to have seen a spark of indignation in them.

'Then so it shall be. Tyr, you are not to take on the quest of securing our race from Garmr.'
Both the princes let out a relieved sigh.
'The honour shall fall onto my sons. Both of them.'

In a flash, the princes' protests filled the room, drowning each other out so that only snippets of their cries could actually be comprehended.

'Silence!' The All-Father's mighty voice shook the air and they obliged. Appearing as though shrunken in size, shoulders hanging, they evaded their father's eyes.
'It shall be as I say. Two must leave, so two shall leave. Thor, Loki, prepare for your departure.'

The All-Father was just about to turn his back on the assembly when I decided to seize my chance and declare, 'I volunteer, All-Father. If you'll be as benevolent as to grant me the honour, that is.'

A short silence tugged awkwardly at my nerves. The eyes of all the gods were on me. 'That way, only one of your sons will have to... suffer that responsibility.'
Did I inwardly curse myself for daring to address the king that way? Not quite, no.
Despite the fact that it concerned itself with something I was just as much a part of as they were  – Ragnarök, the prophecy, our people – I still hadn't been invited to this assembly.
I was to become their saviour, one day perhaps even their queen, and if the princes could be here, then so could I.
Thor and Loki's behaviour had been nothing if not pathetic – God of Thunder and God with the greatest force of seiðr my ass!
And I most definitely did not regret making my opinion be heard.

Odin exchanged yet another look with his queen. 'Despite our great admiration for your bravery and fidelity to this realm, we cannot sanction the saviour of our race to endanger herself if it be preventable. We are aware of the talents you harbour and of those you still fortify, yet must we acknowledge that they ought only to serve as a means to defend yourself and not our realm. When the time comes, you will be the one to save us all – give us the gift no other can bestow upon us – but that day will not be today.'

'But I am here. Now. Ready and willing to help today. And the first one to declare it so. Is not this what you always say, All-Father? That all a great warrior needs is the will to act righteously in the here and now?' My eyes dared him to say it out loud.
Say that I am no more than a womb with legs. Say that it's not actually I that's your saviour, but the precious child I am to bear you all.
Come on, say it!

'Father, she is right. If she wishes to give herself to the realm in battle, you cannot reject her offer. It goes against Asgardian principle.'

Out of all the gods bearing witness to my declaration, it's Loki's words that are now defending my honour.
He defended my honour as an equal to the Æsir, and inevitably... my heart swelled.
I drew in a deep breath, straightening my posture, try and showcase my worth as a true shield maiden.
To keep my heart from performing any other stunts I wouldn't approve of, I refrained from meeting Loki's eyes – which I'd sensed on me as clear as the suns' gratifying kiss after a long night's gloom.

The All-Father cleared his throat and clanked Gungnir to the ground once, facing Loki, and making Loki face him. 'If that is so, then the choice has been made. You, Loki, shall be the one to accompany our dear Lady Y/n. It is settled, then.'

And without a second glance, the king had turned his back and stode off, leaving Loki only to mutter a half-hearted 'Gladly, Father,' in his wake.
Whether it was the fact that he was to accompany me that made him sour or that his father had decided in Thor's favour, I could not say.
All I was certain of was that, for far more obvious reasons, I was lightyears from being pleased too.

The next morning, as I was just sliding into my combat gear, a strong fist was hammering down my door. Yes, one could easily single out Thor's enthusiastic knock in a group of Æsir – at least I could.

'Y/n? May I enter?'

'Just a second, Thor,' I replied, working on my laces. 'You may.'

As the door opened carefully, I was met with an expression on Thor's face I couldn't quite place. He appeared somehow beset, discomforted.

'I need to pronounce my sincerest of apologies to you, Y/n. I know you must find it quite disagreeable to be sent on a mission with my brother. Believe me when I say that I did consider lending you my hammer on this quest, but I—'

'Thor. Would you quit addressing me as though I were Guinevere and you Lancelot?'

I could read it in his eyes that he certainly did not get my reference, and the certainty that Loki would have was gnawing away at me.
Also, his eyes lingered.

'Just– would you please not give me this... royal talk?'

'Uh– Of course, I shall stop. All I ask of you is to believe me that I would've made my father send me with you if it hadn't been for that quick tongue of his! Loki's, I mean.'
His eyes pleaded with mine. And, whilst unbeknown to him that there hadn't even been any need for an apology in the first place, I still accepted it. My fury was Odin's, but the prince didn't need to know that.

'But now, I must be off. I still need to gather the supplies Loki certainly did not yet bother to get,' I said, my eyes leaving Thor's face for where my kitbag lay spread out on the bedsheets.
'Of course, of course.' Thor inched from the room as I secured my dagger and short sword, swinging the bag over my shoulder.

Once in the hall outside my chambers, he spoke up again, 'Oh! Excuse my impudence, but I need to... to beg you not to be too harsh on my brother today. I fear he–he's not been himself lately; I worry for him. And please,' his hand reached for mine, his thumb stroking the skin there. 'Promise me to return without even a single scratch.'

And although I could see the genuity of his words in his eyes, all I allowed myself to say was, 'As far as I'm concerned, I'm alone on this quest. Nothing to trouble yourself over then.'
And I was off; his gaze lingering yet again.

It's been almost five hours on the sands when I need my first good stretch. And maybe eat something.
Travelling by horse, I knew that it wouldn't be long now that we'd have to leave them behind. I wouldn't want to put my dear Nefertiti under the worst part of the desert suns and its dangers. The farther we ventured, the hotter it got.

With my feet landing on the warm sand, Sleipnir halted only mere inches from me.
'Whoa!' Loki exclaimed from atop the black steed. 'In case you needed reminding: a small amount of communication is unfortunately required for two people to go on one of those silly little life or death situation kind of trips – in fact, on any kind of outing, really! I could've trampled you!'

I did not reply. I merely rumaged in my bag for that loaf of bread Revna had slipped in. Then, Loki too, slid gracefully from the great beast's back. Not to say that I did it gracefully seconds earlier.

He had taken Sleipnir – the All-Father's eight-legged horse he himself had once gifted his father – and I wasn't sure whether he had even asked for permission.

'I think now's the best time to send them back to Asgard. From here, they'll be home before the night,' he said as he reached into his own bag, plucking a handful of grapes from it.

Setting my bag on the ground, I detached the second from Nefertiti's belly. I reached in to find her an apple, then gave her a good clap to the rear to send her off.
Whirling his head about to watch the auburn mare disappear behind a dune, Loki didn't let me wait for long before he started spluttering out a range of incoherent words.

'You–why did—' A pause. 'Don't you think all of this utterly childish? I mean, there's nothing wrong with existing in a different sphere from me for twelve years, if that's what you want, but this? Refusing to even just acknowledge my existence all while we're doomed on this two-day mission alone and in need of planning out our next steps—That's childish!'

Now, I was the one to whirl around – a full body turn. I jabbed my forefinger to his chest.
'Listen well: if anybody is ever to tell me that I'm childish, it most certainly won't be you! Is that understood?'

There was venom dripping from my every syllable, and now that my gaze was finally on him, it refused to leave him again. For a second, a certain kind of silence prevailed between us – as though quenched by having broken through an invisible barrier which had contentedly existed for the past decade.

'And? Was that really so hard?' A smug yet gleeful smile was playing on his lips.

Twelve years. It's been that long since my last proper conversation with the prince. Though not to be compared to Midgard, twelve years on Asgard still amounted to quite a longe time of being apart.
Although we'd never really been apart physically, on some other, deeper plane we could not have been further from one another.

One certainly does not have to go enormous lengths to avoid a person in Odin's palace – it's huge. Nevertheless does Asgard indeed possess a special kind of magic that somehow enabled its inhabitants to never much struggle at locating just the right person at the right time.

And yet, it had surprised me how I was seeing less and less of Loki with each passing day since that last, dreadful conversation at the pond. Perhaps, I had wondered, he himself did not wish for an encounter either...
Quickly, and after the initial shock had worn off, I had returned to my normal everyday life. The same people, minus one.

Still, beneath the surface, I was crumbling under the weight of nothingness bearing down on me from that place Loki had once inhabited in my life. I had successfully managed to exile him from my life, but unfortunately, not yet so from my subconscious.

I drew in a deep breath, surpressing the multitude of emotions bubbling inside. Sighing out long and loud, I threw the bag I had taken off my horse into his arms. A grunt erupted from his throat as he caught it – his reflexes as exceptional as ever.

'Let's go, or else we might not even reach the desert today.'

In silence – and with the occasional complaint about the heat from behind me – we managed to walk for three more hours.
Noticing the suns to set a fraction more with each step we took, and knowing that not far from here the deepest part of the desert was to begin, I halted. Diving into my subconscious and focusing on my perception.
With his chest, Loki bumped into my shoulder.
'By the Gods, woman! Would you please be so kind as to make use of that angelic voice of yours from time to time?'

Sarcastic or not, his words still succeeded at stirring those thought-to-be long-dead butterflies in my belly.

'That small oasis we made camp at with Thor... It's not far from here,' I said.

'What makes you so sure?'

'I've practised on my subconscious perception. If you do it right, it's like opening up a three-dimensional map before your inner eye. The subconscious has its own muscle memory, if you will.'

Somehow, I had exiled the indifference I felt towards him from my mind and let myself dwaddle on longer than originally planned. Perhaps there hadn't been any actual indifference to be exiled in the first place...

Nevertheless, I forced myself to stop, feeling the warmth that spread in my cheeks. I averted my head slightly.

'Well... I suppose the pupil does become the teacher at one point indeed,' he muttered.

Praise like this from the God of Mischief himself? Back then, I thought I knew his sole intention to have been getting back on my good side by any means. Whatever for – that, I had not quite pondered enough.

Not dare meeting his gaze, I cleared my throat and turned. 'Come on. You heard the All-Father: under no means are we to traverse that part of the desert at night.' I pointed to the dunes ahead. With only a sigh in reply, obediently, he made to follow my lead yet again.

My nightly dreams were filled with frozen lakes and glistening white, solid walls caging me in. A prison of ice and harsh cold. Gazing down at the ground in hope, I reached for the golden sand at my feet, only for it too, to turn into biting snow in my palms. Refusing to melt.
The desert had indeed changed. When, only a short time back, Thor, Loki, and I had spent a night at this very spot, we had been cold, yes, but not freezing.
If this was the safe part of the desert, I didn't want to imagine what the deepest part of it must be like at this time of night.

We had been adamantly advised to refrain from the use of seiðr on our way through the desert. Food and water supplies were limited, and extreme weather conditions tend to drain even the strongest force of seiðr. We had to limit our seiðr use to combat only. Therefore, since I would have to carry them, I had refused to take more than one blanket with me.
Also, I rarely ever froze.

At one point though, I noticed the shivers running up and down my body to cease, and my dreams fell silent. A blank, dreamless sleep again, and yet it gave me more comfort than I could possibly say.

When I woke, the early rays of the Asgardian suns grazing my eyelids, I snuggled a bit deeper into my blanket. Or rather, my blankets – plural. With my eyes traveling over to where I could discern a soft snore coming from, I caught sight of black, velvety hair, and the dark greens and blacks of Loki's attire. As well as the lack of a blanket covering it all...

And suddenly, I wished for the opportunity to brush my shoulder against his, or to nudge him with my knee.
A fuzzy, once familiar, warmth spreading through me granted me a few more minutes of blissful sleep as I had wiped the silent tear off my cheek.

Noon. After miles and miles of the same pestilential grain of sand, we arrived at our first challenge. An impasse of sorts. Before us an enormous, cavernous growth of stone expanded to the sides like a never-ending wall. We both halted to mentally collect ourselves. To venture further would mean having to overcome the mountain rather than bypass it...

As though having read my thoughts – which I knew he couldn't have – Loki spoke up from my left, 'I don't believe what lies beyond to be of any consequence to us. This is Garmr's grove.'

'As far as my knowledge of semantic terminology goes, that's a cavern,' I remarked.

'The idea of a grove in the desert should have struck us just as strange, and yet we're here.' He started to advance on the gaping mouth in the rock with long strides, determined and characteristically sure of himself.

'Yeah, sure. Let's go through the menacing looking hole in the wall instead of climbing it. That's bound to be the safest option.'

'After all these years spending your time at our pond,' Our pond, he'd said. 'And still, you fail to notice the footprints of nature.'

Before I was able to protest, Loki had plucked something from the sand at his feet. A small patch of moss, faded and inconspicuous, though still identifiable for what it was.

So, I followed him into the dark.

Once the light had fully left us to the whispers of the pitch-blackness, I lit up the tips of my fingers.
'I thought you reserved your seiðr for combat only?' There was a sly grin tugging at his lips.

'For... dire situations,' I corrected him – smug, for I could easily let him venture on alone in darkness if that was what he wanted.
That's when, from a distance, I heard something similar to a low hiss – a mocking little sound – and whirled about. What had been in the distance was suddenly slithering only a few paces from us. Perhaps we should take a break, I thought.

'Y/n, what is it?' Loki's concerned voice resonated from somewhere close to me.

My neck ached, feverishly, that's how hysterically I was moving my head to and fro. The sand was immobile and still at our feet. Or was it?

It was a deceit – the sand. Still when it ought to be vibrating with snakes. So I drew my short sword and drove it right into the sand at Loki's feet. I had pierced something, but what, I was still permitted to see.

'Y/n, wh—' But he was cut off, for I knew that, now, he could hear them too.

Whatever they were doing, it surely worked. I felt my blood pumping behind my eyes, in my ears, on my tongue. Nothing would save me; nothing would be enough to stop my heart from exploding in my chest, and that soon. Nothing. Nothing.

And then, there it was, that nudge at my shoulder; the brush along my back.

Electrifying cool was surging into my skin and straight to my heart, forcing my rapidly coursing blood to a halt.
Then, his hand atop mine, reaching for the sword dangling at my side.
But he wouldn't take it from my grasp, no, rather, when I lifted it up to my eye level, I saw flames dancing across the white blade. He had transformed it. Given me fire.

My cooled down core allowed me to seize control of my body again, and I turned my head to find Loki's eyes; in his hands two daggers, equally alight. In sync, we gave one another an affirming nod of the head, and in seconds, split heads were on fire and bodies lay slumped in the sand. 

All I am able to recall now is the sound of burning flesh, sizzling sand, and the appalling echo of dying hisses. All was blank before me; only white-hot anger my stage. Twelve years of pent-up rage propelled into the motions of my blade – no, far more than twelve years of it!

Damn Mother for not seeing me!
Damn Odin for belittling me and thinking me incapable of this!
No, damn Odin. Period.

Lost in my thoughts as well as in the deadly, mechanical movements, my focus was off. While slicing through one serpent, another, hidden deep beneath the sands – having lurked there for all of the battle – rose to sink its rotten fangs in Loki's calf.
But I was faster, and so they tore into mine.
In a flash, black locks whirled around, a dagger sliced through the air; then there was silence.

Before me, Loki knelt, hands already hovering over the torn flesh of my leg.
'No, Loki! Don't you dare.'
My assailant had been the last of them. All around me, vile flesh was smouldering in the sand, appearing to the innocent eye as though logs of firewood had burned down so only embers remained. Unfortunately, the smell was a different matter entirely.

'As why should I not?!' Loki spat. 'Odin advised us to preserve every drop of seiðr for combat. That's exactly what this is! I gave you the flames for your blade, and now I take your pain. It's a give and take when it comes to seiðr, yngri hetja.'

'Reserve your witticisms for someone else – I'm not lacking any myself! In both instances, it would have been your seiðr that's been used. Don't waste it on me if I'm still very much capable myself,' I forced out, adamant in my claim.

'I wouldn't call that wasted,' I heard him grumble into the air. The last word, he had it again.

I, on the other hand, had already started to heal myself. The violet mist was slowly dissipating into the cleft in my skin, though slower than usual. After a few minutes, my skin was sealed again; no more than a bluish-green shimmer remaining. Nothing I cannot handle. 

'Let's go. We only have twelve hours left to find Garmr and get back out of this part of the desert until nightfall.'

Without another word – or even a single grunt – Loki heaved himself up from the sand and retrieved his dagger from the cadaver of that damned last miscreant.
Walking alongside him, I asked, 'Where's your second?' careful as to keep my eyes on the gloom ahead.

'Swallowed. I sure as Hel do not aspire marking today as the day I dove into the guts of a desert serpent – not that it shall ever become an aspiration of mine, by the way.'
And somehow, against all odds, I couldn't suppress that one small laugh. 

Loki shifted, pushing me further into the cave with his back. My palms now shining brightly, I searched the space for the serpents, but they had gone; the lack of hisses probing at the edges of my mind reassuring me of the fact.

They feared the wolf – Garmr. And yet, when I forced Loki a few inches away from me to face Garmr, I caught sight of the red stains in his magnificent light-grey fur. Outside, they had dared attack him, but in his domain, they had retreated.
When Loki eventually made to dive for the wolf's maw, I instinctively reached out and closed my fingers around his wrist, successfully holding him in place.

'Loki! Look into his eyes! He's hurt but not attacking. See? He's helped us!'
It took a moment for Loki's shoulders to relax from his fighter's stance. He had heard me; understood.
And just like that, Garmr retreated. We watched him trot off.

My senses slowly returning, Loki's agitated voice filled the gloom.
'Y/n, we let him go! Our mission was to kill him, not thank him for being a good boy!'

My head whirled around to face him. 'No one said anything about killing him! We've been tasked with securing our race from the insatiable beast – which he, by the way, does not appear to be!' Loki didn't respond.

'In the end, it's two magic-wielders Odin sent on this quest. Did he not? We're able to prevent him from attacking our race without having to slaughter him! You, out of all people, should be able to see beyond the safest solution.'

Silently, he agreed – without trying to seize the last word for himself. Again. Peculiar, that...

And so, we did what we had to do – on our conditions. We turned on our heels, and once outside, we used our joint forces to seal the cavern. Beyond the cavern must be where his grove was located, and beyond that, even more desert. The bright light and footprints of nature spoke for themselves.
Garmr would live there in peace, I just knew – and we were saved.

Once finished, Loki tried to meet my gaze. I let him fail, but still, I heard him.
You've done well, yngri hetja. Exceptionally well.

I let him speak to me – more I couldn't give to him just yet. 

And so we ventured on homewards.
After a while, a lone palm tree caught my eye. This is not right, I had thought. And then it hit me. Literally. Or rather, mentally?

My mind was on fire, extracting me out of the map of my subconscious.

'Gods damnit!' I cursed. Loki spun around, reaching out for me. My mind went blank.

'I led us the wrong way. I– I– My perception must be off! It must be from sealing the cavern! Ow—!'
In the scramble to regain my eyesight, I had somehow lost my footing – stumbled in that godsforsaken sand – and ultimately dropped onto my knees.
A moment passed, and a second scream erupted from my throat. Followed by a third.

'Y/n—y/n! Please tell me what's wrong!'

Steadily, my sight went back to normal, whereas the feeling in my leg did not. There on the ground, the maddening heat of our environment weighed even worse on me than before. I couldn't give Loki an answer, my breath restricted.

'It's your leg, isn't it?' I felt him roll up the material covering the skin on my leg. 'I told you to let me heal you. The poison has weakened you. And it's not fully out of your system yet.'

Somehow, I felt utterly exposed in the way my throat was prohibiting me from defending myself.
Ignoring my resistance, he held my leg in place, healing it from the inside out – as much as he was able to under the extremes of the heat. Eventually, a huge sigh was able to escape my lips, and my body was gradually returning to me.
'Thank you,' I muttered.

When he rose from his knees, he held out his hand for me. He didn't actually think I'd surrender that easily, did he?

I ignored his offer, pushing my knuckles into the sand in an attempt to heave me up onto my feet. Despite all my efforts, I landed back on my bottom. Loki's outstretched hand had firmly remained in place, and I gave an annoyed grunt as I let him pull me up.

'A little bit of seiðr and we'll find our way back. Come, yngri hetja.'
The nickname stirred something in me, repulsed me. But I stayed silent.
'There. Up north. We will make it, yngri hetja,'

stop it.

'It's us. We never fail, don't we?'

'us'... 'we'... j–just stop it. 

He was walking a few steps ahead of me. Talking. And talking. Like usual. Only difference being that it ought not to be like usual.

'Remember the time that deranged stag attacked us at the pond? We both sent off a blast at the same time, and the colours merged into one giant bomb, opening up that small void through which the stag fell. And then we heard its hooves in the distance. We had teleported it! Just like that. Remember?'

Of course I remember.
There was noise in my head, like static, numbing all common sense still left in my body.

'Would you shut up already!' I cried; voice saturated with exasperation.
Loki stopped short in his tracks, turning to face me. Very much unlike him, he was stunned and lacking any form of a retort. 

'You talk of an us and an we, when the ugly truth is that we,' I was moving my forefinger frantically to and fro in the space between our bodies, 'haven't spent one moment with, or wasted even a single syllable on one another in years! For a reason! A reason that's not magically eradicated by the mere accepting of a hand!'

I took two steps in his direction, and I realised, for the first time in the past two days, I was allowing myself to truly gaze into his eyes. And that, deeply.
Twelve years. It's been that long.

'We might be on this mission together, but the second my feet hit Asgardian soil, all will be back to normal.'
Yes, the reality of these past years without him had become the normal – and it was good, reasonable even.

'I– This—' he stuttered. An anomaly when it comes to him. The exasperation grew inside of me like a tumour.

Releasing from my throat a mad kind of cackle, I cried, 'What did you expect? That I'd accept you breaking something sacred between us, take some time for myself, only to eventually return to what was once the norm between us? Without so much as a word about...' I fell silent. Done with explaining. Done with wasting my breath.

'We need to go. Or we won't get to the safe part before the night,' I said, already facing the dunes in the north. 'We should teleport a few miles.' 

Harsh, yet soft, I was spun back around, emerald eyes forcing me to meet them.

'No. If it's a word you need, then I will comply,' he declared, his thumb drawing tiny circles on the skin of my arm. It was gentle enough that I could easily break free, but firm enough that I would have to actually want to leave it.

'In my head, there are a million words I want to say to you only! Which is why I need you to lead me to the one you need now. I promise that it will be there somewhere.' 

For a moment, I was utterly perplexed. Stunned to some level of fuzzy intoxication his words brought along. Composing myself, finally, I gave in.

'I believed in an unspoken vow existing between the three of us. Especially in matters of love, I thought I deserved to know whether you desired the affections of another.'

I was steadily growing more uncomfortable. There was a reason why this had been an unspoken vow for so long.
I retrieved my arm from his grasp and averted my eyes.

'Because maybe I need to explain. Maybe it hadn't been as obvious... But I am the girl standing between two lads. Only one of you will become part of the prophecy, and who, you can both help determine. But me? I can never fall for the shield maiden with the diamond earring, or the girl from the kitchens who admires my strength in combat, or the handsome soldier who always makes sure to give me a reassuring smile when bowing to me. From the start, I knew it had to be either you or your brother. It's still a choice, I know that. But what if, somewhere along the way, I would've fallen for another?' 

Silence.

'Exactly. Which is why I didn't.' I could have sworn it was a sigh of relief I had heard escaping him.
'But you and Thor... you have choices. There is a 50/50 chance of being the one with free will. And I do want you to explore other options; perhaps even fall madly, deeply in love with someone. But all I needed was... communication. The three of us, whether we want it or not, we're in this together. You could've simply told me that you wish for Thor to fulfil the prophecy with me; told me that you had taken a liking to Sif – just somehow prepared me! Like Thor did.
What I grieve for here is not the loss of choice but the loss of trust, Loki.'

'Like Thor did? Thor told you of his infatuation with Sif?' His voice was layered with irritation and anger; his posture unsettled with what my mind wished to interpret as jealousy.

'Wha— Yeah. Yes, he did. The minute he'd decided he wanted to act on those feelings. Unlike you.'

'There was never the need for anything of the sort!' he yelled, agitated now, sending his hands through his dark locks.
Something in me collapsed.

'You fucked her! You fucked her and then took part of her hair as some macabre kind of proof! All while leaving me in that state of madness! You'd rather buried yourself in her than in spellbooks that could've saved me from this blasted curse you had put on me in the first place! What could have ever humiliated me more?!' 

'I have not! Never!' he roared, but I would not hear him, for I was far from done.

'You wanted them to know! You wanted them to see that you were the one with a choice! So you left me drunk in love with your brother, without a choice!'

He made another attempt at an interjection, but I wouldn't let him.

'With this, you publicly bestowed me with the burden of having to some day force one out of two men, who are so dear to me, to procure an heir with someone they would not have chosen themself – if they had the choice! Moreover,' my voice broke, and tears were welling up. 'You irreversibly imprinted in my mind the fact... that I had none.'

I swallowed down a lump in my throat. 'But that day, you,' I dared to fix his gaze, 'did have a choice.' 

He reached out to brush away a tear I hadn't been aware of slipping, and took a few steps towards me. When he spoke up, the comforting velvet of his tone visibly surprised me, 'Y/n, believe me, I never once took Sif to bed. It's all just a misunderstanding.'
Another tear that he caught.
'You were simply at the wrong place at the wrong time. Hurting you... was never my intention, even less so an option. And it pains me that you think me capable of such malice.'

When I agreed to surrender to his gaze and meet him at his level, I saw that which I've always seen in them – that which has never broken a promise. Except this once. 

'Before,' my eyes promised him, 'I would have believed every single word leaving your lips. Because I wanted so badly to be that person for you. I had faith in what's hidden in there,' I gave his chest a jab with my forefinger. 'But now, so much time has passed, and it's become impossible.'

'Invade my mind. That will do it,' he proposed, a sudden lightness to his posture. Like he's found the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

'No. I most certainly will not!' I replied, repulsed by the idea. 'It's exactly that: an invasion. It's forbidden.'
'There's a gray area here. I'm allowing you to invade my mind.'

'The spell creates a link between our minds. One with an open door for me. I'd still be able to wander around your mind unhindered whenever I wanted!'

'No, you wouldn't.'

'What makes you think that?'

'Because I have a strong mind. I can decide whether I let you in or not in the future. You're forgetting I wield seiðr too.'

'Even if – and that's a big if – it's still powerful magic. Of a kind we haven't practised before.'

'Trying surely can't hurt, no?'

Somewhere along the lines we had found ourselves in familiar banter. My heart swelled at the realisation, and just like that, I had agreed to it. 

The next minutes passed by in a blur – the strain the heat was exerting on my magic; the strain the pressure was exerting on my worn heart, both clouding my perception.
But in the end, I was in.

Visions of his memories passed me by as though they were landscapes and I seated on a winged steed. No sounds left people's moving lips, for the wind was rushing in my ears.

There was one image that passed me multiple times: Loki, his back against the bookshelves of the Midgardian literature section of the library, eyes gazing out through the only window, gaze blank and still. The book on his lap changed appearance each time the memory arrived anew. Loki, though, barely ever did.
Different memories, different days, same place, same frozen stance.
My heart was beginning to ache. 

Following our falling out, I had continued to visit our pond regularly. The cloaking spell had become my dearest companion whilst out practicing seiðr. Though I was cloaked and hidden from his sight, he knew I was there; he would feel the pulse of my seiðr. He knew it by heart, just like I did his.
And no, it wasn't about spite; I did not wish to taunt him with my invisibility.

It was about routine – surely, I would not give up the pond's magic of a Monday morning because of him – but mostly was it about self-preservation. In all honesty, the fear of finding in his eyes the answer to why what I was feeling hurt me so, was steering all of my body's motions.
He'd slept with Sif, and I'd felt betrayed. If Loki were to wish for someone's hand in marriage other than mine, Thor would be the one fulfilling destiny with me, and vice versa. Yet, I had grown to care for Loki more than was good for me, trusted him when no one else would, and he had betrayed that trust. Just like that. And all for a single idiotic jest.
And now my heart ached for the lonesome boy in that library, nevertheless. 

And so, it came that I saw it all.
Loki's miscalculation. My interruption. Sif's refusal. Loki's revenge.

The only door slamming shut before I could enter was one that showed a conversation between him and Frigga. I was sure of it not being of any importance for what he needed me to see, so I let the door pass by. I would not deny him his privacy – no matter my pent-up irritation.
I had seen what I'd needed to see. Decoded and understood.

Drawing in a huge breath, I extracted myself from his mind and closed the link, exhaustion creeping in on me. Forwards I fell, and right into his arms. Embarrassing, really.
Looking up into his eyes, not a word would leave my lips, and he helped me back onto my feet. As he made to withdraw his hands from my body once he had stabilised me, I clasped my fingers around his wrist, keeping him from pulling away.

'Loki, I...' I struggled to form the words I needed him to hear.

'Don't bother. It's fine.' He averted his eyes, acting nonchalantly.

'No, it's not. You should've shown me sooner.' Did I really just put the blame on him again?

'How could I have? Even if I had forced myself onto you, you were nowhere near hearing me out. I decided to give you the time you needed, because in the end, I was still the one responsible for putting that spell on you, and taking far too long to free you of it. Either way, I had failed.' 

There arose a silence between us, growing louder and louder in my heart's space. In a flash, I had flung my arms around his neck, clinging to him with all my might, hushing a feeble 'I'm sorry,' over and over into his ear. Only did I let myself calm down when his arms had leisurely snaked their way around me, accepting me in.

How much time passed us standing there enclosed in that embrace, I cannot say for sure. Though, what I can remember clear as day is the realisation that we had lost precious time. The suns were gradually dusking away, and from the shock on my face, Loki understood.

'We need to teleport with our last bits of seiðr!'

'Y/n, it won't get us far enough. Haven't you noticed the state you're in? The bite is still not completely healed.'

He took my face in-between his palms, forcing me to look him in the eyes, and gladly I complied.

'I shouldn't have let you exert yourself this much there in my mind. That was foolish of me!' He let go of my face and turned his back to me, running a hand through his hair while the other rested at his lips in deep thought. 

Overwhelmed with the whole situation, I stayed silent.
'We need to make camp here; use all of our remaining seiðr for conjuring as much protection against the cold as possible.'
We both knew he was right.

'We should also conjure us some food, saving our rations for the rest of the way.'

'But conjured food does not come with the same effect as real nutrients.'

'I know, yngri hetja. But what else are we supposed to do?'

Drawing in a breath, I silently agreed with him. Loki summoned all his remaining strength to create a tent, a fire, supplies, and a dozen blankets. He gestured for me to sit down. We ate in silence, gradually accepting the predicament we had found ourselves in. The suns had gone nearly all the way from the horizon.

'We need to get inside. Come,' Loki said as he, for the second time that day, was offering me his hand. This time, giving in to it felt rather like taking a step forward than one backwards.

He gave me a comforting smile, and we laid down underneath the pile of blankets. The cold was already piercing, the suns having only been gone for a few minutes by then.
On our backs and side by side in our conjured nest and staring up at the ceiling, Loki spoke up, 'You know, you left one of your books behind in the library once. In it I found this passage saying that for centuries, humans have known in order to keep from freezing to death, they had to give each other their body's heat. So they would... undress themselves down to their undergarments and embrace, basically.'

He turned his head to face me, an expression I had never before seen adorning his features. My heart began to race. He was right.
Deciding against a verbal response, I made to remove my gear under the privacy of the blankets. Soon, I was left in nothing but the material holding my breasts and those covering my nether regions. Wearing trousers unfortunately came with wearing little underneath.
As I pushed the garments aside, and although he couldn't see anything, his eyes burned on me more feverishly than ever. Visibly swallowing down his unease, he followed my example and rid himself of his own clothing.

Then, cautiously, he inched closer, slightly lifting the blankets so he could snake his limbs around mine. Not once daring to look the other in the eye, he took me in his arms, and I let my head rest on his collarbone.
The moment our skin touched, a shudder ran down my spine. For he was cold – so cold. And yet, the comfort of his cool skin eventually helped keeping my breathing even and relaxed. 

'Is this fine?' he inquired, his throat vibrating at my cheek.
'It is,' I answered. Then, I raised my head. 'Is it?'
Smiling slightly, he met my gaze and nodded, and for some reason I imagined his grip to tighten comfortably around me.

We stayed like this for quite a while, discomfort and unease long gone. The cold was still maddening, and still I feared we might not make it through the night. And although I was facing possible death, somehow, regret was not one of the many emotions I felt then. If not for this mission, I wouldn't have won back my dearest friend. I was thankful, and therefore, I was hopeful. 

It took me minutes to notice the deep cut in the palm of his hand. As he used up the rest of his seiðr to create warming sparks with his hand at my shoulder, I reached out the second I saw it. 'What's this?'

'Oh, that. That's—' He wanted to say that it was nothing, but he ultimately didn't.
'It happened not long before we left the city. Father and I, we—' he cleared his throat. 'It was an accident.'
So it had taken me more than minutes to notice it then...

I pushed my weight up onto my left elbow. 'What do you mean accident? What happened?' Anger was heating up my blood for the hundredth time that day. 

'He– Well– He wanted to talk to me before our departure. He told me to refrain from the use of seiðr for it was my job to protect our saviour first and foremost.'

At that, the pang of maddening aggravation I was so accustomed to echoed through my chest.
'That's what he's told us both before. Why tell you twice?'

'Because I had to be at the height of my senses. He needed me to promise I wouldn't rely on my seiðr, only if it meant I was doing it in order to save you.'

'What do you mean? He told us we were only to use it for combat. For ourselves.'

'That's what he told you,' he said, now propping himself up on his elbow as well, our faces close. 'He's wanted me to cease with my seiðr and commit myself to combat only for a long time now. He said only with as mighty a weapon as Mjölnir may I ever be able to guard Asgard as its true prince. My indulgence in seiðr has kept me from the people's endorsement, he says.'

'But I wield seiðr, and they admire me for it.'

'You're a Vanir woman, yngri hetja. And the saviour. Which is exactly why each and every one of them would rather Thor fulfil the prophecy with you. He would complement your talents; keep you safe when you yourself cannot.'
Never had we addressed the prophecy, nor the princes' part in it, like this before.
Reality was closing in on us, we were all three seeing it in our periphery by now.

'That's what they think, perhaps,' I said. 'Because they never had the chance of experiencing the true depths of your gift; of what you can do.' I took his hand, inspecting the slit carefully.
'But that still doesn't explain this.' I let my fingers trace the battered skin.

Averting his eyes, though not pulling his hand from mine, he said, 'I needed to prove to him that my seiðr was powerful. Complex. So, naturally, I summoned all of it in my very palms. That's when he loosened a blast from his spear. It wasn't powerful, of course, but it still sliced my palm, and I called back my seiðr.'

His eyes were stubbornly fixed on my fingers at his scar – I knew it was contempt he was battling behind those walls. Whether for his father or for himself, I dared not ponder. 
'He said if something were to happen to you he would see to it himself that these hands may loose the ability of producing any kind of witchery forever.'

'What– Why would he– But his own wife wields magic!'

'That may be so. Though he does not detest seiðr itself, you see. He detests the fact that it has chosen to reside in hands where a hammer should rest. I fight dirty, Thor true. That's all he sees.'

By then, his gaze had wandered off completely. Staring blankly at the ceiling, his breathing almost seemed like it was an effort for him to keep it even. I saw myself rather as an intruder to his spoken thoughts than as a welcome guest to his confessions.
As though having read my ponderings, Loki's uninjured hand inched me further into his side. I realised then that I was still holding tightly to his maimed one.

His previous words echoeing loudly between my ears; the wound in his palm staring grotesquely up at me; his blank stare tearing some dead and buried wound of my own back open somewhere inside.
Words fail me, and I lean down. Touch the skin with my lips. Soft and wordless.
It should've been awkward, but I somehow knew my message had managed to cross over to him.

These hands hold power. Power to safe. But most importantly, to heal. I know their worth, and you should too.

With his eyes returned to mine, something profound welled up behind them, and in the next second the sensation of his skin on mine overwhelmed me.
Only then did I notice the state I was in. I was shivering from head to toe, Loki's body only managed so much at driving the cold out of my veins.
Our bodies were entangled to a degree where I couldn't say where I started, and Loki ended. This alone granted me an immeasurable amount of warmth from deep inside.

'You're getting worse. I suppose we will have to stay awake. Promise you'll do that for me?'

'I'm neither stupid nor an rebellious child, Mischief. Thank you very much.' He saw the mischievous glint behind my eyes, and gave a short laugh.

'You know, this is the first day I've experienced true cold,' I said.

'And still you borrow my coat on nearly every other visit to our pond.'

We shared yet another laugh, and my heart swelled. We would make it through the night, we had to. It's us.

An eternity passed and the mere fact of his soft bare skin against my beating heart threatened to fail at keeping me awake. My eyelids started to droop, as the pain in my leg was making a comeback. Each feeling in my muscles intensified.

'Okay, no. This just won't do. Y/n, I need you to talk to me,' his voice demanded near my ear.

'What am I–I s-s-sup-posed to talk about like t-t-this?' I cried in defeat. For a while, there reigned silence.

'Tell me of what transpired between you and your mother the night before our departure.'

I was stunned for words. How could he know?

'I saw you return from the Bifröst. You must have been over in Vanaheimr. Your face was stained with tears; I could see it from a hundred miles away.'

He had kept from pressing me on the topic for the whole of the mission – no taunts, no jests, and for that, I suddenly respected him even more.
He had been unflinchingly true with me before, now it was my turn. And if it could save me from freezing to death, why then let the trauma be in vain?

'She called me to her the m-m-moment she heard of the mission. She yelled at me for being ut-t-terly dumb and disrespectf-f-ful and unreasonable and reckless,' I was already giddy with surpressed rage.
'I was the saviour of the gods and not some w-warrior hero doing their best job by joining the ranks of V-valhalla through sacrificing thems-selves at the f-first opportunity! How in the Nine could I not see this?' I mimicked my mother's tantrum. The urge to stop myself washed over me. 'And so on and so forth...'

'No, go on. Notice how your stuttering's improved? It works,' he said. 'Trust your rage.' His hand had found mine, and I went on.

'Well... I then told her that the prophecy was not what defined me, and neither should it control my l-l-life.' I felt as though all the air had exited my lungs, so I inhaled deeply, and along with the air, the memory flodded my senses.

'You're part of something greater; you have a duty to fulfil! But no, my daughter rather rolls dice with the goddess of death! Just for the thrill of it!' My mother throws her hands up in exasperation.

'Just for the thrill of it?!' I exclaim. 'I am a trained shield maiden; I should have the right to choose to fight for my people! Even more so, I shouldn't be living the life of a prisoner when I'm our saviour! I cannot believe that you'd wish that on your own daughter.'

She won't meet my eye. Rather, she mutters something under her breath. But the room is spacey enough to carry the echo of her words to me nonetheless. And they are drenched in something tainted, polluted, 'You sound just like your father. Every single word that leaves those lips.'

'And that's a bad thing now?!'

'Leave. Go on your suicide quest. Enjoy your free will. See where it will get you. You will come to learn soon enough that your lips weren't made to voice your opinion.'

For a moment, I'm stunned speechless. 'I–'

'I said leave.' Her tone has the potential to outmatch even Odin's.
And so I do as I'm told – for the last time.

That,  I swear.

'That's it. That's the story, morning glory,' I said, finishing my tale and forcing my tears back down.
It's anger, not hurt, I told myself as I involuntarily tried to put some space between my body and Loki's.

But he wouldn't let me. His eyes were glued to my lips, and I could not say for how long I had been talking.
His injured hand didn't let go of mine, and the other still rested at my back, holding me in place in our embrace. With his eyes refusing to leave my lips, he eventually leaned down.
Touched my lips with his. Soft and wordless. Quick and sufficient.

In a matter of milliseconds, our eyes locked, and I thought to see a red glow drowning out the emerald in his.
A blink, and it was gone. A trick of the light, perhaps.
What matters is that I understood him – just like he had me.

Those lips hold so much worth listening to. They have the power to rescue. To heal. I know their worth, and you should, too.

My brain tingled with the warmth of his presence. Technically, then and there, he had kissed me. Yet, in reality, it was so much more intimate and so much less romantic. This wasn't about the meeting of lips, but rather about the meeting of two souls promising each other to be the other's keeper of their worth. The cheesiness of it all be damned.
It didn't feel awkward or new or exciting. It was like coming back home from twelve years of living only half-heartedly.

      Thank you.

           What ever for, yngri hetja?

At one point, I thought the night might never end. And I cannot say if I even wanted it to. Loki's and my shivers must've morphed into one, for somehow I drowned them out.
I was so. So. Tired.
And I felt safe, so why not...?

'You're my dearest friend. I hope you know that, Loki,' I said eventually. 'But there's a reason for why I borrow your clothes when we're at the pond and I'm not even cold.'
I remember snuggling deeper into his chest, inhaling his calming scent.

Chapter Text

Of course Y/n hadn't died that night in Jennia. Where would this story be going if she had? No, she is far too fierce, far too blessed by the Norns. And most of all, far too fated for greatness.
So naturally, the blame was to be all mine.

With the tiny fleck of seiðr the night had restored in me I had managed to teleport us to the edge of the desert, where I was immediately dealt the first blow. On the black steed that had answered to my call – not Sleipnir, for that matter – I found a letter attached to the mane. In my mind I was already preparing for the worst as I was breaking the waxen royal crest.

Loki,
I sensed the return of your seiðr to Asgard. (my mother and her weird heightened senses)
The entirety of our city mourns, believing you and Y/n to have perished in the treachery of that bitter deserts' night! Bless the Norns, you are alive and well, my dear! However, still I fail to discern Y/n's force anywhere near.
Dearest, should any harm have befallen Y/n... Even I shall be powerless to keep you from his wrath.
Alas, I am ever mindful of your abilities, your gifts, and harbor nothing but utmost the faith in them. Thus, I hold fast to the belief that Y/n remains with us, and that if in your care, she is the safest she may ever be.

Do prepare for your return home, dear.

With all my love and affection,
Your Mother

 

Great, that. As you might have guessed by now, I tried my utmost to wake Y/n from her unconscious state before we arrived at Asgard's gates. But for the hundredth time that day, the Norns were far from in my favour.

Holding her upright and steady in my arms as we galloped our way into Asgard, I cried out for a healer the second hooves clanked on city soil. Numerous people came rushing by, though I refused to give her from my arms if not for a palace guard. One came, soon the next. Behind them, I caught sight of the familiar bulky frame of my brother's. Hair ruffled and clearly agitated, Thor took Y/n from the arms of the first guard. Then he glimpsed me, but the guards were already ushering him back into the palace.

'But my brother,' I could still heard him argue. What the guards told him in turn I couldn't discern, but with a worried expression plastered on his face, he nevertheless complied. I knew then that Y/n was taken care of. Safe, with him. And I could finally take a proper breath.
In a flash, folk kneeled before me, holding jugs and bowls of water to my dry lips. Immediately, I downed all of it. The desert had drained us both severely, and I remained breathless at the gates of Asgard for almost half an hour. A different set of guards helped me to my feet eventually, escorting me to my next mission. Surviving my father.

'Neither of you should have survived this. No one has ever survived a Jennian night...'

My father has yet to grace me with a glance. Then, he turns.

'Why was your seiðr not sufficient enough to return her here before the night? Did I not instruct you to reserve it for only the direst of situations?!'

'Well, father,' I spit, the word emphasised by a drawl. 'In the desert one often finds oneself in more than just one dire situation.'

'What was it you wasted your energy on? Tell me, son!'

And just like that, it breaks out of me, 'FOR THE LOVE OF HEL, I HEALED HER! AS YOU WANTED!'

For a breath there is silence, and it tempts me to believe that I have just won.

'The second you needed to heal her, your duties had already been neglected. You were meant to protect her, not heal her when you've failed!' he roared, in his eyes something close to disdain.
When I was younger, I often wondered how he had conquered the Nine Realms all on his own those many centuries ago, and on days like today, his eyes granted me a glimpse into those exact times. And I wondered no more.

'She is a shield maiden; the best in her year! She does  not need protection!' I proclaim. I am not yet finished either.

'And if it weren't for me she wouldn't even have suffered any injury to begin with!'

'It then transpired that Y/n was the one to save you,' he assesses more than he asks. 'Norns, I ought have sent Thor after all.'
His eye has left me again. Before I am able to respond, he adds, 'Leave. Inform your mother you are not to attend the festivities.'

'What festivities?' I ask simply.

'The celebrations of your blessed return. Her blessed return. Now leave.'

Well, and that's what I did. I didn't attend. Not that I'd even felt just the slightest twinge of desire to. And it sure as Hel wasn't for Odin that I did as I was told.
No, it was Y/n who deserved the glory, the admiration. Nothing compares to returning home from a successful mission, especially seeing that success certainly is sweeter when achieved against all odds. She deserved that all for herself.
Little did I know then that I had agreed to far more than a bit of absence.

Odin had mapped out a whole new curriculum for her. Right away. On Mondays, Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays she was to join Thor's warriors' division for practice – the male quadrant, specialising on offense rather than defence.

Father certainly knew that, from now on, he needed to tread lightly on the crumbling ground that was his path to Y/n. She had proven herself in Jennia in more ways than one, and the All-Father had to respond accordingly – meaning he had to take up the post of being leading force behind the fortification of her combative skills.

With other subjects taking up the remaining days of her week, I was soon out if the picture. She would hardly find the time nor the mental energy to train her seiðr now. For twelve years, I had spent my mornings at the pond with only the ghost of her, and now I was to return to that solitude in the excruciating awareness of her time being spent on those damned training grounds with all of them.

And yet, miraculously so, she came.

On mondays, before the sun was up, she would knock me from me dreams, and we would go our rounds at the pond.
Naturally, it did not go well for long. A few weeks in, she would notice the strain of her new reality weakening her seiðr – she could not give up any more of her sleep, she admitted.

Which is why, for an excessively prolonged summer that lasted decades, I rarely got her alone. She was finally receiving the respect and renown she had always strived for, and yet I found myself wishing she had not. If they had been dull enough to not respect her prior to Jennia, why now did I have to suffer for their earlier error in judgement?

So now we practised our seiðr mostly in solitude, meeting at the pond only once or twice a month. Thor would gush about Y/n's accomplishments in combat on a daily, and by that make my insides twitch deliciously. Especially then when he mentions how she insists on relying on nothing but her dagger. Good girl.

Some nights, often when we hadn't seen one another for quite a while, I would feel her seiðr probing at the edges of my mind. She wouldn't dare enter my thoughts – she needed skin contact for that anyway – but the second she had learned how to send mental notes in the form of emotions down the link, she made sure to send them regularly. It felt intimate in the way it managed to soothe me, and I wondered whether she knew of the consequences such affections were slowly but steadily beginning to cause in me.

I, on the other hand, couldn't return them. So I took to writing. A letter a day, and suddenly she didn't seem so far from me anymore. I would tell her of any new jinxes and spells I had cast; she would tell me of the ruthlessness she was met with at the training grounds. I would tell her to simply use combative seiðr; she would tell me that I was a reckless, lawless troublemaker – or a git.

Yngri Hetja, I would write down, blushing shamelessly in the privacy of my chambers. Oh, how I dost love it when thou scoldest me.

Mischief, she would reply, a cheeky grin tugging at her lips, I like to imagine. I guess this then, is why thou never ceasest to cause mayhem. Honoured to be thy muse, truly.

And then, I would be in an overwhelmingly irritating need for fresh air.

At times, I was lucky enough to be in the same room, the same space as her, and we would talk mentally. When luck was on my side, and I could spare a minute of my time, I would even join the rows of warriors beholding the elegantly lethal artistry of her sparring. The golden rays of the suns made her skin glisten with sweat as she performed blow after blow; her reflexes peaking every time she vanished and reappeared at her opponent's back.

Good form, yngri hetja.

There was a slip in her posture – a loss of focus so minuscule only I knew it was there.

Mischief? You, here?

Whenever possible, m'lady.

Before she could land her next blow to the poor bastard's throat, she shimmied her shoulders in order to shake of any stiffness – or whatever she needed to shake off that my words had caused.

Quit the flattery, Mischief, and join me down here.

Oh, regardless of the certain enjoyment flipping you over and pinning you down under me would bring me,
I paused to digest what I had just sent down the link of our minds. But I went on – emboldened by catching sight of the effect my words had on yet another percentage of her focus.
I'd much rather watch you knock these oafs off their feet with that quick leg of yours from up here – where I can see all of you.

Another slip. 1-0, yours truly.

Sorry, let me correct myself there: Where I can see you give it your all.

And that did it. One misplaced step to the right and her leg had failed to hook behind her opponent's ankles, sending her tumbling. Yet, before the giant could land a punch, she had already regained her footing and sent her heel to the back of his knee. With him flat on his back, she made quick work to craddle his hips and hold her dagger to his throat. Victory.

That was surprisingly... entrancing, I must say. Thought I had you there, I hushed down our link.

Oh, really? When I think about the words you've just used to distract me, it rather sounds as though I was the one having you there.

Turning from her defeated opponent to face the crowd that had gathered, she found me in seconds.
1-1, I guess.

And if you choose to stay, she threw me a wink. Then shut it and learn, Mischief.

And with that, she had closed off all her mental wards, and readied herself to take down another guy. And another. And another.
Thor was right; one could only gush about the show she turned a simple combat session into.
1-2 it is, then.

So yes, nowadays our communication was very much limited to naught but our minds. And then, one fateful autumn day, she managed to pulverise every remaining shred of hope I still held for our people by the utterance of just seven simple words.
– Volstagg will have his own alehouse soon.
And blowing the ashes of said hope into the winds by adding three more: We're all invited.

Well. And now we're here. At least, that way, I would get to spent some actual free time with Y/n, I had thought. Well, oh well, had I thought wrong.

The second I pushed the door to the alehouse open, I was not only met with an odour successful at eliminating anything in the air worth allowing into one's lungs, but also with the sight of Y/n swaying jovially to and fro in the arms of my dear brother. An gods-awful Asgardian folk tune slurred by all the drunkards was pounding in my ears. Thor must've quite obviously had a pint or five too much already, considering that he had nearly dropped Y/n to the floor not once but twice.

Still she was all radiant smiles and addictive laughter. Gods, did I hate what I felt raging inside of me at the mere sight of their joy.
Perhaps I ought to have swallowed it all down. Perhaps I ought to have joined them. All I know is that, had I done either of these things, the night would have quite certainly gone very different.

Blocking out their fun, I pushed myself through a dozen couples kissing and swaying through the room. Eventually I found myself at an abandoned round table of the farest corner of the alehouse. Even before I could decipher the title gracing the book's spine, the haphazardly placed flowers peeking out from between the pages gave away whose empty nook I had just stumbled upon. It's an habit of Y/n's to mark specific passages she had enjoyed during her read by doing so. Why she had left and deserted her most prized book Revna's ever brought her back from Midgard, I cannot say. Alas, I settled in, eager to open the page from where the prettiest of daisies was glancing up at me.

"It would degrade me to marry Heathcliff, now; so he shall never know how I love him, and that, not because he's handsome, Nelly, but because he's more myself than I am."

It was Wuthering Heights. My eyes traversed the black letters underlined by a flawlessly neat line of blue ink. I wetted my lips and bit gently down on my lower one when I reached the part she had highlighted in a deep crimson, distinctly resembling blood etched into skin: "Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same."

A sensation stirred in the pit of my stomach, and I had yet to decide whether it were a pleasant or a dreadful one. I read on, "and Linton's is as different as a moonbeam from lightning, or frost from fire."

That Linton's name had vanished and Thor's was staring back at me in its stead. Oh, how I wished for my eyes to not deceive me, but I knew perfectly well what wishful thinking was: It's the cruel, elaborate trick conjured by the weak to inspire hope. Nothing more.

But what was she if not this magnificent shimmering moonbeam, and Thor if not this unnerving strike of lighting at the end of a once-perfect day.

But what if? What if I represented this poor, miserable, miserably poor Linton fellow? I've seen Y/n gushing about this book to Thor before; and they never talk about books... Does Thor know? Know that he is 'more her than herself'? Gods, this sounds ridiculous.
Did I want to know? Certainly not.
I slammed the book shut, instantly regretting my action as the sound reached my ears. Searching for her face amidst the crowd, I relaxed when I realised that she was nowhere near. My body tensed up again the second I realised Thor wasn't either.

Several jugs of mead and a huge bowl of candied grapes I had stolen out of Fandral's grasp – while he was preoccupied letting one hand wander up and down the delicate neck of his lady friend – later, I had found myself slumped against the wooden doorframe of Volstagg's alehouse.

With each opening of the door, I shivered in response to this cold winter's night that, just like me, was yearning for the refuge of warmth. Freezing was a relatively new experience for me, and it had come alongside the mead. And once I'd felt it, I just drank. And I drank, and drank.
Being a prince of Asgard and not having to move a single finger for a second and third and an eleventh drinking horn to be placed into your empty hands, did not always result in good fun. However, on this particular night, I was determined to make sure I'd alleviate my teenage misery in good fun.

So, just like that, I stood. And I sang. I sang my lungs out. And then I sang some more. Whether I'd repeated the same lyrics over and over again, or had found my inspiration in the weathered old man in his green commoners' gowns – swaying jovially from side to side whilst cradling his darling gently betwixt his arms – once again, I cannot say.

'Men traerne de danser
Og fossene stanser
Når hun synger, hun synger kom hjem
Men traerne de danser
Og fossene stanser
When she sings she sings "come home"
When she sings she sings "come home"'

As soon as I had begun, people started joining in, dancing and clapping atop the benches. By the second chorus, I had pulled the old man's darling up to join me and had her perform her best dancing on those old, creaking benches. At one point, she reached for my face, yanking it down towards hers, and planting a thick kiss on my cheek. She was giving both sides of my face a squeeze as I was staring back at her in mock exasperation.

That's when my eyes fell upon the sleeping beauty a few tables behind the elderly woman in my arms – at least, she had been sleeping before. Now that her head was lifted from the table, and locks of her black hair were framing her features, my gaze gladly found hers.

'Shh, shh, shh, shh, shhhh...' I mouthed at my companions, and, without ever leaving Y/n's eyes, gave the woman back into the arms of her beloved. Slowly, I climbed down from my heightened position, taking careful steps in her direction as I performed the words as though we were the only people left in this world,

'I stormsvarte fjell jeg vandre alene
Over isbreen tår jeg meg frem
I eplehagen star møyen den vene
Og synger: når kommer du hjem?'

Only a single table had us seperated still. Every pair of eyes fixed on me, on us, and I was immutably lost in her endless y/e/c ones.

Alas, I did not want to be lost, so I forced myself to leave her and continued on. This time, clapping even more vigourously.

'Men traerne de danser
Og fossene stanser
Nar hun synger, hun synger kom hjem
Men traerne de danser
Og fossene stanser
When she sings she sings "come home"
When she sings she sings "come hooome"

To the Lady Y/n everybody!'

As I had concluded my performance and taken the last gulp of my twelfth horn, I smashed it to the ground whilst exclaiming briskly, 'Another!'
Before I could wrap my hand around the thirteenth horn alluringly hovering before me, something had gently wrapped itself around my wrist. Or rather, someone.

'I think you've had enough, my prince.'

'Aaaand what exactly,' I slurred as I pushed my face mischieviously in front of hers, 'makes you think that, my lovely Lady Y/n?'

Our lips now only inches apart, and everything inside of me screamed for me to obliterate that godsforsaken distance – but I would not. Not like this. Only if she would want me to. Because she was worth every ounce of respect and honour that was still left in me.

'Oh, perhaps the fact that you've just not forgot to call me your yngri hetja.'

My yngri hetja. Does she want to be my yngri hetja? I mused in my drunken state.

'Or rather because, only seconds before that, you appeared as though on the verge of fainting at the mere sight of me...' She furowed her brow and threw me an imploring look. My insides ached for me to scream, Yes, because of you! But I couldn't, for she would only misinterpret my meaning.

'Well, I—' Taking to scratching the back of my neck in discomfort, I gazed down at my feet. In retrospect, I'm shamed to say that I must have resembled Thor quite a lot.

'Come on now, no more talking. You see, I happen to know just what it is you need,' Y/n said as she reached for my hand, already in the midst of dragging me towards the door.

'You do?' I asked, in my voice an embarrassing high-pitched crack.

'Uhm, yes?' she stated, giving a small chuckle and turning to open the door. 'Thank me later!' And with a single hearty push I was out in the snow, barely holding myself on my feet as I stumbled clumsily to a halt. Without a chance at a retort, I noticed Y/n gracefully flick her wrist once, and cold water poured down on me.

'Ahhhh! What in the Nine– YNGRI HETJA!'

By the time the cloud above my head had dispersed, Y/n stood slouched against the doorframe holding her belly and laughing so heartily I thought she might just topple over and join me in the snow. To make sure she did just that, I helped along with a simple flick of my own wrist.

'Oops!' she yelped as my seiðr sent her tumbling right into my dripping arms. 'Eww! Loki, you–you—!'

'I, what?' I challenged her with a grin tugging at my lips, my face once again closer to hers than was good for us.

'You charmer,' she accused.

I detected in her gaze that she had undoubtedly accepted my newest challenge, and before I would lose myself and kiss her then and there, I hastened to teleported us back inside. Back at the same table she had deserted earlier that night, I at once recalled the pang of jealousy I'd felt upon discovering the edition of Wuthering Heights resting there solemnly.

'You know, Catherine is dying and Heathcliff says she will kill him by dying, and then he speaks some of the most beautiful poetry I ever encountered. See, here, "I love my murderer – but yours! How can I?"' she read aloud, the words falling from her lips as intuitively as though her own.

When I had teleported us back to her table and she had caught sight of her open book, her hands had immediately reached for it. It was more than obvious that she was eager to lecture me on her Midgardian literature; and admittedly, I did rather enjoy her enthusiasm.

'Isn't this beautifully tragic? Here, listen what he says before that: "What kind of living will it be when you – Oh, God! Would you like to live with your soul in the grave?" That's hauntingly beautiful, is it not?'

'What is it now, hauntingly beautiful or beautifully tragic?' I asked, words accompanied by a chuckle of genuine delight. At that, her hand smacked mine lightly, mine resting flat on the wooden table. As she replied her hand lingered, apparently forgotten by how natural it felt atop of mine – much like it was to me.

'Oh, both! Wouldn't you agree?'

'But don't I recall a certain proclamation along the lines of: never was I to witness you to choose Romeo and Juliet over Hamlet or Coriolanius. Where does this sudden enthusiasm for love epics derive from?'

'Hey! It's not an enthusiasm for that – but rather for this piece only. It's just... It's– Ugh, that he would never forgive her for dying and by that taking his soul into death with her, because she is all that he is and more...'

Amidst her delightful blabbering her eyes began to widen considerably at one point. She stopped herself. 'Oh Gods, you don't get it, do you? I'm sorry. This is actually quite embarrassing, I shall—'

'Yngri Hetja,' I implored, placing my forefinger gently down on her wild lips. 'I didn't at first. But I believe I do now.'

Her eyes had started to glaze over and for a split second I was unsure whether she had even heard what I'd just said.

'Go on,' I said, smiling, eager for the sound of her voice resonating this close to me.
Now her eyes started to sparkle, and I found my own flicking down to her lips, waiting for that excited grin I so adored to reappear.

Suddenly, I could feel a familiar tingle starting at my toes and moving upwards, and I found myself enveloped in a violet cloud of mist. When the wisps parted shortly after, I was able to glimpse at welcoming trees and the calming sound of water breaking water. The peace of our secret pond engulfed me in an icy wave of bliss, and it was only then that I realised how much the clamour of the alehouse had unnerved me earlier.

'Quite an impressive teleportation spell you've got there, yngri hetja.'

'Yeah, well, while Thor and you were over in Álfheim, I put some effort into perfecting my teleporting. Didn't want to provoke something like Jennia to occur ever again. Forgive me that I did not wait for you,' she said casually as she traversed the pages of Wuthering Heights for the part she had read from at the inn.

'Ah, here we go. Look!' she beamed, inching closer, bringing the book in front of me to place it upon my lap, and taking my hand in hers.

'"It is hard to forgive, and to look at those eyes, and feel those wasted hands,"' she read, guiding my forefinger along Heathcliff's words. '"Kiss me again; and don't let me see your eyes!"'

I had already abandoned the words on the page by then and taken to gazing at her only. We were so unbelievably, damningly close.

'"I forgive what you have done to me. I love my murderer –"'

I was absolutely certain that she simply must have been aware of my gaze on her the moment hers met mine. Taking in a breath and not breaking away from my eyes, she concluded breathlessly, '"But yours... How can I?"'

For the last part, I had joined her, the words memorised; silence now filling the space between us. A perplexed expression adorned her flushed features, and I wondered whether she was cold out here in the snow. But she had survived Jennia, hadn't she?

And then out of the blue, I dared, 'Say it again.'
Did I actually dare?

'Which part?' she chuckled lightly, though, not taking her eyes from mine. Something in them had shifted – shifted just the way the air around us had.

'I believe you know.' For a moment, another silence arose between us, and in the next, I felt that familiar tingle on my lips. All of a sudden, not even a gasp would escape them.

Jinxing his lips sealed had presented itself to my clouded mind as though a necessisity. His words had always held that undeniable power over me. Clouding my mind, my judgement, and sometimes, even that what's in my chest.

Loki was desperately clawing at his mouth, but the invisible strings were resisting his efforts. The green smoke of his seiðr dissipating from his fingertips into his skin brought no change to his vulnerable state either. Accepting his fate, he let his hands drop to the sides, fixing my trembling form with his undaunted stare. Holding back my laughter proved an extraordinary labour, for my body was shivering with waves of surpressed amusement at the spectacle before me.

However, right from the beginning, I'd known that his hands wouldn't remain at his sides for long, and before he could cast his jinx, I had already cast mine.

With his back pressed securely against the weeping willow and his hands bound at the back by an almost translucent rope of violet, Loki's head spun from side to side in a futile attempt to prove his own eyes wrong. Accepting his fate once more, he let his head fall back against the bark, eyes rolling into the back of his head. A prolonged sigh straining behind his sealed lips rumbled deep in his throat. For a fleeting moment, I could feel a heatwave washing over me, deliciously lingering between my thighs.
Yet, I was granted no time to savour the sensation, for a gentle yet firm nudge of something warm and semi-solid sent me plunging into the snow – for the second time that day.

'Ooh!' I exclaimed, and as I turned in the snow to face my attacker, I found myself rendered uncharacteristically speechless.

Before me now stood the very same creature – crafted from the most exquisite rainbow of withered leaves– Loki had conjured up for me and my injured leg years ago. Ages ago. However, this time, the horse's magnificence had reached new heights. It was taller, sturdier, almost concrete. To my ears, the leaves even seemed to produce a melody by how the wind rustled them in the cold winter's air. Gazing up in awe, the creature started to trot towards me, lowering its head to nuzzle my neck. Delighted, I giggled and gently stroked its whispering mane.

Then, in an instant, it had vanished. A million leaves that had made up the creature's body scattered in the winds. The green mist left behind in the spot where the horse had been only seconds before began to seep into my skin. A pleasant warmth spread through me, and I felt suddenly as though I was given the felix felicis potion – happy and at the utmost ease. Sensing the blissful sensation to fade, I rose, and my eyes once again found the emerald-coloured ones of the mischievous prince.

Drenched with melting snow, a sudden thought shot through my synapses. I flicked my wrist and found myself inches away from where I had him pinned to the tree. Then, I embraced him, ensuring my soaked shield maidens uniform was rubbing thoroughly against him. Which elicited a discomforted moan out of his lips. 1-1, I'd say.

Even with his lips sealed, I could see his throat trying to produce the words 'No!' and 'By the Norns, cease this torture, woman!' – but perhaps, it was only that I knew that that's what he would say if he could.

Giggling almost hysterically by then – usually, giggling isn't even part of my vocabulary – I ceased my assault and rested my forehead on his equally panting chest as I tried hard to suppress my giggles. It was then that I realised he had succeeded and broken my jinx. His laughter was echoing in my ears, his lips now free, and I couldn't prevent a smile from forming on my own. As I was looking back up at him he continued to laugh, and playfully, I slapped his chest.

'Stop it! My sides already ache enough!'

Eventually, our laughter ebbed as we both took stock of the peculiar situation we had maneuvered ourselves into. With his hands still secured to the tree, his right thigh was working to support my body which was leaning against his own, so that I wouldn't stumble in the small hill of snow surrounding the tree. Our chests were still heaving from the laughter and the only audible sound now was the synchronised rhythm of our breaths. But even this my mind drowned out as I lost all sense of time and space while gazing into his bottomless eyes.

Far from an adminstered decision, something inside of me chose to yield to the request he had made before all this... My mouth acted on its own accord, breathing breathlessly as I quoted, '"Kiss me again; and don't let me see your eyes."'

With an inscrutable look in his eyes, he leaned down, and gingerly, he nudged my nose with his. My heart somersaulted. Our lips were only inches apart. Then, like the shameless brat he was, he whispered, 'What did you say?'

I sent my knee up into his thigh, giving a grunt of exasperation – he, in turn, gave one of short-lived agony.

Sighing out, I decided to take matters into my own hands. I settled one hand on the back of his neck, pulled him flush against me as I took the spell from his bound arms, and crashed my lips against his.

Each and every emotion I had ever felt because of him spilled out through my kiss – irritation, amusement, anger, aggravation, excitement, jealousy, pain, shame, lust and comfort.

I don't speak of love now for I wouldn't have dared to speak of love back then. Loving him meant choosing him, and choosing him meant facing my fate – and for that, I wasn't ready yet, and I knew that I might never be.

Breaking apart, I noticed him swallow down a lump in his throat. 'How long did you know?' he asked, breathless once more.

'That you wanted to kiss me?' I responded, cheeks and neck flushed, and grinning. 'I suppose ever since you leapt down a bench and sang to me as though we were the only two people left in the room,' I stated, surprisingly nonchalant. From the way Loki was staring at my lips, his breathing now accelerating again, I realised that I was busy biting down on my lower lip. I decided against stopping if this was what it did to him. This was fun. 2-1 for me, nah?

'No. That you wanted to kiss me,' he clarified, mocking lightly. Ah well, 2-2.

'Isn't it quite obvious?' I knew I was failing to stop the redness from spreading in my cheeks, and I saw that he had noticed too. He kept silent, his eyes moving from my lips to my eyes and back down again.

So I declared simply, 'Since that night in Jennia.'

His eyes sparkled, and I reached for the hand that was resting at my waist, weaving my fingers through his, though not yet settling. I gingerly played with his fingers, and I averted my eyes from his gaze. His other hand was snaking his way up into my hair, twirling my silver lock in between his own fingers. Both preoccupied, we reveled in this first moment of real calm and intimacy we'd ever shared.

This close, he smelled of hints of green lime and dry oak wood. I needed more, so I ceased my fiddling and leaned in. As I was hovering close to his face, supporting myself with an arm on the tree behind him, I must say I felt rather foolish. However, as I tried backing up again, the hand of his that had previously been in my hair quickly inched to the small of my back, securing me in place.

'Don't,' his voice resonated pleasantly at the edges of my fuzzy mind. A hushed ghost of his voice, a mere whisper, capable of causing my legs to turn to jelly.

Up until this day, I hadn't been aware of how much I loved it when he spoke to me through the link of our minds.
It had long been there whenever we practised our seiðr; open and intimate. Then, it was there whenever we were around one another. We'd used it in deafening banquet halls filled with hundreds of people; in burdensome rituals where no one but Odin would speak for hours on end. And we'd used it in these past years of seeing each other far too little.

It was our safe haven outside of the pond, and the older we got, the stronger the link grew. We controlled whether we let the other in or not, and never before had we denied one another entry. My door was always open for him, as was his for me.

The tingles left behind by his voice inside my head let my heart flutter strangely in my chest.
Yet, I was fazed by being this close to him, in this peculiar position we had in fact been in before – however then, my arm had been at his throat and a dagger secured in my palm.

The pain I'd felt that day threatened to envelop me again, but although his title declares him the God of Mischief and Lies, I believed him. He never took to Sif's bed; he couldn't lie to me anymore. In Jennia, he had let me in fully – and I would not ever exploit the hold I had had over him since that day. Yet, we had indeed been in imbalance ever since – He could not enter my thoughts; my seiðr prevented him from doing so until the moment I would accept him in, too. From then on, only the strength of our minds would enable us to keep the other out – a circumstance easily exploited...

I would let him in eventually – as was only fair – but back then, the advantage I had over him was acting well as retribution for his little stunt concerning the Mirror of Mycha.

Jennia had changed everything we had been before. To me, he would never be the God of Lies ever again.

Focusing solely on his intoxicating scent and the way his hand was holding me in place, gingerly, I made to brush my lips over his jawline. I savoured the salty taste of him on my lips. I could feel a flicker of a shudder jolting through him underneath me, and the next moment, he had snaked both arms around me, holding me secure in his embrace. I felt his breath at my ear, and I knew he felt mine. We stayed like this for what felt like years or seconds, or anything in between, really.

Then, timidly so, I said, 'I saw which page you had read from when I picked up the book, you know.' Though staying in my comfortable position in his arms, I leaned my head back to face him again. 'What made you put it down?'

'Perhaps I got bored?' There was a grin on his lips, not yet a smirk, and I thought I might never forget it. As it so appears I never did.

'Perhaps. Though, I don't believe that to be the truth.'

'Is that so, huh?' His fingers found their new home at my outer ear. Tracing the curves of it with the tips, he bit his lip as though in deep concentration.
I simply nodded in response and made an attempt to stare even deeper into his eyes.

'Okay, well,' he cleared his throat and straightened his posture, careful as to pull me upwards with him. 'If you've seen the page, I believe you will recall which passage stands out most.'

Again, I gave a nod. But suddenly, realisation hit me, and I thought I might know why he had gotten himself drunk... Or was it naught but wishful thinking?
Still, I put a hand atop his and indicated him that he wouldn't have to elaborate further on it.

I leaned in and moved my lips close to his ear as my other hand rested upon his thigh. He was rigid beneath my touch, and butterflies erupted in my belly at that.

Hoping I was right with my assumptions, I chose to give him a straw and silently hoped – prayed – he'd take it. 'You were wrong. It was never about him.'

I didn't want to abandon the comfort of our proximity, the excitement of holding such power over him by simply being this close to him. I longed for another kiss. Then, I felt him shift beneath me, determinedly taking my hands in his and slightly bending his neck so that he was facing me again. I shivered at what I found in his eyes – something I dare not explain in words.
Something he dared not put into words. Something as beautiful as it was scary.
Saying it meant facing the reality of us; facing this reality meant a decision; a decision meant acceptance of our preordained future; acceptance meant I was ready for my fate – which I, in all honesty, still wasn't.

Saying it would feel like denying us our free will, taking from us all the little things. Like everything we had would belong to something greater, and not to us alone, here and now.
He shouldn't say it,
I shouldn't say it,
He mustn't say it,
I mustn't say—

A wave of words coming our way from the trees interrupted my destructive thoughts; hallow and impeded, yet familiar and bellowing.

'Y/n! We must leave now if we wish to behold Volstagg beat Fandral in that duel of wits he promised us! Where in the Nine Realms are you?' At the sound of his brother's voice, Loki's loving gaze shifted into one of utter irritation. Then scorn.

'Oh, by the Norns!' I cursed. 'I'm so sorry! I put up a link between the alehouse and here so that I may hear this exact call. I promised him I'd be there, I—'

I saw in it his eyes, in his glare, that I was about to desert him for Thor, just like he'd predicted. When he was most vulnerable, I was most traitorous. Most craven.

Oh, I so hoped that he had caught onto my earlier meaning.
When I'd been reading Wuthering Heights, and taken down those tiny scribbles he'd seen on those pages, some hidden part of me had wanted him to find them. To understand who and what he was to me. But also, what I feared we could become... Heathcliff and Catherine's bond was a destructive one.

Yet, all I did was lean down once more, kiss his lips feverishly, and teleport out of the comforting snow.

The second Thor's arms were caging me inside his familiar bear hug, not calming me like they usually did, I thought of nothing else but that I should've said so much more...

Chapter Text

Loki, just listen!

My tossing and turning has turned ferocious by then, my body yearning to pull her closer, experience her as I experienced her at our frozen pond. Alas, my efforts are in vain.
Her frame blurs, and I reach for her, but she slips painfully from my grasp like violent, violet smoke.

Mischief! Wake up!

My musings abruptly interrupted, a sharp sting now cut across my left cheek. Which was followed by a jolt of pain shooting up my left arm as it collided with the unforgiving stone of my bedroom floor.
With my eyes adjusting steadily to the gloom, I started to scan the room for Y/n.

Of course she wasn't there – these were my private chambers after all; how could she ever be here?
Yet, there she clearly was – there, in my head.

I suppose you're finally awake now? What had you knocked out like that?

I'd meant to respond, Your lips on mine, but ultimately, the words were left unsaid. Instead, I sent something else down the link of our minds.
Did you just mentally slap me awake?

S'ppose I did.

But how in Hel's name did you?!

I thought it, then I did it. Was w orth a try.

Silence from her voice in my head followed, at least for the time being, as I was sorting through the irritation inside.
It was supposed to be impossible for her to act inside my head without the touching of our skin...
Amidst my contemplation, the distant shuffling of feet caught my attention as though echoing from another realm.

You're right outside my chambers, aren't you?

Of course I am. How else would I be able to communicate with you, silly?

Greater and more curious things have been achieved tonight, I thought to myself.

Ignoring the shameless insolence she had taken on, and which she had clearly adopted from me, I asked, Couldn't sleep? Pining for me does have that effect on some. Or so I've heard.

Naturally, the answer to her insolence was bound to be met with nothing but an even greater amount of my own. 1-1.

Of course, Mischief, why ever else.

She dragged the "ever" so much that I felt my insides twitch at the way it morphed her voice into something raunchy and... wrong. So utterly wrong. But, oh so good.

I could clearly see her before me: that insidious, sly wink and wicked smile of hers I had grown to adore reshaping her features into that lovely thing meant to be immortalised in marble. And there in the privacy of my chambers, unceremoniously so, I could be found revelling in the warm sensation that exact image had managed to rouse in the pit of my stomach.

Well, actually, I came to collect. You, for that matter. I have something planned for us, she revealed.

Wha— Then I was impudently interrupted.

Get dressed and meet me in the halls. I'll explain everything then.

Then, the disconnect.
So, I did as I was told – rather peculiar of me, I'm aware – and threw on my robes.

There she stood, in the grand halls of Asgard Palace's left wing, right outside my chambers, and in all her glory.
Waiting. For me.
The wicked smile I had conjured up in my mind mere moments earlier was now indeed gracing her lips.

She was dressed in a simple off-shoulder dress of shining, sparkling onyx, complemented by a violet leather corset which was embellished with accents of silver that stood in perfect harmony with her brilliant lock of silver hair.
The instant my eyes had landed on that flash of silver, I found myself captivated by the mesmerizing mop of hair. The icy strand wound itself around her head in an intricate crescent, its arrowhead delicately attached to her temple. The Flétta af Hugrekki – the Light Elves' Braid of Courage.

As though conjured up, suddenly a nine-year-old Y/n stood before my mind's eye. In her little kyrtill, and brimming with all that wit and charisma.
And yet she still had resorted to that small braid to grant her the courage she thought she needed on her first day here in Asgard.
I remember her as a stranger in an even stranger land; a land she was destined to become the most important person of.
Suddenly, I understood why she must have believed herself in desperate need of courage...
Thinking back now, I only admire that little girl the more.

I remember telling her how the braid had suited her.

I remember her mouth to twitch into that sort-of grin she would still sport on occasions these days.

I remember the thought striking me that, were this prophesied girl to one day decide in my favour, I would be far from displeased.

Perhaps on that day those three hundred years back, I had already fallen. Perhaps not. All that which is certain is that, on this day, she already had me wrapped tightly around whichever finger she would've offered me.

What ever could be the reason for that need of courage on a day as ordinary as today? The question lingered in my mind as I returned to the present.

Her dress fell gracefully, ending just above her knees. However, just one of her arms was covered by a sleeve.
My gaze was immediately drawn to the not-so-bare skin of her other arm, as it was adorned with intricate black markings.
Runes, I came to realise.

The first, Dagaz, symbolises the dawn of a new day; growth; an awakening. Underneath, Algiz, a rune of protection; a shield. Then Jera, for peace and hardship going hand in hand. The remaining three were Laguz, Mannaz, and Nauthiz – chaos, humanity, need.
Those runes, of course, hold a myriad of meanings. What I read off of Y/n's glowing skin was merely my interpretation of... of her.

At long last, the sweet melody of her voice graced my ears.
'Don't you want to find out what it is you came out here for in the middle of the night?'

Embarrassingly enough, I must have stared at her for quite a while already, and it certainly did not help that on the first attempt I made at giving her an answer, I managed to choke on my own tongue.
Oh, trust my words when I say that I'd much rather have choked on hers.

'Fine, fine, I'll tell you,' she relented with that playful little smirk rising. 'Better hold your tongue. Before you suffocate from being ripped from your precious sleep. Wouldn't want that on my hands.'

Before I could fire back, I found myself unceremoniously swept off my feet. Almost tumbling to the floor with her on top, I managed to catch myself, and her too, for that matter.
So there we stood in my deserted hallway, locked in an embrace amidst the watchful portraits of my ancestors.

To my surprise, and hugging me even tighter, she exclaimed, 'Happy name day, Mischief!'

And just like that, the one woman who had succeeded at it before had once again rendered me utterly speechless.

'Name day? Not once have we celebrated my name day before,' I remarked, gently pushing her back by the shoulders so I could meet her eyes. They were shining.

'That is a shame in itself, indeed. But Loki! It's your 9th century!'

'And that's special becauuuse...?'

And although her arms were no longer caging my neck, I felt unwilling to let her retrieve all of herself from me. And so I held onto her waist.

'Becauuuse, dummy, in human terms, you're now officially regarded a man.'

'Ah, so on Midgard I must have been a horse up until now. Got it, thank you.'

I let her have the light slap to my cheek my snide tease had resulted in. I rather enjoyed the sting.

'No, you oaf,' she chided. 'In many a Midgardian culture turning eighteen marks the transition from boyhood to manhood. It's a significant milestone!'

'And so you've decided to celebrate me?' I asked, undecided how to feel about that. 'And you've decided nine hundred makes me eighteen again.'

'Obviously!' she beamed, her smile as radiant as ever, adamant to ignore my latest tease.

As endearingly simple as her answer was, still it stirred quite an extreme reaction within me.
Had she done this for Thor too? Not that I know of.

'But by the Norns, we need to be off! Else, the plan I so – I dare say – brilliantly concocted for your first present might just never come to fruition!'

'What present?' I inquired, yet again as perplexed as I was endeared by her wit.

'Your cake,' she revealed, as though nothing could have ever been more obvious.

'A cake? You baked me a cake?'

'No. My plan does not go as far as offing you.' She threw me a wink and I felt my veins buzz with that familiar spark of electricity.

'We will have Madame Agnetha bake one for Odin's second born,' she said, matter-of-factly.

'How in Valhalla's Halls are we to manage that in the middle of the night? Besides, she despises me! I've pilfered far too many grapes and pastries from the kitchens in my nine hundred years of life for that,' I pointed out, stoic skepticism saturating my words.

'As I just explained: She will bake one for Odin's second born. All it takes is for Odin to assign her with the task.'

There lay a mysterious glimmer in her bright, shining eyes, and before the 'how' could even leave my lips, it had dawned on me just how.

I felt my insides twitch deliciously. Where she had refrained from calling me All-Father she had instead decided for King – and here I was, all burning pleasure from her voice in my head declaring me her king.
By the Norns, I've become a fool for...

As I focused on her features from afar, I could discern on them that she was now likely hearing exactly what I was hearing.

She's coming, she whispered, regardless that she was saying it in the privacy of our minds' link. Endearing, really.

'Your Majesty?' Madame Agnetha's voice echoed from the walls.
'Forgive the impertinence, but what brings Your Grace to our humble kitchens? Does slumber yet elude you? Shall I prepare a cup of your favoured tea of the magnolias to help ease Your Grace's restless mind?'

I pulled my hand from hers. Her eyes searched for something in mine.

'Is your plan to continue at pretending that day at the pond never happened?' I asked with a tone moderate and a heart cold.
All I wished for was her honesty.

Y/n and I found ourselves wandering the quieter corridors of the palace. Her hand was still warm in mine. There was something about her presence that made even the most mundane moments feel significant.
At one point, I realised that she was leading me in the direction of the royal gallery. Grand and silent in its grandeur, the walls lined with portraits of Asgardian royalty. The flickering candlelight cast long shadows, giving the paintings an almost lifelike quality. Countless times I had passed through here.

Y/n turned to me, a certain glint in her eye. 'Some mischief for the God of Mischief?' she asked, already toying with a small wisp of seiðr in her palm.

'Do you even have to ask?' I replied, feeling the familiar thrill of a challenge stir within me. There was nothing quite like the exhilaration of bending reality, if only for a moment.

Naturally, Thor's portrait was to suffer our attention first.
I changed his golden hair to a fiery red and gave him a thick, wild beard, nearly as thick as his new barrel of a belly Y/n had decided to gift him. She stifled a laugh, her eyes sparkling with unfiltered mirth.

'Is not this a better fit for a God of Thunder?' I joked, drunken on her laughter and joy.

'Denying so would be a crime. It does rather bring out his... boisterous personality,' she replied, barely containing her amusement.

We moved on to Frigga's portrait next, placing Gungnir in her hands and dressing her in Odin's golden armour. The transformation was striking, a true testament to her strength and resilience.

'She looks as though she should never have been anything other but this, doesn't she?' Y/n commented, stepping back to admire our handiwork. It was but a small rebellion, but still it felt liberating.

'Indeed, she does,' I agreed, pondering the difference her rule would have made to our lives...
But Y/n left me no time to ponder far as she pulled me in front of Tyr's portrait.
In a flash, she had swapped his bulky armour for Bragi's flowing attire, whereas I had him tending to Idun's apples. She almost stumbled with laughter.

I made sure not to waste my chance, and so I expertly maneuvered her into my arms under the guise of keeping her from falling.
Whilst she laughed with her eyes closed and to almost no end, I forbid myself from missing even just a single second of the joy on her face that I had caused.

When we'd eventually calmed down, Y/n approached the portrait of her and her mother with a certain touch of solemnity.
To my surprise, she replaced her image with that of Freya standing stock-still next to her mother. The blonde's belly clearly swollen.

'She would have loved having Freya as her daughter. The ideal of femininity, beauty, obedience,' Y/n whispered. Her voice was tinged with a mix of bitterness and disdain, and I felt like an invader to her private thoughts by hearing her say those words. The vulnerability in her tone struck a chord deep within me.

So I placed a hand on her shoulder. 'She doesn't know what she's missing.'
The sincerity of my words surprised even myself. 'You are more than any ideal could ever hope to be.'

Without turning her gaze on me, she leaned into my side, resting her head on my shoulder.

Watching her, I caught her eyes wander to my portrait to her left. With a flourish of seiðr, and the yearning within me to see that smile return to her face, I had it glamoured.
Before us, my likeness now fashioned a crown along with a cloak of royal crimson and adorned with a collar of fur. A green gust of seiðr smoldered in my palms, and so I added a wink. For good measure.

'Fits the boy like a glove' Y/n said, her smile slowly returning. 'King, as he should be.'

As she spoke, I noticed something within me to shift – call it a seed taking root in my mind.
For so long, I had lived as my brother's shadow; the Crown Prince, the golden son, the rightful heir. Yet, in this very moment, Y/n had seen another version of me. A potential. Of what I could be.

Reaching the end of the gallery, just before the entrance to the ballroom, we paused. The empty space on the wall utterly unnerving.
Opposite it, a portrait of Y/n, the hero-born seated, with the two princes regally towering behind her.

'This spot won't stay vacant for ever,' she murmured, tracing the outline of the empty frame with her fingers, a sullen wistfulness in her voice.

'I'm aware,' I replied, simple as that. Though a pang of anger tugged at my heart.

This space was meant for her and Thor. The portrait of their union. It did not matter that the whole of Asgard refused to say the words when they thought them so loudly.
A future that seemed both inevitable and distant.

For a while, we just stood there, the weight of words unspoken hanging thick in the space between us.
Y/n turned to me, her eyes now shining.

'Thank you for tonight, Loki. It's been...' She didn't finish her thought.

'Thank me?' I echoed, perplexed. 'You ought to be the one thanked, yngri hetja.'

A soft smile played on her lips now, though something deeper lay hidden in her eyes. The space between us seemed to shrink, and in that very moment, the air grew charged, thick with things unspoken and chances missed.
Her breath hitched slightly, and I felt that sudden and irresistible pull towards her.
My heart raced as I closed the distance between us, my hand moving to cup her cheek. Her skin was surprisingly warm under my touch, and her eyes fluttered shut.

Grant me one last time, I thought, careful as to keep her from listening in, before I give you up.

'Y/n,' I whispered, my voice hoarse with longing. I could feel her breath on my skin overwhelming me. But just as our lips were about to meet, she placed a gentle hand on my chest, stopping me.

'Loki.' Her eyes opened to meet mine. 'I– Uhm–There's still one other place I wish to take you.'

Her words broke the spell, though the intensity of the moment lingered. I merely nodded, swallowing hard as I stepped back, the air between us still charged with that damned unresolved tension.

'Lead the way,' I managed to say, my voice steadier than my legs felt. Her eyes held mine for a moment longer before she turned. I was determined on keeping her out of my inner musings, were she planning on slipping into my mind.
Come now, kærasta, mould me further...

The chill of the early morning air pricked at my skin as Y/n and I made our way through the darkened halls of the palace. The anticipation in her steps contrasted sharply with the turmoil within me.

'Where are we going?' I asked, struggling to keep my voice light.

'You'll see,' she replied, her smile a blend of mischief and something entirely else. 'Patience, Mischief.'

Even though I know that's not quite your strong suit, her voice teased on an even more galling level as it reverberated in my mind. I threw a small blast of seiðr at the back of her head. She only gave me a huff and a roll of the eyes in return.
Name day privileges, I guess.

As we emerged into the quieter streets of Asgard, the city was bathed in a soft, silver glow the moon granted. The marketplace, typically bustling, was serene and almost enchanted in its stillness.
Y/n tugged me forward.

'This Asgard is quite different, huh? One we rarely get to see. Or rather, one that rarely gets to see us.'

We pushed through the streets, disguised by a simple glamour spell she had cast. I could feel the seiðr hum pleasantly between us.

'Look, there,' Y/n whispered, pointing towards a group of children frolicking near a fountain. Their laughter was soft, their joy infectious.

'It's strange,' I murmured, 'seeing them so carefree.'

Seeing them run the streets at night, it was hard to ignore the biting knowledge of what they were. Outcast, most likely orphaned, with no one to care whether they lay safely tugged in their little beds or not.
And in need.
But not alone. Laughing and frolicking because they were never alone.

She nodded, her eyes sparkling. 'It's moments like these that remind me of why we fight so hard to protect this realm. Even the lost are never truly lost here. Because they have us to prevent it.'

And although I gazed solely upon her complexion as she said those words, I still caught the small violet cloud dance from her fingertips and over to the giggling children.
Already she was moving on to continue our journey, but I had to turn around another time. From the fountain, I saw the children retrieve five filled bags of silver coins.
Seiðr can only ever produce riches bound to vanish after a short while, forbidden to last. And so I knew that what she had given them hadn't been that. It had been hers. Transferred, not conjured.

My heart ached with a mix of admiration and a gnawing sense of inadequacy. How effortlessly she extended her compassion; how naturally she embodied that very essence of the role she had been assigned – that of the saviour. And though she had only to give the Realms an heir, she had decided to give herself in full to what she thought she was needed to be.

She was an all-or-nothing kind of girl, and I always should have known.
Perhaps this was the exact reason why she would never be able to decide in my favour. I, who was known to view kindness as a vulnerability, honesty as a bore.

'Okay, nope,' she exclaimed, as she came to a sudden halt. Almost I had stumbled into her. 'It's way too early to walk this far. This must do.'
The next thing I felt was blindness, pure darkness before me. Next, a buzzing sensation filling my head as I was momentarily swept off my feet. Again.

No, not mine. His.

This is what she so desperately needed me to see. The words she couldn't voice aloud .

But I just couldn't leave.
A force stronger than mine held me down, keeping me prisoner in this poisonous memory of hers.
Coward, I thought again, hoping that, this time, she would hear it ring in her mind.

'Happy name day, Mischief.'

Bewilderment surely crept up into my expression as my eyes fixed the box held out to me.
Taking it, I carefully removed the emerald cloth.
At the sight before me I drew in a sharp breath.

Amidst the dark linen there lay the most exquisite pair of blades I ever had the pleasure of beholding.
Forged from the finest silver steel, they were gleaming with a cold, mercurial brilliance that seemed to capture and reflect every flicker of light. The first dagger was cleary made of dwarven steel, obvious in the way it seemed to steam in the suns.

Yet, the one which lay beneath glowed of the finest non-magical silver.
The hilt, wrapped in rich, leathers of green and gold, depicted tiny ancient runes, each line and curve a testament to the skill of the artisan who had crafted it.
It was clearly Midgardian. The gift she had Revna instructed to bring her...

A small, flawless emerald was set into the pommel, glinting with the promise of deadliness. Though Midgardian, I could feel energy coursing through it, a latent power that seemed to resonate with my seiðr, and instantly I knew Y/n to have glamoured it with her own.
Since Jennia, I had only one dagger left, the other one now resting in the monstrous belly of a sand serpent.
She had remembered.

However, what drew my eyes the most was the intricate engraving running along the length of the white silver in elegant, flowing script.

Whatever our souls are made of,

The quote ended abruptly, so I turned the dagger in my palm.

The words seemed to pulse with the same quiet, profound power the emotion I had felt in that blasted memory of hers had done.

'So yes, he might be the better choice,' she began again, her velvet voice beckoning me to return to her.
'But I was taught as a child that one should always make the right choice. And for me,' her voice was filled with soft sincerity and I felt her hand tremble while holding mine as she finished, 'that's you.'

My breath caught in my throat.
And without a second thought, without a second glance at her vigilant expression, I flicked my wrist.
In a flash, green and vibrant, she was in my arms, her face caged between my palms as I captured her lips with all I had.

The buzzing warmth of her mouth against mine was electrifying, sending a shiver down my spine. I felt her hands clutch at my tunic, pulling me ever closer, as though to erase all the space still left between us.
Our kiss deepened, growing more urgent and fervent. I could taste the sweetness of her tongue, feel the soft hum of her sighs against our clashing lips.

My fingers threaded through her hair, feeling the silken strands slip through them as her body melted against mine as though made to be in my embrace. Hands sliding down her waist, I pulled her closer still, as if the very act of kissing her could somehow merge our souls just like the dagger's engraving suggested.
She responded with equal intensity, her hands roaming over my back, her nails grazing the skin of my neck as she claimed me. Our tongues danced together in a rhythm that spoke of promises.

When we finally broke apart, breathless and dazed, our foreheads rested against one another.
Her eyes, filled with a mixture of longing and affection, met mine, and for a moment, the universe seemed to hold its breath.

'There you have it. Your choice,' her voice was layered with a low chuckle, successful in eliciting a bright grin out of me.

'I needed you to finally know,' she whispered, her voice suddenly lacking the humour and instead trembling with emotion. 'I needed you.'

'If that is to be your heart's desire,' I replied, voice raspy from the exertion of our kiss. 'Then you shall have me.'
My thumb brushed her cheek tenderly, longingly. 'For all time.'

At that, her hand caught mine at her cheek. 'Never opted for a different solution.'

The intensity of our kiss still lingered in the air, a tangible reminder of the bond we had finally accepted. It was a moment of pure connection.
And in that intimate embrace, with the memory of the steel's engraving still fresh in my mind, I knew that whatever our souls were made of, they were indeed the same.

Minutes or hours had passed, my lips almost hanging in shreds, as I gazed upon the magnificent woman in my arms. We were spread out on a blanket she had conjured at the edge of the cliff, entangled limbs and all.

'My, my, three daggers, huh?' I said as I retrieved the one I always carried with me from my belt.

'Whatever am I to do with three daggers and only two hands.'

I licked my lips mischieviously before I took her mouth once more.

'Well, at first I meant to gift you just the one. But she needed a partner, so I had another made at Tyr's forge.'

'Huh. A partner, you say.' I traced her lower lip with my thumb.
She nodded, a playful grin reaching all the way up to her eyes.

'But in your memory, I remember Revna bringing you a second from Midgard. One almost identical to this one, she had said,' my voice was low as my face was mere inches from hers.

'She did. But I decided to keep that one for myself.'

Her hand slid down her side to push aside the material covering her upper thigh. A shining new blade of silver glimmered in the suns.
Gingerly, I reached for it, running my hand along the shaft, mindful to touch enough of her deliciously cool skin in the process.

'Well, if mine needed an Asgardian partner,' I murmured. With my other hand I held my old dagger, the hilt now pointed at her. 'I suppose this is yours then.'

Her eyes widened, her lips trying to form words. 'You–you don't mean that. They were your mother's! You've already lost the other. I cannot–'

'Oh, yes you can. She loves you nearly as much as she loves me. And most importantly, I burn to see you wield it to perfection.'

Carefully extending her hand towards the dagger, the second she clasped her hand around it, she had me pulled back down onto the hard ground and locked in yet another intoxicating kiss.

'Oh, yngri hetja,' I drawled in-between breaths. '"You have witchcraft in your lips."'
Shakespeare's words eased of my lips, seemingly successful at numbing the remaining specks of that deep-seated fear within her.
She beamed up at me, a beautiful challenge lurking behind her eyes.

'So what you're implying is that your feelings resulted from naught but a mere spell I supposedly cast upon you?'

Next thing, I was turned over onto my back, the feisty shield maiden now straddling my waist. Smirking down from atop me, she added, 'Is not this more your style than it is mine, Mischief?'
Her smirk clearly challenged the mischief in me.

So, in response, I simply caught her impudent lips with my own, sure to leave teeth marks behind as I suckled and nibbled on them.
Lightly, she slapped my chest as she pulled away from my yearning lips.

'Don't,'  I, the God of Mischief, quite literally begged at the loss of her taste.
But I was caught of guard as she – far from abandoning me as I'd feared at first – decided to place her lips somewhere other than my mouth.

'Ohh,' I let out, my breath a shaky joke of a sound. Her mouth was leisurely traveling down my jaw, nibbling here and there, soft purrs and breaths escaping her while working her way down.

At once, I felt ravenous.
Out of instinct, I pushed her off me, only to rise up into a sitting position. With her still in my lap.
That way, I could enjoy the view of Asgard's full glory all the while she laboured to make me feel like the king of all the Nine Realms.
Her teeth returned to my neck, and with my hands gripping her hair, I groaned her name.

She stopped, abrupt and careless, leaving me breathless and at her mercy. The faraway look in her eyes sent a shiver down my spine, the first one in minutes I did not enjoy.

'Yngri hetja?' My tone was soft and careful.

Without meeting my gaze, she hushed, 'Are we not to consult Odin about this first? I made my choice. Without thinking of—'

'Y/n,' I sighed, interrupting her. I made sure to fix her eyes with what I willed to be an undettered gaze. 'Look at me, please.'

She complied. And in that moment, I swore to the Norns – as well as to each and every other force out there in the universe – that, now that I held her in my arms, never again was I to give her up.

I tried desperately to think of the right words to ease her mind. Until I found them.
'The prophecy, your impending betrothal, my father, Ragnarök. None of these forces – as demeaning and outright atrocious as they are – ought to ever allow my brother nor me to see you as anything less than the fierce, feisty, and free woman that you are.'
Her eyes started to water, but I wasn't yet finished.
'You are not his to give and certainly not mine to take.' I took her silver lock of hair between my fingers. 'You are yours to give.'

And in a flash, I was drowned in a storm of kisses and a surging heat of limbs entangled.

Chapter Text

Then there's nothing but silence.

As the golden glow of Gungnir's power recedes from my hands, a hollow ache gnaws at my insides. A void more profound than the one that has swallowed Thor and Y/n.
My mind replays the scene over and over. Her eyes, the way she looked at me in those last moments, pierces through my very core.

I am a fool. Always have been, always will be.
Most often for her.

Guilt, raw and unrelenting, tears at my chest. I only ever wanted to protect her, to claim the future we were meant for. But in my desperation, all I had succeeded in is driving her as far away as a different realm!
The power I had sought, the glory I had desired, now feels like ash in my mouth, and I know I haven't done this to protect her heart, but mine.

With the Odinforce still lingering in my veins, I am tainted.
This power, this throne, it was meant to secure our destiny, to prove that I was more than just a misfit and a trickster. But what use is power when the heart is empty?
She is my anchor, my confidante, the one who believes in me always. But now I fear even her goodwill has likely found its end.
I need to bring her back, but also: how ever can I?

She will resent me just as I grew to resent Thor. Power does that to the living.

I stumble to the edge of the Bifröst, my legs barely supporting my weight. The city of Asgard, bathed in the soft hue of the setting suns, seems distant and indifferent to my agony. The very air feels heavy with the consequences of my actions, and I can almost hear the whispers of the realms, their judgment.
In the silence, I whisper her name, a prayer to the void, a plea for forgiveness that would only come if I act.

My fingers tighten around Gungnir, the symbol of my temporary triumph. But most of all, still... a symbol of absolute power.
As the first stars begin to shimmer in the twilight sky, I know there is no turning back. The path I have chosen may permit me the light of redemption, yet it will safe everything else.

She will come to understand. I hold the Odinforce within my grasp, how could this path ever be the one that's wrong? She will come to accept.
She will come to revel in it just as much as I do.

The Odinforce coursing through me surges at the vivid images of her drawn up by my heart's deepest desire.
My mind's eye is suddenly drawn to Midgard, to the mortal realm where I have banished the traitor and my love.
Flashes of them appear before me – Thor kneels in the mud, Mjölnir thrones on an earthy pedestal before him. I cringe at the scene.

Where is Y/n?
He has abandoned her.
He had her killed.
He has lost my darling yngri hetja!

A flicker of light to my right. Then, there she is, had been here all along, watching the charade just as I have. Whole and unbroken.
Until she suddenly isn't anymore.

Her knees give in, and she crumbles. Shoulders shivering uncontrollably, she appears as though shot through from the back – stare blank, jaw hanging, tears leaking.
And I realise, that this is my work.
A dagger in the back, treacherous and diabolically egoistical.
By jinxing Mjölnir's loyalty to Thor, I had not just banished him, but Y/n as well.
But she doesn't really think I would ever let that happen, would she? She must know that I'd destroy every branch of Yggdrasil just to return her into the safety of my arms! She must.

My head drowns in pictures and flashes and electricity, and a growl of agony erupts from me as I am temporarily extracted from the vision. I take a few steadying breaths and try again.

My heart clenches at the new image before me.

Y/n races through a vast landscape, one that eerily resembles Jennia, the desert where we had once so deliciously lost ourselves in.
My heart now tears, feeling as though cleaved apart at the sight of her bravery, her loyalty, her love – all directed towards that undeserving brother of mine.
It is a bitter irony, a cruel twist of fate that the very qualities I adore most in her were now turned against me.

She rushes through a door, my consciousness trailing after her. All begins to flicker before me, and I will myself to power through this second attempt at a disconnect.
I need to see her, I need to stay with her.

Ultimately, I fail at that, and all goes black before me.
But I'm still with her. I'm still on Midgard, in this strange building. With her.

'He commited a crime. He's in jail!' A male voice rings in my ears.

'We can't just leave him there! And we can't expect Y/n to leave him there either!'
A persistent female voice, though not my Y/n's.

'Why? Because you suddenly trust her? A girl claiming to be a goddess? Claiming the God of Thunder to be her fiancé?!'

'You didn't see what I saw! You didn't see her simply—vanish from the spot!'

Where is Y/n in all this? Why won't she defend herself but rather resort to letting this petty human do it for her?
What. Is. Going. On?!

'Look! Look, it's Myeu-muh,' chimnes in a second female voice. A flash of a book appears before my eyes but before I can take it all in, it's gone again. But I've seen what it attempted to depict. Mjölnir.

'Where did you find this?' That first female voice speaks again.

'The children's section. I just wanted to show you how silly his story was,' retorts the male.

'But you're the one who's always pushing me to chase down every possibility, every alternative!'

'I'm talking about science, not magic.'

'Well, magic's just science that we don't understand yet!'

'She speaks true,' a feeble voice sounds from somewhere far off. The most beautiful.
Why won't I see her?!
Norns, I need to see her!

'You're okay!' the second female Midgardian exclaims. 'Thank god. I thought you had run yourself to death.'

What?! And they had stood here rambling about science and whatnot, doing nothing to safe her!? These useless, vile mortals!

'I–I am well. All that's important now is that you believe what I've told you. You need to safe Thor! He's lost his faith by not being able to lift Mjölnir. And my seiðr is weak. I cannot get him out of there! Please,' she begged, desperation etched deep into her voice.

'Your seiðr. Come on, girl! This is going too far now! How about you quit the lies and perhaps then I might even consider helping you.' The male voice was now changed. Sly and rich with assumed intelligence, and utterly annoying.

There's a short silence until the first female speaks up again, 'What if she isn't lying, Erik?'

'Jane, it's okay,' Y/n stops her. 'I will give him what he wants.'

I concentrate harder, the determination to find my girl whole and unharmed driving me until finally, colours return. Before me, Y/n leans against a dark-haired, plump girl, her arm slung around her waist.
To her right, there's another; hair a lighter shade of brown, eyes kind.
They face an older blond Midgardian male, whose features are laden with skepticism and intrigue.

Y/n's complexion makes me shiver – her skin is drained of blood, her legs shake, and her eyes struggle to cling to anything that's before her.
I wish she could see me.
I watch her lift her shaking hand. Closing her eyes, I know she's concentrating on her power. Then, and with a great surge of her energy releasing, small fireworks emit from her pale palms.
The image so familiar that my heart swells comfortably.

Though the man they call Erik first appears at a loss, he eventually finds the words. 'You think this party trick will prove you're a Norse goddess?'

'I never claimed to be one,' Y/n mumbles weakly.
And in a flash, she is out of the dark-haired girl's arms, only to reappear at the other side of the room where she steadies herself with the help of a window.

'I said I came from Asgard, home of the Æsir and home of my friend Thor, the God of Thunder. Whom you've also met.'

I am unsure whether she has caught the way the man's face has fallen, the way his heart has made a jolt so great it had been visible through his heaving chest – because her eyes are now closed. Fatigue.
If I had legs I would rush to her side, yet I should know better; she is fierce and capable and in no need of any saving.
She speaks up again.

'And that's why you need to help him. He has committed no crime but to try and retrieve what is rightfully his, and I have failed him. But I won't fail him a second time.' To my surprise, I find something lethal in her tone. Something unbent, and willing to break anything still left unbroken.

And then, with everything he believed to know now shaken, the man complies.
So, they leave.

My vision blurrs at the edges and when I regain control over it, we're suddenly at the small city they've built around Mjölnir.
Y/n is alone with this man. But before I can worry myself over it, he strides off, their last words to one another inaudible to me. Something is clearly hindering me from staying with her. Gungnir practically screams at me in my palms, forcing me to do more.
And I give in – she needs to know, needs to hear me say it...

Seconds later, she stands right in front of me. And this time, her eyes do not see through me.

I materialise before her, my form barely holding together as the projection struggles to maintain its shape. The sight of Y/n sends a jolt through me – her eyes wide, breath catching in her throat.
I can feel the shock radiating from her, mingling with an undercurrent of something deeper. Betrayal, pain. Norns, how I've hurt her.

'Y/n...' The word slips off my lips in a desperate whisper. Her name, once a comfort, now feels like a curse, a reminder of the pain I've caused her by doing what, in the end, will be right.
All will be right, I tell myself.

She stares at me as if I'm a stranger, as though she can't quite believe that I'm standing here. Even in this ghostly form. The last time she saw me, I'd sent her hurtling into the void alongside Thor, banishing her to Midgard with the very same ease I once used to pull her into my arms.

'Lo–loki?' Her voice is fragile, barely more than a breath, yet laced with an edge that slices through my soul. The disbelief, the pain, I can see it all in her eyes, in the way she holds herself, like she's bracing for another blow.
She tries to reach for me, but as though realisation hitting her, she stops her hand midway. Either she knows she cannot touch me, or she simply refrains from doing so.
Suddenly, I feel like I am poison, able to dissolve her.
Norns, I never wanted this.

'I'm so—' I begin, though the words feel hollow in my mouth. So I hedge, 'I never meant to hurt you like this.'

Her response is immediate, sharp, cutting into me like a blade. 'You never mean it and yet you still do.'

Her gaze is far away, a realm away possibly.
The accusation in her tone makes my heart clench painfully. I search for something to say, something that might soothe the hurt I've caused, but all I can offer is the truth of my own twisted logic.

'I had to, Y/n. Thor had to leave, and there was no other way. But you... You were never supposed to be caught in the crossfire!'

Her eyes narrow, disbelief hardening into anger. 'Caught in the crossfire? You have cast your own brother into the void! It doesn't matter whether you had planned to exile me too! All that matters is that, to him? To him, you did this willingly.'

Her words strike like lightning, each one leaving a scar. I feel the wrath gnawing at my guilt, eating it away so reason can clear my lovesick mind.
I can't lose her to him – not when I'm so close to securing a future where we can be together. She needs to see that I did what I had to do.
Does she really believe I enjoyed casting the man I believed to be my brother, loved like a brother, out into nothingness?

'With Thor gone, we could be together,' I say, desperation inevitably creeping back into my voice. I reach for her and though I cannot even touch her, she still backs away. Understood. I let my hand fall.

'We could leave all this behind. No more thrones, no more prophecies. We could run away – just the two of us. A kingdom of our own. By leaving him here with his precious humans—we could be together!'

Y/n's eyes soften, just for a second, as if she's considering it, as if she's tempted by the same dream.
But then reality crashes back in, and her expression shifts, something akin to disgust hardening her features. Suddenly she's looking at me as if I'm a changed man.

'How in the seven heaven's of Valhalla might that possibly change the damn prophecy, Loki?!' she cries, her voice trembling with the weight of her emotions. 'Or have you somehow forgotten about this small, insignificant thing we have all committed our lives to?'

Her expression is sharp, but her edges soften slightly as she takes a step forward.
'You're deluding yourself, elskan. You think Thor unworthy of all that he has. But you seem to forget that I am one half the species you just proclaimed as his!'

My nostrils start to flare as her words begin to unravel me. She needs to stop talking. Now.

'I–I never wanted this for us, I—' she doesn't finish her thought, but instead forms another. 'You're losing yourself, Loki. This power... I don't recognise you in it.'

I recoil, her words striking at the very core of my being.

'I'm not!' I snap, though even I can hear the tremor in my voice. 'I'm doing this for us, for our future. I—' The words catch in my throat as I see something in her eyes I can't accept.
Not now. It's too late for that.
'I can make you see,' I declare, forcing the words out, clinging to the last shreds of my resolve. 'I will make you see.'

'Make me see what, Loki?' Her voice softens, a plea for me to understand, to wake up from this madness. 'What is it you plan to do now?'

'Y/n...' Her name is a broken whisper on my lips. She ignores my plea.

'If you get Thor and me back now everything can still return to how it was before. It's not too late.'

Oh, but it is. Everything has to change, or else he will become her prophecy. Either way, change is inevitable – has been for a long time. But we had been deceived.

'I will get you back,' I vow. 'Soon. When you've come to your senses. I promise, my darling.'
The projection begins to falter, the strain of maintaining it tearing at my focus.

'No, Loki, wait—'

But before she can finish, the connection shatters, and I'm pulled back to Asgard, the image of her stricken face seared into my mind.
The Bifröst is cold beneath my feet, the emptiness of the vast chamber pressing down on me. But as I grip Gungnir tighter, the weight of my choices begins to crush me, the bitter taste of what I know to be the right decision lingering in my mouth. I may be too weakened still, but soon, I will be able to safe her.

Merely two more puzzle pieces and everything would fall into place almost all on its own.
The frosted hell awaits, and with it, the final piece of my scheme.

The cold bites at my skin as I step into the heart of a realm as harsh and unyielding as the beings that inhabit it. The landscape is a wasteland of ice and jagged rock, a stark contrast to the golden spires of Asgard. Yet, as I walk, I feel a strange sense of familiarity, an unsettling recognition of a place I've never truly belonged to, but one that pulses within my cursed blood. Oh, how I wish to smother it all.

I push the thought aside, focusing on the task at hand. The spear of Odin feels heavy in my grip, its power thrumming through my veins, a constant reminder of what I have been chosen to do. The darkness within me stirs, whispering promises of glory and power; of a future where I stand above all, even the All-Father himself, able to rip Y/n from his grasp.
Like this, I might even hold the power to stop Ragnarök myself and save Y/n from her doom.

Ahead, an imposing figure emerges from the shadows, his eyes gleaming with malice. Even while seated on his throne of ice he's a towering presence; but I am the Odinforce personified now. I am Loki, heir to this very throne, and I will not be cowed by a frost giant. Even if he is my father.

'Kill him,' Laufey hisses, his voice as cold as the wind that whips around us, as simple as the world over which he reigns.

'With all I could do for you?' I ask, my voice smooth, undaunted.
Slowly, deliberately, I allow my form to shift, my Æsir features giving way to the blue skin and red eyes of my Jötunn heritage. I see the recognition flicker in Laufey's eyes, the briefest flash of something akin to shock, and I revel in it. Can he see that I'm his progeny yet?

'The perfect spy?' I finish.

Laufey's eyes narrow, suspicion flickering there, but he doesn't yet dismiss me.
'I will hear you.'

There's a part of me, the part that once clung to Y/n's love and her wisdom, that whispers I'm straying too far, that this is a line I shouldn't cross. But her voice is distant now, a mere echo in the back of my mind, overshadowed by the bellowing power surging through me.

'I will conceal you and a handful of your soldiers,' I say, each word calculated and precise, 'Lead you into Odin's chambers, and you can slay him where he lies.'

The offer is cold and unforgiving, and I make sure I emphasize the word he wants to hear most. Oh, I relish the way Laufey's gaze sharpens with interest.
He tilts his head, considering. 'Why not kill him yourself?'

The question is not unexpected, still I snort in daring amusement.

'I suspect that the Asgardians would not take kindly to a king who had murdered his predecessor,' I reply, my voice steady, having let go of the turmoil within. 'Once Odin is dead, I will return the casket to you.' Laufey rises from his throne at that, intrigue and deeply rooted contempt mixing in his red orbs.
'And you can return Jötunheimr to all its...' My eyes wander the landscape surrounding us, and I don't bother hiding my disgust, '... glory.'

I see the shift in Laufey's expression. There is a savage satisfaction in knowing that I've ensnared him. I'm the son he has never been worthy of.
There's a pause, a breath where the weight of our bargain hangs in the air, heavy with the gravity of what we're about to set in motion.

'I... accept,' Laufey finally says, his voice a low rumble of anticipation.

The words not only seal our pact, but also free me of any guilt still left in me. It doesn't free me of her though. Y/n would despise this alliance, this descent into treachery and deceit.
But she is not here, and Gungnir pulses in the palm of my hand.

I have found a way to it all, yngri hetja.

Once back at the Bifröst's gate, I am met with a looming Heimdall, an almost unmoving sentinel. His golden eyes, sharp as ever, watch my approach with an intensity that might have unsettled me once.
He doesn't bow as I draw closer, but I can see the tension in the way he grips his sword, the subtle tightening of his jaw.

'What troubles you, Gatekeeper?' I ask, my voice cool and measured, masking the anticipation that thrums beneath my skin.

Heimdall's gaze flickers, just for a moment, a crack in his otherwise stoic demeanor. 'I turned my gaze upon you in Jötunheimr, but could neither see nor hear you. Neither can I see nor hear your brother with the Lady Y/n.'

The mention of Y/n causes a pang in my chest, one I swiftly bury under layers of golden energy.
'Perhaps your senses have weakened after your many years of service,' I retort, letting a hint of disdain creep into my tone.
Heimdall's eyes narrow, the unspoken accusation hanging heavily between us.

'Or perhaps someone has found a way to hide that which he does not wish me to see.'
I hold his gaze. He is astute, this one, but his loyalty is to the throne – to me.

'You have great power, Heimdall. Did Odin ever fear you?'

'No.' His reply is curt, but there's no hesitation. He speaks with the confidence of a man who knows his place in the universe, who knows his role in the grand scheme of things. Something that has up until this day been kept from me.

'And why is that?' I press, leaning slightly closer, my stare challenging.

'Because he is my king, and I am sworn to obey him.'

'He was your king,' I correct, letting the full implication of my words sink in. 'And you're sworn to obey me now. Yes?'

Heimdall doesn't flinch, but there's a stiffness in the way he responds, a reluctance that doesn't escape my notice. 'Yes.'

I smile, a thin, calculated gesture. 'Then you will go and tell the townspeople that the heir and the saviour have left for Midgard; set out to bring the Lady Y/n closer to her people.'

Heimdall's silence is heavy, but he finally bows his head in acknowledgment. The air between us is thick with unspoken tension, the kind that precedes a storm. But for now, he is bound by duty, by the very oaths that have kept him loyal to Odin for all these years. And now, by those same oaths, he is loyal to me.

Just like that, he is dealt with.
As I turn away, I allow myself a moment to savour the victory. The game is in motion, and all the pieces are falling into place – all part of the grand design; one that I now control.
But deep down, beneath the layers of newfound power, there is a small, persistent ache. The part of me that longs for Y/n, that misses her presence, her unwavering belief in me. She will believe again once I've completed my task, I reassure myself.

Y/n may have rejected me, but I will prove her wrong. I will prove them all wrong.
Loki, the God who defied fate itself.

Sitting here, on this golden throne, in this golden room, donning all the golden plates of my armour and with my golden pulses of seiðr vibrating in my palms, I feel my strength returning to me. The certainty that my body is transforming more and more to contain the power I wield turns the air sweet, and I make sure to take a good and thorough breath in.
Soon, I will be able to get Y/n back and she will have come to her senses.

Footsteps are approaching, and leisurely, I leave the sparks in my palm be, letting my hand fall to the throne's armrest. With Gungnir still grasped in my right I address the Æsir before me.

'My friends,' I drawl out the word, in spite of me.

Fandral speaks up first. Of course he does.
'Where's Odin?' he asks as he takes hurried steps towards the stairs at my feet.

'Father has fallen into the Odinsleep,' I keep my voice calm and gentle and ridden with despair. 'Mother fears he may never awaken again.'

'We would speak with her,' Sif interjects. By now, all four of the halfwits are approaching the throne with determined strides.

'She has refused to leave my father's bedside. You can bring your urgent matter to me.' I put a hand to my chest as I act the words. Then, I rise to stand, letting silence rain over their heads for a significant moment.

'Your king,' I finish, voice now sharp and sure as a true king's would be.

The giant oaf Volstagg already makes to kneel but Sif stops him, her eyes unwavering and determined not to leave my person.

'Where's Thor?' She narrows her eyes. Locked in her stare, the Odinforce sizzles at my fingertips.

'My dear brother has taken his betrothed to her home realm. Now that she is to be given to the new protector of Midgard, at long last, Y/n finally meets with her people. In the... surprise of the ceremony, it was what she thought was needed to come to terms with this new... arrangement,' I lie blatantly in their faces, which isn't at all hard for me to do. Imbeciles.
Now that they have learned of my right to sit the throne, they give in and kneel.

Then, undaunted and unsurprising, another's voice fills the space, 'Y/n wouldn't just leave. That's not like her.'

From behind the Warriors Three and their dark-haired pet now emerges a second female. In her eyes an even greater amount of defiance than I ever saw in Sif's.
This defiance is wholly Y/n's. And Y/n's has always been Revna's.
Apples and trees, I reckon.

As fate would have it, apparentely, I wasn't fated to outrun Revna's watchful eye. Just as I had never been able to outrun Y/n's.
They are so much alike.

Her elvish cat eyes labour vigorously to cage me in, to elicit and extract a truth she knows I have buried somewhere deep at the back of my throat.
Fighting it just won't do. Had never, with neither of her family members.
So, I simply bend the truth as far as possible.

Without addressing her, I let my eyes wander over the Warriors Three, 'Randi is not mistaken. Y/n did in fact not depart entirely of her own volition. Yet, a brother's...' I broke off, clearing my throat. 'A son's pain can be all-consuming. And as Thor's betrothed, she could neither stay nor leave on her own. If Thor did not wish to stay on Asgard, Y/n had no other choice but to comply and leave with him. And so she thought of the only place a distressed mind may find a slice of peace – a realm unaware of even just our sole existence. Midgard.'

Randi still refuses to cease her mental interrogation as her eyes are now burning holes through the back of my mind.

'So Thor is aware of his father's state?' Fandral urges.
I fight my own urge to role my eyes and just let Gungnir end the blonde peasant where he stands, as I answer him. At least now, Randi too, has shifted her attention from me and to the pathetic Æsir to her right.
I shake the unease off my shoulders in my moment of freedom.

'Upon beholding father in this state, my brother wanted only to be as far away from Asgard as possible. Their endeavour couldn't have come at a better time. Nevertheless, it only further proved to our mother that I was more than fit to reign in Odin's stead. Seeing that I was the son who chose to face this tragedy. The one that chose to stay.'

Sif jumps to her feet, ready to lunge at me it seems, but Fandral holds her back.
Good boy, after all this time.

'Yes, of course,' he says, voice dripping with too much honey for my liking.

'Good. Then you will wait for my word.'

'If I may,' Volstagg tries to interject, but I won't let him.

'We're done.' My tone is sharper, deadlier, and perhaps I have just made a grand mistake, but I won't falter before them.

Sighing in defeat, they turn their backs with something akin to anger in their eyes as Sif marches out in unfiltered wrath. Yet Randi remains facing me.
Her stare is meant to challenge me. Challenge me in the way only Y/n has ever dared to. And that's when I know they're too far gone for me to reach.
But what ever might these puny gods have against me and the Odinforce?

Just like that, I'm once more left alone with my golden power from this golden spear, in this hauntingly golden room.

Not much time has passed when I find myself returned to the Vault.
The second the band of halfwits had left this realm, I had sensed it. The Odinforce, the force of Asgard, had sensed it.

I might have failed to lure them in, but that's but inconsiquential to me. No, what's truly quite the predicament is the case of the Gatekeeper. He had always cultivated some twisted antipathy toward me. Hence, I shouldn't be too surprised that he has commited treason against me, his king or not.
I was too soft, too benevolent with him. And now he's aided the halfwits with their escape.
And I just know exactly where they're headed.

A thrumming force shatters against the edges of my mind. Not meant to be contained, it wants out.
Taking long strides down the corridor and passing all of Odin's little trophy's, I stomp the throbbing back under with each determined step I take. Not now.
Hissing fills my head, my veins, my soul, driving me to the brink of sanity.

SHUT UP; SHUT UP; SHUT UP!

I'm all too aware of my failure! It needs to be righted.
I. Am. Aware.
Whyever else would I be here now, hmm?

Once, I clank Gungnir down on the tiles.
The massive window behind the Casket evaporates, the shining light now twice as bright as before.
A looming figure emerges with clattering steps as the metal threatens to destroy the marble tiles beneath.
Before me stands the Destroyer, protector of this vault, a lethal metallic husk of a man as tall as a small tavern house. Courtesy of dear old daddy.
All it's trained to do is follow orders. The king's orders. Mine.

'Insure my brother does not return,' I demand it, not a single second wasted contemplating my words. 'Destroy everything.'

Chapter Text

To start with, the late eighteen hundreds were mostly spent glued to the lips of the second born prince.
For a pretty long while.
Kissing at seiðr practice; kissing after accidentally tackling him in the pond at seiðr practice.
At times kissing even was the practice.

You see, Loki had grown particularly fond of demonstrating his mastery over shadows and taken to utilizing them for pulling his adversary – me, for that matter – towards him.
The reason for a kiss to follow after? Well, let's just say that he'd developed a taste for claiming his prize in the form of a proper snog.

Whenever we managed to steal a break from our respective practices, we'd spend it locked at the lips.
Oddly enough, no one seemed to notice much to be amiss. Due to our aligned schedules I spent far more time with Thor, so no one ever questioned the thirty stolen minutes I'd sneak away to meet Loki by the pond and... select my payment.

Perhaps our seiðr was lacking in those times, and maybe the shreds that were left of our lips ached for time rather spent with jinxes than with caresses.
But in my head... we had so much to make up for; so much to rectify.

For centuries, I had denied myself the bliss of his embrace, thinking I simply wasn't meant for the kind of normalcy that comes with true affection – that this tiny little thing was somehow the one thing I wasn't fated for.
But Loki gave that to me – that sense of normalcy.
With him, I was but a shield maiden adored, the only thing interesting about her being whatever it was he saw in her.
None other's opinion held any weight, as long as this ebony-haired, emerald-eyed, silver-tongued princeling wished me to be the one warming his cool chest.

But there were riskier kinds of kisses too. Kissing before parting at night. Kissing in dimly lit halls with guards only a stone's throw away.
Hel, even on Odin's throne. Once!
Both of us relished the challenge, the thrill of it nothing if not intoxicating.

However, as the years rolled by, hiding our truth became increasingly harder to do. Especially in matters of good old Thor.
There was a time when I almost ruined everything, mistaking the Thunderer for my Mischief – but that's a story for another day. For my deathbed, most likely.
Norns, what a disaster that had been.

Still, the hardest part of it all proved deceiving my dearest friend. It quickly became the worst feat about me – the ugly lies. But if Loki and I wanted to keep our youthful bliss, no one could know. Not yet.

'I hope you realise,' Loki noted one night in the halls before my chambers. He was smirking so savagely I might have evaporated into violet mist if not for his icy touch at my waist, 'that even though your physical age progresses faster than mine, my spirit's superiority over yours will always remain.'

Before I could protest, his finger pressed gently against my lips, silencing me as he brushed my forehead with his. 'Not that the idea of courting an older woman with a youthful soul doesn't stir something within me...'

At that, I shoved the sleazy prince with the greasy hair off me, placing my hands on my hips in mock-exasperation.

'You know, I could flatten you right here, right now.'

'Oh, my darling,' he teased, stepping closer whilst he reached for that silver lock hidden somewhere in-between my mop of hair – only to twist it into a tight curl and let it frame my face. The gentleness of the action mixed with that blasted endearment sent my mind reeling; my lips aching to be shreded further.

'But do ponder a moment longer this aging situation. You may be at your physical peak now, but think of how long it will take before it begins to decrease. By then, I'll be the one with the upper hand once more.'

The mischievous gleam in his eyes, the way he bit his lower lip as he—
And just like that, I had him flattened beneath me on the pearly white marble floor.

'Ugh,' he groaned dramatically though I could see the smirk creeping up the corners of his mouth. 'You really do like rising to your promises, huh?'

'Damn right I do, Loki darling.' I pressed a hungry, possessive kind of kiss to his delicious lips, letting a deep moan echo in the back of my throat. As a response, a groan rumbled low in his.

It was the night before the dawning of my seventh century.
At seven hundred, I now equaled the physical age of twenty. At least that's what our elders believe to know of my... species.

And with that, I had surpassed even the two princes, who had once gazed down on the three-centuries-younger maiden before them.
Aging faster than pure-blooded Asgardians and Vanir, I was now technically older than Loki and Thor. Naturally, Loki couldn't just leave it at that, taunting me all day long.

Still, I dared not complain, as he moved mountains to gift me a full day spent at our pond. In his arms, unrestrained and uninterrupted.
For my name day, he had implored the All-Father for a pause in my studies and training, and to my utter surprise, the king had granted it.
Whatever Loki had done to – to put it in his words – repay me for the gift I had given him on his last name day, he wouldn't for the life of him share with me.

Fate, however, had a cruel way of reminding me of who I was yet again.
My name day simply had to fall on the same day as the once-in-a-millennium celebration of the Winter Solstice.
The same day Asgard honoured the great prophecies...
Honestly? Mocking me, that's what the Norns were doing.

What a way to erase all that blissful normalcy of those past months. Slapping the prophecy in my face in the guise of a feast yet again. How original.

'Come,' Loki pushed me off him and sprang to his feet, extending a hand to me. 'Off to bed with you, little saviour. The guest of honour of tomorrow's charade ought to look nothing less than her absolute best.'

I refused his hand with a smirk, rising on my own and inching close enough to whisper, 'And you doubt that I will?'

'Yngri hetja! I should bend you over and spank you right this instant for placing such foul words in my mouth.'

A teasingly wicked grin spread on my heated cheeks. Immediately, I caught the trickster's reaction.
His eyes narrowing with something dark, his grip on my waist tightening as he pulled me closer and stared me down.

'Cease your games, kærasta,' he warned, his voice a velvety challenge.
'Or I might just violate house rules and follow you right through that door.'
His eyes never leaving mine, he motioned to my chambers behind me with a nod of his head. 'I'd better rise to my promises as much as you rise to yours, no?'

The challenge in his eyes roused something in me. I let my hand trail up his chest, the other threading through his dark locks.

Oh no, mister, you're not winning tonight.

A swift and simple push to the chest, and I was at my chambers. Throwing a good night's kiss his way, I made quick work to slam the door shut behind me.
Once inside my chambers, I slid down the length of that door.
My fingers still tingling with a certain heady sensation, I swore that never again shall I call those beautiful silken locks of his greasy.

With the butterflies tumbling viciously over one another in my stomach, I gazed down at the hand that had only moments earlier tugged at his black locks and decided, sleep could surely wait a little while longer.

As I descended the marble staircase into a throng of courtiers and folk, my gaze swept over the opulence of the great hall as though automatically.
The patches of wall between the many towering floor-to-ceiling windows were decorated in different little themes, each more splendid and magical than the last.

Upon each wall, an enormous, majestic flower had been fastened, serving as a kind of enchanted canopy. Cascading down from the vibrant hanging blooms of the flowers were either streams of sunlight, rains of stardust, winds of snowflakes, or a rainbow of autumn leaves, creating a multitude of endearing wee scenes of nature's wonders.

Only briefly, I wondered who had conceived of such a magnificent enchantment, but the moment I saw the Queen underneath a red rose, bathed in glittering streaks of sunlight, I knew.

A prickling sensation crawled across my skin, the unmistakable feeling of being watched.
Of course, nearly all of Asgard's eyes were on me as I made my descent, and I became acutely aware of the daring gown that clung to my form.

But no, I knew that what truly held the power to make me feel like this was the intensity of only one certain pair of eyes.
In seconds, I'd found them.

Beneath a beautiful white datura, and bathed in ethereal moonlight gloom, he stood.
Snowflakes drifted onto his onyx hair, yet not a single one dare melted, therefore leaving him perfectly dry.
Clad in an impeccably tailored black tuxedo with the subtlest hints of dark green leaves woven into the fabric, Loki stood stock-still as I reached the final step.
He wasn't far from the staircase, and before I could make even just a start towards him, he was at my side, offering his arm with an almost imperceptible grace.
For a moment, I thought he might speak, but no words would leave his lips as he was gazing down the length of me.

'Too much, huh?' I asked almost shyly, motioning down my gown.

He swallowed once before finding his voice, 'You deserve to be excluded from the festivities right this instant for words so treasonously untrue.'
At that, I snorted, and Loki's smile faltered.

He leaned in, whispering, 'You do know that you're the most beautiful maiden here tonight, do you not? If not, then I fear it shall fall to moi to prove you wrong.'

As the last of his words had left his lips and he began to pull back, I felt his mouth brush against my earlobe – his tongue flicking out for just a heartbeat.
A small gasp escaped my lips, and my hand jerked between our bodies, slapping his thigh as revenge.

Clearing his throat at my seemingly unexpected reaction, he leaned in once more, his voice low and dangerous and full of mischief, 'Careful there, darling. Dangerous territory. Or are you aspiring to be extracted from the room thrown over this very shoulder of mine?'

This time, I was the one to move in close, my lips almost grazing his ear.
'I suppose, with your father present, you're not the one who gets to decide whether or how I'm sent from the festivities.'
Hidden by the voluminous sleeves of my gown, my finger leisurely traced along his abdomen. 'But now having heard your idea... I do so wish you were.'

We stood in the centre of the giant room – the realisation of the fact dawning – yet thankfully, the fest was in full bloom, with people either swirling around in dances or huddled close in embraces underneath the enchanted flower canopies.

'We should retreat to your flower,' I murmured. 'I rather enjoyed the way you looked in the moonlit snowfall. So very handsome indeed.'
I let my arm slip from his and, with a boldness that surprised even me, took his hand in mine. At that, something soft and lovely swam in his gaze, a silent awareness of my daring to take his hand in this room full of people.

We had spent but five minutes underneath the beauty of our flower spot when a grinning Thor came striding towards us – enthusiasm and radiant joy in him step. The eldest prince, clad in a red and gold breacan, over which he wore a tight-fitting golden shirt and his red cloak, exuded strength and warmth.
Where Loki had decided in favour of classic handsomeness, Thor had settled on warrioresque regalty.
Seeing his hairy, tanned legs peak from beneath the breacan felt almost like a fever dream.

'Y/n! Brother! There you are!' he boomed, his presence impossible to ignore.

Loki greeted his brother with a familiar flicker of annoyance in his counternance, whilst I allowed Thor to take both of my hands and bring them to his mouth in one swift motion.

'You shine just like the grander of our two suns, dearest Y/n. You're...' he didn't finish his sentence.
For a moment, I thought his boisterous demeanor might falter, but before I could dwell on it, Thor had already released my hands and turned to face his brother. His wide smile now firmly back in place.

'Loki, have you not greeted our elders yet? They appear to be in waiting of you.'

'Of course, I have. Almost half an hour ago already.'

'Well, yes, of course. What I meant was whether you have with Y/n yet? I take it you are to escort her there tonight, no?'

Right... An occasion as grand as this demanded a high lady to be presented to the king and queen on the arm of a gentleman.
Naturally, Thor would assume Loki was to fulfil that role when he had been the first that night to offer me his arm. Still, I somehow felt as though I was suddenly being caged.

All of it was way too close to the reality of accepting our fate as the prince and the saviour.
Yes, I had chosen Loki. I had decided that I wanted him and no one else to fulfil the prophecy with me, but no one knew yet, and this... this was hitting home with a gigantic boulder.

'Your Lady Mother is also in attendance, Y/n/n,' Thor's voice pulled me from my musings.

Mother? Here?
It was a possibility – she was Vanir nobility, after all – but why would the information of the fact fall first to Thor instead of her own daughter?

I barely had time to process this before Loki gently tugged at my hand, his expression a mixture of understanding and resolve. 'Shall we?' he asked softly, his voice able to ground me in seconds.

'Yes,' I breathed, though my heart hammered in my chest with anxiety, anger, hurt.
Together, we pushed through the crowd, every step bringing us closer to the dais where the majesties sat underneath the red rose of sunlight in regal splendour. The court seemed to part before us.

My eyes darted around, seeking out familiar faces, but all I found were blurred figures, their features indistinct as my focus narrowed on the dais ahead.
The All-Father's stern gaze softened slightly as we approached, while Frigga's serene smile held a touch of knowing that sent a shiver down my spine.

And besides them, on a slightly lower seat, there was my mother. Her presence both a comfort and a source of anger. She looked every bit the Vanir goddess – elegant dark features and the intricate braids in her autumn hair a testament to her noble lineage.
But there was something in her eyes, a gleam that suggested she knew more than she let on.
If a person's eyes could even convey such a thing.

As we reached the foot of the dais, Loki released my hand, only to offer his arm in the traditional manner. I took it, trying to steady my breathing, and together we ascended the steps.

'Your Majesties,' Loki began, his voice smooth and confident. 'May I present to You the Lady Y/n, hero-born and prophesied saviour of the Realms, daughter to the lovely Lady Gna.'

Gods, those tedious traditions. As if they don't know who the girl is they have dinner with every night just so that she may one day love us enough to willingly save our race, Loki sent down our link, and just barely so, I managed to contain my chuckle.
The queen's eyes, warm yet piercing, settled on me.

'Lady Y/n,' she said, her voice like a melody. 'My dear,' she couldn't help but add with a much too informal kind of smile.
'It is an honour to have you here tonight. Your presence is the greatest gift.'

'Thank you, Your Majesty,' I replied, dipping into a deep curtsy while smiling inwardly at Frigga's tenderness with which she without exception spoke to me.
As I rose, I felt my mother's gaze on me, a mixture of pride and something entirely else etched into her features.

The king nodded in approval, his voice a deep rumble. 'You have chosen well, Loki. Our Lady Y/n is a fine companion for this evening indeed, as today is also the day or her name day.'

Loki inclined his head, but there was a tension in the air that could not be ignored.
Then Odin addressed me, 'I do hope you know that the Queen made sure the festivities were as grand as they are tonight to fit the weight of importance this day holds.'

'I must thank you, Your Majesty.' I bend my knees to Frigga once more before I returned my attention back to Odin. 'And you, Your Majesty All-Father.'

'Lady Gna,' Frigga addressed my mother. 'It has been many years since we've seen you last at court. It pleases us to welcome you back.'

Somehow, her words felt as though they were meant to convey something entirely different.
Surely my mother had already been greeted...

Mother rose gracefully, her voice calm and assured. 'The pleasure is mine, Your Majesty. It is an honour to witness my daughter flourish under your care.'

The queen's smile deepened, but there was a sharpness to it. 'She is indeed flourishing. Wouldn't you say so too, Loki dear?'

Loki chuckled, a sound much like velvet, before he spoke. 'The stars are mere pinpricks in the night sky compared to the Lady Y/n, Mother.'

My breath hitched in my chest, and I found myself aching to take Loki's hand in mine, to vanish with him into the bliss of the night's sky which he undeniably looked so dashing under. To be with and feel him there.

My mother laughed softly, a sound like the tinkling of bells. 'Indeed. But beware, Prince. Such brilliance can be blinding.'

Loki's eyes flickered to mine, something dark and alluring lurking in their depths. 'Only to those who do not wish to see,' he replied.

The moment hung between us, thick with meaning, until the king – sensing the charged atmosphere – cleared his throat.
'Now,' Odin's voice boomed, commanding the attention of the room, 'let us proceed with the evening's festivities.'

A hush fell over the ballroom as the musicians shifted to a slower, more deliberate melody.
The crowd parted to form a wide circle around the center of the room. In the middle of the space, a servant stepped forward, carrying a tray adorned with a dozen slender candles, each one flickering alight.

'This,' Odin continued, his gaze sweeping over the assembled guests, 'shall be the reenactment of an ancient ceremonial dance. Hallowed by our ancestors from ages long gone. A sacred test of power and trust between fellow warriors. In the times of the great Valkyries, each of these noble warrior maidens would choose an Æsir warrior to be their stalwart, ground-bound counterpart whilst they themselves soared the mighty heavens upon their great winged steeds. This dance was the crucible in which their bond was forged – the flame between them meant to represent their bond; their ability to move as one in the heart of battle. No pair has succeeded at this ceremony for way over a millennium now.'

To my right, I sensed Loki stiffening, his regal onyx attire catching in the light. Now that all eyes were on the King, I was free to behold the Norns' masterpiece of a man beside me.

Entranced by his handsome angular, enigmatic features, which were framed by the coal-black locks falling unto his shoulders – some were dangling almost lasciviously before his eyes – I struggled to fully grasp the All-Father's words.

Tiny snowflakes still clung to his dark figure as if they were in just as much awe as I was. As though having sensed my gaze burning into him, Loki's little finger brushed mine, intertwining them as his voice echoed in my mind.

This is madness. How could this charade turn into even more of a travesty ? Silly from beginning to end, isn't it?

You're quite the fine dancer, though, Mischief.

How in the seven heavens would you know?

Oh, I may have peeked in on your lessons once or twice back in the sixteen hundreds.

I never received any lessons, I —

Oh, Krúttið, but you did.

'Shall we, Sanngjarnasta?' Thor, ever the eager participant, strode to the centre of the circle, his confidence radiating in waves as he outstretched his hand to me.

Surtr's flames incinerate me this instant . What did he just say?!

Loki's curse filled every corner of my mind as he took a possessive step forward, towering behind me. His cheeks, afore flushed with embarrassment, now burned red with anger as he seized my hand. Just as I was about to offer it to Thor.

'I was about to voice the same proposal to my date, dear brother,' he hissed.
I extracted my hand from his grasp.

'Well, but you didn't. Rather silly, isn't it?' I countered.

Careful there, your jealousy is showing, Mischief.

To leave the God of Silver Tongues at a loss for words, stirred a certain kind of satisfaction deep within me. A wicked smile crept across my lips as I took Thor's arm and allowed him to lead me to the parquet dancefloor.
My eyes never left Loki's until we had reached our destination.

You'll pay for that one, yngri hetja.

I never expected anything less, Mischief.

The crowd murmured with anticipation as the servant handed Thor a candle, its flame dancing delicately in the air between us. We took our positions, facing each other with the candle held between our palms.
The music began – a haunting melody that seemed to echo the intensity of Loki's eyes on my every curve, brisk and rhytmic.

Thor and I moved in tandem, attempting to keep the flame steady as we glided across the floor.
In the moments I had the chance to glimpse my prince over Thor's shoulder, I caught his stare unwavering and burning with a primal kind of force.
Either he was undressing me with his stare, or attempting to slice that arm of Thor's now resting on my waist clean off.
I prayed for the former.

My eyes returned to Thor's before me, full of joy and admiration. 'You're a natural, Y/n/n.'

'You only say so because you're used to getting stomped on your feet. Do you even have any feeling left in them?'
Thor gave a bellowing yet soft laugh, warming me from the inside out as usual.

Something inside me started to ache.
I had made my choice, and in doing so, had broken my promise.
We had all vowed each other honesty. And Thor had been the most loyal companion I could've ever wished for.
He had confessed his wish to become what Loki now was to me, and I had had the chance to tell him all of it...

But I hadn't even accepted it myself yet; had felt that Loki deserved to be the first to know.
Which he did – All I now regretted was the time that had passed since... So many wasted opportunities to tell him that I... had chosen his brother.

But hadn't he smiled that knowing smile when I had tried to explain my reason for rejection? He must have understood that, for now, I favoured another – the only other option for the prophecy, his brother.
But never did I tell him that we were so much more already.
That Loki knew too.
That I had irrevocably made my choice.

'Thor, I—' I began. His warm smile radiated down his face as he listened intently.
'I've missed you.'

A coward. That's what I was.

'Missed me?' he inquired, genuine bewildered amusement on his face. 'We face each other on the training grounds almost every day, do we not?'

'No. I mean, yes. Yes, we do. What I meant is... I missed being silly like this with you. Laughing with you. I feel I've neglected our friendship since you—' His hand at the base of my neck stopped me and I looked up at him.

'Naught but nonsense. We are children no more. It is required of us to hone our bodies and minds to fulfil our parts in the prophecy. That's what you're doing.'
He twirled me once, the candle dangerously close to extinguishing. Yet, it didn't.

'So you're not... disappointed in me for the way I've handled...' I trailed off again.
His thumb tapped gently against my skin in rhythm with the melody.

'How could you ever disappoint me, saviour mine?'

Tears welled up in my eyes at his words. I leaned in, resting my head against his chest, not caring whether the flame would die out.

'You are my dearest friend Thor, I hope you know that,' I mumbled.

His hand stroked down the length of my hair once as he answered, 'I do. And I can only return the sentiment.'

To my surprise, Thor's natural exuberance did not clash with the delicate precision required for the dance, and for a moment, I thought we might actually complete this challenge. Yet, Odin had said the trial hadn't been successfully completed in a millennium – naturally, all participants would eventually lose focus and let the flame die.

As though poisoned by my traitorous thougt and despite our best efforts, the flame suddenly wavered dangerously, flickering as we struggled to regain a rhythm. Thor's grin turned sheepish as he nearly tripped, and I couldn't help but laugh, the sound breaking the tension of the moment.
The candle, teetering precariously, finally went out, and the crowd erupted into good-natured laughter. Merely two pairs remained aflame, and the song was only halfway played.

'Ah, well,' Thor chuckled, 'it seems we're not quite in sync tonight. We will be better tomorrow on the training grounds, agreed?'

I grinned, the lightness of the moment lifting some of the evening's tension. 'Most definitely, we will, Thunderer. Though I suppose wrecking your royal bottom is more my style.' I threw my best friend a wink and playfully bumped his shoulder with my own.

Thor laughed heartily, clapping me on the back as we returned to the edge of the circle. 'True enough, Tiny. True enough.'

Stepping away, my gaze found Loki's, and the playfulness of the moment faded. There was something in his eyes – an intensity, a challenge – that sent a shiver down my spine.
Not that I didn't experience a certain pulse of pleasure from it, I'll admit.

He approached me with deliberate steps, his hand outstretched. 'It's our turn now.'

Genuine surprise rose on my face. 'You really meant it when you said we were to try this, then?'

'Haven't I always been true to my words, Lady Y/n?'

Next to me, Thor snorted. Loud.
Loki shot him a look, though the corners of his mouth jerked up in the bright golden light of the star-filled chandelier. 'Fine, fine. Always is a deceiving word, I reckon. Bendable though. Now come.'

My heart skipped a beat as I let him grip my hand tightly. The air between us seemed to crackle with energy as the servant handed us a new candle, the flame somehow appearing brighter, more potent than the one before, when it touched our skin.

In silence, we waited for the next song to begin, Loki's gaze almost burning into the flesh at my neck. All evening long, I had felt his eyes on me, with something as deeply unnerving as it was electric.
The chandeliers overhead flickered gently, their soft glow adding an almost blueish hue of mystique to the scene.

Then, the music began; swirling around us, guiding our steps, but what really held my attention was the small flame flickering between us as it was delicately held between our palms by the tension of our bodies.
His hand rested firmly against the small of my back, his fingers pressing just hard enough to remind me that any shift, any misstep, could extinguish the flame.
This second song had been so much more rhytmic and intimate than the one I had danced to with Thor.
I just knew we wouldn't ever succeed.

My own hand, wrapped around his, trembled slightly with the effort of keeping the candle steady, but his grip was reassuring, steadying me even as my heart raced in my chest.
The heat of the flame was a constant reminder of how close we were. It wasn't just about keeping the candle alight; it was about the unspoken challenge between us, the silent battle for control we both so relished.

I could feel the warmth of his breath against my temple, his chest brushing against mine. And suddenly the candle was all but forgotten.
His presence was overwhelming, the burn of his gaze on me so unceremoniously intense. The scent of him filled my senses, clouding my thoughts – like moist oak and leather and crisp winter nights that make you want to curl up in blankets and listen to him read a book to you.

The flame had ceased flickering despite our spinning, our movements so perfectly in sync. I couldn't for the life of me concentrate on what that meant for us, for this ceremony, because I had made the error to meet his dizzying gaze.

The world around us blurred, the remaining dancers nothing more than live furniture as the room itself seemed to fade into the background. The weight of his hand on my back seemed to increase as we glided, pulling me closer until there was scarcely any space left between us.

I needed to put space between him and I, otherwise I just might have melted into him along with the candle. But he wouldn't let me, digging his fingers into my side.

Then, he let that hand leisurely wander up to the underside of my breast, resting it right atop the green leaf fastened there.

Seems as though made with exactly this in mind, don't you agree? Made for me, his silken voice purred through my mind.

My breath hitched yet again. In response, all I did was bite my lip, and that primal glow flashed in Loki's gaze.

Something profound was taking place there in the space still separating our bodies and it was just as all-consuming as he was.

The music swelled to its climax, and Loki led us into a final turn, his movements smooth and precise. His gaze bore into mine, fierce and unrelenting. He was the candle burning brightly, me his flame, the way I clung to his waxen skin.
And then, as the last notes of the song hung in the air, we came to a halt. Our breathing was ragged, our hearts pounding in unison as the silence of the room pressed in around us.
The candle had survived the dance.

In the quiet that followed, my gaze traveled back up from the candle to his eyes, and what I saw there made my breath catch.
He watched me the way you weren't supposed to watch someone aware of your looking – bold and unabashed and utterly inappropriate.

The air in the ballroom had thickened with tension, as if every breath, every flicker of candlelight, carried the weight of what had just transpired. An ancient rite that had drawn the attention of every guest present had just been completed with flawless precision.

Tension had rippled across the room and down our intertwined hands so pure in its wholeheartedness.
Now though, that tension threatened to consume me whole. My heart hammered in my chest, blood roaring in my ears as I tried to process what this meant for us. Was it really nothing but mirth and games?
Yet, if it really felt like this, like this raw and unfiltered electricity seeping out of every pore, when people passed this trial... Then how could this ever be but a mere dance?

My gaze darted to Loki, searching for the same uncertainty in his eyes. But what I found instead was something far more primal. And all it did was leave me aching rather than surprised.

Without a word, Loki's hand found mine, and we slipped out of the grand hall, unnoticed in the throes of the ongoing celebration.
Sometime, we passed Thor jovially swaying Sif in his muscular arms, and for a second I thought that our eyes met.
The palace corridors grew less illuminated and more silent in their charming abandoned state the further we ventured. Only one sound increased in opposition to the silence of the halls – the pumping of my heart's blood. Loki, pulling me along by his hand in mine, turned once we reached a pool of pale moonlight spilling across the corridor floor.

You heard it, huh?

He gave a small jolt of pleasure at the sound of my voice in his mind.

Whatever is it you mean, yngri hetja?

His voice felt warm in my mind, the way it cleaved to every synapse just a little while longer than it should have. Even his mental voice was that of a mischievious trickster.

My heartbeat echoing through these halls.

His breathing calmed for just the split part of a second as his hand let go of mine, only to then cup my face with both.

That's silly. I can always hear your heartbeat, ástin mín.

He avoided capturing my lips but rather placed a sizzling kiss to my forehead, sure to let my already stimulated mind reel further from the dopamine seeping in from his lips.
Then, he ripped me from this short-lived calm, finding my hand again and beckoning me into the moonlight enthusiastically.

We found ourselves on an abandoned balcony, the cool night air a stark contrast to the heat in my veins. The balcony was shrouded in shadows, the moonlight casting silver beams across the stone floor, yet Loki had found the exact spot where the moon's glow would make his eyes sparkle in a deep emerald-streaked onyx. My breath catched in my throat as our eyes locked fully and wholeheartedly for the first time since the ruckus of the dance.

Like a dam breaking free, we reached for each other, clawed at one another.
I couldn't think, couldn't breathe – merely act on this magnetic pull towards him.

I pushed him against the wall behind us the second I had taken hold of his cravat. For a fracture of a moment we stood there, breathless, and his eyes were wide with alluring surprise at my outburst.
A small, wicked smile passed my lips and latched onto his. The moment our lips met, it was as if a match had been struck, hot and consuming.
My fingers tangling in and pulling at his hair, I kissed him with an intensity that bordered on desperation and starving.

His hands gripped my waist roughly, pulling me flush against him, the feel of his body trembling against mine extracting an intimate gasp from me. His fingers jerked at that, only driving them deeper into my skin. For one sane moment I feared my dress would tear. But the thought vanished faster than it had come.
Loki bit my lip, then nudged me wolfishly with his nose.
With our foreheads resting against one another, even the words he sent down our mental link sounded breathless.

What kind of witchery even is this blasted trial dance?!

He was loath to surrender his sacred control, and right then, we truly weren't the ones in control.
But I, for my part, didn't care – it felt too right to be wrong, too fated to busy oneself fretting over superiority.

My teeth trailed down his neck, kissing and nipping at the sensitive skin there, and the sound of his low, rumbling groan convinced me that he had stopped caring, too.
My tongue traced a slow, savouring path along the vein in his neck, halting at his earlobe. Loki shuddered beneath me, my name on his lips something akin to a whine, heady and addictive.

'Y/–n.'

I nibbed his earlobe, unable to resist the possibility being this close to his ear granted me.

'Yes, my lord?' I hushed.

I felt his hands fumbling hastily through the layers of my gown, finding their path to the bare skin of my hips.
I couldn't get enough of him – of the way his neck tasted of salt, of the buzzing sensation that a tongue to frozen metal brought. His scent reminding me of every time we touched and shouldn't have ceased touching. The way he trembled under my touch. The way his hands made me tremble by how dangerously sly they teased the skin around my navel.
It was intoxicating, maddening, and I craved more of him.

But just as I was about to lose myself completely in the haze of desire, Loki shifted, turning the tables on me.
He spun me around, pinning me against the cold stone wall with a predatory grace that sent a thrill of anticipation racing through me. His chest pressed against my back, his breathing hot against my ear, and I knew then – I was his.
In every way possible, I was his.

Later that night, love was confessed.

Though now, all I'm willing to say is...
Once upon a time, my father had accepted that he was in love with an immortal. Then he had lost her and his infant daughter to his own mortality.

My mother had loved her daughter only to lose her to some foreign prophecy and some king's strange realm.

Revna, my dear Revna, had once been called exactly that by someone other than me.

Revna, the moment she'd understood what it was, had loved her childhood sweatheart passionately – Who had then lost her to Vanaheimr and to me: some girl apparently prophesied to break this poor woman's heart.

You see, immortal love walks hand in hand with mortal loss.
And it goes to show that history had already scarred my juvenile soul.

Chapter Text

Her eyes gleamed in the early light, lingering on me with that familiar fire. 'Mm, how long have you been watching, then?' she challenged, her lips slyly curling upward.

'Ohh. Long enough,' I drawled, dipping closer, 'to wonder how you might possibly be scheming to celebrate a full seven centuries.'

My gaze swept over her, taking in the dust on her hands and the glint of a faint bruise forming on her wrist. I could see the flush of exertion on her cheeks, and I let my mischief take control.

'If you can't think of something—Might I assist with a selection of some of my very own ideas, darling?'

Her gaze held mine, the playful light in her eyes tempered by a smoldering challenge. I suppose one could say challenges were kind of our thing.

'You and your... ideas.'
Her fingers curled just slightly in the fabric of my tunic. 'Perhaps I’ll let you prove their worth – if they’re truly worthy of a such a milestone. Worthy of me.'

The last of her words falling from her lips, she leaned in full to bite my lower lip. Lightly, that is.
Just like quicksilver, she let go again.

I chuckled, letting my hand brush against her cheek as it was now my turn to lean in, voice low. 'You’ll find they most certainly are. When did they ever disappoint? All that comes to mind when I think about them are rather satisfied sounds left in their wake... Squeaky little noises et cetera, et cetera.'

For a second, silence filled the space between us. Then she grabbed my chin, roughly. I couldn't supress the small gasp that escaped me.

She gave my hand a gentle squeeze, her expression one of unwavering affection – a silent blessing.

Immediately my eyes had clung to the delicious way the deep purple fabric moulded itself perfectly to the curves of her breasts; corset cinching her waist just right.
A series of golden straps hugged her form in a way that only my arms ought to, and those leaves – green and striking and so conspicuous – a statement to the world by how they screamed for my touch. Begging to be replaced with the weight of my fingers. Or so it seemed. At least to me, it did.

The sheer sleeves on her arms shimmered a bright violet as she moved, giving her an almost ethereal glow.
As my gaze travelled further down, I caught a tantalizing glimpse of her glowing skin through the flowing cascade of fabric. Each step she took with that determined confidence, her leg greeted me in the most audacious of ways.

This was all so far from Asgardian etiquette, and she did so not care.
In that moment, she was their supreme; the most important person in the room. And she had finally accepted that challenge.

And then, something alien had taken hold of me. Of us? I couldn't possibly say.

The moment she'd pushed me against the wall, out there on that balcony, I'd relished the loss of control – the way she took what she wanted without hesitation.

But as her lips travelled down my neck, igniting a trail of fire along my skin, something dark and primal snapped somewhere deep inside me.
The need to taste her surged to the forefront, and I knew I couldn't hold back any longer.

She had had her taste of me, surely she wouldn't just leave me starving.

Her back was now flush against my chest.
The low gasp that escaped her lips sent a jolt of exhilarating satisfaction through me. Yet, it was more how she was arching endlessly into me, begging for the world to disappear, what truly, wholly undid me.
My hands roamed her body, tracing the curves I knew so well, my fingers skimming over the delicate fabric of her dress as I pressed her harder against the cold stone.

'This dress... You cannot possibly fathom what it does to me,' I groaned as I let my eyes wander down her for the hundredth time that night.

'As if seeing you in that blasted combat gear day in and day out wasn't already enough to undo me... Now, I'll have to live with the memory of that dress and how it was too glorious to rip off you.'

Her scent filled my senses, and I could barely contain the hunger that clawed at my insides. While her fingers entangled themselves in my hair, my lips found the curve of her neck, and I trailed kisses along her delicious skin. Each a claim, a promise.
Her soft whimpers were like sweet melodies to my ears, the way she trembled beneath my touch driving me to the edge of sanity.

I let my hands slide down her sides, fingers grazing the bare skin of her thigh where her gown had slipped up, the smoothness of her skin making me ache with the need to have more. To take more. But I held back, savouring the anticipation, the way she squirmed against me, desperate for more contact. Friction.

When I finally pressed my lips to the shell of her ear, my voice was thick with desire, rough with the effort of keeping myself in check.

'Tell me,' I murmured, my hands tightening on her waist, 'tell me you don't wish to break with tradition and I'll find a way to stop.'

When it comes to the royal family... let's just put it plain and simple: it's forbidden to partake in any kind of sexual relations prior to the couples' binding.
With other Æsir and Asgardian folk an ideology of lust and laughter may be the norm, yet as claimants to the throne, bedding your promised was believed to bring about a childless and altogether loveless marriage.

And for us? Well, for us such a future would literally equal death by raging helfire.

Though debatable whether any folk alive today still believe in it, it was and still is a royal tradition meaningful to many. Stupid little murky gray area, that.
But I digress.

Her sole response took on the form of a breathless moan, her head tilting back against my shoulder, exposing her neck to me.
And I, I took advantage – biting down lightly, enough to leave a mark, enough to make her shiver.

'I never cared for that bloody tradition in the first place,' she gave, breathless.
At the end, her breath had hitched, and I realised what had just transpired – I was flush against her back, any air between our bodies fully eradicated. That way she could easily feel my... body's reaction to her. Let's call it that.

The sound she made as the realisation hit was intoxicating, pushing me further, driving me to the brink.

But I needed to hear her say it, needed her to voice the same desire that burned inside me.
My hand slid up her body, tracing the curve of her breast through the thin fabric. My thumb brushed over the peak there.
Her sharp intake of breath was all the encouragement I needed.

'Tell me,' I demanded again, my voice a low growl as I nipped at her earlobe, my fingers teasing her mercilessly. 'Say that you truly want this, Y/n. A single word from those lovely, teasing lips and we will simply make our way back to the crowds. A single word and we will simply keep to harmless kissing.'

Suddenly, her hand found mine and, to my utter astonishment, she led it right to the centre of her. Right between her legs.
My eyes, involuntarily so, rolled into the back of my head – an action of which I was glad she wasn't able to see.
And there it was, the push it had needed.

'Okay,' I growled. 'How about that: a single word and we will simply find a way past the guards at your door and do this properly.'

A whimper left her lips at the words. She turned her head slightly, just enough so that our lips were almost touching, her breath warm against my mouth as she finally whispered the words I was so desperate to hear. 'Loki... I need you, only you. Now. And most likely for ever.'

With that, the last thread of my restraint snapped and I claimed her lips in a searing kiss, one hand cupping her jaw to keep her close, the other sliding down her body to grip her thigh, lifting it to wrap around my waist.
The feel of her soft skin against mine, the way she moulded to me perfectly, her hand sliding deliciously down my trousers—sent a wave of possessive satisfaction coursing through me.

This moment, this need – we were no longer just gods, no longer mere lovers. We were something far more dangerous. Something that no trial, no force, could ever extinguish. And I would never let her go now that I knew.

Well, until I had to.

'Loki! Y/n! Are you down here somewhere?' My brother's grossly irritating bark of a voice echoed down the halls.

At first, neither of us registered his words, lost as we were in each other's heat.

'I saw the both of you hurrying down these corridors so I feared something might be askew. You seemed rather—' Thor's voice trailed off as he must have rounded a corner, his footsteps suddenly closer than I'd anticipated. And then... I found why his words had failed him so suddenly.

Our lips sliding off one another, we faced him, Y/n's legs still swung around my hips, her hand possessively resting around my throat; mine still cupping her exposed breast.

'—in a hurry,' he finished, seemingly unable to tear his eyes away from the scene displayed before him.

I let Y/n slide down my body, careful as to cover up her chest with a quick adjustment of her dress along the way. Our breathing was ragged.

Thor's stare didn't waver in its intensity for what felt like an eternity. Tension palpable, I found myself contemplating whether we'd been put under a spell from the way even the air around us held its breath.

But then Thor moved, stepping back and averting his eyes. He cleared his throat awkwardly and took to scratching the back of his head.
'I... well, I guess– I didn't mean to—' he stammered, his voice a nervous chuckle as his eyes darted along the hills behind us. 'I–I should go, shouldn't I?'
He turned.

Yet, for the first time in a long while, I did not just see Y/n.
I finally saw my brother.
I could see what little was left of the brother from those days we had been carefree and innocent still. No prophecy knocking at our doors, no beautiful shield maiden waiting beyond it.

My brother, the shadow who had watched, waited, and hoped.

I had seen the pining in his eyes, had seen the difficulty in his movements whenever he was around her. All that, I had knowingly, deliberately ignored and distanced myself from.
And now, now that I had accepted these failings of mine, I couldn't just let him walk away like this.

A big step forward, a hand on his shoulder, and I got him to face me.

'Thor, allow me to explain. It's not—'

'Explain? Loki, there's no need—'

'I love her,' it burst out of me. The words came with no warning, no sugarcoating.

Then... Then, I just let go.

'I have loved her when by accident I had made her love you. And I have loved her when she hated me for it. I suppose I have loved her ever since I realised that she is the best thing that has ever been thrown in my path.' 

Thor's expression softened, and for a split second I believed to have detected a satisfied glint in his eyes.

'I loved her so wholeheartedly that I was finally willing to give her up. But... You must understand... She has decided. And I ought've been the one to tell you. I ought've—Because we all promised—' I hedged, then took in a breath.

'I just—I love her, Thor.'

A small smile formed on Thor's lips as he shrugged my hand off his shoulder. Only to place his own on the side of my neck. 'Brother, I know.'

'Y–you know? What do you mean you know?'

'How much you love her. And now I've come to think that I've known for far longer than even you have.'

An amiable laugh rose in his throat, his voice warm and steady as he went on, 'And I could not be more proud of you, little brother.' He leaned in, his next words solely meant for me, 'For finally letting her in completely.'

He gave me a wink I read as some kind of encouragement as he gave me a light smack to the cheek.
He made to retreat when suddenly his eyes widened, a look of horror crossing his face as he stared past me.

'Y/n!' he roared, terrifying urgency laced in his tone.
I spun around, heart pounding as I glimpsed the violets and greens of her gown pooling on the ground behind us.

Y/n lay buried beneath the layers of fabric as Thor knelt at her side. In a flash, I was too – hovering over her, cradling her face between my hands in a frenzy.

'Yngri hetja! Y/n darling, can you hear me?!' I shook her until Thor intervened, stopping me.

'Use your seiðr!'

Right. He was right. Why hadn't I thought of that?!

Summoning the familiar green glow in my palms, I let it touch her temples. Focusing on her respective seiðr surging through her, I tried desperately to grasp at pulses of her energy.
She was breathing, even steadily so. Then, lightning shot through me and I knew I had latched onto exactly what was needed.

In minimized form I was experiencing exactly what she had. Sudden dizzyness slashed at my synapses, almost pushing me to lose precious focus. I felt my legs disconnect from the rest of my body, my vision blurring, senses dulling.
Then, everything stopped, and I could see clearly again.

'She's fainted,' I announced, my voice steadier than I felt, my eyes refusing to leave her face. 'It's this wretched trial dance. Tell Odin he can go to Hel!'

Thor didn't even reprimand me for the verbal treachery I had just committed; he merely continued on brushing Y/n's hair from her face with a tenderness that made my chest tighten.

'Father most likely never expected anyone to succeed. No one knew it would drain the two of you this much,' he said.

'The two of us?'

This was when I decided to leave Y/n's features only to stare at my brother, flabbergasted.

'Yes, Loki. You're paler than usual – and that's saying something! Your hand has been shaking for the past ten minutes or so; you're neck is flushed—'
I didn't have time to process his words because, beneath me, Y/n had begun to stir.

'Lo–Loki?' Her voice was weak and sweet.

'Yes, darling. I'm here. Thor is, too.' I reached for her hand, squeezing it gently. The two of us tried to ease her up into a sitting position.

'I shall call for a healer!' Thor exclaimed, starting to rise, but Y/n clutched at his cloak.

'No, please. If you do, they won't allow Loki to stay with me.'

I stroked my thumb lovingly across her cheek. 'Ástin mín, I will not leave your side until you're safely tucked in bed. In your chambers.'

'That's exactly it. I want you there with me! Please, Lo.'

Before I could respond, I gazed up at Thor. I gave him an imploring look, a silent pleading.

Thor exhaled before saying, 'I will return to the festivities and tell Father the two of you both decided to retire early.'
For the second time that day, I placed a hand on my brother's shoulder as I mouthed a silent thank you.
Rising to his feet, Thor gave Y/n's hand one last squeeze. Then he left.

Holding onto her – onto that violet energy – I then flicked my wrist and had us teleported right into her chambers.
There she lay, in her bedsheets, dressed in a comfortable nightgown of the loveliest forest green and gazing up at me through thick lashes.
Norns, she is magnificent.

'What will the guards think when they find I never entered here?'

I leaned down to place a kiss to her forehead.
'Already thought of. A beautiful illusion of a princess is striding down the corridor on a venture to retire to her chambers as we speak.'

A grateful smile lit up her face, and my heart swelled. She reached for my face, but before she could pull me down into her inviting arms and kiss me senseless I pulled away.
She gave a tiny whine that made my knees go weak.

'Darling, you're dehydrated. You need water,' I hushed as my eyes scanned the room for a decanter, however my search proved fruitless.

'Some handmaidens you have there. I'll fetch some for you, just you wait here.'

Neither food nor drink could be conjured for any real sustenance – it's effects doomed to last mere minutes. Besides, I felt the last few spells had drained me more than I cared to admit. The trial had taken its toll on me as well, just as Thor had said.

Flick, and I was back in the corridors.

To my astonishment, the festivities had quieted down significantly, the noise now a mere hum in the background, no longer burdensome.
As I rounded a corner on my way to my own chambers, I believed to hear hushed voices coming from behind one of the doors.

To my surprise, one of them was only half-closed, a small pool of light spilling out into the hall.
The corridor I was in was usually deserted, as it merely connected my chambers with nothing other than the dull gallery. The room in question must have been some kind of weaponry, if I recalled correctly. Yet, I could have sworn I heard my mother's dulcet voice coming from inside.

As I crept closer to the door, I held my breath, straining to catch the words that floated through the narrow crack.
The All-Father's voice was low, almost a murmur, but it carried a weight that sent a chill down my spine.

'—hadn't been accomplished in millennia,' I heard him say, though the rest of the sentence was swallowed by the walls. '—this trial—soul—bound.'

My brow furrowed as I leaned in further, desperate to catch more. The more I tried, the farther away their voices became. Every second word seemed to be all I could discern. Something wasn't right.
Mother's voice followed Odin's, soft and soothing, but just as elusive.

'—his greatest weakness...' her words trailed off, leaving me grasping at fragments, a gnawing sense of unease growing in my chest.
I could only make out pieces, scattered words that made no sense on their own.

I concentrated on the remaining specks of my weakened seiðr.
'But how can it be so when the Norns lead her somewhere else...'
A rustle of movement inside, and, out of instinct, I backed away. Then, Father spoke again, a little clearer this time, though still maddeningly strange.
'At least this way—will not—his destiny—'

My heart pounded as frustration bubbled inside me.
Mother's reply was almost inaudible, her tone tinged with worry – why worry? – but the words were muffled beyond comprehension.
My mind raced, filling in the blanks with scenarios both hopeful and terrifying as my eyelids grew heavy, my breathing uneven.

'—mustn't know—vulnerable.'
Odin's voice again, stern and unyielding. '—for Thor—for them—'

All of this rang a bell, though a rather distant one.
Father had referred to souls, hadn't he? And they were clearly discussing Y/n. And that right after she had just completed this strange trial with me no one had believed to be of any real significance apart from a merely traditional one – though which had undoubtedly left the two of us strangely out of our wits...

As much as I wanted to burst in and demand for answers, I knew better, tripping over my own feet as I were.
My head was reeling and full of violet lace and soft skin; of urgent kisses and confessions of love. I had to return back to Y/n. I needed water and rest as much as she did.
And somewhere in my daze, I knew I would find my answers.

Eventually, many many years later, I did. Though, much too late.

I turned and fetched the jug of water from my nightstand. Then, on less wobbly legs, I made my way back to Y/n's chambers.
When I was finally standing before her, the look of concern on her face was in complete sync with the turmoil inside me.
I sat down beside her and took her hand in mine, forcing a smile that felt hollow.

'What happened?' she asked, her voice soft but tinged with worry.

I hesitated, the life gradually returning back to me now that I was with her. 'I'm... not sure, actually. I suppose I've just overheard my Mother and Father—discussing their concern for our weakened state, seeing that we've both retired this early. I–I—'

Surprisingly, my mind was blank. Somehow, nothing of their conversation made sense anymore and I wondered whether I had perhaps imagined them conversing in some forgotten weaponry in the first place. Why would they have ever resorted to such a place?

Her eyes widened, fear flashing across her features. 'They wouldn't suspect anything, do you think? About us, I mean.'

I cleared my throat, an attempt to clear my mind as well. 'No. I shan't think so.'

Then, with my eyes taking her in lying there before me, my senses returned to me.
My sense of the two of us being the only people left in this world, that is. My favourite one.

I leaned down so that my nose was touching hers, my voice a deep velvety whisper, 'You fear their reaction to you being mine... and mine alone?'

I felt her shudder beneath me.

'Whoso ever said I was anyone else's but my own?' The challenge in her gaze, so familiar and alluring that it made my walls come down in full.

'Point taken,' I gave.

Reaching for the blanket covering her, I pushed it aside as I slid in beside her, not once breaking away from her gaze. Once settled, I opened my arms and beckoned her in with a tilt of the head. A small smirk appeared on her lips.
A flick of her wrist, and I was in my underwear, my torso covered by a thin layer of black linen.

'Better,' she grumbled whilst she searched for that spot on my chest her head belonged.

My hand gently traced patterns along her back as she nestled into me.
For a moment, everything seemed still, the world outside but forgotten. I glanced down at her, noticing the way her lashes brushed her cheeks, her brow slightly furrowed as if lost in thought.

'Are you unwell still?' I asked, my voice soft, almost hesitant. The question hung in the air between us, my concern for her gnawing at me.
She didn't answer immediately, her fingers absentmindedly toying with the fabric of my shirt.

Instead of addressing my question, she suddenly whispered, 'I am sorry... for how I acted on that balcony. It was—rather improper, I guess? Like an animal, gods. And I can't help but think the dance to have something to do with it.'

I tilted my head, looking down at her, my heart tightening at the vulnerability in her voice. I raised a brow at her and though I agreed to the part concerning the dance, I still asked, 'Does that mean you regret it?'

I tried to keep my tone light, though the weight of the answer loomed large in my chest.
She was quiet for a beat, then lightly shook her head no against my chest.

'No,' she whispered, her voice sure and steady. 'No. Quite the opposite.'
Relief washed over me, and a bright grin spread on my lips at the memory.

But before I could respond, I felt her body tense as another wave of sudden fatigue seemed to overtake her. I could see it in the way her eyes fluttered, her breath catching as though she was struggling to keep her balance even whilst lying down – and instinctively, I tightened my hold on her.

'Yngri hetja, you need to rest. I might still have to resort to calling for a healer if this persists,' I urged, the idea of her suffering even just a single moment longer unbearable to me.

'No,' she pleaded softly, turning her face further into my chest, her breath a hot tingle on my skin. 'Please don't. Just... stay with me tonight.'

My lips brushing against her hair, I whispered, 'Then I shall, love.'
The room fell silent, the only sound our breathing, mingling in the quiet.

I thought she had finally drifted off, her body relaxing against mine as sleep claimed her.
Then, just as I was beginning to let myself be lulled by the same peace, I heard her voice again. So soft that it was barely audible.

'I love you too, you know.'

My breath caught, the words hitting me with a force I never could have expected.
She raised her head to look at me, her eyes shining with a certain glint of bravery that took my breath away.
This was no easy feat for her, I knew her enough to see that.

'I have loved you when by accident you made me love Thor. And I have loved you enough to hate you for it. By the Norns, I think I have loved you even when you returned to me all bloodied up and looking so utterly dumbfounded from a dwarves' wrath,' she gave a hush of a laugh, biting down on her lip at the end.

'And now I know... I have loved you ever since.'

It was as though the pathetic rest of the walls I had so carefully constructed around my heart crumbled in an instant, leaving me vulnerable and exposed – but in the best possible way.

Without thinking, I rose up and captured her lips with mine, pouring all the emotions I couldn't put into words into that one kiss.
She responded eagerly, her hands tangling in my hair as I kissed her over and over, desperate to take in all that she was in this very moment.

I devoured her lips, traced her cheeks, her jawline, the tip of her nose, and then returned to her lips, unable to get enough.
I was hers so utterly that, somewhere deep inside, perhaps it made me even a tad bit afraid.

Her breath hitched as I travelled down to her neck, my tongue caressing the delicate skin there. Her soft gasps fueled my need to show her, not just with words but with every touch, how deeply I cared.
How much I had always cared.

When finally I pulled back, her face was flushed, her eyes half-lidded and dazed. My heart swelled as I looked at her – at my work.

'Ever since when, exactly? Ever since that dwarves' wallop?' I asked eventually, my voice husky and suggestive, the question escaping me before I could stop it. A what she would call wolfish smile tugging at the corners of my lips as I met her eyes.

A grin spread across her face too, and it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.
'Nay. Just ever since,' she replied, her voice light, almost teasing. 'That's it.'

I couldn't help the small laugh that escaped me. The tension in my chest easing as I pulled her closer and pure and unfiltered joy took over. In that moment, with her in my arms, I felt whole – as though everything in my life had led to this point.

'Ever since,' I echoed, the words a promise as much as an acceptance of what had always been.
A picture flashed before me.
That sweet maiden with the warriors' braid wound around her head and the small hand that had grasped my conjured leaf-turned-handkerchief in its palm.
Ever since, my mind repeated the simple words.

And as she settled back down against me, I closed my eyes, letting the warmth of her love wash over me, soothing the turmoil in my heart until all that remained was peace.
Peace like I'd never known before.

Chapter Text

'With Thor gone,

we could be together.'

His promises, his threats and delusions, reverberate around my mind as my gaze falls blankly on the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents stationed by the door. The exact same door Selvig has vanished behind approximately fifteen minutes ago.

Gods, how my body aches.
I'm certain it's but a restless ache born of my traitorous mind. One second it begs me to have faith in Loki's delusions; the next, it urges me to seize action and punch the fuck out of him.
If there were any path back to Asgard I bet that right now, I would do just that.

Again, for what feels like the hundredth time, I reach out with my seiðr, sending a wave across the void, my voice echoing in desperate call to Heimdall.
I can feel his energy, far-off but perceptible.

'I'm doing this for us,

for our future.'

And suddenly, I dare not lie to myself any longer. Of course Loki has manipulated the Gate-Keeper. Worse, perhaps.
I bite down hard on my own tongue – the thought repulsive in the way it holds possibility.
No. Loki could never, would never.

'I can make you see.'

But then again... The Odinforce could. Hence, he now could.

'I will make you see.'

And with nothing but a feigned benevolent gaze thrown over his stiff shoulder, this variant – I imagine that he would.

Feigned to such a degree he might not even see it himself.

The Trickster had met his match and, spectacularly so, tricked it. But he had won. Against his own self.

And what this Trickster now seeks is to make us all see. In whatever way or form possible.

I'm ripped from my horrid musings the second I catch long wet strands of golden hair flowing in the distance. Thor stomps down the metal staircase with Selvig in tow.
Even from afar, high up on that hill Jane and I had stood only yesterday, I am able to see the grave expression adorning the Crown Prince's features. Somber, brows furrowed so deeply they cast a shadowy valley between them, his gaze distant.

I swallow against the urge to rush to his side, forcing myself to wait for the two men to come here instead. Jane and Darcy had stayed behind at the headquarters so as to attract as little attention as possible. Though no one had dared suggest I do the same.

But now that I was alone and shaken and in pain after Loki's projection had found me here, I wish I would've stayed with them.

Finally, when Thor and Selvig are far enough from the agents, I allow myself to let go, to rush forward and fold myself into Thor's broad chest. My arms wrap around him tightly.

'Thank the Norns, you're unharmed! I–I'm so sorry I couldn't be there with you, I—'

Thor's hands move gently to cradle the sides of my neck, sweeping a few damp strands of wild hair back behind my ear. 'Hush, skæra mín. It's all perfectly fine. All they did was ask me a few questions I wouldn't understand even a single word of.' He gives a small, weary smile.

'Bu–but Mjölnir—You couldn't—And I couldn't—Now we can't—!'
I take in a sharp, steadying breath as my head starts to grow dizzy.
'We're stuck. And I couldn't be there for you, when—'

When it had dawned on you just who was responsible for your fate, I finished in the gruelling privacy of my shattered head.

I could only try at imagining Thor's state of emotions the moment he realised he was now deemed unworthy of the mighty weapon.
I had witnessed the pain in his roar – felt it in the very marrow of my bones – when he had to accept the hate his brother apparently, undeniably must hold for him.

'Y/n, I felt you there in the mud. I knew you to be near. Do not dare believe I could ever feel abandoned by you, understood? I feel certain you have my back, as I vow to you that I have yours.'

His words settle into me, melting away the tightness in my chest. He presses his forehead to mine, his hands steady around my own trembling ones. In seconds, the tremors subside.

'Thank you,' I whisper, my voice betraying me as it breaks.

For now, I will hold my tongue on my encounter with Loki's apparition. I can see the toll this ordeal has taken on Thor – he needs rest, not more heartbreak.
But before I can gather any thoughts on my next words, Selvig's voice slices through the moment.

'Sorry to break this up, but we'd better get a move on, before those suits puzzle one and one together.'

Thor breaks away, our proximity all of a sudden weighting uncomfortably on my shoulders as it thickens the air. Clearing his throat, he faces Selvig, his voice deep and rusty as he asks, 'Where are we going?'

Striding ahead without a backward glance, Selvig simply grunts, 'To get a drink.'

'Anyone who's ever going to find his way in this world has to start by admitting he doesn't know where the hell he is.'

Thor eyes the doctor with a mix of intrigue and gratitude. 'Thank you, for what you've done.'

'No, don't thank me. I only did it for Jane.' Selvig turns his head to face me for a moment, and I fail to connect the dots of what he attempts at conveying. Then he returns his attention back to Thor.
'Her father and I taught at university together. He was a good man,' he explains. 'He never listened.'

Thor lets his gaze fall to the glass in his hands. I follow his example, the strings of my mind once again reaching out into the nothingness where they hope to get a hold of Loki.

Norns, how I yearn for him to do what only he can.
To ease the godsforsaken ruckus in my head.

'Neither did I.'
At Thor's words, my ears perk up anew.
What ever could he mean?
If there ever was someone more fiercly loyal than Thor Odinson, then I couldn't for the life of me think of a name.

Before I can interject, Thor speaks on, 'My brother was trying to tell me something all throughout our youth. Had told me countless times—He felt estranged from this family in some odd way. But I was too daft to see it. Too self-absorbed perhaps...'

My heart clenches, though somewhere inside, something else at last has found a fragmentary sense of peace.
Thor loves his brother dearly; and Loki would forever remain exactly that to him – his brother.

Which is why this is where I decide it's time to take my leave.
With me here, after all that's passed between Loki and me... And in the aftermath of the ceremony...
I was a boulder blocking Thor's truth from finally finding its path – from freeing him.
Which was what he needed now. Maybe he needed to curse his brother. Hel, even curse me, if need be.

So I collect my shattered mind's remains from the countertop, jug the ale, and rise.

Thor's gaze at last meets mine with a questioning look about them. Simple and earnest, I reach across the wood for his hand, squeezing it.
'I'll be with Jane and Darcy if you need me. I've run a desert today, I'm drained.'
And with one last weary wink, I'm gone.

It's in a large car-like house on wheels where I spy Jane.
Through the window, I can see her read a book in the small space that, from a certain angle, may be called a bed. I knock on the glass.

When she sees me, she jumps from the mattress to open the door. There's an anxious edge to her perplexed expression, and I hurry to fill her in.

'Thor is fine! He's with Selvig – They are currently sharing a drink.'

'Thor and Erik? Really?' she inquires, surprise written all over her face.

'Well, I suppose Selvig believes us now. At least to some extend, he does. Though I still don't think he sees the God of Thunder in the man next to him as of now.'

Jane chuckles to herself, yet not at my words, I come to realise.

'What is it?' I ask, my intend genuine. 'I too could use a good laugh, you know...'

'Oh, of course! It's just that—I thought about Erik and Thor... sharing a drink they call loneliness,' she emphazises the last part of her sentence in a way that suggests I ought to hear something more, something hidden behind the plainly arranged string of words.

'I'm sorry I don't—'

'Oh! Yes, of course! I suppose there's no way for you to know the song. I'm sorry.'
Apparentely embarrassed, she awkwardly slides into her bedsheets again, her legs dangling from where her mattress rests in that nook.
I swallow down my dissapointment, chest aching and heart heavy. No matter how many centuries I were to study on this realm, I would never know my people.
Truly know them – understand them. I am not and will never be a part of their world.

'Do you want a cup of tea? Coffee? Water? Whatever it is you drink on Asgard...' Jane inquires out of the blue.

'No, no, thank you,' I retort as I sit down on the chair she's pulled out. 'But I do have one request, if I may...'

There's a hesitation in her reply, but eventually Jane nods her head, signaling me to go on.

'Is there any chance for you to show me the song? The one you mentioned?' My cheeks heat as I impatiently wait for her answer, for any reaction at all. Then, finally, she breaks out into a hearty laugh.
For a moment I'm frozen in place. Was that... a silly question?

'That's all?' she grins, then reaches for her laptop. 'Sure! I will play you Piano Man! It's a real American treasure actually, you know.'

So, the next two hours are spent with listening, analysing and philosophising over countless Billy Joel songs.
And in all of my eight hundred years of living, I've never felt more human.

Vienna. Vienna is what's humming in my ears, behind my eyes, in my head – and finally... It calms the ruckus. Somehow, it seems that Billy Joel knows how to soothe the chaos, too.

You can be everything you wanna be before your time ,

Jane has gone. To only the gods know where. Turning, I realise, so has the sleeping-car. In its place lies nothing more but an empty patch of land. Of the greenest grass existing in all the realms. A sensation only homecoming can rouse washes over me, cleansing me, body and soul. The green hue inevitably reminds me... of him. Loki.

Although it's so romantic on the borderline,

So I turn back around, keeping Billy Joel's voice with me in my mind, only... only to find everything else to have vanished just the same.

Gone is the arid New Mexico air, gone its heat. Gone is Jane's vehicle.
But it isn't emptiness I find.
Far from it. Colours greet me. All of them. And they have formed a bridge. The bridge.
Standing on the Bifröst's gleaming surface, the prismatic colours shifting beneath my feet, my heart clenches. I'm... home?

But not alone. Far ahead, on the edge where the bridge meets the void, stands Thor. Not alone either.
The glorious golden trio, together again.

Though nothing is as it should be.
The look in Thor's eyes is that of a warrior's – an expression I've seen a thousand times, though never directed towards his own brother.

His back to me, Loki's emerald cape ripples in the wind.
Once, the golden horned helm that is resting on his dark hair had filled me with a sense of pride and adoration. Now all they do is make my knees go weak. With dread.

His stance is predatory. My heart stammers, and I can't translate its frantic cry; into whose arms it begs me to run. Which brother it orders me to protect from the other.

Without a second to register what's happening, the world shifts again.
Time accelerates, disjointed and chaotic. Then, my vision fades.
A massive crack.
Visuals return.
But everything is dazed, a cloud of fog caging my senses.
Naturally so, I fight it.

With some of the light returned, I see something – someone has taken hold of Thor, who's dangling from the edge!
I panic.
Frantically I surge to the edge, and just as frantically I search for green.
Until finally, a flash of it catches my aching eye.

Glory to the Norns – he's still here. His hand clutched tightly around Gungnir, its other end just as tightly resting in Thor's.
Loki's lips are moving, and still the universe permits me from catching their meaning.
My eyes fog over to a degree I can hardly even make out their silhouettes anymore.

Then, a body descends, hurtling down into the void of surging power.
I let a guttural scream break loose as I am pulled from time and space.
And Billy Joel just sings on in my head.

Dream on, but don't imagine they'll all come true, ooh.
When will you realise...
Vienna waits for you.

 

His broad figure is illuminated by the firelight, his golden hair catching the flicker of flames. In his hands rests what appears to be some kind of journal.
The sight of them calms my racing and raging blood, though it fails to ease the ache the nightmare has left in my very core.

He pauses, waiting. Waiting for me. Taking the journal from his hands, I keep my eyes from meeting his.
Jane studies me with amiable curiosity alighting her face. Though my throat tightens, I nod, clasping my hands together as I lean in closer to the fire's heat.

'Vanaheimr is... peaceful. Fertile lands, endless forests, and rivers that shimmer from the light of pixies' who have only just been birthed by the suns. It's a realm of plenty, but mostly—it's a realm of wisdom and of healing and of seiðr,' I say.
Jane's expression displays a flicker of confusion. So I clarify, 'Magic.'

My voice becomes quieter as I add a long-repressed truth of mine.
'But it never was home for me. I was raised for Asgard. For a future I would have no say in. And then I came to Asgard and it finally became the closest thing to a home I thought I was ever allowed to have. I suppose the Norns had fated me to be a child of the realms – belonging everywhere and nowhere all the same.'

Jane tilts her head. 'Does this... Does it perhaps have to do with what you said about your mother? That she's from Vanaheimr. Yet your father... isn't? Is he Asgardian?'

Hesitating, I note the weight of Thor's eyes upon me.
'My father was from Mid—' I pause, swallowing. 'He was from here.'

Jane's brows shoot up in surprise, and I give her a small, faint smile.
'Yes, I am part human. Half. Father was what we call a hero – a mortal chosen by the Norns to fight alongside the Gods in times of crisis. My mother fell in love with him during the chaos of the Æsir-Vanir war; its effects having reached even the edges of Earth by then. When eventually the waring ceased, she decided to stay with him... Until... Until he would eventually leave this world,' my words falter, trailing off as I stare up into the very same sky my father must've once sat under.

I wonder... Did he behold the moon with as much reverance as I do now?

Sometimes I think of what mother had once told me.
How his armour had shone in the moon's bright light; how it had alighted his pale skin so it appeared almost as though sculpted from the moon itself. She had known then.
Known that she would do everything to see him this peaceful for the rest of his days.

My mind diverts from the moon and the sky and Midgard.
It settles on an image of Loki.
We're at our secret pond, the moonlight falling in through the perfect little cleft in the trees, and glittering off the water's surface.
His porcelain face had reminded me of home then. Of a home I never even had. Just that sense of utter harmony and shelter. Home.

'So,' Jane's voice calls to me from a distance. 'He couldn't stay?' she guesses, a timid tone to her question. I shake my head, giving her a small smile meant to reassure her.

'No. He was mortal. And Mother was not. If you're wondering: no, there is no cauldron that grants immortality to anyone that's thrown in—Or something along those lines. He died aged and wrinkled; my mother not a day older than the day they met. When he passed, she returned to Vanaheimr – with me. My father never knew me beyond a babe, even when he's had three decades with me.' I notice Jane's eyes to widen. 'Which may sound extremely strange to Midgardians, I'm aware! Humans, sorry. And I age even faster than big guy over here.'

The brief second I allow myself to meet Thor's eyes, I catch a sheepish grin forming on his warm features. Jane's expression softens, her giddiness now tempered with a touch of empathy. 'So... you're part human.'

'Yes,' I confirm, although it was more assesment than question. I force a smile I just know will not sell.
'It's not as uncommon as you might think, but still I'm—' I hesitate, searching for the word that will roll of the easiest. 'Different.'

Jane then leans forward, eager fascination returned to her face. 'You just have to be special! I mean, half-human? That makes you a demigod, right? Like–like Hercules!'
Meticulously, I try to mirror her enthusiasm, but my thoughts have already drifted.
Hello, old friend.

'Special,' I murmur. 'That's what the prophecy said too.'

At that – at my total idiotic mishap – Jane's brows furrow.
'Prophecy?'
Yet again, I hesitate, struggling to find my voice in the haze.

'I am not merely part human, I'm hero-born. In an ancient prophecy the last of the hero-born is foretold to unite with a son of Odin. With it, they're meant to ensure...'

'The balance of the realms,' Thor interjects. For me. For that throat of mine which tightens from the overwhelming spiral of emotions and sensations and guilt.

Which means, enough storytime for today.

Jane's eyes widen the more, flicking briefly to Thor. He has gone still, his jaw tight, but his hand reaches out to cover mine nonetheless.

'Y/n...' Jane's voice is quiet with regret, her expression full of an understanding she shouldn't even have. Alongside it is a discomfort.
I share that discomfort, though for quite a different reason, I reckon.
Not one word spoken of him. And I abhor it.
It's unfair. This is as much his story as it is Thor's and mine.

I swallow hard, still avoiding Thor's gaze as I fight to push past the indignant weight in my chest.
'It's fine,' I say quickly, eventually, though my voice betrays me. 'We all have to play our part somehow, right? Balance, prophecies. It's what's best for the realms.'

The vexation in my words, the resentment—I know I've failed to mask it.
Jane however offers a small, comforting smile, her eyes filled with quiet compassion.
She is good. Thoroughly virtuous. And Norns, how she reminds me of Revna.
Derisively, I banish the thought.

'I think I'll head to bed,' she says softly, standing and brushing off her jeans. 'You two probably have a lot to talk about.'

I glance up, startled and suddenly anxious that she might have sensed my momentary contempt and taken it personally.
But her genuine smile lingers. It is a look saying more than words ever could. She feels for me, for Thor – perhaps more than mere compassion. Then, she retreats.
Maybe in another life, I wouldn't have interrupted them. Maybe in another life, right now, he would gaze after her instead of me.

Thor's hand remains on mine as Jane leaves the two of us alone by the fire, the weight of it growing heavier with each second that passes in silence.
The fire crackles; warmth brushes against my body and bundles in the space between our touching skin. For a moment, I believe my hand to sizzle underneath his with discomfort's heat.

'What is it, skæra mín?' Thor hushes, his voice low and steady – so unlike the storm brewing inside me. I don't meet his gaze. 'I had a nightmare.'

Before he can reach out with more than just his hand and comfort me, or even try to implore further on that damned nightmare, I hedge, 'But that's only what's on the surface. You know exactly what's bothering me, Thor. We have been stranded here for days, and we've yet to even graze the topic of that blasted ceremony.'

A shaking sigh escapes the proud warrior beside me. His thumb brushes lightly against my knuckles.
Eventually, he speaks, his voice tinged with a melancholy I never thought he even held in that boisterous soul of his, 'I didn't know Odin would do this. To think that I've hurt you so... I never wanted for this to happen. Nor to my brother, for that matter.'

Thor could never have known beforehand Odin planned to announce the engagement – any engagement. I knew that. I never doubted his loyalty to me, nor to his family. Still, I feel a weight lifted from my heavy heart at the words.

But the relief doesn't hold for long. My throat tightens again and I struggle to keep my voice steady.
'I never pictured myself in this position. Even when, right from the beginning, I was meant to stand between the two of you, we somehow had found our rhythm. We had found a way to make all of this fair. And even as I had chosen...'

I falter at the bile of bitter falsehoods rising in my throat.
'Okay, maybe it wasn't entirely fair. But it was ours. One hundred percent between the three of us. And now... Now everything feels like one gigantic lie. Doomed from the beginning.'

I swallow hard, only to sense the start of something just as detestable taking hold of me. The unwanted words cannot be forestalled from breaking out of me.

'I fell in love thinking it was fated! Only to be faced with the cruel reality of fate itself being a giant pain in my arse!'
A silent tear rolls down my cheek as I struggle to contain the taunting anguish in my voice.

Finally, I look at him, the pleading in my eyes escaping my control. 'Thor... Please, I need to hear your side of this. What went through your head when Odin proclaimed our—'

Thor's blue eyes soften, his expression full of quiet sorrow as he rescues me from having to voice it aloud.

'At first, my mind was blank,' he gives. 'All it kept replaying over and over was the look on Loki's face as...'

He clears his throat. But still he doesn't finish what he started.
...As everything of his self turned to dust, I finish for him in the solemnity of my hallow mind.

Thor continues, 'He was all I could see. And I wanted to rage at every living soul in that rotten place who dared gawk at him. Then, I saw you.'

Thor falls silent, and I wait for him to continue with his tale, as it tears my already torn heart in yet another piece. But he's drifted off to some place else. He draws a deep breath, his eyes breaking from mine.

'From the moment I knew I loved you,' he breathes, voice barely above a whisper as my blood momentarily freezes in my stilling veins, 'I knew I'd do everything to protect your world – with and for you. Whether we were to accomplish it as Promised or as friends—all positively inconsequential to me. But in this moment, when I saw your heart break before a thousand eyes, I realised your world wasn't Asgard. It wasn't even Midgard. It was Loki.'

Silence wounds its way into my soul, static the only sound my mind feels able to translate.
His words hit like a blow to the chest, and for a moment, I have lost my voice – my tongue a lump of lead in my mouth.

'And believe me, long before there was you,' he continues, voice now steadier. 'Had I already taken a vow before the Norns to give anything to protect my brother.'

He has done it. Thor has rendered me utterly speechless. Lacking any sense of self apart from the one that cleaves to him as well as to his brother. My princelings.
Feeling one of the many cracks in my heart's composition starting to heal, I let the tears cascade freely.

'So, everything will be alright,' he whispers against my hair as he places a soft kiss to the crown of my head. 'Because we will make it all right.'

'You don't have to protect me,' I say finally. And even as I say them, I know they could have been better words.
'I'm not some fragile thing, Thor. Neither is Loki.'

'No,' he agrees softly, kindly, 'you're not. But you still won't ever see me venture far from your side.'
He shrugs. 'Because I need you just the same.'

His words hang between us, filling the silence and melting my blood back into a healthy stream.
For the first time since the ceremony, I let myself truly look at him. His broad shoulders seem heavier now, his gaze weighed down by something far more burdensome than duty. And for a moment, I am unsure whether I am angry or grateful – or both.
I will go with both.

'Odin lied to us all. Not just to Loki,' I mutter. 'He deceived us into believing we had at least some small fraction of free will. I hope you know that, Thor.'

His silence speaks volumes. Thor adores his father too much to ever truly question him.

My voice trembling with anger and compassion alike, I plunder on, 'But that's not what's important right now. We have grown up with that ghost of a prophecy lurking at our backs; now we have to face it. Or everything will have been for naught. What's important is that we find a way to talk sense into Loki.'
His name tastes like ash in my mouth, my tongue yearning to form the letters with love. Instead, the words share more likeness to a battle cry.

Thor's head moves in affirmation, then falls to face the dusty ground.
Rising to my feet, I am more than ready to fall into bed.
Tomorrow, we will find a way to summon Loki, to reach Heimdall, or to reach the godsforsaken Norns themselves – I couldn't possibly care less.

I will get my will, if he wants it or not.
If Loki is lost, I can find him. I always could.
Over and over I reassure myself.
Until I fall into the bliss of the dreamless sleep I'm so used to.

The next morning I'm roused by the distinct sound of kitchen ware shattering to the ground. 'What in Hel's name...' I mumble as I rise from the hard floor of Jane's research facility.

The night before, I hadn't even tried to fit into the crammed space of Jane's van. With Selvig on the floor and Jane in her 'bed', I decided a floor where I'd have plenty of space would be as good a sleeping space as any. So I came here.

As I'm in the midst of looking over myself in the reflection of a window, I catch Thor's familiar boisterous voice boom with excitement. 'My friends!' he exclaims.

Why on earth would he be this giddy to see Jane and the others? They never left.

Muffled voices echo through the door, sonorous and resonant. They're certainly not female, and certainly there's more than three.
I exit into the hall. In an instant I feel as though the air has been knocked from my lungs. Selvig and Jane have their backs to me, Darcy too.

Before them, massive Volstagg pushes past Thor to face the flabbergasted Selvig. Standing straight, he makes to introduce the band of four which, in turn clap Thor on the back behind him, 'Oh, excuse me!' His accent is thick. Thicker than I've ever realised. So unlike Selvig and Jane and all humans I've met thus far.
Do we really sound like that?

Volstagg motions to the shield maiden on his left. 'The Lady Sif,' he says.
'And the Warriors Three,' I chime in, finishing Volstagg's introduction before he can.

Heads whirl to the side, eyes taking hold of me. 'Lady Y/n!' Fandral exclaims as he's advancing me with assured steps. I gasp as he picks me up and twirls me once.

'Woah! Woah,' I breath out as he sets me down. I glance back and forth between him, Hugin, Volstagg – a smile brighter than ever plastered on his round face – and Sif. Eventually, not able to help it, a broad grin takes over my face as well.

The question in my eyes is clear as I at last meet Thor's gaze. He just shrugs, then claps his hand on Hugin's shoulder, saying, 'My friends. I've never been happier to see anyone. But you should not have come.' Thor's expression darkens.

'You're not sent by Loki, are you?' I ask, my voice feeble. I already know the answer – know that they've put themselves in his path and therefore subjected themselves to his wrath – and still I ask.
He is torn and lost. And he wields Gungnir now. The stakes have been raised.

'We're here to take you home!' says Fandral, on his face a question mark and in his voice a tone that suggest nothing has ever been more obvious. 'Even though we understand that this visit has been long overdue, still we believe you shall rather be with your own people in such distressing times!'

'Visit? What visit?' Thor asks.
His tone has changed, the pain returning. And with it, something new: anger.

I rush to his side, gripping his arm as I make him face me. 'Thor! Thor. We already knew that Loki would lie about why we vanished. Don't let it get to you.' Squeezing his hand, I brush a strand of golden hair from his eyes.
Exhaling a long breath, one that feels like he has been holding it in since our fall, he squeezes me back.

Behind us, Sif clears her throat and speaks up, 'Your brother told us of your wish to come here so that Y/n may bond with her people. He said you decided to leave as soon as you heard of your father's condition.'

Thor's hand begins to heat in mine, his lips trembling with so much surpressed emotion that it makes me curse Sif and her damned blabbermouth.
'Enough!' I order. 'Loki is in possession of Gungnir. He wields the Odinforce now.'

I let go of Thor's hand, positioning myself between him and the warriors. With a warrior's stance of my own, I prepare for my next words.

'Loki is the reason we're here. How and why that may be so, is of no further importance. Only know that he will try and recover me from here. He will come, sooner or later, and we will be ready to take that spear from him. He is not an enemy.' I make sure to put as much emphasis on those last words as possible.
'But tell me, has Heimdall explained to you why he refuses to get us home?'

Fandral finds his voice first, his expression troubled, 'All Heimdall could say was that he cannot open the bridge to us because he is bound by honour to his king. To Loki. Then, he simply left.' Hugin takes over, saying, 'He wanted us to come here.'

Loki has really thought it all through. My chest tightens once more, a sensation nearly as familiar now as a hug – a hug from your enemy.
Is Loki my enemy?

Multiple questions linger on our friends' faces, and I know some are already at their tongues, but before they can voice even a single one of them a loud thud echoes from the desert landscape beyond the facility.
In sync, nine people hurry to the open glass doors. From the sky, a raging cloud of grey hits the earth, forming a tornado of electricity and dust.

'Was somebody else coming?' Darcy mumbles close to my ear.
No, I think. No one but Thor would make an entrance this noisy.

I am the first to run into the streets. The dust clears, falling around the menacing rock of shining metal like ashes. Then, Thor is at my side. And with a single glance at one another I'm certain he's thinking the same thing.
If we don't run soon, we will be the ashes left behind by the Destroyer.
That what this beast is.
The famed Destroyer. Rather telling name, I'd say.

The others join us; Jane gazing up imploringly at Thor. Without looking at her, Thor growls, 'Jane, you have to leave.'

'What are you gonna do?' Jane's hair flies before her eyes from the wave of energy coming off the Destroyer.

'I'm staying here.'

Volstagg chimes in as though nothing has ever promised more fun, 'Thor's gonna fight with us!'

Hurriedly, Thor pulls his friends aside. 'My friends,' he begins, his tone full of regret. 'I'm just a man. I'll only be in the way, or worse, get one of you killed. But I can help get these people to safety. With Y/n.'

'So I'm not fighting in this plan of yours?' I huff, my arms now a defiant cross across my chest.

Thor's eyes focus on me and for a second he makes me feel as though we're alone – at home, on Asgard's training grounds.

Before he can protest or even make a sound, Jane comes to my aid. 'Well, if you're staying and Y/n is obviously staying, then so am I.'

Thor inhales sharply but doesn't protest Jane's case either.
He knows, just as much as I do, that the Destroyer won't wait burning New Mexico to the grounds until we're done chatting.
Though deep down, somewhere were I can refuse listening to the irritating whispering voice, that voice tells me to think further.

The Destroyer is bound by command – he won't attack anyone without Odin's order.
But Odin is asleep; his source of power in the hands of another.
Loki has sent the Destroyer.
And if this is his way of getting me back – of proving to me exactly how right he is – then he has no intention of listening to any pleading of mine.

Then... Then Loki has just become the enemy.

'Okay, move it, people!' Darcy shouts when Thor jogs off, the anxiety wavering in her usual nonplussed, nonchalant tone.

Everybody scatters in the winds. I see Selvig head for the diner we had breakfasted in the other day, as Jane makes her way to evacuate the gas station.
Next to me, the Warriors Three unsheath their blades. An explosion erupts from our right. The gas station. Before the panic has time to take hold of me, Jane supports a man away from the wreckage. She gives me a thumbs up, and despite myself, I smile.

The Destroyer advances slowly, leaving smoke and dust in its wake. So far, I don't see a body on the ground yet. Thor has managed to evacuate the most people, ushering them to safety like cattle.
A wall of flame erupts from the ground and I shield my stinging eyes from the heat. The Warriors Three and Sif cough out the smoke as, now only a few feet before us, the Destroyer emerges from the flames.
Knees bent, their blades now at a ready, I slip behind the band of warriors.

'Keep it distracted,' I give the order, the words on my lips tingling with a challenge.

Loki darling, I know you'd like a challenge right about now. So, if you're playing, it better be with me.

It takes me less than a minute to move behind the giant metal soldier.
'Hey!' I shout over the clamour of raging fire, car sirens, and screaming civilians. To no avail.

I know you can hear me. I just know you're watching me through its eyes. You're too nosy not to, Mischief.

Truthfully, I didn't. All I did was make an educated wish if you will – but as soon as the words have surged out of my mind and down the link, the Destroyer halts. It turns.
Behind the wall of smoke and embers must be the others, but right now... it's you and me baby.

Loki, I plead. Ástin mín, you don't want this. What you want is here, before you. And you'll have me. How could you ever doubt that you wouldn't?
I am yours. With or without fate.

My gaze is unwavering, honest and lying at the same time.
I take a step closer, almost reaching out to graze the smoldering metal.
I want to, I want it to scorch me for my sin. Instead, I reach out mentally, until eventually, I have the faint green wisps of his energy clutched in mine.
Gently, I tug. Tenderly, I caress.

Until finally, his voice, though changed and withered, echoes back,
Then come home. Leave with the Destroyer and let him stay there.

You think I can just abandon him? He's your brother. You don't mean that.

He is not. And you know that. But how about a deal?

Suddenly I recognise some of the Loki I remember in this variant voice of his,
How about we leave him only for now. Only until he has reclaimed Mjölnir. You know as much as I do that he will, eventually.

I struggle to believe him, loathing myself for it, but I just don't.
There's one burning question in the back of my mind in need of desperate answering.

And what will have changed until then? I inquire, my tone that of a gambling woman in desperation.

Just believe in me as you always have and you will see, yngri hetja.

Another fraction of my splintered heart. Healed. Just like that. Two words—and healed.

After this, Odin will see just how much Thor is actually worth to the realms, he goes on in my mind, and just how powerful the two of us are when we're together!

So you mean to make an example out of these people?! What has gotten into you, Loki?!

Who said I mean to destroy them?

You brought the De-stroy-er!

Thor cannot defeat him. But he will try if I attack his precious humans. It's merely the means to an end.

He's said it again. His humans. Not mine.
He's blinded himself to the truth of who I really am – who we truly are. Two sides of an altogether different coin.

Before I can think on it, the Destroyer's head slowly turns the other way. I gaze past him. Through the smog a bulky, familiar figure emerges.
No, no, no. Not you. Not yet, I think as I scramble for the right words to say to keep Loki's focus on me. To keep the Destroyer's focus on me.
Yet, my efforts are in vain, because Thor has come not to fight, but to reason.

'Brother,' he addresses the metallic husk, just as certain of Loki's active part in this as I. 'Whatever I have done to wrong you, whatever I have done to lead you to do this, I am truly sorry.'

I sense Loki's energy shift in my mental grasp – the green merging into a menacing, golden glow.

Loki, once more I take to pleading through our link.
If you harm him now, everything will have been for naught.
The golden pulses sizzle in my mind.
Because you will have lost me forever.

All the while, Thor goes on, 'But these people are innocent. Taking their lives will gain you nothing.'

He loves you. So much. As do I . As does your mother. Odin, too. You have always been Loki Odinson, and nothing will change that.
Nothing except for yourself.

The sizzling weans off, a cool wave of greens taking over to caress my violets.

'And Y/n,' Thor is still in the midst of his speech. And it's suddenly going in the absolute worst direction possible.
'Y/n's feelings for you won't change only because she will now fulfil the prophecy with me.'

Loki's energy escapes my grasp. The Destroyer turns.

Thor, for the love of—!
Cursing the Crown Prince for driving me to do this, I aim the violet ball of energy in my power at his chest, flicking my arm to the left. I watch Thor hurl through the air and with another, smaller flick, I soften his landing.

Silence from him in my head remains, even after I've called out his name a dozen times.

Loki, have you listened to yourself lately? Just because you can wield this power doesn't mean you can simply bend the future to your will! Please, my love, release Heimdall from his oath and allow us both to return the normal way.

For a moment that stretches into eternity, there's silence in my head.
I begin to panic, but then his voice returns. Though this time, it's drenched in guilt and... and the same amount of panic I feel?

I'm sorry.

It is all he says before an impact to my chest knocks the air from my lungs and I too, fling through the air.
There's no pain when I land, yet his power has left an irritating emerald wall of smoke in my head, clouding my vision.

When my senses return to normal, it's already too late, and I can only watch as the armed police officer sprints at the Destroyer, gunsablazin. Mere seconds earlier, I had stood right in his line of fire.
The Destroyer aims; in his metal palm a ball of flames forming. From the corner of my eye I detect a commotion.
Then, like a lighting blast, Thor tackles the officer just as the ball surges towards him.

They are still rolling in the sand as I arrive at their side. The officer is knocked out, but Thor groans disconcertingly. It's only then that I take note of the blistering slash that now adorns his neck and torso.
Screams erupt. I guess they're Jane's and Sif's, Volstagg's perhaps.
I cannot say, for my own scream fills all of my head and soul.

The landing alone, the officer crashing down on him, ought to have fatally injured this mortal body of his. But there's so much blood, too.

I scream again, this time a roar. I roar at the Destroyer, at the sky, at him.

I feel a hand on my shoulder – Jane's most likely – and I roar at her too as I try and try again to call upon my seiðr. But it's not enough—it's still too bloody drained from that fall through the void! Still drained because of him!

I press my palms to the gash, my frantically moving eyes drying from shock and concentration alike.
Somewhere far off, in the crevices of my mind, I imagine to hear him, the words hollow and burning,
I–I didn't mean—

But Thor's eyes flutter close and all I hear, all I allow myself to hear, is the last of his breaths as I lower my head to his.
Tears now cascading, my lips cling to his skin as I, despite myself, kiss my best friend goodbye.

Minutes pass – hours it seems – the Destroyer forgotten, New Mexico forgotton, as silence falls. Utter silence.
Until, far off in the distance, thunder cracks once. It echoes.
For a long time it echoes.

'Y/n!' two voices cry in unison. Jane and Selvig. Then arms hurls me up from where I'm hovered over Thor.

'No, no!' I roar again. 'Please!'

'Come!' They drag me away from the side, static rustling in my ears. But as soon as I am where they want me to be, I realise it's not static I hear.

Another loud wave of thunder, followed by a blast of lighting strikes the earth before us. Strikes Thor.

Thor's eyes shoot open before I can even let another scream loose. A bright light makes it impossible to keep our eyes on the man before us, but as soon as it fades the man is no more. In his stead now stands a God.
Mjölnir raised high up into the skies, Thor, in all his Æsir glory, draws in a deep breath.

'Oh. My. God,' I hear Jane utter to my right as she beholds the armoured blonde god, with his long hair and red cape billowing in the winds.

'Exactly,' I can only hush out in response.

The Destroyer, having retreated before, now whirls.
Before it can react, Mjölnir clashes into it, knocking it to the ground with a deafening crack. In the blink of an eye, the hammer has returned to Thor's hand.
To every Midgardian's surprise, Thor jumps up high into the sky, only to create a massive tornado of sorts with naught but his might.
Then, he brings Mjölnir down on the Destroyer's head.

It's finished. He has done it. Worthy again of his hammer, Thor has done it. Broken the curse and proven himself.
As much as I am relieved, I also feel that this will most likely not have aided mending Loki's loathing.
Because... by proving himself, Thor has just disproven Loki.

Flashing me a charming smile, Thor addresses all of us, 'We must go to the Bifröst site. I would have words with my brother.'

'Excuse me!' calls a voice from behind us. I turn, as do the others.
Coulson. Or whatever his name was.

'Donald? I don't think you have been completely honest with me.' He looks up at the God of Thunder before him.

'Know this, Son of Coul,' Thor says, 'You and I, we fight for the same cause, the protection of this world. From this day forward, you can count me and my Lady as your allies.'

Thor extends his hand to me, beckoning me to his side. His lady.
I'm denied thinking properly on how I feel about this for Thor isn't yet finished.

'If,' he goes on, 'you return the items you have taken from Jane.'

'Stolen,' I chime in.

'Borrowed,' Coulson means to correct. But inevitably, the agent complies.

I smile at Jane, 'Would you like to see the bridge we spoke of? I need to kick my lover's ass.'

'Sure,' Jane spurts, surprised though still a bit shaken.
'Wait. Your lover?!'

But she barely gets to finish her question before Thor presses me to his one side and Jane to the other.
We're already surging up into the air as I hear Coulson call after us, horrified, 'Wait! I need to debrief you!'

At the site we had landed just days ago, I call into the blue sky, 'Heimdall, open the Bifröst! Thor has Mjölnir; he has proven himself. You're freed of Loki's orders!'

Nothing.

Thor calls Heimdall's name too. Again, and again.

'We are stranded?' Hugin states more than he asks.

Thor and I call again in unison.
And finally, a bright flash of lighting strikes the sky and forms a huge grey cloud steeped in a variety of colours. I hear Sif stifle a satisfied cuckle behind me.

Thor reaches for Jane's shoulder as I take her hand.
'We must go back to Asgard,' he says. 'But I give you my word, our word.' His gentle eyes flick to me before he looks back at Jane. 'You won't have seen the last of us.'

'We owe you so much. So, whenever you're in need of our aid, we will be here faster than for any other Midgardian,' I say, winking at her and squeezing her hand.

Words seem to have failed her, because all she does is hug me tight. As she lets go, she stares up into Thor's eyes, who takes her hand to place a kiss on it.
His eyes return to me as he extends his hand. I take it, though my focus is wholly on Jane.
In another world... I think again, guilt clawing at my insides.

Without further ado, Thor pulls me into the rune tattooed into the sand from our landing. The rainbow's colours engulf me, and we're gone.

Goodbye for now, Midgard. Home.

Chapter Text

'You're impossibly distracting,' he murmured, voice mischievously low and rich with pretend dissatisfaction.

'And yet here you are,' I replied, my fingers occupied with curling into the fabric of his combat leathers and pulling him ever closer. 'Thoroughly distracted.'

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, his emerald eyes glittering with mischief and lust alike. 'Well, would I still be worthy of my princely titles were I to plainly ignore the helpless cries of a fair maiden in distress? And that right outside my very own chambers!'

'First of all,' Jabbing my forefinger to his chest, I earned a pained expression from the prince before me – clearly wounded beyond measure – as I plead my case.
'The joyous verbal ejaculation one might make upon finding their long-missed favoured pair of combat boots returned to their door is far from a cry of distress. Second of all, see this hall? This very portrait of my very own grandfather here? You were the one loafing about right outside my chambers, lover boy.'

Another jab to the chest.
Though this time he'd caught my finger in the process.
Smirking, Loki led it up to his lips, never breaking eye contact. Then he bit the tip gently only to kiss it right after. He sucked the tip in.

I was about to answer; to protest against the heat rising from within at this very sight of him, when his lips encaptured mine in a searing kiss and words became but a distant memory.
It was slow, deliberate, an alltogether masterful reminder of the absolute power he could hold over me.

But the spell shattered as soon as the first faint echoes of hurried footsteps reached our bubble of bliss.
Loki stilled, his head tilting ever so slightly as he listened.

'Someone's coming,' he whispered, the smirk in his voice betraying how little he cared for the interruption. 'Wouldn't want something similar from that debacle with Thor to happen ever again, no?'

The heated blush of embarrasment was still creaping upwards when he had already pulled me into the shadows of a narrow crevice, his arm brushing mine as we pressed ourselves into the darkness. I held my breath, heart hammering in my chest as the footsteps grew louder.
At that, Loki simply attached his lover's lips to the pulse on my neck, sucking vigorously.

Mischief! I cursed him mentally as I – albeit reluctantly – pushed him off me.
Next second, the figure of a servant appeared, his steps hesitant as his gaze darted around the corridor.

'Prince Loki! A–and the Lady Y/n ...'

I exhaled softly as Loki stepped into the light, his movements graceful and unhurried, as though he hadn't just been caught stealing scandalous kisses in some shadowy corner of the palace.
I followed, smoothing the fabric of my tunic and fixing my most indifferent expression.

'And here I thought I might get to enjoy some pleasant peace and quiet with my darling protégé,' Loki drawled, folding his arms and raising a brow at the servant.
All I did was drive my elbow right into his side at the reckless remark – sharply.

Don't you dare call me your protégé ever again, novice.
I snarled more than I admonished.

A dark grin. A flash of a new challenge, gone faster than it had arrived.
The man – a young attendant with a thin sheen of nervous sweat collecting on his brow – bowed low, his voice trembling slightly as he spoke.

'Forgive the intrusion, my prince, but His Majesty summons You to the throne room with but the utmost haste.'
The servant's gaze flickered briefly to me, his discomfort plain to see as his eyes conveyed an apology to me.

'Very well,' Loki replied, his tone dripping with mock reluctance.
He turned to me, his smirk softening into something more genuine, a daring force able to bend the nine realms to his will – and me, first and foremost. 'Shall we?'

I nodded defiantly, stepping forward. Though the servant paled visibly, his mouth opening as though to object, Loki merely gave a subtle tilt of his head and the lad had already swallowed his words and scurried ahead to lead us.

Upon reaching the gilded doors to the throne room they opened as though by magic and with a low groan, the sound reverberating through the vast chamber.
Far ahead, Thor stood at the foot of the dais, his broad shoulders squared – like the good little soldier he was.
His golden hair caught the ethereal light streaming through the stained glass but his expression was tense, unreadable.
My gaze went out in the mission to catch that of my best friend, to no avail.

Instead the All-Father's gaze swept over us as we approached, his single eye piercing as it settled on Loki and me. The weight of his presence was immense, the air thick.
And the older I grew—the more I abhorred it.

Gods, had I been glad I wouldn't ever have to sit that throne.

'You are late,' Odin said, his voice resonating like the toll of a great bell.
Loki inclined his head, his smirk subdued though nonetheless present.

'My apologies, Father. I have been delayed by matters of—' He cast a sidelong glance at me, the corner of his mouth quirking, '—grave and bulging importance.'

Odin's expression remained impassive as he rose to his feet, the heavy folds of his cloak cascading around him like a shroud. My abashed face on the other hand must've spoke volumes – seeing that Thor could barely withhold his amusement.

'The time has come,' he intoned and for a hot second a wave of panic threatened to pull me under.
Not yet, not yet, not yet, not—

'As sons of Asgard, it is your duty to uphold the peace of the Nine Realms.'
The words hung in the air, heavy and unrelenting as a heavy silence filled the space.

Not yet, Not. Yet.

'This century—It marks the tenth since the Æsir and Vanir have laid down their arms,' Odin continued, gaze sharp and unyielding.
'And to honour that peace, you, my sons, shall embark on a journey across the Nine Realms. For a full hundred years you shall learn your subjects' ways, fight alongside the bravest of their warriors, and endeavour to ensure that the bonds forged in blood remain untarnished and unbroken.'

Thor shifted beside me, his jaw tightening.
Loki stood perfectly still.
Yet still I felt the tension radiating from that lean figure of his that only minutes ago had clung to mine as though nothing could possibly cleave them apart anytime soon...

The peace treaty. A full thousand years had passed since those dark ages of war and loathing and death, I thought.
And we, as their daughters and sons, hadn't even remembered.

I clenched my hands at my sides, my nails biting into my palms.
A century apart.
The words echoed in my mind like a cruel refrain.
A century without them, without my boys, without him.

It's nothing, I tried to tell myself. A fraction of a lifetime. Barely a breath in the span of ... us.
Of Loki's and my story.
But the thought offered but little comfort. My mind inevitably raced, threatening to spiral into chaos.

Then, a familiar pressure brushed against the edges of my mind. I froze. Loki.
Somehow, I must've let him in, my thoughts spilling unbidden into the space we shared...
We were linked now, mind to mind, without restraint. Ever since I, too, had let him in on that fateful night of his name day.
On the night we had accepted that inevitable, undisputable thing between us.

But never before had I lost control of my thoughts like that. All I had ever sent him had been of my own volition. Never like this.

Darling, his voice murmured, soft and steady and able to tether my disturbed mind to it.
You'll never be alone. I will fight for your right to accompany us – as princess of Asgard and daughter of Vanaheimr. I swear it.

I glanced at him, the mask he wore unbroken, but the storm of determination behind it was nothing if not palpable.
But I was steps ahead of him, it seemed.

You don't need to fight this time, I thought back, forcing the words through the bitterness that gripped me. Be content knowing that I shall be safe here.

A flicker of the utmost confusion crossed his lovely features.

Yngri hetja —

The bitterness didn't fade, but neither did the resolve that followed.
Yes, a yngri hetja I was, but not this time.
The hero I could play another time.

This time, I would be the precious little saviour.
Precious and kept in check.
I knew it wouldn't take Loki long to realise that never in a million years would the All-Father let me out of his sight for a full century.

But if Odin thought I'd simply wait and idly fret, he was mistaken.
I would use this time to grow stronger; to hone the skills he so greatly disapproved of.

One day, I would not merely stand beside Asgard's princes, nor behind that great child of mine.

O All-Father, I shall be fighting amongst the front lines by then.
Perhaps... Perhaps even amongst the leading six.
Yes, I liked that idea – wherever it might have sprung from.
I would lead. And that, in my own right.

I squeezed his hand as he rose from bed, making him turn back around to face me.
He took my face in his palms. 'Darling, I promise you, the second I return, I will make use of all the seiðr in my veins to send each and every person in this damned palace to a different realm. So that I may give you all that you want me to give to you.'

Kærasta,

The stars above Niðavellir, though dim and burdened by the smoke of its forges... Imagining you beneath them might just prove my undoing were we to stay in this place for one more dull night.

Each passing day stretches like an eternity, and yet it is the thought of your gaze—steady and unyielding as you flatten warrior after warrior onto that training mat back home—which keeps my heart from despair.
T hough it does in fact amplify its traitorous yearning.

It is impossible that you may miss the likes of me more than this fool's heart in a prince's skin does you.
I suppose this means you have won this challenge.

This once I let you have it, Y/n darling.

But let us cease with this saccharine nonsense.
You should know that we have found ourselves amidst an uprising, though to call it such might be to lend it more dignity than it deserves.
The disgruntled miners of this realm – dwarves with unusually more brawn than wit – sought to challenge their rulers over a matter of ore distribution. They gathered their strength, or what little they could muster, and fashioned crude weapons in defiance of their superior.

Thor, ever the valiant hero, marched into their midst with all the subtlety of a stormcloud.
He went and declared himself their champion, bellowing words of peace but wielding Mjölnir in a way that suggested otherwise.

Hothead, that one. So hot, logical thinking seemed to make a run for it rather than scorch itself by staying .

They scattered like frightened hares before him, though one brave soul – or foolish; make of that what you will – dared to challenge him.

Ah, Y/n, the sight of my brother attempting to parry a swing from a hammer too large for the dwarf wielding it shall forever be seared into my mind!

The poor fellow, determined to make a mark, stumbled over his own feet and with it sent Thor tumbling into a pile of molten slag! Not hot enough to harm him, of course, but enough to leave him quite literally steaming.
I am certain the laughter I so determinedly failed to suppress did little to aid his temper.

With Thor sufficiently humiliated, I turned my attention to the miners' leader – a stout, grim-faced dwarf by the name of Glorfi.
Through a bit of charm (and, perhaps, a sprinkling of seiðr), I convinced him to lay down arms in exchange for the promise of fairer treatment from their superior.
The superior on the other hand, I promised Odin's acknowledgment of his troubles in the form of a rather fair sum of gold.
O, how I despair at the thought that you get to tell our dear All-Father the happy news – of his sons' wellfare, that is , of course .

All in all, it was a simple enough solution, though I doubt Thor will ever admit that my "silver tongue," as the pair of you so delight in calling it, achieved what his hammer could not.

How often I have imagined you here, standing besides me. Your wit would no doubt have bested even the sharpest of these dwarves (only jesting; there are none to find ).

Know that I carry you with me in every pulse of my seiðr.
When I close my eyes, I see you. Wrapped around me in all the most scandalous ways. Sweat still clinging to you from all that training under Asgard's ever so lucky twin suns.

Until I may be able to write again, my darling.
"Doubt truth be a liar, but never doubt that I love."

Yours since the days of yore, yours until the days of eternal night,
Prince Loki

You do realise what you've just done to my poor imagination, do you not?
Thor, the Mighty, flailing in molten slag like a freshly dunked dumpling?
Norns help us all.
I laughed out loud reading that, spilling tea all over a page of my notes – Thanks to you, that poor scribe assigned to me now thinks me deranged.

As for me—insert a deliberately dramatic sigh here—it's a quieter world without you in it.
The library is a quiet place, did you know that?
Without your sweet silver tongue hushing even sweeter nothings in my ear; without your velvet voice lulling me in as you read of Catherine and Heathcliff; Benedick and Beatrice .

Quiet, but not still.
Life continues, training continues. The young warriors are bold as ever, terribly impressed when I do not blink at bruised ribs or bloodied lips.
And terribly unimpressed when I try to explain them how the right footing is the key to flattening even someone as good as me.
Thank Thor for me, would you?

Oh, and just so you know... I have not forgotten about your little stunt with the stolen book, dearest.
Alas, admittedly, I had, actually.
But I do have detected a gap in my chambers' library !
Better late than never, I suppose.
And if it had not been for me being in the midst of rearranging them at the time of you departure, I might as well know now what precious volume you so slyly and illegally have obtained from my shelves!

If you so very much yearned for a token of me to have with you in sleepless nights, you could have just as easily looked for one in my chest of bejeweled undergarments.
Such a shame— Had I even reserved that emerald-coloured one for you already... O well.
A book it is then.

Meanwhile, ástin mín, be content with the knowledge that I shall wear them thinking of you.
Each starfilled night and every moonlit second spent in the prickling comfort of your abandoned sheets..

I know that I will find you there.

The chamber was filled with the golden light of Asgard's fading suns filtering through the high arched windows as I sat in silence.
The tapestry in my lap bore a half-finished scene of lavish Midgardian fields – an attempt to occupy my restless hands. But I suppose knitting had not been in the skillset the Norns had packed for me at birth. Neither had sketching.

It'd been months since Revna's departure to Midgard, and the absence of not one, but three of my loved ones had left an ache in my heart that no task could possibly soothe.
A faint knock on the door broke my reverie. I glanced up, my heart quickening with hope.

Before I could rise, the door was already creaking open, and there she stood – my Revna, draped in the travel-worn leathers from her journey, her braid slightly undone and her face pale underneath all that sudden joy.

Revna hesitated, her gaze flickering away.
'A war. Midgard is in chaos. A great war rages across all its lands and skies. Odin sent me to observe – to ensure that the mortals do not destroy themselves entirely.'

'A war...? Why would he sent you?'

My stomach twisted at the thought.
War threatened to destroy my realm and all I did was drink tea and play chess with Queen Frigga; while in my lessons I learned nothing on this apparently ravenous thing able to suffocate all the earth.
At least that was what Odin willed me to fill my days with.

'Well, your mother is still in charge of the Vanir government, and seeing that the crown prince is currently unavailable and that the All-Father wouldn't ever sent you there without him...'

'Or at all,' I interjected.

Revna nodded. 'It is unlike anything I've ever seen. But I cannot say more—The king's orders.'

Not the All-Father's, just the king's.
Even Revna seemed to have had enough of Odin's ambigious games.
I sighed, my frustration flaring. 'He commands so much yet reveals so little to those meant to follow in his footsteps.'

Revna's smile was faint. 'Such is his way.'

She reached out and took my hand to squeeze it gently. 'But I am home now, and would much prefer to speak of lighter things.'
The tension eased slightly as we embraced once more.

'I find it hard to believe there to exist any,' a faint smile tugged at my lips. Revna loosened a chuckle.
Norns, how I revelled in this comfort of her embrace, in the smell of her – lavender and the sea and maternal love – the smell of a blessed childhood.

But the moment my hand brushed against Revna's arm, a strange sensation rippled through me, reaching out for the strings of my seiðr.
It stirred, rising unbidden, and a warm current rushed through my veins.
A sensation much akin to a shield enveloping me took over my senses.

As sudden realisation struck me.
I pulled back, staring at Revna. Wide-eyed and warm-hearted.
'Revna...' My voice trembled. 'You're with child!'

Revna blinked, her lips parting in surprise before she let out a soft, incredulous laugh. 'I thought you might be the one to tell me.'

All I could do was gape at her, dumbfounded but buzzing. 'You didn't know?'

'I suspected,' Revna admitted, a mischievous glint in her tired eyes.

'And the father?' I asked, still reeling so much that I forgot all about etiquette.
Revna's expression turned somber, and immediately I cursed my quick, insensitive tongue.

She stepped away, her arms crossing protectively over her stomach. 'He's... a soldier. An American, from the war. A good man. A great man.' Her voice softened, her gaze drifting off. 'When I left, he was alive. Whether he still is... I can only hope.'

I felt my breath catch. 'Does he know?'

Revna shook her head firmly.
'No. How could he? And he never will.'

'But why?' I pressed, voice filled with both confusion and a flicker of anger. 'He has a right to know his child.'

Revna turned to me, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.
'Does he now? To what end? The slow aging of this child will be beyond any Midgardian comprehension. He would watch her drool and blabber, and know – ultimately – she wouldn't even remember him. When, in perhaps a century or two, she would finally be grown—She wouldn't remember him. I cannot put him through that, Y/n. I will not.'

Anger began heating the taut skin of my cheeks.

'I remember my father very clearly. My mother didn't put him through anything,' I hissed, ashamed to but fervent nonetheless.

For a second, Revna was taken aback. Whether it was from the venom in my words or the truth in them, I did not know.

'I know you remember the pain of having to live with nothing but mere tales of your father. Because lítið, you do not remember him,' Revna interrupted gently.
'But what I remember is seeing the gravity of the hurt you experience from knowing he would never truly know you; see what you've become...'

I opened my mouth to argue, to tell her how much her words opposed her decision, but Revna held her gaze, unyielding.

'This child will never know her father, yes. But she will be spared the pain of that mean little "what if?"
'And he... he will be spared the agony of knowing he will be long gone when she will have the sense to even just think clearly of him.'

The weight of her words settled heavily on my heart.
I thought of my own father, the fragments of memory that had haunted me for years. The stories of how he held me but knew to never have the time to be my father.
Slowly, I nodded. Even though I still disagreed with her decision, I had to accept that it was hers.

'Thank you,' Revna whispered, a single tear escaping down her cheek. 'It means everything to me to have you with me – with her.'

'Her, huh?'

'Hmm. The Ljósálfar are a race of females, remember?'

Of course I remembered. But there would be three of us very soon – a tiny girl to raise; different from all the others...
I think I've heard this tale before.
And still I prayed for that ending.

the joyous news of Revna's blessing had all of our men rejoicing. Though I believe to have seen the breaking of one or two hearts underneath their stoic demeanour.

Thor wished for me to sent along this heart-shaped rock he has found on the snow-bedecked fields of Niflheimr.
No occupants of this realm of pure ice as of yet, but hey, rocks.
He says it reminds him of the ornament Mother had infused with healing seiðr before she went into labour herself. Apparently it had helped with the pains.

Everytime we would have some or other ailment, she would put the ornament underneath our pillows and the next morning we would be restored our health.
As he said it, I indeed remembered. ..
Which is why you may find it to tingle in your hands. I too have taken to imbue it with my healing seiðr, and Thor has attempted at doubling its effects by applying bits of lightning.
Please give it to Revna from us.

O ástin mín, how I still dream of that bejeweled green fabric, blessed to cling to those glorious, heavenly curves, and how you slumber blissfully on, there in my chambers.
In my bed. With naught but me on your mind.
Sometimes I even fathom having felt those thoughts of yours tingling my skin here, those many realms away.

Perhaps you have finally accomplished to broaden your mind's power.
Or perhaps we simply are connected by the blessing of the wisest of Norns.
What's the word?
Fated. Sounds delicious, doesn't it?

Prince Loki, o the fox that you are,

there you go again, succeeding at turning the parchment of your words a silly wet mess of my silly wet tears.
The rock you've sent sits in my palm as I write these very lines, still tingling faintly with the memory of both your seiðr and Thor's well-meaning crackle.
It hums as though filled with your voice, but alas, pressing it to my ears does not grant me one of your lovely midnight stories. ..
Though I did press it to the swell of Revna's belly as she sleeps; her breath deep and devoid of any fits at last. Thank you for that, my love .

She laughs still, you know, undaunted by the curve of her belly which grows more prominent by the day.
It fits oddly into the shape of her leathers, because yes, she still has to wear them.

Your dearest father has ordered her on yet another mission. Another mission where my mother can stay behind in her cold and desolate Vanir fortress!
Revna has asked me to accompany her. She didn't even have to – never in a million years would I have let her and the babe venture there without me. To Jennia, of all places.
How shall I ever manage to keep the thought of you from my mind while out there in the sands we've come to know so well...

And you, troublemaker mine, would be pleased to know I spent the better part of yesterday in Frigga's garden, trimming herbs for your poor mother – surely she must have informed you of her recent fits of migraine – whilst the queen pretended not to watch me too closely.
She said very little, but her hands moved with that same gentleness that used to brush your hair behind your ears, as she guided me.
She told me that even the fiercest roots must sometimes soften for spring. I think she sees the cracks I refuse to name. I think she knows that longing sits in me frost-quiet; quiet like the library you are never in anymore.

She must suspect us; must know...
Has she ever mentioned anything of the like to you before?

She gifted me a charm, you know. Something ancient and beautiful. She didn't say what it does, only that I should wear it when Revna's time comes. I did not press her further on it.

And lastly: Please try not to charm the entire realm of Álfheimr into submission before I see you again. You are mine.

Yours, until my hands forget the weight of your letters, and my skin has yours to remember again,
Yngri Hetja

So when we had finally found a patch of green amongst all that scorching sand, we made camp there.
It was far from where I'd ventured with the princes, that much I knew.

At one point, Revna vanished behind another one of the rocks surrounding us. Being with child had its off-putting quirks, it seemed.

A meek caricature of her voice gave merely half a sentence in answer, a yawn taking hold of her whole body before she could finish, 'Well, you know the All-Father. Prophecies and Ragnarök is all he ever—'

With her head lolling to the side, I made quick work to support her body as sleep claimed her.
Gently laying her down on the warm grass, I pulled her legs into my lap and started to massage her calves.
She didn't snore but the thorough breaths she took stayed within her expanding chest before flowing out again long enough to tell me she was in a deeper sleep than I had ever had the pleasure to be in.

Perhaps on that night after the Winter Solstice festivities... Perhaps then I had been at as much needed peace as she was now.
In my own sheets, and in those familiar  arms of his – also mine.

My darling,

"When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon myself and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,
Desiring this man's art and that man's scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth sings hymns at heaven's gate;
For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings
That then I scorn to change my state with kings."

Pray, forgive my lack of original words, ástin mín... For the longer I remain parted from you, the more I find myself o so entirely lacking and bereft.

Only dear old William doth possess the balm for this petty soul worn thin with longing for his beloved.
And though I may not suffer the full despair of the poor fellow who lives in these lines, still – upon this barren and foreign soil – that which I most beweep is not my state, but you and you alone.

Yet, the moment I do, my tears – what few I do allow to fall – dry the instant thy sweet love is remembered.

Oh, and yes, before you scold me, I shall finally confess to that small act of thievery.
Your shelves are indeed one tome poorer. Here, obviously, the proof.

Darling, will you not forgive this a poor, forsaken prince in exile?
Know that I have found solace in it, because in every sonnet, in every page worn and weathered from your touch, I find you.
Pages as weathered as I have found myself these days; your touch having tainted my skin—for I fear it may never regain the ability to live on untouched by thee.

To Hel... The Norns themselves must be cackling at my pitiful attempts at verse. Poor William likely turns in his grave. For that I am even sorrier than robbing you of those pages.
Still, I hope these borrowed words may suffice for now. Though they may be his, they are also ones that have taken root right there within me where you have, too.

Yours, until there will be no more kings or gods left to rule the realms;
Yours, until all that is left shall be us —
Loki (clearly not the God of Poetry)

It was ridiculous, how ink could do that – how it could wrap around your ribs and loosen something always tight.
In all earnest... I never much cared for poetry.
The artistry of drama and prose was what truly managed to make my soul either soar or sink – but stir either way.

Poetry could be inspiring yes, beautiful even, but what I always sought was the escape.

My edition of Shakespeare's sonnets was indeed worn down – which was merely due to my excessive study on the bard himself and the world he had inhabited. Poetry helped to understand my Midgardian people, that it did.

Yet, reading those words – those intricately aligned syllables – in Loki's hand... Imagining him giving the thoughts of a simple Midgardian a voice, his voice...
Nothing had ever made my soul stir the more.

So in spite of everything I have ever believed to know about myself and my marvel of a prince, I skimmed the page a second time that day.

Barely making it to the third line, I caught the faint sound of rustling blankets.
And just like that, a hand had reached out and snatched the parchment from my fingers.

'Revna!' I yelped, almost snapping, but not quite. 'Give it back.'

She didn't answer. She just held it up, weighing whether this might contain something she'd rather not read.
But the doubt was gone sooner than it had come, her eyes scanning the words in a mad haze.
At first, the jolly glint in her eyes and grin on her face remained, though not for long.
Her lips moved faintly, almost mouthing along.

I sighed, accepting defeat and leaned back on my hands – until I saw it.
A single tear slipping down her cheek, catching the firelight like a shard of glass. She blinked, swallowed, then let the letter sink, only to press my lover's words against her heart.

It caught me by surprise, rendered me speechless.
I stumbled over the words my mind thought up to say but she rescued me from it. Her voice was barely more than a breath.

'I'm just so... I'm so madly—inexplicably happy for you.'
She sniffled once, twice, as if collecting the thought more so than her composure. 'Finally, you see what I've always seen. You have recognised him. Your sálufélagi.'

The ancient word rang in the air between us like the softest bell. My fated. Soulmate.

I hadn't yet shared with her how I'd indeed taken her words to heart that day she'd brought me the daggers from Midgard...
No one knew of us, except Thor. And we all know what an embarrassing desaster that had been. And not a conscious decision at all.

I felt the same shame I remembered from that day with Thor creep up my spine. My eyes burned unexpectedly, and I looked down at my hands to keep them steady.

'I—' I started, only to ultimately falter. Revna reached out for my hand and I found my voice again, 'It's strange. I knew him long before I met him. Knew of him; of our possible fate. And now... Now that I've decided... I have come to feel like it hadn't actually been our decision at all. As though the Norns—Like they weaved our fate for us.'

A short mirthless laugh interrupted my train of thought spilling out unhindered. 'Well, I suppose, in a way that has always been obvious. But the prophecy merely ever spoke of a son of Odin. So I thought—We weren't—Oh, I don't know! And all my life I thought I despised how little say I had in my own future, and yet... This sensation of devine belonging... With him—I somehow want it to be real.'

Revna smiled softly at that, squeezing my hand gently. 'And there's no shame in that, lítið.'
Before she wiped a tear – a happy tear – from my cheek, she did so for herself first. A chuckle escaped my lips at that.
Folding the letter with reverence and handing it back to me, Revna spoke up again.

'That is how I once felt too,' she said, and her gaze turned skyward – although not to the stars, I think, but to some realm far from here. Somewhen perhaps.

I tilted my head, watching her carefully. 'You know, you've never told me. Not much apart from why you left her, that is.'

She hummed, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. 'I met her at a spring near the base of Álfheimr's twilight cliffs. I was barely any older than you were when you first started using your seiðr, sent to gather herbs and flint by my mother. And there she was: bathing,' Revna added, smiling wryly.

'Too vivid, Rev!' I joked, bumping her shoulder with my own. She chuckled once and leaned into me too. But she was already back with her again – back with her beloved.

'I suppose you know of the Greek sirens? There she was, body half submerged by the blue, hair fire-red, skin of midnight velvet, voice deep and scorching – but that of a mockingbird whenever it needed to be. And immediately I thought her a creature of the lake! Naturally so!.She was too still and untainted to be a one of us. Too... picturesque.'

My brows rose. 'And you walked up to her?'

'Rushed is more likely,' she said, chuckling quietly. 'Slipped in the moss and landed flat on my back, I'll have you know. Not the most graceful entrance.'

I grinned. I feel you, sister.

'What happened then?'

'She helped me up. Called me litla bróðir at first – thought I was a Vanir boy. I didn't correct her for three whole days. And by then she said that it was even better! That way she wouldn't have to explain to her aunts how she had fallen in love with some meek little male.'

This time, my laugh was full of mirth, skin and bones full of that warmth only Revna could excude.
Bodies shaking with unfiltered joy, my head on her shoulder as I tried to calm myself, we kept our hands interlocked. As our laughter subsided Revna was silent for a short while, breathing in deeply. This time, I was the one to squeeze.

'The song she sang was one we sing at every funeral. Later I learned that all of her family had already passed on... Her sisters and mum had gone to Valhalla because they'd fought on Vanaheimr's side in the war. Her other mother drowned herself only seconds following the news. My darling siren had been there at the pool when it happened... Washing the linens and catching the fish for dinner.'

Revna sighed a long and heavy sigh before she went on. I squeezed again.

'She used to describe that pool at the cliffs as the last speck of her life where she believed herself in possession of a family still. Her last place of innocence – We had known each other for only a few hours when she'd disclosed her story with me. That's when I knew what I was feeling must've been fated. Because why, if not for that she had felt it too, would she've shared the darkest part of her soul with me—a complete stranger?'

With another squeeze I signaled her my agreement. There was a pause. Not an uncomfortable one, but full of something tender and aching.

'And?' I asked softly.

'And we had a few years. Just a few. Maybe three centuries.' Revna looked down at our hands, thumb running over my palm. 'Until I was summoned to Midgard. To assist the Vanir woman whom I had met only months prior. She was in labour and in need of the perfect substitute for her devine tasks. But you know that story already.'

'Mother,' I hushed quietly. The word somehow become foreign.

I leaned in closer, fingers brushing her wrist. 'I'm sorry.'

She gave a small shake of her head. 'Don't be. I like to think that I gave her a piece of myself and she shaped it into the woman I became. And I gave another piece to your mother – and as a result I got you.'
A little wink, and then her smile turned crooked. 'And now I give one more, for this child. Perhaps that is all we ever do. Break ourselves open and hope someone we love takes us with them wherever they go.'

I stared at her then, struck silent by how full and bright her soul remained, even when scattered across a thousand different sacrifices.

'Part of you is with him now, you know? Part with his brother. And another part is here with me.'

For a long time, we just sat like that. The fire warming our feet, her hand resting gently on her stomach, and the stars listening in.

'Do you want to hear the song she sang when I found her in that pool? It's my favourite.'
I nodded solemnly.
And as she sang, the words so beautiful I just knew I wouldn't forget a single one, I thought of her love.

Then, I thought of mine.

If part of me was with her, and part with Thor, then what remains of my self... when half of me was all the places Loki went?

Damn your bloody games, Odin Borson!

'Yes,' Revna agreed. 'So I took your hand a–and delved into your mind. To beg you. I have lived long en–enough... This child is special like you. She needs y–you, not me... And most of all, she needs to live.'

Y/n felt something boil within her, her blood freeze over while her veins burned.
Revna, in her haze, saw Y/n's skin deprived of all colour, only a blue tinge remaining.
She felt the need to reach out for her little sister, as scared for Y/n as she obviously was for her.
For a split second, the dying woman even thought to have caught a menacing purple spark in the shield maiden's eyes.

'How could you—?!' Agitation urged Y/n to tug at her own hair; mad fear dragged her towards that dangerous cliff's edge.
Then, through the blur, a tiny wail called to her.
Y/n, the babe in her arm so utterly real and delicately tangible, felt a golden mist calm her senses.

Taking the last steps towards Revna, timidly so, she leaned down to place the babe in its mother's arms. 'You're going to hold her, Revna. You'll see her grow. You'll—'

Revna shook her head with as much strength as possible, a bittersweet smile playing on her lips. 'No, Y/n. I shall hold her. And then you shall do the rest.'

'No!' Y/n drew back, clutching the babe tightly to her chest as though by forbidding Revna this one thing she could forbid her the other cruel thing as well.
Her seiðr was sparking wildly.

'Y/n. Give her to me. Everything will be alright.'

And Y/n believed her. She had to. Because it was the truth. Nothing else made sense—would ever make sense again.

Then she remembered the small heart shaped stone. And the golden charm the Queen had given her.
She took both out of her pockets. She'd had both of them with her.
And not one had worked.