Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

You let out a shaky breath as you look at yourself in the massive, gold-framed mirror.  It’s probably over twelve feet tall, mounted on a wall inside your bedroom.  There are reminders everywhere that you’re in the Asgardian royal palace.  Intricate tapestries, gilded oil paintings, jewel-encrusted daggers... all on a scale unseen back home.

Your oversized bed is draped with gauzy, golden canopies that billow with the gentle breeze coming through several arched windows.  The rich, emerald silk sheets and thick down comforter had beckoned you back to bed this morning.  But you actually have stuff to do today.

Queen Frigga set you up in these chambers nearly three months ago.  Four grand rooms: a bedroom fit for a King (with an en suite the size of your apartment in the Tower), an extensive library, and a room full of antique weapons and museum-worthy heirlooms.  The mysterious fourth room, though, stays locked.  And, sometimes, if you think you hear whispering coming from behind that door... well, that’s between you and whoever’s living in there.

Up until now, you thought the craziest thing that would ever happen to you was landing a job at Stark Industries as Tony’s apprentice.  For the two years you’ve been working at the Tower, Tony and all his famous friends have become your secondary family. 

Weekly dinners at Tony and Pepper’s penthouse, regular training sessions with Nat, pop culture lessons for Steve... you’re really homesick for all of them right now.  Especially Tony, though you’re still thoroughly annoyed with him.  

His last words still echo in your mind, “Try it out.  It’s so cool.”

The long-range transport beam that you and Tony were developing may have worked for him the night before, but something went wrong when he sent you hurtling through the unknown.

Now, you’re in a palace, on another realm.  You’re positive the transport beam’s range wasn’t supposed to be that long.

Just as you’re smoothing down your flowing, aqua dress, there’s a knock.  Your airy skirt sweeps the floor as you enter the sitting room.  But you hesitate until you hear another timid knock.

When you open the heavy wooden door, a frightened teenage girl is standing there with a tray of food.

“Good morning, my Lady,” she whispers, eyes round, startled.  After rushing in, she sets the tray on a small table by the big window that overlooks the Allmother’s gardens.

You say, “Thank you, I-“ but she scurries out before you even have a chance to ask for her name.

In the short time you’ve been here, you’ve learned that Asgardians either hate you or fear you.  Though, it’s mostly the former.

The Queen, though, is different.  She’s understanding and kind and looks at you with tenderness instead of disgust.  

She was more than generous to offer you this temporary post.  You don’t know what made the Allmother decide to make you one of her Ladies-in-waiting, but you trust her because there’s always meaning behind everything she does.

You arrived on Asgard with nothing but denim cutoffs and the vintage Led Zeppelin shirt Tony got you for your last birthday.  You killed the Allmother’s magical roses with your haphazard landing, yet she still had a smile on her face when you woke up in the infirmary afterwards.  She was even the one to heal you.

According to Thor, Tony was still freaking about where you’d gone, when there was an alien invasion in New York.  You have no memory of being trapped in a laser for any period of time.  But Thor’s only guess is that the dark magic his dad used to transport him back to Asgard, somehow interfered with Tony’s transport beam, catching you on its way home. 

It’s also the reason you can’t leave.  Thor is deliberately very vague whenever you ask questions about the rainbow bridge’s destruction and the invasion.  All you know is that Tony and your gang are all “well” and that the bridge is the only way to travel through the nine realms.  And Thor’s dad didn’t think it was safe to use his black magic on a mortal.  So you’re to be on Asgard, with no way to communicate with anyone, until the bridge is rebuilt.

Today’s your first day on the job.  After two months of training, you’re ready to walk the halls with the Queen and her Ladies.  You’ve met them already and most of them seem civil on the surface.  But you’ve been subjected to looks of utter disdain from the great majority of Asgardians.  

You can only hope they’re different, like Thor and his friends, who’ve coddled you since day one.  You know you wouldn’t have survived this long without their protection.

As you’re making your way to the Queen’s chambers, you hear Thor bellowing your name.  He’s just the cheerful person you wanted to see before your big first day.

“Hi, Thor!” You run over to him and have to jump up to hug him. 

“How are you feeling this day, my Lady?” He asks, swinging you from side to side before letting you back down.  You make an ugly face and slap his armored chest with the back of your hand.

“Ow,” you say, and Thor immediately takes your hand to inspect it for any damage.  “Don’t call me that.”

He chuckles, deep and warm.  “Well, you are officially a Lady now!  Mother informed me of the good news.”  Thor gives the back of your hand a couple of taps, deeming it uninjured.

The Allmother has been going out of her way to make you a comfortable life here.  You don’t know why; you’re no one special. 

“Your mom is so cool,” you tell him.  “She’s the best Queen ever.”

“Indeed,” Thor chuckles warmly, “she is.”

When you and Thor turn the corner into the Queen's wing, the other Ladies are already gathered in front of her chamber doors, no doubt dreading the new addition to their little clique.

"Ladies," Thor greets them and they all curtsy. 

"My Prince," the ladies all say in unison.

"If you will excuse me," Thor says to them as he pats your cheek lovingly, if a little hard.  Now, in the presence of all these strangers who glow with near immortality and possess strength you could only dream of, you suddenly feel inadequate.  They’re all tall and golden, perfect, like Thor.

He must see your confidence fading, because he gives you a great, big grin.  "You will do fine, little one.”

"You really think so?"

"Yes, of course," he says, gathering you in the tight circle of his arms and squeezing, just to get an annoyed wheeze out of you.  “You will be perfect.  I shall see you for supper.”

After he sets you back down, you nod and whisper, "Thanks, Thor."

You watch him walk away, his heavy footsteps echoing off the marble floors.  And when you turn back around to greet the other Ladies, half of them have their mouths open and the other half are glaring.  

Before you have the chance to defend yourself, the Queen's doors open and she appears, gleaming ethereally in a beautiful light blue dress, delicate gold armor adorning her sides and right shoulder.

You join the Ladies in bowing your head as you were taught, "My Queen."

The Allmother calls your name, "We will be having a tea for you to get to know the rest of the Ladies.  How does that sound?"

"Wonderful, My Queen," you say, beaming. 

+++

“Two visits in one week?” Heimdall asks, voice low and steady, as if he hadn’t seen you walk an hour through the forest and struggle up all those stone steps.  His back is to you as he looks out into the celestial sky.  Since he can’t stand watch in his observatory, at the moment, he’s chosen this place- the top of Asgard’s ancient stronghold that hasn’t been used for centuries.

It’s peaceful and beautiful and all of Asgard can be seen from the fairy tale garden that’s taken over the rooftop.  Glowing green ivy covers every column and archway.  Magical flowers bloom and sparkle under the pleasant sun.  And dozens of trees, bearing glittering red fruit, fill the air with the scent of apples.

It’s quite the trek for your mortal legs, but it’s always worth it.

“Hi, Heimdall,” you greet, and he must hear the frown in your voice because he turns around.  The sword, hanging from his hip, clanks against his gold armor as he walks over to you.

“You have not come to inquire about the universe.”

You shake your head as you tilt your head up to meet Heimdall’s golden eyes.  “No, just wanted to see you.”

The corner of his lip quirks up, “So, it has nothing to do with the tea?”

You cross your arms under your chest, but it pulls uncomfortably from how tight your dress fits.  “It can’t be both?”

Heimdall chuckles, eyes studying you with the knowledge of all the nine realms.  Since he knows so much, maybe he can tell you why everyone here hates you.  

“You are not hated by all,” he says, cementing your suspicion that he can read minds.  “There are at least seven people who do not hate you.”

You roll your eyes, “Gee, that’s reassuring.”

A little smile appears on Heimdall's face for a millisecond.  "Would you like to tell me about it?"

"Two of the Ladies think I'm in love with Thor.”

"Ah," he says, as if he didn't already know.

"I'm not, if you were wondering."

"I am aware," Heimdall tells you.  "Ala and Gerd?"

"How'd you know?"

He raises an eyebrow, "All of Asgard knows.  They have been competing for the Prince’s affections for many years."

"Oh."  Well, that explains the viciousness.

He cocks his head in thought, "Would you like a reason to smile?"

"Yes, please."

"If you visit the Queen's gardens, you will find two.”

You eye him suspiciously, "Trying to get rid of me?"

Heimdall’s lips quirk up.  "Never, my Lady."

+++

As always, your favorite guardian was right.  You visit the gardens everyday to check on the magical rose petals you replanted, more than two months ago.  You were almost going to give up on them, but today, there are two tiny twigs.

Your name is gently called from one of the archways.  You turn around and see the Queen walking in, thankfully, alone.  Not many people are allowed in here, so it's usually just you.

“Hello, my Queen."

The Allmother smiles at you like you're something precious, "My, the roses are coming in beautifully."

You look down into your dirt patch with the two naked sprouts.  They’re far from beautiful, but the Queen seems to find importance and value in everything.

You chuckle, "Thank you."

"You held yourself well at tea," she says, a mischievous smirk appearing on her face.  

You’re suddenly sheepish.  “Would you believe me if I said the teapot lid was already loose?”

There’s a knowing look in her eye when she asks, “Is that what you are saying?”

“No.”

She just laughs, gracefully, like you weren’t responsible for Ala’s lapful of strawberry tea and her screams that followed.  In your defense, she called you a “peasant whore” who was “a disgrace to the royal family” when Thor’s mom left the room for a moment.

“It won’t happen again,” you promise.

"They are merely envious of you.”

"Of me?" You ask, incredulous.  “In a realm of gods and warriors, I’m no one.”

The Allmother’s soft, blue eyes regard you, “My dear, you are very special.”  She sees your disbelieving look and adds, “In fact, I know you are the only one who can help me with something.”

“Oh,"your mouth stays open for a moment.  "Of course.  Anything."

“This duty usually falls to me, but I find myself very busy," the Allmother says.  "You see, the festival season is upon us and I must oversee the planning."

You nod, even though you aren’t sure what she’s asking.

“Do you agree?" She asks, but she didn’t actually tell you anything.  Her twinkling eyes regard you, full of playfulness.

While thinking, you try to read her expression, wondering what you just missed.  But she doesn’t give anything away, so you say, “Yes, my Queen."

"Very good," she says, delighted, and claps her hands together.  "Follow me."

+++

The Queen’s chambers overlooks the entire realm and the celestial sky is best seen here, on her balcony.  You can see the constellations and stars moving and shifting against the pitch black of outer space.  It's easily the most amazing thing you've ever witnessed.

You walk inside, around the sitting room, and find fresh flowers in every corner and shelves upon shelves of books.  In the center of one wall, there's an oil painting that you didn’t notice on the way in.  It's of the Queen and King, when they were slightly younger, with two children.  One is obviously Thor, with his blonde hair and goofy little smile.  But the other, you didn’t know existed.  You were under the impression that Thor was an only child.  He, the God of TMI, never even mentioned having a brother.

But there he sits next to Thor, pale and raven-haired, very cute and very serious.  And he has that same mischievous look and smile the Queen has sometimes.  Maybe something happened to him and they, understandably, don't want to talk about him.

The Queen approaches you, then.  "You will wear this,” she says, holding out a black hooded robe.  "It will shield you from all eyes."

You perk up, "Like an invisibility cloak?"

"Yes, dear," the Allmother looks amused, "if you wish to call it that."  But she turns serious, "It is of upmost importance that you keep this discreet.  No one must know.  Especially my husband."

"I- Tony, my boss, said that I'm not good at undercover work."  

Actually, he said that you were shit at undercover work.

“I have faith in you,” she says with a smile.

And with that, she sends you off.

+++

You honestly don't know how the Queen roped you into this.  Thor says that she's a volva, a seer, a magic-wielder, and you think she possibly spelled you into being more cooperative than usual.  

Whatever the reason, you find yourself in the royal library because she told you to pick out a few books.  You choose some small manuscripts about astronomy that have a lot of colorful paintings of galaxies and planets.  It would’ve been an easier task if she told you who they were for.

You truly believe the Allmother would never put you in danger, but as you walk the dark, empty halls towards the dungeons, you have some doubts.  The torches on the wall flicker and whisper as you pass.  As you get further from the main halls, you spot Einherjar guarding every corner.

You're wearing the black cloak, hood and all, lugging a heavy basket across the entire palace, and they look right past you.

The massive dungeon doors are open and, when you reach the bottom of the stairs, several guards stand watch.  You hold your breath as you pass them and enter a narrow tunnel that opens up to a dim stairwell.

As you descend the final flight of stone steps, a chill runs down your back.  The dungeon is brightly lit, almost blinding, with rows of luminous, white cells.  It’s chillingly silent.

Several beings, all of different physical appearances, fill each cell.  Some are humanoid, while many aren’t, and you can’t help but think how ignorant you are as you try not to gawk.  The Queen told you not to be afraid, but there aren't any doors or bars.  It seems like they can just jump out and get you.  

It’s a humiliating display.  One final spectacle to strip them of their dignity.

At the very end of the long row, you know you've reached the correct one.  As opposed to all the others, this box only has a single resident.  Inside, there's a dark-haired man reclining on a settee with his hands laced behind his head.  Unlike everyone else, he seems resigned, bored, maybe even a little relieved.

A tingle works its way all across your skin.  You know he's the one from that old family portrait.  He's the polar opposite of Thor.  Pale, regal, beautiful.  He turns his head to look at you and you stifle a gasp.  He can't see you, though.  Right?

He slowly sits up, his curly black hair falling to just above his shoulders.  He's wearing a fitted emerald green tunic and close-fitting trousers, similar to what Thor casually wears to dinner.  When your gaze trails back up, he’s looking directly at you with inquisitive ice blue eyes.

He stands up and walks closer to the invisible barrier to look down his perfectly straight nose at you.  

As you take in a deep breath, you walk up the few steps surrounding the cell.  The cloak and basket are enchanted, but you're still afraid to be electrocuted by the barrier.  It’s been difficult for you to readily accept magic.

You slowly move through the invisible wall and sigh in relief.  The man doesn't look surprised, though, as he steps aside to let you in.  There’s a coffee table and a plush, velvet sofa.  A settee in one corner and an impeccably made bed in the other.

After setting the basket on the floor, near the table, you push back your hood.   "Hello," you say, in awe, gazing up.  He's just as tall as Thor, imposing and alluring.

A little smile graces his handsome face, "Hello, darling."  He looks down your cloak, "And who might you be?"

You tell him your name, but take a step back, a little uneasy under his stare.

"I have never made your acquaintance," he says, voice deep and mesmerizing, moving very close.  "I would have remembered you." 

"Your mom sent me," you say, avoiding his eyes.  It feels like he can see into your soul.

"My m-" he closes his eyes and takes in an exasperated breath.  "A mortal.  Of course, she did.  A just punishment, I am sure."

"For what?" You ask.

"As if you are unaware," he says, jaw clenched.  "What did she offer you to leave your precious Midgard?  All to teach me some kind of lesson?"

It seems like he's talking more to himself than you.  "Who are you?"

"You mean to tell me you do not know," he sneers. 

"Your mom didn't tell me anything," you say, a little proud of yourself for figuring it out.  But now that you think about it, the Allmother likely planted that painting there so you’d see it.  "She’s sneaky, though."

He chuckles, low and a little threatening, "Indeed, she is."

"Oh, I brought you some snacks and books," you say, crouching down and opening the lid to the basket.

You first hand him the books and he scoffs as he flips through them.  "You think me a child?"

You roll your eyes.  "To be fair, your mom didn't tell me I was browsing for you." 

"That is no way to behave in front of a Prince," he says, yet he has the same amused look his mom sometimes has.

You snort, “I don’t care if you’re the King.  I’ll behave however I want.”  

He narrows his eyes, watching you walk over to the little couch beside the table and plop down onto it.  "I thought you said you brought me ‘snacks.’"

"I did," you point to the basket.

He chuckles heartily.  Well, you're glad you're entertaining.  But why is a Prince in jail?  He bends down and plucks one of the plums you'd chosen.  He scrutinizes it like you’re not even qualified to choose produce.

"Will you tell me your name?"

He doesn’t even spare you a glance, “No."

"It's okay," you say, smirking, "I'll just ask Thor."

"It seems mother has sent me a little brat to deal with," he says, tossing the plum back into the basket.

You sputter, raising your hands up, "You're going to crush the cookies."

"Cookies?" He glares at you.

"God, you're annoying," you tell him, crossing your arms under your chest.

"And you are an insufferable, pathetic, little mortal," he says, taking two long strides towards you, blocking out most of the light as he leans over you.  

“I've heard worse.”  You shrug, “Asgardians are not nice.  You all really hate me."

He looks a little surprised, the first genuine expression you've seen from him.  "Well, I know how that feels."

"Why would they hate you?  You're one of them.”

A wistful laugh spills from his lips, but you don't know what he finds so funny.  

He crouches down and digs into the basket for the little box of cookies.  They're your specialty and even tastier with Asgardian chocolate.  Thor went through at least a hundred last night. 

He haughtily pinches one between two fingers and inspects it like it's poison.  His gaze never leaves you as he brings it to his lips and takes a bite.  His eyes widen.  You know they're good and if he says otherwise, he’d be lying.

As far as mystery jobs go, this one isn’t so bad.  And you’re already done for the day, so you stand to leave.  Maybe you can actually get some sleep tonight.  If you’re lucky, you’ll be too exhausted to  hear those voices, those little whispers.

He speaks then, "As reward for those cookies, I suppose I can tell you my name."

You bark out a laugh, "I'm not a dog.  I don't need a reward from you."  You put your hood back on, "Forget it.  I'm just going to ask Thor.  Unlike you, he'll give me your name for free."

You unload the contents of the basket on the coffee table because he's too hoity-toity to do it himself.  You're one leg out the barrier when he gently grabs your arm.  He’s surprisingly cold, even through all your layers.  But he’s he one who sucks in a shocked breath as he quickly lets go.

"Loki," he says with an empty expression.  You don't know him, but you know with certainty that he'd rather show a little weakness to you than let Thor win.

You beam at him and nod.  "Bye, Loki.  See you tomorrow."

His face scrunches up in displeasure, "You mean you will be returning?"

You laugh as he furrows his brow, adorably.  "Sweet dreams, my Prince."

Chapter Text

The next afternoon, as you water your bed of roses, you’re delighted to find that one of the two sprouts has grown a tiny, green leaf.  A big grin appears on your face, yet when you look around, you’re alone.  You have no one to share your joy with.

Back home, you could always count on Tony to be overly proud of everything you did.  No matter how busy he was, he’d always find time to shower you with love and enthusiasm, even for the smallest things.  He would’ve been proud of your baby roses.

Heimdall assured you that your family and friends are still well and that, thanks to Tony, Manhattan is midway through its reconstruction.  You wish you could call them, to see how everyone was coping, to just hear their voices.  

Heimdall and Thor were able to relay a message to Tony about your safety, but the communication ended there.  God, you wonder what excuse Tony told your family about where you are right now.

Amid a soft, pleasant breeze, the Queen appears beside your flowerbed and gives you a moment to sense her presence.

“I hope he did not give you too much trouble,” she says as you stand and bow.  But quickly, you cross your arms, miffed.

“My Queen, you could have just told me,” you say, looking around the garden to make sure no one’s nearby.

She laughs airily, “Well, then that would not have been much fun, now, would it?”

You bark out a very unlady-like laugh.  “May I speak freely?”

“Of course, my dear,” she says, gesturing for you to follow her to a bench that sits underneath a shady tree with bright white leaves.

Once you’re both settled, you turn to her, “Why is Loki in the dungeons?”

The Allmother’s eyes shine with sorrow, “Thor told you about what transpired on Midgard, correct?” She asks and you nod.  “Well, it was Loki.  While controlling a Chitauri army, he attempted to take over the realm.”  

“What?”  Your brows pinch together, “Why?”

“Loki is very complicated,” she says instead of answering.  “He is my son and I have known him for over a thousand years, yet he does not permit me to truly know him.”

What she’s telling you is so deeply personal, it makes you wonder why you’re allowed to hear it.

“But he is no monster, that much I know,” the Queen continues.  “His heart is true, tender.  I do not believe, for a second, that he would do such a thing.”

Something prickles in the back of your mind.  A thought, unbidden, floats to the surface.  “You think there’s more to the story.”

She gives you a forlorn smile, “I do.”

The Prince has been sent to prison and the King just let it happen, without trying to clear his son’s name.  But then you think...

“The King,” you say carefully.  “Does he think Loki did it?”

The Allmother closes her eyes for a moment as her shoulders slump.  “They have a… difficult relationship.”

“And the people?  If they knew, they wouldn’t question it, either, would they?”  

Everyday, you see how much Thor is loved.  But not one single person has ever mentioned Loki or has even acknowledged the existence of another Prince.

She nods, “Loki was never favored.  He was not afraid to be different.  And as you know, Asgardians are not very accepting.”

Your feelings about Loki are suddenly jumbled.  He killed people, he fought your friends and tried to take over the world.  Yet, there’s an odd certainty that’s implanted deep in your heart that keeps you from understanding why his own father was so quick to put him away.

+++

While you’d been searching for more sophisticated reading choices in the royal library, you stumbled across a hidden alcove, a den behind the very last row of bookcases.

Now, you’re very comfortable on the plush, velvet easy chair in front of an intricately moulded marble fireplace.  You’re tucked underneath the cozy throw that was draped over its arm.  The blanket is softer than any material you’ve ever felt.  It’s cuddly and warm, like it’s been enchanted, and almost puts you to sleep.  

The fireplace seems to always be on and just warm enough.  The gentle flames light up the room, along with dozens of candles that never melt, like the ones in your bedroom.

On a desk nearby, you’d found a bound book of sketches that has instantly become your favorite.  The illustrations are beautiful, emotive, dark, and romantic.  They’re mostly of the stars, the universe, but some are abstract.  They’re thoughts and emotions put to paper.  It’s a look inside someone’s heart.

Reluctantly, you set the book aside and gather your basket and cloak.  

You stop by the empty kitchens for sweet grapes, honeyed nuts, and a few other things.

Once at Loki’s cell, you know he senses you entering, but he stays reclined on his settee.  Last night, you must have been too nervous to fully take in his room.  There’s a bed in the far corner of his cell, behind the sofa and coffee table, that doesn’t look slept in.  Stacks of books decorate every corner and line every wall. 

On the other side of the cell is the settee, which he seems to favor over anything else. 

“Hi, Loki,” you greet, leaving the basket near the barrier and plopping down onto the sofa.  You’ve barely done anything today, but you’re exhausted.  

After taking off your cloak, you roll it up and pillow your head on it.  Last night, the whispering and rattling was louder than ever.  The entire night you sat there, candle flickering by your bed, and kept your eyes on the doorknob, making sure it didn’t turn.

He tilts his head up slightly to glare at you.  “Please,” he says, full of attitude, “make yourself at home.”

“Okay,” you grin, “thank you.”

“So, this your sole purpose?” He asks, sitting up, glossy black curls falling onto his shoulders, “Serving me?”

“Excuse me,” you say, a little offended, “I am a Lady-in-waiting.” 

Loki lets out a haughty laugh, “You jest.  Why would mother do that for you?”

You shrug, “Beats me.”

He watches as you sink deeper into the velvety green cushions, trying hard to keep your eyes open.  It’s so quiet in here, peaceful, still.

“It is well into the night,” he says.  “I know mortals need their sleep.”

“I don’t sleep well alone,” you tell him and immediately regret it, seeing the disgustingly attractive look that appears on his face.

“You are welcome to stay the night here,” Loki says.  You roll your eyes as hard as you can.  

He abruptly gets up and rummages through the basket.  "Where are the cookies?

“I’m not your 50s housewife, Loki," you say.  “I’m not sitting around all day, baking for you.”

His mouth forms a cute, little frown that makes you chuckle.  You can’t reconcile the fact that he brought an alien army to invade Earth with the intent to rule your entire planet.  Your conflicting feelings about him are even more baffling in his presence.

You concede, "I'll bring you some tomorrow."

"If you wish to," he says, like he’s tasked, burdened, with having to deal with you.

"You don't sound very appreciative.  If you don’t really want any, then..."

He suddenly appears beside you on the sofa, making your shoulders jump, “You are truly insufferable.”

“Hey, I’m trying to be nice,” you say, turning to him. 

His blue eyes tremble before he looks away, “Why?”

“I’m not entirely sure.”

Loki whips his head back toward you, “Are you not frightened of me?” He leans over you, crowding you, going for intimidation.

You lean back, armrest digging in, “Should I be?”

“Do you still not know what I have done?”

“Your mom told me.”

“And?”

You hate how hopeful you sound when you ask, “There’s more to it, isn’t there?”

His blue eyes narrow on you before a neutral mask falls over his face.  He chuckles slowly, dangerously, “You are not very intelligent, are you?”

“I’m sure no mortals are to you.”

Loki shrugs, “Fair point.”

You snort as Loki falls back into his seat, focusing his attention straight ahead, out one of the transparent walls.  The occupants in the next cell are all huddled up close to the cell’s edge, staring at you.  It’s only come to your attention now that you’re not wearing your cloak.  Your pulse ratchets up.  The longer you look, the quicker your heart throbs.  

Some of them are covered in scaled armor.  Some have horns and clawed fingers.  And all of them have the same murderous look.

Loki tenderly places his hand on your shoulder, calling your attention to him.

“Do not fret, darling,” he says.  “I have made sure they cannot see you.”

“Oh,” your pulse is still echoing in your ears as you cover his hand with yours.  “Thank you.” 

Loki is pleasantly cool and it’s welcomely silent.  There’s not even the sound of air wheedling through the door, no creaking or whirring. 

“Can I hang out here for a little while?”

Loki scoffs, sliding his hand out from under yours.  “You wish to stay in the dungeons?”

“This is like a five star hotel compared to an actual jail cell,” you say, getting up to unload the basket because you have to move or you’ll fall asleep.  “Your mom sends you food and books.  A lot of people would kill just get that.”

You place the grapes, nuts, some pastries, and a water bottle onto the coffee table.  Then, a heap of books.  This time, ones with more words than illustrations.

“What happened to that water?” Look asks, brow raised.  

You give him a sneaky smile, “I dumped it out and filled it with wine.”

Loki’s eyes light up gorgeously, “Oh?”

"Yeah, your mom specifically told me not to."

He chuckles, "Not so stupid, after all."

You shoot him a glare, but it quickly fades because he looks so happy.  "What’s this wine made from?"

"It is made from a small fruit, the sváss berry, which is meant to be shared like a sweet kiss between lovers," Loki says, conjuring up two glasses from nowhere.  "It makes for a pleasant wine."

You smile, “What do they look like?”

Loki holds his hand out in front of you, then all at once, hundreds of mini strawberries appear and start tumbling off his palm and onto the couch.  

You gasp, delighted.  A smile stretches across your face as you whisper, “Wow.”  When you poke one, they all disappear in a cloud of pink smoke.  You look at Loki in wonder, but he looks slightly perturbed.

He turns away to pour one glass halfway and offers it to you, but you put your hand out to decline.  "Thor has made me try enough alcohol that I know I'm going to throw up if I have any of that."

"You may be surprised," he says, tenderly taking your wrist and forcing you to accept the drink.  Your hand subconsciously chases his fingers as they leave you.

You watch as he pours his own glass, full enough that it threatens to slosh off the edge.  He downs it in one long sip, his Adam’s apple bouncing with every gulp.  

"I have not had wine in months," he says, pouring himself another glass.  Seeing his lip quirk up, genuinely enjoying something, makes you smile.

You take a sip and can’t stifle a stunned gasp.  It's the best damned thing you've ever tasted.  Sweet, but not cloying.  Rich, yet airy.  "Thor never drinks anything like this," you say, savoring the luscious aftertaste.

Loki snorts derisively, "He has no appreciation for the finer things.”

"You shouldn't hate on him too much.”

He studies you, mid-sip, from behind his glass.  "I see his charms have already gotten to you."

You bark out a laugh.  “I am not in love with him.  Not that two of your mom's Ladies care."

"You are speaking of Ala and Gerd."

"Yeah," you take another sip.  The wine seeps into every pore, warming you from the inside.  "And what do Asgardians have against hugging?"

Loki nearly spits his wine out, but catches himself at the last moment.  "You are to tell me that you embraced my brother in front of the Ladies?"  When you nod, the most beautiful laughter escapes him.  It's melodic, delicate, soothing.  

Suddenly, his eyes lock onto yours.  They bore into you, pin you down.  His eyes seem to swirl different shades of blue as he studies you.  There’s a buzzing in the back of your mind that quickly intensifies.  But as abruptly as it began, it stops.  Loki looks perplexed but continues to regard you as you finish your glass.

He takes it from you and sets it on the table.

"How did you make these glasses appear?" You ask.  "I thought you weren't allowed to."

"Well, darling," he leans in, voice lower, "I have my ways." 

You raise a brow, "I can always just ask your mom."

He narrows his eyes, "It is unfortunate that you can use my mother and Thor to get your way."

You beam at him, leaning back on your side, pressing your cheek to the sofa's padding, a little drowsy.  "Can you show me more magic?"

Loki seems to consider it for a moment.  "What would you like to see?"

"Something pretty,” you say, eyelids getting heavier.

Loki holds his palms up very close to you as an emerald green glow emanates from his hands.  Your eyes widen.  Shiny, golden butterflies appear and whirl around his slender fingers.

You sit up, reaching out to touch one.  A baby butterfly lands on your index finger and you take in a breath.  It looks like it's made of tiny, little crystals.  Its golden wings flutter as it hovers over your hand.

The hundreds of others circle around you, landing on your cheek, your hair, tickling your ankles.  You giggle, lost in the sensation, mouth open in awe.

Loki chuckles and, with a wave of his hands, the butterflies pop and disappear into a puff of glittery smoke.  It’s cold as it seeps into your flesh.  You flip your hands over and over, watching them sparkle.  Your entire body is gold.

"Oh, my god," you whisper, holding up a strand of your hair that’s completely covered in golden dust.  "You're incredible."

He blows air out through his nose as he laughs.  "Being my mother's son has its advantages," he says.  "I am allowed a limited amount of magic within my cell.  And she has set up a small interdimensional pocket with necessities."

"Interdimensional pocket?" 

"Yes," Loki scrunches up his face, "the one I usually use cannot be accessed at the moment."

"What's in that one?" You ask, stifling a yawn.  "Is it big?"

He chuckles, "Yes, darling.  It holds most of my possessions, acquired over the span of my life."  You picture an enormous warehouse with shelves upon shelves of trinkets and souvenirs.  Each one probably holds a special place in Loki’s heart.

“Can we go there someday?”

His brows pinch together, “Go there?”

“Yeah,” you bring your fingers up to smooth the lines that he’s making on his forehead.  “I want to see all the cool stuff you have.  I bet there are things from other realms, too.”

Loki circles your wrist with two fingers to move your hand away from his face.  “Yes, darling, of course there are.”  But he doesn’t let go of you.

You blink several times to keep your eyes open.  “Which realm has the best stuff?”

“The best stuff,” he repeats, his nose wrinkling.  His thumb brushes the inside of your wrist.  “I suppose it might be Alfheim.”

You give Loki a lazy smile, “Tell me about Alfheim.”

He mirrors your expression for a split second.  “Well, there are fountains of champagne and trees that grow candy.  Pixies, mermaids, fairies.”

“You’re making that up.”

“I, most certainly, am not,” he tells you, but he’s grinning so you’re not sure if he’s telling the truth or not.  In between the two of you, Loki projects an image of a fairy tale forest.  A colorful castle sits in front of a perfect blue sky, surrounded by evergreens.  “There are enchanted forests.  And you can ride unicorns and winged cat steeds.”

Near the castle’s grand entrance, big cats with furry wings land and begin to feed on the sparkly gems hanging off the trees.  Beside them, unicorns appear.  But they’re covered in shaggy, bright pink hair.

It makes you giggle, “That’s not what they look like.”

“Excuse me, darling.  But who is telling this story?”

Tiny winged beings zip through the air, leaving behind trails of silver glitter.  You begin to doze off, listening to Loki’s calming voice.  His animated storybook tells a loving story and in your mind, you’re there with Loki by your side.

+++

Your eyes squint open slowly at first, but then they snap open as wide as they’ll go.  The ceiling is white, which is... not right.  The ceiling in your room is... it’s... Ugh.  What color was it?  Your head feels all fuzzy inside.  You’re tucked up to your lips underneath silky, warm blankets.

As you sit up, the bright lights spin around the top of your head.  Across the room, Loki sits regally on the floor near an invisible wall.  He’s reading one of the books you brought last night.

You don’t even remember falling asleep, but you can assume that Loki carried you to bed.  A small smile creeps onto your face. 

“Morning,” you say, swinging your legs over the mattress.  But then you panic.  You have an early morning post here, unlike your job with Tony.  You’re not living in the Tower anymore and you can’t just stroll into work at 9am in a tee shirt and shorts.

“Good morning, darling,” Loki replies, not even looking up from the book.

You stand up and instantly drop right back to the bed.  You’re light-headed and can’t seem to find your balance.  Not only that, you realize your skin is still sparkly and gold from Loki’s magic trick. 

“Do you know what time it is?” You ask, attempting to stand again.  Loki puts the book down and looks over.  Grabbing onto one of the bedposts, you steady yourself.  When your eyes open again, Loki’s right in front of you.

“It is just passed mid-morning,” he says, grabbing your waist to stand you upright.

“Oh, my god.”  You are so, incredibly late.  But your quick breathing has you feeling dizzy again, so you rest your forehead onto Loki’s chest.

His body vibrates as he laughs, low.  “I guess that wine was too much for your little mortal body.”

“At least I didn’t throw up,” you say, groaning.  “Or did I?”

“Let me have a look,” he says and you look up at him.  He’s peering down at you with amusement.  He's so beautiful, like he's been sculpted to perfection by the gods.

One of his hands cup your cheek and it’s so cold, so soothing.  It alleviates your aches and the pounding in your head.  You find your balance and the cotton clouding your mind has suddenly vanished.  

He’s healed you.

You bring your hand to cover his own, pressing it tighter to your cheek.  You breathe out, surprised, “Thank you,”.

Loki’s eyes dart away, “You are to be very late.”

Right.  You're going to have to make the walk of shame to work.

He reaches his hand out and your black robe materializes.  Loki holds it up by the shoulder seams for you.  “Thanks, Loki,” you say, turning around so he can slip it on, “I’ll see you tonight.”

+++

The Ladies are all gathered in the Queen’s solar.  Luckily, when you peak into the doorway, the Queen isn’t there, but the Ladies are sipping tea and probably enjoying your absence.  You hurry inside and take the only empty seat, furthest from the Allmother’s chair.

All of them gasp when they notice you adjusting your wrinkled, aqua dress as you sit.

“What has happened to you?” Gerd asks, feigning shock, but likely relishing in your disheveled appearance.  She twirls her platinum hair around one of her ringed fingers and purses her lips, eyes full of judgment.

Your hair is undone, crimped from yesterday’s braids.  You’re in the same dress and makeup, too, and you want to smack your forehead because your skin is still gold. 

Loki could have just used his magic to fix you up, but you imagine he has a cute, little smile on his face as he thinks about the state you’re in.  If he could, he’d probably be watching this all unfold in real time.

Ala smirks and whispers something to Gerd, who’s sitting beside her.  The sight of Ala’s flawless golden braids irrationally irritate you.  “You look ghastly,” she says, her red lips curled into a satisfied smile.

You grin, “That’s not what Thor said last night.” 

They all gasp again and you raise a brow in challenge.  You’re happy to know that cheesy middle school comebacks are effective here.  It’s a silent battle of wills for a couple of minutes until you hear footsteps in the corridor.  All the Ladies stand and you try one more time to straighten out your wrinkled dress as the Queen appears in the doorway with her guards.

She regards you with a twinkle in her eye.  “Ladies,” she says, the train of her metallic silver dress following her across the room, “we have very important business to attend to this morning.”

“Yes, my Queen,” you all say.

“To the gardens,” the Allmother says, leading the way.

It’s crisp and sunny outside.  The air is fragrant from the wildflowers and citrus blossoms.  The group ends up at a small garden that’s near the fountain by your chambers.

“The ersellion flowers have opened up overnight,” the Queen says, excitement obvious in her tone.  “It is our duty to make sure they are brought safely to the healers.”  She gestures to a big plant bed with seven long-stemmed flowers.  Their layers of curled petals glow green and look like they’re speckled with tiny emeralds in the center.  They remind you of Loki.

“Each of us will pick one,” she says.  “And just like the years before, we will conduct the ritual before the healers process them.”

You have absolutely no idea what’s going on, but you smile and nod along with everyone else.  The Ladies all step forward to pluck the blooms, leaving two when it’s your turn.  One is overly small and one is oversized, an obvious test.

You decide on the tiny one, but when you reach for it, Gerd scoffs.

“We are allowing a mortal to touch the ersellion flower, my Queen?” Gerd asks with faux concern.  Sighing, you turn away from the flowerbed.

But the Queen just smiles, “She is a Lady, just as you are.”

“Hardly, she is-“

“Mother!” Thor’s voice cuts her off, echoing through the atriums.  When he comes into view, he pauses for a moment.  “Oh, my apologies, Ladies,” he says, looking a little bashful.  But then he catches sight of you and his eyes widen.

The Allmother crosses the courtyard.  “My son,” she greets, “we are processing the ersellion flowers.”

“Ah,” Thor says, “I shall return, then.”

“Unless,” Ala suddenly says, then clears her throat.  “Unless you would like to take a bloom, my Prince.  We have one left.”

Thor looks to each of you, then glances at the two unpicked flowers.  He chuckles awkwardly, “It seems there is just the right amount.”

Ala steps closer to him, her green eyes sharp, “You cannot expect a mere mortal to take a bloom.”

Something changes on Thor’s face then, maybe imperceptible to the Ladies.  But you’ve been hanging out with him everyday for months.  And you know how much he loves Jane. 

Thor walks over to you.  He now looks annoyingly delighted at the state you’re in.  You shoot him a glare.  “Well,” Thor says, enthusiastically, the biggest grin on his face.  He reaches behind you and plucks the larger flower, “Then I shall assist.”  

He holds it out to you and you take the stem.  The flower seems to sense you.  It buzzes.  Its petals light up and blossom open, revealing more of its brilliant center.

“Thanks, Thor.”

“You are very welcome,” he says, smirking.  “And may I say, you look lovely this morning.”  You know he’s just teasing, but the Ladies (and people of Asgard, in general) don’t really understand the concept.  And it’ll probably serve as more fuel for their hatred.

“Very funny,” you whisper.  He extends his arm and you do your best to tuck your hand into the crook of his elbow.  It’s so massive, though, that you can’t even properly grab onto him.

“What is mother up to?” He asks quietly as you both walk away from the garden, ahead of the group.

“What do you mean?”

He leans down, “You are so small that I cannot hear you.”

“Excuse me,” you smack him on the arm, “I am a very acceptable height on.”

Thor thinks for a second, “I suppose.  You are taller than my Jane.”

My Jane.  That makes you grin.  “Anyways, what about your mom?”

“Oh,” Thor says, “I am not a fool.”

You stifle a squeal as you trip over an uneven cobblestone on the path and Thor easily keeps you from stepping on your dress.  Everything here is just so big. “No one said you were a fool,” you tell him.

“Yes, but mother thinks I am.  She thinks I would not see what is going on.”  He reaches down and swipes a finger across your cheek.  “This will only fade with blue rose oil.”

Oh.

“How long have you been going to see my brother?” Thor asks, but he has a weird, little grin on his face.

Well, since it’s out there, you have a million questions.  You stop in the middle of the path and crane your neck up, a hand on the side of your mouth so those pesky Ladies can’t use their Asgardian super hearing.  Thor has to bend nearly at the waist.  You’re about to talk when he wraps his arm around the back of your legs and scoops you up.

“You are slowing me down,” Thor says as you flail and squawk like an unattractive bird, before finding your balance to sit upright on his forearm.  You don’t know if you’ll ever be able to wrap your brain around how strong Asgardians are.  

Resting your free hand on his shoulder, you lean forward, “You’re trying to make those Ladies really hate me, aren’t you?”

He laughs heartily.  “Well, I do not particularly like any of them.”

“Yes, but I’ll be the one to suffer for it.”  You chance a look at the Queen’s entourage and their nasty stares send a shiver up your spine.  Maybe you should be worried for your safety.

You return your attention forward as Thor takes you through the atriums and back towards the palace halls.  

“Are you okay?” You ask.  “He’s your brother.  I couldn’t even imagine what you’re going through.”

“I-“ he glances at you, “I will be fine, little one.”

“Do you think Loki really did it?”

He’s silent until you make it to the next corridor.  “It was him.  I fought him.  But,” he pauses, a pained breath leaving him, “his eyes.  They were different.  They were crazed.”

“Did you ever think he’d do something like that?”

“No,” Thor says quietly.  “Never.”  Then he solemnly adds, “But no one would believe it.”

“Why not?  Why don’t they love him?  He’s their Prince.”

Thor frowns, “Unfortunately, Loki has not garnered the favor of our people.”

“Oh,” you say as the two of you approach the Healers’ wing, “but he seems nice.”

“Nice,” he repeats with a chuckle.  “Loki is many things, but he is not nice.”   He walks through the doorway to a dark room, thick curtains blocking out all outside light.  It looks like a Victorian chemistry lab.  “You say that despite this trick he has played on you?”

“I thought you said I looked lovely,” you flick your gold hair in his face.  “Besides, it was harmless.  Kind of cute.”

Thor’s entire body goes taut.  “By the Norns,” he says slowly, turning to you dramatically.  “You think Loki cute.” 

You lean as far back as you can and wonder what you’ve said wrong.  “What?”

Just then, the Queen enters, grinning at you and her son.  The Ladies follow, matching sneers on their faces.  Thor, on the other hand, has this goofy look on his face.  You roll your eyes.  So what?  You think the Prince is cute.  Who wouldn’t?

You tap Thor’s armored chest and he lets you hop down from his arm before he opens the thick curtains.  As the warm Asgardian sunlight filters in, your flower seems to come alive even more.

Thor brushes his hand over a petal and it wiggles, making you gasp with glee.

“I shall assist you with the ritual, my Lady,” Thor says to you with the cheesiest smile you've ever seen.  He always knows how to make you laugh.  He’s already turned this potentially horrible day into a great one.  

After helping you onto a tall stool, he chooses the appropriate vials and bowls like he’s done this with his mom hundreds of times.  Per his instructions, you pluck each petal and place them in the bowl, along with the flower’s green anthers.  Thor adds a few drops of colorful liquid from several vials.  In an instant, everything in the bowl sizzles and liquifies into what looks like mercury.

Your mouth falls open in disbelief.  Thor chuckles, entertained by your amazement.  He affectionately pats you on the cheek and encourages you to follow the Queen’s instructions.  As you pour the chrome liquid into a curved glass jar, Thor doesn’t forget to cheer you on.  And when you pop the cork into its opening, his bright, blue eyes regard you with adoration.

With the Allmother and Thor by your side, it’s easy to forget about everything else.  No matter what, you have them and Heimdall and Sif and the Warriors Three.  And, maybe, even Loki.

Chapter Text

As promised, your basket is filled with chocolate chip cookies that night when you make the trek to Loki’s cell.  You’ve just bathed in blue rose oil and the sweet scent still clings to your skin.

“Clever, little creature,” Loki says, his eyes lowered, as soon as you take off your cloak.

You laugh, “Don’t be too impressed.  Thor told me how.”

Crouching down, you empty the basket onto the coffee table.  There’s more wine, two batches of cookies, and some purple citrus that tastes like sweet grapefruits.  You top all that off with some alchemy books that you hope Loki finds interesting.

“Thor seems to have a soft spot for you,” Loki says, sitting on the sofa.  You plop down next to him.

“Let’s be real, Loki,” you say.  “Thor has a soft spot for everyone.”  But that’s actually not true, you’d learned recently.  “Well, except for Ala and Gerd.  Who, by the way,” you pause, “may be plotting to kill me at some point.”

Loki looks a little concerned then, his perfect face glooming.  “And why is that, darling?”

“They’re obsessed with your brother.”

“Well, they have been attempting to win his affections for nearly a thousand years.”

Your mouth is open in shock, “A thousand?”

Loki nods, “And then a fair, little mortal drops from the sky, stealing all his attentions.”

“You know Thor’s just caking it on to make them lose interest in him, right?"

He lets out an airy laugh, "Of course, of course."

You glare at him, “I had to spend the entire day gold, by the way, thanks to you.”

“I thought you looked beautiful,” Loki says like it’s no big deal, holding his hand out in front of him to summon the cookies.  A strange fluttering starts up in your stomach and you have to use all your will to tamp it down.

“I’m actually kind of scared, though,” you tell him.  You’re not even sure Loki’s listening to you because he pops open the box and stacks two cookies together before taking a huge bite.  “Asgardians are strong.  And no one would care if one of them killed me.”

Loki puts his cookies down, onto a suddenly materialized napkin.  “My brother would surely care.”

You just nod.  Your head is starting to feel light, full of air, from lack of sleep.  The silence of Loki’s cell always seems to lull you.

His brow furrows, “What is the matter, darling?”

“Can I sleep here again tonight?”

“Of course you can,” he says, without hesitation.

“Thank you.”

“Are your chambers not adequate?”

The question surprises you a little.  “They are.  More than adequate.  It’s just that... you’re going to think I’m making it up.”

He patiently waits for you to continue.

“I keep hearing things.”

“Such as?”

“Well, there’s this locked room in my chambers,” you whisper, “and I think someone secretly lives in there.”

After a second of staring at you, he tips his head back and laughs melodiously.  “Mortals have such vivid imaginations.”

You cross your arms underneath your chest, “This is why I didn’t want to tell you.”

“All right, all right,” a dazzling smile stretches across his face.  “Have they said anything to you?”

You shake your head.  “But I hear whispering, hissing.  And the door has all these runes on it.  And there’s even a snake painted on it.”

“What?”  Loki’s face has gone from amused to serious in a split second.

“A snake.  A gold one.”

“Your chambers,” he says, “where are they?”

You have to take a moment to think.  “They’re next to Thor’s.  By that atrium with the gold fountain?”

Loki’s eyes widen and he mumbles something too quiet for you to hear.  “Let me guess,” he says, jaw clenched, “my mother brought you to those chambers.”

“She did,” you say.  “Why?  Does a snake live there?”  You brows shoot up, suddenly scared that you’ve been sleeping beside some kind of powerful creature.

“No, darling, of course not.”

You’re waiting for him to say more, but he just studies you for a few very long moments.  Then, he holds his hand out and a necklace appears atop his palm.  There’s a hulking emerald pendant on it that sparkles like the entire ocean and all the stars in the galaxy are encased in it.

“Wear this,” Loki says, holding it up.  The emerald hangs off the shiniest, most delicate, gold chain you’ve ever seen.

You snort, “Loki, no.”

He tilts his head, a puzzled look on his face.

“That’s probably worth more than Manhattan.”

Unfazed, he says, “It will keep you safe.”

It’s tempting.  But the necklace stirs up an odd feeling inside your gut.  The glittering emerald soundlessly calls out and you realize that it’s similar to the feeling you have for Loki.  Like magic, it’s something you don’t understand.  

And it’s also something you don’t want to explore.

You’ll be gone in a few months, once the bridge has been rebuilt.  You’re his entertainment for now, nothing more. 

You shake your head, “Save that for a Princess or something.”

He chuckles as he unclasps the chain.  “Come now, darling,” he says, gesturing for you to turn around.  “It is warded with my magic.”

The emerald lures you back, tries to capture you.  It’s almost as if you can hear it whispering your name, that’s how much you want it.  You try to shake those sudden feelings away.  You’re just a little blip in his very long life.  Besides, will he even remember you in a hundred years?  A thousand?  But you want him to remember you.  You want it to only be you.

You’re eyes widen, shocked at where your own thoughts are heading.

“There is no trick,” he reassures you, taking your hesitance as mistrust.

You take in a breath to make sure your voice comes out steady.  “It’s not that, Loki.”

“Then?”

“I’m not royalty.  Or anything even close.”  You give him a little smile, “I’m just a regular girl.  I can’t wear something like that.”

The smile he gives you then is a little wistful.  “Humor me.  You can pretend to be my little Princess, can you not?”

Something in his tone sends a little tingle through you.  Little Princess.  The way he says it isn’t condescending or patronizing… it’s almost loving.  It’s honest.  It’s like he goes out of his way to tease, to make you catch feelings. 

You widen your eyes and blink up at him to whisper, "I've never been anyone's Princess before."

"Well," Loki draws out the word, absolutely satisfied, then chuckles, soft and low, "you would be well cared for."  He leans a little closer to you, "Anything you wish, you shall have."  Closer still, "And you will have your every need tended to."

One corner of his lip quirks up, cocky, and it cracks you up.

Sighing, he crosses his arms over his chest and leans back, "It seems you are immune to my charms."

"I'm not," you say, before you can catch yourself. 

Loki raises a brow, "Oh?"

"But you should save them for someone worthwhile."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm but a mere mortal, Loki," you say, getting up and walking towards his bed.  "I'll probably bore you in less than a month."  You slip your shoes off and fold back the silky green comforter.

When you don't hear a quip from Loki, you turn back to the couch.  He's staring at you with the most peculiar expression on his face.  But he snaps out of it when he catches you looking.

"I suppose you are right," he tells you, turning around and reaching for a book sitting on the coffee table.

Your eyes never leave the back of his head as you snuggle into his covers.  Something's just happened.  But you don't know what. 

"'Night, Loki."

He doesn't turn his head, but says, "Goodnight, darling."

His timid voice leaves a strange ache in your chest.

+++

You’re sprawled across the sand, holding your stomach, doubled over from laughing so hard.  The practice sword that Sif tossed over to you, nearly took you out.  The force of her very gentle throw knocked you onto your ass and dragged you several feet across the dirt training field.

She was alarmed at first, but then joined in on your laughter once she knew you were unharmed.  

“You possess the strength of a newborn babe,” she says, helping you up.

“Hey!” You shout, grimacing as you stand and dust off the sand that’s crept into your leather shorts.  

You were provided with a billowy top and lace-up leather pants for training.  That’s how Thor and all his formidable warriors train, but you were sweating just thinking about it.

Even after you’d taken fancy gold scissors to your pants, they’re still cloying, unbreathable, suffocating.  You don’t know how Thor does it.

“I may need to work up to the training sword,” you tell Sif, who’s regarding you with such pity that you groan.  “Don’t look at me like that.”

“I apologize, little one.”  Sif pats your shoulder, “Perhaps we should continue with hand-to-hand until I can procure a more suitable training sword.”

Dejected, you just say, “Okay.  Thanks, Sif.”

“Do not be so glum,” she says.  “Thor and I will bring you blue chocolates from the South.”

That makes you forget about the sand that may or may not be creeping into the hem of your underwear.  “Blue chocolates?”

Sif chuckles at your delight.  “It is said that they are created from fallen stars and sprinkled with the tears of the gods.”

You clap your hands together, “Really?”

“Well, according to legend.”  She grins, "Like the candied sheep’s eyes we ate the other night.  The legend behind those a-"

"Wait," you interrupt Sif, "sheep’s eyes?  When did I eat sheep’s eyes?"

“Last night,” she says, absolutely humored as she realizes.  “You did not know.”

“No!”

Sif chortles, “Wait until I tell you what we ate at the feast last week.”

“What?!”

+++

After taking a long bath, you pick out a new dress from your intricately carved, wooden wardrobe.  Very frequently, the Queen gifts you gorgeous gowns and luxurious pajamas.  She always makes sure to give you her favorite beauty oils and likes to adorn your hair with the prettiest hair pins.

And whenever you feel guilty, like you don’t deserve the royal treatment, she just smiles and tells you that you’re loved here, no matter what.

In front of the mirror, you tighten the laces on your sage dress, on either side of your bodice, and let the matching velvet ribbons fall over your hips.  The dress is gauzy and light with green crystals scattered all over.  You twirl around and watch it fall back into place.

You’re happily admiring yourself when a familiar and fearful rattling starts up again.  The smile falls right off your face.  After hurrying to your bedroom door, you peek out into the living room.  Across the way is your mystery room.  There’s no movement, but you can hear the door shaking, the knob jangling.  The large runes painted on it brighten to an intense white before fading to gold again.

You dash through the living room and out your front door.  Before you know it, you’re already around the corner, at the atrium by Thor’s chambers.  Voices travel through the sound of the water trickling down the fountain beside you.

Up ahead, Ala and Gerd are loitering around Thor’s front door.  They’re excitedly whispering to each other until Gerd’s eyes lock onto you.  Judging by their lowered brows and sharp stares, your presence has ruined their plans.  They both stalk over to you, heels loud on the marble floor.

“What are you doing here?” Ala demands, hazel eyes almost black with rage.

Gerd flicks her platinum blonde curls back, “Do not tell me the Prince allows a peasant whore to stay the night in his chambers?”

You shake your head and let out breath.  After stepping around them, you walk down the wide palace halls.  You’re not in the mood to be catty right now. 

Ala’s sputtering doesn’t slow you down.  “You- how dare you walk away from us.  Filthy whore.”  Her loud voice echoes down the corridor.

“Fuck off,” you say and when you turn around, they’re right on your heals. 

“Did the Prince waste his coin on that gown?”  Ala asks, keeping up with your very quick pace.

When you abruptly stop, the two of them nearly collide into you.  “If Thor wants to spend money on me, it’s his choice.”

Gerd’s face is flushed red, so completely angered by her own insecure assumptions.  Even though she’s in front of you, she shouts, “You are undeserving of his gifts.  And him.”

“Listen, you nasty bitch,” you spit out.  “Who Thor wants to fuck is his business.  Just ‘cause he doesn’t want you, doesn’t mean you have to take it out on me.”

Gerd points to herself, “My father is the Duke of Ida.  He has promised me a Prince and I have chosen Prince Thor.”

You bark out a laugh.  “Well, it looks like you’ll have to find another one.”

She sneers, “Another one.”  Gerd shares a disgusted look with Ala.  “Even if the dark Prince were not dead, I would never want him.”  She smirks, “He was evil.  Good for nothing.”

She’s talking about Loki.  They think he died and they still talk about him with such rancor.

Ala pipes up, “ He probably would have just lived his entire life in Prince Thor’s shadow.  Rightfully.”

There’s a disturbance within you, a simmering rage that grows quickly.

“Without Loki,” Gerd says proudly, “Asgard prospers.”

You whip your hand across her cheek.  Your elevated pulse reverberates inside your skull.  It feels like the back of your hand has been seared by a hot poker.  You barely have time to cradle it close to your chest before, lightning quick, Gerd lunges forward and grabs your hair.

She flings you onto your back and it’s as if she’s stolen all the breath from inside you.  Everywhere is cold.  But your face is hot, your head is hot.

As you stare up at the gilded ceiling, numb, there’s a commotion around you.

Over the sound of your own heart throbbing, you hear Gerd whine.  “But she struck me, my Queen!”

The Allmother comes into view as she kneels beside you.  Over her shoulder, her beautiful golden ringlets cascade towards you.  It feels strange when she places her hand beneath your skull.  You can’t feel anything.  Until something happens.  Your chest expands, comfortably taking in air.  Your scalp begins to tingle and cool.  Feeling returns to your body, your mind even brighter than before.

“Are you all right, my child?”  The Queen asks, watching you blink in confusion.

When you nod, she helps you up, her hand never leaving you.  Beside two einherjar, Ala and Gerd, both red in the face, stare.  They don’t look satisfied, though.  They actually look frightened.  You follow their line of sight, to the Allmother’s other hand.  It’s covered in blood.

With trembling fingers, you reach for the back of your scalp.  Nothing is amiss, there’s no pain, but your hair is soaked in something thick and warm.  Your hand returns bloody.  

Gerd split your head open.  She nearly killed you.

“Come with me, dear,” the Allmother guides you away, down the hall towards her chambers.  “We will make sure you are well.  Then,” she pauses, a smile in her voice, “you can assist me in tasting the cakes that will be served at tonight’s Light Festival.”

You go with her, but can’t shake the thought- just like that, you almost died.

+++

Sometimes, when you make it to Heimdall's rooftop garden, he's busy.  You know that when he’s looking out into the celestial sky, motionless, he’s communicating with someone.  

But you don’t mind because your favorite glittering gold bench is always available.  It’s surrounded by bioluminescent branches that hang low from a tall tree.  The veins of each leaf glow bright green and they flutter like translucent feathers in the soft breeze.

As you watch Heimdall, you wonder what it’s like inside his mind.  He can talk to anyone across all nine realms.  He can see every single being in the universe.

"There are exceptions," Heimdall says quietly as he takes a seat next to you.

"Like who?"

"Loki," he says, surprising you.  "He has the ability to shield himself from me."

You cock your head, “How?”

“His mind is very strong, isolated.”

Isolated.  If you could choose one word to describe Loki, even before he was incarcerated, that’s what it would be.

“Do you think… that someone could get through, though?”  You ask, “Be able to control him?”

Heimdall regards you with curious golden eyes.  “Nothing is impossible.”

You hesitate a little before asking, “Why don’t people like him?”

“In his heart, Loki believes that he only exists as a pawn in others’ schemes… that he is destined to be alone.”

You’re taken aback.  “Why would he think that?”

“I suppose,” Heimdall says, dolefully, “not enough people have convinced him otherwise.”

You think of Thor- of how much he’s loved, the way his dad looks upon him with pride, how his people commend him.

But Loki... his own world had no problems erasing him.  They think Asgard is better without him.  They still hate him, even though he’s gone.

“Cheer up, little one,” Heimdall says, standing to reach up into the tree.  He plucks a glowing yellow apple and holds it out to you.  “Share it with someone.”

+++

That night, when you walk into Loki’s cell with a very full basket, he seems surprised.  “You are not at the Light festival?”

There’s something about his bewilderment that makes you smile.  “No.”

“You will miss the fireworks.”

“It’s okay,” you say, reaching into your basket for the illuminated apple.  You also have big slices of all the cakes you’d tasted earlier.  “I’ll catch the next show.”

Loki cocks his head, very interested.  “And where did you find that?” 

“A jellyfish tree,” you tell him excitedly.

He narrows his eyes, “Right, darling, of course.”

You hold it up, closer to his face, “What is it?”

He gestures for you to sit down on the sofa and when you do, he settles in close and analyzes you.  “If you tell me who gave it to you, I will tell you what it is called.”

“Heimdall gave it to me.”

His brows shoot up, “Fascinating.”

“Why?”

“No reason,” Loki says quickly, turning away from you to conjure up one gold foil plate.

You turn the yellow apple around in your hand and get lost in the bright light that emanates from the inside, “So, what is it?” 

“It is the skjebne fruit.”

You bark out a laugh, “That’s very unhelpful.”

Loki glares at you, but you’re beaming.  There’s something you love about annoying him.  It makes laughter bubble up.  It makes you giddy.  And you want to do it again and again.

You hold out the skjebne fruit, “What’s it taste like?”

“I do not know.”

Your heart lights up, “You’ve never tried it?  Would you like to share it?”

His nose scrunches up, “With me?”

You nod eagerly.  You never thought you’d get to try something for the first time with Loki.  He’s lived over a thousand years.  You’re surprised he hasn’t tried everything.  “How do we eat it?”

“You must separate it with your hands.”

Your thumbs find an indentation at the top and, without any force, it falls open into two perfect halves.  The glow fades slowly, revealing opalescent, shimmery flesh.

With an open mouthed smile, you look at Loki with glee.  When you hand him a half, he takes it and laughs at your enjoyment.  His eyes shine with enchantment as he observes you.

“Let’s take a bite at the same time,” you say, heart throbbing in anticipation.

He leans forward, “Very well.”

“On three.  One,” you hold the fruit up to your lips, grinning.  “Two,” you mirror Loki as he opens his mouth and bite into it just as he does.

You nearly choke on a gasp.  It’s freezing cold.  Flavored ice crystals form inside your mouth.  There’s passionfruit and strawberry, grape and guava.

Loki chuckles, endlessly amused by you.  “How does it taste?”

“Like the best shave ice ever,” you gush.  “Do you have that here?”

“I do not believe so,” Loki says.  “The skjebne fruit tastes different for everyone.”

“What?”  Your mouth is open, astonished, “What does yours taste like?”

His lips purse adorably as he considers you.  “Warmth,” he says, his lips twitching, curving up a fraction.  “The sweetest honey.  Apples.  Browned sugar.”

You look at your half, then his.  They look exactly the same, yet they taste different.  Its texture, its temperature, transforms in an instant.

Loki sets his skjebne fruit onto the plate.  “Mortals are so easily amazed.”

You grin, setting your half of the fruit next to his, “I’m okay with that.  I get to see something new everyday.”

“Well then, darling,” Loki says with a charming smile, “how about this?  Since you will be missing them out there.”

He holds a hand up between you and him, palm up.  Encased in a green aura, a bright blue light travels up, then bursts into mini fireworks.  They even sound like the real thing, just on a smaller scale.  Several more shoot up, then explode in a multitude of colors and shapes.

You poke your finger into one that bursts into the shape of a heart and it actually blows up.  A puff of silver smoke blasts into your face and you cough when you accidentally inhale some of it.

Loki is holding onto his abdomen, head thrown back, laughing.  When you look down at your hands, they’re covered in glitter again.  Silver, this time.

“Loki!”

His blue eyes twinkle, satisfied, “You, my darling, are so easy to fool.”

You cross your arms beneath your chest.  “You’d be so bored without me.”

Loki reaches out and brushes his fingers across your cheek, a hint of a smile left on his face.  “I would.”

You roll your eyes, “You’re lucky I find you cute.”  

Before he can protest, you snuggle into his side and hold his hand up in front of you.

“More fireworks,” you demand.  “Bigger, this time.”

Loki snorts, but leans into you.  “Yes, my Princess,” he says dramatically.  “Right away.”

Even with all the noise and the flashing lights, it doesn’t even take a minute for you to start drifting off, safely tucked into Loki.  He conjures a blanket around your shoulders, warmed with his magic.  

As for all those who believe he’s the dark Prince… they don’t deserve to know otherwise.

Chapter Text

Thor is tearing a huge drumstick with his teeth.  It's his third one and you know he's not slowing down anytime soon.  You've long since moved on to dessert, an enormous piece of strawberry cake.  With pathetic puppy eyes, you'd turned to Volstagg, who took pity on you and scooped away a good two thirds of your slice.

It’s only lunch, but every meal in the palace is like a banquet.  Next to you, Sif is busy chortling at Fandral, who’s hitting on the Queen’s new attendant.

Meanwhile, you take this time to sate some of your curiosity and talk to your favorite Vanir warrior.

“Is it true that Vanaheim has lakes that are full of diamonds?” You ask Hogun, who’s sitting on your other side.

His lip twitches as he sets his goblet down, “Where did you hear that?”

“I read about it in the library.”

“Vanir royalty are said to travel to the Northern most point to bathe in pink waters.”  His brown eyes shine as he watches your mouth fall open.  “And that the bottom of the lake is covered in diamonds.”

“Why do they keep them there?”

“It is said that they maintain the Queen’s youth.”

You take in a breath, “Really?”

Hogun shrugs, “If you believe in that kind of thing.”

“I do believe it,” you say, astounded, and he chuckles quietly.

Just as you’re about to ask Hogun if the mermaids you read about are real, too, you hear the over-exaggerated giggles of Thor's number one fans.  Ala and Gerd approach your table, decked out in gorgeous pink dresses, not forgetting to shoot you a glare before standing beside Thor's chair.

"My Prince," Gerd says, "I have brought you some sváss berry truffles from Ida."

Thor swallows his mouthful and puts on a smile.  "Ah, thank you, my Lady.  That is very thoughtful."

"There is enough for everyone," Ala tells him as she selects one.  She reaches across the table and holds it out for you, "You will never have tasted something so good."

You're taken aback by the act.  Maybe they've figured that Thor might like them better if they pretend to be nice to you in public.

After accepting the truffle, you set it down on your plate, having no intention of eating something hand-picked by either of them.

Somehow, Thor's already polished off four chocolates and, naturally, reaches for yours.  But as soon as he pinches it between his fingers, Gerd snatches it from him.  Sif and all three warriors glance at the two girls, alarmed.

Ala takes the truffle from Gerd, laughing nervously, her red lips twitching, "Surely you would not want something that has been touched by a mortal, my Prince."  She pockets the chocolate and hastily leaves.

"Okay," you say, as soon as they're gone.  "They were trying to poison me, right?"

Hogun grunts, "Be careful around them, little one."

Thor’s brows are furrowed.  "It is my fault.  I shall take care of this.”

“No, Thor, it’s not your fault,” you assure him, unable to look into his guilt-filled eyes.  “Besides, it was probably just some stupid prank or something.”

“Yes, certainly… a harmless trick," Sif says, but she doesn't sound so sure.

Thor looks determined, “I will keep you safe, I swear it.”

+++

After helping the Queen pick out table runners for the Summer solstice feast, you have a little time left before the big dinner tonight.

It’s the first time you’ve been to the dungeons while the sun is still out.  You hope Loki won’t mind seeing you twice today. 

While in the garden, after watering your five magical rose sprouts, you checked on your favorite flowers- the ones that smell like Winter.  The ones that look like water lilies and are the exact blue of Loki’s eyes.

There are a few in your hand, big blooms and long stems hidden underneath your cloak.

Loki sits up in his settee when he senses you.  His head is cocked to the side and his eyes are locked onto yours.  After setting his book down, he makes his way to the barrier.

“Is everything all right?” He asks as you walk through.

“Yes,” you grin.  “I just wanted to see you.  And give you these.”

When you uncover the flowers, Loki’s eyes illuminate.  “Ice blossoms?”

You nod, “They’re my favorite.”  

He waves his hand over the coffee table and a glass vase appears.  His fingers brush over yours when he takes the stems and after placing two inside the vase, he keeps one and twirls it between his fingers.

With a sly smile, Loki asks, “Would you like to see some magic?”

“Always.”

He holds the single bloom out to you.  As soon as it’s in your hand, a green glow envelopes the petals and it transforms in your hand.  It gets heavier, wetter, colder.  It starts to vibrate and you shriek when you see a frog grasped in your hand, its mouth open.  

It escapes.  It leaps onto your shoulder.  You freeze up and look to Loki for help, almost reduced to tears.  But he regards you with pursed lips, enthralled by your reaction and thoroughly entertained... on the verge of complete joy.

The frog is still perched on your shoulder, making a low humming sound.  It’s probably glaring at you, waiting for the right moment to attack you with its tongue.  You pout, “Loki!”

A brilliant smile appears on his face as he reaches over to secure the frog in his hand.  He looks absolutely satisfied.  “Did that frighten you, darling?” 

When you nod, his smile grows, his blue eyes light up even more.  And for some reason, you mirror his expression, warmth zinging through your veins.  Loki holds the frog in between the two of you and it disappears in a puff of green smoke with a little pop that makes your shoulders jump.

What’s left in his palm is a pair of small, gold earrings that are in the shape of ice blossoms.  The petals are thin and delicate, some curved up and some straight, with a glittering emerald in the center.  The way the gem shines is otherworldly, ethereal.

You look up at him, thoroughly softened.

“May I?” Loki asks.  

Grinning, you say, “Yes.”

He proceeds to tuck your hair behind your ear to gently fasten one earring, then the other.

“There,” he says, leaning back.  “You look magnificent.”

You beam at him as you touch the mini flowers with your fingers.  “Thank you, Loki.  They’re beautiful.”

He looks endearingly bashful, so you take this moment to cozy up to him.  When he doesn’t back away, you wrap your arms around his middle and rest your cheek on his chest.  You feel chilled skin through his linen tunic, feel him leach the heat from your body.

As you snuggle closer, you tell him, “You’re a bigger flirt than Fandral."

Loki sputters, "I beg your pardon."  He carefully slides his palms across your shoulder blades until he envelopes you completely, securely.

Your laugh is muffled by his shirt.  “Never said I didn’t like it.”

There’s a pause, then, “Oh?”

“Yeah,” you say, your pulse suddenly thundering in your ears.  Your body seems to know what you’re about to confess.  “I like it.  I like hanging out with you.”

He doesn’t say anything.  But he holds you even tighter and tucks your head under his chin.  He cocoons you with more than his body.  What you feel transcends the physical.  It’s palpable, a heavy weight that pacifies you.

Loki combs his fingers through your hair, movements hesitant as though he’s debating whether or not he likes it.  But he quickly sets a soothing rhythm that lulls you.

You let yourself think, only for a second, that this is momentous, crucial… that what you feel for Loki is distinctive from anything you’ve ever felt for anyone before.  It’s entirely original and it scares you like nothing else.

+++

You chose a fitted, forest green dress for the Summer feast and now you’re regretting it.  The boning on your bodice digs into your ribs while you move your fork around your very full plate.  After Sif freaked you out with her exposé on what you’ve been eating (so many innards), you’re wary of everything.

There’s a lot of laughter and yelling and at your table.  Thor is regaling guests from the South with battle stories while Fandral is fed grapes by three very captivated women.

Volstagg’s five-year-old son is wildly running between the tables, waving two drumsticks in the air and shouting, while his younger son climbs over his shoulders.

Hogun is very reluctantly conversing with one of the guests, an elegant Lady from the island of Marmora, who seems completely enthralled by him.

And Sif very conveniently had stuff to do.  It’s the second time she hasn’t joined you for a feast and you haven’t figured out what she’s up to yet.

On Thor’s other side, another guest, Lord Asmund, tries to one-up every tale.  But he’s such a conspicuous liar.

Thor doesn’t have to add embellishments and big motions.  He’s naturally trustworthy.  He’s unmistakably genuine and wears his heart of gold on his sleeve.

Asmund, on the other hand, has callous-free hands and scuff-free armor.  His blond hair is too perfect, slicked back into a little bun, and you just know those dainty feet have never stepped onto a battlefield.

As Volstagg animatedly adds to Thor’s tale, his child now hanging from his red hair, Asmund meets your eyes from across the table.  Like the majority of Asgardians, he’s attractive- perfect tan, perfect nose, green eyes, strong jaw.  And also cocky and pretentious.

“My Lady?”  

“Oh,” you dab the corner of your mouth with your napkin, “yes, my Lord?”

“Prince Thor tells me you hail from Midgard.”

You give him a polite smile.  “I do.”  Your fingers tense around your fork, always expecting acrimony or repulsion.

“Tell me,” Asmund says, “are all the women there as beautiful as you?”

Man, you thought the lines you got on Earth were bad.  But you give the guy a laugh, relieved, “You’re too kind.”

One side of his mouth curls up, “You are more alluring than any of my models.  Mayhap, you would like to pose for one of my masterpieces sometime.”

“Masterpieces?”

“Yes,” Asmund grins, “I am a renowned artist, known throughout the realm for my oil paintings.”

“I’m very flattered,” you tell him, “but I will have to decline.”

He nods, not deterred.  “Then, how about a dance?”

Uncomfortable, you look around for help.  Thor speaks up, “I am afraid, Asmund, that all of my Lady’s dances belong to me.”

All at once, Thor appears by your chair, his hand out and bowing like the fairy tale Prince he is.  You giggle when you accept it and he sweeps you across the banquet hall and onto the dance floor.

You squeak when he sets you back on your feat, poised and ready to dazzle the crowd.  “Thor, I don’t know how to dance.”

“Not to worry, little one,” he spins you around, then catches you on his chest.  “I am the most sought after dance partner in all the nine realms.  I shall lead you.”

As Thor whirls you around, laughter spills out of you.  Your feet aren’t even touching the ground.  While he takes you around the room, weightlessly, effortlessly, you catch a glimpse of the Queen.  At the high table, the Allmother is all smiles as she sits beside her always stoic husband.

She watches you and her son with candid glee.  And even from this distance, you can see those mischievous eyes gleam with knowledge no one else possesses. 

+++

Your basket is filled with goodies, fresh from the feast- ribs, steaks, pies, and this pink champagne that fizzled like Pop Rocks in your mouth.  Loki is waiting for you by the barrier, hands clasped behind his back.

As soon as you enter, you drop the basket and reach up for a hug.  To your delight, Loki indulges you.  Now that you’ve had a taste, you only want more.  And that worries you.  But you push those thoughts aside because you want to enjoy the moment.  Loki’s here and so close and so pleasantly chilly.

He takes your cloak from you and, with a flourish of his hand, it appears on the wall across the room, neatly hanging from a gold hook.

When you take a seat on the sofa, you groan as your bodice squeezes your ribs.

“Are you unwell, darling?” Loki asks, sitting alongside you.

You nod, “This dress is too tight.  I don’t know how Asgardian ladies do it everyday.”

A little smile pulls Loki’s lips up.  An emerald tunic appears in his hand, very similar to the one he’s currently wearing.  It’s dotted with shiny, metallic thread and embellished around the neckline.  “Here,” he holds it out, then tips his head towards the back wall of his cell.

Your brow furrows as you take the shirt.  There’s an arched opening there, but whatever is beyond it, can’t be seen.  Your brain can’t process it.  It’s as if the doorway, itself, is trying to convince you to look away. 

You glance back at Loki when you reach it.  He just nods when you hesitate.  

You step through the arch and can’t stifle a gasp.

It’s almost a replica of the bathroom in your chambers.  It’s an expansive room, lit with countless candles.  There’s a gilded, claw foot tub, an open shower with a waterfall nozzle, intricately carved marble sinks, dozens of colorful vials… it’s so eerily familiar.

In front of the illuminated vanity, you unlace your dress and finally take in a big breath as it falls around your ankles.  You drape it over a settee lined up against the wall and leave your heels there, too.  

You pull Loki’s tunic over your head and smooth it down, only to find that it barely covers your butt, even though the sleeves are far past your fingertips.

You roll your eyes at your own reflection.  The God of Mischief strikes again with his lovable, little pranks.

“My, my,” Loki says when you return to him, eyes sparkling, amusement written all over his face.

“Loki,” you put your hands on your hips.  “Isn’t this supposed to be longer?”

“I have no idea what you mean, darling.”  He conjures up your favorite, fuzzy green blanket and pats the place next to him on the sofa.

Loki spreads it over your lap after you sit down beside him and you rearrange the blanket so it covers him, too.  Then, you take his arm and lift it over your head, so you can cuddle closer.  He’s always so cold and you love the feeling of him absorbing the heat from you. 

After letting out a contented sigh, you ask, “How is that bathroom there?”

“It is a portal.”

“You mean… I was somewhere else, just now?”

Loki chuckles at your amazement.  “Yes, in an unoccupied room within the palace.”

“Can you secretly go into the palace through there?”

He laughs heartily.  “You have known me for mere weeks and are already plotting my escape?”

You grin, “Maybe.”

“Unfortunately, it is warded with powerful magic- my mother’s.  I am limited to only the washroom.”  The blanket warms up as Loki runs his palm up and down your arm.  “Did you enjoy the feast?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“It does not sound like you did.”

You sigh, “How’d you put up with Asmund for a thousand years?”

“That fool was there?” Loki asks, clearly disgusted.  He lets you curl up to him even more, encouraging you with his soft fingers brushing the side of your throat.

“He was all hitting on me with his terrible pick up lines.  He even wanted to dance.”

Loki stiffens.  “Did he now?”

You snort, “He also wanted to paint me.”

“He what?” He cradles your jaw with his long fingers to tip your face up.  He looks upon you with stormy, blue eyes.

Your Prince can't actually be jealous... can he?  With eagle eyes, you watch his every micro expression as you say, "Yeah.  I think he said something about nudes."

Loki sputters, "I- wh- nudes?"  When you grin, he hmphs and glares at you.  "You are teasing me."

Your fingertips trace those cute little lines that have formed between his brows.  “You’re adorable when you’re annoyed."  He lets you run your finger down the bridge of his nose, down over his lips.

All the while, he peers into your eyes like he’s trying to decode your soul.  You rest your hand on his chest and he asks, “Did you... dance with him?"

“Would you have been jealous if I had?”  For some reason, your heart rate shoots up in anticipation of his answer.  

“Absolutely not,” he sniffs.  “Gods do not get jealous.”

You try not to smile.  Somehow, you can see right through him.  Or maybe he’s purposefully not masking his emotions right now.  You do your best to sound disappointed, “Oh.”

He makes a little disgruntled sound.  “Did you, though?”

"'Course not,” you tell him.  “Thor saved me."

“Ah, well, yes,” Loki waves his hand around, awkward.  “Certainly, that is a more appropriate choice.  Though my brother is insufferable, he is not as aggravating as that boastful, loathsome, obnoxious-“ he cuts himself off, as if just remembering that you’re there.  He doesn’t seem very happy to see how smug you look after listening to his nervous rambling.

Loki always seems to be at odds with himself.  He’s everything at once.  He’s arrogant and insecure, untrusting but hopeful, close but distant.  From what you’ve heard, he has a sharp tongue and a hardened heart.  But you don’t know anything about that.  

You only know of his charms, his quiet allure, the way he smiles so sweetly for you, how carefully he holds you.  He’s supposed to have attempted to rule Earth.  He’s labeled a villain and imprisoned for his crimes.  He’s hated by your world and his own.

But no matter how hard you try, you can’t see that Loki.  When you’re with him, you’re not in the dungeons.  You’re not with a villain or the dark Prince.  You’re with someone whose very existence is magic… someone who makes you feel safe.

“You’re like no one else I’ve ever met,” you tell him and can’t keep the awe out of your voice.

“Obviously,” Loki says, full of attitude.  “There is no other man like me.”

“No,” you say, “there really isn’t.”

You can’t place the look he gives you then.  His jaw is clenched tight and his entire body is taut, like he’s expecting an argument.  But when you lay your cheek onto Loki’s chest, the tension leaves him.

“Tell me a story,” you say, already sinking into him, ready to fall asleep listening to his voice.

“Very well.”

Underneath the blanket, you search for his hand.  When you find it, you lace your fingers together.

“There once was a lonely boy,” Loki says, and abruptly, unexpectedly, something squeezes your heart.  It aches and aches and you don’t know why.  “He lived in the shadows, in the darkness, because that was where it was safe.”

Your throat constricts.  Your eyes well up with tears and, when you close your eyes, they fall.  You clutch Loki’s hand tighter, disoriented and entirely overwhelmed by the all-consuming agony.

“He longed to see the sun.  It would shine on everybody else but him.”

There’s not an ounce of sadness in his voice.

“He thought he had finally found it… his light, his purpose.  But it was merely a cruel trick.  It left him truly alone, as he was always meant to be.”

Loki’s tunic is saturated with your tears.  You hold your breath because you don’t want to make a sound, but your body trembles with silent sobs. 

“But then, out of nowhere,” Loki takes your hand, still tangled with his, and holds it up to his lips, “a beautiful, little Princess found him.  One who did not deceive.  One who brought with her something he never knew existed.”

A calm washes over you and lessens the pressure in your chest.  After struggling to swallow around the lump in your throat, you ask, “What happened next?”

“You will have to wait and see.”

You crack a smile, “I bet it ends happy.”

Loki laughs, low and quiet, but doesn’t say anything.  You suck in a sharp breath when a square of fabric appears in front of your face, floating in the air.  It’s soft-looking and gold and it folds itself into quarters before moving closer to dab beneath your eyes.

Exhaustion from the barrage of emotions quickly catches up to you.  With Loki’s hand still clutched in yours, and the sound of his pulse drumming in your ear, you sleep.

Chapter Text

As you sit in your cozy, quiet den, you sigh.  You’re almost to the end of your mystery sketchbook.  There are only a few pages left and the illustrations have recently gone from romantically dark to chaotic, lost, hopeless.

It makes your insides ache, seeing once delicate lines turn imprecise and muddy.

You decide to only look at one more sketch today.  

When you turn the page, you suck in a breath that echoes around the silent room.  Unlike all the others, it’s in color.

Whorls of blue cover the entire page in intricate patterns and curved lines.  You’ve never seen anything so vibrant and beautiful.  But the strokes are harsh and heavy… hesitant.

Reluctantly, you close the book, but not before tracing some of the lines with the pad of your finger.

+++

“When do you sleep?” You ask Loki, his face upside down.  He moves his book aside and looks at his lap, to where you’re resting your head.

“Gods do not need sleep.”

You blink up at him, “Why not?”

He snorts, “Perhaps it is merely another way to differentiate us from lowly mortals.”

“Hey!”  You smack the book out of his hand and his abdomen jumps as he chuckles.

“No need to be pouty, darling,” Loki smoothes his finger across your lower lip.  “I do sleep.  Though, not nearly as much as you do.”

You glare up at him.  “Why do I find you attractive, even when you’re being an ass?”

His mouth falls open in faux offense.  “An ass?”

You nod, searching for the hand that was just tracing your sensitive lips, missing the contact.  When you find it, you hold his palm to your cheek and let out a relieved breath.  “Loki?”

“Yes, darling.”

“Will you teach me how to read?”

He tilts his head, “You wish to learn Asgardian?”

You nod, “Do you think I could?”

“Of course, you can,” Loki tells you haughtily.  “You can do anything.”

Your face splits into a big smile that Loki peers down at in wonder.

Once his hand has been warmed by your cheek, you switch it out for his other one.  You hum, content, dreamily, “You’re so cold.”

Instantaneously, Loki’s hand disappears.  With a hardened expression, he regards you.  His nostrils flare, clearly troubled.  But more than anything, he looks alarmed by your bereft expression.  His eyes dart away as he says, “I can… warm them for you.”

“No,” you whine and grab his hand again, “I love how cold you are.”

Loki purses his lips.

“I’m always hot and you’re always cold.”  You grin, “It’s perfect.”

He narrows his eyes, “What a peculiar, little creature I have.”

You move his hand to press over your heart, watching his expressions change.  As his face softens, so does your heart.  “Loki?”

“Yes, darling.”

“I don’t want you to change anything about yourself.”

Creases form between Loki’s brows.

Giving him your best smile, you tell him, “I like you just as you are.”

+++

There are seven sprouts now, all in different stages of growth, in your magical rose bed.  A couple of them have multiple stems already that are full of leaves.  The Queen said that buds should be popping up soon.  But when you’d asked what color they would be, she’d dodged the question.

As you hold your watering can over the tallest one, the familiar sound of the Ladies echoes through the garden.  You know there’s still at least fifteen minutes left before you need to begin your duties this morning, so you’re anxious to find out what their presence might mean.

With Ala and Gerd leading, they all appear in the closest archway.  Thankfully, the Queen is right behind them, walking beside an unfamiliar man with wavy, silvery lilac hair.  It’s just long enough to touch his pale brows and you’re mesmerized by the bewitching color.

In contrast to the Allmother’s radiant, white dress, he’s wearing a fitted robe that hugs his wide shoulders and skims the floor.  It’s such a dark shade that it looks like a void, like it’s absorbed all the light around it.

The Queen smiles brightly when she catches your gaze.  After setting your watering can down, you walk over and catch Gerd glowering.

Your name sounds so lovely as the Queen says it, “This is Hemming, master sorcerer.  He is assisting me with the Seidr Festival.”  

He’s somewhere in age between Loki and his mom, but like all other Asgardians, you can’t tell how old he is.  

You smile and lock eyes with him, “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure is all mine, my Lady,” Hemming says, voice quiet, serene.  His deep brown eyes observe you, fascinated.  “The Allmother tells me you are tending to the augury roses.”

Suddenly beside you, Gerd snorts, “It is the least she could do after she killed them.”

“No need for acrimony,” Hemming says to her, his brow raised, “just because, even after a thousand years of fawning, the Prince favors another.”

You cannot, for the life of you, stop your mouth from dropping open.  The sour look on Gerd’s face tells you the jab was unexpected.  After a few seconds of shock, of looking at all the Ladies’ appalled expressions, you compose yourself.

“I’d love to show you the roses,” you say, redirecting the conversation, “though, they may not be very impressive yet.”

Hemming gives you a nod, “Please lead the way, my Lady.”

“The Allmother says there’ll be buds soon,” you tell him as you stop a few feet away, in front of your precious flowers.

“It seems so,” he says, leaning forward to lightly touch a jagged leaf growing on the tallest stem.

“Are they healthy?” 

Hemming straightens back up, his small smile dimpling one cheek.  “Very.”

He watches you grin, attentive to your every expression.  You narrow your eyes, “I don’t suppose you could tell me what color they’ll be.”

A barely audible breath huffs through his nose in a muted chuckle.  “The beauty of the augury rose is that one never knows until they blossom.”

“Really?”

“Indeed,” Hemming says.  “The rate of growth, their color, their size, and how long they will bloom will differ every time.”

“Wow,” you breathe out, “they really are magical roses, then?”

He cocks his head, eyes twinkling with curiosity, “I suppose so, yes.”  His eyes flit to your ice blossom earrings.  “If it is not an imposition, may I offer some advice, my Lady?”

“Of course, please do.”

“You will need patience,” Hemming says.  “At times, he will not make it easy for you.  Because he sees your true heart, yet cannot understand why it holds a place for him.”

Your mouth forms around words you can’t get out.  Before you even get a chance to process what he’s said, Hemming walks back over to the Queen.  As you look on, you’re left to wonder… What do they know that you don’t?

+++

With the intention of surprising Loki with dinner, you arrive a few hours earlier than usual.  As you approach Loki’s cell, your heart lights up at the sight of him reclining on his settee and reading.

It’s unusual, though, that he doesn’t notice you, even as you get closer.  The image of him glitches for a millisecond and it stops you in your tracks.  You just stand there, several feet away, trying to focus on what you’re seeing.  

But when it happens two more times, in rapid succession, you’re broken out of whatever trance you’d been in.

You rush up the few steps and burst through the invisible barrier.  Loki is lying on the settee, but he’s not reading.  He’s sleeping, very fitfully.  His body jerks and twitches.  He lets out a muted cry that has you dropping your basket and running over.

Sweat is beaded across Loki’s forehead.  His teeth are bared, clenched tightly together.  The veins on his neck stand out, strained.

You whisper, “Loki,” and grab his hand.  Instantly, he latches onto you.  He’s freezing cold, rigid.

“Do not,” he spits out.  His eyes are still shut tight in complete agony.  A heavy pressure builds in your chest seeing him like this.

“Loki, wake up” you hold his cheek and have to bite down on your lip to keep them from trembling.  “It’s me, Loki.  Please wake up.”

He’s a blur.  He knocks you onto the floor as he leaps out of his seat.  Then he disappears and is suddenly standing across the room, looking for all the world like nothing happened.  He’s not disheveled, his clothes aren’t askew.  There’s not a hair out of place.

“Loki?” You grab the skirt of your dress, so you don’t trip as you stand up.

He’s very still as he stares through you.  Cautiously, you approach him.  But in the corner of your eye, you see Loki standing near the bed.  The first Loki vanishes.  

You can’t look away from the empty space in front of you, disoriented and muddled.

Beside the bed, Loki looks troubled.  He’s pale.  His eyes are unfocused.

You take a step towards him and he doesn’t react, so you walk closer until your feet are touching his.  Out of nowhere, his hands come up to grab your face.  A breath gets caught in your throat, startled by his rough grip.

Covering his hands with your own, you quietly say, “It’s just me, Loki.”

His shoulders slump.  He holds you there for a few long moments, searches your eyes until he’s satisfied.

“Let’s get you to bed, okay?”

Without answering, Loki lets you go.

After folding back his silky emerald comforter, you take both of his hands and guide him.  He sits on the edge of the mattress when you press down on his shoulders.  You slide his slippers off.  He’s almost catatonic.  When you try to maneuver him onto the bed, he’s too heavy and you aren’t able to lift his legs.  

“Loki,” you whisper and crouch in front of him, “can you help me?”

Silently, he lifts a leg and swings it up and over.  His other legs follows shortly after.  Then he’s lying on his back, stiff, eyes still unfocused.

You bring the covers up to his jaw and brush a few loose curls away from his forehead.  There’s a pang in the pit of your stomach. 

As you loosen the ribbons on your dress, your eyes don’t stray from him.  Worry fills your heart thinking about what must have happened for him to react in such a way.

After walking around the bed, you carefully crawl onto the comforter to lay your head down on the pillow next to Loki’s.  He doesn’t even blink, only stares up at the ceiling.  

You don’t know what’s going on in his mind, but you’ve seen Steve do this a few times.  Something, a thought or a dream or a memory, would trigger him and he‘d just stop.  You’ve had to leave more than a few parties early to take him back to the Tower.

And Steve would always tell you how much it helps to know that he isn’t alone… that when you sit with him, read to him, sing to him… it makes him feel like he’s there, like he hasn’t lost his mind.

So you don’t need to search for something to say.  And you don’t need Loki to tell you anything.  All you need to do is stay.

+++

Icy fingers draw intricate patterns on your cheek.  Your eyes flutter open and you see your hand atop Loki’s, the embroidered neckline of his tunic.  Sometime during the night, you must have drifted over, lured by Loki’s scent, because your head is pillowed onto his chest.

He smells like ice, like frost-kissed leaves in the Winter that haven’t been touched by the sun in months.

The fuzzy, green blanket is tucked tightly around you.  Unlike how it usually is, there are gauzy black curtains hanging from the bed’s posts to obscure anything beyond.

You prop yourself up onto your elbow, one hand still on top of Loki’s.  “Morning,” you say, trying to gauge how he’s feeling.

He blinks a few times.  “You are still here.”

“Oh,” your mouth falls open as you scramble to sit up.  

“No, darling, wait-“ Loki sits up, too.  “I mean, after last night, I thought…”

“I’m still confused about last night,” you confess, “and if you want me to leave, don’t feel bad about telling me to go.  But I want to be here with you, okay?”

“O- okay.”  He takes in a breath, “I wish for you to stay.”

You give Loki a sleepy grin, “Good.  How long do I have left before Lady duties?”

“Approximately four hours.”

You hum in contentment, “More cuddling.”

“I do not cuddle,” he insists, even though you woke up practically on top of him, and even now as he lies back down and takes you with him.

You rub your cheek into his tunic, “I bet Asmund loves cuddling.”

Loki makes an indignant sound, “You will not speak of Asmund in my bed.”

Giggling, you throw an arm across Loki’s chest.  “Jealous god.”

Vibrations reverberate through his chest as he chuckles.  Naturally, his fingers begin combing through your hair.  “How audacious of you to entice a Prince to bed.”

You snort, “You should know that I always get what I want.”

There’s a smile in his tone when he says, “Little brat.”

The steady beat of Loki’s heart slowly lulls you back to sleep.  “Loki?”

He twirls your hair around his finger, “Yes, darling.”

“I’m here for you.”

Loki doesn’t reply, but his thumb brushes your cheek for a second before he tangles his fingers in your hair again.

Just as you’re drifting off, as sleep is about to take you, he says, “I know.”

Chapter Text

The Queen asked you to pick up her flowers from Madame Bayla this morning while she's in a meeting with ambassadors from Vanaheim.  It's your first time in the neighboring marketplace without Thor and it seems he was paramount in deterring most of these nasty looks.  As you walk across the cobbled walkway alone, you can feel the absolute hatred palpable in the air.

You hurry into the florist's shop, anticipating a rude greeting.  But the elderly lady sitting behind a rounded wooden counter gives you a small smile when you cross the threshold.

"Hello,” you say cautiously.  “Madame Bayla?"

"Yes, my Lady," she says, standing up and straightening her ruffled lavender dress, "I have everything ready for the Allmother."

"Thank you very much," you tell her.  "My favorite part of the Allmother's chambers are your flowers."

She gives you a quiet chuckle, "That brings me joy, my Lady."

You leave the shop with a smile, your arms full with four wildly colorful bouquets.  Maybe the Queen will even let you arrange them.

The entire walk to the palace, the sweet scents from the flowers surround you, protecting you from cruel stares.

The long corridor that leads to the Queen's chambers is weirdly empty.  There aren't any einherjar standing guard between the columns as they usually are.  For some reason, it puts you on edge.

The sound of scurrying makes you jump back and your grasp of the bouquets slackens, so you almost drop them.  From the atrium, a large, white rabbit hops across the marble floor.  It stops a few feet in front of you and sits back on its hind legs, wanting attention.

"Hey, little guy," you say, crouching down and gathering all your flowers in one arm.  Its tiny, pink nose twitches and it makes you giggle.

"Aren't you cute."  You reach down to tickle its cheeks, but as soon as your fingers come in contact with it, a cloud of white dust puffs into your face.  

It gets caught in your throat and won't pass through.  The bouquets tumble to the floor as you land hard onto your knees.  Pain rings through your entire body, but it’s just a faint feeling compared to the panic you feel from your throat closing up.  You can't get a breath around the blockage.

Your throat clicks.  No sound comes out.  Your vision darkens around the edges.  The floor is cold on your cheek when you collapse onto your side, hands desperately clawing at your neck.

As your eyes droop shut, you hear the clinking of armor.  The last thing you see are golden horns.

+++

Your mouth is incredibly dry and your tongue sticks to the roof of your mouth.  A metallic taste lingers.

Thor's voice drifts into your mind.  He's calling your name, over and over again.

The room is dim when you open your eyes.  It's night time outside the arched window and candles flicker near the small bed you're lying on.

Thor is standing near you, his mom by his side.  Along the walls are shelves of colorful vials and plants, their vines and stems growing wild.

"My dear child," the Queen says, her brow furrowed.  "How do you feel?"

"I'm okay," you say.  Your throat feels strange, but there's no pain.

Thor pounds his fists onto the nightstand and it makes you jump. "I will find whoever did this to you."

You blink, trying to relieve the dryness in your eyes, "What happened?"

His eyes are dark, downturned, when he looks at you.  "You have been poisoned, little one."

Your gut clenches, “What?”

The Queen says quietly, "If Brandt had not found you..."

"Brandt?" You ask.  He must have been the person you'd seen just before blacking out.  You're still confused.  You’re completely numb.

Just then, an einherjar enters the room, his horned helmet nearly hitting the top of the door's opening.  He reminds you a lot of Thor, tall with a golden tan, dark blond hair peeking out of his helmet.

"My Lady," he says, bright eyes shining in the candelight, "you have awoken."

"Brandt," you say, struggling to sit up.  Thor helps you with gentle hands.  "Thank you, I-" you pause, the sinking feeling deepening in your stomach, "you saved me."

"It is my duty," he nods.  "I will be outside, if you have need of me."

He turns around, the sword hanging at his hip clanking against his armor as he walks out.

"I'm scared," you say, picking at the quilted comforter that's draped across your lap.

Thor sits on the edge of the bed.  "I will keep you safe," he says.  "I swear it."

You try your best to smile, “Thanks, Thor.”

He pats you on the head affectionately.  “My brother has been thoroughly upset.”

You suck in a breath, “Loki.  What time is it?  I have to go to see him.”

The Allmother leans over you and presses her hand to your cheek, "Do not worry, my dear.  I have made sure he is seen to, the last few days."

Your throat constricts.  "The last few days?"

"Yes," she says, "you have been asleep for three nights."

"Oh..." the roiling in your stomach gets stronger.  "I almost died, didn’t I?"

The Queen just smiles, "You are well now."

+++

It's another few days before you're discharged from the medic wing and able to go back to your room.  The sounds behind the snake door seem more active than usual.  The claterring of metal objects and hissing seems like it's following you, even when you're in the bedroom, as if your absence has angered it.

The Allmother has taken you off Lady-in-waiting and Loki duty for another week, so you have no excuse to leave your chambers.  What's worse, there are two einherjar standing guard in front of your door since your assassination attempt.

Those intermittent sounds, though, are freaking you out.  It’s usually just quiet buzzing, occasional rattling and whispering, but right now it sounds like it’s about to burst out of the room.  

They think you’re the safest in here, but they don’t know about these noises, they don’t know how much it petrifies you, how the sounds echo in your skull.  

With your invisibility cloak draped over your arm and a small basket, you ask one of the einherjar to escort you to the kitchens.  After grabbing some plums, you return to your rooms and make sure your guards see you walk back in.  You quickly put on your cloak and slip out between them just as the doors close.

Your pulse is drumming out of your chest.  You can finally let out a breath as you walk down the desolate corridors.

It's early in the day, the sun shining beautifully, rays of light peeking through the atriums, but you can’t enjoy it.  You only want to run to Loki.

Your days are incomplete without him.

With your little basket of plums, you quietly walk to the end of the dungeon, where Loki is lying on his chaise.  He's just staring at the ceiling, no book in sight, his curled black hair falling off the edge of a cushion.  He hasn’t even bothered with an illusion.

He jumps into a sitting position when he feels you enter his cell, your name a shocked exclamation on his lips.

"Hi, Loki," you set the basket on the coffee table.  "I didn't mean to scare you."

He doesn't say anything, just stares at you.  After a long, silent moment, he stands up and suddenly appears before you.  He moves so fast, sometimes, your brain can't process it.

Loki presses close to you, his stormy blue eyes never leaving yours.  

You gasp when one of his hands grazes your stomach, then slides around your waist to rest on your back.  His other arm cradles your skull and presses your cheek to his chest.

All at once, your throat tightens up, your eyes blur with tears.  It’s like, just now, you're realizing what happened to you.  How you would've died if Brandt hadn’t found you… or if the Queen, herself, hadn’t healed you so quickly. 

The way you feel is very sudden.  It’s an awakening.  You only feel safe, here, with Loki.  You’ve been tense, on alert, since the attack, maybe even since you landed on Asgard.  But you don’t have to be afraid when you’re together.

Loki's palm gently runs up and down your spine, comforting you like he can sense your unease and all your fears.

His cool fingers caress your cheek and he tilts your face back.  He asks, voice quieter than usual, "How are you feeling, darling?"

"Fine," you tell him. 

Loki wipes your tears with his thumb, "You are lying."

Seeing you nod makes his lips purse.

“Come, my darling.”  Loki guides you across the room, to his bed.  He sits you on the edge of the mattress and crouches down, so he’s level with you.

Absentmindedly, you reach for his hand and he lets you take it and hold it above your heart.

"Does mother know you are here?"

"No," you tell him, "I snuck out."

Tenderly, he grabs your chin so he can look into your eyes.  "It is not safe for you to be on your own."

Your fingertips touch his wrist.  "I wanted to be with you."

His pupils quake before he looks away.  Sleep washes over you, now that you've let the built-up tension leave you.  Loki picks up on it.  Softly, he pulls down your cloak, then takes off your heels.  With his magic, Loki’s emerald comforter peels back.

In an instant, your constricting gown is replaced with something light and soft.  It’s one of Loki’s tunics, well-worn and cozy.

Reluctantly, you let Loki’s hand slip away so you can lie down on your side, but your eyes never leave him.  He brings the covers over your shoulder.

It's only cold for a moment, before Loki waves his hand over the bed and it warms up.  He bends down to brush your hair back and lingers for a moment.

In the wonderful silence, you begin to doze off.  But before you do, you tell Loki, "I missed you."

+++

Loud whispers wake you up.  

"What are you not telling me, mother?" Loki asks.  He and his mom are on the other side of the room, facing each other by the coffee table, their profiles visible to you.

You've never seen either of them so animated.  Their usually neutral expressions are full of emotion.  Loki looks frustrated, his brow furrowed and lips downturned and the Queen looks exasperated.

"You placed her there.  Why?"  Loki asks, but his mom doesn't answer.  "Why there?"

Amidst her silence, Loki adds, “It frightens her.”

In the next second, the Allmother makes eye contact with you, halting your next breath.  Loki follows her gaze to you, his neutral mask falling back into place.

You sit up quickly, eyes darting around the room nervously.  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you.  But I was scared and I just wanted to see Loki.”

“I am glad you are safe,” she says, walking over to the bed and sitting down.  “Brandt came to check on you, since you did not leave for dinner.  He was terribly concerned when there was no answer at your door.”

Guilt eats you up.  When you snuck out, you didn’t think anyone would care enough about you to worry.

Loki appears next to the bed, his arms crossed over his chest.  “Brandt?”

You tell him, “Yeah, he’s the one who found me.  He saved me.”

“I will tell him you are safe,” the Queen says.  “But, my child, you must eat something.”

After you agree, she gives you a small smile and leaves.  Loki takes her seat on the bed.

“I know you did not wish to accept,” he says, “but I must insist now.”

You’re confused until that huge emerald necklace materializes in his hand.  

You chuckle and Loki’s brows pinch together.

“Oh, I wanted to accept it,” you tell him with a smile.  “I just didn’t think it should be wasted on me.”

“Darling, nothing is wasted on you.”

That makes you laugh, but it hurts your scratchy throat.  “Stop trying to charm me.”

“Is it working?  Will you accept?”

“You won’t miss it?”

Loki smiles, a cat-like thing that stretches across his entire face.  “What is there to miss?  I will be seeing it everyday, will I not?”  He unclasps its delicate, gold chain and as soon as you nod, he leans into you.  The pendant is cold between your collarbones.  You lift your hair and Loki blindly fastens it behind your neck.  

There’s a buzzing in your veins, just beneath your skin that makes you gasp.  It makes every muscle in your body clench and seize.  “Is there magic in here?”  The foreign feeling fades, absorbs into you.

Loki nods, “My magic.”

“Thank you.  I’ll take good care of it for you.”

“You make it sound like you will be returning it to me,” he says with a chuckle.  “It belongs to you now.”

Your mouth opens in panic, but he holds a hand up to stop you.

“Too late.”

You roll your eyes but inside, your heart is pounding, trying to leap out of your chest.  Every logical part of you knows he’s only given it to you to keep you safe.  But the fact that you now wear something that belongs to Loki, that possesses his power, makes you yearn for something more, something that’s far out of reach.  There’s a swarm of emotions inside you and you can’t place any of them.  You want to shoo them away but instead, they settle deep into your chest.

If Loki’s right, though, this necklace will keep you safe and maybe even repel those scary sounds that haunt you in your room.  Maybe he can even teach you some things.  A little magic, in addition Sif’s straining sessions, will make you stronger.  It might even be enough to defend yourself from all these unexpected threats that seem to follow you.

“Loki?”

“Yes, darling.”

“Can anyone have magic?  Or do you have to be born with it?”

He thinks for a second before saying, “It is an innate skill.”

“Oh,” you deflate, disappointed. 

“But,” he adds quickly, “many times, it is dormant amongst mortals, never to be awoken.”

“How do I know if I have any?”

Loki’s fingers slowly inch across yours.  “I can check.”  He smirks, “I am a master sorcerer, after all.”

He takes your hand between both of his, sending a chill through you.  His eyes slip shut as a green energy swirls around where you’re touching.  It’s thin tendrils wrap around both of your wrists.  They tighten before disappearing into you with a cold rush.

“Well,” he says, his eyes twinkling beautifully, “you are full of surprises, are you not?”

Your eyes widen, “Huh?”

“There is a small amount of magic in you.”  Loki chuckles, watching your mouth fall open.  “With a bit of practice, you may see it grow.”

“Really?”  Your pulse kicks up with anticipation as you lean forward, crowding into Loki’s space.  “Will you teach me?”

“Very well,” he tells you.  “But it will have to be our secret.”

You grin, “I’m good at keeping secrets.”

+++

You’re lying on the floor, starfishing, chest heaving from the rigorous, borderline torture that Sif just put you through.  Fortunately, there’s a mural on the ceiling to entertain you.

The marble floor of the training room is blissfully cold.

In the painting, a big wolf is leaping over the golden castle, its shaggy black hair blowing back with the wind.  Behind it, the celestial sky swirls in a rainbow of color like a nebula. 

Sif pops her head into your line of sight.  “You are improving,” she says, sheathing her sword.

“Am I, though?”

“Indeed,” she says, “you collapsed much quicker last week.”

You groan as you roll over, trying to cool your other side.  Outside the open arched windows, you see the sun peaking over the Eastern mountains, about to bathe the entire realm in golden light.

You’re suddenly reminded of your flowers.  They need watering before your first day back on the job.  Yesterday, on one stem, you’d seen a tiny, pointed bulb.

When Sif sees you getting up in a hurry, she can’t hide her surprise.  “And what has got you in such a rush?”

“I have to water my roses,” you tell her.  “They’re very important and magical and they’re about to bud.”

“Magical?”  Sif asks, then her eyes widen, “The augury roses?  I thought you- they were- you mean, they have grown?”

“Yeah,” you perk up, “do you know anything about them?”

“Well,” she eyes you, hesitant, “yes.”  But she doesn’t elaborate.

“I’m all ears, Sif.”

“Very well… they are the Allmother’s most favored flowers.”

You gesture with your hands for her to keep going, but she looks uncomfortable.  “Go on.”

“It is said that she planted them on the eve of her wedding.”

When she stops again, you give her a look.

“It was a thousand years before they began to grow,” Sif reluctantly admits.  “My mother told me that they bloomed the morning of-“ she cuts herself off to hold your gaze, “the Prince’s birth.  And they bloomed for a thousand years until…”

“Oh, my god,” your gut clenches.  “I killed two thousand-year-old roses?”

“It was not intentional,” Sif says, looking guilty for being the one to break the news to you.  

You groan, “Oh, my god.”  If there’s a hole somewhere, you’d like to crawl into it right now.  As if it’s not enough that the Queen clothed you, gave you a place to live, and saved you from certain death… you’re finding out now that you’re the reason she can never see her coveted roses again.

“The Allmother understands, little one.”

“Well,” you shake your head as you walk over to one of the windows and lean out, “if I were her, I wouldn’t forgive me.”

“Do not say that,” Sif says.  “They grow once again, thanks to you.”

You turn around, “But Hemming said they won’t grow the same.”

She smiles and puts a hand on your shoulder, “Yes, they may be even better.”

Chapter Text

“It’s not working.”  You’re probably whining, but you can’t help it.  You dramatically fall back onto the sofa, huffing at the white ceiling.  All you have to do is bring light to a crystal sphere.  It’s your first and most basic task and you can’t even begin to comprehend how to do it.  Loki’s very patient, trying his best to help you understand and you’re starting to feel bad.

You look over and see him studying you from his seat beside you.

“I suck, Loki.”

“Now, little Princess, you did not expect to accomplish anything overnight, did you?”

“Overnight?” You ask, sitting back up.  “I’ve been trying to light that thing for three weeks.”

“Here,” he says, holding out his hand.  “I will assist you.  Think of something that excites you, something that you enjoy.”

You touch your palm to Loki’s and close your eyes.  What excites you?  You don’t even know anymore.  It's definitely your family, your friends, Tony and his stupid sci-fi inventions... but when you think about them now, it just makes you sad.  

And with two guards following you all day and your recent almost death, you haven’t had the chance to do anything very exciting here.  You haven’t even had the chance to visit Heimdall lately.

But you do still have one thing that can’t be taken from you.  

Long days full of fake smiles and dealing with Ala and Gerd’s annoying, passive-aggressive remarks.  Hateful eyes following your every step through the palace.  Grueling training with Sif so you have a fighting chance at survival here.  

What gets you through it all is this.  Here.  Now.

Maybe it isn’t safe to think about it this close to Loki.  But it’s not like he can read your mind.  Right? 

So you think about your favorite Prince.  All of his micro expressions.  How his blue eyes sparkle when he smiles.  How gorgeous he looks when he laughs.  How cool his hands are when he touches you, like he is now.  The way his fingers delicately grip his ink pen when he writes easy words for you in Asgardian.  How they radiate with power as potent green energy tangles around them when he's casting spells.

“Yes,” Loki says, breaking through your thoughts.  “Keep going.”

You picture Loki, wielding his magic, standing in front of you.  A deep emerald glow would be reflected in his eyes.  His face, carved perfectly from marble, would fall in harsh shadow, his cheekbones sharp and his black hair severe.  And you’d have never seen anyone so beautiful.  He’d hold your hands and awaken your sleeping magic.  Your energy would be just like his, the color of the gemstone pendant that is always with you.

An icy breath gets sucked into your lungs when you open your eyes.  You bring both of your hands in front of your eyes, not believing the green energy floating around them.  You can actually feel it, like a million little stings to your flesh.

“Now,” Loki says, his tone elevated, “you must command it.”

In your mind, you push the energy into the crystal ball.  The tiny pricks to your skin seem to coalesce.  They all gather at the tips of your fingers and shoot out and it feels like a big splinter is being ripped out.  You yelp as you watch your magic, your magic, spark a glowing green flame inside the orb.  

Forgetting about the pain, you turn to Loki and collapse into him, wrapping your arms around his neck, “Did you see that?”

“I knew you could do it,” he quietly says into the side of your throat.  “I knew it.”

When you pull back, Loki flashes his teeth.  He dazzles you, mesmerizes you in the most wonderful way.  “You have the most beautiful smile,” you tell him and he ducks away from your gaze, shy like he never is.  Leaning forward, your cheek lands on Loki’s shoulder.  You watch your green orb, still lit up and fueled by your magic.  And you feel something you’ve never felt before.  

It’s a spark that ignites every nerve.  It’s not the tingling flutters you get in your stomach when you’re with someone you like.  It’s something deeper, something much more.  In the back of your mind, you know you should be alarmed.  You’d usually be guarding your heart, wary of opening it up to anyone so quickly.  Especially if it’s someone like Loki.  He’s a Prince, a God, someone who’ll live for thousands of years after you die.

But for once, you want to live in the moment without worrying about what might happen.

“Loki?” You ask, still in a trance, watching the orb.

“Yes, darling.”

Suddenly, your throat tightens, your brain catching up with what you’re planning on saying. 

You twist your body, one leg bent between the two of you, so you can see him.  He has an odd expression on his face.

“You make me really happy,” you tell Loki, unable to keep the smile off your face. 

He cocks his head.  His brows tick up.  The reaction makes you immediately regret your words.  But you feel Loki’s fingers brush up the side of your throat, tickling your skin there.  “You mean that,” he says, his touch leaving a trail of tingles.

“Of course I mean it.”  You grin, “Why?  Don’t I make you happy, too?”

He leans forward and presses his forehead to yours, “Yes, my darling, you do.”

+++

There are four buds, now, on your two oldest bushels.  All seven have grown almost as tall as you, each one full of beautiful, bright green leaves.  Your very first bud has gotten bigger and you thought it would’ve blossomed by now, but it’s still closed and has grown to the size of a softball.

Hemming told you that they’re healthy and will “bloom at exactly the right time.”  So all you can do is wait.

You hear your name echoing off every wall in the garden.  Automatically, your hand shoots out to grab your cloak because you’re wearing your cutoffs and tee shirt.

But it’s only Thor.  His voice gets louder.

You look around and don’t see him.  “Over here, Thor!”

A second later, he turns the corner, his billowy tunic catching the breeze.  He looks excited to tell you something, but gets distracted by your roses. 

“When did this happen?” Thor exclaims, walking around the flower bed, mouth agape.  “You tended to these, little one?” He asks, circling around again.  He lifts the biggest rosebud with his fingers, “My, my.”

But your heart aches as you watch him.  The guilt will probably never go away.  You’ve killed the roses that celebrated his birth.

Thor returns to you, head tilted to one side.  “What troubles you, little one?”

Instead of answering, you shuffle closer and wrap your arms around him.  Thor squeezes you tight.  “They won’t be the same,” you tell him.  “They lived as long as you have, and now…”

“Oh,” he coos, “you must not dwell on such things.  Besides, look at them.  They are even grander than before.”

“They are?”

“Yes,” Thor says, petting your hair, “they were very small.”

You lean back, a little hope building in your heart.  “When I replanted them, the petals were faded.  What color were they?”

He pinches your chin between his fingers, then glances lower.  “Well,” Thor chuckles, eyes filled with mirth, “coincidentally, they were the same color as your beautiful necklace.”

Your hand goes to cover it.

“Is it new?” He asks, arrogant and all-knowing.  “I wonder where it came from.”

“Stop it,” you say, smacking him in the chest as he laughs.  “They were green?” You ask, swiftly changing the subject.  “I thought you were more of a red person.”

“I am,” he says, confused, until realization dawns on him.  “The augury roses bloomed a year after I was born.  The year of Loki’s birth.”

Your heart drops into your stomach.  You killed roses that bloomed for Loki.  The Queen sees these everyday and must be reminded of her green roses, of her imprisoned son.

Thor pats your back, trying to soothe you, “Cheer up, little one.”

“I can’t.  Sif told me those roses were two thousand years old.”

“What would make you feel better?” He softly brushes your cheek with his thumb.

“Nothing,” you pout, poking his flowing shirt.  “Unless you have puppies or something hiding in there somewhere.”

“Pups?”  He pauses before saying, “Asgardians do not keep domesticated pets, but we do have horses.  Would that interest you, little one?”

“Do I get to braid their hair?”

“Indeed,” he says, grinning.  “You may even pick one for yourself.”

You perk up, “Really?”

“If,” Thor emphasizes, “you take proper riding lessons.”

“Okay,” you can’t hide your grin.  “I guess that’ll make me feel better.  But, you know, just a little bit.”

He has a familiar mischievous glint in his eye, though, that makes you question what kind of deal you’ve just made.

“Wait,” you say in a panic, “what was that look?”

Thor blinks innocently, “What look, little one?”

“That one,” you point at his face.  “The one you and your mom and Loki all have.”

“I know not of what you speak.”

You sputter, but before you have the chance to say anything, Thor grabs your cloak and herds you across the gardens.

“Mother and I seek your opinion on the feast menu,” he says, his arm heavy around your shoulders.  “On the way,” he adds, even more cheerful than usual, “you shall tell me about this necklace of yours.”

+++

The seidr festival is in full swing.  You’ve been in a constant state of awe since stepping foot into the grand ballroom.  Thousands of candles float high up against the walls, illuminating the enormous space in beautiful golden light.

The Queen had a dress made for you, in the exact color of the bright green leaves that grow on your roses bushes.  She caught you a few minutes before the start of dinner, to place a twisted, gold stick through your braids.  The two of you have taken extra care of your appearance tonight.  Because you have a date.

Volstagg’s oldest son, who very adorably asked to escort you to the festival, stands next to you, his smaller hand in yours and the cutest, little smile on his face.  After introducing himself to you as Vali, future warrior of Asgard at your first meeting, you could tell he was smitten.

Vali’s only five, but the top of his head is well past your waist already.  His bright, red hair is neatly braided back and he’s wearing the same leather vest and pants as his dad.

He’s the most precious thing, making sure your glass is always full and that your plate is piled up with delicious treats.

But Vali is five, so after about an hour of doting on you and enjoying your meal together, he falls asleep in your lap.  He’s a picture perfect angel, snoozing quietly with his legs dangling over your thighs and his head on your shoulder.

He doesn’t even stir when his dad plucks him from you.  “Thank you, little one,” Volstagg says, patting you on the head.  “He has been talking about you for weeks.”

“It was my pleasure,” you beam.  “He was such a little gentleman.  Best date ever.”

Volstagg walks away with a great, big grin and leaves you with one, too.

“Wait until you see this,” Thor tells you, from across the table.

For dessert, floating chocolate spheres, the size of your head, appear in front of you.  Thor pokes his with a fork and it explodes, but the thin chocolate shards stay suspended in mid air.  In the center, surrounded by swirls of golden energy, is a cluster of bright, colorful crystals.

Fascinated, you watch as he plucks one and tosses it into his mouth.  He moans around his mouthful and it makes anticipation grow within you to find out what’s in yours.

Since you wanted to share yours with Loki, you’d brought it back to your room to stuff into your basket.

Loki is standing by the barrier when you get to his cell, peering out, a small smile on his face.

He’s been waiting for you.

As soon as you’re inside, you drop the basket and launch yourself into Loki’s arms.

“Did you enjoy the feast?” He asks, nosing into the side of your throat.

“Mmhmm,” you breathe out, so very content.

Loki envelopes you completely as he asks, “And your tiny escort?”

“So adorable,” you tell him.  “He said he wants to marry me when he’s older.”

Your Prince pulls back from you, eyes filled with merriment.  “It seems the child has good taste.”

You chuckle and bring a hand up to his face to trace the pad of your finger just below his curved lower lip.  “I saved dessert, so we could share it.”

Loki raises a brow, “Oh?”

“Yeah, look,” you say, clapping your hands together and spinning around.  You crouch down to open the basket and your chocolate sphere floats up.

Loki chuckles, “Is my little Princess awestruck by chocolate?”

Your hands find your hips, “Yes.  Thor poked his and it had sparkly candy thingies inside.”

The laugh that leaves Loki’s lips is so sweet-sounding and full.  “Leave it to Thor to want candy most of all.”  

“Huh?”

“Nothing, darling,” he says as a small, ornate dagger appears in his hand.  “Let us see what hides in yours.”

Excitedly, you take the dagger and jam it through the chocolate’s center.  It cracks open.  Instead of joy, though, your heart sinks.

It’s empty.  There’s no golden magic in the center for you, no expected glittery prize. 

But when you look at Loki, laughter tumbles from your lips.  He’s glaring at the glowing energy circling around his head like a swarm of bees.  He swats at it, but it doesn’t disappear, not until you shoo it away.

You stand on tip toes and brace your hands on Loki’s chest.  “Guess all I wanted was you.”

Chapter Text

You’re crossing your arms beneath your chest, a frown on your face and eyes narrowed on Thor.  He’s nibbling on his lip, trying his best not to laugh as he stands in the parent viewing area of the practice field.  You’re the only adult learning how to ride a horse and while Thor is being fawned over by the moms of the other children, you’re sitting on a practice dummy that’s formed with hay and wearing a clunky helmet.  The worst thing is... you can’t get on or off the fake horse without Thor lifting you like a toddler.

“Now, let us all get into position,” the instructor says cheerfully.  She’s a middle-aged lady with bright red hair, who’s been paying you extra attention.

You grab the reigns and lift your butt to hover over the saddle before leaning forward.

“Very good,” the instructor tells you, clapping her hands together with a big smile.  You return it because you can’t figure out whether it’s better being treated like a baby or being hated.

But then Thor shouts, “Yes, very good, my Lady!”  And you want to shield your face from all the moms and possibly slither onto the floor and melt into it.  

When the lesson is over, Thor approaches you and holds out his arms.  

“I am so getting you back for this, my Prince.”

He gives you a haughty chuckle, “You will not.”

“And why not?”

“Because,” he says, reaching for you, “if you do, our deal is off.”

You make an indignant sound.  “That’s not fair.”  He’d promised that you could pick out any available horse in the stables if you finish all ten lessons.  Today was only the first and if it’s any indication, he’s going to be insufferable for the remaining nine.

“Come on,” he says, effortlessly lifting you up by the waist and setting your feet on the ground.  “We shall go see the horses.”

“Fine.”

+++

The stables are enormous- all mahogany paneling and wide stalls.  Torches are lit up between each one, now that the sun has begun to set.  When a horse peaks its head out, you nearly stumble backwards.  You understand why the dummy horse was so tall.  Asgardian horses are the size of Clydesdales, yet still sleek and defined.  They’re graceful, beautiful, absolutely fantastic.

Thor hands you two apples before introducing you to his own horse.  It has a shiny, golden coat and has twisted buns tied all the way down its mane.  

“This is Gosta,” Thor says, running his hand across his horse’s cheek before giving him an apple.  Every strand of Gosta’s fur looks like it’s been treated with seidr as it sparkles under the firelight.  “Father gifted him to me on my sixteenth name day.”

You grin, watching Thor animatedly tell you about how loyal and strong his horse is, especially in battle.  You can only imagine what they’d be like together, both clad in silver armor and charging across a chaotic field.  

And the two of them will live their lives together, retire together… you’re a little jealous that you can never have that.

Across from Gosta, you look inside another stall and see a black horse, its face sharp and handsome, studying you very carefully.  He takes silent steps towards you and your mouth drops open when he emerges out of the shadows.  He has eight legs.

“Ah,” Thor says, suddenly right next to you, “I see you have found Sleipnir, father’s horse.”

You hold an apple out, luring him closer to you.  He’s shy but curious.  Sleipnir’s ears flick several times like he’s using his senses to read you.  When he’s almost all the way to the stall door, he cocks his head, intrigued by your presence.

“He’s so cute,” you tell Thor as Sleipnir sniffs the apple in your palm.  After nudging your hand a couple of times, he bites down on the apple and brings it back to his hay pile.  “How did he get so many legs?”

“It is unknown ,” Thor says.  “Loki procured him and refuses to tell me anything.”  He’s smiling as he says this like it’s an inside joke between brothers.  “I will let you explore, then,” he says.  “But if you choose one, do not go inside, please call for me.”

“Okay,” you grin, going in for a hug, “thanks, Thor.”

He pats you on the head, “You are most welcome, little one.”

Thor had said that all the horses in the front belong to someone, while the rest are circulated and ridden when needed.  As you walk deeper into the stables, you can feel the low buzz of magic woven in between every wooden slat.  The stalls seem never-ending, but when you look behind you, to Thor, it seems like he’s right there.  It takes a while for your mind to make sense of it.

Every horse is equally adorable, peaking out at you with wonder, but none of them call to you.  You’ve decided to just ask Thor which one is least likely to throw you off its back, when there’s only one stall left.

At the very end, an ornate wall comes into view.  There are gilded frames with beautiful scenes carved into every inch.  There’s a wolf jumping across several panels and you follow it around the corner.  A pure white horse peeks over its half door, curiously blinking its glossy, brown eyes.

As you take in a breath, a phantom breath blows through you.  It’s chilly and shocking.  It rouses your energy.

He’s the one.  You’re suddenly giddy and excitedly call out to him as you approach.  

When you show him the apple, his eyes light up.  His ears lie flat as he bumps his pale pink muzzle into your hand and sniffs all over.  His long, white mane flows wildly over his face and down his back.  Done with your hand, he lunges forward and noses your throat, making you giggle.  He snorts, the warm air tickling you and making you laugh even louder.

“Stop,” you get out, between breaths.

“No!” Thor shouts, suddenly right behind you.

You clutch onto your horse’s neck, startled by the sudden yelling.  “What is it?  What’s wrong?”

“Stay away from Havardr,” he tells you, brows pinched.  “He is dangerous.”

When you pull back, your horse’s eyes seem to glisten, sad and lonely.  You scratch him behind the ears as you turn to Thor, “What are you talking about?  He’s a big sweetie.”

When you offer Havardr the apple again, he tilts his head, left and right, before taking it into his mouth.

“You’re such a good boy, Havardr,” you tell him and his ears flick wildly.  Bright white lashes create shadows over his eyes as he intently studies you.  His gaze never leaves you while he delicately chomps on his snack.

“By the Norns,” Thor breathes out.  Done with the apple, Havardr rubs his face on your shoulder, but suddenly begins growling when Thor takes another step.

“It’s okay,” you say, “it’s just Thor.  He won’t hurt you.”

Havardr snorts and snaps his teeth.  You pull back to comfort him and he lets you smooth your palms across both sides of his face.  He lets out a breath and leans into your touch, gently like he knows you wouldn’t be able to handle his full strength.

“Look at your cute, little headband,” you say, spotting mini, gold horns on top of his headstall.  He seems mesmerized by your voice, the unfamiliar language you’re speaking.  He surges forward and softly presses his muzzle to your cheek.

You turn around, beaming, “I’ve picked.”

Thor scrunches up his nose, “I do not think that is a wise choice.”

“Why not?”

“He is unpredictable and does not like people.”  Thor watches as Havardr nuzzles into your throat again, his nostrils puffing out air.  “Well, usually.”

“He just wants a friend.”

Thor hesitates before saying, “He belongs to Loki.”

You hum, “I’ll ask Loki, then, if I can take care of Havardr for him.”

“You are fond of my brother,” Thor says, a smile tugging at his lips.

“I am,” you say and watch pure joy etch onto his face.  “Don’t tell him, though.  His head’s big enough as it is.”

He barks out a laugh, then says, “Your secret is safe with me, little one.”

+++

It’s been nearly two months since you’ve started practicing your magic and it took you many weeks to notice something major.  When you use your seidr, everything seems to still.

Even if all you have going is the crystal orb encasing your green flame, there’s no hissing or rattling, no glowing runes on the door.  There’s only peace and it’s the best incentive to get you to practice.

As soon as you’ve closed all your arched windows, you set out five candles on the coffee table in your sitting room.  With a perfectly warm fire popping and roaring on the other side, you comfortably settle onto your fur rug.  The room grows silent, as if it can feel the power you’re concentrating on.  

In your mind, there’s an infinite strand of luminous, green energy.  It lives inside you.  It’s dynamic, ever changing, and ever growing.  When you take in a long breath and think about bringing forth your seidr, it emerges and follows your thoughts.  Tingles prickle across your flesh and come together at your fingertips, making your hands buzz and tremble.  Each time your magic is released, it gets less intense and less painful like your body is adapting to this new part of you.

It took three long weeks to light one candle, but success with a second and third came much quicker.  Tonight, you’re trying for five, so you can surprise Loki with your progress.

With your gathered energy, you focus on the unlit candles.  They’re asleep and devoid of life, but you can animate them with your seidr… at least, that’s how you think of it.  Somehow, the magic pursues your line of thinking and executes your silent orders.

You stare the five candles down.  Your hands, illuminated with emerald lights, hover over their wicks.  As soon as you think of them coming to life, heat flickers near your palm.  Even though you’ve done this so many times, you gasp in shock every single time.  It comes so easily to you, as if your seidr were ancient instead of a couple of months old.

When you move your hand away, all five candles are lit with little, green flames that slowly fade to their normal yellow.  You blow them out, then wave your hand over them again.  Sure enough, they’ve all caught flame.  Your heart stutters as you imagine showing Loki.  Maybe he’ll even give you one of his beautiful smiles.

As quickly as you can, you extinguish the candles and place them into your basket, then grab your cloak.  Your pulse drums in your chest, overflowing with excitement and anticipation.

Like always, Brandt is just outside your door and guards you on a journey to the kitchens.  At first, having him with you was a little awkward because he’d only answer your small talk with very formal, short answers.  But a couple of weeks ago, when he was babysitting you after dinner, he had relaxed a little.

He’d been sitting at one of the benches and watched, with much interest, as you’d baked Loki some chocolate chip cookies.  When you sat down next to Brandt and shared your first batch with him, he’d softened up.  He confessed that no one had personally made him food since he’d left home more than a thousand years ago.

Now, as you fill your basket in the royal pantry, Brandt stands by the door.

He clears his throat and whispers, “You should try for the black diamond truffle.”

“Okay,” you grin and scan the shelves for anything dark and sparkly.  There are countless crates full of fruits and nuts, new bottles of wine (of which you take two), but no truffles.  On your second sweep, you see something in the far corner, on the top shelf.  Encased in a glass box is lone sphere, the size of an egg.  It’s a deep, glossy black and speckled with iridescent crystals that shift from green to blue to purple.

It sits safely atop a nest of extremely fine gold twine.

“Brandt,” you roll your eyes, “you’re trying to get me in trouble, right?”

He pops his head into the pantry and chuckles.  “The Allmother informed me that she procured it for the Prince.  She would like for you to take it.”

You shoot him a glare before taking the glass box and carefully placing it in your basket so the candles and wine bottles don’t roll into it.  Brandt still looks amused as you put your hood back on and walk beside him through the kitchen and into the wide palace corridors.

Your trusty guard trails behind you the entire trek to the dungeons, then stops in front of Loki’s cell.  

You know he can’t see you, but you still say, “Thanks, Brandt.”

He looks in your direction, “You are most welcome, my Lady.  I shall see you at first light.”

You walk up the three steps and through the barrier.  Loki gives Brandt a nod and watches him turn and walk away.  Your basket is left by the coffee table and your cloak is tossed onto the sofa.  As soon as Loki turns his attentions to you, your face breaks out into a grin.  You rush into his open arms and he squeezes you tight, lets all the tension drain from your body.

“Hi, Loki,” you breathe out, absolutely content, surrounded by the calming scent of icy pines.

“Hello, darling,” he says, a smile in his tone.  “Have you missed me terribly?”

“Yes.”

Your Prince pulls back from you, a peculiar expression on his face that he quickly covers. “How was your first riding lesson?” He asks, a knowing look in his twinkling blue eyes.

“Thor was extra embarrassing,” you pout, “on purpose.”

“My poor, little Princess,” Loki coos, combing his fingers through your hair.

“But I do have good news,” you tell him.  “Well, potentially good news.”

“And what would that be?”

“I picked a horse.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, but it’s Havardr and Thor said, ‘No,’ but I said I’d ask you.  Not to have, just to take care of.  And I love him.  Please say, ‘Yes.’”

Loki’s curls bounce as he laughs with his whole body.  It reverberates through his chest.  “You have met him but once and you love him?”

You nod eagerly, hopefully, “Yes.”

“My,” he grins, “who knew my little Princess was so easy.”

You smack him in the chest but he catches your hand and holds it between both of his.  He brings your hand up and brushes his lips over your knuckles.  

“My trusty steed does not let just anyone near him,” Loki says, his cool breath tickling your flesh.  “Very well.  You may.”

You bounce on the balls of your feet.  “Thank you, Loki.  I’ll take really good care of him.  And I’ll bring him treats every day and braid his hair-“

This time, he throws his head back to laugh, his Adam’s apple dancing.  “Braid?  You may try, but-“ he stops himself and takes a step back, still holding your hands, to look you up and down, “well, perhaps he may allow it.  Havardr always did have a weakness for pretty maidens.”

You can’t stop your cheeks from heating up under his scrutiny.  There’s fluttering in your stomach.  It grows every time Loki gives you a smile, a laugh, a look.  He’s generous with all of those things and you’re not sure how much more you can take before you fall completely.

“Sweet, little creature,” Loki says, pressing his lips to your fingers again before leading you over to the sofa.  He conjures up a green tunic, but instead of handing it to you like he usually does, he regards you, lips quirked and eyes playful.

In the next second, the shirt vanishes and you suck in a breath.  Your thighs are suddenly bare and instead of your heavy dress, you’re wearing Loki’s soft tunic.  “How did you do that?” You ask, unable to hide your awe.

“You will soon be able to as well, darling,” he grins.  “Speaking of… you requested one month to practice your flame.  How is my prized pupil’s progress?”

“Well, have a seat, my Prince, and I’ll show you.”

Loki raises a brow as he sits down, intrigued since he probably wasn’t expecting a show.  But as he looks on, jitters threaten to take over your confidence.  

“Do not fret, my darling,” he says.

You nod and manage a watery smile.  From your basket, you retrieve five candles.  Loki’s eyes widen.  He’d only tasked you with one.

After lining them in the center of the coffee table, you go to kneel on the opposite side of Loki.  You squeak when a velvet cushion appears just as your knees would’ve touched the floor.  A giggle leaves your lips at the sound you’ve just made and a bit of nervousness falls away.

“Thanks, Loki.”

Just as you’ve done dozens of times, you call upon your seidr and it comes easily.  Especially now, more eager in Loki’s presence.  Tiny pinpricks graze your flesh as your energy consolidates.  It hums beneath your skin.  It coils around your fingertips.

You imagine breathing life into the candles, the air around you making the flames swerve and quiver.  And Loki would look on, filled with satisfaction, pleased that you learned it from him.

Swiftly, your palm moves over them and all five light up, first flickering green, then yellow.  But the flames almost burn your palm.  They’re more than double the height they’d been when you were practicing.  They roar, trying to grab Loki’s attention.

When you look at him, he doesn’t look gratified or  fulfilled.  He looks astounded.  His eyes are downturned at the corners, hypnotized by the candle light.  Then, he fixes his gaze on you.  It’s almost as if you can feel him.  Foreign emotions ripple through you- reverence, adoration, devotion.

How Loki feels in this moment isn’t about himself, it’s about you.

Still in a trance, he stands and walks over to you, then holds his hands out.  When you taken them, Loki carefully helps you up.  The little flames reflect in his bright eyes.

Loki whispers, “That was absolutely incredible.”

“It was?”

“Yes,” he says, “my marvelous, little mortal.”

You smile, yet there’s a deep ache in your chest.  Somehow, you know that it can’t be relieved or soothed unless you let yourself accept something you’re way to afraid to ever think about.

Even when you’re alone and your mind wanders, you never allow those thoughts to develop.  It doesn’t help that you spend most of your day with Loki.  But you’re not strong enough to stay away.

His cool fingers brush your cheek and it breaks through your thoughts.

Loki’s brow furrows.  You know he can sense your surge of anxiety, the uneasiness in your chest, but he doesn’t say anything.  He only crowds into you and holds you close, trying to allay the growing disquiet in your mind.

As you listen to his heart throb, you feel a tendril of Loki’s energy touch yours.  It doesn’t do anything more, just hangs back.  He’s not asking for permission.  But you want to let him in.

Your magic retreats and makes space.  Bit by bit, Loki enters your mind.  He links his seidr to yours and instantly, you’re mollified, relieved.

He keeps the connection open as he threads his fingers through your hair.  After a few minutes of silence, Loki says, “It scares me, too.”

Chapter Text

As soon as the sun rises, Loki sends you off in a new riding outfit (even though you’re still nine lessons away) and a big, golden apple.  You suspect he personally picked out the design for your clothes because they’re in his colors.  And they’re absolute perfection.

He’d given you an emerald tunic with fine metallic gold threads, woven through every inch, and black leather leggings that lace down the sides from your waist to your knees.  To top it off, there’s a matching leather jacket with a double row of gold buttons and epaulettes that are encrusted with gleaming, green gemstones.  There are booties, too.  They fasten with gold armor- curved and hinged bars that wrap around your ankles.

Earlier, when you’d changed and emerged from Loki’s bathroom, he’d raked his eyes down your form, completely possessive, hungry.  His eyes were darker, stormy, full of unspoken thoughts.  In that moment, you’d felt your magic tremble and grow.  As you looked up, into your Prince’s wide eyes, a surge of adoration pulsed through your entire body.  It lit you up from the inside.  Your fingertips glowed green.  

Smiling wide, Loki took both of your hands in his and brushed his lips over your knuckles.  It felt like your magic was merging with his, intertwining and coiling together like snakes.

The intimate exchange went on until Brandt showed up to escort you to the stables. 

Your guard is now following you down the long line of stalls, his armor clinking with each wide step.  You nearly stumble back, when you see movement.  

One of the half doors opens and Sif appears.  She freezes comically when she spots you, one leg inside the stall and one leg out.  If you were to guess, it’s around 06:45am and your friend is sneaking her horse into the stables.

You’ve totally caught her doing the Asgardian equivalent of the walk of shame.  A thin smile spreads across your face.

“Good morning,” you say saccharinely and she looks a little terrified, so you try to tone down your diabolical grin.  “Long night?”

“I- well,” Sif moves her hands around, “I was on business, little one.”

You advance on her, so you can whisper and Brandt won’t be able to hear you, “If you tell me who it is, I won’t tell anyone I saw you.”

She scoffs, eyes darting around, “What- no, there is not someone.”

Sif may be an even worse liar than Thor.  You hum, “Sure.  So,” you peak into her horse’s stall and you spy a sack hanging off her saddle, “if I looked inside your bag, there wouldn’t be wadded up panties in there?  I can always accidentally mention this to Thor.  He’ll pester you until you tell everyone.”

Her jaw drops open.  Her hand nervously brushes through her black hair.  “Who has taught you such devious tactics?”

Your mouth opens with a grin, “Who is it?”

“You do not know him.”

You bounce up on the balls of your feet and clap your hands together in delight.  “What’s his name?  Is he cute?  How tall is he?”

Sif looks likes she’s just eaten something very sour.

“Give me a name and I’ll forget all about seeing you.”

She eyes Brandt, behind you, for a second before hissing, “Fine.  His name is Magnus.”

Your insides light up with excitement.  “Is that who you were with during the seidr festival?”

“Yes.  Happy now, little one?”

“I am,” you grin and wrap your arms around her for a hug.  “You know I wasn’t serious, right?  I’d never tell anyone.”

“I know,” Sif snorts and pats your shoulders.

You pull back and eye her slyly, “When do I get to meet him?”

She playfully glares at you, “Never, if you keep this up.  Anyhow, what brings you here so early?”

You allow the subject change.  “I’m learning how to ride.”

“Well,” her eyes illuminate with pride, “we shall soon be six warriors strong, then.”

That cracks you up, “Let’s not go that far.”

Sif’s parting words are, “I have faith in you.”

After watching her walk out of the stables, overnight bag slung across her back and an extra pep in her step, you make your way to the end of the stables, all smiles.

But Brandt places a gloved hand on your shoulder, “My Lady, I would not approach.”

“Don’t worry,” you assure him, “he’s my friend.”  Brandt looks wary and unconvinced.  You give his hand a pat and it falls away.

As soon as you turn the corner, your horse eagerly comes to his door.

“Hi, Havardr,” you grin and he pokes his head down to boop you on the cheek with his muzzle.  He sharply turns his head towards Brandt, who’s standing a good five feet away.  Havardr’s white lashes hood over his eyes.  He’s glaring.

“This is Brandt,” you tell him, softy petting the side of his neck.  “He’s here to take care of me, okay?  He’s very nice and won’t hurt you.”

Havardr snuffles, but chooses to believe you for now.  You grab his lead that’s hanging from a hook, just inside his stall.  When you attach it onto his harness, he blinks at you, puzzled.

“Want to take a walk with me?” You ask as you hold out Loki’s gold apple.  “I have a present from your dad, too.  He misses you very much.”

Havardr looks overjoyed, his eyes glittering, as you open his door.  He gently bites down on the apple and taps his feet excitedly as he chews.  He doesn’t waste a drop of the golden honey that spills into his mouth.

Brandt, still wary, follows you and Havardr out of the stables and down a paved road that’s lined with bright green weeping willows.  Each slender leaf glows and sways.  The gentlest of breezes blow through your hair, bringing with it the scent of spices and sun-dried flowers.

The seasons must be changing.  The temperatures will probably drop soon.  Maybe there will even be snow.  Somehow, the thought reminds you of Loki.  You wonder if he loves the cold as much as you do.  You can’t help but picture yourself walking on a snow-covered walkway, the sun glittering in the sky, hand in hand with your Prince.

But it’s something that could never be and it tears your heart open a little.  Loki can never have freedom again.  He can never watch the seasons change.  From now until forever, he’ll only know that sterile dungeon cell.  

Even worse, at some point, you’ll have to leave him.

Havardr’s lead tugs when he suddenly stops.  He lowers his head and stares into your eyes, cocking his head left and right.  Those big, brown eyes shine with sorrow.  He looks confused and unsure.

“What’s wrong, Havardr?  You okay?”

He takes a step closer, then gently taps his cheek against yours.  The short, coarse hairs tickle and you laugh as you bring your arms around his neck.

You run your fingers down his mane.  “I’ll take care of you while your dad’s away, don’t worry.  We can take walks every morning.  And if you let me, a couple of months from now, we can ride around the whole realm together.”

That seems to comfort him a bit, but he still looks melancholy, sneaking looks at you from the corner of his eye.

When you get to the Queen’s gardens, you look around to confirm you’re alone.  You know the Allmother wouldn’t mind, but those pesky Ladies would probably make a scene if they saw Havardr here.

You lead him to your roses and he immediately noses the buds with interest.  The leaves shake as he breathes over them.  He turns his head towards you, then to the roses and back again.  None of them have bloomed yet, but there are about a dozen buds that are the size of plums and more continue to grow.

“Do you think they’ll open up soon?”

Havardr gingerly inspects every single one.  His nostrils flare as if scenting something very pleasing.  Then, he looks at you and lowers his head to let you smooth his cheeks.  He watches you the entire time, unblinking.

Sensing an opening, you whisper, “Loki told me you might let me braid your hair.  Can I?”

There isn’t any reaction from him, so you’re not sure how he feels about it.  Unless All Speak works for horses, too, he probably doesn’t understand you.  From your pocket, you retrieve a gold comb and a pouch full of little rubber bands and clips to show him.  

It may be your imagination, but you swear you see him flick his eyes skyward.

Brandt finds a tall step stool and places it beside Havardr’s feet while you take off your horse’s bridle and horned headband.  You place them on a bench near you, where your guard makes himself comfortable.

A big tree shades Brandt, all lavender in color from its bark to its leaves and flowers.  Pastel blossoms fall and twirl daintily to the ground.  Brandt takes his helmet off and, in a matter of seconds, his wavy, golden hair is littered with flowers.

You giggle as you watch him shake them out of his hair, only to be covered in them once again.

“You know,” Brandt says as you walk up the step stool, “it is said that this tree has been here since the creation of Asgard.  My grandmother once told me that it gives life to every living thing on this realm.”

“Really?” You ask, “How?”

“Magic,” he says.  “Grandmother said that seidr is what keeps balance in the universe.  It surrounds us and lives though us.  It unites all the nine realms.  And the önd tree, which is tied to Yggdrasil itself, continues to breathe life with its magic.”

“That’s amazing.”  A little smile appears on your face, “Your grandma sounds cool.”

Brandt grins and it’s bright and sunny.  “Yes,” he laughs, “I suppose she was cool.  What did ‘hot’ mean again?”

Laughter leaks through your teeth.  “Thor is hot.  Asmund thinks he’s hot, but he’s just sleazy.”

“Sleazy,” he repeats, smirking.  “I have observed Asmund and his abhorrent behavior for centuries.  I need no definition for that one.”

While you’re told more about the önd tree, you set to work on Havardr’s mane.  He nibbles on a purple carrot as you comb his hair, then section it off with little clips.  On top of his saddle, there are several green and pink flowers you’ve picked for weaving through the braids.  

When you hold up the bright blossoms to see how they’d look, Brandt pauses his story to snort, “I cannot believe what I am seeing.”

Havardr looks his way and puffs air out of his nose, warning your guard to shut his mouth.

“All right,” Brandt holds his hands up in surrender.

“Don’t listen to him,” you tell your horse.  “You’re going to look so handsome.”

You’re halfway down his mane, admiring the finished braids hanging off to one side, when you sense the Queen nearby.  It’s the first time that’s happened.  Yet, you know it’s her.  You can feel her immense power, along with another entity that’s radiating with seidr.  You tie off another braid before the Allmother and Hemming walk through the atrium archway.

The Allmother’s pale blue dress shimmers like pristine ocean water.  Every time the layers of her skirts catch the early morning sun, the fabric seems to ripple and liquify.  It’s majestic and magical, alluring and beautiful, just as the Queen always is.

Hemming lowers the hood of his intricately embroidered black robe to uncover his bright lilac waves.  His face gives nothing away as his magic strums across yours, it reverberates within you and curiously seeks out every tendril of energy.

He observes your surprised eyes and merely nods, leaving you to wonder.

Brandt’s armor clangs together as he scrambles to stand.  He lowers his head in respect until the Allmother walks over to him and puts a hand on his shoulder, quietly telling him something.

You hop off your stool and wave at them, “Hi, my Queen.  Hi, Hemming.”

“Hello, my dear,” the Allmother says, then tips her chin up and laughs melodiously.  “Oh, Havardr.”  Her voice is full of sympathy and your horse curls one side of his mouth up as if saying, Can you believe what this girl is doing to me?  She turns to you, a very pleased smile on her face, “Loki informed me, but I had to see it for myself.”

You grin and throw your arms around Havardr’s neck, “He’s so sweet.  He let me take him on a walk and he looked at my roses.  And now, he’s letting me braid his hair.”

Hemming gives you a barely perceptible smile, “He is fond of you, my Lady.” 

Havardr sniffles.

“I love him, too,” you say, then press a kiss to his cheek.  Your horse straightens up and blinks down at you, his ears lying flat.

The Allmother pats Havardr lovingly on the bridge of his nose while admiring the little flowers in his hair.  In the palm of her other hand, a bundle of grapes appear.  Delighted, your horse’s mouth drops open.  You step aside so the two of them can have a moment alone.

In the meantime, Hemming gestures to your flowers.  “You grow concerned for the augury roses.”

You nod, “They’re getting so big.  What if they break off and die before blooming?”

Hemming’s pale, slender fingers hover over the bushes.  Pure white energy emanates from his hand.  It clouds your flower bed for a few seconds before dissipating.  “My Lady, you must not worry.  Everything is as it should be.”

You hope he never gets sick of telling you that because it assuages your concerns every time anxiety threatens to overtake you.  

Just as you’re thanking Hemming, though, Ala and Gerd lead the rest of the Ladies in. 

Ala makes a beeline for you.  Her hair is in an elaborate updo and a gorgeous crystal and pearl hairpiece sits atop carefully piled blonde coils.  Its pink and lavender crystals glitter magnificently in the early morning light.  But when you look lower, there’s a scowl shadowing her face.

“What is this mangy beast doing in the Allmother’s gardens?” Ala asks, her eyes narrowed.  Shockingly, Havardr doesn’t look offended by her words.  But you are. 

You step beside your horse’s front legs, “Don’t talk about him like that.”

Gerd emerges from behind Ala, cradling a glass box, and says, “She was not speaking of him, she was calling you, ‘mangy.’”

You laugh and it sounds more arrogant than you thought it’d be.  “You can do better than that, can’t you?”

Ala takes another step so she’s very close.  She’s within arm’s reach now and your magic surges.

“You are just upset,” Ala says, “because peasants are not allowed to attend the festival of the gods tonight.”

A tinny laugh leaves Gerd’s mouth before she tells you, “Yes, finally a night without having to see you.  Every time I watch Prince Thor dance with you, I vomit.  And I shall give the Prince the sea crystal without worrying about your filthy hands touching it.”

Inside the glass box she’s holding is an unset stone that rivals the hope diamond.  Every facet of it shines incessantly like it’s displayed beneath museum lights.

“It is appalling that Prince Thor still lets you entertain him,” Ala tells you, absentmindedly adjusting her headpiece.  “I suppose he does not have to wait long before you expire.”

In an instant, Brandt is by your side, his hand on the hilt of his sword.  But there’s no need for his intervention.  

Havardr bends down and calmly closes his mouth around Ala’s entire updo.  After a couple of seconds of stunned silence, she lets out the most blood-curdling scream, one you’ve only heard in horror movies.  Your horse lifts his head back up, strands of blonde hair sliding out between his teeth and his mouth full.  He hasn’t ripped out any of her hair, but everything is out of place and her hairpiece is gone.

Havardr grinds his jaw and you can hear the crystals and pearls cracking under the pressure.  Ala’s screaming has died down, but she’s sputtering and red in the face, pointing at your horse with her mouth wide open.  There are tears running down both cheeks.  

Casually, Havardr cranes his neck closer to the ground and opens his mouth.  Bits and pieces of mangled gold and pulverized crystals and pearls land on the floor.  He spits and coughs and you rub his neck until it’s all out.

“You- you wretched beast,” Ala shouts.  Both her and Gerd wrestle to get to Havardr, but you’re not letting them get past you.  Unbothered by the racket, Havardr’s face comes over your shoulder and knocks into Gerd.  She loses her balance and the glass box shatters on the floor.  The diamond tumbles out and hits Havardr’s hoof.  He lifts his leg and stomps on it, smashing it, then stamps his foot to dust the powder off.

Your horse is the epitome of indifference.  He stands next to you, blinking his white lashes innocently, listening to Ala and Gerd whine and yell.

“Are you okay?” You ask Havardr, standing on tip toes, afraid his mouth may be cut up.  As if knowing, his jaw falls open so you can make sure he isn’t hurt.  You rub his face with your palms, “My good boy.”

As you lead him away, to the watering well, you hear the Queen’s quiet voice, “Well, that is enough excitement for his morning.”

“E- excitement?” Ala sounds outraged.  “My hair.  My father gifted me that pin!”

A few feet away, you uncover the well and fill the bucket you use to water your roses.  Without having to ask him, Havardr dips his muzzle into the water and moves his mouth around before blowing bubbles with his nose.

Havardr understands you, even when you’re not saying anything.  Instead of your words, he’s in tune with your emotions.  But if he can read everyone that way, he’s probably felt only apprehension and fear from anyone aside from Loki and his mom. 

When Havardr is done gargling, you rub just above his muzzle and he leans into the touch.  “No matter what anyone thinks,” you tell him, “you’re lovable and cuddly and very, very good.”

He nudges your hand for more pets.

“We’ll have lots of fun together.  We can walk to the lake and we can visit the wild flower fields,” you tickle his cheek and his nose twitches.  “We can go anywhere you want.”

Havardr puffs a little air out in reluctant agreement and his tail swishes from side to side.

"I almost forgot about your tail," you say, beaming.  "How about some ice blossoms for the longer braids?"

This time you see his eye roll very clearly.

Chapter Text

“And then Havardr ripped her tiara right off and crushed it with his teeth!”

Loki’s holding his stomach and the sofa shakes as he laughs beside you.  His other arm tightens around your shoulder.  “It seems that my horse has taken a liking to you, my darling.”

“He’s my horse.”

Your Prince takes your chin between his fingers so he can turn your face towards him, “Oh?”

You nod,  “We’re connected in some way.  I can feel it.”

A soft smile appears on Loki’s face.  “He is an empath.  He is very perceptive.”

“Are all horses like that?”

“No,” Loki says, thumb trailing across your jaw, “Havardr was born with a gift.  Though, his first master must not have seen it that way.”  He drops his hand and traces shapes onto the inside of your wrist.  “Thor and I had just won a battle on the outskirts of the realm.  And there, trussed up and left to die, was a pure white foal.”

“You saved him?”  Your heart flutters, fit to burst, and your magic accidentally escapes in a little zap of green light.  It zips from your finger and crosses the room before absorbing into the invisible forcefield.

“I did,” Loki smiles and brings your hand up to press his lips to your knuckles, making your pulse skip.  “When I realized that he was an empath, I knew that was the reason for his death sentence.  People fear what they do not understand.  And Havardr was greatly feared.”

“But he’s so sweet.”

Loki flashes his teeth.  “You think so, my Princess, but you must have seen how others react to him.”  He studies your changing expression, “That upsets you.”

You nod, “I want him to be loved.”

“He is,” Loki says, “by you.”

“I’ll love him forever.  I promise.”

Your Prince has that look on his face again- an odd amalgamation of confusion and disbelief.  He whispers, “Sweet, little creature.”

Suddenly, you can sense him, his mind, his heart.  He’s in awe of you.  The energy thrumming through your entire body works to latch onto Loki’s seidr.  As you immerse yourself into him, your muscles slacken.  Euphoria takes over.  Concentrated energy pours into you, through your magic.  You tremble as you absorb it all.

“Well,” Loki’s eyes narrow.  “Now, what was that?”

Blinking up at him, you giggle, a little drunk from feeling so much power travel through you.  “I don’t know.”

As he presses his forehead to yours, you feel laughter sneak past his nostrils.  “You are full of surprises.”

“I am?”

He pulls back a bit.  “You have been practicing your seidr.  Very diligently, it seems.” 

Excitement bubbles up from your chest.  “I wanted to surprise you.  Do you want to see?”

With his head cocked, befuddled, he slowly nods, “You are able to lift the feather already?”

You smile instead of answering and spread out a few things across the coffee table: Loki’s quill, a book, and the svass berry croissants you’d baked for him right before your visit.

He looks at you expectantly, curiosity clear in his brilliant, blue eyes.  Loki will most definitely not have expected you to master this skill only after a week.  But tasks come easier to you now, as if magic has always been a part of you.

After gathering some energy, it comes together in your hand.  As soon as you picture the quill lifting from the table, it levitates.  And when your hand moves left and right, the feather follows.

“My, my,” Loki breathes out.  He leans forward, attention thoroughly caught.

Next is the book.  It hangs in the air, but it’s heavier, so there’s some prickling at your fingertips.  You open it and flip through the pages, just to show off.  Your cocky smile gets bigger once you see how happy your Prince looks.  While he’s distracted, you guide the croissant off of the table and directly to Loki’s lips.  You can already feel your energy depleting, but you have enough to do one last thing.

Delighted, he looks at you, then to the pastry and starts laughing.  While his mouth is open, you nudge it in.  With wide eyes, Loki is forced to take a bite and nearly chokes because he’s still laughing.

You fall back in a fit of giggles, exhausted, cheeks hot from exertion.  “I feel like I need to take a nap.”

“Magic is draining,” Loki gathers you in his arms, petting through your hair as your pulse slows back down.  “It takes time to for the body to learn to properly use and distribute the excess energy.”

A happy sigh falls from your lips while you settle comfortably into his side.  His tunic is feather light, satiny and soft beneath your palms.  It’s almost as if you can feel the heat from your body sinking into him where you’re touching.  

He smells like a snowy forest that’s warmed by the sun on a chilly day, like pine needles dripping with condensation.  The scent of him lulls you, comforts you, holds you close.  He’s your haven.  He keeps you wrapped up, safe and warm.  He makes you laugh, makes happiness bloom in your heart.

“I have never seen someone take to magic as easily as you,” Loki says, not hiding the wonder in his tone.

You sit up to look at him, “If I keep studying, do you think I could be as good as you someday?”

“Of course, you can, my darling.”  The smile he gives you is so incredibly beautiful and genuine and magnificent that you can only stare. 

“Loki?”

“Yes, my Princess.”

“Can you show me something cool?” 

He only chuckles.  His brow lifts, adorably arrogant.

Suddenly, a shadow casts over you.  A breath gets caught in your throat.  When you look up, there’s an exact copy of Loki standing by your feet in front of the sofa.  He’s wearing the same tunic and pants, the same sly smile.  You dart your eyes between the two of them.  Even that errant curl of hair that fallen over their foreheads is identical.

The Loki that’s standing, captures your chin between his fingers.  His big, blue eyes are as mesmerizing as always.  He leans down just to get a closer look at your shocked expression.  Beside you, Loki combs his fingers through your hair.

You’ve been sitting next to Loki the whole time, so the one looking down at you with the sinfully attractive grin must be the copy.  Yet, his hands are just as gentle, just as cold as you’re used to.  There are hands on your cheek, your throat, your hair, your waist… and they all feel real.  Every chilled pass of their fingers leaves behind a pleasant trail.

As you bask in the attention of two Lokis, a thought crawls across your mind.

“Loki,” you glance at one, then the other, “this is giving me naughty ideas.”

Next to you, Loki’s mouth falls open, “I beg your pardon.”  He flashes his teeth, “Little Princesses should not be having such thoughts.”  He says this, but the most devious smile appears on his face.  

When you look up, Loki grins, cocky.  “Bad girl.”  Those words coming out of your prim and proper Prince sends shivers through you.  As if he knows, because of course he does, Loki tosses his head back and laughs haughtily.

As you watch his Adam’s apple dance, you can’t help but laugh, too.  “Does this mean I get extra cuddles tonight?”

Loki grins, this time tender and loving, “I am afraid not, my Princess.  I use this particular trick to fool and I never wish to fool you.”  With a last touch to your cheekbone, he vanishes.

Next to you, Loki clears his throat, uncomfortable.  “That day, many moons ago…” he trails off, “you saw two of me.”

You nod, remembering how frightened he looked after you’d awoken him from an uneasy sleep.

He continues, “I have… dreams, sometimes.  They plague me… these thoughts, memories.”

There’s a pang in your heart.  Like Steve, Loki has seen battle, wars, so much death.  You know, too well, how Steve struggles.  And Loki has seen a thousand more years of tragedy than anyone on Earth ever could.

“It is not something I wish to reveal to anyone,” he continues.  “So when I saw you, when I realized the state I was in, my first instinct was to hide.”

“I’m so sorry, Loki.” His hand is stiff when you take it between both of yours.  “I hope you know that I’m here for you and that,” you pause because your throat goes dry and your heart hammers in your chest, “I really care about you.”  

He regards you, carefully.  It seems like he’s not sure what to say. 

You bring your hand over your rapidly throbbing heart, “You’re in here, Loki.”

He goes rigid.  His hand falls away from yours.  And your body stills, too, wondering if you’d just made a mistake.

But Loki curls his fingers through the air and a fur throw appears around both of you.  He keeps his arm open, waiting for you to take the space left beneath it.

When you tuck yourself back into Loki, he lets out a measured breath.  In it, there’s relief, hope, adoration.  You place your hand, palm up, on his leg.  Not a moment later, he drags his fingers down your wrist.  He keeps going until your fingertips meet.  He has to bend at the knuckles to match them all together.  

In the opening between your hands, Loki’s magic gathers and grows into a coiled, emerald ribbon.  With a grin, you focus all your energy there, too.  Your magic is a brighter green than his.  The two glowing strands look so beautiful twisted together.

You turn your head to look up at Loki, but he’s already looking your way.  Bright flecks dance across his irises.  

His lip quirks up.  “Promise that you will always keep me in your heart?”

Your lip quivers as you smile, “I promise.”

+++

Brandt’s mouth is open as he tips his chin up and spins around slowly, taking everything in.   On Heimdall’s rooftop garden, little bioluminescent pearls drift over from the jellyfish tree to investigate their new guest.  They bounce off Brandt’s cheeks and he laughs as they swirl around his entire body.

Finally, after a few months, you’ve decided to trust Brandt enough to tell him about your visits with Heimdall.

You clap your hands together, “They like you.”

Brants grins, but his face freezes when he notices your favorite guardian standing near the edge of the roof.

He clears his throat and places a hand over his heart, “Sir Heimdall.”

“Brandt, son of Evan,” Heimdall walks closer, “I have seen how valiantly you have worked to keep my Lady safe.”

“It is my honor, Sir.”

While you’re making sure all the goodies you brought (croissants and cookies and brownies) are still neatly sitting in your cloth-lined basket, you catch Heimdall speaking with Brandt quietly.

You walk over to the jellyfish tree, to set your basket on the sparkling gold bench and give them a moment to talk.  When you gently sweep your hand through the translucent green leaves, they tickle your fingertips.

Heimdall leaves Brandt near one of the arched openings and makes his way over to you.  There’s something different in his expression you can’t quite figure out.

“So,” you ask, trying to read him, “anything going on in the universe today?”

“A little bit,” Heimdall smiles.  “As we speak, there is a shower of pure diamonds on a planet called Midnight.”

You look at him suspiciously, “What?  No way.”

“Have a look, my Lady.”  Heimdall touches his fingertip to your temple and, all at once, you’re seeing through someone else’s eyes.  As if you’re there, standing beneath an invisible forcefield, you can see shining, white gemstones raining down around you.   The sky is an eerie blueish-purple.  It’s desolate and lifeless.

The ground is jagged.  Every inch of it is lodged with raw diamonds of different sizes and shapes.  You can even hear the sharp edges of the stones pummeling the surface of the planet.

After watching, in awe, for a few minutes, Heimdall returns you to the rooftop.  He chuckles when you clap your hands together in delight.  In between two of his gloved fingers, he holds up one of the rough diamonds.  Your eyes go as wide as they’ll go as he drops it onto your palm.  

You sputter, “How?”

“Prince Loki is not the only one who possesses magic.”

You laugh, but he doesn’t join in.  “There’s something else, isn’t there?”

“Well…” he trails off.  He’s never had this particular worried gleam in his eyes before and it makes your heart drop.  “I have been feeling disturbances throughout the realm.  I cannot decipher them.”

“Are the people safe?”

Instead of answering, Heimdall says, “I will keep a more careful watch on the gardens, the library, and the stables.”

All of your favorite places.

“I understand,” you tell him.  It’s clear- whoever wanted you dead is still trying.

+++

In the eight months you’ve been on Asgard, this is the first time you’ve taken a walk after dark.  Maybe you shouldn’t be outside at night.  Maybe you should just stay inside your room, day and night, trapped and away from everyone else.  You huff into the darkness, irritated.  You were just starting to forget that you almost died.  And now you have to worry about it again and it’s just annoying.

You spent the afternoon in your library den, leaving Brandt oddly confused.  He couldn’t understand where you were going, when you’d pointed behind the last bookcase.  And he wouldn’t follow you in, no matter how many times you asked him to.

Brandt decided to stand guard by the bookcase while you cuddled up with your favorite blanket, on your favorite plush chair.  

After practicing the new runes Loki taught you last weekend, then looking looking through botany books with fancy gold-tipped pages, you find yourself holding the sketchbook open.  But you can’t get yourself to turn to the last page.

Now, as you’re walking through the palace halls, the leather-bound notebook sits heavily in your coat pocket.

It’s the Autumn solstice tonight, so there’s a big dinner party you need to get ready for.   But you’re not in the festive mood.  The sun had set about an hour ago and the celestial sky is lit up splendidly above you.  Chilled gusts of wind blow through the soft fur on your collar.  You pat your pocket, making sure the sketchbook is still safe.

Brandt dutifully follows you into the Queen’s gardens, a fire-filled lamp in one hand that could light up an entire room.  Before you can make it to your roses, though, you see a cluster of blue lights clinging to the bed of ice blossoms. 

You point over to them, “What’s that?”

“They are called starflies,” Brandt tells you.  “From the first night of Autumn until the last night of Winter, they illuminate the skies.”

He chuckles at your open-mouthed smile.  Even the bugs here are magical.  When you get closer, you see transparent cubes underneath the starflies’ wings.  Inside each one is brightly glowing blue liquid.  Whatever it is, though, pulls at the energy within you.  When you reach over them, they float away from the ice blossoms and hover over your fingers.

You suck in a breath.  More starflies flock to you.  They zip around your head and each time their wings flap, iridescent dust sprinkles out from them.

Brandt brings the lantern closer, “I have never seen them behave this way.”

They stick close to you through the atrium and over to your flower bed.  You feel like a goddess, light-bringing and full of power.  Your augury roses seem lonely, here in the dark.  But when you approach them, brightening up their bed, they seem to perk up.

“Hey, guys,” you lift one of the buds with the tips of your fingers.  It’s huge, probably close to a pound now.  It hangs a little lower tonight, but its stem is holding up well.  “You’re still doing okay in there, right?”  When you wave your arm around the tall bushels, some of the starflies drift away from you.

They flit around your twenty rosebuds, rubbing up against each one lovingly.  Their wings flutter excitedly before landing at the base of your baby blooms, snuggling into them.

“You’ll keep them company for me, right?” You ask the starflies as they all settle around each augury bud.  Their wings flap and pearly glitter falls all around them, blanketing your rosebuds in warmth and love.

Brandt comes up beside you, “There must be magic inside you, my Lady.”

You laugh as you look up at him.  “What makes you say that?”

His blue eyes look electric when he says, “My grandmother told me that starflies are attracted to seidr.  She said that they are from every point in time.  They know all.”

“So they can tell you what will happen?”

Brandt nods, “In their own way.”

You roll your eyes, “Asgardians are so mysterious.”

“We try.”

You bark out a laugh and wonder when he became so funny.  As the two of you walk back towards your chambers, Brandt points to your fur collar, where a single starfly has hitched a ride.  “It seems you have made a friend.”

“Do you think I can keep it, if I pick out a name?”

“Is that how it works on Midgard?”

You chuckle, “I wish.”

Your guard ushers you into your chambers, assuring you that he’ll be in front of your door.  As soon as you’re inside, the starfly takes off.  It zips though the sitting room and into one of the rooms you’ve never explored.  It’s the one with the library and trinkets and it always intimidated you because it’s so pristine.

You peek into the room, but the starfly is easily lost inside the shelves upon shelves of books, display cases, and artifacts.  In the center of the room, a massive chandelier that’s composed of countless hanging crystals nearly touches the floor.  Each bulb has a flame inside of it and it’s bright enough to illuminate the plush chairs surrounding it.

On a solid gold table, there’s a horned helmet, set atop a tufted, velvet pillow.  It resembles Havardr’s headpiece, rather than Brandt’s helmet.  Beside it, there’s a pair of daggers with emerald-encrusted snakes decorating the hilts.  In a gilded bowl, there are a few car keys.  None are attached to a keychain.  They’re just loosely mixed in with a couple of zippo lighters and a pack of old cigarettes that are all definitely from Earth.

A bright, blue light zooms past your eyes.  You follow it to the other end of the room, where there’s a single shelf, high on the wall.  Displayed across it are a series of gold-framed portfolio books and your starfly sits atop the first one on the left.

When you open it, a breath gets caught in your throat.  It's an oil portrait of the King and Queen, much younger, holding a baby.  On the next panel, they each have one.  Odin holds an older baby with a full head of blond hair, while the Allmother cradles a newborn.  An odd feeling grows in your stomach as you watch the babies grow in each new frame.  

You turn to the next panel and your breath stutters and stops short.  It’s an exact copy of the portrait you’d seen of Thor and Loki in the royal chambers.

You can't believe it's taken you this long to connect things.  Everything from the curtains to the comforter, the books, the emerald accents… they’re unmistakably Loki and yet, you'd never realized.

This is his room.

Chapter Text

“My Princess,” Loki says, holding you tight to his chest, his fingers combing through your hair.  Your head is tipped back all the way, so you can look at his face.  Your eyes follow up the perfect slop of his nose as he says, “While I am thrilled that you are here early… I sense that something is amiss.”

“Loki, am I sleeping in your room?”

“Ah,” he says, laughing a little, those little lines radiating from his eyes, “you have finally snooped.”

Your lower lip juts out, “You knew.”

“I did, my darling,” Loki smoothes your chin out with his thumb.  “I must admit, at first, I was irritated.  But I find, now, that I am relieved.  You are safest there.”

“Your mom gave me your room,” you say, trying to understand.  “How come?”

He puffs air out of his nose, amused, his eyes almost closed, “She will not tell me.”  He looks up, thoughtfully, “Though, there are whispers… the spá,” he adds, then seems to catch himself too late.

“Spa?”

Loki’s eyes go wide, “It is nothing, darling.”

You stare into his eyes for a long moment before he looks away.  Oddly, you swear you can feel his discomfort, so you decide to let it go.  “What about the snake door?  Who lives there?”

“Well,” he draws out the word, an attractive smirk pulling his lips up, “it is a terribly long story, I fear it would bore you.”

“Loki.”

He grins, “Very well, my Princess.”  The fuzzy, green throw appears in his hand.  He settles in beside you, on the sofa, and spreads it over your lap.  You grab a corner to cover Loki, too, because he always seems to forget about himself.  

After you snuggle into his side, he begins.  “Long ago, when I was just beginning to experiment with portals, I mistakenly fell into a very dark place.”

Loki waves his hand and an image appears over your laps.  Inside a cloudy frame is a younger version of himself, wandering around a pitch black corridor.  His hair is a bit shorter, curled adorably at the edges.  He’s wearing a horned helmet, the one you’d seen in the trinket room, and emerald green energy swarms around his hands, serving as a light source.

“There was no way out.”  Tendrils of his seidr stretch forward and lead him through the darkness.  “Also stranded there, was a serpent.”

You gasp as a sparkling, gold snake slithers around Loki’s feet.  Each scale glitters like tiny diamonds as it shimmies across the ground.  It coils around Loki’s ankle, its dark eyes keenly observing Loki’s potent magic.

“Yes, my darling,” your Prince brings a hand up to your cheek so he can look at you.  “I am sorry for lying.  But you were so afraid.”

“It’s okay, Loki,” you assure him.  “Tell me more.”

“He was a youngling, afraid and alone, trapped in the shadows for decades.  He was attracted to my seidr and followed me everywhere.”  In the conjured image, a trail of bright, white energy follows the snake.  “I quickly discovered that he, somehow, drew power directly from Yggdrasil, the world tree.  He would grow more powerful with every passing hour.” 

“How strong was he?”

“Immensely,” Loki says.  “I believe that is why he was abandoned there.  He could have never escaped.”

Your brows pinch together, “Who would do that?”

“I discovered that he had been banished there,” he pauses, “by the King of Jotunheim.”

“Why?”

“I suppose that is what Laufey does.  He disposes of things in which he finds no value.”

Something sharp stabs through your chest and the pain is so sudden and intense that you fall forward, through Loki’s projection, out of your seat and onto your knees.  You clutch your dress, the silky green fabric held tight in your fist as your heart stills and shatters.  It’s hollow inside your chest, like someone has gouged everything out.  Your breath hitches, but there aren’t any tears.  It’s as if you’ve already cried them all out and there are none left.

Loki is beside you in an instant, but his hands hover over you like he’s scared to touch.

“My heart hurts,” you tell him, stifling a hiccup.  Loki regards you with the most puzzled expression.  But it’s only for a second before he looks enlightened. 

“I am sorry,” he keeps repeating as he gently takes you by the shoulders and sets you back onto the sofa.  Loki untangles your hand from your dress so he can hold onto it.  “Focus on me,” he whispers, cool breath ghosting over your knuckles.  

As you gaze into Loki’s big, blue eyes, you wonder why there’s so much ire vibrating inside of you at the thought of the King, of Laufey.  You don’t know him, but you hate him.  You’ve never before felt so deeply.  “Is this-“ you have to swallow around the lump in your throat, “what you’re feeling right now?”  

For a moment, his face doesn’t give anything away.  But then, the corners of his lips turn down.  “I am sorry, my darling.  I seem to project to you at times, inadvertently.  I… do not know why.”

Guilt is etched across his furrowed brows.  From the outside, Loki seems untroubled, uncaring… but he’s just practiced at covering it up.  In this moment, his blue eyes are dull and unguarded, true, exposed.  With you, he has these moments of vulnerability, of openness, when his carefully crafted façade vanishes.

You crack a smile, even though the pressure around your heart remains.  “It’s okay, Loki.  You can share it with me.”

“Share?” He asks, his mouth forming around the word again silently.

“You don’t have to go through anything alone.”

Loki doesn’t keep your gaze.  He looks away, perturbed, but the intense ache inside your chest slowly eases.

“You also don’t have to talk about it, if you don’t want to.”  You bring your hand up to his face.  His eyes slip shut and he leans into your touch as a torrent of foreign emotions flood through you.  They pass by quickly, but a feeling remains- confusion.  It’s endearing that someone so mighty, so powerful and endlessly intelligent, would be confounded by you.

Before your hand can slip away, Loki takes it so he can press a soft kiss to your fingers.

“What’s your snake’s name?”

He meets your eyes again, “Jormugandr.” 

“How did you escape?”

“You forget, little Princess, that I am a master sorcerer.  I can escape anything.”  

You roll your eyes, “Cocky.”

He leans closer to you, a pompous smile on his face, the light steadily returning to his eyes, “I harnessed Jormugandr’s power to rip open a fragment of time and space.”

“What?”  Your brows shoot up towards your hairline.  “That’s awesome.  You can do that?”

He throws his head back and his throat dances with his haughty laughter.  “Impressed now, my darling?”

“I’m always impressed by you, Loki.”

You go cross-eyed when he presses his forehead to yours.  It’s only for a moment, but your eyes stay closed for a few seconds after he parts from you.  Your heart that, a few minutes ago, felt scraped out and barren, now feels full.  It’s brimming with affection and hope.

“Does Jormugandr live in your chambers?”

“No, my Princess,” Loki tells you.  “Many centuries ago, he grew too big and powerful to reside on Asgard.  So I enlisted him to circle Midgard and keep it safe.  He has been doing so for nearly a thousand years.”

“You’ve been protecting us this whole time?”

“I… suppose,” your Prince says, eyes darting to the floor.  “Once in a while, he will come to see me through the portal that is kept open, behind the ‘snake door.’”

You frown, “He just missed you and came for a visit.”

“Jormugandr must have sensed someone in the room and worried when I did not appear.”

“Can I see him?  Or would he not want that?”  You ask, walking your fingers across the tiny space between you and Loki.  “I want to tell him that you’re okay.”

He glances at the sofa and watches your hand get closer.  His mouth tugs up, almost imperceptibly.  When your fingertips graze the back of his hand, there’s a sudden warmth in your chest.  It’s bleeds out, into the rest of your body.  “He would love to see you.  He is able to sense my magic, though your amulet,” Loki says, tapping the emerald that lies below your throat.  “It will let him know…”

You cock your head, “Let him know what?”

“That you belong to me.”

“A little arrogant of you, don’t you think?”

“Well,” Loki grins devilishly, “I am a god and a Prince and-“

“A master sorcerer,” you finish for him, full of attitude.  “I know.”

“My, my,” Loki drawls, thoroughly entertained, “you have become insolent.  Maybe, I have been too lenient with you.”

You shoot him a glare.  In return, he gives you a smile and lovingly strokes your cheekbone.  His eyes shine with so much devotion, that your poor, little heart can barely take it.

“In my library,” your Prince says, his chilled fingers brushing across your jaw, “there is a white chest, beneath the portrait albums.  It is filled with sea crystals.”  Loki rubs his thumb over your collarbone.  “If you would fetch some for Jormugandr, it would make him very happy.  Will you do that for me?”

“Of course, I will, Loki.”  You can’t stop the smile that spreads across your face.  All of Asgard thinks of him as the dark Prince, the trickster who only brings chaos and misfortune.  But to you, he’s your doting god of mischief, your protector, your light.

Who knows how many others, like Havardr and Jormugandr, Loki has taken in.  He’s adopted them and taken care of them for centuries.  You imagine your sweet Prince with his trusty horse- combing Havardr’s mane, bringing him golden apples, and riding with him across the realm on big adventures.  And Loki would be equally fond of Jormugandr- collecting sea crystals, awaiting his visits, and longing to regale him with tales from recent travels.

Loki suddenly chuckles, “And what has you smiling so beautifully?”

“You.”

He raises a brow.

“You’re a good dad, Loki.  Havardr and Jormugandr are lucky to have you.”

His dark lashes flutter as he averts his gaze.  Your pulse stutters and nearly stops, seeing your Prince so bashful.  It makes you wonder how many other people are fortunate enough to see him like this- genuine and so, incredibly beautiful.

“Can I look at all the stuff that’s in your library?”

“Most certainly, my darling,” Loki’s brings his thumb up to trace your bottom lip and your pulse jumps.  “You may have anything you like.”

Your smile is probably devious.  “Can I have those horns?”

Your Prince’s mouth falls open, “My helm?”

“You said, ‘anything.’”

“Leave it to my little brat to want my most prized possession,” Loki beams, humored.  “Very well.  It is yours.”

You bark out a laugh, “I was joking.”

“And I was not.”  He presses the pad of his thumb to your cheek as if it’s a kiss.  “As you can see, my darling,” he gestures around the room, “I have no use for trophies now.”  Noticing the gloom that’s fallen over your face, Loki smiles for you.  “But they could have a new life with you.  There are books and artifacts from my travels… plenty of goods from Alfheim, which I think you might enjoy.” 

There’s a sorrow that lives in your heart whenever you remember that Loki is locked up for eternity.  You still don’t know exactly what he’s done to be caged in the dungeons.  But you can’t imagine him doing anything that could warrant his incarceration.

For the most part, when you’re here, you forget where you are, blinded by the ever-present affection you feel for him.  You can only hope that he finds solace in your presence, too.

You promise him, “I’ll take care of them for you.”

And your Prince nods, satisfied.

“So,” you poke his thigh, “where’d you get the Earth stuff?”

“Why, from Earth, of course.”  Loki chuckles, seeing your awed expression, “I like to visit, every once in a while.”

“You do?” For some reason, your pulse elevates.  “Is that why you have car keys?  Do you know how to drive?”

He looks offended, “Of course, I do.  What do you take me for?”

Out of nowhere, you imagine Loki in a ‘67 Stingray, wearing a black cashmere sweater, his hair shorter and slicked back like it’d been in his story.  He’d turn heads.  His reputation would precede him.  Everyone would want him.  There’d be people lining up around the block for a chance to ride with him, to sit in his passenger seat, to be the one to lean over the center console and unbuckle his leather belt-

“Loki!” You smack him in the chest.

“Naughty, naughty girl.”  He shakes his head, a wicked smirk on his face.

“You made me think that.”  

His face gives nothing away, “Did I?”

You scrunch your nose.  Didn’t he?  The twinkle in your Prince’s eyes makes you huff in annoyance.  Your hands find your hips, “You did.” 

“All right, all right,” Loki says with an impish grin.  “What must I do in exchange for your forgiveness?”

After pretending to think for a few seconds, you ask, “Cuddles?”

Loki grins, “Very well, my darling.”

You clap your hands together in delight before standing up to unbutton your coat.  Loki gets up, too, to help.  But when you reach into your pocket and pull out the bound leather sketchbook, he freezes. 

“Where did you find this?” He asks, voice harsh.  It makes you take a step back.  He doesn’t look angry, though, just horrified.

“In my den.”

He closes the distance between you, “Your den?”

“In the library,” you say, trying to gauge his emotions.

“Precisely where?”

“Behind the last bookcase,” you try to catch his eyes, but they’re shifting around the whole room, anxious.  “It has a fireplace and a big chair and a desk.  There’s a blanket and a whole bunch of shiny books.”

“Fascinating,” he breathes out.  “Why do you have this with you?”

“It’s my favorite one.  Can you tell me who the artist is?”  You wrap an arm around his waist to keep him close, ”I haven’t looked at the last sketch yet.  Maybe we can look at it together.”

Loki lets out a measured breath before saying, “I am afraid that you will be disappointed.”

“Why?”

“Because it is mine and I am aware of what remains.”

“I- it’s yours?”  Your face breaks out in a big grin, “You’re amazing, incredible.  The gardens… the cabin in the mountains… the big tree that glows and has magical roots…”
 
As you trail off, you excitedly flip through the book and land on the last page.

It’s blank.

Your face falls when you think back to all the sketches.  They’d started out wondrous and captivating, dramatic and breathtaking.  Then they’d quickly spiraled out towards the end.  The darkness, the hopelessness, the despair… it had consumed the artist.  And all at once, you understand.  

It’s not a sketchbook.  It may not have words, but it’s a diary.

The cloudiness and uncertainty and unrest that Loki was feeling, before he left for Earth, had nearly destroyed him. 

Loki looks at you, embarrassed, and it claws at your heart.  He’s knows what you’re thinking and he doesn’t want you to see him that way.  You suppose he’ll never know what you truly think of him… that you could never see him as anything but capable and loving and kind.

You set the journal down on the coffee table, then shed your coat.

“You promised me cuddling,” you say, reaching for his hand.  “We’d better get started.  I have to wake up early to help your mom prepare a special tea for visitors from the North.”

He doesn’t say anything, but lets you tangle your fingers with his.  You lead him to the bed and use your seidr to pull back the covers.  It has the intended effect- Loki smiles, proud, and you never want to see any other expression on his face ever again.

Loki waits for you to get comfortable beneath his thick comforter before rounding the bed to join you.  He props himself up onto one elbow, so he can peer down into your eyes.  He studies you very carefully.

Your cheeks heat up at the proximity.  “What’s going on in that big brain of yours?”

He purses his lips and takes a moment.  “Mother used to tell me that, sometimes, the gods get bored,” Loki says and you’re not sure where he’s going with that line, but your insides flutter.  “They like to join fates by using their magic to connect the stars.  Every once in a very long while, they will take their golden strings and sew constellations together to make the impossible happen.”

You blink up at him, eyes wide and stomach in knots.  Your heart throbs in double time.

“That is the only explanation I have for you… for why you are here with me… for how you look at me.  A girl from another world,” he brushes your forehead with delicate fingers, “and a man who was meant to be alone.”

“Maybe he wasn’t meant to be alone,” you tell him.  “Maybe he was meant to be with someone who didn’t exist in his world.”

Your Prince grins as his hand slides down your neck and rests there.  His thumb caresses the hollow of your throat and you let out a contented breath.  Then, he says, “I believe I was meant to keep you safe.  Whatever shadows lurk, I will keep them from you.  And if protecting you is my sole purpose… everything that has happened in my life would have been well worth it.”

Chapter Text

After waking up so warm and comfortable, wrapped up in Loki’s arms, you don’t feel like leaving early.  Or at all.  But this tea is important to the Queen, so you carefully extract yourself from your favorite place in all of Asgard.  

When you sit up, you can’t help but watch Loki as he sleeps.  He’s even more handsome like this- relaxed and serene, hopefully dreaming about something sweet.  As far as you know, he hasn’t had any nightmares since that day, many months ago.  And that fact brings a satisfied smile to your face.

Your finger traces his cheekbone, smoothes across his chilled flesh.  All at once, your magic begins to simmer, eager to connect.  You summon it and your seidr jumps forth, trickles out through your fingertips.  Wondrous joy fills your heart as your energy seeks out Loki.   Ever since you’d inadvertently done… exactly what, you don’t know, you’ve been itching to do it again.

The moment your seidr finds him, your insides light up.  Your heart dances and threatens to float away.  It’s surprising… the absolute pleasure, the ethereal high.  You’re all tingly and happy and you never want to stop.

But your secret smile fades as you see Loki’s lips curl up.  His eyes slowly open.  You’ve been caught and you barely keep yourself from gracelessly tumbling over the edge of the bed.  Loki catches your wrist.  You’re frozen, eyes wide and blinking rapidly.

He gives you a Cheshire Cat grin, “Good morning, my darling.”

You can feel your pulse in your cheeks.  “Morning, Loki.”

As he sits up, his gaze sweeps over you, eyes lingering on what you wore to bed.  “We cannot have you cold, now can we?”  He’d said last night, while summoning a well worn, black sweater.  It’s the warmest, softest, coziest thing that’s ever touched your skin.

Between one breath and the next, Loki’s palm cradles your cheek.  It’s tender and loving and so full of affection.  He makes it so easy for you to fall… deeply, quickly.  Even when you try to get back up, to back away, you can’t.  He has your whole heart, whether he knows it or not.

Icy blue eyes bore into you.  They quickly turn hard.  His hand falls away abruptly.  Your throat tightens.  Panic rises, your stomach drops, your pulse drums in your ears.

“You are to be late, my little Princess.”

Though he doesn’t sound angry or irritated, it’s clear that the moment is over.

You nod and go to turn away from him, but you’re stuck in an invisible web that’s keeping you there.  There isn’t one discernible emotion on Loki’s face, yet you know he wants to tell you something.  He’s subconsciously keeping you close.  There are words, ready to spill out of your Prince’s mouth.  You sit, watching, waiting.  But they remain unsaid.

The tension around you eases and you’re released from his phantom hold.  He lets out a barely perceptible breath.

“Loki, are you okay?”

His hand blankets yours, “Yes.  I am.”

Inherently, you know it’s the truth, so there’s no need to press further.  You head for the bathroom to give Loki a little space.

But thoughts of your Prince don’t cease the entire time you’re applying makeup and braiding your hair.  Although it’s been the better part of a year, you’re still working to figure out the most basic things about him.  You know he’s giving you more than he’d give anyone else.  You know he’s trying.

As soon as your new tea green dress is laced up, you emerge from the bathroom.  You do a little twirl for Loki, who looks on, thoroughly amused as your thick, silk skirts settle back down.

He appears less perturbed, now, as he takes another sip from his teacup before setting it on the coffee table.  In an instant, he pops up in front of you and it makes your insides feel all fuzzy, stirs up all that extra energy that lives inside you.  In this moment, all you want is to be with him.

“I don’t want to go,” you blink up at Loki with wide eyes, hoping he’ll give you an excuse to stay.

He chuckles, low and sweet, “Oh?”  His fingers swipe across your protruding lower lip.

“I want to hang out with you.”

“I would love to,” he pauses, “hang out with you as well.  But you are a Lady.  You must entertain mother’s ‘esteemed’ guests.”

You make pfft sound, “Hogun told me that everyone hates visitors from the North.”

Loki hums, “Indeed.  They are particularly unpleasant.”  He brings a hand up to cradle the nape of your neck.  His thumb idly traces your throat, “They think themselves above all others.”

“What if I want to play a prank on them?”

Mirth fills Loki’s eyes.  “I do not think it wise to do so, my Princess.  After all, they lack the intelligence to comprehend humor.”

“Fine.”  You nibble on your lower lip, “What if they’re horrible and I need to talk to you?”

Loki brow furrows, exasperated, “Are you going to speak of that infernal telecommunication device again?

“It’s a phone,” you roll your eyes.  Every time you mention it, your adorable Prince gets irrationally annoyed.  Even when you told him about the convenience of texting, he was absolutely not interested in conjuring them up. “Okay,” you tap your chin, “what if I need a hug?”

Loki beams and his skin seems to illuminate from the inside.  You’re completely enthralled by the sound of his quiet laughter, those baby lines that frame his eyes.  In the depths of his heart, there’s so much love.  And you’re fulfilled because he allows you to see it.

A gasp gets caught in your throat, when a long, emerald green coat appears between the two of you.  It’s the exact same color as the pendant you always wear and your hand immediately shoots out to touch.  It’s soft and supple, smooth like Vicuña, and it’s adorned with a double row of gold buttons that each feature an engraved ice blossom.  There are suspiciously priceless-looking clear gemstones lined across both epaulets and they sparkle incessantly beneath the artificial lights.

You look up, stare into Loki’s swirling blue eyes, rendered speechless.  Not because of this lavish gift, but because of what it means… because of how he’s looking at you right now.  He’s not showing off.  He’s not trying to impress you.  

He’s offering you a piece of his heart.

You know what this color signifies.  And it’s not only a claim and a sign of possession, but a way for Loki to be with you when he physically can’t.

They’re his unspoken words.

Green energy swirls around your Prince’s hand and you watch, mesmerized, as he bespells the coat.

“There, now,” he gives you a bashful, little smile.  “Not as good as a hug, I suppose, but it will have to do.”  

Loki looks so vulnerable, so worried, as he holds the coat open for you.  You quickly slip your arms through silk-lined sleeves, then spin around to hug him. 

You tilt your head back to rest your chin on his chest, “I love it, Loki.  Thank you.  This is the most beautiful coat ever.”  You press your lips together, trying to suppress a grin.  “But if you keep spoiling me like this, I might start to expect things.”

A haughty laugh vibrates through his chest.  “Good.”

+++

Before leaving for tea prep, there’s one very important stop to make.  In Loki’s trinket room, you’re standing in front of his albums, the lid to a massive white box hinged open.  It’s brimming with dazzling gemstones of all shapes and sizes.  Each crystal is a unique, otherworldly combination of colors.  You’ve been staring at one that looks like Asgard’s celestial sky, hypnotized by the swirl of rainbow facets seamlessly fading into black.

You place it into your basket, then reach for a pink one that barely fits in your hand.  There’s one that’s blue and purple and has a glowing pulse hiding inside.  And a clear crystal with a small black pearl hiding in its depths.  They all go into the basket and you take in long, meditative breaths as you make your way to the snake door. 

You wring your hands around the wicker handle, pulse hammering harshly in your chest.  After making sure your amulet is clearly visible, you knock on the door.

“Jormugandr?”  Your throat clicks as you try to swallow.  “Can I come in?”

The runes on the door flash Loki.

The knob is cold when you twist it.  The door slowly and silently opens.  It’s pitch black inside.  With your palm up, you bring forth your seidr to conjure up a bright, green orb.  But you can’t see any walls, just infinite dark space.

Up ahead, there are two tiny yellow floating lights.  As you walk closer, they grow exponentially larger, as if they’re traveling extraordinarily fast.  When they’re as big as dinner plates, you stop walking and hold up your orb, leaving it to hang above your head.

The yellow lights blink in and out several times before squiggly bronze and white lines appear inside them.  Then, black begins to bleed out their centers and turn into crescents.

Very gradually, the area around those eyes begins to brighten and take shape.  A round head, nearly transparent iridescent scales, the thin outline of a mouth.  Jormugandr glows a pale gold and he sparkles, just as he had in Loki’s story.  His body goes on and on, so long that you can’t see his tail.

The dark emptiness is illuminated enough that you can see a mossy forest surrounding you.  It’s lush and green and eerily beautiful.  There are faint shadows of curved branches and full canopies above you.

Jormugandr’s big, yellow eyes study you carefully.  

“Hi,” you give him a tentative smile and share your name.  Jormugandr tilts his head.  “I’m happy I get to meet you.  Loki really misses you.”

He still doesn’t say anything, but his body jerks and wiggles at the mention of your Prince.  His large scales shift and click.

“He’s… well, he’s okay.  But he’s locked up in the dungeons.  That’s why he hasn’t been able to visit you.”

A hiss leaves Jormugandr’s mouth, dissatisfied by the revelation.  His tongue flicks by your arm.

“I’m plotting to sneak him out through the bathroom portal, though.”

Air puffs out of his nostrils, something akin to snorting laughter, and it blows brought your hair.  Your green orb flies back and extinguishes, too.

“Oh, wait,” you dart your eyes around and, suddenly, the forest seems a little frightening.  “I’m- the dark scares me.”

On your next breath, an enormous golden ball of light pops up, hovering over your head, brighter than any orb you could’ve conjured up.  

“Thanks, Jormugandr,” you grin, eyes drawn by the bright reflection in his crescent-shaped pupils.  “You’re sweet, just like Loki said.”

In an instant, he’s closer to you.  There’s buzzing in your pendant as he slithers and curls his body to create a circle around you.  He returns to face you again, but now you’re safely inside a ring of light.

“I wish the people on Earth could know how lucky they are to have you.  Thank you for keeping us safe.”

Your basket of sea crystals rattles and Jormugandr seeks out the sound.  When you peek inside, they’re all moving with jittery, pent up energy.

You retrieve the rainbow one and hold it out, “Loki collected all these for you.”  The crystal vibrates in your hand and pulls away, so you let go and it floats the short distance into Jormugandr’s open mouth.  

As soon as he eats it, his scales pulse with swirling, brightly-colored ripples.  His face shoots forward and you take in a sharp breath as he sniffs around your hand.  When you giggle, he pulls back to observe you.

“That tickles,” you tell him, reaching for another crystal.  It’s barely grasped in your hand before Jormugandr makes it travel into his mouth.  He only eats one more before his head and body begin to fade. 

“Will you come back to see me again?”

Jormugandr’s entire body pulses and shimmers a bright white.  Then, he quickly grows translucent.  But as his eyes start to retreat, he shakes and shimmies, leaving behind an intensely brilliant trail of pearls on either side of him.  

Some float up into the sky.  They light up the entire forest.  There’s a sea of midnight blue flowers that blanket almost every inch of the ground.  The blossoms crawl up and over moss-covered branches, too, and vanish into the darkness above.

Gleefully, you twirl amongst all the lights, beneath a starless sky.  You’re dizzy with anticipation, eager for the captivating story Loki will tell you about this place. 

+++

Near the lily pond in the Queen’s gardens, you’re setting teacups and saucers around a long, rectangular table.  The sun shines bright above you, warming the crisp, Winter air.  It’s smells of pine and cedar and crisp apples.  Brightly colored birds, with lengthy, wispy feathers, land on the trees around you.  Snow is knocked off of naked branches as the birds settle and begin to sing a fairytale melody that echoes enchantingly around the atrium.

On each teacup, there are intricate toile scenes, painted in soft pinks and golds, against an ivory backdrop.  The one you’re holding has instantly become your favorite.  Unlike all the others, it has a black wolf leaping over the moon and stars, a great big grin on its face.  You bring it over to your seat, where a beautifully engraved place card sits. 

A little arrogant smile appears on your face because you can read it now, along with most runes.  Even Loki has been impressed by how quickly you’re picking up seidr and learning his language.  He’s incredibly patient and passionate about teaching.  And he makes you truly believe, in the depths of your heart, that you can do anything.

Brandt’s armor jingles.  He’s standing guard beneath a big tree by one of the arched openings, hand resting over the hilt of his sword.  He’s swatting at the air in front of his face, nose scrunched up in annoyance.

“Get-“ he huffs and continues to slap the air, at insects you can’t see from here.  His fist collides with the tree behind him and a good sprinkling of snow lands on his helmet.

You snort.  Brandt is a complete goof, sometimes.

But there’s a tingle in your fingertips, like you can feel your Prince’s mischievous spirit flowing through you.  The branches hovering over Brandt’s head are packed full of fresh snow, just asking to be set free.

You dart your eyes around the garden to make sure no one else is here. 

While arranging the next place setting, you keep watch from the corner of your eye.  Green energy radiates from your hand.  As you picture those heavy branches shaking, they budge a little and more snow falls over Brandt.  You nudge the tree a bit harder with your energy and enough snow falls to attract your guard’s attention.  He looks up and you strike.  You push your seidr forth and every single branch wobbles, dumping a day’s worth of snow onto Brandt.

He lets out a muffled, distressed cry and your abdomen tightens up because you’re trying to hold in your laughter.  There is way more snow that you’d anticipated.  It’s covering his eyes, packed high into the opening of his helmet.  Your bellowing laugh echoes around the garden.  Brandt’s shoulders, boots, and the entire area around him is covered in white.

He sputters, spitting out snow that’s melted in his mouth, then rubs at his eyes before taking his horns off.  Even from this distance, you can tell that he’s glaring at you.

You’re still beaming, reveling in his discomfort, when you sense the Queen and Hemming approaching.  You rush over to Brandt and help brush some of the snow off his shoulders.

He’s frowning.  “I cannot believe you would laugh at my misfortunes.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, unable to stop laughing, “but that was hilarious.”

“My, my,” the Allmother says.  When you turn to look, she’s standing by the pond with Hemming, watching you and Brandt fondly.  “What happened here?”  She grins, looking only at you now, “It seems there has been a little accident.” 

Your eyes grow wide as the Queen walks over to you.  Her lips quirk up, gaze lingering on your coat.  Even as Brandt greets her and Hemming, you’re frozen on the spot, panic rising at the thought of anyone finding out about your magic.  But the Allmother smiles beautifully and places a hand on your shoulder.

“My child,” she says, “the table looks most welcoming.”

“I-“ your throat tightens up.  “Thank you, my Queen.”

She laughs melodiously and cups your cheek, melting your sudden surge of anxiety.  “Do not fret,” she winks, before turning to your guard.  “If I may…” the Queen flicks her wrist and Brandt is completely free of snow.

She catches your sheepish smile and herds you over to the table, where Hemming is standing beside your seat.  He’s holding your teacup, intently studying it.  But, then, he’s suddenly eyeing you, a lavender brow raised.  It’s a knowing look that makes your heart stutter.

“How are you getting along with my son?”

Your pulse nearly stops at the question.  All you can do is hold your eyes wide open as your brain scrambles for an answer.  

Loki.  

You miss him every moment you’re away from him.  You savor every second you spend with him.  You dread the day you’ll have to leave him.  

You don’t know if your heart will stay intact without him.

But you can’t tell her any of that.

After letting out a quiet breath, you still struggle to find your answer.  The way the Allmother regards you, though, with sympathy and hope, sorrow and promise… she already knows.

+++

You’re having trouble containing your excitement because Sif has finally brought Magnus.  After briefly introducing him as her “friend,” she’s now sitting with him a few seats away and you can’t stop staring at Magnus’ luxuriously flowing platinum blond hair and hypnotizing periwinkle eyes.  A twisted, silver headpiece lies perfectly across his hairline.  He’s radiant, empyrean.

Thor gently nudges you with his elbow.  “Shall I sign you up for lessons in subtlety, little one?”  He chuckles at your narrowed eyes, then says, “I am sure that a certain someone would not appreciate your ogling.”

Your mouth falls open, “I was not ogling.”

“Now, now, Thor,” Volstagg says, from your other side, “leave her be.”

Turning away from Thor, you tell him, “Thank you.  You’re the only one who doesn’t make fun of me.”

Volstagg laughs heartily, “I will always defend you, little one.  After all, you are my first born’s chosen one.”

When you beam, he adoringly taps your cheek.  “How is my dear Vali?”

“Missing you, of course.”

“He was so excited to begin training.  How is he liking it?”

“He is a natural,” Volstagg tells you, chest puffed up with immense pride.  “Like his father and his father, before him.”

You smile, imagining little Vali with a tiny practice sword and equally small shield.

“Will you have babes of your own?” He asks.

“Someday.”  Your brows shoot up at the sudden image of Loki grinning at you, a raven-haired baby cradled in his arms.  Your face simmers as if everyone else in the room saw that, too.  You clear your throat, “You know, if the right guy comes along.”

Volstagg grins, “I am certain he will.”

Beside you, Thor guffaws.

You shoot him a glare, “And what’s so funny, your highness?”

“Well,” he draws out the word, “since you asked.  I may not be as well-versed in seidr as mother, but I am still able to sense things.  Or shall I say… see things.”

“What?”

A sly grins spreads across his face as he pointedly ignores you to pinch a tiny tea sandwich between his fingers.  He tosses it into his mouth.  He hums to himself, completely satisfied by your panic.

“What did you see?” You demand, tugging at his billowy sleeve.

His mouth forms an O and he shakes his head infuriatingly.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re annoying?”

“Why, as a matter of fact,” Thor grins, voice high and taunting, “there is a certain someone who said that to me every day for a thousand years.”

Your fork hovers slightly above the table, prepared to smack Thor in the face.  But he just looks so happy and irritatingly delighted that you can’t even be annoyed with him for a full minute.

He hooks his arm around your shoulder as your fork drops back onto the table with a clang.  “I am having the most wonderful time, little one.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re telling the truth when you say, “Me, too, Thor.  Me, too.”

Chapter Text

The mild, early Spring sun warms your shoulders as you excitedly await Thor.  You’re on the other side of the royal stables, standing in the middle of a grassy clearing.  More birds have flocked back to the palace.  They each sing their own quiet songs and watch people from the treetops as their wispy tail feathers ruffle in the gentle breeze.  

The sweet scent of peaches permeates the air, wafting from tiny golden blossoms that grow around every corner.  They must’ve been blooming last Spring, too, but you’d just arrived on Asgard and don’t remember much of those first few hectic weeks.

It’s been a year already, hundreds of days since you’ve directly seen or heard from your family and friends.  Once in a while, you’ll pretend like you’re just on the other side of the country and you’re planning on visiting them for Thanksgiving or Christmas, even though the holidays have long since passed.  

Heimdall still doesn’t have an estimate on when the bridge will be finished.  And now, you’re stuck between both outcomes- afraid that the bridge won’t ever be repaired and equally afraid that it will.  

When you leave, you’ll never see Loki again.  He’ll be imprisoned for at least as long as you’ll live.  Until your last breath, you won’t be able to cuddle with Loki as he animates a story.  You won’t ever see his glittering smile or get to hear his amused laughter.  He’ll never again try to impress you with his seidr or regale you with his battle tales.  You won’t get to bake him cookies and watch his face illuminate with wonder when he takes a bite.

For every second of the rest of your life, you’ll think about Loki.  Nothing will stop you from doing it.  And it scares you… the depth of what you feel for him.

There’s a chorus of excited chatter coming from the group of children in front of you, taking you away from your heartsickness.  It’s riding lesson number five and you’re finally able to trade in your dummy horse for a real one.  Thor is the first one out of the stables, all smiles as he brings over a chestnut steed.

Meanwhile, your instructor, Lady Halley, walks across the grass with a bright smile on her face and patiently waits for everyone to get acquainted with their new friends

Manning is your temporary horse and he’s sweet and quiet.  His brown coat glistens as you smooth your palm down the side of his face.  When you greet him, dark lashes flutter as he blinks curiously at you.  Manning isn’t bothered, even as Thor gently grabs you by the waist and sets you onto his back.

As she passes by, Lady Halley calls out, “We shall squeeze with our heels to signal the horse to walk.”

When you do so and Manning starts moving, it’s hard to hide your excitement.  Thor walks beside you, down your much loved path that has the vibrant, green willows.  Your grin mirrors his as he points to a family of lavender bunnies hopping across the trail.  Rainbow birds swoop overhead, their vibrant wings gliding through the perfectly cloudy sky.  Big, buzzing bumblebees float by, followed by translucent blue butterflies that kiss your cheeks.

You chuckle to yourself as you realize, much too late, that your lesson must be enhanced with seidr to make it special for the children.  You’re not ashamed to be as thoroughly enchanted as they are.  And Thor continues to encourage you with sweet words and shows more enthusiasm than any of the other moms.  It makes your heart tender, to know how much he cares for you.

Still brimming with excitement after the lesson, you and Thor go straight back to the royal stables.

“Havardr,” you call out, walking down the aisle.  You grin when his cute, little face peeks out over his half door.   But very quickly, he disappears.

When you reach his stall, you greet him again, but he’s busy sniffing hay on the floor.  Even as you open his door and reach for his lead, he doesn’t pay you any mind.

You pet through his mane, still braided from yesterday, “Hey, Havardr.  You okay?”

Finally, he lifts his head, only to snuffle over your palm and hmph as if confirming his suspicions.

“What’s wrong?”

He huffs again and blows air out of his nostrils, trying to move your hand away from him.  You feel a stirring in your gut, a slight pressure in the back of your mind, then a flashing image of you riding Manning, joy etched all over your face.

It makes you stumble back from the force of the vision, from Havardr’s irritation… and his sorrow.

From a few feet in front of the stable door, Thor says, “It seems he is jealous, little one.”

“Havardr,” your hands find your hips, “are you upset because I played with another horse?”

He sticks his nose in the air, ignoring you, and turns to face the opposite corner so you’re left staring at his butt.

“I had to.”

His tail whips towards you and wilted ice blossom petals fall to the ground.

“I’m only suffering through those embarrassing lessons so I can take you for rides, you know.”

Havardr’s ears flick, attention caught.

“You really think I want to be mocked by those moms?  They hate me.”

He twists his neck so one eye is on you.

“Come on, I thought we were going to go on adventures together.”

His white lashes flutter as he blinks and turns around, his head tilting left and right.

“I thought you loved me, too.”

His big, brown eyes blink down at you innocently, guilt creeping in, his irritation long forgotten.  He rushes over to you and rubs his muzzle against your cheek.  It makes you giggle and Havardr does it again and again, just to hear you laugh.

Thor snorts, “You two…”  He’s looking into the stall, shaking his head in good humor.

But something prickles the back of your neck, setting your nerves alight.   Distantly, there’s a crunch of hay beneath boots.  Thor is still standing just outside Havardr’s half door, his arms crossed, thoroughly entertained by you.  But then he sharply turns his head towards the stable doors.  Your horse noses at your waist, herding you to the other end of his stall.  He nudges you into the far corner and blocks your view, standing taller like he’s somehow puffing up his chest.  All you can see is the back of his head.

“Your highness,” a projecting, deep voice calls out.

Thor pauses before saying, “Kal.”

Your fingertips tingle.  Your nerves burn with sudden urgency.  Danger.  Emerald sparks fly out from your hands and seep into Havardr’s mane.  You barely stifle your gasp as a thick strand near the top of his head turns a deep green.  The bright color weaves into a few braids.

“Where is it?” The man, Kal, demands.

“Of what do you speak?”

“It was here.  I can sense it.”  There’s a pause.  “The mortal.”

You hear Thor take in a displeased breath, “You will leave her be.  She is under my protection.”

Kal lets out a cruel laugh through his nose, “So I have heard.  You would bring such dishonor to Asgard?”

“Watch your mouth.”

Kal raises his voice, “You are aware of the prophecy and still, you keep that useless whore like it is worth something?”

“You dare speak of her in such a way.  Leave my sight before I rip your tongue out,” Thor commands, voice dark like you’ve never heard it before.  “At once.”  Thunder claps, intimidatingly, in the distance and your feet nearly leave the ground.  On your next breath, Havardr spins around and hooks his face over your shoulder to gather you close.  His muzzle presses into your back when you throw your arms around him. 

Heavy bootsteps retreat but you’re still left stunned.  There’s a prophecy about you and, judging by Kal’s tone, it’s nothing good.  Havardr keeps soothing you by moving his nose up and down your back, trying his best to calm your nerves.  

The half door creeks, “Little one?”

You peak around your horse to see Thor, uncomfortably twiddling his fingers together.  

“The prophecy…” you trail off, gut suddenly twisting with guilt.

“I do not believe in such nonsense,” Thor says, taking a few steps towards you and holding his hand out.

You take his hand and fall into him.  “But there are people who do,” you whisper into his armor.

“They are all imbeciles.”

“What’s the prophecy?”

“It is not a prophecy.”  The anger is very evident in his clipped tone as his chest rumbles, “They are falsities spread around by the ignorant.”  Thor’s fingers find their way into your hair, “I am sorry, little one.”  

He takes a moment before he says, “Certain people believe that… one day, a mortal will bring darkness, death, and destruction to Asgard.”

You suck in a short breath.  Your throat bobs, trying repeatedly to swallow, “Is that why someone wants me dead?  Why they all hate me?”  Your voice fades as your throat tightens, “‘Cause I’m… a monster?”

“No, no,” Thor says, pressing your cheek into him.  “You are not a monster.  Please never say that.”

But no amount of reassurance can ease the twisting in your gut, the utter doom you feel building in the pit of your stomach. 

+++

“Like this, my Princess,” Loki says, his palm facing the ceiling.  Two daggers, each the length of his hand, suddenly appear.  You’d snuck them out of his trinket room and probably shouldn’t have brought weapons into the dungeons.  But you’d fallen in love with this set of gold knives and you wanted Loki to tell you about them.  Their black, leather hilts are inlaid with emeralds in the shape of serpents that look a lot like Jormugandr.  You spot numerous nicks and scratches that are littered across the blades.  And the leather has slight dips in them like they’ve been molded to Loki’s grip.

He’d told you that those knives had seen many battles, that he’d favored them for hundreds of years and retired them only a few centuries ago.  You imagine your Prince on the battlefield, clad in armored leather and his horned helmet.  Enemies would fall before him, kneel in his presence, and surrender to his power.  He would call on his daggers and slash through the hordes, then stand victorious over all his spoils.

It didn’t help that, earlier, Loki had prefaced tonight’s seidr lesson by showing you how he usually summons his weapons.  He’d spread his arms out to his sides as those glittering gold knives appeared, gripped delicately in his hands as a fluid extension of himself.  His cocky smirk had made your pulse skip and your insides stir.

Loki’s chilled fingers brush across your cheek, “Distracted, my darling?”

“No.”

His smile curves up all the way, knowing full well that you’re lying.  When you roll your eyes, your Prince just chuckles.

Over the last few days, he’s begun teaching you how to summon objects.  But, unlike moving things, calling them is much more difficult for you to understand.  

As you sit across from Loki, on his bed, you can only blink up at him with wide eyes.

He flicks his wrist and the daggers disappear.  “You must think of the object clearly.”

“I am,” you insist.  “Or at least, I think I am.  I’m picturing them traveling to me.”

“You need not know its journey or even where it resides.”  He considers you for a moment, lips pursed.  “Here,” Loki offers his hand.  As soon as you take it, you feel suffocated for a fraction of a second, as if all the air has been sucked out of your lungs before rushing back.  You close your eyes and can sense Loki all around you, not physically, but inside your mind.  He wraps you up like your favorite, fuzzy blanket and holds you tight.

But he parts from you, then completely vanishes, leaving you bereft, hollow.  Your heart desperately seeks him out, only to grasp at empty air.

Outside of your mind, Loki says, “Call me to you, my darling.”

Loki is sitting right in front of you, but his essence, his presence inside your mind, has gone.  Without him, your heart longs.  It strains itself to find him.

Think clearly.

The pain in your chest only grows because you can’t stop searching for that peculiar connection you share with Loki.  You never imagined you’d feel so naked without it.  Even after taking in a calming breath, it doesn’t help you handle his absence.

It’s not important where he is.

You blindly reach for Loki’s other hand.  He grabs on without missing a beat.  You think of your Prince- of how his bright blue eyes glow when he laughs, of his gentle hands as they hold you all night, of those proud little smiles he gives you when you master a new lesson.  In his essence, Loki is affectionate and soft, intelligent and humorous, generous and loving.  

At that moment, you can sense Loki floating in the periphery of your mind and your heart rejoices.  Suddenly, he swarms around you in a cocoon of ice, blanketing you in affection that’s so clear, you can’t mistake it for anything else.

Your cheeks are sore from smiling, from basking in his adoration.  You open your eyes and see Loki as well as feeling him deep inside your soul, “You came to me.”  
 
“I will always come when you call.”  Loki brings your fingers to his lips, “I may not be able to, physically, but my mind will be with you.”

There’s fluttering in your tummy again and it steadily grows.  You let out a breathy, delighted laugh, “Does that mean you’ll know whenever I try to summon you?”

“Yes,” he grins and his eyes glitter with mischief.

“What’s that face?”

“What face?”

You poke him on the cheek, “That one.”

Loki laughs haughtily.  “You have summoned me before, many times.”  With a sly smile, he adds, “Inadvertently.  That is how I knew you could do it.”

“What?”  Heat quickly rises to your cheeks.  “When?”

“You think of me often,” Loki says, eyes glazed over like he’s reminiscing about something extra sweet.

A smile fights its way onto your face, “Whenever I’m away from you, I think about you.”

As you watch a blush color Loki’s cheeks, your gaze flicks to his lips.  Not for the first time, you’re tempted and the pure want rushes to the forefront of your mind.  But you tamp it down, immediately, as deep as it’ll go.  No matter what, you cannot give in.  Because you know, in the end, you won’t be strong enough to endure that much pain.

+++

You’re never going to get used the the reverberations of the sword.  When it clashes with Sif’s, the vibrations ache through to your toes.  And the sound- it’s nearly deafening.  

Since Asgardian metal had been to heavy for you, Thor gifted you a lightweight steel sword sourced from Alfheim that’s, somehow, reinforced with graphene for durability without the extra pounds.  It’s a shining, silver blade with a midnight blue hilt that matches a sleek, leather sheath.  And you much prefer admiring it instead of actually using it.

You raise your sword above your head to block a quick blow.  Your excitement is short-lived as Sif leans a small portion of her weight forward and you have to engage every muscle from your core to your toes to stay standing.

“Very good, little one,” she says, pushing your sword down towards your face with her own. 

Your knees are about to buckle.  Your forearms tremble.  You’re holding your breath because you don’t have the strength to inhale.  Your back bows as your boots slide across the marble floor.  You let out a pathetic squawk, “I yield.”

Sif straightens her back and grins, “You are improving.”

You can’t even call what you’re doing breathing.  It burns your chest when you suck in air.  “Are you just-“ you gasp, “saying that?”  You cling onto Sif’s forearm as you steady yourself.

“Certainly not,” she pats the back of your hand.  “You will make a fine warrior.”

Even though your heart is squeezing and cramping, you wheeze out a laugh.

“Yes!” Thor yells from across the room.  He’s sitting on a tall, wooden chair, legs crossed at the ankles.  “It shall soon become Sif and the Warriors Four.”

Ever since Kal’s visit, last week, Thor has been making excuses to tag along to various activities, which Brandt finds hilarious.  The other day, Thor even joined you for tea with the Ladies and had to suffer through an afternoon of Ala and Gerd’s invasive questioning and blatant ogling.  But you made up for it in the kitchens, afterwards, where he inhaled about a hundred brownies.

Thor grins as he makes his way over.  “Straight to the throne room, little one.  Father wishes to speak with us.”

”Wh- father?”  Your nostrils flair with horror, “N- why?”

But Thor just chuckles and steers you away.

+++

Much to your relief, the King only wanted to ask you about pineapples.  It turns out, Tony had sent some seeds back with Thor and you had to clench your jaw tight to keep yourself from sobbing.  Your boss knows how much you love them and had asked Thor if there’d be a way to harvest them on Asgard.

After crying into Thor’s shirt for ten minutes and a long shower, he’s escorted you to the dungeons a little early tonight.

He’s talking to Loki, through the invisible barrier, as you settle into the sofa.  Not a second later, you spot the sketchbook- Loki’s sketchbook- open to the last page.  A recently cleaned quill sits beside it on the coffee table.

Your heart stutters and threatens to stop completely.  The room turns silent.  It’s not blank anymore.  There’s a drawing, completely different from all the others.  It’s in sharp, black ink.  Fine lines carve out the shape of you, of your face as you sleep.  Your hair fans around your head like a crown and your cheek is pressed softly into Loki’s pillow.

Even though you aren’t moving, it’s so animated, so alive.  You look brilliant, effervescent, ethereal.  You’re captivating.  You’re beautiful in a way you’ve never seen yourself before.  Drawn here, you’re not a mere mortal amongst superior beings… you’re a goddess.

“No matter how hard I tried,” Loki says, crouching next to you, “I could not capture your beauty.” 

Reality, all logic, dissipates as you look into his eyes.  If everything around you were to disappear right now, you wouldn’t even notice.  If you had to visit the dungeons every day, for the rest of your life, you’d do it.  You want to give in so fiercely, even though you know you shouldn’t.  It doesn’t make any sense and you know why.

You love him.

Chapter Text

The starflies are still dutifully keeping watch over your roses, whose stems are more like stalks now, as long and thick as a sunflower’s.  Seams curl across their big, closed buds like a secret smile.  Most of them are at eye level, with some that have grown heads taller than you.

After showering them with water and loving words of encouragement, you leave for the kitchens.  It’s been a few weeks since you’ve baked Loki cookies and as if knowing, the Queen had subtly mentioned a new shipment of blue chocolates from the South.

Brandt sits at the carved, wooden table that’s tucked into the corner of the kitchens as you sprinkle chopped up chocolate pieces into your sweet, vanilla cookie dough.  It creates beautiful, blue swirls that you admire as you scoop little balls of it onto a sheet pan.

When they’re safely baking in the stone oven, you join Brandt.

“So…” Brandt gives you the most awkward laugh you’ve ever heard.  His golden lashes flutter as his eyes dart away, “you and Prince Loki…”

You bark out a laugh.  “You had almost a year to ask and that’s what you came up with?”

“I- well-“ he fiddles with his vambraces nervously, “it is not proper to ask a maiden of such things.”

“Brandt, you can ask me anything.  And about me and Loki…”  Your eyes look to the ceiling as if it’ll help you, “I don’t know.  I mean, I do know.  But- ugh why is this so hard to explain?”

Your guard nods, face morphing into something cocky and knowing, “My grandmother said that there is but one thing that cannot be explained: love.”

You shoot him the dirtiest look you can muster, “It’s annoying how much you know.  Truly.”

He laughs heartily as you cross your arms beneath your chest and continue to glare.  But then he helps you take the cookies out of the oven, so you forgive him.  And when he eyes your cookies hopefully, you fill a basket up for him to take back to his chambers like you always do.

Without Brandt, you wouldn’t be able to do all you’ve been doing.  You wouldn’t feel safe enough to bake or water your roses or visit Heimdall.  With your trusted guard, you’re free.

+++

With his hands linked behind his back, Loki stands behind the barrier.  He flashes his teeth when he senses you and your heart stutters in your chest.  As always, Brandt stays at the base of the stairs and waits until Loki signals that you’re safe.

Right when you walk through, your sweet Prince takes you in his arms, cooling your heated skin.  A contented sigh falls from your lips.  Your eyes slip shut.  

Loki smells of ice and freshly cut blossoms, a lush forest filled with snow-capped evergreens.  You’re brought to an unfamiliar place in your mind.  There’s a glimpse of an enormous willow tree.  It’s fleeting, but you can see its wispy branches that glow a soft orchid pink before the image disappears.

“I smell cookies,” Loki says with pure happiness.  It makes you laugh.  It makes your already softened heart turn to mush.

“Not just any cookies,” you say, cheek pressed into Loki’s tunic.  “Blue chocolate cookies.”

His chest vibrates as he chuckles, “Oh?  It seems my little Princess is attempting to get into my good graces.”

“Aren’t I already?”

You pull back and can see the barest hints of a smile on Loki’s face.  He keeps you in suspense as he separates from you to drop the basket onto the coffee table.  Your Prince turns back towards you, his hands behind his back again, “That depends.”

“On what?” You ask, eyes narrowed, trying to burrow into Loki’s mind to see what he’s thinking.  If only you knew how to do that.

He laughs cockily at your weak attempt to infiltrate his thoughts.  “Mother told me something peculiar this morning.”

“She did?”

“Indeed.  It appears that, after a thousand years, Havardr’s mane has gone through some changes.”

Your brows hit your hairline.  “About that…” you trail off with an guilty chuckle.  You’re not sure if mentioning Kal is a good idea or not.  “Ummm…”

But before you can explain, his entire body stiffens.  His gaze goes right through you as an alarming sensation rushes to the forefront of your mind.  Your emerald pendant jumps and vibrates in warning.  It sends a pulse of warmth around your shoulders.

“You must not make a sound,” Loki says, but it’s strange, echoing, like he’s talking directly into your mind.

You nod and watch as he silently turns around and walks to the edge of his cell.  Your abdomen clenches when, out of nowhere, a man appears.  He’s donning a dark robe, similar in style to Hemming’s, and it swishes behind him as he walks up the three steps to stand face to face with Loki.  The man isn’t as tall, but he’s wide and imposing.  His platinum blond braid is long, hanging halfway down his back. 

It alarms you, how rapidly your pulse kicks up.  Your hair stands on end as a familiar chill runs across the back of your neck.  Your necklace hums, as if ready for an impending attack.

“Gaddi,” Loki says, uncaring and calm, looking down his nose at the unwelcome guest.  “What a surprise.”

“Likewise.”

“Why are you here?” 

Gaddi glances around the cell, “There is talk.”

“Regarding?”  Loki doesn’t look phased as he watches red energy swarm around Gaddi’s fingertips, but your dread grows.

“The prophecy.  It is what brought me back,” Gaddi lifts up his hands, casually gesturing, as if there isn’t a massive surge of energy following his threatening movements.

Your Prince raises a brow, unimpressed, “Not many can return from death.”

“You would know.”  Gaddi’s mouth contorts into a leer, “But enough about that.  Let us discuss the spá.  The mortal.”

“Ah,” Loki tips his chin up.  All at once, you feel the ire boiling inside of Loki, traveling through the delicate link you share, though he doesn’t show it, “It was you.”

A sinister grin appears on Gaddi’s face, “She is a resilient one.  She survived the venin dust.  Quite impressive.”  He scoffs, “They all believe it is Thor who has become enthralled by the girl, but I know better.”

You’ve never seen Loki so emotionally masked, not even when you’d first met him.  He’s beyond mad, but looks unaffected.  “You will leave her be.  One word to my brother and you will finally cease to be a thorn in my side.”

“I am not alone,” Gaddi states, not even looking at Loki as he extends his hand.  His red energy scans the cell and your heart completely stops for a second, only to return drumming at double the speed.  “There are many who wish the mortal dead before Asgard lays in ruins.”  His fingers stop moving when they get to you.

A breath lodges in your throat.  Your line of sight grows dark around the edges.

Gaddi locks eyes with you.  “Well, well,” he says, “who do we have here?”  He sharply turns back to Loki, “Unveil her.”

“Never.”

“Already wrapped around her little finger,” Gaddi snorts in derision.  “I have heard of the mortal’s beauty and her status as the golden Prince’s whore.  I may have some use of her before her unfortunate and untimely demise.”

Loki steps to the side, so his body blocks Gaddi’s view completely, “You will have to kill me first.”

Gaddi snickers, but his expression quickly turns malevolent.  Glowing red sparks fly from his hands.  The air around him visibly turns thick.  It’s as if every molecule in the atmosphere freezes.  Tiny ice crystals glitter around him.  The temperature drops.  In the next second, you’re blinded by green smoke.

Through the hazy curtain, you can barely see.  The buzzing red magic around Gaddi explodes before breaking through the invisible wall.  Geometric gold lines fizzle and flicker all the way across the barrier before popping and dying out.
 
Vicious red energy coils around Loki’s throat and your shock turns into outright terror.  The smoke holds you back when you try to lunge forward.  Helplessly, you watch as Loki’s back tenses in agony, his hand outstretched behind him, to you.  He’s absorbing whatever spell is being cast upon him.  It’s hurting him.

Loki is using his seidr to protect you before fighting back.  You’re still struggling to get to him, but your Prince is persistent.

As soon as his magic builds solidly around you, silence overtaking the bubble you’re safely ensconced in, he directs his attention to Gaddi.  The pure powers radiating off of Loki is so potent, your muscles pulse and vibrate.  This isn’t anger, it’s something bordering on madness.

Loki pushes his palms out and, immediately, Gaddi’s spine snaps back, head hanging limp, his braid touching the bottom step behind him.  He collapses, body contorted, and tumbles heavily down the stairs.

Loki walks closer to the invisible barrier that no longer exists, while the green smoke around you dissipates.  You follow behind him, to peer down the steps, where Gaddi lies, motionless.

You touch Loki’s shoulder and instinctively pull back with a gasp.  He’s positively freezing from Gaddi’s spell, but seems unharmed.  When he turns around, though, a fluttering grows so rapidly in your stomach that your head feels feather light.

He’s entirely blue.  Every exposed inch of his flesh is decorated with intricate, raised powder blue lines.  They’re embossed across his forehead, his chin.  They curl around his jaw and down his throat.  You want to touch them, trace the puffy little lines radiating out from his eyes.  

Loki blinks down at you and the whites of his eyes are ruby red, glistening like the most precious gemstones.  There’s a ring of black outlining his irises.  

He’s overwhelmingly beautiful.  It’s heart-stopping, spine-tingling.  

You take his face between your hands, whorls tickling your palms.  His cheeks are so cold and all you can think about is warming him up.  “Loki, are you okay?”

He smirks as he winds his arms around your waist, “Of course I am, my darling.  That was nothing.  Merely an inconvenience, if one could even call it that.”  But he turns serious, “Are you all right?  Do you feel well?”

All the air expels out of your lungs as you nod.  It’s painful, how relieved you are.  Your insides ache with how taut your muscles had been, worried that Gaddi had done something to Loki, that your all-powerful Prince could’ve been hurt.

His priority was your safety.  Nothing even came second, not even his own life.

That fact makes you grin as you trace the pads of your fingers around his eyes, utterly enthralled.  As he studies you with his deep, red eyes, trying to see what’s going on in your mind, you stretch up on tiptoes.  You brush your thumb over a ridge that crosses over his cheekbone.  He’s breathtaking.  Asgardians are so intriguing, complicated, exquisite.

Those mesmerizing eyes widen when you pull his face down towards you.  He leans forward and your eyes flick to his lips.  You can’t hear a thing.  Your pulse drums, loud, in your ears.  You tilt your head.  Loki’s hands tense at your back.  You surge up to press your lips to his and your entire body sparks to life, awakens, like it’s been stagnant your whole life.

His mouth warms up, absorbs all your heat.  The ever-growing energy inside you stirs up and latches onto Loki.  His magic seizes the chance and swirls together, twisting like a delicate braid.  It wraps around your mind, your soul, connecting you as one somewhere so, incredibly deep.

Your muscles vibrate as an aftershock of the connection.  It’s completion, a fulfillment so profound, you instantly forget what it felt like to be without it.  Everything has found its place.  Loki is with you as if he’s always been there, cemented into your very existence.

Woozy from the kiss and your newfound bond, you blink up at him in wonder.  He laughs, cocky, those raised lines outlining his smile.

Loki brings a hand up to trace your lip, then he stumbles backwards.  His pupils tremble as he holds his palms up to his face, utterly panicked.

Your brows pinch together, “What’s wrong?”

A blink and he’s gone.

You find him in the bathroom, knuckles pale, bracing the marble counter in front of the mirror. 

Loki doesn’t move, even as you press into his side and admire the reflection of the two of you.  The blue of his skin is even more beautiful in the golden light of the bathroom.  But when you grin at him though the mirror, he doesn’t return it.

Instead, his lips press together, “How can you stand to look at me?”

“What do you mean?”

“This,” he says, teeth grinding together.

Your brows pinch together, “You’re just cold.  Let’s go warm you up.”

Loki spins on his heels so his back is to you, so you’re not touching him anymore.  “Leave me,” he says.  “At once,”

“Why?”  You step forward and link your hand with his.  You tug on it so he’ll turn back around.  He doesn’t.  “I don’t understand.”

“Please, my darling,” Loki whispers, “do not make this difficult.”  He tries to shake your hand away, but that only makes you grip him even tighter.

“But I don’t want to go.”

He whips his head around and attempts to scare you off with a frigid glare.

You ignore him and yank on his hand, “Come on, lets get you to bed and warm you up.  I’ve been practicing my temperature magic.  Don’t you want to see?”  You wiggle the fingers of your free hand and he relents with a quiet sigh.

Once at his bed, you concentrate and wave your hands over it.  But you leap back as green flames spread all over the comforter.

Loki snorts and you can tell he was trying his hardest not to.  He’s still extremely upset and you’re left wondering why.

He puts out the fire with a wave of his hand, then sits you down on the edge of the mattress before he does the same. “I have something to tell you.”

“You can tell me anything.”

“This,” he lifts his hands up, “is my true form.”  He looks oddly ashamed.  “I am not Aesir, by birth.  I… am a Frost Giant.”

You wish you knew the significance of what he’s telling you.  After taking his icy hands in yours, you press them over your heart.  “Loki, I like you any way you are.  Or any way you want to be.  I don’t know anything about Frost Giants, but I think you’re beautiful like this.”

A sudden numbness lulls you into an unfamiliar and unnatural, hypnotizing calm.  

Your Prince is so damned hot.  But he’s being very weird, very confusing.  You just want to kiss him again and cuddle with him and ask him to read to you with that sinfully attractive voice of his.  Why’s he so upset?  Maybe you’ve been objectifying him too much.  Maybe it’s inappropriate to think of a Prince like that.  But you’re only human.  You have eyes.  He’s even your favorite shade of blue.  Doesn’t he know?  You’re so far gone for him, it’s unsalvageable.  Your heart already belongs to him.

You suck in a breath as you blink away the fog in your head.

Loki gets up and takes a step back from you.  “Frost Giants are not beautiful.  They are barbarians, monsters.  They are bloodthirsty savages who will kill anyone, without remorse.”

You shake your head, “That’s not you.”

“Is it not?”  He snaps, the air around you growing frosty, “You know what I did in New York, how many people I killed.

“No, no, but that wasn’t-“

“What do you know?”  You flinch at his tone, at his eyes that have turned hard.  Swirls of red swarm like hornets.  “You are but a mere mortal.  You know nothing.  It was my orders that ended those lives.  It was the evil that lives inside of me.”

“Don’t say that.”
 
“That is who I am… nothing but a vicious beast, the thing that children fear, the abominations we were taught to kill.”

You can feel him pulling away from you, deep inside your heart.  “Don’t-“ you try to talk, but Loki cruelly tears at the connection you’ve only just created.  It burns your chest.  Your skin stings, scalded by icy pain. 

Loki’s jaw ticks, “You wish to be tethered to a killer who can never leave the confines of a cell?”

You struggle to take in a breath.  A phantom pushes down onto your chest, brutally and slowly crushing your insides.

“What?”  He hisses.  “Will you continue to subject yourself to spend all your nights in the dungeons?  With the very person who has created such chaos and destruction to your world?”

It’s as if your very essence is being extracted from you, like your blood is running dry, turning to dust.  Over your dress, you clutch your heart.  The excruciating torment persists as Loki drains your energy and continues to cut himself away from you.

“Don’t-“ you wheeze, attempting to inhale, desperation taking over, “leave me.”

All at once, everything stops.

Loki looks dumbfounded, shocked, and doesn’t move, even as you fall forward and have to brace yourself on your elbows as you’re released from the agonizing pressure.  Your chest, almost hollow, expands with every whisper of a breath.

Bit by bit, the pain subsides, but leaves such an intense ache behind.  When you look up, Loki’s blurry until you blink your tears away.  He looks upon you with horror.  His lips quiver, unable to hide his shame.

Loki crumbles before you, drops to his knees so abruptly, the impact shakes the entire cell.  

“I cannot change,” his voice shakes, uncertain.  “I will always only be this.  Nothing more.”

“Loki,” you fight to swallow around the tightness in your throat, “you’re the single most incredible person in this entire universe.  You’re more loving, more intelligent, more powerful, more everything than anyone I’ve ever met.  I don’t know who made you blind to that, but I can see it.  I can see all of you.  And however you want to look… it won’t ever change how I feel about you.”

His ruby eyes bore into you, glossy and beautiful, as he struggles to accept the truth in your words. 

A thought comes to you out of nowhere.  Loki was appointed the God of Lies for a reason.  You’d thought that it was a slight from Odin.  But what if it was meant to help him?  Maybe Odin gave his son the ability to differentiate truth from lies because of Loki’s innate distrust for people.  

Because, no matter how direct you are, he cannot find it in himself to believe you.  There’s nothing more you can do to convince him.  He’s been inside your mind.  Surely, he must know.  Loki’s too intelligent and observant to have missed something that obvious.

And now, as you study him- his sheepish expression- he clearly does know.  He’s probably known this whole time.  And he’d been acting all coy, pretending like he doesn’t know that you’re completely in love with him.  

You narrow your eyes, miffed.

And he made you spill your guts, even after he had the nerve to try and sever your bond.  Then, he says that you’re a mortal who knows nothing?

That asshole.  That insufferable know-it-all.

Loki’s cold fingers cautiously tap the back of your hand like he’s still afraid you’ll freeze to death if he lingers for too long.  “You are truly not disgusted,” his eyes are downturned, shimmering adorably, trying to win you over.  As if you weren’t his from the moment you met.

“No, I’m not,” you glare.  “Stop fishing for compliments.  You’re hot.  I already told you.”

Loki raises his hand to your face, so, incredibly slowly, like he’s waiting for you to recoil in horror, “I am sorry, truly.”

“You’re an ass, Loki.”

He swipes his thumb across your cheek, over your dried tears.  You can’t fathom how he could think of himself as unattractive in any way.  He’s captivating.  He’s brilliant and graceful and so damned handsome.  Your insides flutter as you watch his lips curl up into a tiny, little smile.

With the softest voice, he asks, “Do you accept my apology, my darling?”

You force your googly eyes away to shoot him a dirty look.  “No.  And if you ever talk to me like that again, I’ll turn you into a gross, slimy toad.  With- with a whole bunch of warts and stuff.”

His smile widens, “I have not yet taught you how.”

“I’ll learn it by myself and do it.”

Pride illuminates his face.  “I have no doubt.  Though, all I would need is one kiss from my Princess to turn back.”

You hmph.  “Who says I’ll give you one?”

“I will earn it.”  Loki takes your hand and presses it over his heart.

“Stop being cute.  I’m mad at you.”

“I know,” your Prince says.  “I was expecting you to leave… and to never return.”

Your brows furrow, “Why?”

“Because everybody does.”

“I won’t.”  The words leave you without thought.

There’s a long moment of silence before Loki helps you up.  He sits on the edge of the bed and guides you onto his lap.  His shoulders slump with relief when you rub your cheek into his tunic.

“What was that thing?” You ask into his shirt.  “It felt like my soul was being ripped out.”

“Our magic,” Loki says, quiet, “it has come together, somehow.”

“You wanted to take it back.”

“No.  I did not wish to take it back.”  He lets out a slow, nearly silent breath, “I wanted to free you from me.”

“Well,” your lips quiver, “don’t ever try that again.  I didn’t like it.”

“All right, my Princess,” Loki says, tightening his hold around you.  “I shall do anything you say.”

+++

After running through the torch-lit palace halls and waking up Thor and his mom, you’re now back in Loki’s cell.  You’re waiting on the couch while the three of them are having a family meeting in the bathroom.

Several einherjar are taking away Gaddi’s body, leaving behind an odd feeling.  Perhaps you should feel something for a life lost, but all you can think about is how he tried to kill Loki… how he’d initially planned on killing you. 

Thor re-emerges, his hands clasped in front of him, and asks, “Are you… all right?”

“I know what you’re asking,” you tell him, seeing the reluctance and uncertainty in his eyes.  “I like him however he is, however he looks.”

He lets out a breath and sits beside you.  “I must admit, knowing and seeing are two different things.”

“Why is he so embarrassed about who he is?”

Thor takes your hand and pats the back of it, “As children, we were taught to hate Frost Giants, to categorically fear them.  And Loki, well, after more than a thousand years of knowing one thing… he found about his true parentage only a year ago.”

“You mean… just before New York.”

“Yes, prior to the incident on Midgard, he… fell to his death from the rainbow bridge.  Or so we thought.”

A weight lands on your chest, sinking all the way into your stomach.  “Your parents knew who he was.  Not only did they keep it a secret, they made him fear himself.”  You take in a breath that burns your throat, “He- he killed himself.”

“The fault is mine, my child,” the Allmother says, emerging from the bathroom.  “We thought we were doing the right thing.  Instead, his father and I… we have caused him so much anguish.  I do not believe he will ever forgive me.”  She purses her lips to keep them from trembling.  Her bright eyes shine with unshed tears, so vulnerable and open.  “I am afraid he will hate me for all eternity.”

You shake your head and try to swallow around the stinging in your throat.  “Loki loves you so much.  He could never, ever hate you.”  Your nose twitches, fizzy from bubbling emotions.  “No matter what, you’re his mom and he’ll always love you.”

The Allmother nods and gives you a wistful smile.  Thor stands up and offers you a hand, which you take.  He pulls your hood over your head and leads you out through the newly reconstructed barrier, leaving his mom in Loki’s cell.

Once in your room, Thor lingers.  There’s worry written all over his face as he stands in the middle of your sitting room.

“Your brother’s going to be okay.”  You peer up at him, “He’s strong, just like you.”

Thor cracks a smile, “I know he will be, little one.”  He glances over to the couch, still dejected and troubled, unspoken words sitting heavily on his tongue.

It’s the first night in nearly a year that you won’t be with Loki.  But he wanted to be alone and you respect that.  All you can do is try to keep your heart from calling out to him.

But you’re not the only one who’s crestfallen.  There’s no one in the universe as close to Loki as Thor is.  They’ve had over a thousand years together.  Your heartache could only be a fraction of his.

“Ever have a slumber party?”  You ask, trying to put on your best smile.

Thor scrunches his nose, “I cannot say I have.”

“It’s when you invite your best friends to sleep over.  You watch movies and gossip about boys and have snacks all night.”

His mouth curves up on one side, amused and relieved at once, “Well, I do have to fill you in on Fandral’s shenanigans in court yesterday.  Is that adequate for the ‘gossip about boys’ portion of the evening?”

“Absolutely,” you grin.  “What’s he done now?”

Thor unclips his chest plate and gives you a knowing look, a brow raised.  “Do you not mean to ask who he has done now?”

You bounce on the balls of your feet, “Who?  Who?”

He sets his armor onto a side table.  His eyes crinkle at the corners as his lips turn up, “I will beg your pardon, little one, but I shall not speak of such tawdry things without the aforementioned snacks.”

“All right,” you tap your chin.  “But only if you carry me to the kitchens.”

Thor laughs heartily.  “Very well.”  He scoops you up easily and perches you on his forearm.  “Off to the kitchens,” he announces, opening your door and pointing down the empty corridor.  “I require brownies!”

+++

You feel a little bad about leaving Thor behind in the solar to deal with Ala and Gerd’s incessant flirting.  But your mind has been with Loki all morning and you can barely even fake a smile for the Queen.

Without thought, your feet lead you to your augury roses.  Immediately, you know that something’s different.  A pleasant tingle shimmies down your spine.  Your usually bright green flowerbed is now accented with pops of color.  Your heart flits away.  Your skirts fly back as you rush across the stone path.

Their scent wafts over before you’re able to get a good look.  In addition to the heady scent of classic roses, there’s crisp apples, pine, ice. 

Your pulse has gone into overdrive.  They’ve already opened up fully.  Each of your twenty blooms are bigger than Mjölnir.  Every petal’s edge is tipped with bright blue that gradually fades into white.  They shimmer beneath the afternoon sun like they’re infused with diamond dust and crushed pearls.  

They’re beautiful and imposing, light and dark, perfect but disparate.  They’re Loki, personified.

You turn around to call Thor, but he’s already there, grinning at your naked excitement.

“Did you see, Thor?  Did you see?”

“Yes, little one, I saw.”  He approaches and delicately places his fingers underneath an oversized bloom, “Are they not the grandest, most beautiful roses in all the nine realms?”

You clap your hands together, “Yes.”

Thor taps your cheek gently and his baby blue eyes shine with adoration.  He stands beside you while you marvel at each rose.  

In the distance, you spy Thor’s mom and Hammond.  They’re standing beneath the archway, speaking to each other quietly and observing you.

When they look your way, you give them both an over-exaggerated look of suspicion, pursed lips and all.  But the Queen only smiles at you radiantly, leaving you to wonder what deeper meaning the augury roses may have.

+++

“Loki!”  You burst into his cell, shedding your cloak and letting it fall messily to the floor.

Your Prince leaps up, alarmed, from his spot on the floor.  His book topples over.  “What is the matter?”  He’s flustered as he looks behind you to see Thor just outside.  He shoos his brother away while he reaches for you, a little wrinkle between his brows, waiting for you to say something.

In your excitement, though, you’d forgotten that Loki had asked for time to himself.  It hasn’t even been a day.

“Is it okay that I’m here?  I’m sorry, I should’ve asked first.”

Loki’s dark lashes flutter, “As soon as you had left, last night, I missed you.”

You grin, “I missed you, too, Loki.”

His bashfulness only lasts for a moment.  He flashes his teeth, “I wish to know what has excited you so.”

“The roses.  They’ve opened up and they’re beautiful.”  You take in a deep breath, hanging onto his forearms in excitement, “They’re magical.  And big and sparkly and so tall and they smell like you.”

Loki tips his head back, baring his throat as he laughs.  “I beg your pardon?”

“I-oh, they-“ heat rises to your cheeks, “well, you smell really good.  I mean- the roses… do.”

“Very smooth, my darling,” he teases, cool fingers tracing the contours of your cheek.

Your mouth pinches together while you look into Loki’s glittering eyes.  As you watch his unbridled joy, your mouth itches to tell him what kept you up all night.

But he suddenly looks dejected, “You wish to inform me of something else.”

“Yes.  I had a lot of thoughts after last night.”

“I assumed as much.”

Your lips part and close a few times.  After struggling to choose a starting point, you just let it spill.  “I do want it, Loki.  I want to share magic with you.  I want to be connected to you.  I’d rather visit the dungeons every night, to see you, than do anything else.”

He rears back, “What?”

There’s a surge of panic.  You’re about to lose your nerve, so you push on.  “I love when you read to me.  I love when you teach me magic and- and when you cuddle me.  I love it all.  I-“ you take in a sharp breath, “want to be with you, Loki.”

He’s still silent, watching as your heart tries to leap away.

Quietly, you add, “I want you to be mine.”

Something snaps.  There’s a release of tension that you hadn’t known existed.  The air around you clears.  Loki’s shoulders sink forward, curled towards you.  He closes his eyes for a long moment before focusing back on you.

“I have lived for many centuries,” Loki says, eyes soft as he tips your chin up, “and, somehow, I know I have always been yours.”

Chapter Text

“Did you have a nice bath, Havardr?”  You ask, brushing his shining, white mane with your gold comb.  You pay special attention to his green streak that still hasn’t gone away.

He snorts in response.  You know he’s not fond of how the stable master scrubs him down.  

Outside, beneath the shade of willow trees, you enjoy the quiet with your horse.  There aren’t any birds singing today, leaving only the sounds of fresh leaves rubbing against each other in the warm breeze.

Several feet away, Thor and Sif are animatedly arguing in hushed tones.  She happened by and nearly had a coronary when she saw you brushing Havardr.  You can’t help but revel in the fact that Thor has to try and make up an excuse as to why, exactly you’re playing with Loki’s horse.

Havardr lowers his head as you walk around to face him, so you can tend to the hair that falls over his eyes without needing a stool.

You give him a kiss on the cheek, “Thank you.”

Havardr’s ears flick as he lets you comb his hair to one side.  You pluck an emerald barrette from your updo to clip his mane back towards his horned headpiece.

“My handsome boy.”

His lips curl up on one side, not at all satisfied by the new accessory.

But you just beam at him while tickling his cheeks.  “Can you believe it?  Two more lessons and I’ll finally get to show you off around town.”

A puff of air shoots out of his nostrils, blowing your hair back.

“You don’t want to?”

His feathery, white lashes flutter and, all at once, the harsh sting of rejection shoots through you.  In your mind, there’s a flash of unfamiliar people- hatred, fear, disgust clear on each of their faces.

And what’s worse than the countless, ugly sneers is the wrenching pain in your heart.

“Havardr,” you wrap you arms around his neck, “I’m so sorry.“

His muscles slacken.  His projected feelings slowly fade away from your mind as he leans in.

“They’re wrong.  All of them.  You’re smart and strong and so sweet.  And I love you very much.  All those people… they’re not worthy enough to be your friend.”

Havardr lets out a little grumble as he snuggles into you even more.

Both Loki and his horse are so, incredibly loving.  You’ll never be able to understand how people could see them any other way.

“I have a good idea,” you lean back to look into his curious brown eyes.  “We’re going to go on lots of fun adventures, just the two of us.  You can show me all your favorite places and we can spend all day together.”

He blinks, considering for a moment, before taking in a deep breath.  Havardr’s nostrils flair before he presses his muzzle into your cheek and blows a raspberry, making you squeal.

And while you’re laughing, you feel something.  It’s embedded within images that appear inside your mind.  A glowing tree in the forest, a grinning Loki conjuring up a golden apple, an endless field of sparkling pink wildflowers.

They’re all things that make Havardr happy.  And by showing you, he’s making sure you know that he’s happy with you, too.

+++

“Wheeee.”

The airy hem of your chiffon dress curls around your ankles as you twirl around.  Your head feels bubbly like the sweet champagne that Sif’s totally-not-a-friend-but-actually-boyfriend, Magnus, brought from Alfheim.  It tasted like cotton candy grapes and made your mouth all tingly.

Hogun had danced with you all night and you’d even gotten a big laugh out of him when you almost face-planted into the glowing, five tier cake that signified the start of the Autumn Festival.  At the end of the night, he’d safely passed you onto Thor, who wrangled you to the dungeons.

Loki keeps your sagging frame upright when you spin into his arms.  

He huffs a laugh through his nose, “I may need to speak to my brother about allowing you to imbibe so much.”

You make an indignant sound, your mouth open in outrage.  “I can imbibe however much grape candy cane sugar candy that I want.”  You poke your finger into his chest over and over, “You can’t tell me what to do.”

Your Prince chuckles, “All right, all right.”

His smile stuns you.  His eyes spark like trapped lightning.  He’s the single most beautiful thing in the entire universe and you can’t believe he’s yours.

You flutter your eyelashes up at him.  “You’re so dreamy, Loki.  You’re like a- a marble statue from the Renaissance.”

The cockiest grin graces his face.  “Yes, well, the great masters were all particularly enamored with me.”

“Wait,” your brain scrambles to process what you’ve just heard, “what?”

“A story for another time, my darling.”

You whisper loudly, “Did they see you naked?”

Loki’s lips twitch as he summons his cozy, black sweater, “How else would they have sculpted me?”

An exaggerated gasp leaves your lips, scandalized by this new information.  You picture Loki standing on a pedestal, stark naked, Michaelangelo studying his godly form.  Candlelight accentuates every tight dip and groove of his very well-defined body.

Your Prince snickers as he loosens the ribbons on either side of your dress.  “Naughty, little girl.”

“I wasn’t thinking about you naked.”

“I never said you were.”

“Oh,” you giggle.  “I thought you were in here,” you point to your head, “‘cause I was imagining you all oiled up and sexy and- and do you have an eight-pack?  I mean- wait, Loki, wait, I’m drunk, you can’t ask me to tell you all my secrets.”

Loki’s laugh is airy and full of amusement.  “I did no such thing.”

“Oh.”  You start cracking up over nothing and snuggle into Loki’s sleep tunic.

“I must admit, I have never found anyone’s alcohol-addled candor so charming before.”

“That’s ‘cause you like me.”

Loki chuckles, “Yes, I do.”

You pull back, “I like you, too.  I like you more than liking.”

Your Prince studies you for a moment before a gust of cool air pulses around you.  The hem of his soft sweater, now hangs over the tops of your thighs and your fancy, high bun has been released.  Gently, he combs his fingers through your hair.

“Loki?”

“Yes, my Princess.”

“I wish I could live for thousands of years, too.”

“And why is that?”  Loki asks, hand moving to the nape of your neck.

“‘Cause then I’d get to spend millions of days with you instead of,” your nose scrunches up, mind fuzzy, “only thousands.”

He studies you, face unreadable, as he smoothes his thumb across your jaw.

“You’re the best thing that’ll ever happen to me, Loki.”

+++

“And then, Gerd ‘accidentally’ spills sváss berry wine all over my gold dress.  Can you believe that?”  

You readjust your head as Jormugandr’s smooth, cool skin ripples in response.  He’s coiled into a tight circle, creating a soft dip for you to settle into, while letting you press your back against his cheek.  You’re beneath one yellow eye and left looking at half of his nose.

Your bare feet are tucked under your night dress.  The thin fabric billows lightly with the mellow breeze of the endless, black forest.  As always, Jormugandr has scattered glowing pearls to illuminate the space around you.

“They’re all so mean.  But Loki says I shouldn’t play pranks on them, ‘cause no one’s supposed to know about my magic.”

Jormugandr hums, low, trying to soothe you as blue butterflies continue to flit above your lap.  They’re interested in your small pile of sea crystals, attracted by the sparkling glow of the rare gems that have been collected by your sweet Prince.

“You’d gobble them all up for me, though, right?”

His tongue flicks against your arm and it makes you burst into a fit of giggles. 

“We’d be the best duo ever.”  You point to yourself, “I can tell you who annoys me and you can eat them.”

He snickers, air leaking through his narrow nostrils.  His big, gleaming iridescent scales shift and click with the movement, twinkling like champagne.

Seidr easily gathers at your fingertips, allowing you to move a green sea crystal into Jormugandr’s awaiting mouth.  When his skin pulses with renewed energy, the midnight blue trees in the distance wink in and out.

In here, the air is calm and clean, subtly fragrant and uncontaminated.

Loki told you that this place is a neutral fragment that’s been ripped out of time and space.  It exists only here, in this reality, in this realm, as a safe place for Jormugandr to rest.

Your sweet Prince harvested plants from each of the nine realms to create this beautiful forest.  He breathed life into a barren place to create a haven for the protector of your world.

Outside of this quiet pocket, somewhere else in this galaxy, is Earth.  And living there are people you love.  You’re sure they’re fighting and healing and avenging, oblivious to the powerful serpent who protects them.  They live, not knowing about their guardian.  They live, never knowing about the jailed Prince, the one who has always kept them safe.

+++

“Show me once more, my Princess.”

Your heart stutters, in absolute shock at what you’ve finally accomplished.

Loki is on the other side of the room, stock still, face strained from nervous anticipation.  He’s always so animated now- so unafraid to show you how he feels.

And it encourages you to do the most.

As you call upon Loki’s emerald-encrusted daggers, the pair that have just returned back to his outstretched hand, they easily come to you again.

There’s no harsh effort anymore, no pain or tingling.  You just think and they’re in your hands.  It’s so easy and you don’t even know when it happened.

Your lip quivers, “I can really do it.”

Loki pops up right in front of you, the most dazzling smile on his face.  His eyes slip shut, “I knew you could, my darling.  I knew it.”

“How come it’s suddenly so easy now?” You ask, a grin etched onto your face, your pulse still hammering.  “I don’t get it.”

“Seidr works in ways we cannot explain,” he says, not elaborating, teasingly mysterious.  There’s a lovable, little glint in his eye, “And certainly very, extremely difficult for a simple human to comprehend.”

Your lips purse as you shoot him a glare.  “Why do I still love you, even when you’re being an ass?”

Loki’s face falls into a mask of neutrality and it jolts your heart.  It’s something you haven’t seen in so long.  But he must sense the panic building within you because his brows furrow.  Then, what cracks through is bewilderment.  It’s absolute chaos as warring emotions flash in his eyes.  The shape of his lips, the twitch of his nose, the minute trembling of his clenched jaw… they all ask the same thing- Why?

After struggling to swallow, you send Loki’s daggers to the coffee table, then take both of his hands in yours.  “I love you, Loki.  I’ve loved you for a long time.”

A tendril of warmth trickles down your spine.  It seeps into your veins and wraps around your entire being, boring deep into a place that’s always sat empty.  And all the while, Loki’s wide eyes are fixed on yours.

He’s not searching for something.  He knows exactly where his magic is going and he’s gauging your reaction as he leads it there.  You can sense Loki’s potent energy, shredding through any spot that hasn’t yet been claimed by him.

Your emerald pendant shudders with the tremors wracking your body.  Slowly, carefully, Loki brings your joined hands over his heart and the incessant buzzing dies down to a thin, simmering layer just underneath your skin.

“There is a pocket of infinite space,” Loki says, still holding your gaze, “that houses my most valued possessions- a thousand years worth of priceless artifacts, trophies, jewels… and yet, only now do I know how little they truly mean to me.  For I have never before considered that someone could ever be worth more.”

His eyes glitter.  They shine with unsullied emotions- adoration, reverence, allegiance.

“You, my Princess, are my greatest treasure.”

Chapter Text

It’s still dim.  The gauzy, black curtains framing Loki’s bed shield most of the light, mimicking the break of dawn.

With your cheek pressed to your silky, green pillow, you observe, hypnotized by the perfectly straight slope of Loki’s nose, the way his dark eyelashes curl away from his cheekbones.  His unmarred skin glows as if a light hides somewhere inside.  

The pad of your index finger follows the sharp cuts of his face.  Bright green energy leaves a trail before sinking into Loki’s skin.  It leaves you wondering, not for the first time, what your seidr is doing.

It’s natural.  It requires no thought or intention.  Your Prince had said that at this stage, your magic can be pure, unadulterated emotion.  It’s why, you think, Loki is so enamored with your accidents.  And why he refuses to tell you what you did to Havardr’s mane.

You can only hope that your magic conveys love, hope, longing… that it tells Loki how much space he takes up in your heart and in your mind.  Because words have never meant much.  To him, they’re used to deceive and manipulate.

So you always try to keep yourself open, to show him your truth without words because it’s the only way he’ll accept it.

His eyelashes flutter a moment before his gaze falls upon you.  Your finger stills, interrupted, in the middle of tracing his jaw.  A breathy chuckle falls from Loki’s smiling lips.

“Admiring me, even in my sleep?”

“No,” you retract your hand as if it’ll erase the fact that he’d clearly seen you.  And felt you.

“How cute you are, my Princess,” Loki grins.  “Like my very own little-“ he taps his chin, “what did you call those hairy creatures?”

“Wha-“ your mouth falls open, thoroughly offended.

“Ah,” says your Prince, wide eyes glittering, “I remember- teddy bear.”

You hum, annoyed, but your mouth curls up on its own.  “Meanie.”

On your next breath, Loki has already snaked his arm around your waist.  Your noses are nearly touching now and you go cross-eyed trying to peer into his eyes.  Before you can focus, Loki slants his lips over yours.  But it’s much too brief.  And when you whine in disappointment, your Prince gives you the most teasing smile.

“Loki.  More.”

His pleasantly chilled fingers brush the tops of your cheeks, “My insolent, little Princess.  Whatever will I do with you?”

Keep me forever, you think.  But you only smile and hope he can’t feel that telltale sinking in your gut.  It’s the ache that lives there and grows whenever you think about the day you’ll have to leave. 

Soon, you’ll only be able to live with Loki in your memories.  And you don’t know if you’ll ever be prepared for life without him.

+++

Thor looks uneasy as he notices your apprehension, “Perhaps I should have insisted on doing this part for you.”

Across from the tannery is a farm.  Seeing live animals on one side and their skinned parts on the other has added heaviness to your simmering jitters.

But you shake yourself off, “No, no.  I wanted to do everything from the beginning.  I want this to be really special.”

“Any gift from you would be special to my brother.”  Thor gives you a loving smile, ”But this… he will love it.”

“You really think so?”

“I know so.”

Thor guides you to the covered space where hundreds of skins are strung up and drying.  They’re already smoothed out on both sides, waiting to be transformed.  From a distance, a glossy black hide catches your attention.  

When you get closer, the color shifts from black to pearly white, then back again.  You’re tempted to run your fingertips over it.

Thor gives you sneaky smile, “A wonderful choice.”  He carefully moves the leather, so it catches more light.  It’s magnificent, glittering incessantly, somehow dark and light at the same time.  “This is fjölkyngi leather, as beautiful as it is rare.  It takes a great deal of work to finish.”

Excitement overtakes your previous wariness.  You grin, “I’m ready.”  

Thor walks over to a row of barrels and pulls out what looks like a drenched rug.  The hide still has fur on one side and uneven remnants of rehydrated flesh on the other.  Thor lays it out, fur side down, onto a wooden work table and hands you a curved blade with dual handles.

As you adjust to the heft of it in your hands, Thor says, “First, we shall carve the flesh until only the skin remains.”

With an imaginary fleshing knife in his hands, he holds it at his abdomen, then pushes it away for him.

You hook the knife into a raised area and imitate Thor’s movements, but there’s more resistance than you’d expected.  He nods, encouraging, as you power through one stroke.  Only a short, uneven chunk has been removed.  

You don’t have the chance to feel dejected, seeing all the surface area that’s left around the sloppy cut you’d just made because Thor claps his hands together and exclaims, “Yes!  Very good, little one.  I dare say you might be better than Loki, when our father first taught us.”

It’s an absolute lie, but it makes your insides feel all fuzzy and warm.  Somehow, Thor always convinces you that you’re capable of anything.
 
With his continued guidance, you throw your whole body into every every cut.  Sweat gathers above your brow and your forearms grow sore.  But you keep the grin on your face because your hide begins to even out and it’s one step closer to becoming the perfect present for Loki.

+++

Heimdall greets you at the entrance to the stronghold, at the base of those dreaded steps, when you and Brandt arrive.  Your insides lurch, seeing your favorite guardian away from his post.

“Hi, Heimdall.”  Your lips purse, eyes darting around, but nothing seems amiss.  “Is something wrong?”

“No, my Lady.”  He steps to the side to let you start up the stairs first, “But as the Convergence nears, precautions must be taken.”

“The Convergence?”  You ask, lifting your skirts, taking a few steps, then looking behind you to make sure both Heimdall and Brandt are following.

“It is when the barriers between the nine realms dwindles, a vulnerable time for the universe.”  Heimdall gently sets his hand on your shoulder to halt your movements, mid-step, “Every reality and every world will be visible through one window.  All of time and space grows unstable.”

Just then, a cluster of tiny, neon blue lights rushes in through one of the many open archways that lend a view into the forest.  It’s a bundle of starflies and they disperse to come together around your head like a halo.

You laugh as some of them weave themselves into your hair, “Hey, guys.”  A row of them appear in front of you, then hastily multiply to create a grid with their extended wings.

You’re confused until, a few steps above you, a black disk appears.  It’s the entire width of the stairwell, but impossibly thin.  You can’t see anything inside, but there are ghostly, wavering screams that echo around the stone walls of the stronghold.  They’re haunting, cementing themselves inside your mind.

A foreign tendril pokes at you mind, trying to gain access.  It tries to lure you closer to the sliver of abyss.  You’re entranced.  But, out of nowhere, your thoughts lock onto Loki.  Immediately, you’re released, mind clear and free as if he’s chased them away.

In the next moment, the wormhole winks out of existence.

You shift your focus behind you, into Heimdall’s golden eyes as your stomach twists, repelled.

“Portals have been known to open as a precursor to the Convergence,” your guardian tells you, “and most of them will never open again, so you must stay alert.”

You nod, a little numb, “I’m guessing something bad happened the last time?”

“Indeed.”  Heimdall takes a moment to keenly observe the starflies, who float over to land on your coat.  The little blue cubes beneath their fluttering wings blink in and out while they settle.  “It was before my time, when Thor’s grandfather was in rule.  A dark elf, by the name of Malekith, attempted to use a powerful weapon to decimate the nine realms.”

You continue up the stairs, Heimdall now beside you, “Why?”

“Malekith wished to revert the universe to its primordial state, in which his people flourished.  And he could have accomplished that with the Aether.”

“Where’s the Aether now?”

Before Heimdall can answer, your starflies hurriedly move to assemble themselves in front of you again.  

You brace yourself for the next wormhole to open up.  But unlike the first one, this reality is colorful and bright.  There’s a pink and purple sky, streaked with fluffed white clouds.  You can just make out the tops of tall trees, can hear ragged green leaves rustling.  In the distance, the familiar gold points and spires of the Asgardian palace hide half of the setting sun.

A flock of oversized birds zoom across.  One of them swoops out of sight, then soars back up, a black mass in its maw.  It’s nearly as big as the bird and it squirms and screams.  Your gut clenches as it cries and cries.

It’s a puppy, new to the world, voice thin and desperate.  The bird whips its head from side to side, its beak pressing in deeper, trying to muzzle those agonizing cries.  Then, the puppy is released, limp body discarded somewhere out of frame as the bird squawks its discontent.

Your next breath nearly chokes you.  A drumming in your chest crushes every other sense.  The stronghold trembles.  It rattles and whistles to the beat of your rushing pulse.  Particles from the stone ceilings dust over your shoulders.  Your vision fades to black around the edges.  Ice prickles at your fingertips.

Brandt grabs your wrist and his vambrace digs into your flesh painfully.  Your hand is halfway through the portal, pure need overpowering every other thought, and your mouth falls open.  The starflies buzz around the portal, alarmed.  The skin behind your ear frosts over for a second, leaving a trail of goosebumps down to your shoulder.

Brandt slowly pulls your arm back, looking as shocked as you are to see the green glow of your fingertips.

“My Lady,” Brant is right beside you, brows furrowed in heavy concern.  “Are you all right?”

You stew in stunned silence, your fingers still outstretched, your ears still ringing with phantom howls.  The tugging within your chest, the desperation, doesn’t fade.

If you could get to it, somehow, somewhere in the forests near the palace.  You can find it, save it.

“That may be Asgard,” Heimdall says, “but it is not our Asgard.”

Brandt pats your shoulder as the portal vanishes, “I am sorry, my Lady.”

In a daze, you progress up the stairs, plagued by phantom screams.  They die down to pitiful whimpers and cries.  The sound of pure torment… it buries itself into your soul.

+++

Beside the solar, a hidden corridor leads you down an isolated, torch-lit path.  You’d be on edge, if Brandt weren’t with you.

“Are you sure there are gardens all the way in here?”

“I am certain,” your guard says, blue eyes gleaming in the flickering firelight.  “My grandmother used to speak of atriums that the Allmother protects with seidr, so that there may be sustenance in times of war or famine.”

At the end of the hallway, a mellow light emanates through an enormous arched opening.  Inside are rows upon rows of short, spiky green shrubs.  Above you, there’s a skylight with its opening decorated in hanging vines.

The trees outside have lost their leaves, but in here, it’s magically warm.

“Brandt, look,” you excitedly tug on his arm and wave your hand around.  “You’re going to love pineapples.”

He chuckles, “I trust I will.”

On the other side of the room, lilac hair shines beneath sunlight filtering in from the ceiling.  Hammond waves his hands over a few shrubs.  Leaves grow longer and taller, then tiny green pineapples pop up in the center of each one.

“Hi, Hammond.”

He gives you a small smile, “Hello, my Lady.”

“How are my pineapples doing?”

His palm hovers over the baby pineapples and they expand before turning golden.  The master sorcerer seems intrigued by how they grow.

“Very well,” he says.  “They are fascinating.”

It’s the first time Hammond has been this expressive.  His brows shift and his brown eyes glimmer as he tells you of all the crops he’s helped cultivate over several centuries.

Hammond’s passion clearly lies in providing for the people of Asgard.  He loves to use his seidr to help and to guide as a true master should.

All too soon, though, the sky begins to darken.  Reluctantly, you say your goodbyes to Hammond and the pineapples, so you can make it to the dining hall for supper.

Halfway through the secret corridor, you slow down to a stop.  Brandt tilts his head in question.

You mash your lips together and your guard tracks the movement.  “Brandt?”

“Yes, my Lady?”

A beat, then, “Can we go back out to the forest again later?  To look?”

He doesn’t miss a beat, “Certainly.”

+++

Thor has already snuck presents from you into the rooms of his parents, Brandt, Sif, and the Warriors Three, while the Allmother helped you with surprising Heimdall.  Gifts for Thor, Havardr, and Jormugandr have been relayed by you.  And now, all that’s left is for them to be opened.

For Thor, you’d gotten a new red cape that you draped and sewed yourself.  The embroidery along all the edges were done after a few lessons from the palace’s head seamstress.  The lines aren’t all perfect, but you hope Thor can feel the love you have for him in every stitch.  The Queen even wove a protection spell into each thread before you’d wrapped it up.

You have one present left to deliver.  It sits in your basket, along with rich treats from the Yule Festival.  

As soon as you step into Loki’s cell, your face grows tight with the biggest grin.  In the corner, there’s a fir tree that barely grazes the ceiling.  And for ornaments, massive jewels in every color weigh down several branches.

“This is the best Christmas tree ever,” you tell Loki, bouncing on the balls of your feet in front of him. 

“Is it?” Your Prince asks, knowing full well that it, indeed, is.  “Only the best for my Princess.”

Suddenly, your cheeks feel hot under his attention.  Anticipation has been building for weeks, ever since you began working on Loki’s Christmas present and now you’re standing at the precipice, ready to fall.

After retrieving the gold foil-wrapped gift from your basket, you hold it to your chest for a moment.  The air around you buzzes with nerves as you both sit around the tree.  You suddenly worry that it’s not grand enough in comparison to what a Prince usually receives.

But the gift is already out of your hands and in Loki’s.  He tries to hide a satisfied smile as he peels open a strip of the paper.  Pearlescent black leather peaks out and as soon as he sees it, the rest of the paper is hurriedly ripped off.  

His fingertips smooth across the front of the sketchbook you’d made.  It’s a little larger than Loki’s hand and hundreds of pages thick.  The cover is stretched taught over thin slabs of compacted bone dust for durability and crisp edges.

He meets your gaze for a second before opening it.  The spine pops.

Loki’s eyes are held to the first page of the sketchbook, unable to look away.  His fingers trace over your handwriting over and over again.  He lingers on his own name, following the curved lines of green ink.

For Loki, you’d neatly written.

I love you.

Always and forever.

Then, you’d signed your name at the bottom with a fancy flourish.  And a few hearts.  And a couple of doodles of Havardr and Jormugandr.

“Wherever did you acquire this?” Loki asks, awe obvious in his tone, as he carefully touches the gilded edges of the paper.  He studies the crisscrossed leather ropes that bind the book together, the intricate pattern you inlaid on its spine.

“I made it.”

Loki’s face tilts up, sharp, to look at you.  It’s as if, somehow, he can see everything that went into making his gift.  He’s raw, defenseless, exposed, too overwhelmed to hide anything.  There’s a sheen in his eyes, a minute twitch in his cheek.

“Thank you,” Loki breathes out, each word filled with adoration.  “I love it.”

As he watches your mouth curve up, his does, too.  He sets the sketchbook carefully beside him, hesitant to let it go, before holding a hand out towards you.  A big rectangular box appears.  It’s perfectly wrapped in classic red and white striped paper and topped with a shining green bow.

You tear it open, pulse rushing in your ears.  It’s a glazed mahogany chest.  Your finger rests on its gold clasp as you lock eyes with Loki, who’s studying you intently.  

Your skin prickles.  The air around you is thick, almost cloying, with sentiment.  The hinged lid opens.  

Nestled inside tufted, black velvet are a pair of double-edged daggers.  They’re slim and delicate, carefully formed with a hyper-reflective baby blue metal.  Their hilts are a malleable golden caramel leather and, where it meets the blade, there are two rows of encased diamonds.

You tilt one of the knives and light catches on a line that stretches across the center, from tip to hilt.  You recognize your name right away as the first word that’s etched into the metal.

It’s followed with: My beloved.  To whom my heart belongs.  Loki.

Those words are repeated in Asgardian runes and you’ve never been so happy to be able to read something in your entire life.

Your jaw trembles, barely able to support a smile.  All your muscles slacken, numb from relief and joy.  You’ve been thoroughly doused in affection, drowned in so much love that your heart can barely take it.

Loki points to the space above your head, where a sprig of mistletoe floats.  He kisses the smile right off your face.  And he lingers, teasingly.

Afterwards, you hum to yourself while setting out all the desserts you brought from the festival.  Your Prince pours two glasses of sváss berry wine before settling in beside you on the sofa.

He conjures up your favorite fuzzy, green blanket.  With a wave of his hand, the room dims.  Then the tree comes to life, twinkling with rainbow lights.

In Loki’s hands is his new sketchbook and in yours, twin daggers.

“Merry Christmas, Loki.”

Your Prince snuggles in closer, his lips pressed to the side of your throat, “Merry Christmas, my love.”

Chapter Text

“How’d I live my life before this?”  You beam, giddy, as you summon your gold hairband from Loki’s bathroom.  You’re sitting, cross-legged, on his bed, pulling your hair into a high ponytail.  An elastic appears in your hand, right when you need it.

You’ve already laced up your shimmering, grey dress and are nearly ready for a boring day of greeting guests and being despised by them.

Across from you, with his back to the headboard and distracted from his book, is Loki.  Soft laughter falls from his lips as he watches you with naked pride.  His curls are adorably mussed from sleep.  And from you playing with them this morning.

When you’re done with your hair, you hold out your hand for Loki’s forgotten book.  It appears, still open, spine balanced precariously on your palm.

“Princess.”

You giggle as the book is sent across the room, to the coffee table.  With a snap of your wrist, the duvet is pulled off Loki’s lap.  As he grabs for it, you make the laces at the neck of his tunic unravel and loosen.

Loki’s hand comes up to feel the undone leather ties there, single brow raised.  “Now, listen here, my love-“

In an instant, his tunic appears in your hand.  Pure glee flickers in Loki’s eyes.  He sits up straighter, now without shirt and mouth agape.

“You shall not disrobe me whenever it pleases you.”

“I never agreed to that.”  You throw your head back and chortle as Loki hmphs.

But he’s grinning.  “My naughty Princess.”  He crosses his arms over his chest, “What other tricks do you have for me?”

“Well,” you set Loki’s tunic down and contemplate very quickly.  You know it wasn’t Loki’s intention to put you on the spot, but your mind repeatedly jumps back and forth between should I? and maybe I shouldn’t.

You’d been waiting for the perfect time to show him and perhaps this is it.  

Before Loki can question your hesitation, you stand up on the bed, feet wobbly atop the soft mattress.  “I have been practicing something.”

Your Prince peers up at you, hands steepled and eyes angled up.  Your heart stutters, then begins pattering in double time.  But you take in a deep breath and try to steady yourself.  Another glance at Loki calms your nerves.

The wide sleeves of your dress fall dramatically over your hands as you lock your elbows open.  Your daggers are summoned and they slide flawlessly into your awaiting grip.  They’ve already been molded perfectly to your hands from practice.

Very abruptly, Loki sits up on his knees in front of you, gazing up reverently.  Over your dress, he slides his palms up your outer thighs and up to your waist.  An all too pleasant tingle follows his runaway fingers.

You’re still holding your daggers, but he gathers your hands together anyway.  He holds them to his lips in worship.

“You are glorious,” Loki says, face partially obscured by the blue blades he’d given you.  “You are the most magnificent being in all the nine realms.”  A pause, then, “And you are mine.”

+++

“Rumor has it,” Brandt says, conspiratorially, eyes squinting in the morning sun, “the Duke of Ida is amongst tonight’s guests.” 

You suck in a breath, “Oh, my god.  You mean Gerd’s dad?”

“Indeed.”

“Is he powerful enough to ask for Thor to become his son-in-law?”

Brandt barks out a “Ha!” and it’s the loudest sound you’ve ever gotten out of him.  He’s busy holding his stomach and laughing as the two of you make your way down a snowy path to the stables.  

The willows are bright green and shining, as they always are.  Chilling wind and snow haven’t bothered any of the leaves.  They sway with the breeze and sparkle as they dance.

A tiny blue light zips by.  You giggle and he bounces off your cheek.  It’s Little Loki, the starfly who pops in sometimes.  He parks his glowing butt onto your shoulder and chirps as you continue your walk.

Steam billows from Brandt’s mouth as he makes slicing motions in the air with a gloved hand, “He would not dare even bring up the subject.  He is a Duke, in name only.  And his daughter is rotten and everyone, including him, knows it.”

You give your guard a big, exaggerated gasp, “You’re a hater, Brandt.”

His brows scrunch together, “A hater?  I am no such thing.  I am merely stating facts.”

“Sure, sure.  Wha-“

You’re interrupted by the wind whipping by your ear, so quick and loud that pain shoots up the side of your throat.  Brandt grunts beside you.  He drops to his knees.  Powdery snow blows onto your boots.

In a haze, you blink, vision blurred by pure panic, ears pricking with a high-pitched whine.

Half of a silver arrow protrudes from Brandt’s inner thigh, having pierced through the space below his chest plate.  He presses into the area around it, blood overflowing onto his fingers so rapidly that it drips in thick rivulets onto the snow.

Brandt blocks your hand when you reach for him.  “Go,” he says, jaw tight.  His leg shakes violently as he stands and brandishes his sword.  Every hair on your body stands on end.  As he steps past you, he adds, “Please, my Lady.  I need you to be safe.  Leave me.”

His breaths are ragged.  But on his next inhale, they’re not shaky or strained.  His injured leg still bleeds, still has a silver stake protruding from it, but Brandt is no longer trembling.  He’s composed and calm, ready to fight. 

You only just realize that he’s blocking you from a man who’s appeared.  The stranger looks haggard- hair unwashed, clothes threadbare, eyes wild.

He’s holding a black scythe that’s two heads taller than Brandt and his eyes are locked on you.

“Surrender her,” the stranger says, deep voice crawling up your neck.  “It is for the good of Asgard.  Besides,” he sneers, “you are severely outnumbered.”

Another arrow is released.  It’s high, falling down at a curved trajectory that you can’t figure out.  Too late, you realize that it’s coming for you.

Brandt spins around and knocks the arrow out of the air with a gentle flick of his wrist.  He tells you, “Run,” before turning back and blocking a scythe attack with his sword.

Your chest vibrates with the high-pitched sound of their fight, of their weapons meeting again and again.

There’s a buzzing by your ear.  Little Loki launches off of your shoulder as his wings spark in distress.  Several starflies blink into existence and spread out in front of you.

Too quickly, a group of people swarm around you.  All but one rush to attack Brandt.  

A lone man stands in front of you.  He’s holding a machete, grinning and disgustingly excited.  You suppose, like Gaddi, these people would find a great amount of satisfaction to see you suffer.

The man charges at you, growling, feral, his machete poised to strike.

You widen your stance and think.  Thor, sword, silver, blue.  Everything else Sif has taught you flies away amidst your panic, except for her strong voice- legs bent, stance wide, elbows locked.

You hold both hands up as he brings his weapon down and the din of your sword steals your hearing.  The steel bites into your palm from the force of the hit, but you hold your ground.  

Your emerald pendant trembles below your throat, keen, waiting.  The comfortable weight of your blade calms you as if the power of Thor, Sif, and The Warriors Three have fused with your energy.

Stunned by the sudden appearance of your weapon, your attacker freezes.  “What are you?”

The flock of starflies rush into his face.  He sputters, arms flying to shoo away your protectors.

You drop your sword and swoop low to jab his calves with your newly materialized twin daggers.  He howls as you rip them back out of his flesh.  Warmth spatters over your hands as his blood gushes outward.

His whole body folds in on itself, but he still has the mind to swipe at you with this machete.  Your jaw clacks shut.  A stream of red stains the snow around him.  Your hands, tightly wrapped around your daggers, shake.  The man holds his legs, panic clear in every twitchy movement.  You can only watch, aghast as he grows immobile.  You crawl backwards, shocked at what you’ve done, fists punching into packed snow to get away from it.

When you look around, there are at least ten people lying limp on the frozen ground.  Brandt, chest heaving, has incapacitated them all, except for one.  

The final straggler is trapped in his firm grasp.  By the time it takes you to stand back up, Brandt has tossed them aside.

Your mouth falls open, in awe, hot air creating mini clouds in front of you. 

The emerald that lies above your chest zaps you in warning as battle cries travel over the horizon.  The starflies swirl around you once before disappearing.

A circle of people emerge, making sure to trap you and your guard.  Metal armor bites into your back as you press tight against Brandt.

The horde collectively takes a step closer.  Then another.  And somehow, they’re already closing in.  Your chest is heavy.  Your throat narrows.  You’re unable to take in a full breath. 

The ocean echoes inside your ears while you scan the dozens of people who seem satisfied by your fear.  All their faces blur together.  Your weakened lungs expel a chain of coughs.  And as you tremble, so does your pendant.  

It jumps before heating up at the base of your throat.  The energy rapidly spreads across your chest, blankets your shoulders, and shoots down your arms.  Your daggers slip away.

When you hold your hands up, they’re vibrating so fast that your fingers are barely visible.  An emerald green glow encapsulates your entire body.  There’s a whisper of a voice that gently touches your mind, a deep chill that holds you close.

You reach forward.  An intense pressure grows in your gut, just as a massive green pulse radiates out from you, killing every other sound.  You’re doubled over, only catching a glimpse of the crumbling circle of people.

When you’re able to catch yourself, palms barely  clutching your knees, you see that all your attackers are down.  The breath you let out is pitiful and thin.

As you turn to Brandt, though, he collapses heavily onto the snow.  His eyes are unraveled, unfocused.  All his fight is gone.  He tries to get comfortable on his back, resigned. 

“Brandt?”  You kneel beside him, careful not to jostle his arrow injury any more than it’s already been.  Dried blood is caked around the wound, along with tiny bits of flesh that are flaking off as he shifts.  

He takes in a ragged breath and looks up at you, “Poison.”  Tremors slowly begin to wrack his entire body.  “The arrow.”  

Your hands make stops at his arms, his torso, his shoulders, not knowing what to do.  “I’m going to help you up.”  You take one of arms and sling it over your shoulder, “You’re going to be fine.”

“No,” Brandt says, “you must get to safety.”  

“I’m not leaving you here.” 

His body steadies a little, sparking a tiny bit of hope in your heart.  But then his eyes dim.  His golden lashes flutter.

“No, no, no,” you whisper as your guard weakens, going limp.  “Brandt, come on.  No.”

His arm slides off your shoulder and when you grab for him again, you can’t even lift it.  He’s too heavy.  No matter how hard you pull or shove, he doesn’t budge.  His eyes are closed now.  He looks serene, not even one worry line on his face.

Your voice splits as you scream at the sky, “Heimdall!”

You send your sword back to your room, but call your daggers, keeping your fingers wrapped around them and hovering over Brandt amidst the eerie silence.

A shining blue skirt billows in the corner of your eye before the Allmother crouches down beside you.  In a little tornado around her are the starflies, flitting frantically, buzzing and sparking, chittering to her in a language that AllSpeak can’t translate.

“My child,” she says, brows furrowed, looking around at the bodies littering the snow.  Her presence extinguishes the loose hold you have over your emotions. 

“Please help Brandt, please.”  Your gaze shifts from one of her bright eyes to the other, pleading, unable to put your sheer desperation into words.  But the Allmother knows, oh, she knows, because she can easily see into the depths of your mortal soul.

The Queen places one hand on Brandt’s shoulder and one on yours.  And on your next breath, you’re bathed in golden light inside the medic wing.

Tiny blue lights disperse around the room, dotting every surface as they keep a close watch over you.

There are two glowing tables and Brandt is levitated onto one of them.  Your fingers tighten around your knives, afraid you’ll need them as soon as you let go.

The Allmother gently places a hand on your shoulder, to guide you to the empty table.

“No, I didn’t get hurt,” you tell her.  “Please tend to Brandt.”

“My child,” she directs your attention to your left flank.  Through a tear in your dress, there’s a gaping would, at least three inches long and split almost as wide.  Blood covers the entire panel of fabric there and you’re shocked you hadn’t noticed.  

The Queen takes your hands in her own and turns them over.  Blood is crusted over your knuckles and have stained your skin.  When you unfurl your fist, she takes your dagger and brings it up the the light.

No words are said, but the Allmother gives you a sweet, knowing smile before guiding you to the unoccupied table.

Brandt lies there as a healer uses seidr to remove what remains of the poisoned arrow.  His eyes are closed and sunken in.  His golden skin has grown pale from blood loss… from saving your life.

As you lie down and long strings of gold lights surround you, that mellow voice touches your mind again.  

This time, though, you can hear it.  Tears spill out of the corners of your eyes, when you finally catch on.

You fall into an untroubled sleep, listening to Loki’s voice.

I am with you, my love.

+++

“It is… homey,” Thor says, taking up the entire width of the couch.  You’re perched on the arm of it beside him while Loki stands nearby, dissatisfaction clear in his darkened eyes.

Loki’s fretting had been interrupted by Thor, who’d wanted to come into Loki’s cell after you’d been discharged.

“You will be going now?” Loki asks.  The air around you hums with his irritation.

Thor, unaffected, says, “I have come to discuss yet another problem with you: the Aether.”

“The Aether?”

“Yes, brother,” Thor leans his elbows onto his knees, face serious.  “Heimdall has sensed a disturbance and has traced it to Midgard.”

Loki steps closer, brows pinched, “If Heimdall has sensed this, then…”

Thor nods, “So has Malekith.”

“The Convergence,” Loki shakes his head.  “He awaits the alignment.  Not only is Gaddi posthumously wreaking havoc, we have the dark elves to contend with.”

“Well, since I shall be investigating on Midgard, perhaps Jane will share some insight.”  Thor smiles dreamily, “She is as intelligent as she is beautiful.  It has been two years since I have been graced with her presence.”

You make a sharp noise, “Wh- Thor, two years?”

“Yes, do you suppose she has missed me yet.”  He smirks and it makes your heart sore because he can’t possibly understand.

“Thor,” you say softly, taking his big hand in yours, “two years is a long time.”

“What do you mean, little one?”  His smile falls, abrupt.  He awaits your answer, though you know he’s already caught on.

“For us, our entire lives could be changed in two years.”  You glance at Loki, but it makes your nose sting, so you look back to Thor, “Let’s say I have fifty good years left.  Two years out of that is a lot.”

His eyes tremble for a second before he nods.  “You are right.”  Thor nods to himself, then gets up to lift you out of your seat with an all-encompassing hug.

You tell him, “Don’t be surprised if she slaps you.”

Thor chuckles as he pulls back and cups your cheek, “I am prepared to take my punishment.”

With an uneasy grin, he leaves Loki’s cell.  You watch as his embroidered cape, the one you’d gifted him at Christmas, trails romantically behind him.

Loki appears before you, gently tracing the top of your cheek with his thumb.  “You are well, my love?”

“Yeah… but Brandt…” you blink away the blur of Loki’s face, “he needs more time in the soul forge.”

“He is strong,” your Prince says.  “He will be all right.”

“He almost died because of me.”

“No,” his big, blue eyes are stern, “because of you, he lives.”

You suppose, as a Prince, as someone who’s always had a band of people ready to lay their lives down to protect him, Loki wouldn’t understand your guilt.

Having someone, whose sole purpose is to keep you safe, is something you don’t deserve.  You haven’t earned it, yet it’s been so freely given.

Amidst your silence, Loki, perceptive as always, gives you a soft smile before changing the subject.  

He ticks his head towards your right side, “It seems you have a stowaway.

“Oh,” you glance at your shoulder, to that little humming, blue light, “that’s just little Loki.”

Your Prince’s nose scrunches adorably, “Little Loki?”

“I think he’s just making sure I’m okay.  He visits sometimes.  He keeps me safe.”

“Starflies are not attracted to people.  Usually.”  Loki circles his fingers around your starfly and his seidr curiously pokes and prods.  Little Loki trills, annoyed, when his wings are lifted up and inspected.  “Did you say he keeps you safe?  How so?”

“They can sense things,” you tell him.  “Brandt told me that they’re from every point in time, that they know everything.”  Your chest puffs up, eager to share your wonder, “They kept me away from the wormholes and they protected me yesterday, during the… the attack.  They brought your mom to help, even before I called for Heimdall.”

“Fascinating,” Loki breathes out.  “Starflies are attracted to the eternal light, which is what makes them glow.  They are filled with seidr and ancient knowledge.  They-“ he takes in a big breath as realization sparks something within him, “protect fixed points in time.”

His brows pinch up and his blue eyes fill with awe, “You are endlessly fascinating, my love.”

“I am?”  You laugh, “I always thought of myself as boring.

“Boring,” he repeats, incredulous.  “You are transcendent.  The ancient spá, come to life.”

You chew on the inside of your cheek, “You mean, that I’ll bring destruction to Asgard?”

“No, Princess,” Loki’s hands carefully come to rest just above your hips.  “That is the spá, the prophecy, that has been widely acknowledged.  But there is another, as prophecies arrive in pairs.”

“What’s the other one?”  You ask, stepping into the gap between Loki’s feet.  Immediately, the air around you seems to open up and breathe a fresh bubble around the two of you.

“The gods prophesied that a mortal would fall from the skies.  That they would be the embodiment of light.  They would neutralize the darkness that would one day mar the realm.”

“The darkness?”

“That would be me.”

You open your mouth to protest, but Loki stops you with a sorrowful smile.

“The people have long since seen me as the dark presence that contaminates Asgard.  And with the devastation I have caused on Midgard, they were right to believe so.”

You smack your palms onto his chest, anger abruptly forming in the pit of your stomach, “You’re not.  They’re wrong, Loki.  That’s not you.”

“But it is,” he nods repeatedly, slowly, trying to convince you.  “There have been times when my darkness had nearly consumed me.  And my time with… Thanos burned away what remained of me, of my heart.”

At the mention of that name, a harsh prickling grows from your fingertips and rapidly spreads into your body.  You jolt.  A terrified cry bursts from your throat at the sudden heat.  You inspect your fingers.  They don’t look different, but an invisible force scorches your flesh and starts to sear you from the inside.

Just as panic rises, Loki carefully takes your hands and presses them together to bring them to his lips.  Instantly, the burning sensation subsides.

While Loki soothes you, he continues, cool breath ghosting your knuckles, “There would be no light at the end for me- no Valhalla, no peace.  I would forsake my mother, my brother, and anyone else who dared give me hope again.”

Lines appear across his forehead, reliving something.  “I was hollow, trapped in darkness,” he says.  “I was, deservedly, alone.  But then, you gave me your heart, your trust, your truth.  

And I realized that I was gutted and carved out, but not empty.  I was merely waiting, keeping that space open.  For you.  My light.”

Chapter Text

“I always thought this part was weird,” you say, feeling the old page crinkle beneath your fingers.  In Asgardian, you read, “He was rarely one to speak.  But he spoke to her.  And when he did, it was never meaningful.”

You look up, “Like, what is that even supposed to mean?  Did he like her or not?”

Brandt is tucked into a fluffed, white comforter, eyes closed, wispy golden strings still working their healing magic around his body.

He’s been in the medic room for ten days and that strange pressure on top of your chest hasn’t gone away.  A bitter taste rises up from your throat and you press on your chest, fighting to swallow it down.

Twinkling, blue bulbs dot the edges of every shelf, illuminating the colorful vials and jars behind them.  Little Loki and his friends have been hanging out since day one, keeping watch over Brandt at all hours.

Because of them, the room is bright with their ancient magic, the same mysterious energy that has saved you and watched over your roses.  

Amidst the silence, you close your book and glance out the paneled glass window.  Icicles glisten beneath the sun, refracting light into a rainbow of colors.  It’s bright and happy, so at odds with how your heart aches, how your nose stings and your vision blurs.

The only thing centering you is Loki’s newfound presence in your mind.  He’s not talking to you, though he can.  He just exists with you, attached to every part of you.  And uses his precious seidr to make sure you’re safe.

You place your hand atop Brandt’s, “I’m really sorry.  If it weren’t for me, you’d be okay right now.”

You’re sure that he’s going to talk at any moment.

“Lady Eir says you need a fortnight,” you clear your throat to relieve some tightness, “but you should wake up sooner ‘cause you’ll want to hear about how Fandrall got really drunk and fell on the cake that Gerd’s dad brought.”

Long seconds tick by without any response.

“Oh,” your lip twitches into a grin, “and Hogun has this big ol’ crush on Magnus’ cousin.”

There’s a snort, then a harrumph.  On a chair near the door, Hogun is on guard today in Thor’s absence.

“I do not have a crush,” Hogun says, but his face softens almost immediately when you lock eyes, as if he’d been waiting.  “You do know, little one,” his brows slowly lift, “that it was not your fault.”

“Everyone keeps saying that, but…” you shake your head, “I don’t know.  My life shouldn’t be worth more than anyone else’s.”

The corner of his mouth lifts a little.  “Here,” Hogun lifts a hand to gesture around himself, “we value honor.  One’s worth is not in life itself, but in how they live it.  Valhalla awaits and rewards those who live a life so true.”

His eyes catch the wobble in your lower lip, so you press your mouth closed for a few seconds.  “That’s- that’s Brandt, right?  A hero?  Someone honorable?”

“Indeed,” Hogun nods, “he will live eternally in paradise.  But more importantly, he will forever live in your heart.”

+++

The soft Asgardian sun is at its highest point.  It shines upon Hemming’s glossy lilac hair and the soft waves glitter as if tiny diamonds cling to every strand.

In one of the secluded atriums in the Allmother’s gardens, where white ivy crawls across the many trellises, Hemming has set up a mini training course.  There are straw dummies standing in a row on the far wall, helpless against Little Loki, who’s been curiously flitting around them.

Next to you, Hemming nods to himself.  His moonlit skin glows gold as he tips his chin up to the sky.  In his hand is one of your baby blue daggers and he turns it over to catch the light.

“Well,” Hemming chuckles haughtily and it sounds like a sweet lullaby, “it seems a certain someone is taken with you.”

The spare dummy that’s leaning on a trellis beside him bristles in the chilly breeze.

“Hemming.”

His teeth glimmer as he grins knowingly, “All right, all right.”  Hemming turns, so his back is facing the wall of dummies.  “Lesson one,” he flicks his wrist over his shoulder. 

Little Loki squeaks as your dagger lodges into the center of a dummy’s eye. Your lips freeze around an invisible circle as your starfly zips through the air and back to his perch on your shoulder.

But Hemming shrugs at your surprise, “Who do you think taught your beloved Prince?”

“You did?”

“Yes, my Lady.”

You hop up on tiptoes, excited, palms clapped together, “Did you teach him magic, too?”

“Indeed,” Hemming summons your dagger and holds it out to you, “I have taught a great many sorcerers and Loki is one of the very best.”

A smile slowly spreads across your face as you take the blade.  There aren’t very many people who freely praise Loki, who don’t treat him like a taboo subject. 

And as Hemming meets your gaze, you sense that he can read your emotions, deeper than what can be seen with the eye. A bright, golden light flashes in your mind, while caressing your energy. But it’s fleeting, so sudden, you can’t even remember what you’d just felt.

“Now,” Hemming sweeps his palm across the space between the two of you, “let us assess.”

“I feel like I won’t live long enough to get good at this.”

“Are you a volva, my lady?”

Your nose scrunches up, “No.”

“Then how would you know of what your future holds?”

“Hemming.”

A gentle chuckle escapes his lips, “You are the only living person who admonishes me so.”

“You and the Allmother must know something I don’t,” you say, arms crossing beneath your chest.

“We know a great many things that you do not.”

You study Hemming with narrowed eyes, your mouth open in mild outrage.  He isn’t bothered and holds your gaze as his lips curl up, higher on one side than the other. Those deep, brown eyes shimmer like scattered stars. Behind them, infinite knowledge, boundless power, and endless curiosity.

An odd breeze blows through the atrium, breaking your faux standoff. It’s neither warm nor cool. It is absolutely still.  It’s a contradiction that your mind can’t process.

Your brows pinch together as you look up at Hemming, “What was that?”

A lilac brow is raised.  He regards you for a few seconds in quiet contemplation before saying, “Sir Heimdall calls.”

Hemming delicately places his hand on your unoccupied shoulder.

After you nod, chilled air sinks into your skin before it’s quickly extracted from you. It’s now dim and damp. Your eyes haven’t adjusted, but Little Loki leaps off your shoulder and shines his glowing butt in front of you and Hemming.

Judging by the tall, stone walls, you’re in the stronghold, but in an unfamiliar corridor. A low buzzing grows rapidly into a high-pitched whine. Before you can even plug your ears, whispy, smokey shapes emerge, dancing in slow motion into this realm. They scream like a thousand deflating balloons.

With a balletic wave of Hemming’s hand, the portal shrivels up and disappears with a short yelp.

There’s a sudden roar from the left, an eerie humming just up ahead. Your shoulders jump, your eyes widen in search of another ghost. Closer, a flash of red light. The walls shake. A thick vine drops from above.

Your hand shoots out to cup Little Loki in your palm. His wings angle downward as his tiny, glossy black eyes look up at you. 

“It’s not safe,” you whisper, bringing your other hand to cover him loosely.

Hemming doesn’t flinch. He annihilates every portal as if he’s foreseen their presence. His fearlessness is without chaos- it’s peaceful and calm, unwavering.

As silence takes over once again, your gaze begins to follow the ancient-looking molding that lines the lower part of the wall. It’s chiseled out of the stone, jagged and rough where it’s chipped away over millennia.

Spotty, black paint dots the space above it, most parts virtually indecipherable. But as you near a distant light source, a wolf, leaping over a field of faded flowers, grins at you. 

It grows with each scene, not in size, but in its depiction- it jumps over a carriage car next, then a house, then a mountain. You turn the corner, where he jumps over a silhouette of the palace. 

A light begins to grow out of the opposite wall, illuminating the wolf’s stark white teeth and yellow eyes. But it quickly turns overwhelming. Your eyes shut as the brightness intensifies, purrs into your ears, pushing you to blindly find Hemming with your shoulder.

His hand finds the small of your back, just as the light wanes. Together, you walk through and it’s finally dark behind your eyelids again. 

The jellyfish tree welcomes you by expelling its beautiful floating pearls into the air.

Standing guard at his post near the edge of the stronghold, with the swirling celestial sky as his backdrop, is Heimdall. As he senses you, he turns and the sun follows his gold armor.

You open your hands to let Little Loki roam free. He flies through the glowing, blue leaves, chirping happily, while you pass by.

“Hi, Heimdall,” you cock your head at the concern obvious on his face.

“My lady,” he greets, before nodding to Hemming, “Master sorcerer.”

They both pause, then exchange a cryptic look.

Iridescent gold energy builds up around Hemming’s fingers. It crackles with tremendous power. Your emerald jumps at your collarbone. The tips of your fingers prickle with anticipation. 

Heimdall blinks and his eyes are an electric blue.  He looks above your head, past you, to somewhere far away.

“Prince Thor,” he says, “I do not see Doctor Foster.”

“Oh,” you breathe out. A sinister coldness licks up your neck. Dread dampens your senses. 

Amidst your discomfort, you wish for Loki- for his big hands to hold yours, for his chest to rumble underneath your cheek as he talks of beautiful things. Sometimes, you want to crawl into his skin and live there forever. You nearly gasp aloud at your own thought.

My Princess Loki’s voice drifts into your mind. And you can hear his cockiness. You can see his annoyingly handsome smirk. Did you call for me?

But there’s a twisting in your gut because you don’t know how to talk to him like this. 

Loki.

No answer.

Your fists clench by your sides. Loki?

When a few seconds pass, Loki’s tone changes. Are you well?

After taking in a long breath, you brush against your ever-growing energy, pondering how you’d talk to your sweet Prince. You imagine him on the phone, scowling, dissatisfied that he has to use it. His slender fingers would hold the device up to his ear while grumbling to himself. Maybe there’d be a cute, little frown, too.

Loki?

Yes, my love.

You punch your fist in the air in triumph. 

Loki continues, affronted. Are you imagining me on a phone?

A laugh pops out from between your pursed lips. You can see that?

Of course, I can.

Wait, what else can you see?

There’s a lengthy pause and the only answer you get is an arrogant grin that appears on your imaginary Loki’s face. It is not of import. What has you in distress?

Thor is well, but I think Jane is in trouble.

Worry not, my little Princess. If anyone can keep her safe, it is my brother.

Loki, that’s so sweet. Thor would be really happy that you said that.

A beat, then I shall disconnect the call now.

You snicker to yourself. How adorable your Prince is. He’s the manifestation of pure power, an almighty god who can create life and consume it. He is careful and deliberate and wholly restrained.

His darkness is nothing but an illusory facade, meant to trick anyone who won’t bother to smooth away his carefully crafted husk.

And underneath it all, Loki is overflowing with love ungiven. You’re blissfully submerged in it, perfectly enamored with every part of him.

In front of you, golden magic shoots into the sky. Hemming’s chest rises on a deep inhale. He nods to himself, resolute.

Heimdall raises his hand, eyes quaking, frantically searching. “You must bring her to Asgard,” he tells Thor, then gold returns to his eyes.

That shuddersome feeling returns to stroke at your skin. 

After eyeing your guardian, Hemming says, “Doctor Foster has absorbed the Aether.”

You inhale sharply, “What?”

“And Malekith,” he says, “has felt it.”

+++

“Are you really the reason Sif’s hair is black?”

Loki looks away from his sketchbook. It’s open, a few pages in, spine lying on the sofa’s arm. You hear Loki’s ink pen roll into the center of the book.

For over an hour, Loki has been drawing and twirling your hair around the fingers of his free hand.  You’d fallen asleep on his lap, head rested on a silky, golden pillow that had gemstones woven into its many dangling fringes.

Between worrying about Brandt and Thor and Jane, you haven’t been getting much sleep. With Lady-in-waiting duties, pineapple observing, sword wielding, knife throwing, horse hair braiding, and bedside reading, your exhaustion had finally caught up.

But, now you’re refreshed, so your interrogation continues.

You blink up at him, “And did you really turn into a snake so you could stab Thor?”

Loki’s cheeks dimple. He purses his lips and they curl slightly in annoyance.

“And did you also turn Thor into a frog?  Oh, oh!”  You smack him in the chest, “Are you really D.B. Cooper?”

“It is official,” your Prince says with a grimace, slumping back a little into the sofa, “Hemming is no good.  You shall not see him until further notice.”

“Loki,” you draw out his name, “you can’t do that.  Hemming has all the funny stories.”

He taps you on the tip of your nose.  “Funny?  Heimdall was almost late with the bifrost after I jumped out of that airplane contraption.”  

A light chuckle tumbles over Loki’s curved lips, when he sees your jaw drop.  He’s thoroughly softened, so, very tender-hearted and full of affection. Your arrogance grows, every time Loki allows you to see him.

His hand comes to rest at the base of your throat and you let out a pleased sigh.

You lightly trace his fingers with your own, “What happened to the money?”

“I changed the serial numbers and sent it off to an underfunded hospital.”

“Loki,” you whisper, awestruck as you always are by him, ”you’re wonderful.”

“Yes, well,” a tinge of pink colors his cheeks. He gestures with his hand as the sentence fades. “All joking aside, you will do very well training with Hemming.“

“I think he’s onto us.”

There’s not a trace of concern on Loki’s face. Instead, he smiles, “My love, he has been escorting you to my cell for nearly a fortnight.”

“Oh, right.” Your eyes grow big, “Do you think your mom knows?

This time, his teeth come out, “She has seen you in my bed.”

Your face flushes, hot and sudden, “Loki!”

He leans down, laughter leaking through his nose, “My little Princess, maybe you should be more subtle.”

“No,” you giggle as his curly hair tickles your cheeks, “ I wish everyone knew.”

He rears back, brows pinched, “What?”

“You know how people from those cheesy eighties movies say that they want to yell it from the rooftops? I finally get it.”

His pupils sway left and right, adorably bewildered. But, a moment later, the muscles in his forehead relax.

“I’m the luckiest girl in the universe, Loki.” You reach for his face and, as soon as you touch his cheek, his eyes slip shut. “I get to love you. It doesn’t get any better than that.”

Loki’s throat bobs a couple of times before his gaze finds you again, blue eyes glossy. His lips part for just a second. 

He takes your hand and presses a soft kiss to your palm. Then holds it over his chest. Your shoulders jolt. Loki’s usually slow and steady pulse pounds in doubletime. 

And when you smile up at him, his heart skips a beat.