Chapter Text
The sharp call of your name made you start. Fear spiked within your chest at your father’s shout. It halted your movements of cutting vegetables for dinner later that day.
Nothing good could come from a call like that.
Before you could even react or move, something a flashed within your mind. It stole your breath and rocked you where you stood. A hand shot out to grab onto the table to steady yourself before your knees buckled and you fell to the floor, sharp knife in hand.
“Not all is as it seems…”
A vision –?
Your father’s yell shook you quickly from whatever had gripped you. In favour of stalling his wrath, you hurried from the kitchen and gave yourself a shake to rid yourself of the disturbing feeling of foreboding which rested within your gut. Steeling yourself and cautiously approaching the front garden, where he was currently lounging with a glass of ale despite the early hour, you went to see what he required.
You father didn’t even look at you. He just gestured towards the man waiting at the front gate of your family’s house.
It was a messenger from the palace.
A fleeting feeling of excitement started to take root, thinking perhaps Loki had called on you, but it was quickly squashed after noticing the look on the messenger’s face – a tentative smile which held a hint of guilt.
“My Lady, your presence has been requested in the palace before the court.”
You swallowed. Again. And nodded. “Right now?”
The messenger nodded. “At your earliest convenience.”
“What have you done now,” your father muttered in his drunken stupor.
Heat flushed over your skin at the thought. Were you in trouble? Had something happened? Had you inadvertently done something at the ball the other week? Your worries swirled around inside your head as you nodded mechanically and told the man you’d be with them shortly.
He nodded and left, leaving you alone with your father.
Thankfully, he never followed you inside the house as you readied yourself and changed out of your dirt-streaked clothes. But he gave you an earful as you walked down the path to leave. You ignored him, tuned out his shouts as you walked down the lane to town, but no amount of trying could ever shield you from his sharp barbs, his hateful words. Even they penetrated the familiar numbness you had to surround yourself with every time he went on a tirade.
A tear slid down your cheek as you walked away from your father and the only home you’d ever known.
What would it be like to be loved, to be cherished? You’d briefly known the feeling as a child. The memory was faint, but you remembered your mother’s embrace and her gentle touch. You’d even received such comforts and kindness from your father.
Now, all that remained was malice and hate.
It brought such a deep ache to your chest it stole your breath.
The walk to the palace was long.
Your family had never been bless with coin, but even less so now your father used it to fuel his habit, so were on the very outskirts of Asgard, in the villages which bordered the main city. You worked on bounties to keep money coming in, hunted in the woods around your home to sell fresh meat at the market, and had even – tentatively – started up crafting bracelets and necklaces, using things you found on your adventures. It was a skill your mother had taught you as a child and one you’d always loved. Doing it now helped blot out the world for a while and allowed you to feel closer to her.
But. Well. People did not mock them, per say, but they did enquire which child made them – a younger brother or sister – with a kind smile. You always returned it, switching it up and lying, alternating between your imaginary younger brother or sister – and you always sold them in the next village over, where no one knew you. If you sold them in the market near home everyone would know you lied. They all knew it was just you and your father floating around that ghost house. They still cooed over them and bought them, most likely out of pity for the young one, and you tried not to let it go to heart.
Tried. But dismay always settled deep within your bones at your continued failures.
Never good enough. Not for this and not for your father.
Still. You made those things with your own to hands. Put the hard work in and used everything your mother taught you, even if your craftmanship was rusty and nothing compared to hers.
There was a brief moment you considered selling the ones she’d made. The ones you’d kept secretly hidden from your father since her death… but you could not bring yourself to part with them. The thought of it brought too much pain and sprung tears to your eyes.
So you started to wear them instead.
Currently adorning your wrist was one made of old pearls, weathered with age and elements, but still a charming and alluring pale pink and bottle green. Your mother had found them on a trip to the beach once, a vast abundance of them, and brought a handful home. They’d sold handsomely at the market, but she kept some back to make a bracelet just for you. It now wrapped around your wrist with runes for love and family inscribed upon them.
A reminder she was never far from you, she’d always told you.
You twisted the bracelet nervously around your wrist for a burst of courage as you trudged up the stairs to the palace and was greeted by the same messenger. Without a word he gestured for you to follow him to one of the council rooms.
Discreetly you looked around for Loki as you travelled.
You hadn’t seen each other often since the ball – his time and attention had wholly been commanded by his duties and yours had been by putting food on the table for yourself and your father – but when you did, it was the happiest you’d felt in a long time.
With him, in his arms, in his bed, you felt cherished. Desired.
Loved.
The sight of his handsome face flashed within your mind. A memory. He smiled fondly down at you before lowering his head to whisper how much he loved you – and how he had done so for a very, very long time – against your skin.
But long gone were the days you’d been treated like a Lady of the court. As soon as the ball was over you were escorted home the next day and you doubted you’d even been thought about by anyone within the palace since, even if you had been the guest of honour.
Forgotten and left by the wayside. Not important enough to have made an impression or result in any lasting memory.
It was probably just an excuse for them to have a feast.
You were led to a room in which three council members sat. The oldest sat in the middle and had a pure white beard, braided with beads, same as his hair. The one to his right was a woman with jet black hair, swept over her shoulder and tumbling down to her waist. Her sharp eyes pierced into your easily, as if she could read every thought within your mind. You shifted and turned your gaze away from her, to the other on the older man’s left. He was a younger man – the man you’d danced with at the ball, in fact, you noted with surprise. Even though you didn’t know his name, had never learned it, it sparked some kind of comfort within you that you recognised a face when your nerves were already bunching inside your stomach.
They nodded in greeting as you bowed low, as you’d been taught.
“We have brought you here to discuss a very serious matter.”
You fought the urge to fidget. “May I ask what this is about?”
“You have caught affection of the Prince, have you not?” The black-haired woman nearly glared at you, and you fought the urge to flinch or shy away from her.
“Pardon?”
“Prince Loki,” the old man in the middle supplied. “You have caught his attention.”
It sounded like an accusation.
“We have been friends for years, if that’s what you mean –”
“Just friends?” The woman lifted a single eyebrow and you felt yourself flush hot with indignant anger.
“I do not see how that is anyone’s business.”
“It is our business when it affects the crown,” the older man interjected without missing a beat. “The Allfather, as well as others, have taken notice and are not pleased.” He levelled you with a look and this time your face fell. Dread coiled within your stomach.
What?
“Prince Loki is due to marry someone of status or political gain, you understand.” Again, he shot you a pointed look, as if to say, “the opposite of you”. “And plans are being set in motion to make that happen.”
“What?” The question came out no louder than a whisper.
The man who’d danced with you at the ball, who’d remained silent until now, finally spoke. “Apologies, My Lady. But it is true. The Allfather has decreed it.”
“So, you understand the reason for our meeting. As you are not one of such status or political gain, you are hereby prevented from coming into contact with the Prince again.”
The world faded out. Sound disappeared and your vision tunnelled to a point.
Never… Never see Loki again?
What was happening?
“His betrothal shall be arranged in the coming weeks. It will be cause for such celebration, so we felt it best to break the news to you beforehand.”
Break the news? They hadn’t broken the news. They’d dropped a bombshell upon you. It had obliterated you and it felt as though your chest was cracking in two.
“Betrothal?” You hated how weak your voice sounded.
The man in the centre nodded. “It has not yet been confirmed but as you can imagine, it would not be a good image for the crown if you were to continue your… tryst with one another in the meantime. Leave him be, girl, and all shall be well.”
You felt sick. Your stomach churned with acid and threatened to crawl up your throat.
You’d thought your life was taking a turn for the better. Loki loved you – you knew he did. Nobody could act with such certainty or such finesse, not even your trickster God. But this…
“You are forbidden from coming into contact with him again.”
Your heart cracked in two.
Why was this happening?
“Have…” You couldn’t even get the words out. “Have I done something wrong?”
The older man and the woman just stared at you, not answering. It was the young Lord who took pity on you. “Just love someone who was not yours to love, My Lady.”
Tears were willed into submission.
You would not break down. Not here. Not in this infernal palace, with its court politics and power plays you had never had any interest in.
But your friend…
How could you ever say goodbye to him? To your Loki?
You’d both been through so much.
I have loved you for a very long time.
Why, dance with my darling, of course. The one whom I cherish above all others.
What… How…
“Do you understand what we are asking of you?”
They looked pleased, but you think that was because you nodded. You don’t know if you did or not.
You hated everything about it. You wanted to protest, to fight against it, but you remembered the mention of the Allfather’s displeasure. What could they do to you if you did not cooperate? You had nothing else. Nothing but a hateful, grief-stricken father and a crumbling home which was barely still standing. No prospects.
Nothing, now you’d lost your only friend.
Your love.
There was no hope, now.
They could take everything, do anything to you. You were not in a position to argue. Not with the court and certainly not with the crown. You held no power here, and never had.
It made you wonder why Loki had even become a friend to you in the first place.
There was nothing you could give except yourself and your love. You thought that had been enough but…
Evidently not.
Not within these palace walls, where power and status were everything. Loki had said as much in all of his rants throughout the years, so you were a fool to have forgotten and not paid proper attention. This had probably always been coming your way, but you’d been too happy, too fulfilled and in love, to remember. Too blinded by the latter to realise.
That was on you.
And now, you would fall to the wayside in favour of someone with greater status. Greater influence and power. Who could offer your love and Asgard more than you ever could.
The same numbness from before settled upon you like an old friend.
You were well acquainted with it, after all.
And it did not leave you in the long, lonely days which followed.
There was no word again from the palace. No summons. No contact.
And no Loki.