#jealous!loki

Cuddled on the window seat in his office, shoes kicked off to nothing but fuzzy socks and a mug of coffee, you gaze out at the courtyard through the thunderstorm.

Loki tried not to let it bother him, but you’re entranced.

Any other day he would be thrilled to see you so content, but this isn’t some rainstorm—it’s a thunderstorm.

You grin with every crack of thunder and every flash of lightning and each one sparks a little deeper into that part of his mind that taunts him plenty.

Just to top things off, Thor crashes through the doorway, a little out of breath and beaming.

“Look to the north,” he nearly shouts, “wait for it, this’ll be the biggest yet—”

“Amazing,” Loki snaps, a sour look painting his features. “None of us have actual work to do, we can ogle over you all day.”

Thunderstorms do make Loki a bit of a sourpuss, you’ve noticed, and after discovering the part that his brother plays in making them, you…kind of get it.

They’re rather loud and imposing things, aren’t they?

The thunder crack is in fact the biggest yet, followed by a bolt of lightning that stays in the sky nearly ten seconds.

You clap and laugh for Thor while Loki sulks, miserable at his desk with nothing grand, nothing jaw-dropping of his own to amuse you.

And when he walks into his office the next day to find you and Thor already in the room, laughing and chattering and happy, he can’t even bring himself to be jealous anymore.

It just hurts.

“My brother,” Thor beams, always so exhaustingly cheery. “Come with us, we discovered a new coffee shop—you know coffee, yes?”

Blindly open-hearted, he doesn’t always catch how his words come across.

“Yeah, I know what coffee is, dimwit.” Loki just shrugs off his coat and waves a hand at the two of you. “I’m busy. Enjoy yourselves.”

“We were waiting for you,” you pipe up, offering him a gentle smile. “Can’t you spare half an hour?”

Half an hour listening to Thor talk about himself, having to walk next to Thor in that excuse of a shirt—it’s ready to rip at the seams, and there’s really no point in wearing it with how see through it is.

He can’t blame you.

Who wouldn’t want to be on that arm?

“No, I have work I should do. Thank you.”

“We’ll bring you back something,” you promise, leaning over the desk to plant a kiss on his cheek.

You’re gone for close to an hour, leaving Loki with tapping fingers and an anxious mind racing with the worst; you’ve gone and done it, run away with his brother, never to be seen again.

Or even worse, you will be seen again, ruling Asgard by Thor’s side.

With cups of coffee in hand.

He drops his head to his desk with a thud and groans.

Minutes later, you peek your head past the doorway to find him still slumped onto his desk, eyes tightly shut and occasionally lifting his head only to bang it back against the wood.

“Chin up, buttercup.” You hurry over before he can bash his head again. “Brought you a little pick me up!”

“Go away,” he moans into the desk. “I’m working.”

“It’s caramel, mocha, and sea salt,” you continue anyways, setting the cup by his head. “You liked the caramel last time, so wait ‘til you try salted caramel.”

“I can’t drink that.”

He pushes it away without bothering to lift his head.

“What–why not?”

“I should be dieting,” he quietly replies. “Losing weight. Trying to tone my physique. Gain muscle, not fat from sugars.”

Combing your fingers into his hair, you gently tug his head up from the desk.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

His eyes only narrow as he looks at you, red and slightly puffy. “How was your date with my brother? Have fun?”

“Yes,” you answer with a frown. “I had fun getting to know my boyfriend’s brother, what’s so wrong with that?”

“Nothing at all.” Loki plasters on a phoney smile and sits up, ducking his head away from your hand.

He simply goes back to work, plopping a stack of papers on his desk and burying himself behind them. Only the scratching of his pen breaks the silence, the coffee on his desk untouched and steaming.

Thor thought he’d like it, too—he’d told you of Loki’s affinity for caramel ever since he was a child, how it had even gotten him in trouble a couple times with the cooks.

Apparently he’s not such a big fan anymore.

“Can we at least…get lunch together?” You try a gentle question, head cocked and waiting for him to peek back up at you.

“Can’t.” He doesn’t even look up.

“Oh, okay.” You nod, “want to come over later? We’ve gotta watch Lord of the Rings, if we start tonight we can binge the originals this weekend!”

A large hand flits over his eyes and he sighs quietly to himself. “No, thank you.”

“Okay. What’s your deal?”

He’s a generally sad kind of guy, you know that much, but today, right now, this is different. Not so angry or bitter or jealous, just…sad.

And he doesn’t answer. His pen hovers over the paper, but he’s not actually writing anything—he assumes you won’t notice.

Too caught up in your daydreams with Thor, no doubt.

“Hello…?”

A blur of flesh breaks his train of thought as you wave a hand in his face.

“Don’t ignore me,” you state flatly. Offended. Stating the obvious.

His heart falls.

“I’m…I’m not,” he caves, posture slumping with a slow exhale. Not wanting to meet your gaze, he glares at the case record unsigned on his desk. “Look, just tell me. Don’t try to hide it, you’re only rubbing salt in the wound.”

“Tell you what?”

He sinks lower into the desk chair.

“About your–your feelings.” A wave towards the door. “For Thor.”

It didn’t sound so bad in his head, but now, with the words actually out there…he cringes, suppressing a shudder.

A laugh cuts through the uncomfortable silence.

Your laugh, and he bites back a scowl.

“You’re an absolute idiot,” you giggle, and push off his desk to come stand by his chair. “Really? Me? And Thor?”

“I don’t blame you,” he mumbles, dropping his head to his hands. “He’s…he’s perfect.”

“Nope.” You give the edge of his chair a shove to swivel it towards you and take his face in his hands. “Look at me, Loki.”

Reluctantly, his gaze meets yours.

“I love you. Not Thor. I love you and your body, and your personality, your mind, your voice, your everything.”

“How can you not want Thor?” He asks, voice breaking. “The man’s a tree, I’m–I’m a twig—”

“Hey, hey, I’d much rather pick up a twig than climb a tree!” you assure him with a grin. “Come on, Loki. You know you’re the only one for me.”

He blinks up at you, a hand coming up by his cheek to hold onto your wrist. “I don’t understand how.”

“It’s really easy.” Leaning down, you press your forehead to his and give him a smile. “You’re the strongest man I know, and you’ve suffered more than any being should have to. You crave honest love and you deserve it, so if I play any part in that, I consider myself the lucky one.”

“But Thor—”

A firm kiss on the mouth stops the words in his throat.

“Enough about Thor,” you murmur when you pull away just a smidge. “He’s your brother and whether you’ll admit it or not, he’s important to you. Which means he’s important to me. That’s it.”

The beginnings of a soft smile tug at his lips, and you kiss them again for good measure.

“Thank you.”

It’s soft and barely audible, and you more feel it against your lips than hear it.

But it’s there, and you eventually pull away with a happy sigh.

“Well. That was fun.” You pat his flushed cheek and grab the probably cold coffee off his desk, holding it out to him. “Drink it. You could use a few extra pounds, anyways.”

He quirks an eyebrow at you but takes the drink, taking a hesitant sip—

“Oh, norns.”

“Good?”

He gives his head a little shake, licking his lips. “That’s sweet. And strong.”

“I know,” you laugh, stealing the cup back and taking a quick swig. “It’ll keep you up for our Lord of the Rings marathon, trickster.”

His eyes narrow playfully. “Mhm…and here I thought you simply cared for me.”

“What??” You blow him a kiss and a wink. “Then you’re an idiot, love.”

You don’t call Thor an idiot, and he doesn’t think you ever have.

Watching you flounce our the door, leaving him with his coffee and newly-lifted spirits, Loki grins to himself as he goes back to his papers.

Yes, Thor is an idiot. Everyone knows that much.

But Loki gets to be your idiot, and that is something special.

―   ―   ―   ―

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“But don’t worry – I don’t intend on loving him any longer.”

A sharp intake of breath to my side.

But I refused to be swayed – refused to look even as my heart called out his name.

Yearned to see him.

Longed to see what the face of love lost looked like.

What love denounced felt like.

Because the truth was, I had held onto those words for so long – gone over them in my head in rehearsed practice like a broke record – they felt like a sham.

Like they were nothing more than a pretense.

Something I would hold tightly onto each time he left me lost and bereft.

For all the times he had left me standing there with my heart in my hands – ripped raw out of my chest.

And I would like and tell myself that the choice was mine – I could walk away any day, any time.

It was the last sliver of dignity I had been clinging onto in the wake of the silence he kept long and strung between us.

Until now.

Until I said them loud and unwaveringly clear – hardly able to believe the words were falling out of my mouth.

But there they were -  hanging in the air.

Loud, heavy, clear.

And I had never believed in the more.

I don’t intend on loving you any longer, Loki.

Odin’s eyes narrowed on me, warily – filled with rousing suspicion.

His expression heavily guarded.

He looked at me like I as an untamed dog, frothing at the mouth, ready to pounce at a moment’s notice.

Though, I suppose, he wouldn’t have been quite far off the mark.

Even the entire hall seemed to wait with bated breath – anticipating the next insult I would hurl at those of royal lineage.

It would have been almost comical – a Midgardian girl reducing all the immortals before her into scandalised shell-shocked silence with a shelling.

Almost.

“Then what is it you intend on doing?” he questioned, brusquely.

There it was – the question I knew was coming.

The answer I knew I had to give.

I swallowed.

A thud in my chest.

“I intend on…,” I started to say, trying to grasp onto all the liquid courage that had been running in my veins just minutes ago.

But the words dried up.

Felt like silt in my throat.

Dread in my belly.

The brackets around Odin’s mouth deepened – a sign that I was trying what little patience he had left for me.

“… leaving,” I finished, the word leaving my lips in almost nothing but a whisper.

Dissipating in the air.

But he caught it.

“What?” he breathed.

A stumble.

Disbelief.  

And I felt his eyes burn my skin.

But still I didn’t look at him.

Not even when the single syllable sounded so lost, so small– it was enough to put a lump in my throat. One that ached so much, my fingers itched to reach for my throat to hold it down.

Till it stopped feeling like every single word out of it would be cracked and broken.

I wouldn’t.

I couldn’t.

I steadied myself – let out a long, controlled breath as I held no one else but Odin in view.

Blocked it all out.

Pushed him away until the only thing I could focus on was mapping out my strategy to get the hell out of here.

“I--,” I started once more, testing the waters.

Feeling the firm weight of the word on my tongue.

Holding my voice firm.

Holding my heart down.

“I intend on leaving,” I finally pushed out.

The final word – a bite of bitterness.

So convincingly, the little voice in my head mocked.

No.

He didn’t have to say it.

I didn’t have to look at him.

But that single word of protest grew and grew – filling up the space between us, pushing us further than we had ever been apart.

A loud laugh of disbelief cut through the air.

Ehrendil.

“You intend on leaving?” he repeated, slowly and incredulously – clearly, the most ludicrous thing to have come from me the entire night.

I was forced to turn back to him – sucking in a breath as they dying embers of anger sparked back to life in the face of his arrogance.

How could anyone hate a stranger so much with no ground to stand on?

The downward curve of his lips and the distasteful scrunch of his nose – all in disapproval of me. All earned from nothing else but my existence.

His eyes narrowed.

“You…,” he hissed, venomously.

My hands clenched into fists.

“You think this child’s play?” he snapped, arms flung wide at the very public stage I had decided to pick my battles on.

I gritted my teeth.

It appeared – he wasn’t about to go down without a fight.

“Did you think you could escape unscathed?” he boomed, eyes flashing in anger.

There was a time when I would have felt my heart beating wildly in my chest.

Felt cold sweat cover clammy hands.

Tremble in front of such intimidating presence.

Eyes turned feverishly to him in search for answers.

Assurance.

But this time, there was none of that to be found.

A strange sense of calmness settling in the hollow of my chest.

As if nothing else quite seemed to exist in the space left in the wake of my decision.

I turned my attention to Halwen.

Her eyes darting about wildly like an animal cornered.

Do you see this, Loki? Do you see your beloved princess falling from grace in front of your very own eyes?

The bitter words echoed on the tip of my tongue.

Its tang, once sharp now reduced to nothing but a dull thud lying flat in the cave of my mouth.

I couldn’t help but feel a prick of pity for her.

This was how she had chosen to live.

“I think…,” I started to say, softly – my words seemingly addressed to Ehrendil, but it was startling clear to whom I was speaking to.

She leaned forward ever so slightly, ears pricked as her eyes tried to focus haphazardly on me.

“… you will find that it is in the best interests of everyonethat I return to Midgard,” I finished with a slight downward tilt of my chin as she met my gaze filled with intent.

Her lips parted.

And I couldn’t help but press on.

“Lest I should… run my mouth further on things I should not be commenting… frostilyabout,” I decided to throw in.

Perhaps a little juvenile.

Perhaps a little under the belt.

But it did the trick.

The flicker of recognition in her eyes morphed into a blanket of terror.

I could have sworn she choked.

My eyes flickered instinctively towards Odin and Frigga – wondering if they had heard and interpreted the intention behind my words.

It was a bold move considering if they called my bluff – I knew I wouldn’t push through with it.

Even if it meant that I would lose my chance at freedom.

I couldn’t do it.

I couldn’t tear Loki down and expose his most feared secret in front of everyone. No, this was a battle he was going to have to fight on his own. On his own terms.

But they didn’t know that.

As far as they were concerned, I was nothing more than a bratty little Midgardian who seemed to have a penchant for running her mouth afoul and it wouldn’t be above me to let loose information that could potentially wreck their alliance.

And for a second, just for a second, I saw the effect of my words.

Saw the crack it made in their surface of calmness.

Got a glimpse into the nerve I had struck.

I drew in a deep breath.

This could work.

I tried to still the slight shake of my hand – the bravado now wearing a little thin.

“Fa—father…,” Halwen started to say, shakily.

This was her last chance at getting a shot at Loki and this entire hullabaloo. Once the cat was out of the bag, there was no way in hell her father would allow their family name to be sullied by Frost Giants.

I’d never had proper interaction with one – well, save for Loki and that really wasn’t saying much in their favour to begin with – but judging from the way they were treating humans like second, scratch that, third class citizens, one could only imagine the sort of havoc he would wreck here in Asgard.

Ehrendil shot her a withering glare and you could see her visibly shrink back into her seat.

“What other travesties could this Midgardian wench possibly spew?” he snarled, whipping his attention back towards me.

Unhinged.

Like an uncaged tiger.

Ready to pounce.

“Fa—father, if she were to re—return to Midgard, all will be as it wa--,” Halwen had barely gotten the words out of her mouth when his face darkened.

He whirled around and his glower was enough to put a stop to it.

“If she were to return to Midgard? If?” he repeated, his voice a rising, angry tenor.

Her face crumbled – almost admitting defeat before she had barely begun.

Gee, wonder what sort of childhood that must have been like for her.

“If we allow her to walk away today unscathed – ifword gets out that we do not punish severely those who dare look upon us with such insolence and impertinence, we will no longer be beings to be revered,” he bellowed.

And it was back to the drawing board.

His pride.

“Odin, is this how you would allow your guests to be treated?” he pursued, eyes filled with animosity now as they turned to his Asgardian counterpart.

Odin’s face was grim – lips pressed together so tightly, a line was all to be seen.

His eyes were cold and calculating – racing to assess the situation.

Frigga placed her hand gently on his forearm – a reassuring gesture.

But one that apparently irked Ehrendil.

“Well… ?” he challenged Odin’s silence, brusquely.

His features pinched and sharp.

“King Ehrendil, please, for--,” Odin began to speak, or rather, should I say grovel – except he was saved from the horror and shame of having to do so.

“She’s my guest too,” Loki cut in, unexpectedly.

I had to do a double take.

I had thought he would have done what he had done best all this while – kept his silence.

And tried as I might – I couldn’t help but feel a tingle in my chest.

That, however, had quite the opposite effect on Ehrendil whose face darkened.

“You!” he spat out, accusingly, eyes narrowing.

Like a shark looking for its next prey.

“You have no say in such matters,” he growled.

And there was blood in the water.

“I have no say in the matter?” Loki, scoffed.

An eyebrow arched – his tone deliberately mocking as if Ehrendil had the mental capacity of a teaspoon.

“I beg to differ. The last I recall, we are precisely at this farce of a dinner because I did not wish to wed your daughter. I’d say there is plenty for me to say about the matter,” he threw back.

A little too smoothly.

A little too eloquently.

It did nothing but stroke the fires of rage higher in Ehrendil.

“Then you are a fool,” he spat out venomously at Loki.

He gestured towards Halwen.

“You would give up the glory and recognition that would come from binding our name to your family?” he questioned, his voice so full and swollen with arrogance.

All that stemmed merely from birthright.

And there it was.

He halted.

If only for a second.

But it was enough.

That was the chink in his armour.

That little waver of uncertainty that was enough to cut through his conviction thus far of not marrying Halwen.

Because it was no longer about her – it was about the power and acceptance her hand in marriage would bring.

And somehow, standing in the warm glow of the Hall, with his shoulders set back and his chin tilted upwards in defiance – was the Prince I had first met a long, long time ago.

Before I knew him.

Knew all his fears, insecurities, and the desperate need for acceptance.

Before he knew me.

Knew all my worries, self-doubt, and craving for love so intimately.

Before I had told him I love him.

Before this hollow pang in my chest that came in the wake of his silence.

And Halwen saw right through it all.

An opportunity.

“Loki…,” she pleaded, her voice small and sweet – begging for his attention.

He looked over at her – eyes hazy and unfocused as if he had just spent an eternity wrestling for an answer to Ehrendil’s question.

I wondered who it was he saw sitting there, quivering in her seat.

Was it still the same girl with hair like sunshine he had thought himself in love with?

“W—we could put everything behind us. Ca—carry on as we did before,” she stammered.

No.

That word clanged hollowly inside of me.

“Can we?” he echoed, mindlessly.

The words carrying no weight – floating in the air.

I swallowed.

She nodded her head, fervently.

His response spurring her into action as she leaned forward, eyes sparked bright and face animated once more.

“We can send the Midgardian home and all will be as it was before,” she scrambled, seizing whatever small lifeline he had thrown to her end.

Her voice a little shaky, a little nervous – but there was no mistaking her intention.

His eyes narrowed on her.

Ears pricked.

“As long as we are married, as long as we are able to form an alliance…,” she said, her hand sweeping wide to gesture at her father and Odin.

“… the Midgardian is inconsequential,” she finished with a slight nod of her head.

I had to bite down on my tongue.

Hard.

Inconsequential?

We’ll see how inconsequential I am when I’m stuffing your spleen down your throat.

And in case we didn’t hear the underlying meaning in her words the first time, she reiterated.

“She would be free to return to Midgard,” she stressed, eyes flickering towards me.

There was no mistaking the thinly veiled threat.

The exchange she was speaking of.

“You conniving little bitch!” I spat out, unable to hold it in any longer.

God, if I could, I would fling myself across the table and pluck every single pretty strand of hair from her head.

One by one.

But before I could get another word in, he cut me off.

“Enough,” he bit out, coldly.

A pause.

Long and strung out.

I looked at him – eyes wide and filled with incredulity.

No.

No.

No.

No.

No.

I wanted to scream and shake him.

There was no way in hell he was contemplating what it was she was suggesting.

But he turned to look at me, slowly.

Softly.

Gently.

And I was already shaking my head before his lips could even part.

Could even say what I knew was dancing on the very tip of his tongue.

I grabbed his forearm, nails digging in.

“Don’t you dare,” I warned.

And suddenly, I found myself blinking furiously.

Eyes shiny and bright.

Trying to keep the tears in.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” I hissed, tightening my grip.

He faltered.

Lost and raw.

His lips parted.

“Listen…” he started to say, voice cracking.

And I just about lost it.

“No, you listen,” I snarled, so forcefully, he flinched.

I yanked at his arms, eyes searching his desperately as I scrambled to make him see.

Make him understand.

“Don’t do it for me. Do it because you want the power. Do it because you want the acceptance. Hell, do it because you still want h--…” I seethed, suddenly stopping short.

Want her.

That was what I had wanted to say.

Except, the words dried in my mouth.

Got stuck in my throat.

And the very thought of him still wanting her was like a hand around my heart – squeezing it tight.

“… her…” I managed to choke out.

“But…” he started to protest.

I shook my head.

“I would rather never return to Earth than to be used as a manipulation tactic,” I fumed.

He wanted to object.

Wanted to fight me on this.

I could see it in his eyes.

Please no, I mouthed.

See the worry and the frustration there all too blindingly well.

“Please, no,” I whispered, voice straining.

And then his eyes softened.

The tenderness that filled them – arresting.

I could barely breathe.

But he knew.

Even if he didn’t like it, he knew.

The corners of his lips turned up ever so slightly.

So weakly.

“Okay…” he whispered.

Okay.

The lump in my throat moved.

But before either of us could get another word in, Ehrendil swept in.

“It is settled then!” he announced, abruptly – cutting our tender moment short.

As we both turned back towards him, a furrow settled between Loki’s brows.

“What is settled?” he demanded to know.

Ehrendil scowled.

“The betrothal…” he seethed, before looking at me, pointedly.

“… in exchange for the Midgardian’s safe passage back,” he warned.

Are you fucking kidding me?

It was one thing to be arrogant, but to so blatantly disregard someone else’s decision… man, if I had thought of wanting to pull the stick out of his ass before, I wanted nothing more than to put my foot up it right now.

“I would rather starve to death here,” I spat back.

And I had the pleasure of seeing his eyes narrow in fury as they locked onto me – a growl escaping from his lips.

“Then so be your death wish,” he sneered.

And just as I was about to taunt him – about to throw back that there was nothing more insufferable than being in his company – Odin interjected.

“With all due respect, King Ehrendil – my son has not agreed to enter this union with your daughter,” he announced.

His words were polite – but his tone, a warning.

Oh.

I looked over at Loki who sported an equally puzzled expression at his father’s sudden defense of him.

First came a hazy glaze over Ehrendil’s face as if trying to decipher the situation – trying to make sense of the words.

His bottom lip quivered.

Lips parted.

And that was when it hit him.

“Do you not seek to make amends, Odin?” he growled.

His brows furrowed – his lips turned up in almost a perpetual sneer.

“I seek to keep the peace between both our kingdoms, King Ehrendil,” Odin appealed.

That appeared to appease him.

A little.

“Then we are of one mind,” Ehrendil declared, to which Odin gave a nod of acquiescence.

A pause.

Then, a smile cracked across Ehrendil’s face before he threw his hands in the air and let out a hearty laugh.

“Then I seenothing standing in the way of this betrothal,” he declared, and I had a good mind to smack him on the upside of his head and ask if he was blind.

Hello?

Nothing?

We are standing right here in front of you.

Odin hesitated.

His shoulders tensed.

And Queen Frigga saw it as her cue to jump in.

“King Ehrendil,” she greeted, a slight bow of her head in respect.

His eyes moved towards her.

“Perhaps these are matters best spoken and sorted out amongst the younger ones… in private?” she put forth, graciously.

His face immediately darkened.

“Should matters of the kingdom not be heard by the people, Queen Frigga?” he challenged.

Odin moved to place his hand atop Frigga’s – a scowl gracing his face.

A storm brewing.

“You speak of keeping peace – but you are courting a war,” Ehrendil growled.

“I do not seek war – but I will not allow my arm to be twisted. Not on Asgard,” Odin snapped.

Ehrendil’s eyes flashed with anger.

“Is that a threat, Allfather?” he thundered, glowering.

“It is a reminder, King Ehrendil, that this is Asgard and your men are but a few,” Odin cautioned.

The entire room immediately tensed.

There was no drawing of weapons and no clashing of swords but I would have been a fool not to have noticed how Ehrendil’s men suddenly stood to attention – hands reaching for their sheath.

Grim faces.

Held breaths.

Almost as if a single exhale would be enough to tip the scales.

Queen Frigga leaned in to whisper into Odin’s ear – presumable something along the lines of calm the fuck down.

But he raised a hand to quiet her warning.

This was not a God to be trifled with.

Not especially when his kingdom was under threat.

“You would take me captive?” Ehrendil questioned, angrily.

“I would take you as Asgard’s honoured guests,” Odin retaliated.

“You would have me and my daughter stand for such humiliation?” Ehrendil snarled.

“We would have you and your daughter extend to our son the graciousness your people are said to have run in their blood,” Queen Frigga interjected.

Possibly worried her equally hot-headed husband would say something far more regrettable.

That gave him cause for pause.

It was a cleverly worded sentence, I’d give her that.

It was both a warning and stage for a gracious exit she had built for him to take.

What more in front of others?

To take the exit so gracefully handed to him would be for others to see how magnanimous he was – but to go to war over a broken betrothal would reek of pettiness.

Childishness.

His eyes narrowed briefly on Frigga – seeing through her ploy.

A ruse it may be – but it worked.

The corners of her lips turned up ever so slightly as she bowed her head down once more.

Perhaps it was the slight slacking of his jaw or the dulling of the rage in his eyes – but she could see it was a battle more than half won.

More than half.

But still, we weren’t out of the woods just yet.

His eyes flickered towards me, a scowl slashed across his face.

“What of the Midgardian?” he questioned, addressing the elephant in the room.

I straightened my back, shoulders tensing as I braced myself.

I hadn’t expected an easy way out.

Hell, I would be lucky if the only thing they decided to do with me was to throw me into a dark cell.

Odin turned to look at me, slowly.

He didn’t seem all too pleased.

Being called out on being a bad parent, apparently, wasn’t the best way to get into his good graces.

Loki started.

“Father…” his voice low and cautionary.

But Odin’s hand shot up, putting a stop to anything else Loki had to say.

His face was grim – lips pressed together tightly as if reluctant to pass a verdict.

Instinctively, Loki looked over to Frigga – lips parted.

And I didn’t even need to see his face to know that the silent plea that resonated in the single word he mouthed: “Mother”.

She grimaced, a slight tilt of her chin acknowledging his ask for help.

Her eyes passed over me and I felt a strange lump lodge in the back of my throat.

While there was no hostility – there was no approval to be found there either.

Only a glimmer of kindness and compassion.

Empathy.

But that was more than enough for me.

She cleared her throat.

“King Ehrendil,” she began, gingerly, wary of poking the sleeping bear.

He looked over to her, his eyes narrowing in displeasure as her voice gave way to her intention.

She took his silence as a means to forge forwards.

“Let us not allow anymore seeds of discord to be sown between us. As she has expressed her wish to lea—” she started to reason, but he cut her off, abruptly.

“With all due respect, Queen Frigga, this is an answer I require from…” he bit out, trailing off as his eyes moved to lock on Odin.

“… the rulerof Asgard,” he finished, rudely brushing Frigga aside.

Venom piercing into every word.

He may have acquiesced everything else prior, but it was clear his anger was still bubbling close to the surface.

He needed something to appease it.

A sacrificial lamb of sorts.

Me.

Frigga paused, her hand lowering to rest gingerly on Odin’s arm as he locked eyes with Ehrendil.

“I would advise you choose your next words wisely and carefully, Allfather,” Ehrendil taunted, the corners of his mouth lifting in a perverse smug smile.

A calculated move.

He had weighed his options thoroughly – knowing it would reflect poorly on Asgard if they didn’t meet him halfway after he had conceded the first half of the battle.

Impending dread filled my chest as my feet were rooted to the spot.

“Very well,” Odin replied with a tilt of his chin.

Ehrendil’s smile widened.

“Father,” Loki moved to protest.

But it was of no use.

“Thor,” Odin commanded, ignoring the plea.

And the figure that had remained mostly silent throughout this entire charade suddenly moved to life.

“Father?” Thor echoed, puzzled that his name would even enter the equation.

Odin spared him a glance, pausing.

His brows furrowed and expression grim.

“As the leader of our army…” Odin began only for Loki to interrupt.

“Father,” he barged in, voice low – the rising note of worry building into a lump in the back of my throat.

A split second pause.

The furrow between Odin’s brows deepening as he let out a long exhale, barely sparing Loki a glance.

My heart sank.

Not so much for the sentence that I knew was coming, but for the way Loki was once again, brushed aside.

“… you are to escort the Midgardian t—” he started to order when he was cut off.

“You neverlisten,” Loki bellowed.

His rage and frustration – so raw and palpable, I couldn’t help but torn to look at him.

There he was.

Red spreading across his skin like wildfire – eyes bright and shiny from all the years of rejection culminated into this very moment.

His chest rising and falling with the exertion.

The frustration.

His uncontained vulnerability.

Spilling out.

For me.

My throat moved.

Odin looked at him – face awash in disapproval as he raised a brow slightly.

“… to Heimdall…” he pressed on.

“Wh—what?” Loki stumbled.

Heimdall?

What was that? Some sort of name they had given their dungeons?

I glanced over at Loki for answers – but he seemed too stunned. Rooted in his place, blinking at Odin.

Oh God. Maybe Heimdall is the name of their executioner.

That would explain why Loki had suddenly turned three shades paler than his usual pasty self.

His expression wasn’t exactly the most reassuring.

“What?” Ehrendil thundered.

I looked over at him.

And he was livid.

Nearly frothing at the mouth, really.

He sent a goblet clattering across the floor.

Oh.

I looked around in bewilderment, not entirely sure what the fuck was going on and nobody seemed to be gracious enough to explain to me.

Until my eyes settled on a pair of twinkling blue ones that echoed with a similar and nostalgic spark of mischievousness.

Perhaps there was a bond of brotherhood after all.

“Heimdall is the Gatekeeper,” Thor murmured.

“Riiight,” I nodded, as if that was supposed to make any sense.

“What does that even me--?” I started to ask, but Ehrendil’s roar cut short whatever clarity I was searching for.

“You would darelet her go in my presence?” he demanded, furiously.

Odin glared at him – straightening his back and squaring his chest.

“I would, as ruler of Asgard,” he growled back.

It was synonymous to a slap across Ehrendil’s face who stood there, frozen – as if unable to quite believe the blow he had been dealt.

Before he could react, Odin turned back to us, eyes flashing with anger and impatience.

“Thor, did you not hear me?” he snapped.

“Ye—yes, Father,” Thor stumbled, rising to his feet, clumsily.

“As your King, I command you to escort the Midgardian to Heimdall where she shall return to Midgard…” he barked, pausing to shift his attention to me.

His eyes narrowed.  

There was no mistaking that his next few words were directed at me.

“… and neverbeallowed to return to Asgard,” he finished, with a warning curl of his bottom lip.

I swallowed, palms balmy as I swayed slightly on my feet.

He raised his chin, his gaze stormy and penetrating.

This was make or break.

“Is that understood?” he asked.

The question was seemingly directed at Thor, but his eyes spoke otherwise.

I nodded.

Barely discernible.

Throat parched.

But the message was sent.

And he gave a gruff grunt in acknowledgement.

If I could have breathed a sigh of relief, I would have.

My shoulders sagged forward and my lips curved up into a smile.

Perhaps, he wasn’t too bad after all.

And for a second, just for a second, I couldn’t help but hope Loki would be able to mend the rift between him and Odin.

I still didn’t care too much for him and he could definitely use a read or two from How To Communicate for Dummies – but it was obvious he cared.

I knew he couldn’t care less what sorry fate befell me and the only reason he was sticking out his neck and risking the wrath of the pompous King he had spent years butter up to was because Loki had asked.

Had begged on my behalf.

But before I could look at Loki – look at him and tell him gently that it was going to be alright.

Look at him and feel my heart surge tenderly in my chest, a loud roar of rage disrupted the air.

“You would disrespect me as such?” Ehrendil bellowed, lunging forward in my direction.

His facial features contorted in anger.

It didn’t matter that his hands hit an obstruction or that the entire table was between us.

He looked feral.

His guards started to move forwards, the sound of swords being drawn from their sheath filling the air and I flinched.

Stumbled clumsily.

Only to be yanked backwards as Loki placed himself in front of me.

Shielding me – fingers still wrapped around my wrist.

“Lo—Loki…” I stammered, his name suddenly feeling like a safe prayed on my lips as his shoulder tensed – standing guard.

“Thor,” Odin barked as Thor moved towards Loki, forming a line of defense.

My other hand reached out instinctively to clasp the hand Loki still had on my wrist.

And even though my heart was pounding in my chest and my head was throbbing from the overwhelming intensity of the situation – I had never felt safer.

Seeing his back turned towards me – the slight glimpse of his profile as he moved his head left and right.

Tensed.

On guard.

Ready to strike at any sudden movement.

Protecting me.

“You have your orders – take her!” Odin thundered as we began to retreat.

Slowly.

Gingerly.

Asgardian guards slowly coming to our aid – flanking us.

Ehrendil turned towards Odin – eyes alight with spite.

Frigga arose carefully.

Taking her place beside her husband.

“If I were you – I would think very carefully of the consequences your actions will yield,” Ehrendil sneered.

Odin’s eyes flared.

He did not take to threats lightly.

“I have done so – thoroughly. And I have given my orders,” Odin barked.

Ehrendil gritted his teeth – glaring at him.

“Guards…” he called out.

And his soldiers moved to life upon the command – slowly encroaching upon us.

Our backs were turned towards the entrance – a slow retreat still as Asgardian guards began forming a barricade between us.

It was like a game of cat and mouse.

Odin’s eyes flickered towards us.

Almost.

Almost.

I whipped my head around, heart in my throat as escape came within grasp.

So close.

“I believe it is you who will need to think very carefully of the consequences your actions will yield,” Odin warned.

A scowl in return.

“Yes, it appears that Asgardians excel in delivering threats to their… guests,” he mocked with a sweep of his arm.

Odin clicked his tongue – cocking his head to the side.

“You mistake an amicable reminder for a threat, old friend,” he admonished.

Ehrendil scoffed.

“I have made no such mistake and you are laying waste to years of friendship. You do not want to be courting this enemy,” Ehrendil warned in return.

Odin shook his head.

“Is there a need for this? She is but a Midgardian who has spoken out of her place – surely your reputation should withstand the few jabs of a sharp tongue? Does she warrant warfare and the destruction of truce between both our kingdoms?” Odin appealed.

“She does not offend me – her words do not carry weight. But rather, it is yourreluctance in conceding her as a peace offering to appease my anger that insults me. First, the breaking of the betrothal. Then, the insolence of a Midgardian – neither of which I had found satisfaction in. If you cannot bring yourself to sacrifice a mere Midgardian to uphold the truce – why should I?” Ehrendil hissed.

“New alliances and bonds may be forged in the place of broken ones. But there is noreturn from the suffering that will befall our kingdoms should we go to war, old friend. My army, I warn, will not be lesser rivals to yours. It is a war that neither of us will win,” Odin persuaded.

A grimace on Ehrendil’s face.

It was the truth.

The hard truth that wrestled with his pride and ego.

But it was enough for Odin who saw a crack in his façade – an opportunity to take the last shot.

“Should word transpire that the suffering we would have brought upon our people was sparked by a Midgardian – by inconsequential words – surely, we would be trifled as rulers and despised as kings,” Odin pushed on.

A pause.

A tic in Ehrendil’s jaw.

“Brother…” Thor whispered, his stance low and hunched.

As if ready to pounce at the sound of a pin dropping.

“… if things go south, you take her and flee to Heimdall. I will hold off the pompous King and his minions with my guards,” he muttered.

Oh, Thor.

And even though the words were said for my benefit, it was Loki they hit the hardest.

He froze.

A sharp intake of breath.

And he turned his face away briefly.

It was hard on him – trying to reconcile all his years of envy and neglect with his deep-seated need for a genuine bond with his brother.

I wanted to tell him it was okay.

It was okay to let Thor in.

It was okay to have his brother.

It was okay to be… loved.

Thor glanced over – puzzled at the silence.

“We may have had our squabbles, but do not fight me on this, brother,” he said, misinterpreting the situation.

“Who said anything about fighting you on this?” Loki shot back, the words yanking him back from his momentary lapse in concentration.

“Loki…” I muttered, and if I could kick him in the shins, I would have.

He turned around – shooting me a glare, as if annoyed that we would have the audacity to think he was capable of being worried for Thor’s safety.

“Far be it from me to detract from his act of heroism and suicide mission,” he rebuked.

I opened my mouth – stinging words at the ready to take him down a peg or two but we were yanked back to reality.

“Come, old friend, let us not waste another breath on such trivialities when we should be in talks of forming new alliances. She will be sent back to Midgard and be done with it!” Odin said.

Ehrendil raised a brow.

“What of such new alliances?” he questioned, his guard still high up.

Odin paused.

“There are other… resources beyond marriage, which you will find of… want,” he relented, his voice measured.

That did the trick.

Ehrendil’s ears pricked.

And he struggled to maintain his unimpressed façade.

But would it be enough?

He pursed his lips.

And I held my breath.

“Your decision?” Odin pursued.

Ehrendil cast a striking glare at me.

“Guards…” he commanded.

His eyes narrowed.

And there so much spite and brutal contempt in them, I couldn’t help but feel a shiver down my spine.

I squeezed Loki’s hand.

“Fall back”.

It was a long and quiet walk to the bridge we had first arrived at.

Once Ehrendil had given us the clear, there were no obstacles standing in our path as both he and Odin adjourned to a quieter space to discuss the new alliances they would form and the resources that they would share – although, it appeared the exchange would be heavily in Ehrendil’s favour.

We filed a singular line.

Thor leading the pack as Loki guarded our flank – mistrustful of Ehrendil still.

What else was there to say?

My mind raced as I tried to cram every single detail of what we had been through into the last few ticking minutes we had together.

Oh.

My heart stung.

As we crossed the rainbow bridge – the one Thor referred to as the Bifrost Bridge – I looked around.

Taking it all in.

Drinking in the light and the water and the infrastructure that were all otherworldly to me.

It’s beautiful.

The vastness and intricacies of this other world.

If only there was some way to capture some of its magic – of stowing away some of its ethereal light for me to look back upon when my days were dark.

And there would be dark ones.

Dark, cold, empty ones.

My chest felt hollowed out – all the adrenaline and courage that had been coursing through my body and filling my heart during the standoff now drained away.

I will never see this again.

The thought rang out loud and sudden inside my head.

I will never see him again.

It thudded inside my chest.

Raw.

Dead.

But before I could turn around to take a look at the dour-faced green-eyed Prince, we stopped.

Right outside this huge golden dome.

“We have arrived,” Thor announced, a little too chirpily.

I nodded my head – voice stuck in my throat.

As if I had ran out of words after that intense exchange with Odin and Ehrendil.

I looked at Thor – his smile wide across his face. So sunny, so bright, so cheerful – for a split second, I wondered what it would have been like if he had been the one sent to Earth instead.

“Heimdall awaits inside,” he prompted.

I tilted my chin forward in acknowledgement.

“Can you… give us a moment?” I asked, softly.

Weakly.

He paused, eyes flitting to look at the figure behind me for a second.

And realization dawned.

He cleared his throat.

“I’ll… erm… I will speak with Heimdall,” he announced, clumsily.

I gave him a weak smile – partly in amusement as he clunkily made his absence.

The smile plastered across my face – as if the outer corners were held up by puppet strings – until Thor’s shadow disappeared from sight.

And then it fell.

Be brave.

Be brave.

Be brave.

Those were the two words I kept repeating over and over again in my head.

As if they would have been enough to brainwash the heartache I had always envisioned would come with this moment.

I took in a deep breath.

This would be the last time I would be speaking with him, seeing him – this was notthe time to freeze.

“I guess… this is it?” I said, trying to make light of the situation as I turned around, slowly.

Except my voice was cracking.

Cracking and cracking.

Like the miserable existence I felt just standing there.

Just standing in front of him.

And God, as I turned around and saw him – bathed in the beautifully ethereal golden light of Asgard – my heart broke.

This wasit.

The moment I had feared and embraced all at once.

“Don’t go,” he said, softly.

So soft, I could have imagined them.

But there he was, swaying ever so slightly on his feet – looking at me as if I was taking part of his world away.

“You know I have to,” I said, voice croaking.

Even that lacked conviction.

Because what else was I supposed to say? What else could I say when the person I love was standing there – looking at me like that – asking me not to go?

When the only thing I wanted to do was to run into his arms?

And so, I turned to the only thing I could.

The only thing that would prevent me from dissolving into a huge weeping mess.

“Loki, I…” I started to say and his ears pricked.

Light briefly entering his eyes.

“Yes?” he asked, voice picking up a notch.

And I knew he wasn’t going to like what I was about to say.

Not one bit.

But it had to be said.

It was either now or never.

“Make amends with your… brother and father,” I said, softly.

Pushing the words out.

“Wh—what?” he stumbled, blinking.

The sentence clearly completely different from what he had been expecting.

“Make amends with your… br—” I began to repeat myself but he cut me off with scowl.

“I heard you the first time,” he said, gruffly, brushing me off.

But I was undeterred.

I needed him to know.

Wanted to be sure.

You’ll have someone with you after I’m gone.

“The events today should have shown you that they caredeeply for you,” I pursued, much to his annoyance.

He shot me a glare.

Crossed his arms over his chest as he squared his shoulders.

Gearing up for a fight.

“The events today would not have transpired if Odin had not conveniently used me as a bargaining chip without even disclosing my identity to begin with – something youwould know very well off,” he retorted – pointing to the moment in which I had used his secret identity as leverage.

I flinched.

I couldn’t help it.

Even when I knew he didn’t mean them.

When he had said those words out of retaliation.

Out of anger.

I paused, eyes flickering downwards.

My heart hurting that he had thought even remotely for a second that I would have gone through with it.

“I wouldn’t have done it, you know…” I said, softly.

Silence.

I looked up, wondering if he had heard me.

He did.

His expression – soft and tender.

All the animosity and sharp edges bleeding away.

Until nothing but warm honey pooled between us.

“I know…” he whispered.

My eyes widened.

I swallowed.

“Do you?” I couldn’t help but ask, the words slipping out so gently and effortlessly.

Heart hanging onto the desperate need for validation.

His eyes softened.

Lips pressed together as he tilted his chin downwards.

“Yes,” he yielded.

The corners of his lips lifting into a soft, wan smile.

“You don’t know how else to love me,” he said, tenderly.

So selflessly.

So utterly.

He knew.

God, he knew.

At least there was that.

And the lump that he had put in my throat bubbled up.

“Ca—can we…” I started to say, but choked.

My chest tightened.

“Ca—can we not spend our last fe—few minutes fighting? Please? I rasped out.

I couldn’t speak.

Couldn’t think.

Couldn’t breathe.

I searched his eyes.

Desperate.

Pleading.

And finally, he relented.

Nodding, the smile disappearing.

Sadness settling into all the nooks and crannies of his face – seeping out of his skin.

I grabbed his hand.

Squeezed it.

Held it tight.

I didn’t care any longer.

There were no restrictions.

Not in this moment.

“Listen to me, Loki. Please,” I begged.

Needy.

Whiny.

And he looked at me with eyes soft and yielding.

A deep breath.

“You knowI can’t stand Odin – God, if I could go back in time to say all those words I had said, I would. You know,” I swore, fingers curling over his hand.

So hard, nails dug into the flesh.

“But he caresfor you,” I reasoned and tried as he might, he couldn’t stop the distaste from sparking in his eyes.

His hand went slack – pulling away.

I reached out.

Held on.

Pulled back.

Refusing to let him distance himself.

He looked at me – eyes searching my face.

Fervently.

Intimately.

Silence stretched out between us.

“What do you want from me?” he asked.

The question hanging softly in the air.

His eyes wide and raw and vulnerable and I wanted nothing more in this world than to tell him how much I love him.

God, do I love him.

“To stop pretending to be somebody else,” I whispered.

The words slipping out so quietly, so effortless from my lips before I could stop them.

They hollowed me out.

He froze.

Like freezing water to his face.

But there was no going back now.

I squeezed his hand.

Held it a little tighter.

Held it a little longer.

Stepped in closer.

So close until I could almost imagine his breath on my face.

See the dull throbbing of pain behind his eyes.

Trace all the lines of sadness on his face.

I trembled.

My bottom lip quivering.

“I want you to stop pretending to be somebody else,” I repeated, voice shaking, and I had to stop myself.

Calm myself.

A deep breath.

Filling my lungs, flushing my cheeks.

“I want you to stop craving the acceptance of everyone else,” I pleaded.

Unintentionally.

I choked – words swallowed by the sting in my throat and the acridity that flooded my mouth.

“Why?” he breathed.

Don’t you know?

I blinked.

Tears rolling down my cheeks.

“You didn’t need it for me to love you…” I whispered.

So gently.

So delicately.

Like glass on the verge of being shattered.

He sucked in a breath.

Corners of his lips lifting in a sad smile.

Eyes shiny and bright.

Unshed tears.

This was it.

This was goodbye.

“I could… I could come visit,” he said, softly.

Tenderly.

Gingerly.

And my heart swelled.

So much I feared my chest could barely contain it.

But I shook my head, sadly.

“No, please don't,” I pleaded.

But it came out wrong.

A little too forceful.

A little too harshly.

It wounded him.

“I—I can—can’t. It… it would cause me pain,” I stumbled, scrambling to find the words that would make sense to him.

His hand reached out – his finger gently brushing away another tear.

I gasped – a sob suddenly choked out of me.

And I closed my eyes.

Wanted to remember this.

Wanted it to be this way forever.

“This. Me. You. Me loving you. You… you not knowing what to do with it…” I whispered, words coming out in a jumble.

Breath short and sharp.

And when I finally opened my eyes, there they were.

His beautiful green eyes staring back at me.

“It… causes me pain,” I breathed.

His pressed his lips together.

Grim.

I wanted nothing more than to kiss away the shadow between his brows.

Take away his worries.

And when he opened his mouth, I shook my head.

“Don’t say words you don’t mean…” I said, lips tasting salt.

He cupped my cheek.

The warmth of his skin against mine.

And even after all this time, it was enough to make my heart stop.

Make it stop bleeding.

I wanted to say.

He nodded.

“I--…” he started to say, only to pause.

An unspoken question lingering in the air.

“Hmm?” I whispered, breath hanging onto his every word.

His eyes raw and vulnerable.

“Did I… did I make you happy?” he asked.

Softly.

Tenderly.

The indent of worry in his voice.

Oh God.

Oh God.

Oh God.

My lips parted.

My heart shattering into a tiny little million pieces.

And the tears came.

Hard and fast.

Hot and scalding.

Even as they dripped down my chin.

I thought back to everything we had been through.

All the laughter.

All the teasing.

All the intimacy.

All the tears.

All the heartbreak.

All the moments I had found… myself.

He was nothing but blurred lines.

I turned around.

Shoulders shaking as I clamped my hand over my mouth.

Trying to stop the sobs from taking over.

Trying to stop my heart from hurting.

Goodbye, Loki.

“Yes.”

Goodbye.