#princeoftrickery

Being one of the youngest among the Valkyrior would seem to be an honour, however, Iona thought it less than such. Sure, there were some that she preferred to be accompanied by, however, most directed harsh words towards her. Perhaps it was because she was simply still considered new. Whilst training, Iona was constantly, reminded of her orphaned status, as the wiser Valkyries would bring her surrogate father, Egil into conversation. She would hold her tongue, and shrug as she continued to wield her sword against her partner, but within, she felt rage brewing. This day was no different from any other, as one  of them thought it appropriate to comment on the manner of her mother’s passing. Iona’s temper was pressure building within a bottle, and with this, it had detonated. Iona bore a sharp tongue, making threats that she promised to keep. After allowing the harsh words to escape from her mouth, Iona hastily disappeared from their presence to seek privacy within the walls of the palace to weep in peace. However, in her distress, she found herself becoming lost, though she did not care, as she fully intended to get as far away from her comrades as she could possibly be. 

She rounded a corner, expecting to find guards, but instead found Loki. It was never strange to find the youngest son of Odin lurking about in his solitude. 

@princeoftrickery​ // who wants to see a memory ?!

Less than a week remained until the coronation of the elder son of Odin, and Iona was already being fitted for her dress. Frankly the young maiden scoffed at the preposterous idea of wearing a gown as all her companions among the Valkyrior were going to be dressed in their ceremonial armour. However, she only agreed to wear the silken material for Egil’s happiness. 

He was not her father, though he acted as such— Just days after her mother’s suicide, he welcomed her into his home. 

“Oh, my dear,” the seamstress smiles as she takes a step backwards to view her work, “You look enchanting! Beautiful enough to match Queen Frigga!” 

Iona, however, thought otherwise. Best the all-mother? Ha! What a preposterous assumption. She was a low ranking Valkyrie that only held some beauty— a gift from her mother, though it was not outstanding. Faded scars decorated her almond hued face and arms and piercing honey gaze was nothing short of intimidating. 

She eyed her own reflection in the mirror in front of her, criticizing each and every little imperfection she could find. The rich hues of crimson cascaded down her arms, mixing with a soft cream at the skirts of her gown as it was all nestled beneath gold plate armor upon her shoulders and waist.

“Father, I look ridiculous.” She huffs, slumping her shoulders. Had her hair not already been braided back behind her shoulders, she would have hastily combed her fingers through it. 

“No, Iona,” Egil stands from the chaise to meet her brown eyes with his own, “You look beautiful. You have your mother’s bearing, and if she were here to see you, she would be proud.“ 

“You speak as if I were a bride,” Iona snorts, casting her gaze downward. 

 “Perhaps, one day, you will be— but I dare not think even the Mighty Thor would be worthy of your affections,” he also laughs, as his grin reaches his emerald eyes. 

Iona’s laugh becomes more hearty as she considers the ridiculous statement. Though, Egil was right— the eldest son of Odin would never be worthy of her affections. He was far too boisterous for her comfort, though she enjoyed his company in their occasional sparring sessions, when she was determined to best his skill. That day still had yet to come. 

“If I may,” the seamstress politely interrupts the bonding moment, referencing her need to finish making alterations to her gown. 

“Yes, of course. Apologies, Sigrid.” Egil steps away from her, allowing the her to finish her alterations. 

“Who will be escorting you to the celebration after the ceremony?” Egil’s face is serious now, as he prepares himself to hear her choice. Odin, forbid that it would be that cowardly Ivar.“Torva– ouch!” She gasps as the needle knicks the skin of her hip. 

“Apologies!” Sigrid recoils momentarily before continuing. She knew that Iona would brush off the pain as she had done many times in the past. 

“Torvald?” Egil perks at the mention.Iona exchanges a glance with her surrogate father through the mirror and her eyebrows furrow before realization dawns upon her. 

“Torvald is but a friend, nothing more,” she emphasizes as she already knows what thoughts were cluttering his mind. 

Before Egil could comment on her sudden defensive tone, a palace guard, absent helm as it was in his hands, stepped into the room. 

“Egil— Oh, Good morning, Lady Iona, you look ravishing.” he smiles, addressing her presence before turning his attention back to her father. She merely acknowledges his greeting with a nod. His name escaped her, despite being them meeting several times. 

“It is your time to assume watch of the east gate.” his voice is low in pitch, though it is not a whisper. 

“Aye. I will report immediately, Arvid,” Ah. That’s what it was. 

Egil places his fist over his chest in a salute to his comrade before turning gaze to Iona with an apologetic gaze. 

“I do not need explanation— or did you forget that I too, serve the Allfather?” She giggles. Frankly, she is grateful that Arvid interrupted— it saved her from having to explain herself regarding Torvald.