Disclaimer: All recognisable characters and settings belong to Marvel. No money is made from this work!
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The Moon and the Tide
He is beautiful, she thinks.
Not beautiful like his brother, for his brother is like the sun; shining and golden and impossible to miss, casting a gilded light on all those around with a laugh made of thunder.
No, he is like the moon; pale, with hair as black as night, watching from afar. But he is power too, because at his command, tides change. An insidious whisper, an unseen gesture of his hands and suddenly there is uproar in the court; tides change. And he will watch from a distance, a small smile his only crime.
She watches him as he trains with his brother and the other warriors. They grunt and charge like animals with clanking weapons and harsh breaths. He dances. Fluid grace and lithe quickness; they cannot catch him even as they jeer at him for his methods. She laughs when she sees their swords turn to snakes.
She is told off again for taking too long at her task; a servant's life is not an easy one but she thinks it is worth it - more than worth it - to see him.
One day she sees him closer than ever before, and it steals her breath away...
She is in the orchard and he appears before her with no warning, no explanation. She drops the basket of apples she'd been carrying in surprise, her mouth open in a gasp.
His eyes trace over her form, languid and curious.
"You have been watching me," are the first words that he ever speaks to her.
But though she thinks he is beautiful, though she knows more about him than any other, she cannot find the words - awe and shyness have frozen her tongue. All she can do is blink up at him with wide eyes.
A smirk pulls at thin lips and a step forward is taken,
"Can't you speak?" he murmurs. Another step, then another, and then suddenly her back is against the solid bark of a tree. She is trapped. He towers above her, but it is his eyes which hold her in place far more than his body.
"Why do you watch me?" he asks, in that same ebony softness.
She tries to speak but she has forgotten how. All that falls from her lips is gibberish; beginnings of sentences that have no end. But they make him laugh and she is pleased for she likes that sound. His eyes study her again.
Long fingers caress the side of her face, gliding down to her pointed chin,
"Tell your name, sweet one," he whispers, his voice now very different, gently tingling over her skin.
She manages to tell him though he has to bend closer to catch the word, she doesn't mind. She sees him smile as he repeats it, "Elianna…" Her name has never sounded more beautiful…
When she returns to the kitchens she is scolded with harsh words and even harsher threats but not even they can keep the grin from creeping back to her mouth when no one is looking.
That night she finds a crystal rose on her pillow.
He seeks her out, sometimes two or three times within the same day, but always when she is alone. She can speak more fluently around him now, though sometimes nerves will still take hold, particularly when he gets too close, even though those are the times she longs for. She talks with him about the latest books she has read on magic, speaks with him about things that interest him because they interest her too.
"My Annie" he calls her, and it always makes her smile.
He kisses her under the moonlight and it is beautiful. He holds her face between his hands – cold they are, but she doesn't mind – and slips his silver tongue inside. She forgets how to breathe and he laughs when he releases her to let her gasp for breath. She thinks she loves him.
Liar, Trickster, Mischief-maker; she does not like these names… To her he is just Loki, and that is more than enough.
She had been dreaming of him, and when she wakes and he is there she thinks she is dreaming still. But he places a finger against her lips so her words do not wake the other servants nearby, and when her eyes blink she is no longer in her room. She is in his.
The sheets are cold at her back but not as cold as his skin. She embraces it anyway as he holds himself over her, whispering words that make the blood heat her cheeks as he lays delicate kisses along her jaw. His fingers pluck at her nightdress. Hers tremble as she removes the intricate layers covering him.
She wakes up in his arms the next morning and though she wishes to linger, panic grips her; she is going to be late! He calms her and with a flick of his fingers she is washed and dressed, ready to start the day. He tells her that he will retrieve her again at midnight. That day is the slowest she's ever known.
He teaches her the art of love; how to find pleasure, and how to bring him pleasure in return. She is happy. She thinks he is too.
But then one day he changes. There are rumours about his brother taking the throne and when he brings her to his room that night, he is forceful and rough and she doesn't know why. When he asks her if she loves him, she tells him so, wholeheartedly, but he asks her again and again as he takes her body with his own, something akin to desperation in his actions.
He leaves; he falls, they say. Asgard mourns. She does too but not in the way she wishes too, not in the way that anyone can see. For no one knew… no one knew…
Her heart lies like a stone inside her. Her anchor has been torn away from her. At night she watches the moon and prays to him.
Then word reaches rumour; he has been found, Thor has been sent to retrieve him. Hope returns but it is burdened by doubt.
There is war; war on Midgard. He is the instigator, they say. She doesn't want to believe them but when they both return she has no choice. A trial is held. She watches from afar.
He is imprisoned. She does not know what to do. She tries to move on but she cannot.
It takes some time but eventually she finds a way to see him.
She doesn't think he recognises her when she brings him his meal – her new duty, a duty all-too-few desired. His eyes watch her but they are so different from before, cold and haunted as they stare out above black metal. He cannot speak. She misses his voice; it is a melody like no other.
A new routine is formed for them. She brings his meals, he ignores her; pacing angrily within his confines or glaring unseeingly into the distance.
He injures himself one day. No one knows how, but she offers to patch up his wound. They agree. She sits next to him and gently cleans the blood from his shoulder. Just as she finishes he turns his head towards her… He remains as beautiful as ever…
He is restless and angry. It hurts her to see it but they do not sway in their decision. He is dangerous, they say, he will bring the Ragnarök. She would like not to believe them…
He touches her hand, when he can get away with it. His touch is like fire and ice. She looks into his eyes; he wants something from her. She knows what it is…
They see no reason to distrust her. They barely glance at the shy serving girl as she plots and deceives behind guiltless eyes. She cannot help but overhear their words; he is changed, he is a traitor, he is evil. She sees it too, sees it in the gaze that flashes from green to red…
But he is her moon and she is nothing more than the tide that is drawn to him…
So what else can she do… but set him free?
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