Thanksgiving holidays gave me a bit of reprieve to edit this. I know I'm going to tick off a number of readers for writing within the realm of WMHB while not technically updating that story. [Dodges the rotten fruit and the random shoe] Work with me. This is going to be a compilation of scenes I wanted to add or thought of later that work within the WMHB story but I didn't want to go back and heavily edit that story. So, this is going to be scenes, snippets and general-sweet, sad, bitter, lonely, harsh, good, light, humor, and everything in between-of Jane growing up in Asgard.
That said, yes, some hints of plot and action and great Thor-Jane sibling moments and side characters are going to pop up here. Mr. Whiskers demands the stage. It will also jump around in time, Jane being young in one chapter and older in the next. I'll try to edit it down the line. Nothing that goes on here will take away from WMHB, as I know not everyone will read this story who also reads WMHB. In short, I wanted to enrich what I already penned and this is my loophole/collection of drabbles. If you have a request, feel free to ask BUT I PROMISE NOTHING. If it doesn't inspire me to write, then, well, I don't mean it personally.
Those who want a more detailed scene of Loki's seduction/courtship of Jane...I'll think about it, but yes, theoretically that would go here as well. (I feel like I've just damned myself by posting that.)
Sorry for the long author's note. Will try not to do that in the future.
I hope to be back come December.
Hawkz
Jane worked hard to flex her mittens and mold the substance to her liking but the hard truth was that mittens weren't made for making functional snowballs.
How insufferable.
Thor bellowed a laugh at something Loki said, and the gathering of females offered coy smiles, the men chortling gestures. The princes of Asgard relished in the attention. The younger crowd imbibed heavy, frothy ale as they loitered on blankets, benches and chairs set up by the staff. Meat roasted over fire and smoke and friendly chatter filled the air. Thor and Loki relaxed and rejoiced in their old roles, elder prince and younger trickster, and the former laughed over his brother's vengeful antics. Arorsak should not have insulted Loki—unsubtly so or otherwise. His brother, after all, was well-known for his prickly nature.
It was a rare moment when the Warriors Three and the Lady Sif were not shadowing their preferred prince and Loki found he enjoyed the absence of their company. The blond thunderer gushed over a particularly gruesome scene in his and Loki's quest, the females giving unoriginal gasps at the right moments and men grinning when Thor detailed decapitation by his barehands. Both princes relished in the attention.
Mother and Father each had their own wants and demands of their sons and the boys were beginning to grow tired of it. Mother's Midgardian persona grata was still part of the household but her presence had worn thin and more tiresome than charming. Loki wanted his quiet nights in the library, nights were he did not have to drag his wolf—his wolf—out from a mortal's bed, and when, Norns above when, would she stop littering his room with her scribbled sketches of the Asgardian stars? They weren't even accurate. Her reading skills were slow, like the speech of Volstagg when the rotund man drank too much mead, and she followed him incessantly.
Loki was not amused.
Then again, neither was Thor.
Jane was cute in that new puppy kind of way but a few months into her stay, Thor did not find her new-puppy lovable anymore. He desired the company of older, more Asgardian folk. He couldn't really wrestle with Jane—according to the stern warnings of his mother—she didn't drink, didn't smash mugs properly, or at all, and most of her time she was reading by herself and then asking him to read stories. Thor wanted quests, glory and gore. Jane didn't even like those stories much. She fell asleep over his tale of the fire giants. Yet she fought to remain awake when he read the more academic books. Books that put him to sleep.
The rift between Midagrdian and Asgardian siblings expanded a little more. Increments felt more than seen. The irritable, awkward moments soon overshadowed the sentimental, the small adventures they shared.
Mother of three, Frigga the All-Queen, watched it all unfold over the course of those first few weeks. Uncertainty and pain washed over her heart in alternating intervals. Did the cruelty of her first two children extend beyond that which even the mistress of mages could see? Was she missing something? Was Odin right? Did her unconditional love blind her? Frigga held out hope and refused to bow.
This could work, this would work. She repeated that mantra, that prayer, as she stroked Jane's hair when only the moons were awake, the child crying. Silent, solemn tears and inaudible hiccups betrayed the nightmares. Fridge murmured love and comfort and magic but Jane was not Loki.
Jane continued to cry.
Frigga's heart continued to ache.
Thor and Loki continued as the centuries before Jane's arrival.
Little, then, had changed. Little Jane. It was enough change to stir resentment in the princes.
Thus, Thor and Loki truly enjoyed the days in the cabin, surrounded by older, more genial Asgardian company. Company they didn't have to watch or care for or be beholden to entertain. They were princes of the realm! Why should the whims of a mortal dictate their day? Loki and Thor happily put their Midgardian sibling out of mind. Later in the evening Odin would invite his sons to join his ranks of the old nobility and while Thor stayed only long enough to be polite, Loki stayed long and late into the evening debating politics, philosophy, and economics with the men and few women who ran the Realm Eternal.
The younger brother couldn't wait for night and his father's invite. Each wintertide come these few weeks away from the castle yet close to those in power, Odin let his sons engage in politics, to justify their titles as Prince of the Realm Eternal. Loki would not fail to prove his worth, to prove worthy as a son of Odin. Loki hid his excitement well but Thor read the tense muscles and regular glances towards their father. He snorted and smiled into his cups. It was just a debate of dull subjects between old men.
From her perch on a snow mound, looking when Frigga was busy weaving magic to shape the snow just so, Jane looked at the man she could call father. Well, the All-Father at least. Odin nursed a tankard of warmed mead and a gold-leafed cigarette emitted lazy tendrils of smoke from the corner of his mouth. He and the men loitering around the patio fire spoke of things beyond her understanding—'adult things' he gruffly huffed once and Jane didn't touch the subject again. Not with that tone of his, certainly not under that glare of his. He and the older Asgardians spoke of war times and peace times, thousands upon thousands of years before Jane's conception. Sometimes Jane thought Odin put it thus to make her feel small. Unimportant. Unloved. But why would he do that?
No one would tell her why or what she did wrong, but Odin didn't seem to like to talk to her. Neither did Loki, though the lean Asgardian had his moments of tenderness quickly covered by some flippant action. Jane knew he could be kind; she saw Loki interact with their mother—her adoptive mother—and it left Jane envious and wanting. Thor clearly found her amusing, and on more than a few occasions, read her bedtime stories when Frigga was otherwise occupied; however, Jane was not blind to the irritated glances Thor and Loki now bore when she called them in the hallways. Loki snapped more quickly, his words precise and cruel whereas Thor heaved a heavy sigh and usually nudged her towards the door, offering empty promises of time together later.
Jane wondered what she did wrong. She dare not ask her brothers.
What if they said they hated her?
What if they didn't want to play with her at all anymore?
There was a happy clamor around the fire her brothers sat at and Jane looked longingly at the good times and good cheer around the fire. Maybe she could introduce her brothers to s'mores. They liked her pancakes. Maybe they'd play more with her if she showed them more food from her home.
Snowflakes tickled her nose, Frigga using her magic to capture Jane's attention. It worked and the girl huddled into her adoptive mother's side offering warmth and loving hugs. Fridge reciprocated.
The moment was tender. The moment was sweet. Needless to say, it did not last. She had to set Jane down when an older woman, a group of women actually, sought out their Queen's attention. Royal duties. The All-Mother sighed, ruffled her daughter's hair and promised to return shortly.
Frigga was her heart and soul on this foreign plane. There were hugs and kind words and unconditional love whenever Jane sought out Frigga. The Queen would set aside her weavings, cut the gossip of her handmaidens, and give Jane her full attention. Sometimes it was just Jane and Frigga, no spectators or curious eyes or words they thought she couldn't hear. Jane loved those times, just her and Frigga. Her mother.
It was still a bit foreign on her tongue and the hurt of loss was there, albeit more as an ache than a sharp pain. Her parents passed in a car crash—that's what they told her—almost a year ago. She had been in the orphanage for a few months and then after that foster care. The homes and the adults blurred together, no real distinct details. No cruelty, no abuse, but no heartfelt love either. Frigga, however, was warm, huggable and lovable. Jane was very happy and willing to consider Frigga family, and maybe even call her mother. Soon. Sometimes she did, unthinkingly so, and Frigga smiled. Odin scowled when she called him father once and Loki did not find it noteworthy, not a blink of reaction, when she called him brother. He had turned the page of his book and hummed. Thor had smiled though, bright and toothy and welcoming. Jane never had a sibling before. Sometimes she had been lonely and fantasized of a younger sister or brother. She never fantasized about older siblings.
Life was funny that way.
The hurt was there while on Earth—Midgard, she reminded herself—a loneliness to which Jane was not unaccustomed. All the other kids ran and screamed and played on the monkey bars. Jane read books she smuggled under her jacket or dreamed of the most recent math or science lesson. She once snuck into an older class and listened to the lecture until they caught her and then the principle lectured her. (Not nearly as fun as the science lecture.) She had been alone for a while. Then Frigga came, asked her if she wanted to come see a different set of stars, if she wanted to see wonderful, strange, new things, if she wanted a family. Jane imagined Frigga's family. They would all be wonderful like her, wouldn't they?
Jane said yes.
So, Jane was now here in Asgard playing in the snow. Alone. The Midgardian child looked up from her foot-tall snowman, wanting eyes fixated on Frigga's distant form. Frigga, her adoptive mother, had been here earlier, had been attentive and loving and Jane had smiled and laughed as they played in the snow and Frigga entertained her with magic. Then those people came over. Jane saw them at distances. Courtiers, diplomats, other Asgardians; they spoke a quick dialect, even when the All-Tongue twisted their words into English—which was not often, perhaps on purpose—and Jane was left red-faced, shy, and hiding behind Frigga's skirts. Jane didn't like their smiles. Not even Loki gave her such smiles. They had called their queen over and Frigga placed an apologetic kiss on Jane's forehead and left to do her royal duties.
Jane wasn't often selfish or bitterly suspicious of others but the thoughts lingered and grew in times like these. They hated her. Those caustic, awful people hated her. But…why?
No, she told herself. This was just like the popular kids on the playground, the ones everyone else always wanted the attention of, the kids who everyone else sought. If you had the attention of the popular kid, then that meant you were special by association. Jane recalled the wickedness of her fellow classmates and the kids in the other foster homes when the kids did not have the attention of the cool dad or loving mom. Yes, Jane did remember and knew better than to cry or whine. Jane's next shiver had nothing to do with the cold.
She practiced her doodles of Asgardian runes in the snow as the sun sagged low in the sky, time and sunlight fading. Her mother seemed engrossed by what the women were telling her and Jane watched them go into the cabin. Frigga came one last time and called for Thor and Loki to watch their sister. The door shut behind the queen. Jane tugged her cloak tighter around her. Fine then, she could go see her brothers and hang with them. Moth-Frigga had said so.
They had laughed at her.
Spoke in words Jane didn't comprehend but understood. "Midgardian pet", "dwarf child", "impotent mortal"; Jane was learning how much Asgardians did not like Midgardians. Loki had not laughed yet neither did he defend her. His eyes glowed with a satisfaction Jane couldn't name, like he relished in someone else suffering, someone who was not him. She turned to Thor, tugging on his red cape. Of all reactions he sighed, like she was a burden on him and shooed her away, muttering a command.
"Not now, Jane. Go play with mother." The princes turned back to their companions, returning to their tales of quests and then no one paid attention to her. Jane didn't heedlessly follow Thor and Loki. She did go the library on her own, played with Fenrir, snuck out to the orrery, snuck into town more than her family realized and expanded her knowledge of Asgard's streets and stalls and dirty street slang by degrees.
Jane did plenty of things on her own.
It was starting to get rather lonely.
Doing the same to Loki, tugging on his cape with an expectant, hopeful gaze, was not a good decision. His green eyes pinned her and Jane flinched as if struck. The green fabric slipped from her fingers, Jane licking her lips and shuffling on her feet. She was unable to hold his gaze for long. Loki's eyes were cold and dark, daring her to try again. Jane did not. He turned his attention back to the group, a quip on his lips and laughter rung.
The telltale atmospheric shift of magic occurred and Jane heard the ball before she saw it. Loki bore a mocking smile and tossed the colorful ball into the air, catching it in his same hand. He held it too high for her to reach. The awe in Jane's eyes was still there. Not even people's cruelty could take away Jane's fascination and wonderment over magic. Focused on the ball in hand, Jane did not see Loki's gaze soften some. By the time Jane meet her brother's gaze, someone had said something and the softness was gone.
"Here," he said. The ball went up and a strike of the hand sent it tumbling yards away. "Fetch." It was less a statement, more of a command.
Jane shrunk back from him. She was young; she wasn't stupid nor was she ignorant of malicious teasing.
Loki's smile was cold. "No one's going to want to play with you if you can't accomplish a simple game, Jane."
She backpedaled away slowly, wiping at her eyes when she felt the burn.
So Jane was alone and playing in the snow, kicking at it mostly. Not even Fenrir to keep her company. They were to spend a stupid amount of time at this cabin far from the city. Jane wasn't sure why. Wasn't this a family retreat? That is what Frigga told her when she asked why they were leaving the castle and Frigga doesn't lie.
She made three more snowmen before growing bored and morose. Frigga was still inside and in conversation with the older women probably and Odin was in the cabin, too. Heading inside did not sound appealing, not with all the strangers there.
Jane looked beyond the cabin. It was a beautiful landscape. Jane looked back to her family.
They didn't notice when she wandered over to the rivers Nyt, Nöt and Nönn. Nyt, Nöt, and Nönn wove and interconnected in a messy trefoil design, a spider web of streams and creeks dribbling over rocks and meadows, until it morphed into a landscape between a swamp and a lake. The water ran clear, fresh and sweet to drink, although it was treacherous in winter as snow disguised the ice beneath. The ice was thick but the current ran fast and strong beneath it.
Any Asgardian worth their salt knew to be careful when traversing those rivers, even though arrogance and Asgardian went hand in hand and every other decade a citizen came close to death in those rivers. Even old hands made missteps, devoured by the deeper wells in a rush of broken ice and gravity. Jane, as it was, was not Asgardian. Still young, a stranger and strange to her family, no one warned of caution. It was odd having a mortal in their midst and the frailty of her kind they were not yet familiar.
Jane flung smooth stones, none going very far but the splash and smash of water and ice entertained her mind. Stones heavy enough to crack through the ice with just the right and at just the right places. She laughed when a large rock thunked like a cartoon anvil.
The cracks in the ice began to spread.
The stones lost their appeal after so many throws, attempts at juggling made her feel ridiculous, and examining the geology less interesting with no one to share her discoveries. Or even tell her what she was looking at to begin with. Loki was good for that; he knew everything. She pocketed a few more stones to look at when they returned to the castle, trying in vain to recall what the library books told her.
Jane wandered further out. Maybe she would go inside. It was already getting dark and she was hungry.
The ball Loki had thrown was there, bright and green like a dollop of paint on a white canvas. Loki's smile and words stung the forefront of her mind and Jane marched over to the bad, kicking at it in anger and satisfied to hear it skid across the ice.
"I'm not a dog," she muttered. "I don't fetch." Jane turned up her nose at the direction of the ball and pivoted. Dinner and a warm cabin sounded good, it being colder now and getting dark.
"Jane!" Fearful and forceful as Frigga's voice was, Jane jumped not only by the tone but by the act of it which startled her. Frigga hadn't raised her voice like that to Jane before. She landed off balanced and half turned to see the silhouettes of her family—Thor and Loki and Frigga—all tall and imposing figures even from far away. They're all looking at her and Jane's not sure why, even as she hears the shift and sound breaks down into a series of muffled crinkles, the kind made when someone crumples up paper.
The cold and the gravity swallowed her up then, without the decency to wait for Jane to scream.
.
To mortals, Asgardian senses are animalistic. Despite the distance, all Asgardians saw Jane's reactions with utmost distinction.
.
Frigga and her sons saw the sheepish grin slip her face, the uncertain kind Jane gave when she was in trouble, or thought she was, yet knew not why. It changed, for the briefest of moments, to surprise as she looked down then back up. They all heard it: The snap of shifting ice and hairline fractures rippling outwards as water bubbled precariously close to the surface. Loki, Thor, and Frigga saw Jane's sheepish grin whither, replaced by confusion and accusing in its honesty.
She didn't even scream.
But Frigga did.
.
The memory comes and goes in a blink but Thor sees it play out at regular speed for that instantaneous moment his eyes close. Tag is Jane's favorite game. He and Loki played a variation of it centuries ago and while Loki—forced as is Thor to entertain the little mortal—sits under a tree and reads, Thor lumbers around the courtyard chasing the squealing girl and laughing.
It's easy to laugh with Jane, her smile contagious.
Mother is being her usual, meddlesome self, catching her boys early in the morning and setting up playdates with the Midgardian tyke. No matter how sneaky Loki is or sulky Thor acts, a few hours a day the Asgardian princes must spend time with their sibling. Originally the Queen let them be, but she saw or heard something and now the princes had to entertain this small, strange creature.
"Tag! I got you Thor!" Jane dodges her brother's lazy swipe by ducking between his legs and runs for the tree Loki sits under. Thor gives chase.
"Halt there, ye pygmean pirate!"
Loki mutters an oath at them when Jane is fleet-footed enough to jump over Loki. The mutters augment into a squawk when Thor is not nearly as successful as their sister. The elder brother has no apology for the younger and rushes to try and catch Jane by surprise. A flick of the wrist by Loki has him tripping. Miscalculations on everyone's part have Thor flopping on top his sister who's pained yelp startles the two men.
She's not crying, she has never cried in front of them thus far but pain is evident on her face, one hand cradling her ankle. Thor is quick to roll off her.
The look guilt is quicksilver on their faces, lingering longer on Thor's than Loki's, and swiftly traded for agitation and blame-games.
"Honestly brother, your penchant for magic is only good for trouble."
Loki glares back. "If you actually had more warrior wits about you and less muscle mass, perhaps you could play a simple game of tag. Destruction follows you like a shadow." Thor growls, tensing for a bout with his brother, but a small hand on his pant leg stops him. Jane is limping, ignoring her pain to focus on them.
"I'm okay. Honest. It doesn't hurt." They say nothing of the poor lie. Her wincing and hesitance to put weight on her right foot requires no explanation. The game of tag ends then but Thor notes how Jane's limp takes more than a week to heal. She says nothing of the pain, wincing yet willing to trot up to him and Loki for company, beatific smile when they say yes. He once put ice on the wound to help it heal faster only for Jane to fight him at every turn. "Too cold," she said. She shivered the entire time.
It was the first time, but would not be the last, Thor realized how fragile mortals are. The fact registers with prickling perspicuity as he sees the tripartite coalition of rivers swallow her whole.
.
A heavy second of realization sears deep into their bones before Loki and Thor are sprinting across the ice, Mjolnir in Thor's grip by the time they reach the ice. Their feet and reflexes are much better than Jane's, jumping away from ominous cracks. Fruitless as it is, Thor is calling Jane's name. Loki summons magic between both palms, each clasped in an awkward handshake with the other and scattered the green magic over the ice, far and reaching. His eyes close and behind closed lids he finds her.
The brothers do not work in sync, the eldest smashing ice and throwing it haphazardly to the side and unsetting the balance and concentration of the younger. Loki yells a curse at Thor and Thor yells back. Frigga is now beside them, tears in her eyes but refusing to fall. Odin is not far behind, calling for his wife to be cautious. The others by the fire, in the cabin, can only stare.
"Jane? Jane!" Frigga is a composed woman. Elegant and regal. Now she is a mother precariously close to losing a daughter, but the queen in her remains. "Loki!" Her youngest son snaps to attention. "Send out your magic again; look for heat and life. Follow the current. Thor, come." He does. Her fingers are dextrous, fast around his eyes and the thunderer feels the seep of magic invade his senses. "To the skies. Tell me what you see."
They obey.
Odin demands his wife not stay on the dangerous ice. Frigga does not move.
"Frigga!" Odin's eye shines with distress, and his grip is strong. "The river eels do not hibernate in these waters!"
.
Growing up in dry, occasionally temperate, usually torrid geological areas, Jane didn't quite get that cold could burn.
This water scalded with the intensity of a fire poker and opening her mouth to holler made it worse, the water then invading her lungs and now the cold threatened to consume what little of her senses remained. She somersaulted beneath the ice and through the water, too cold to register the popping of her ears or the thud her body occasion made with the frozen surface.
She was just so cold.
Distantly there was pain, the kind that felt far away. Like when you move appendages after cutting off the circulation, too numb to feel anything but knowing that the pins-and-needles agony was not far behind. The ability to feel suddenly a burden and unwanted. Anything to take away the pain. Jane's body was numb and Jane did not look forward to when she could feel again. Feeling meant more pain. Something brushed against her leg but Jane couldn't feel anything beyond the torture in her lungs and desire to breathe.
Her back hit the ice again, and this time it gave way. Jane surfaced and coughed mouthful of water after mouthful of water out. Her lungs demanded oxygen but got only a few weak inhales before she's expelling liquid again. One arm still worked—sort of—and grabbed at snow.
She's starting to slip back into the water. Dim as the skies are, Jane sees more than hears or feels the dangers: Large, bulbous, and far too many teeth. Unadulterated panic thawed her muscles enough to allow some movement. Her hand paws at snow, nothing to grip, nothing and no one to pull her to safety. Her fingers touch cloth and the thoughts take long moments to form.
Loki's ball.
She grabbed it; the eel grabbed her ankle. Things got messy therein out. It's loud—like the crack of thunder—the call of her name, but the current showed only so much mercy and Jane croaked in a breath before she's gone again.
The cold was amplified—how is that possible?—by being wet and exposed to the outside air, although that panic tricked her senses back to life and Jane is painfully aware of the teeth around her ankle, the water pressure as she's dragged down deeper, and the tunneling of her vision.
Miraculously she still held onto Loki's ball, eerily bright and almost thermal in these dark depths. The light reflected off another awful jaw full of teeth. Instincts and primal motives take over rational thought, Jane consisting of jerk reactions more than anything at this point.
She jammed the ball into the open mouth.
The eel writhers and hisses out bubbles at an alarming rate. The water fizzed as it boiled, cooking the eel as it cannot release the ball, prickling Jane's own flesh in the process. The eel at her ankle released its prey and swam to safety. The other eel is not so lucky. She does not see the creature's demise—suddenly it's too dark and the heated water encouraged her body to move, to find air. She drifted to the top more than swam, her energy nearly burned out along with what little oxygen remained in her lungs.
Jane closed her eyes.
Coughing and sputtering and shivering she opened them again. Loki had his hand fisted in her collar, the other at her pulse. His actions are not gentle. She sees him work the magic though he offers no warning prior to forcing two fingers down her throat. She made to fight him but the unpleasant sensation ends as quick as it began. His fingers are out and she's expelling whatever amount of water remained in her lungs. There are words spoken and Jane is dimly aware that she's stripped and bundled in a red cloak. Loki's hand is back and threading her hair, drying it with each stroke until it's a springy, straggly mess; his other oscillates between cradling her, warming her neck with pulses of magic and wiping away tears she didn't know she was crying.
A Midgardian doctor would know that rapidly warming up a hypothermic patient had the potentiality for severe consequences. As it was, Thor and Loki and all of Jane's new kinsmen were raised Asgardian, knowing only the Asgardian physiologies and their kith and kin. Fortune smiled down on the trio as Loki stopped using his magic to reheat Jane as the latter promptly kicked out of his embrace. Confused, the magician watched her tumble, a puddle of red with a fleshy pink face poking through and spunky, curling brown wisps glaring at him and Thor.
"I want Mommy." It was not a request. Jane sniffled and hacked, repeating her words—more hoarse, choke and croak than actual words—when neither prince moved to do as she bade. In fact, Thor did the opposite and made to pick her up. Jane made a series of guttural, harsh noises, the red bundle awkwardly flopping away when his large hand loomed.
"I want Mommy." She would be appeased by no one else.
"Father took her back to the cabin. Come now, Jane; tis not safe for you on this ice." Thor dropped his voice into a lull, more rumble than words, and while it worked on some hounds and his horse, Jane was not comforted by it. Not this time.
A defiant foot edged out and kicked snow at the thunderer.
Rather spirited for a mortal girl who just stared down Death.
Loki was not as courteous as his elder brother. His boots crunched the ice and snow and scooped up the mortal—who thrashed as much as her fatigued body would allow in his firm grip—and walked back to the cabin. He and Thor were silent, the muffled hiccups and breathy sounds Jane made the only noises. She flinched from his touch, finally balling up and refusing to acknowledge his presence. Loki's jaw moved so that his teeth ground against each other, just once, before melding back into that porcelain mask.
No one else was outside though the royal family felt their eyes, grasping, greedy and curious as onlookers are with the royal family of Asgard. Loki handed the red bundle to his mother and stepped back to join his brother. Frigga was warm and attentive and concerned, and, for her, Jane had a fresh wave of tears as she buried her head in her adoptive mother's neck. Loki noted the blue-tinged lips, the shakes and tremors running through her veins at a faster pace than her blood.
How fragile, mortals.
Frigga's look was cold, the boys standing a little straighter under her scrutiny. Frigga's hands worked magic with a quick grace, rubbing away tears and pain as best she knew, but her eyes were on her sons and they were not pleased.
Cloaked in blacks and greys, the King loomed over her. He spoke. "Thank your princes Jane. If not for their quick action, you would surely have drowned." Wet, doleful eyes looked up to see Odin, craning her neck back in order to meet his gaze and holding it for an uncomfortable few seconds. Jane nodded. Reaching into the red cloak still bundled around her she withdrew a scrap of Loki's ball.
Thor and Loki tensed, waiting for the blame and crying and hate. Jane could only cough. Frigga had her own choice of words for Odin and her family followed on her heels back into the cabin.
No invitation to join a discussion of politics and philosophy came that night and Loki felt his ire at the mortal rekindled. Worthless, he spat in his mind and turned in to bed. He was in no mood to play prince before the masses this night.
Jane did not leave her room the rest of the trip, and Frigga rarely left her side. What little Asgardians knew of mortals showed. However much Jane coughed, the doctor continued to prescribe warmed milk, sometimes with honey, spices, or herbs, and did not comprehend how her nasal passages worked in conjunction with her mouth. Croaking out how sore both were earned her blank stares. Frigga finally decided on tea, very bitter tea, lumpy porridge and broth and made Jane swallow large portions of each. Nothing she ingested helped her sleep. By the last night in the cabin, Jane craved the solitude and quasi-familiar comforts the castle would bring. At least Fenrir would be there.
There was candlelight and little else in the dark. Jane turned uneasily in the large bed. Too large, she thought. Too lonely, she lamented. Asgard and Asgardians were not at all what she thought.
Jane had seen their strength and magical abilities. Been awed by beyond words.
A racking cough and sneeze tore up her throat. Jane fumbled for something to drink and cried out when the hot liquid sloshed over to singe her fingers. Frigga had gone to bed, lulled by her husband and Jane's inability to speak otherwise. Not while under his watch. Jane sputtered at the bitter taste this morning but Frigga made her swallow more than half. Jane continued to cough, the tea now cold and untouched.
These people were not like those back home, Frigga warned her. They dressed differently, spoke differently, ate and drank different provisions, and worshipped different ideals. To Jane, they were…
Cruel.
Harsh.
Uncaring.
Imperfect yet capable of love, affection, and goodness all the same.
How human of them.
Jane didn't care what anyone—Frigga, Thor, not even Loki—told her. These people were exactly like those back home. Maybe that is what made them so easy to love, and so terribly, terribly easy to hate.
Jane closed her eyes. Hate? Surely she didn't hate them. Not Frigga. Not Fenrir. Not—Jane paused. Thor. Odin. Loki. Her stomach gurgled and churned, and she wasn't entirely sure it had to do with the medley of nausea, sickness and hunger residing there. She curled up in a tighter ball. She didn't want to hate anyone. But…sometimes she wished they made it easier for her to love them. To love her in return.
The cough rattling her lungs obscured the sound of the door. She wasn't aware of the company until the cover was being pulled down.
"You're still sick." A marveling, inquisitorial quality licked at his words. Nothing in them sounded sympathetic or kind. Brown eyes looked at him through a sickly haze, sometimes losing focus and other times zeroing in on the minute details. Loki was dressed for bed, most likely been reading when the curiosity to see the sick mortal stroke. Jane's cough was answer enough.
His eyes absorbed her environment—sweat-soaked sheets despite the recent change, cold tea kettle and colder tea cup, the bitter scent of medicine, and the low fire—and Jane knew he missed nothing. Not even how she hugged a stuffed wolf in absence of company. Loki's own throat made a noise, and then he was gone. It took Jane a few blinks to realize his departure. She was still rather surprised he came at all.
More surprising was his return. He pressed a warm tea cup into her hands.
"Drink." He rolled his eyes at her face. "It has a simple syrup added to it to take away the bitterness. Now drink." She sulked and glared at the cup a long moment but did as the trickster asked. The small pink tongue darted out to catch those few extra drops on her lip.
Sweet. Floral. Good.
He poured her another cup. He had a bite of bread—more of a flaky pastry than actual bread but Jane relished not having to chew or work her jaw as Asgardian bread typically required—and a hardboiled egg, sliced. Loki aided her in silence as Jane ate and drank. She finished the kettle, Loki helped her to the washroom and then laid her back in bed. A small hand found his sleeve. While the tea helped, Jane struggled to get the words out. "Do, Loki, do you hate me?"
The lies formed quick on his tongue; he uttered none of them. Instead, he avoided the question.
"Would I help a person I hate?" He laid his hand over Jane's, a sleep-spell winding down her arm.
Jane's eyes dropped. "Dunno. I've never hated any one before."
Loki's eyes glowed in the dark, more shadowy pupil than green. "And now?"
"I wish you an' Thor…di'n't hate me…" Her words drifted off, almost inaudible by the end of it as the spell worked it's magic. Her hand fell limply back to bed.
"Perhaps, one day," he told the sleeping child. It was as close to the truth as he dared.