BETROTHED
When Aelìs finds out her betrothed is back from the dead, she will fight with everything she has to bring back the Loki she once knew. Loki/OC. Follows the Thor: Dark World timeline.
Inspired by Snuff – Slipknot:
Bury all your secrets in my skin
Come away with innocence, and leave me with my sins
The air around me still feels like a cage
And love is just a camouflage for what resembles rage again...
So if you love me, let me go.
And run away before I know.
My heart is just too dark to care.
I can't destroy what isn't there.
Deliver me into my fate -
If I'm alone I cannot hate
I don't deserve to have you...
My smile was taken long ago
If I can change I hope I never know.
I still press your letters to my lips
And cherish them in parts of me that savor every kiss
I couldn't face a life without your light
But all of that was ripped apart when you refused to fight.
So save your breath, I will not care.
I think I made it very clear.
You couldn't hate enough to love.
Is that supposed to be enough?
I only wish you weren't my friend.
Then I could hurt you in the end.
I never claimed to be a saint...
Ooh, my own was banished long ago
It took the death of hope to let you go.
So break yourself against my stones
And spit your pity in my soul
You never needed any help
You sold me out to save yourself.
And I won't listen to your shame
You ran away - you're all the same
Angels lie to keep control...
Ooh, my love was punished long ago
If you still care, don't ever let me know
If you still care, don't ever let me know
Chapter One
~Now~
I looked on as he was marched, muzzled and chained, up the stairs to the Great Throne Room, where he would stand before the All-Father for judgement. The crowd gathered on the steps of the palace, shouting and cheering: the God of Mischief had finally been caught, and they wanted blood.
But I could not join them in their revelry.
A passing neighbour had told me the news just as I was saying goodbye to a student. Without a word, I ran; down the foothills from my house, along the roads toward the palace. I fought my way through the crowds until I saw the procession. There he was, flanked by guards, and yet his countenance never wavered. Head held high, he looked around with bored disdain, as if he'd never left his royal station. My heart soared, my breath caught in my throat, my fists clenched.
My betrothed - my betrayer - back from the dead.
I had to talk to Hjalmar.
I turned, trying to squeeze my way out of the pressing crowd. I came to a point where the bodies were too thick, pressed together shoulder to shoulder. There was no way out.
"Make way for Loki's whore," a sneering voice called from behind me.
I stopped. Everyone within earshot had turned from the spectacle below and were now staring at me.
I spun and, in a blink, my knife was at his throat.
"Tell me Geir, are you quite attached to this beard? Because say one more word and I will separate it from that weak chin it is hiding." The soldier and I were well-acquainted, my parents had rejected an offer of marriage from him when we were young, and he has harboured a grudge ever since.
His adam's apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed, giving a miniscule shake of his head.
Captain's guard my ass. I released him. I'll have to thank Thor for those lessons.
This time, the crowd quickly parted before me. Cowards, I thought. The people of Asgard feared anything different, any possibility of evil. This would not help my already precarious reputation.
I walked south to Medina, down towards the bay, where most of the soldiers were quartered. There I found Hjalmar in the Beer Hall, surrounded by his unit, including Geir.
Dammit, how did he get here before me? He was murmuring some urgent news to his Captain, no doubt about me.
I approached the table. "Hjalmar?" Ten heads turned from their mugs to look up at me.
Geir's eyes narrowed. "What does Loki's wench want with our Captain?" He spat.
Hjalmar stood, hand on hilt, his enormous frame dwarfing the fuming lieutenant. "Leave now Soldier; if you value your life."
As Geir stormed out, I tilted my head toward him, "It's not true what they say Geir: you aren't as stupid as you look."
I smirked at his frustration, watching him fight the urge to lash out at me, and with a dark glance at his Captain, he left.
"All of you; leave us." Hjalmar ordered.
They quickly obeyed, and no sooner were they out of earshot that he spoke. "Geir is becoming a problem. Too pig-headed to be of any use. I think I will have to transfer him."
"Will he be put to death?" He knew I did not mean Geir.
He walked around the table toward me. Hjalmar was a large, stern man, with kind blue eyes, light brown hair and a short beard. Grey flecked his temples and jaw. He was a popular Captain, instilling great loyalty in his soldiers. They would all die for Asgard. He accepted nothing less.
"It is likely." He said without emotion.
My legs suddenly felt weak beneath me, I had to sit down on the bench. "And if they don't?" I looked up at Hjalmar, trying to appear calm while my emotions raged inside me.
He sat beside me, his brow furrowed in concern, his kind blue eyes full of regret, mistaking my turmoil as that for him. "Then we must part. You cannot be betrothed to two men."
"And I go on living a life of purgatory, chained to a man who cannot love me," I said, staring blankly at the floor.
"Odin is a just King," he said, trying to reassure me. Hjalmar, for all his fierceness, would have made – would make – a kind husband. Not affectionate or passionate perhaps, but loyal and good. I could ask for no better. "It may not come to that."
That is what I fear the most. I felt a cold sickness creeping over me. "So what now?" I asked looking up at him.
"We wait. As soon as Odin makes his judgement, word will be sent."
I sat, numbly, as we awaited the verdict in silence. I wanted both; I wanted neither.
Finally, a young soldier rushed in. Hjalmar jumped to his feet, and I along with him. The soldier saluted, and shook his head. Hjalmar nodded, and the soldier left. I looked at Hjalmar, not understanding.
"Loki lives."
I blew out a breath and sat down again, nodding, "I'm sorry, Hjalmar." My mouth had trouble forming the words.
"No, I'm sorry Aelìs. I know what this means for you." With a pained look he bowed, leaving me alone, terrified of what was to come.
I dragged my legs home, suddenly weary, as if lead weights were tied around my body. Out of Medina, and into the hills where my house stood at the edge of the city. I could just see it, above the other houses, with its flower-framed windows and small garden in front. It represented all I had built from the ashes left in Loki's wake. For a time I was despised, rumours about me abounded that I was somehow involved. Some even said that Loki was an innocent victim, and I had orchestrated the whole ordeal in my scheme to get to the throne. The ones who counted knew the truth, and that was all I cared about. One side effect was the career boost the notoriety gave me. Never before had my voice been so sought after. To the rich I became somewhat of a curiosity, and they invited me to perform at their parties. Their friends flocked to see Loki's betrothed, eager to prod and probe, discover what I knew of the fallen Prince. After some time, my talent won out, and the questions stopped.
As the road began to ascend, I looked left toward the palace, shining magnificently across the bay, and Loki, imprisoned somewhere deep within. I thought of how many times as children we had chased each other around those halls. A time of such light and laughter, when our futures promised everything our little hearts could dream of.
My Father was on Odin's council, so there was always some official feast or celebration at the palace to be dragged along to. I was lumped in with the other children and, I'm told, followed Loki wherever he went. My mother said I adored him even as a tiny child. Loki would tolerate me, often using me as a pawn in one of his mischievous games; and I, being three years younger, would eagerly obey. He loved to raise hell for his Nanny. My earliest memories were of him shoving me in a cupboard, telling me to hide there and not make a sound. My panicked Mother and a distraught Nanny found me two hours later, giggling and telling them to "Shhhh." I was three years old.
As I grew, I took a more complicit part in the mischief, helping him in his tricks. We had a lot of fun together, but Loki had a cruel streak. Often a trick would go too far, someone would get hurt or humiliated. I would run and hide, covering my mouth in fear and shock; but he'd be there beside me, laughing. He was arrogant, but that was to be expected of a Prince. He never met with any consequences for his actions, always ready to heal with magic, or placate with some coin. Perhaps that was a reason for what happened later…
When I was eleven, my Mother sat me down before we left the house one evening and told me that we could no longer play together like children. He had just turned fourteen, and was becoming a man now. I was heartbroken. He was my best friend, the one I shared my secrets with, who I laughed with until I couldn't breathe. That night, I waved to him as he sat by his brother at the feast table. He waved and smiled back but, as time went on, his smiles grew less, and too soon his eyes passed right over me.
Finally home, I stood in the doorway of my house. My mother and sister stared at me warily from the kitchen. They had been waiting for me: they knew what this day meant.
I bent over, pulling off my boots. "I saw Hjalmar," I said as I removed my jacket and hung it by the door.
My mother didn't respond immediately, but gestured toward the table, where she had laid out some cheese, bread and fruit. "We didn't think you'd eaten," She said. She knew me too well. The worry showed in the fine lines around her eyes. I had many of her features: her fine stature, small heart-shaped face, and large brown eyes. Unlike me she was fair, with sunlight streaked hair, now greying with age. I shared my father's colouring, with thick, dark brown wavy hair, and peach complexion.
I sat down by the wide window, the late afternoon light streaming through. My mother watched me with trepidation. I think she always felt some responsibility for what happened with Loki. It was she who had approved the match, convincing my father it was a good idea, even though I was much too young. They had originally intended my older sister, who was closer in age, for him. But if a prince wanted to marry their daughter, who were they to refuse? I think my impending betrothal to Hjalmar had been somewhat of a relief for her, no longer having to worry for my future.
"And? What did he say?" My sister, Dalla, brought three cups of wine to the table and sat down. She and her twin brother, Raold, were tall and strong like my father, but with my Mother's fair hair and tanned skin.
"What could he say?" I answered. "He was kind, but…" I paused to take a long gulp from my cup, "He is a strong and handsome captain, not yet old, there will be many more beauties lining up to be his bride."
"But Odin signed the annulment," my sister said.
"And now it will be cancelled."
"Aelìs," my Mother took my hand, cradling it in her lap, "we could petition Odin. He annulled your betrothal to Loki before, maybe he will see-"
"No Mother. Betrothal until marriage, or death," I recited, "that is the law. Odin will not change it for me." I stood, draining the last of my wine. "Thank you for checking in on me, but I think I need some rest."
"But you have not eaten-" my Mother protested.
"I am too tired to be hungry, Mother. Please, help yourselves." I walked up the stairs to my bedroom, collapsing on the bed from exhaustion, still fully clothed.
The next few days I had my students to keep me busy: budding singers with a big dream in their hearts. Some were a joy to teach: absorbing every note, practising for hours. Others… well, how do you tell a paying parent that their money would be better spent somewhere else?
Then there was my performance at the end of the week to work toward. Some aristocratic wedding they wanted - no, demanded - the famed Songbird sing at. So I tripled my fee, and they gratefully accepted.
And through it all, Loki played on my mind every waking minute, even in sleep. On the fifth sunrise after his return I woke with a gasp, his name still on my lips and, I could have sworn, his fingers in my hair.
I could wait no longer. I had to see him.