Ok, I'm doing it. I don't have a completely clear picture of where I'm going with this or how it's going to end, and although I've chosen Marvel universe villains again, same as Under the Goddess Moon it won't be cannon with the actual Thor comics. But I'm doing it. Oh, and please forgive me for slow updates, I have to go back to work next week. *Rubs hands together* Here we go!
"You want to please me, don't you?"
That voice. Honey coated words plucking at his heart strings. Damn her.
"You know I do…" he muttered, voice gruff. A slender finger drew it's way over his beard as she cooed at him, bringing her face so close to his he could count her eyelashes.
"Good. Then silence the All Father. I will deal with the rest."
Maeve Connor sat at Freya's table, glancing one way, then the other at her disembodied counterparts. Hundreds of them, eating, drinking copious amounts, many of them speaking languages she couldn't place. Most of them men but a few women scattered about too. Most were clothed in heavily embossed armour and they looked proud.
They all looked alive enough.
Her experiments had started small. An intentional stumble here, a thumb caught on a thorn there. All with the same results.
It was winter now. She approximated she'd been there six months or so, but honestly she couldn't tell for sure. Six months of quietly tested patience. Her conversations with Freya became few and far between. She had thousands of souls to care for and no fresh answers to Maeve's questions when she did manage to catch her.
She looked down at her own empty plate, letting out a low breath. Breaking the habit of eating had been a surprisingly easy one. Once an American soldier had sat next to her, an Asatru who'd fallen in Vietnam. He'd asked her why she didn't eat. Her answer had been simple enough but he didn't like it.
"What's the point? It's not real."
He hadn't sat next to her again.
Silently she pushed her plate away, then reached for her knife, her gaze flickering about. Nobody was paying her any mind. With a slight smile she lay her hand down on the wooden table, twitching her fingertips. One, two, three.
With a grunt she brought the tip of the knife down onto the back of her hand, driving it home until it stuck in the wood beneath. It hurt like hell and her eyes flushed with hot tears as those nearest her jumped up from their seats in shock and disgust. Her mouth filling with saliva, she heaved on the knife's handle until she pulled it out again, lifting her pierced hand to study the wound quickly, rivulets of blood streaking her arm. It was gaping, she could see right through it. At least for a few moments.
Within seconds fibrous tissue was stretching over it, healing almost instantly. Her sleeve was soaked with her own blood but by the time one of Freya's handmaidens was pulling her to her feet the cause was gone, the skin where the piercing had been only tingling mildly. Not so much as a scar. She was feeling slightly hysterical, half laughing, half crying as she was shuffled out of the hall, already becoming the subject of gossip to those left behind.
Frigga stood before the cell, waiting. Every day she would come to Loki and at first he would not speak with her at all. As time passed sometimes he would rush to meet her, fingers outstretched through his cage to touch hers, other times he was hopelessly lost in his own thoughts. When he finally did begin to speak it was strained, his voice hoarse from disuse. He would enquire after her health then lapse back into silence. Sometimes she would find him toying with a small figure woven from grass, discoloured brown and brittle. Once the guards had tried to relieve it from him as contraband and narrowly escaped a broken neck.
As days fell into weeks and months he began to impart tiny details of what had happened on Midagard, of the girl who had fallen beneath Thanos. Frigga would listen attentively, her heart feeling on the verge of breaking. In the beginning he had sounded hopeful, whispering once to her that he was sure she was in Asgard. But as time marched on that hope faded. Every visit eventually incurred the same question and today he opened their conversation with it;
"Is she here, Mother?"
She shook her golden head, settling into a seat the guards had brought for her.
"I do not know."
He sat on the bench in his cell, head bent low, exhaling slowly. Frigga slid her hand between the grids of his cell and without looking up he curled his fingers around hers, muttering,
"You're cold. You should be in your chambers by the fire, not here."
"You are still my son, Loki," she replied, brushing her thumb over his knuckles. "I shall be here until either you are released or the Heavens fall."
Loki looked up at her slowly, his clear green eyes hollow in his face.
"How do you bear it?" he said softly, a crease in his brow. "All Odin has put you through in your long marriage. How can you forgive so much?"
"He is my husband. My love for him is not conditional, just as it is not for you." She smiled at him, a weary, sorrowful smile. Loki gazed back at her levelly, squeezing her fingers. In all of the betrayals he had incurred since that foray into Jotunheim, hers was the only he would ever forgive. Every word she said rang true and there was nothing she could ask of him he would not do. Still, he had to ask again;
"Is she here?"
"I do not know…"
He closed his eyes, letting out a breath before bowing his head to kiss the back of her hand tenderly.
"Go upstairs. I will not have you sit here in the cold anymore," he said, releasing her fingers. He looked away, back to staring blankly at the opposite wall and felt her brush his cheek fleetingly.
"Until tomorrow, my darling," she whispered. When she rose the guards came stamping back down the stairs, whisking away her seat and it was with one last long look back to his hunkered form that Frigga mounted the steps, lavender gown trailing behind her as she went.
Maeve stood in the circular bath tub, allowing herself to be scrubbed by one of Freya's handmaidens, the water lapping at her shins scarlet. The chamber around her was humid, marble warmed by a roaring fire in a hearth cut ten feet high into the wall. When she was clean she was dressed in a deep blue gown, grey fur lining the inside to keep out the biting cold of Asgard's winter, before being marched ceremoniously to the Goddess' seat. She stood before the mammoth throne of silver, Freya padding down the steps with her cats at her heels, motionless as creamy hands gripped her small shoulders.
"I heard what happened at table," she said in her rich voice, tucking a finger under Maeve's chin to force her to look up. "What possessed you to do such a thing?"
"I wanted to see what would happen," the girl replied simply. Freya sighed, turning to pace around her.
"I know you are finding the transition difficult," she said, "but you must understand, it was for your good that I brought you here. I was trying to show you a kindness."
"A kindness?" Maeve echoed, looking at the Goddess over her shoulder. "I don't even know what am I anymore…"
"You are Maeve," Freya replied.
"You know what I mean!" cried the girl in frustration. "Am I flesh, or spirit, some sort of illusion? I bleed and I feel pain but then it's gone! What happens if I suffocate? What if I cut off my own head?"
The Asgardian crossed to take her into an embrace but the smaller girl slapped her hands away, cheeks pink beneath her freckles. Freya's golden brows knitted in a frown and she returned to sitting in her throne, the cats remaining to stare up at Maeve intently.
"You are flesh and spirit both," she said evenly, fingers closing over the arms of her seat. "Free of certain limitations, but not without them."
"Meaning?"
"If you are cut you will bleed. If you fall into a lake, you will drown. Some of these things can be undone, others cannot. And there is no second chance after here, Maeve. So I implore you not to do anything foolish…" The Goddess tilted her head to look down at her, a frown lining her lovely brow.
"I cannot take away the hurts you have already suffered," she continued more gently, "I know what it is that you want but I cannot simply give it to you. You are not a foolish child. I know you studied magic and lore before you were brought here. You know what could happen if he is not contained…"
At this Maeve dropped her gaze, the prickling heat in her face growing worse.
"That said, I owe Loki a debt that is long withstanding. If and when the opportunity arises that I am able to repay him, I will see it done."
Maeve bit down on her lower lip, her eyes burning. She could hear Freya approaching her again, warm palms on her cheeks.
"Patience," came her soft voice. "Release this anger. You are not being held here out of cruelty." The girl looked up at her, nodding, tears spilling over.
"I know," she whispered. And she did. But it didn't stop it feeling cruel.
Frigga found the All Father stood on the balcony of his chambers, cloak swaying at his heels from the wind. A light sprinkling of snow was coming down over Asgard, dappling the golden buildings with white lace. She drew up beside him, hand resting on his arm. Odin didn't ask where she'd been. He himself could not find the mettle to go to Loki. To see those eyes staring at him accusingly, his son long since lost.
Far below there were riders on the bridge towards his hall, kicking up sprays of powdery snow, cloaks billowing. They were closing in rapidly and the king watched them intently, his worn face grim. Those who rode at such speed never bore good tidings.
Turning to look at Frigga, he cupped her face in a rare moment of tenderness, her cerulean gaze imploring him.
"I cannot release him," he said, voice fatigued. She nodded, closing her eyes to nestle her cheek further into his palm. She knew already and had long since stopped asking but still he would say it to her. The way she looked at him was unchanging, silently pleading for him to reconsider.
Far below his preternatural senses could feel unrest and he pulled his hand away, gaze going through her as he muttered,
"There are matters that I must attend to." Frigga nodded, linking her hands over her stomach as he strode from the room, all politics once more. She could feel unrest creeping it's way over her like an oncoming storm, some unfounded feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach. After a beat she turned back to the balcony, watching the snow and trying to assure herself it was her mind playing tricks on her.