Carthrine is young, but not blind.
Her world had always been filled with the hidden atrocities that she searched for every day, hidden amongst the cracks of aristocracy, but never fully revealed. She was born into the highest of royalty, and knew well what would probably greet her in Asgard; her ideas of what their world would be like were nothing short of exact.
On her home world, Vardheim, appearances manage to be everything. Entire buildings are designed in order to compliment the features of their occupants. Carthrine herself has her own personal section of the palace that was made to accentuate her every pose and gesture in the most attractive way possible. Maybe this is why Carthrine's appearance was so different here to the Asgardians; they are simply seeing her in the wrong light.
Never, though, did Carthrine resign to adapting her appearance to the golds and warmths of Asgard. She refused the closets and chests that were nearly forced upon her, and she ignored the persistent remarks among the servants that her hair would look better in a darker, "natural" blonde. And the one thing they couldn't change, even if they wished to, were her lips. Her dark lips, nearly black against her pale skin. This was a mark of royalty, but she did not value it before as she did now; now, when she looks in the mirror, she smiles extra wide and enjoys the sight of her unchangeable grin.
So, why, if she disliked it so much, was Carthrine here in this room filled with feathered pillows and shining drapery and other grandiose features that were ugly to her?
Her father was to blame.
Asgard and Vardheim were two very, very different worlds. Almost as different as honey and vinegar, as her father once described. And seeing as the two realms were filled with such powerful gods and goddesses, it seemed as if they had somewhere went wrong down the line of their relations. Asgard was known as a land of peace after the war on Midgard with the Jotun; Vardheim, on the other hand, was filled with a taste of unrest and vice that penetrated its dark, smoldering beauty. Her father was, by far, a true man of his ambition, and was not afraid to take drastic measures in order to secure his status. But he also was a man for his people, and when he saw the success of Asgard as a kingdom, he knew it would be in his best interest to seek their counsel immediately.
So in his place, he sent his daughter, his only child, Carthrine. Her goal was to forge a bond through her stay there between the Asgardians and the people of Vardheim. Both he and Odin (king of Asgard), through messages sent back and forth, agreed that her stay would prove beneficial to both parties in the bargain. And both (Odin especially) harbored hopes that Carthrine and Odin's eldest son would form an attachment to strengthen that bond even further.
We shall not go into Carthrine's first encounter with Thor. But let it suffice to say that she did not find him attractive in the way she wanted. Not in the very least.
Afterwards, Carthrine spent four days in the chambers that had been readied for her. Thinking. Not reading, or painted, or writing as she loved to do back in her home. Just filing away her thoughts. Her four handmaidens that accompanied her spent close to hours attempting to distract her attentions; Rionne, the head of Carthrine's staff and her personal maid and confidant, had tried only to get her mistress to speak. But Carthrine knew she must take her time as needed, and soon, the maidens gave up.
The princess knew she could not satisfy her father's wishes to marry this prince of Asgard. But she also knew there was harm to be caused if she cut short her visit so quickly without effort.
So, on her fifth day, she called her handmaidens to her side for the first time, and began thinking about what she would wear.
Four sheets of leather later, and Carthrine was still not ready
Her hips lay snug in a tight-fitting layer of the finest leather from Vardheim, and her breasts were heaving nervously under the strain of the boned corsette that Clarin, her youngest handmaiden, was weaving shut across her back. Rionne was working diligently beside her with a brush, smoothing the kinks in the curly locks of blonde that flowed across her shoulders. And yet all of these assurances of her finely-tuned appearance could not assuage her from worry.
If you had asked her now, Rionne would probably admit that this was the first time she had ever witnessed her mistress showing signs of fear.
But who could blame her?, she thought. Rionne herself felt the oddness of this world pressing on her each day; her lady probably felt it tenfold in light of the burden she was given. At this thought, Rionne stopped her brushing for a moment, and lightly stroked a stray lock of hair into place with her fingers. At this gesture of comfort, Carthrine smiled, if only slightly. Rionne resumed brushing.
The doors to her room swung open, and Frigga, the queen herself, glided in, the grace of millennia of practice pushing her across the floor. Without hesitation, Carthrine bowed her head and bent to a curtsy, as did her handmaidens one by one. But Frigga immediately beckoned them to rise, and then Carthrine saw her smile. It was a smile, she thought, that a mother would have as she sent her daughter off to her first ball. And in actuality, this was probably the closest thing that the queen would ever get to it. Two sons, no daughters, she thought to herself. Must be a lot less hassle with dresses.
"So shall there be many present tonight at the gathering, Queen Frigga?" she spoke, her tone losing its clipped wintriness and warming to the woman's presence. "I daresay I am not looking forward to this much, and I would prefer my embarrassment to be witnessed by as few people as possible."
"Nonsense, nonsense," Frigga said firmly, and, fingers grasping, she took the brush from Rionne's hand and set it on the table. "You are lovely as you are. And while the kingdom sleeps for the most part, there are quite a few who have stayed to welcome you personally tonight."
"Marvelous," Carthrine sighed. "I should have worn the blue."
"Absolutely not," Rionne cut in sharply, "The blue was much too wound up for an event such as this. Stop second guessing yourself, mistress."
Frigga chuckled into the back of her hand. "You should listen to your maid, Carthrine. She has a fine sense of occasion herself."
"That is why she will be accompanying me tonight, if that is alright with you, Queen." When Frigga nodded, Carthrine continued: "I could not survive without her gratuitous inputs on the quality of fashion in Asgard."
She looked in the mirror once again, decidedly pleased and yet so unsure. She thought that once her outfit was together, her courage could be mustered. But it hadn't. It wasn't. And she could not fathom the reason why."
"If I may beg a few more seconds alone, Queen Frigga. I will accompany Rionne shortly."
The queen nodded her approval, and along with Carthrine's attendants, she disappeared down the hall, heels clicking against the smooth gold in a quiet rhythm.
When her footsteps could no longer be heard, Carthrine turned back to the mirror and slowly sank to her knees, exhausted merely from the preparation and the anxiety that wracked her. A quick shiver flew up her spine, surprising her, like the prickling of a needle along each vertebra. And suddenly the cause of her unease was known.
She was being watched.
Whipping herself around, her fingers clutching at a dagger hidden within the folds of her skirt, she prepared to face the person who must have been looming somewhere in her quarters. Instead, as she scanned the room, she was met with nothing but the feeling of empty, quiet space, the feeling now gone. Chest pounding, she sank even further to the ground, lying prone across the marble and closing her eyes briefly. She knew it was time for her to face fear. But she could not will her legs to move just yet.
She stayed there until her heart calmed again. Then, sighing quietly, she straightened herself up, and combed through her own hair one last time.
She was out of her depth, yes. Far out of her element.
Another look in the mirror.
…but she be damned if she would let it get the best of her tonight.
Banquet halls in Asgard seem to always be made of gold.
Everything, and when Carthrine says everything, she means everything, was made of the same gleaming shades of gold, from the chairs and the floor to the tables and (in the name of her father, she swears) even most of the food. Carthrine was taken aback by the decadence, but not in awe; rather, she noted that it did nothing at all to make the royal family seem any grander than they already appeared. Mind you, in Carthrine's opinion, Frigga did look stunning; her deep blue gown gave the aging goddess a fresh and elegant visage. In contrast, that is, to her husband, who sat close to her along the grand table.
Carthrine's first impression of King Odin (or, as he preferred to be called, "All-Father") was that he certainly was an unyielding man; the way that he commanded and chastised reminded her of her own father back home, although much less sarcastic and crude. And while his authoritative behavior set Carthrine on her guard at first, she soon realized that Odin's anger and strictness was directed more towards a specific person. A certain blonde thunder-wielding prince.
And with very good reason, she might add.
Just as the thought crossed her mind, the man in question made his appearance in the ballroom, and every lady within visible distance grew weaker in their knees. Everyone, that is, except Carthrine. And Rionne, she noticed, who remained standing erect at her side, a look of amusement on her pointed features.
Carthrine's eyes followed the approaching prince with that same cold amusement; she could not fathom, not even in the slightest, how he could be so bold and brave…and still look so ridiculous.
Stopping before her chair at the table, Prince Thor beckoned for her hand.
"Lady Catherine," he began, his tone louder than the others around her, "In celebration of your appearance tonight, it would be nothing short of sin to not ask for a dance." He smiled, no, grinned, like a boy asking a girl to kiss for the first time.
Carthrine returned his warmth with a well-crafted smile of her own, replying "I would if possibly, prince, but I feel that this is not the time. You see?" She gestured to the instruments that lay in the corner, to be untouched by their players till the evening grew much longer. "There is no music now."
Thor laughed boisterously, and moved to clap her shoulder. Deciding against it, he grasped her hand and pulled her sharply to his chest.
"I do not know how things may work on Vardheim, my lady," he said into her ear, "But here, when a beautiful lady wishes to dance, it is a gentleman's duty to grant it, inconveniences aside!"
But I do not wish to! Carthrine's mind screamed, but Thor was already calling for the men to string their bows, and she knew she would be a fool not to accept. Swallowing her sighs, she nodded goodbye to Rionne and accompanied the prince to the raised circle (made of solid gold, she noted, of course), and settled into his strong frame as the music slowly began.
Carthrine was now aware of the eyes of everyone, male and female, resting on her for the first time. She felt the stinging on the back of her neck, and to distract herself, she turned her own eyes to the man that was swaying her steadily, back and forth. As if sensing her prompt, Thor spoke.
"So how do you find Asgard so far, my lady?" he questioned, ignoring her sharp inhale of breath as he accidentally trod on her foot. "Is it as splendid as your father must have described it, or possibly even more so?
"You have no idea, Prince Thor," Carthrine replied simply, and she smiled inwardly as she remembered the talks her father had given here before her leave, how he had called it 'an obnoxious land of fighting fools with pride the size of their helmets'.
Thor continued: "You must let me show you the forests outside the palace gates. There is much to be seen, and many experiences you shall not regret. I shall prepare a horse for you tomorrow-," Thor spun her once, and her heart was pounding with nerves, nerves that he was taking her answers for more than they were worth. But, upon seeing the look of unease on her face, Thor relented. "Perhaps a better time. When you are more used to this world and its people, and myself, for that matter."
"Thank you, Prince Thor," Carthrine released the breath she had caught in her lungs. Looking into his eyes, she saw for the first time that maybe this man was not as oblivious as he had otherwise seemed. "For your understanding."
They danced in silence a while longer as the other couples joined around them. Carthrine felt her feet, wedged into the high boot of a narrow heel, slowly begin to ache, but the warrior within her would not let her return to her seat so quickly. She decided to speak again.
"How fares your younger brother? The one I have yet to meet?"
"Loki?" Thor seemed surprised, but quickly composed himself. "Forgive me. I forgot that you have not seen him yet. He has been in foreign land on business and returns sometime tonight, but…"
"Ah," she said in understanding, "So he shall not be attending these festivities?"
"Most likely not," he confirmed, "For my brother is not quite the type to enjoy such proceedings. After his arduous journey, the thing he is most want to do is-,"
"-to dance with a beautiful princess, as it were."
She turned, and he was there.