AN: Hello, and welcome to the story! This is Thread of Gold, a fic consisting of a number of "oneshots" set in the Pathology universe. While I cannot stop you, I believe reading Pathology first would make these short stories more enjoyable. On the same note, I feel like reading these short stories first would make Pathology far less enjoyable. Thread of Gold is to function as a Prequel/Deleted Scene/Sequel to Pathology.
The stories will be set in chronological order, and each chapter ( or most of them ) have been suggested by the reviewers of Pathology. I could not have made this story without their input and kind words! The reviewers of Pathology are the brain-children of this fanfiction, so I thank them! Sorry it has taken so long, but when life happens...man, does it happen!
So without further ado, enjoy!
Disclaimer: I own nothing!
The Editor
Timeframe: Pre-Thor
Loki knew he was not a warrior; that much was obvious. But as he stared down at the messy handwriting on the parchment in front of him, he couldn't help but feel insulted that Thor failed to invite him again.
"Gone to Niflheim." Loki read, the words slithering off his tongue like a curse. "Can you believe that, Lady Gefjon? What could possibly be of interest on Niflheim?"
Across the room, the redheaded handmaiden just shrugged and continued her job of cleaning Thor's room. It was a complete mess, as per usual, with red sheets and old ale-mugs left amiss. Though gigantic, Thor's room felt small with the clutter—old, unread books scattered against the golden floors and gifted weapons thrown about without thought. Loki would never dare treat his room like his brother did his. Loki could never throw a book on the floor.
"I am stunned that he thought not to tell me." Loki growled towards the woman. "I grow tired of my constant exclusion from his travels."
This time, the woman sent him a sympathetic look.
"I am sorry, your highness."
"As you should be." He agreed. "I am now in a rather foul mood. Where is my mother?"
Gefjon looked thoughtful for a moment, her green eyes looking towards Thor's cathedral ceiling in search of an answer. She was one of his mother's handmaidens, a kind goddess who often looked after and protected the innocent, and she was expected to know the queen's whereabouts at all times. After a moment, the short woman snapped her fingers and gave him a small smile.
"In a meeting, if I recall." She answered, her head nodding slightly. "There are whispers that Master Ástríðr is retiring."
For a moment, his dissatisfaction with his brother was forgotten. If what Gefjon said was true, he was intrigued. Ástríðr was the Royal Healer, his mother's eldest handmaiden, and a master sorceress. She had delivered both him and Thor, and she was hailed as one of the greatest healers of her time. When his father would slip into his yearly Odinsleep, it was Ástríðr who protected him. When Thor would return injured from a mission, it was Ástríðr who would make him new again.
"Whoever shall take her place?" Loki questioned seriously. "Last I recalled, Ástríðr's apprentices were less than remarkable."
And they were. The last time one of the medical apprentices healed him, he was in the healing chambers for weeks instead of days. The apprentices under Ástríðr's teachings could barely cure a cold, and though healing was one of the more difficult forms of sorcery, their lack of skills was inexcusable. If Ástríðr wasn't around to help him, he often resorted to learning spells and healing himself. The idea that one of them was to take the title of Royal Healer was terrifying.
"Only time shall tell." Gefjon decided. "But if I know your mother like I know I do, she will hail only the best."
When Thor would ignore him, Loki found himself seeking company in the form of literature. The palace's library was truly impressive, and even in all his travels, he had never seen one of equal splendor. Shelves of books would reach the ceiling, and spiral staircases twisted their way to multiple levels and rooms. There were books from all over the realms—ones filled with knowledge and ones filled with adventures. There was something beautiful about the written word that enchanted him, and whenever he got the chance he lost himself in the pages for a while.
Today, sparked by the conversation with Gefjon, he found himself craving something on medicine. Journals from across the realms would tell him that most medical magic existed in a very primitive way. Asgard was leaps and bounds ahead of the more barbaric realms like Jotunheim, and although Midgardian technology was advancing rapidly, it still paled in comparison. Ástríðr had told him that the best healers integrated science and magic; unfortunately for most of the realms, only the latter was utilized.
Walking down one of the many staircases, the prince found himself in a relatively small room. Taking a deep breath, Loki found himself breathing in the delicious scent of old paper and smiling at the neatly arranged books. On the spines were titles etched in gold, topics from every aspect of medicine, and he didn't know where to start.
"I am sorry, Milord. I pray I am not a disturbance."
Jumping, Loki turned around to see a young woman sitting at one of the wooden tables with a book in her hand. Long, dark locks cascaded down an ill-fitting gown and washed out her already pale face. The gown looked like one of those dresses commoners saved their fortunes for; it paled in comparison to even the cheapest clothes of nobility, and it was obvious to him that the woman was trying to play in a world she was not part of. Still, despite her obvious status, there was something intriguing about her.
She was not unattractive, that would be a lie, but she lacked the qualities other goddesses possessed. Lanky, at best, she had a chest that could pass for a young boy's, and the woman made little attempt at accessorizing her plain attire. Unlike the other palace woman, her neck was not adorned with diamond-encrusted gold, and her ears were free from chandelier silver. But when her eyes finally met his, he realized none of that mattered.
They were gold, and devastatingly gorgeous.
"Worry not." He answered finally, taking a seat across from her. "Pray tell, what book strikes the Lady's fancy?"
Taking the book that was offered to him, Loki raised an eyebrow.
"Advances in Neuropathology?" he asked, his fingers flipping through the handwritten pages. "You cannot possibly be clever enough to digest this."
To his surprise, he was met only with a sheepish grin.
"I wrote it."
Almost choking on the air, the prince sent a surprised look towards the woman and continued to skim through the book. It looked incredibly complex, with neurological diagrams and formulas littering the pages. Her handwriting was messy, yet feminine, and there were many scratch outs and quick notes written in the margins. From the looks of it, the book was a rough draft.
"Eir Halldórsdóttir?" he read off the cover. "Tis an odd name."
"Tis quite the statement, considering you have yet to introduce yourself."
When the prince realized she didn't recognize him, a wicked smile formed across his lips.
"Loki Odinson."
There was a sick satisfaction in watching the woman across from him stutter and fumble into a bow. Her dark locks fell down towards the ground, and her gold eyes were filled with a humiliation that pleased him. He hoped that this humiliation would teach her to hold her tongue in front of people like him.
"Many apologies, your highness." She said quickly, the shame dripping from each word. "I have not been in Asgard for some time I…I knew not how you looked."
Waving her off, Loki went back to reading the book.
"What did you expect?"
She seemed to be calculating something in her mind for a moment before answering.
"Someone blonder?"
Rolling his eyes, Loki let out a frustrated sigh. Of course she would think he looked like Thor. Every woman on Asgard was infatuated with his brother, and when they finally met him, they were only given a strong dose of disappointment. Thor was Asgard's ideal man; Loki might have well been its polar opposite.
"That would be my brother." Loki groaned. "What brings you to the palace? You look dressed for…"
For someone trying to play a person she wasn't. Across from him, the young woman looked at her hands in thought. He had never seen her before, not even on his tours through the city, and he found it strange. She claimed she had not been on Asgard for some time, and the prince could formulate no logical explanation for why a maiden would traverse the realms and avoid home. Finally, she answered in a quiet voice.
"I was nominated for Royal Healer."
Feeling the shock wash over him once more, Loki's eyes widened.
"Master Ástríðr campaigned for me." She continued on. "I had an audience with the Allmother earlier."
The man had to admit he wasn't expecting that. Healing was a difficult form of magic, and most of the highly championed healers had been practicing it their entire lives. The most revered names in medicinal magic were as old as his father or older, and he had never seen one reach the title of master before an advanced age. He often likened them to ancient sages, but the woman before him was younger than him.
"Healing is a challenging form of sorcery." He remarked, eyeing her over curiously. "Not for me, of course; I mastered healing charms long go."
He smiled towards Eir.
"Do not feel badly if my mother decides to choose a more seasoned healer." He added thoughtfully. "You are far too young."
Not expecting it, the prince felt a chill down his spine when the healer narrowed her stunning eyes at him.
"I assure you, Milord." She hissed with her voice tainted with a fair bit of venom. "I am fully qualified."
"Of course you are." He agreed, his tone condescending and belittling. "If you need an editor for your work, I would be happy to lend my expertise."
But before she could open her mouth, another voice joined the conversation.
"I see you have met my son!" Frigga beamed. "I pray you got along well?"
Smiling towards his mother, Loki lowered his head in respect. Eir looked positively flustered, her face now flush with a fair bit of color and her eyes lit with a fire that pleased him. Loki always thought women looked more attractive when they were passionate about something, and the anger in Eir's face was no exception.
"Lady Eir will be joining the other handmaidens soon enough." Frigga explained towards him. "Master Ástríðr will be pleased to know her title will go to a skilled maiden."
Loki tried valiantly to stop his jaw from dropping.
"Oh, I cannot thank you enough my queen!" Eir bowed, her golden eyes catching his in a sickeningly satisfied look. "T'will be an honor to serve the House of Odin."
"Come." Frigga said towards the girl with a warm smile. "I shall show you to the healing chambers."
Watching the woman stand up, Loki felt the slightest pinch of humiliation. Her eyes were bright, and when her small, feminine hands reached towards the book in his grip, they stopped abruptly—a positively sinful smirk painted across her features.
"The wording in chapter thirty five, the chapter on the cytokine and chemokine role in the pathogenesis of various neurological diseases, is causing me quite a bit of trouble. I eagerly await your insight, your highness."
And with that she left him—leaving him alone in the library to decide whether he hated the maiden or he liked her. For the first time in a while, he couldn't quite tell.
He hated her, he decided.
Over the course of the night he had read her book—which by 'read', he meant struggle like a child as he attempted to navigate the complex medical wording. She was not some healer- that was apparent. At least, she was not a healer in the traditional sense. Asgardian healers were sorcerers, and they used magic to mend wounds. This Eir integrated magic and science into something he had never seen.
The whole back of the book was filled with formulas to medication made from plants across the realms. There were hand-drawn anatomical diagrams translated into many languages. Spells he had never heard of littered the margins, and she made mention of ancient medical wisdom from places like Jotunheim and Vanaheim. It was apparent she had become a master on every realm, and it made him furious.
As far as the palace went, he had a monopoly on intelligence. Often times, he would fantasize about what it would be like to have someone on his level—but he always imagined it going along more smoothly than this. Eir had made him look like a moron, she knew she had made him look like a fool, and it infuriated him. He would not let some woman best him.
Marching into the healing chambers, Loki eyed one of Ástríðr's underlings.
"Where is Lady Eir?"
Giving him an odd look, the older woman cast her blue eyes across the room. Past the many beds and various tools, the prince could see the new Royal Healer tending to one of the many patients. She looked different from yesterday, a warm light about her, and as he approached, he was surprised when the woman gave him a cheerful smile. It almost made her look innocent.
Almost.
"Have you completed the edits, Milord?"
Tossing the book on the floor, Loki narrowed his green eyes.
"You knew well I wouldn't understand it."
To this, Eir gave him a knowing smirk.
"Do not tell me your healing skills are less than that of a woman." She questioned smugly. "I recall you claiming to have mastered the art some time ago?"
The patient in the bed was looking between them in an awkward manner, the tension between him and the healer palpable. Loki could feel the heat rushing to his face, and the sting of humiliation wash over him. Meanwhile, the doctor just looked at him—her golden eyes filled with a defiance he had never met before. It was uncommon for someone to defy members from the House of Odin. Perhaps she never got the memo.
Turning on his heel, he neglected to give the woman a proper farewell. Instead, he offered her only a few, venom-filled words.
"Get back to work, peasant."
"I am stunned, brother." Thor beamed, his hands trailing over his leg. "I had shattered it, and within hours I was healed. Hours, brother!"
Thor watched as Loki only responded with an unimpressed eye roll. He had noticed that whenever he mentioned the new Royal Healer, Loki became visibly upset. Despite being injured a few times, Loki would avoid the healing chambers at all cost. Whenever Eir was in the same room with him, Loki would make an excuse to leave. Quite frankly, it baffled Thor; they were more alike than not.
"She is truly gifted." Thor added. "And quite young!"
"Too bad her personality is rotten." Loki scoffed.
To that, Thor couldn't help but laugh. The young healer had been nothing but pleasant to him, and he had his suspicions that any ill temper gained from the woman was all Loki's fault. Thor knew his brother had a habit of pushing people to their limits—he no doubt provoked her.
"I think she is rather charming." Thor argued. "She hath a fair face, and those eyes are stunning…"
Loki rolled his eyes again.
"She thinks her intellect above others'." The younger prince spat. "Arrogance is unattractive on a woman."
Thor wished he could laugh at the irony of the situation. He had never had the pleasure of meeting someone more arrogant than the God of Mischief himself.
"Do not be cold, brother!" Thor warned. "She may very well save your life one day."
It had happened on a hunting trip to Nornheim.
When it first occurred, Loki thought it had been a simple sprain. While following a group of Bilgesnipe, he had fallen off his horse while in full gallop and injured his arm. He was not stupid; he had gotten sprains and dislocations before, but this time was different. While the pain usually subsided within a day or two, this time it had only gotten worse. In fact, it had gotten to the point where he couldn't move his arm.
"Tis just a sprain." Loki insisted, using his non-dominant hand to pour himself a drink. "All will be well, Fandral."
To that, the skilled swordsman only raised an eyebrow and shook his head.
"I know not, Loki." The warrior remarked. "I know you detest her, but perhaps it would be best if you seek out Lady Eir."
Narrowing his green eyes at Fandral, Loki sent a hateful look towards the blonde. What he was suggesting was completely ridiculous. It was a simple sprain, and there was no need to have the Royal Healer concern herself with such a mindless task. If he were to go to her, she would make him look like a fool once more. In fact, each time he passed one of Ástríðr's underlings in the hall, they turned to each other and laughed.
"I will be fine."
But before he could leave the banquet hall, Fandral had to open his mouth. Down the hall was a familiar face, the gold eyes contrasting with the woman's black dress and, upon seeing her, Loki could feel his anger rising.
"Lady Eir!" Fandral called, his voice echoing down the hall. "A word, please!"
Loki watched with disgust as the young woman bowed towards Fandral and gave him a warm smile. When she was speaking with the warrior, she almost looked pleasant—but Loki knew better. However, when her eyes finally caught his they were not filled with arrogance, but with worry.
"You need to get to the healing chambers straight away, your highness." She said quickly. "You have severe nerve damage."
And while some part of him believed her, another part of him told him to laugh at her suggestion.
"There is no way for you to know that." Loki countered arrogantly. "Tis but a sprain, and you have not Heimdall's vision."
To his side, Fandral looked on with confusion.
"Perhaps you should trust her—"
"No." The prince insisted stubbornly. "How can she tell? One cannot see through skin."
Looking back towards the woman, Loki noticed that the worry had not yet left her features. Though it was his arm that was damaged, she seemed to be taking a peculiar interest in his face. Upon her dismissal, the healer simply looked at the floor and bit her bottom lip.
"Your eyelid." She whispered. "It droops."
Blinking a few times, Loki caught his reflection in the golden floor.
"Tis indicative of severe avulsion injury." She explained simply. "If you do not seek help, you will never regain functionality."
Instead of heeding her warning, Loki just narrowed his eyes and allowed the room to be overtaken by silence. It was apparent from her features that she was not use to having people ignore her or tell her she was wrong, and part of him was satisfied when she broke her gaze from his. But when she shook her head and turned on her heel down the hall, Loki felt a shiver run down his spine.
"Enjoy your sprain, Milord."
Loki was being absolutely ridiculous, Eir had decided. She didn't know what it was about the younger prince, but he had a way of trying her patience. Thor was perfectly pleasant and charming. Ever the warrior, Thor was often in the healing room needing repairs of lacerations and breaks. When the elder brother would show up, he would do nothing but smile and charm everyone in the room.
But Loki was another story.
Almost child-like, he would mope around the palace and narrow his eyes in her presence. He had thrown her book on the ground, and even had the audacity to request other, amateur healers care for him. He was acting like the spoiled prince she always took the brothers for.
It was a shame, really; tales of his sharp mind traversed the galaxy, and to her nothing was more attractive than intelligence.
She shouldn't have been surprised by any of it, though. In her travels across the realms she had been treated poorly by all men she encountered. Over the years she had been forced to watch her friends marry and start families—she was forced to watch them get swooned over by men from every corner of the galaxy. It was only when she would pretend to be daft that she would get noticed.
Once they found out what she was capable of…
Well, in the end they were all the same.
Letting out a frustrated sigh, the young doctor walked over to her bookshelf and pulled out one of her sketchbooks from her time on Jotunheim. Scattered across the pages were etchings of dissections—details of every inch of a typical Jotun specimen—and the pertinent pathophysiological findings. Her eyes danced across the web of nerves in the arm, and her fingers traced along the connections towards the spinal chord. Smiling at a note she had written indicating a sight of common avulsion injury, she knew she had located where Prince Loki's problem was.
"I apologize for my earlier behavior."
Jumping from her seat, the woman kicked the Jotun anatomy text under her desk and gave her visitor a welcoming smile. As she eyed the prince, she prayed with every ounce of her being that he had been oblivious to the book she had just been referencing. The Queen had given her very specific orders regarding Asgard's youngest royal, and she desperately wanted to stay true to Frigga's orders. Standing up nervously, she walked towards him.
"Please." Loki said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Please fix me."
He looked pathetic, really. Standing there with his drooping eye and his cradled arm, the once hostile man now looked vulnerable. Instead of being bitter and arrogant, he looked almost desperate and child-like.
"Tis the middle of the night, Milord." She explained in a tired voice. "You require surgery and I have not slept in days. Tomorrow, yes?"
But as the words left her lips, she noticed he looked terrified.
"It is a pain indescribable." He admitted ashamedly. "And I fear being alone."
Though she could tell that he was desperately trying to hide the true extent of his pain from her, his face was betraying him. As he stood there, she could see the faintest beads of sweat dripping down his face and she could see the tension in his jaw as he clenched it tighter. It was not uncommon for these types of injuries to cause a pain such as this, and though he had been positively vile towards her she suddenly felt herself feeling sorry for him.
"Come along." She finally agreed. "I will fix you a sedative and analgesic. You may take a bed in the healing ward if you so desire. Though, I fear, it will be far less elegant than your usual accommodations."
She could see his green eyes scanning the healing wards as her hands danced across the various vials from a large collection of medicine. The healing chambers were nothing exciting—they were one of the oldest facets of he palace and they needed desperate upgrading—but they did their job. Noticing Loki take a seat on one of the hard beds, she took a seat next to him.
"You dwell here?" he asked seriously, his eyes looking curiously towards the medicine she had put in his hands. "Such dismal chambers."
Ignoring his comments, she pointed towards the medicine.
"It looks repulsive."
Such an astute observation, she thought.
"Drink it."
The healer watched as the prince tilted his head back and took the medicine like a shot of liquor. Almost instantly his face contorted at the taste of it and his body fought valiantly against the urge to spit it back up. But as soon as it started it was over and his eyelids began to flutter as they fell victim to the power of torpidity. Easing his lax body down on the bed, Eir simply looked down at him with a bit of defeat in her features.
In slumber he almost looked handsome. With his face no longer contorted in pain or shame, the man below her looked peaceful and very much like the youthful prince he was meant to be. As she looked down at his sculpted features, she almost forgot for a moment all the spiteful things he had said to her. For a moment, she almost thought he seemed pleasant.
Scoffing off her own ridiculous thoughts, she shook her head.
She knew better.
"Oww!" Loki hissed, his free hand rushing to his injured shoulder. "By my father's bea—"
But before he could sit up, a small hand came to him and held him down.
"Do not move." A voice urged. "You will pull your stitches out."
Turning towards the voice, Loki's lips turned into the faintest of smiles as he saw a familiar face sitting next to him. She looked exhausted, far more tired than the last time he had seen her, and she had changed into surgical rags. Still, even out of the royal dresses his mother provided her with, there was something commanding about her.
"I can feel my fingers." He remarked, his eyes trailing down towards his twitching digits. "It appears your surgery was a success."
To this, the woman next to him let a small chuckle escape her lips.
"Well of course." She answered. "I performed the surgery."
He decided that considering everything that had happened, he would allow this instance of arrogance.
"Thank you."
His words were dripping with sincerity.
Catching his reflection on the cup near his bed, he noticed that his eyelid was no longer drooping. Despite his better judgment, Eir had been right about his condition and despite the right git he had been to her over the past months, she had vowed to help him. Looking down at his twitching fingers once again, a shiver went down Loki's spine as he thought about the fact that he almost let his resentment for the healer claim his hand.
"I read your book, you know." He admitted, his voice breaking up the stillness of the room. "I understood very little, but I knew it dripped of brilliance."
To this, tired gilded eyes caught his.
"If you would have me, I would be honored to give the editing another go."
It was, of course, the closest he could come to concocting an apology.
"Of course, Milord." She agreed, her lips turning into a genuine smile. "Shall we try this all again? I fear we became acquainted not on the finest of terms."
To this, a small hand came towards his.
"Eir Halldórsdóttir"
Meeting her hand with his, the prince felt his own lips turning into a smile.
"Loki Odinson."
AN: Thank you so much for reading! Again, sorry for the insane delay! Reviews are always much appreciated! 3
Next Chapter: Crying Wolf
This Oneshot's Inspiration:
"Oh, and in the oneshots, maybe have something about how Loki and Eir first met!"-Yokokoro