full summary: The ring was beautiful and full of character, but it was the story behind the piece of tarnished bronze jewlery that encouraged Amelia Jennings to buy it. An old folk tale about a Norse god, an exchange of power, and immortal mares. What once was a perfect fit now seems a bit too tight, and - thinking little of it - Amelia turns her covers up and falls asleep with the ring warm around her finger. She wakes up in silken sheets, in the presence of someone she barely believes in, only to find that he holds her life in his very hands. What's a girl to do when she buys her way into the service of the God of Mischief?
"Once I wanted something and got it. It was the only thing I ever wanted badly...and when I got it, it turned to dust in my hand." - F. Scott Fitzgerald
I've had this story floating around in my mind for a while now, and with my Loki obsession fully renewed by the Thor 2 trailer, I thought now would be a great time to post it! (: This takes place pre-Thor, but will eventually meet up with the Thor storyline (and maybe further story lines. Who knows? ;D) To those reading, I hope you enjoy the first chapter!
Amelia spun the tarnished ring on her finger nervously, worrying her lower lip. The cold water running over her hand barely calmed her as she lathered her finger with soap that smelled of cherry blossom and almonds. When she'd soaped her hands completely, she took a deep breath, cautiously beginning to pull the ring from its position at the base of her finger, twisting it back and forth. It rose less than half an inch before Amelia felt the ring stop. She closed her eyes in frustration, pulling with a bit more force. The ring didn't budge.
I don't understand, she thought wildly. Why won't it come off?
The antique ring had been a perfect fit only hours ago. Now it seemed that with every attempt to remove it, the band tightened on its own, refusing to be separated. Amelia fell forward, letting her forehead knock into the bathroom mirror. She breathed heavily through her nose, letting the water clear her hands of the suds. I'm out of ideas, she thought. I've tried butter and oil, soap and warm water, and plain old yanking sure isn't working. I don't know what else to do. Sighing, she shut off the tap and dried her hands, glaring at the ring.
She had fallen in love with it the moment she'd seen it: the head of a horse, the band one long leg that ended in a solitary hoof that rested on the side of its snout. The ethnic shop that had opened up beside her favorite library was full of odds and ends from all over the world, and the shop owner – a soft-spoken old woman with thick dark hair – spoke to her about old folk tales that were associated with each item. The ring that had so captured her attention was supposedly an old relic devoted to a Norse god. If Amelia was honest, the story really was what sold her. Forged by his most loyal followers, the god blessed the ring to grant the wearer a fraction of his power. However, if the bearer turned out to be unworthy, he would be cursed to die a tragic death and become resurrected as an immortal mare, forced to serve the god forever.
Amelia mildly hoped it was true, if only to turn into a horse and be rid of the damn ring.
She gave the ring another useless tug, frowning. "Fine," she muttered underneath her breath. "I'll just sleep with it on. I'll deal with it tomorrow." I'm sure I can find a jeweler who can cut it off.
Shaking her head, Amelia stepped out of her small bathroom and switched off the light, crossing into her bedroom. She stretched her arms widely, yawning. It had been a long day, and dealing with this ring had been an exhausting ordeal in and of itself. She crawled into bed, burrowing deep into the covers and letting them warm her bare legs.
She lay quiet, fingering the ring with her thumb mindlessly as she let her mind shut down. A heavy weight settled on her chest, and she was asleep within minutes.
Amelia's eyes fluttered open, and she let out a stuttered breath. Her throat was tight and her lungs felt chilled. She whined in the back of her throat, rolling onto her back and stretching. Every muscle in her body ached, and there were telltale signs of a dull throb in her temples.
"You're awake."
Amelia shot up in bed, the blood rushing quickly from her head and causing her vision to spin. The deep drawl startled her into high-alert, her nerves firing and boosting her adrenaline. When her vision cleared, she saw there was a man standing in front of her. He was built regally tall, imperially lean, all sharp angles and clear skin, and though his eyes were a wonderfully gentle green, they didn't look at all happy.
"Who are you?" she demanded, shuffling her legs. She gathered the sheet in between her fingers, tense as the man stepped forward ominously. "What are you doing in my room?"
His eyes tightened in a sharp glare. "Who are you to demand answers of me?" he asked through clenched teeth.
"Who are you to deny them?" Amelia snipped back. "Tell me what you're doing in my room!"
A ghost of a smirk spread across his lips. "You seem to be mistaken. Perhaps you'd like to take a look around. I can assure you quite adamantly that these are not your chambers."
At this, Amelia noticed that the sheets between her fingers felt…strange. They were soft like silk, and when she looked down at them, they were a gleaming gold and not the bland powder blue set that she had bought on sale the week after Christmas. She dropped them in shock, turning about and taking in the expansive room and extravagant décor: none of this was familiar, none of this was hers. In fact, this room looked bigger than her entire apartment. She blinked, her breath caught in her throat. Slowly, she turned her gaze back to the strange man. He took another step forward, his eyes lowered at her.
"They're mine."
The dark whisper sent chills down Amelia's spine, and her heart skipped a beat before she reacted the only way that came to mind: she screamed. Scrambling, Amelia tangled in the sheets and toppled out of the bed, landing on her side. She let out of gasp, fighting herself free of the fabric before standing clumsily, taking unconscious steps back and bumping into a large vanity table. A few of the items on its surface knocked about, falling over and rolling onto the floor. A few loose papers slipped off the edge and floated to the ground, landing on her bare feet. She gripped the edge of the table behind her, not taking her eyes off of the man as he advanced on her again.
"Stay away from me," she demanded quietly, trying to temper her fear. "Don't you dare come near me."
His eyes sparked to life, amusement dancing in their depths. "Are you frightened?" he asked with a malicious smirk.
"What? Of a GQ model? Don't hold your breath!" Amelia's retort was instinctive. She'd always had a sharp tongue, even in the worst of circumstances. It often got her into more trouble than out of it.
He was silent as he took her in, and she glared back at him as his eyes wandered. She glanced down at herself for a split second, remembering she was in her pajamas, which consisted of little more than a light tank top and tiny sleeping shorts. Flushing lightly, she turned her attention back to him. "What am I doing here?" she asked, her voice jumping up a pitch. "Did you kidnap me?"
"Hardly," he offered, his eyes narrowing again. "I merely came into my chambers to retire when I saw you had made yourself quite comfortable in my bed."
"You're crazy," Amelia returned. "I didn't just end up in your bed on my own. You had to have put me there!"
"I assure you," he said shortly, "if I were to put a woman in my bed, she would be of much higher breeding than you."
Amelia's mouth dropped open. "What?" she shrieked. "What did you just say to me, you pompous piece of shit?" She surged forward, her fear forgotten, and planted herself right in front of the man. "Now you listen to me, and you listen well." She poked his chest roughly. "I don't care how I got here or who you are. You are going to tell me where I am and then tell me how to get home, and you are going to do it right now." She emphasized her last two words with firm pokes to the chest, and she cocked out her hip, resting her free hand on it.
His face turned steely at her outburst, and her lowered his eyes to the hand that was still pointing at him fiercely. He opened his mouth for a split second before snapping it shut, something flashing in his eyes. The anger melted from his face and his mischievous smirk returned. Slowly, he brought his hand up at catch her own, encircling her fingers in his large palm. "Ah," he mused aloud, "now I understand." He chuckled to himself. "How charming." He turned his gaze back up to her, catching her eyes. "I see you've found my ring."
"I—what?" Amelia faltered, her arm going slack in his grip. As she looked to her hand, she suddenly remembered: the ring. The ring that she had bought yesterday that she hadn't been able to get off. "What are you talking about?"
Slowly, he ran his thumb over the base of her finger where the ring sat, smoothing along its tarnished surface. She stiffened. The hell? "It has been years since I've seen this dreadful thing. I assumed it had been destroyed."
Yanking her hand away, Amelia took a step back. "What the hell are you on about? This is my ring; I bought it yesterday!"
"Oh, yes? And where exactly did you purchase it?" He raised a sculpted brow, seemingly amused.
"At—at a little antique shop. The woman at the shop told me it was forged in honor of an old God."
"Did she, indeed?" His eyes twinkled, and he was grinning now – actually grinning, as if he was finding this more and more enjoyable by the second. "Did she tell you anything else?"
"Just the story," Amelia offered in a wispy voice. "But what does it matter? This has nothing to do with the fact that you kidnapped me!"
"What was the story?" he asked, turning around and settling down on the bed. He lay down, stretching his long legs out and placing his arms behind his head.
"Who cares?" Amelia repeated. "And don't ignore me!" She stepped a little closer. "I said it had nothing to do with the fact that I'm here. Why did you bring me here? And how did you get into my house in the first place? I have like, three alarms!"
He turned his gaze to her fully, locking eyes with her and giving her a stern look. "Tell me the story."
As soon as he spoke the words, Amelia felt the skin of her finger underneath the band of the ring grow warm. Her brain became fuzzy, and before she could stop herself, she began to speak. "She said that the ring was forged by followers of an old Norse god. By forging it in his name, melting down a relic that was said to have belonged to the God, they summoned him. Seeing their loyalty, he blessed the ring to give the wearer a fraction of his power. But only if he deemed them worthy would the power of the ring work, and if he deemed them unworthy, the wearer was cursed to die a tragic death and become resurrected as a mare, forced to serve the god forever."
The smirk on his face could barely be contained. "How incredibly well-informed you are. I must admit, I hadn't expected you humans to be so thorough in your research. I assumed when I threw that dreadful ring into the Bifröst that it would land in one of your many oceans."
"…You threw it?" Amelia repeated slowly. He nodded. "Into the…Bifröst?" Another nod. "I'm—I—I don't—what?" What the hell was he talking about? And what the flying fuck was a Bifröst?
He chuckled again. "You humans," he mused. "So incredibly dull-witted. Think, girl. Surely by now you can make an educated guess as to what has happened." At her desperate expression, he quirked a brow again. "No? Then allow me to help you. I am, after all, your gracious host." He sat up, leaning against the back of the headboard, one leg drawn up. "You say you purchased this ring in one of your shops." Amelia nodded slowly, wondering where on Earth this was going. "What happened afterwards?"
"Well, before I went to bed, I couldn't get it off." She looked to the ring again, giving it another useless tug. "It fit fine when I tried it on in the store, but now," she gave another mighty tug, hurting her finger, "it's stuck!"
"Very well. So, the ring cannot be taken off. You know the ring's history. What do you think happened?"
"You kidnapped me," Amelia responded immediately.
He rolled his eyes. "I most assuredly did not. I would never have taken one so infuriatingly dim." Amelia opened her mouth to retort, but he didn't let her. "In regards to the ring's history," he continued. "Knowing what you do about its origins, what do you think happened?"
"What are you talking about its origins?" Amelia asked, aggravated. "Those are just stories!"
"And assuming they aren't?"
"Assuming they aren't?" she repeated quietly. "Assuming they aren't, then I have at least a little bit of the power of a Norse god, so you better not piss me off anymore than you already have!"
"Now you're on the right track," he said smoothly. "Keep going."
"Wha?" What is this guy's deal? "Assuming they aren't," she continued slowly, "then…then, I – I don't know. The God would have to make the decision of whether or not I'm worthy. But how would he do that? He'd have to like, read my mind, or come see me himself?"
His smirk turned devilish. "Continue."
"I mean, assuming that they aren't just stories and I've got the powers of a Norse god, then, hypothetically, there would have to be a way for him to find out about me. And maybe he hasn't made up his mind, and that's the reason the ring won't come off. Maybe it's cursed to stay on until the god can make his choice – worthy or not. And if that's the case, the only thing left is the problem of how he would judge me. I mean, he would either have to pop down to Earth for tea, or—" Amelia's stomach dropped.
"Oh, don't stop now," he said in a rich voice. "You were just getting to the best part."
"If he didn't come to me," Amelia said softly, her lips quivering, "then I would have to…come to him." She looked up, her eyes wide. He stood slowly, moving to tower over her, his shadow enveloping her as he looked down upon her with fierce amusement. "Oh, God," she breathed. Her heart picked up its pace, and she tried to swallow the lump that formed in her throat. Tears sprang to the corner of Amelia's eyes as she stared up at him, her whole body trembling.
His lips curled in perverse pleasure. "Tell me your name," he demanded softly. The spell on the ring was still as strong as the day he had cast it, and he took great pleasure in using it once again. She was entirely at his disposal, and oh, he could imagine the possibilities.
"My name is Amelia." Why did I tell him that?!
"Amelia." He tasted the name on his lips. It seemed much too elegant a name for such a common mortal. He straightened himself, grabbing her hand again and smirking at the ring that had once been a part of his old armor.
"My name is Loki, of Asgard, and it seems you have bought your way into my service."
So! That's that! First chapter! I hope everyone enjoyed, and if you have any feedback at all, I'd be happy to hear it - good or bad! Until next time!
x