A/N: So I took a brief break from writing Into the Darkness to write this one-shot that I'd had rolling around in my head for a while. This was one of those moments where, as the writer, I know exactly how I want it to end…Until I reach that point and the tone changes entirely. I think I prefer this way, oddly enough.
The sun rose that day as it did any other morning, and Svalinn watched the golden glow from her window with a desolate heart. She had slept little that night and knew that she would be rebuked for the darkness that had likely formed under her eyes, but there was no helping her tiredness. All night long she had tossed and turned in the grandiose bed that had been assigned as her temporary quarters before the wedding was to take place. Sleep should have been easy in the midst of such luxury but the only thing she could think of was that the stranger she was to marry was somewhere within the same walls, and today she would become his wife.
At the thought of her impending marriage fear gripped Svalinn's heart and she sat on the window ledge, as close to the glass as she could reach in desperation for the warmth of the faint sunlight on her skin. Having arrived late the night before she had not been allowed to meet the King, and all she knew of him were the stories that others had confided to her. Many, no doubt fearing his retribution, gushed over his prowess as King. Others, mostly the women servants in her employ whom had long since become her trusted confidants, whispered of his infamy and brutality. A few admitted that despite the darkness in him, the King still managed to come across as alluring.
Svalinn cared nothing for what his appearance might be. As a child she had often seen the women in Alfheim treated cruelly by the men in their lives and, much to her mother's amusement, had sworn that she would never marry.
"You are going to be a beautiful woman, Svalinn," her mother had said dispassionately as she examined her reflection in a mirror. "More importantly you are the daughter of Freyr, ruler of the Light Elves. When the time comes you will marry, and you will do everything that your husband requires of you."
And that had been the end of it. Her mother had been unable to conceive more children after Svalinn's birth which, instead of endearing her daughter to her, produced a rift of corrosive bitterness towards Svalinn. Freyr had sired many bastards after his wife could not give him another, and Svalinn had learned yet another life lesson: her value lay in giving heirs to her husband. Without children, she too would be shelved.
A gentle knock rapped on the wooden door to her chambers, startling Svalinn out of her forlorn musings. "Come in," she spoke with a calmness that did not quite reach under her skin. In walked her three serving women carrying a mixture of clothing, beautifying products, and a mug of hot tea.
"My lady," they all murmured in the usual mark of respect but then, all sense of propriety lost, the door was closed and they were rushing anxiously towards her.
"Princess," Petra cried out in anguish as she ran towards Svalinn, setting down the mug of steaming liquid on the windowsill before cupping under her chin and turning her head first left and then right so as to better see her face. "Did you not sleep at all?"
"No," Svalinn admitted, heartened more than she could possibly have confessed to have her beloved maids near to help keep the dark thoughts away. "I couldn't turn off my mind."
Petra tutted as the other two women began to organize the items she was to wear for her first day in Asgard, made for her by command of the Queen herself. Svalinn watched with heavy eyes as they moved about the room. She wasn't entirely convinced that she could find the strength to don her mask of courtly conduct so soon after uprooting herself from her home and all that she knew. Svalinn knew a pang of sadness when she remembered that, once the wedding was over, even these three, loyal women would be returning to Alfheim with her parents.
"We saw him, mistress," Birgit called over from where she sat organizing the various products for Svalinn's bathing. "King Loki."
Svalinn's heart leapt into her throat and she clutched at the loose fabric of her nightgown, forcing down the anxiety that arose at the thought of her unknown husband. "When was this?"
"Just a few minutes ago," Mathilde chimed in as she hung Svalinn's new lavender gown against the wall leading to the bathing room and then coming to sit alongside her mistress. "We were heading down to the kitchens to fetch you some tea and got a bit lost, ended up at the entrance to the throne room. He was standing near the throne, talking with some of the guards.
"Is he… What is he like?" Svalinn whispered desperately as she instinctively lifted the mug of tea into her chilly hands, finding a small comfort in the heat that seeped into her flesh.
"Well, he is very tall," Birgit encouraged as she sat on the edge of the bed. Svalinn knew that with any other noble these women would never have dared to display such brazen familiarity, but all three of the women before her had long been more motherly towards her than Gerðr herself ever had been. Gathered around her with bracing words of comfort and concern in their eyes, she loved them more dearly than she could recall ever loving anyone else. "And he has long, black hair past his shoulders."
"He was turned to the side so we could only really see his profile," Mathilde admitted. She was the youngest of the three women, no more than ten years older than Svalinn herself, and had always felt more a sister to her than mother. They both shared the same, white blonde hair that was common amongst the Light Elves and a similar shade of violet eyes, though Mathilde's overall appearance was much darker than Svalinn's. "But he did appear to be quite handsome," she confessed with a smirk that brought a tiny giggle to Svalinn's lips.
"Come on dear, let's get you in the bath," Petra called as she began to bustle them all towards the bathing room. Svalinn acquiesced, following them through the doorway leading off of her bedchamber and lifting her arms so that they might disrobe her. At a young age, perhaps ten or so, she had fought to be allowed to change her own clothing and bathe herself but her mother, Gerðr, had refused to hear of it.
"You are a Princess, Svalinn. You have no need to do such mundane things for yourself. Allow the servants to do them for you, as you shall be Queen one day and that will be your right."
So she had relented and allowed her maids take charge of her needs which, whether or not the dependence bothered Svalinn, seemed to give them joy to be able to care for her. Her mother had always insisted upon the fact that Svalinn would one day become Queen, even though there had been no official betrothal until Svalinn's sixteenth birthday. Representatives of the newly-crowned King Loki in the realm of Asgard had come to interview Svalinn and her family, and have photographs taken of all of them. Svalinn hadn't understood why the King would care about pictures of her relatives until Petra finally enlightened her: "They want to see what the genetics in your family are like, Princess. So that they will have a better of idea of what the King's and your children might turn out like."
"Oh," was all a blushing Svalinn could think to say. She'd not put much thought into that particular part of marriage, and was mortified to realize that the Asgardian delegates had been solely thinking along those lines for the entirety of their visit. Within a month they had gotten the formal proposal of marriage from King Loki, and Freyr and Gerðr had signed the document on Svalinn's behalf; being sixteen her own signature was meaningless, as was her opinion.
Now, at eighteen, the time had come for Svalinn to leave Alfheim and journey to the realm of Asgard so that she might marry this new King who was still a stranger to her. Svalinn's parents had not thought to request a portrait of the King for her so that she might have an idea of what her new husband looked like, and doubted if they would have complied should she have even asked. "He is the King of Asgard and that is what matters," her mother would have said. So her maids had packed all of the belongings that she would be allowed to keep—which did not consist of many, as her wardrobe would be completely resupplied upon her acclimation—and journeyed with her parents to the new, foreign realm.
And oh, how different Asgard was from Alfheim. Her homeland was ornamented with natural beauty; her beloved trees and lakes and mountains as far as the eye could see. Asgard was as different from her world as night was from day. The rainbow bridge did cross a massive ocean, but the entire realm seemed to be made of stone and metal, with little in the way of nature to its name. Svalinn had mourned this upon their arrival the previous night but had kept her face locked in a polite smile as the delegates of the King led her small retinue towards the castle of Valhalla. Not until she had been shown to her rooms and the door was shut firmly behind her had Svalinn given in to the need to weep, homesickness and fear for her future eventually exhausting her so that she could not sleep, no matter how desperate she for rest she became.
"The bath is ready, Princess," Birgit said, snapping Svalinn back to the present. Naked, she lowered herself into the basin and closed her eyes as the three women poured oils into the bath water. Aromas of home filled the air and a single tear escaped her eye, sliding unnoticed by any of them down her damp cheek. They scrubbed her skin clean and then began the more lengthy process of cleansing Svalinn's hair. Her father had refused to ever let it be more than trimmed to maintain healthiness, and as such it had grown to her hips in long, thick waves. Freyr always reminded his daughter that she was the exact image of his sister, the goddess Freyja, and there was such tenderness in his voice as he made the comparison that Svalinn could never bring herself to refuse him his wish.
The women diligently cleansed her hair with a special soap from Alfheim that had a unique way of leaving her hair soft, followed up with a fragrant oil that left it smooth. Svalinn was particularly fond of this scent as it reminded her of flowers in springtime, her favorite season. She wondered sadly if Asgard had seasons at all.
When they had finished bathing her, Svalinn stood up and they wrapped a towel around her to spare her modesty. She made her way over to the bench which faced a long, ornate mirror on the wall and watched herself as the women bustled about, Petra tasking herself with applying lotion to her skin, Birgit combing through the length of her hair, and Mathilde going into the bedchamber to fetch the underthings for her gown. Svalinn only vaguely noticed their beautification of her as she took in her own appearance in the mirror, startled by the change wrought in her from the last time she had bothered to look.
Not being as vain as her mother, Svalinn rarely paid attention to her reflection in mirrors. She trusted her maids to create the beauty as required by court, but did not care what that transformation might entail. Now, as she gazed at herself in the glass, she tried to take in her appearance through the eyes of a stranger; through the eyes of her waiting betrothed. Womanhood was still new on Svalinn, having been rather a late bloomer and not having her first bleeding until her fifteenth year. She was taller than most girls her age and her curves, though present, were not as pronounced as many of the more voluptuous women she had seen in tight-fitting gowns. Gerðr often scolded Svalinn's hips, claiming that they were ill-suited for bearing children. This had distressed Svalinn to the point where Petra had taken her hand one night and linked their fingers together. "Don't worry yourself with what your mother says, Princess. The King still chose to marry you, full-figured or not. He must not care about the size of your hips."
Petra's words had helped to comfort her, but not done much to alleviate the burgeoning sense of self-doubt that had arisen in the two years since her betrothal. Gerðr made it quite clear that if she did not bear at least one son, she would be shamed and sent back to Alfheim where she would live her life as a spinster, "and do you really want that to happen, daughter?" Gerðr had instructed Svalinn's maids to keep track of her monthly bleedings to make sure everything was normal, and they had confessed this to Svalinn with embarrassment so extreme that she had shushed them with comforting words to sooth their anxieties.
"It's alright. Do as you must to please my mother, even if it means bringing her my soiled sheets."
Petra motioned for Svalinn to stand up and she complied, removing the towel so that the lotion might be applied all over her body, and took the opportunity to scrutinize her frame as a man might. Her breasts were not small, but neither were they particularly large, and her shape was not the voluptuous hour glass shape that her mother possessed. Svalinn's waist was not as tiny as she'd have hoped, and her hips were only just wide enough to give a proportioned appearance but, without the minute waist to accentuate them, were unimpressive. Her skin was so pale it might have been translucent and the blonde hair framing her form was so blonde as to be nearly white, with only the faintest hint of gold when the sunlight struck it. The only feature that Svalinn felt any true pride in was her eye color: the pale violet her father said she had also inherited from her aunt Freyja.
Would a man find her desirable when she stood naked before him as she did now in front of this mirror? Could her new husband find himself wanting of her, or would she be but another task he must complete solely for the good of his kingdom? Svalinn had been kept sequestered from the company of most men her entire life and could only gather what little knowledge she had of them from the whispering of her various ladies-in-waiting. She knew the mechanics of intercourse and had a grasp of some of the basic acts involved, but mostly she knew that whatever happened behind closed doors between a man and a woman often reduced her ladies to heaps of blushes and giggles. There is not much information to be gleamed from silliness, Svalinn had always thought sadly to herself when they did this. She wondered how she could please a husband when no one ever told her the specifics of how she was to do so.
"I can't get over how tall you have become!" Mathilde exclaimed when she'd returned with the chemise she was to wear underneath her gown. "You might be able to kiss your husband without him having to bend over very far to reach you," she added rather wickedly, and Svalinn managed to give her a small smile in response. In truth, she was fighting the urge to vomit.
They led her out of the bathroom and into the bedchamber once more, where they then pulled the chemise over her head and removed the lavender gown from its hanger. They gently tugged the fabric over her arms and head until she was standing before them in a dress far more luxurious than any she was used to. All three of her ladies exclaimed in bliss, with Petra even clapping her hands together in pleasure. Svalinn turned to face the golden-framed mirror that hung against the wall opposite the bed and allowed her eyes to soak in the foreignness of her appearance.
Back in Alfheim she had only ever worn simple dresses that were built more for comfort than for elegance. Only on occasion did an event happen that required her to don a gown more suitable for her status, yet even those could not hold a candle to the garment she now wore. The material was of the softest, finest satin and it clung to her torso but fell loosely around her hips where the hemline finally ended perfectly at the floor, just above her feet. The satin was almost the exact same shade of lavender as her eyes, and the stitching along the seams was comprised of shimmery, golden thread. Svalinn's eyes locked on the neckline, which was far lower than any she was accustomed to wearing and revealed a fair amount of cleavage; perhaps most startling was the realization that she had any worth showing. The Asgardian delegates had arrived in Alfheim two weeks prior to their journey and taken thorough measurements, and this dress marked the skill with which the finery in this realm was crafted.
"Oh, Svalinn," Petra sighed as the women converged on her again to arrange the dress so that it settled just right on her frame. "You truly do look a Princess now."
"Should she wear her jewels?" Birgit asked the others, pulling a velvet box out of one of the few containers she had been allowed to bring with her.
"No." Mathilde's voice was firm as her eyes ran up and down Svalinn, who stood rather awkwardly in a dress that, for all of its softness against her skin, was far more form-fitting than anything else she had ever worn. "There will be time for jewels when she is Queen. Let the world see her with nothing but her own beauty as adornment."
Exceedingly grateful to Mathilde, Svalinn slid her feet into the gold flats that had been sent up with the gown as the women fussed with her hair, which had since air-dried and now fell loosely around her shoulders. They wondered for a few minutes whether or not they should do an elegant up-do but Mathilde stomped on that idea, too. "Let the King see Svalinn as she is."
They then exited her bedchamber and began the descent to the royal dining hall. Familiarity with the maids was left behind in the safety of her temporary rooms, and per her station she walked ahead of them by a few good feet down the marble stairs and found two guards waiting at the landing for her. "This way, Princess," one of them said as they turned and led the way through the various hallways. Svalinn focused on her breathing to try and still the wings that had sprouted within her belly, glancing back occasionally at the three women who smiled at her with encouragement whenever she did so. Mathilde winked at her, which bolstered Svalinn's courage and she faced forwards again, head held slightly higher as she followed the guards into the dining hall.
The room was mind bogglingly huge, with three long tables all facing a smaller one on a raised dais at the end of the cavernous room. Already seated at the elevated table were two unfamiliar figures, though Svalinn knew exactly who they were. Her maids and the guards had bowed themselves away at the door and left, leaving her to approach the table alone and struggling to maintain composure as two sets of eyes watched her as she came nearer. Once she reached the few steps leading up towards the table, she curtsied deeply and then clasped her hands together in front of her stomach, eyes downcast as she waited for permission to join. Svalinn burned with curiosity to finally gaze upon her betrothed, and felt a flush creep into her cheeks as she became aware that he was likely using the opportunity with her eyes averted to study her unguardedly.
"Come, join us, dear," the Queen finally said when the King had let the silence spiral. Grateful to her, Svalinn seated herself at the seat the Queen had motioned to and, unable to resist, glanced over at where the King sat.
Her initial, unexpected response was a flush of pleasure: the whispering maids and her beloved servants had all been right in saying that he was a handsome man. His long, black hair fell past his shoulders and framed an angular face, with a shapely jaw and startlingly blue eyes that she found herself lost in as she gazed into them. Svalinn's second response was a combination of unease and fear at the expression that took on his face as studied her features with undisguised greed, and something horribly like scorn.
"Welcome to Asgard, Svalinn," the Queen said amiably as she offered her a silver tray filled with delicate, fruit-filled pastries. "I trust you had a pleasant night's sleep?"
"Oh yes, thank you very much, Your Majesty," Svalinn replied automatically as she accepted one of the flaky buns. She heard a scoff from the King and turned her eyes towards him, surprised to find him grinning maliciously at her.
"She lies, Mother. Do you not see those dark circles under her elven eyes? Perhaps my new bride does not enjoy her new home."
Svalinn flushed and the Queen said nothing, but she noticed her give the King a chastising look before taking a pastry for herself.
"Asgard is beautiful, Your Majesty," Svalinn protested weakly. "I confess that I am homesick, but nothing more."
"Homesick for your beloved Alfheim that is so full of frolicking in fields; however will you come to adjust to life amongst such barbarians as us Asgardians, I wonder?"
"Loki," the Queen chastised as Svalinn's face burned red with humiliation. Her hopes for a kind, considerate husband were quickly draining away and she felt increasingly isolated when her betrothed did not apologize for the cruel jest. In fact the King said nothing further as he busied himself with his plate of sausage links and eggs, but Svalinn could only take tiny bites of the pastry in her hand, her appetite replaced by nausea. Occasionally she would gather enough nerve to half-glance at the King but he was ignoring her as effortlessly as one might a piece of furniture.
What have I done to offend him so? Svalinn wondered with a sinking feeling as the silence was broken only by the sounds of chewing and clinking china. Is he repulsed by me? She was surprised by how much that thought saddened her. Finally the Queen broke the silence once more, her voice carefully light.
"Tell me, Svalinn, how fare your parents? I have not seen them since your arrival last night."
Freyr and Gerðr had indeed arrived with her the night before, but had immediately left her once she had been shown to her own rooms had not been seen by her since. No doubt they were too busy gloating in the union of the two realms to care much about how their daughter was adjusting without them in this strange new place. "They are very well, thank you."
"Have you tried on your wedding gown yet?"
An iron fist hit Svalinn in the gut at the Queen's words, and she stared fixedly down at the pastry in her hands. "I'm afraid I have not," she said carefully. "I'm sure it is beautiful, though. This dress is lovely, I am exceedingly grateful for all of the new clothing you have supplied me."
"Such a liar," Loki interrupted, smiling icily at Svalinn. "Can't you see how unhappy she is here, Mother? Perhaps we should send her back to her own realm so she might find some farmer who would have her."
"Loki," the Queen hissed as Svalinn set down the pastry and clenched her hands in her lap, fighting back tears and only just managing to keep her expression placid. "This girl is going to be your bride, have you nothing kind to say to her?"
"And what would you have me say to her, Mother? That she is welcome here? That she is beautiful and we shall be as happy together as you and Father were? I'd not fill hear head with such falsities as that."
A tear slid down Svalinn's cheek but by sheer force of will she kept herself from weeping. Within her a wall of defense went up and she imagined herself back home in her favorite field just outside the castle where she lived, lying down amongst the yellow sunflowers that hid her from view and smelled so welcomingly of springtime. She willed herself to believe she was there, hidden from sight and anywhere other than where she truly was.
"Loki!" The Queen exclaimed, appalled, and Svalinn heard the sound of his chair scraping the ground as he leapt to his feet.
"I have business to attend to," he said with a severe indifference. He dipped his head towards the Queen and then turned to face Svalinn, who found herself unable to resist meeting his stare. "I will see you at our wedding tonight, Princess of Alfheim. Please do see to it that you shave your legs beforehand as I cannot stomach fucking a hairy woman." He then turned and stormed out of the hall.
When he'd left the Queen rose and moved to kneel next to Svalinn, whose eyes remained fastened on the folded hands in her lap. She could not bring herself to move even an inch because if she did the desire to cry would overpower her dignity and she could not do that, especially not in front of the Queen. A few tears landed on her hands as the Queen gripped them in one hand and tilted Svalinn's face up with the other so that she had no choice but to meet her gaze. "I am so sorry for how my son has treated you, Svalinn. He had as little choice in the matter of this marriage as you did and he does not like having no control."
"But he's the King," she whispered, what little of her voice that was distinguishable wavering with emotion. "He can do as he pleases, so why marry me if he hates me so?"
"He doesn't hate you," the Queen explained gently. "Since my husband died and Thor was killed in battle, the realm has been in a state of panic and despair. Loki's personality has not endeared him to the public and they are certainly not thrilled that he is now their King. The only way to keep peace is to marry one of the Valmir from another realm as a symbol of unity, and you were the most suitable candidate. Even Kings have no choice in matters such as this when it comes to the security of their kingdom."
The Queens words rang with truth and managed to quiet Svalinn in a way that mere words of comfort could not have, and soon the tears had dried up in her eyes. She lifted her chin and managed a smile for the Queen, who returned it in earnest and squeezed her hand. "Come, daughter. Let's get you ready for your wedding."
