So it goes with saying that only things I own with any connection to MARVEL I bought on Ebay or Etsy. MARVEL COMICS & MARVEL CINEMATIC UNIVERSE are their own creatures and I have nothing to do with either of them aside from the fact I enjoy reading or watching them, and am grateful for the ability to play in their world. I claim nothing, and I receive nothing for this, expect the pleasure of putting something out into the world.
This story is part of several prequels leading up to That Which Wanders is Unaware. The sequel to T.W.W.i.U will be updated every week, but the prequels will be updated is I get to them.
You can also find this story on ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN under the same title and pen name.
CHAPTER TWO
THIS YEAR ON MIDGARD
The Republic of Venice takes control of the island of Corfu.
ÓÐINSDAGR, MÖRSUGUR 22ND 1386 AD
WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 4TH 1386 AD
EVENING
HEALING HALLS
ASGARD
ARNORA
"Oh Arnora..." My only reaction as my feet fail to take the next step is the tense sort of smile over taking my lips. "...look at your dress."
I thought I had been doing a decent job of hiding the stress tear on my shoulder beneath my cowl, and by holding my arm against my waist to keep the side of the skirt from dragging over the cobblestone as I hurried to the healing halls for my lessons.
Its an unusual kind of feeling. I am both very relieved that Mýrún noticed the tear as that will save me the trouble of tracking her down to help me fix the problem by mending the seam. But I'm also embarrassed at the same time because if she noticed the flaw in my uniform then it is possible someone else saw it too.
Though that is more unlikely than true. Most would only spare a passing glance at the figure of a young woman hurrying through the streets to her destination, because if they were in the streets they were going somewhere as well. Mýrún though has a sharper eye for fashion then anyone I know, and she often examines mine rather thoroughly when I come in, because she knows who I serve under.
Her keen eye is also something I am more often grateful then not. I would much rather her notice my attire in a state of disrepair then a Noble or a Royal or worse still my Grand Aunt. It is a shameful thing indeed to not be at your best when you serve in the Royal Palace, and it is something I am forced to endure far more than I like.
It is for this reason I have gotten so good at hiding the tears until I can find a chance to repair it properly. Freya has many things about her that are counted as great, and her beauty in my opinion is the lesser one when her temper comes out.
"So what was it this time?" She finally asks after she ushers me into one of the halls unoccupied examination chambers, not even bothering to asking my permission before she rolls the capelet of my uniform up against my neck so she can evaluate the damage at the seams.
"They were quarreling again." I tell her, knowing she knows who I mean. Freya has a brother, and he has matured into the polar opposite of his sister. While she views the opulence of Asgard as a right she deserves, Frey believes that the luxuries they enjoy living on Asgard are less of a right, and more an extension of the ruling family's goodwill. This leads to frequent fights between them, and while Frey is the voice of reason and restraint, he can only do that when he is present. His presence also has limits, and when he leaves her temper often returns two fold. This leaves me in the position to receive it.
I do not blame him for it when it happens because half of it is my choice. I have served in her chambers longer then the most of the other girls, and if I do not take her abuse she will direct it at them. Its why most of the other girls never stay long, Freya has been known to do worse then a torn dress.
I have not even had a chance to examine the damage properly until now either, I was in such a hurry to not be late for my studies so I am curious how much mending it will need. Considering what it could have been it honestly is not that bad this time. The threads around the seam have been weakened from the strain, but have not torn completely free yet. It will barely take any effort for Mýrún to reverse the result of Freya's anger. In fact I can already see the threads stitching themselves back together under the glow of the mending enchantment.
She tried to teach me this skill once, but my stubborn refusal to learn it, or any other that did not involve healing finally made her realize it was less taxing on her patience to just do it for me. I did not refuse to learn because I wanted to annoy her, I simply made a decision a long time ago and refused to budge on the subject.
"Honestly, for siblings..." Her sentence and any future one by me are cut off by a sound we both know and understand well. The echo of an Einherjar's staff stamping against the floor means that someone important has come to our hall, and that is our signal to prepare ourselves to receive them. The conversation is forgotten until later as we both fall onto habit.
Everyone in the hall except for those with patients stop what they are doing, and move to the nearest wall standing patiently at attention as we wait to serve the new arrival. We may be held in higher regard than some, but a healer is still a servant, and we are expected to act accordingly. The only exceptions to this are the those tending to any injured already present. Asgardians are a hardy and proud race so few come to our halls without great need.
Even I, despite not having had time to change into my proper attire for the hall, join my sisters in this. I was not given a chance to change from my handmaidens robes into my healers robes and can not do so now until this business has been finished. Not that I would. Getting caught by a noble trying to sneak off to correct a mistake, is worse than making the mistake in the first place.
I can see the man who enters through the lattice work barricade before me. Though less then a glance tells me he is in fact more of a boy then a man, based on the observation that he doesn't look that much older than my own fifteen. At the very most I would put him somewhere as high as the range of seventeen just on physical development alone.
He is dressed in a fitted forest green tunic with intricate gold embroidery on the hem and sleeves, as well as the open V of his neck line which exposes the stiff collared gray shirt underneath it. He is also wearing brown leather leggings, with the ends of them tucked into his knee high black boots and greaves. Every piece of his attire has clearly been tailor made for him, and that suggests wealth but it is really the sigil that gleams as his golden vambrace passes through the light that stands out to me. Outside of the man himself only the royal family are allowed to wears the sigil of the All-Father and given this young mans age as well as his raven locks he must be none other than Odin's second born son.
The Prince, Loki, is in our hall and I am not dressed appropriately. Oh please, by the Norn's, do not see me.
"I have a fool in need of healing too proud to be seen in your hall ." He says as he comes to a stop in the middle of our line, the pair of Einharjar accompanying him following suit as he looks over us, much to my distress. "Who among you is a senior level apprentice, that is not otherwise occupied?"
The one who answers first is Tolla, a healer that has been here longer then both of us and was one of Mýrún's tutors when Eir was unavailable. She is also at the moment, a tiny bit of a saint in my eyes. I saw Mýrún began to consider answering his request and had kick her foot as a warning, being ever so glad she when she did not reply, for obvious reasons.
Not that I think Mýrún is any less qualified as a healer, or I find anything wrong with her wanting to take advantage of a chance to treat the friend of a Prince. I simply did not want her to draw his attention toward us while I was not dressed properly.
With a healer now at his disposal he wasted no more time in giving her his orders and leaving one of the Einharjar to escort her to her patient before he turned to leave. I finally let myself relax, thinking the moment was over. That was my mistake.
I did not abandon my bow, but as I released a tiny relieved breath I found myself taking it back in with earnest when I realized I was under the scrutinizing gaze of a pair of aqua green eyes.
I had drawn the Prince's attention after all, and at the worst possible time! Worse still, and I prayed I was only imagining this part, his lips seemed to bare a bit of a tiny offended frown as his brow pulled together in thought.
My need for prayer and concern vanish in the next second though, with his passage through the door and out of the hall. Whatever the Prince was thinking, and whoever he was looking at did not seem that terribly important to him. He simply shook his head a little and looked away, going off to whatever destination he had that did not involve us, and certainly did not involve me.
"Oh, by the All Mother, Arnora" Mýrún's voice almost sounds like it is laughing as I turn to face her at the sound, finding her doing a very poor job of hiding her grin behind her hand. "You are absolutely pink." My response does not stand to win any awards for originality, not that I planned for it to or cared much if it did, I simply needed to say it.
"Do not be ridiculous, no I am..." It also does not stand a chance to finish as I watch her hand reach out and rest hovering over one of the golden mirrored trays nearby, daring me to give her a reason to pick it up and prove me wrong. So I concede my defeat with a sigh. "I do not need to see it." And while she would have enjoyed showing me the evidence on my own skin, she is just as content with this victory if her laugh has anything to say about it.
But then again, mine says much the same thing. "Well now that 'that' is over..." I finally drive the laugh out of my words with one last steadying breath. "Will you help me get dressed and do my hair before anyone else in the Royal family shows up?"
I expected a simple yes, but instead I got a "Oh! I almost forgot..." As she reaches into and pulls a folded bundle of silk from the fold of her overcoat. "Somebody was here and left a present for you."
There is only one person I know that would do that and inspire that teasing singsong tone of hers. "Randulfr was here? My fiancee?" Her answer is a shrug, then a grin
"Well, unless you have more then one of those now..." Which grows into an even bigger one at my annoyed scowl. "Then yes, that one. He was going to wait for you at the gate but got called away. Now hurry up and open it." She all but shoves it into my hands with those words, but I still delay doing as she asks and instead give her a perplexed look, prompting her to ask
"What?..." Before she realizes what I'm silently accusing her of. "Oh, of course I did not open it, why would you even think that?" That expression of perplexed turns to something more bemused.
"Okay, fine. Because I have done it a few..." The cocking of my brow makes her revise it mid speech to "...'a lot' of times before, but I really did not this time, I swear, now let me see it."
Giving in with a giggle I finally do what what we both really want me to do, I open it. I cannot pretend I am not alight with anticipation. What woman would not be when receiving a token from her betrothed, especially given that its only been the first year of the traditional ten.
I make quick work of the knot on top, the fact that the fabric is apparently silk makes it all the easier to untie, like it was just waiting for me to start the process and was set on helping me finish it. Once the knot as loosened the rest of it all but opened itself, sliding to the sides and reclining casually over my hand, revealing the comb inside. But it is not just a comb as Mýrún is quick to point out.
"Oh Arnora, it is ivory..." Asgard is called the golden realm for a reason. The metal may be rare and precious on Midgard, but here it is as common as the sight of trees or river rocks is there. And here, what is not gold, is still golden. The most common colors, used in all things on Asgard, are in the shades of reds, oranges, and yellows.
To us, making something without gold is considered more unusual than not, and this is not just lacking that color, but its also lacking the perfection of our wares, this carved little accessory of bone was handmade by someone. This is a gift from another realm, most likely a mortal one.
"You are so lucky, I can not wait until I get a fiancee." I laugh at that suddenly despite myself, the sound interrupting her dreamy retreat. It earns me an offended look, one I scoff away.
"Oh please, between you and your mother, you have turned down how many suitors now?" This time it is her turn to throws a insincere scowl in my direction. "Because none of them were good enough for me. I am just waiting for the right one... and your turning pink again little love bird."
