Author's Note: Thank you so so so much to Pinky-Jin for reviewing! I hope anyone reading likes this chapter.
CHAPTER III
Negotiation
. . .
Loki exited his bedchambers, only to be greeted by a frantic Hermod. The mop-headed teen was barreling through the hallway so hurriedly that he nearly knocked into him, which would have ended very badly for the both of them, but decidedly worse for him. Luckily, the poor messenger skidded to a halt just in time to avoid a collision.
Wildly, he shook his fiery ringlets out of his face as he caught his breath. Loki, all the while, glared at him expectantly with one eyebrow cocked. A still-panting Hermod extended his arm and handed him a letter sealed with a wax image of Zeus' unmistakable crest: an eagle.
Loki tore the paper open almost violently and his pupils darted back and forth as they scanned the page. The air stilled in his lungs as he read the unfortunate news. When he looked up, he realized that the boy was watching him with great curiosity. Keeping his lips in a terse line, he did not allow his expression to betray any inkling of what sort of information the note might contain.
"You are dismissed," he spat. He peered down his nose at the boy as if being audacious enough to stay in his presence for too long were a punishable crime. He was king. He could make it so.
Needless to say, Hermod scampered away with the familiar gleam of fear in his eyes. Only then did Loki relax his posture and take the opportunity to properly contemplate Zeus' message. He was coming to Asgard; he was coming to Asgard tomorrow.
He was surprised when he felt the faint sensation of panic coiling deep in his abdomen; it was an inconvenient feeling that he hadn't experienced in a long while. He pinched the bridge of his nose in a candid moment of unconcealed agitation, only because he was confident that no one was around to witness it. How would he explain this? The letter had been exceedingly vague, even vaguer than the one it was sent in response to. It said only: I shall travel to Asgard tomorrow to make negotiations. Loki detested written correspondence because it made it infinitely more difficult to gauge the tone of the interaction. People's expressions, voices, and gestures were easier to read than the volumes that filled his library – people could be manipulated. Writing could not.
Loki resumed walking again, gaze fixed straight ahead as he attempted to shake off this unwelcome anxiety. The only course of action available to him now was reaction, which he found distressing. While he could of course be spontaneous, he was actually far less off-the-cuff than many believed him to be. His tricks were so intricate and flawlessly executed (this was, perhaps, debatable) that they often did seem impulsive, but, in reality, he was far more comfortable when his plans were premeditated. He considered himself to be something of a micromanager.
He stormed into the kitchen, sending the staff into an astonished whirl of chaos. This was a place he never ventured, but the drastic change in scenery allowed him a brief respite from his uneasiness. He was hit with a wall of hot air and the scent of food mingled with the stench of sweat upon entering the room. Sometimes it was difficult to remember that these people were the same as he was – no, he thought, they were 'superior,' or so he had always been taught. They were Aesir, and he was Jotun. His lip curled in disgust; it sickened him. At times like these, his confidence in his right to rule seemed wholly justifiable.
"S-sir, may we assist you in some way?" the portly head cook sputtered pathetically, struggling to match his pace.
"No," he sneered, grabbing to the two morsels closest to him. "I have everything I need."
He disappeared without another word, leaving, as he always did, utter discord in his wake. The sight and smell of paupers always disturbed him so, and he was glad to be rid of the offensive sight.
He did not realize that Thor observed him retreat back into his chambers.
. . .
Loki figured that, if the King of Olympus was to arrive tomorrow, he ought to ensure his bargaining chip had not yet died of starvation. He knew not precisely how long Olympians could survive without sustenance, but he speculated their physiology was more or less equivalent to the Asgardians'. This meant that there was no real risk of her wasting away just yet, but he was not certain in his calculations and so he decided to err on the conservative side. If, gods forbid, she was anything like the Midgardians, she would need to eat virtually every single day. How untoward.
In any case, he wrenched the trapdoor open roughly and was met with the sight of the pitiful girl's enormous, orb-like blue eyes staring up at him. If he'd had a heart, he might have been moved.
He carelessly threw her the drumstick and piece of fruit.
"Eat," he commanded. He took a seat and studied her from his perch above ground, his lean legs dangling over the ledge. Her appearance had changed very little in the past days, though she did look a bit dirtier.
He had expected her to launch herself at the food like a ravenous animal, but instead she stared at it mistrustfully.
"I assure you it's not poisoned," he sighed, his eyelids fluttering closed in agitation.
"You threw it on the floor," she remarked, glowering up at him. In that moment, she felt a ferocity that startled her; it was the strongest emotion she had ever felt.
His eyes flew open in apparent glee, as if this revelation amused him immensely. "That's what the trouble is?" He snickered, but beneath his mirth there dwelt a sort of thinly veiled rage. "It seems you really are a princess. Fine. Don't eat it, if it displeases you. It makes no difference to me if you choose to starve." On that note, he withdrew his legs and slammed the door shut, returning her to the darkness.
She hated Loki; in her thoughts, she would not permit him the title he so viciously esteemed. She hated him primarily because he instilled a visceral terror in her. Even she who knew nothing about the world recognized something in him, something that made him far more dangerous than anyone she had ever encountered. There seemed to be a hidden fury that warred against his express efforts to maintain a cool composure. It was a seething, volatile fury that simmered just beneath his skin. It could boil over at any moment.
It was tragic that, out of all the princesses in Olympus (and there were many), he had chosen to kidnap her. She was the meekest, the weakest, and the least savvy. There was no chance that she would escape this prison using either her wit or her might, because she possessed neither. She was useless, and she was not deluded enough to deny it; the cause was lost. She could do nothing but wait for her father, a man she hardly knew, to buy her back, like a stolen trinket – and not even a very valuable one, at that. This 'king' seemed not to know how little she meant to Zeus. She was his daughter by blood, and nothing more.
Persephone stared at the ruined scraps with tears in her eyes. Nevertheless, she prayed that he would come for her soon, and it alarmed her that he hadn't already. It had been nearly a week since she'd left Olympus, since she'd tasted food on her tongue, and her heart and stomach ached in equal measure.
The grime from the floor had destroyed the meat, but the fruit was salvageable.
She picked it up and brushed it off with the fabric of her dress until its crimson skin shined dully in the trickle of candlelight. Before she took a bite, she looked down at her dusty garments; her toga was purple and the irony mocked her. She wore the universal color of royalty and yet here she stood, a captive eating off of the ground. How far she had fallen…
She sunk her teeth into the pomegranate and its red-tinged juice flowed down her chin. The seeds contained within the thick husk resembled bloody entrails.
. . .
Zeus arrived in Asgard on a bronze chariot. The God of Thunder, he reminded Loki of Thor, and so he had already decided that he disdained him.
Speaking of Thor, the oaf was taken entirely by surprise when he saw the bearded king galloping through the city gates. "Loki, what is the meaning –"
"It is nothing but a simple diplomatic conference," he interrupted curtly as they stood together on the palace balcony. His brother often tried to advise him, but he walked on eggshells. It was as if he thought any disagreement might goad him into completely destroying Asgard, and so he restrained himself from voicing his gripes. This irked and pleased Loki in equal parts.
He watched Zeus enter the building and soon went inside to greet him in the throne room, leaving Thor to his puerile thoughts.
He saw his Asgardian guards escort the other king to stand before him from his gilded platform. As the man grew nearer, Loki noticed that his appearance was an only slightly distorted mirror of Odin's – this made two counts against him, and he hadn't yet opened his mouth. He was ancient but sturdy, with a thick silver beard. He wore a toga under some sort of elaborate armor, no doubt for show rather than function.
"Welcome," Loki spoke disingenuously. Try as he might, he could not stop his preconceived prejudice from infiltrating his tone.
"Hello, Loki Odinson," Zeus replied. His voice was gravelly, like that of a man who'd spent his entire life shouting on the battlefield.
The corners of the Asgardian King's lips twitched. Yes, he surely despised him. He dismounted the throne and stepped nearer to he who would perhaps be his newest foe. He measured himself up to his full height, but still fell an inch or two short of the Olympian. Though this irritated him, it could work to his advantage – Loki was often grossly underestimated due to his comparatively slight build, which gave him the element of surprise.
"Walk with me, Zeus," he said, insulting him with gratuitous familiarity.
Unfazed, Zeus complied as Loki led them away from prying ears, down a deserted corridor.
"So, as you know, I have Persephone Zeusdottir," he began, either unaware or uncaring that they did not use the same nomenclature in Olympus.
"Yes," the elder replied pensively.
"And you have read the terms of my agreement…"
"Yes," he repeated.
"So, have you come to accept my conditions?"
Zeus' sun-strained blue eyes looked directly into Loki's for the first time since their meeting. Suddenly he erupted into a thunderous laughter, causing the dark-haired king to flinch in surprise.
"Son," he said, gripping his shoulder much as Thor might, "I have come only to marvel at the ambitious new king who seeks to intimidate his father's oldest and most loyal ally. The girl means little to me – I have so many children, I would hardly have time for anything else if I were to spend my time watching over them. No, I allow them to make their own mistakes. Do with her what you will." His features darkened abruptly, and he lowered his voice to a growl. "But make no mistake of it – I come here, out of deference for your dearly departed father, to warn you. You would do well not to make an enemy out of me, boy."
Loki balked at him, rampant anger spreading through his veins like a plague. He struggled visibly to control himself; his fists clenched and unclenched by his side, his knuckles going even whiter than their naturally pale shade. He chose his next words carefully. "You would have me slaughter your own flesh and blood over a few troops?" he said icily.
"You will not kill her," he stated with remarkable certainty.
Loki indulged him. "And why is that?"
"Because if you do, I will be forced to wage war on Asgard. I do not wish to because I have many friends here, friends who I have fought alongside. But I cannot have my own people abducted and murdered without consequence. I have ruled for centuries longer than you have, Loki. I met you as a child, though evidently you do not remember me – I have no wish to fight you. I am a far more experienced king – you think I do not recognize your desperation? The morale in Asgard is low, and you are in need of troops to secure your own people. I am no fool. Do with my daughter what you will, but, should you kill her, you will come to understand why my wrath is so notorious."
Again, Loki was both flummoxed and enraged. Zeus saved him the trouble of responding. "Now that I have made myself clear, I shall be leaving. I will forgive this misstep and will not reveal your scheme, but I urge you – for your own wellbeing – not to cross me again. Tales of your deceitfulness have reached Olympus, so do not think that I am ignorant of your character. I know your history, I know why your hero of a brother is not the one who sits on the throne. He who spurns the corruption of power is surely more worthy of it than you. You will be under close observation."
Zeus began to walk away, and Loki turned his back on him. He stared vacantly out the window that overlooked the glistening lake, fuming. Electric currents of potent rage jolted his every nerve-ending, and he could not stop himself from snarling, "The next time you see her face, her lovely little head will be on a spike. And I shall deliver it to you personally."
Zeus turned to look upon the tense silhouette of his broad shoulders. He seemed to know it was an empty threat. "You would do well to heed my words, Loki Odinson." And then he disappeared, presumably to return to Olympus.
"Laufeyson…" Loki murmured inaudibly under his breath. Laufeyson. Sometimes, he did not know if he was fatherless or if he had two fathers; either way, he had killed both who had claimed the title. To keep from howling in fury, he bit down on his tongue until he tasted coppery blood. When he finally spun around on his heel, he was at least relieved to see that he was alone in the hallway. To be honest, though, he would have gladly taken his lethal frustration out on the nearest passerby. He considered doing the next best thing – killing the princess. But, unlike Thor, he knew better than to act rashly in the heat of the moment.
In fact, he felt almost sorry for her that he own father valued her safety so little. It was certainly something he could empathize with, and indeed Zeus' visit had been a horrid reminder of his own paternal abandonment. The word 'Odinson' turned his heart to stone.
Regardless, he was now faced with the issue of what do to with her. If he truly wanted to, he supposed he could keep her as his prisoner indefinitely. He certainly had the constitution for it. Plus, there was always a chance that he might have use for her later on. So, for the time being, he decided she would stay in Asgard – after that discussion with Zeus, he sure as hell wasn't going to free her.
He ran into Thor on his way back into the throne room.
"Your meeting concluded rather quickly," the blonde prince observed suspiciously.
Zeus' comments about Thor echoed in his brain, and Loki was forced to break eye contact for fear of betraying his homicidal passion. Ever since Frigga's death, the urge to kill flared up every once in a while, like a chronic illness; the idea of murdering needlessly for fun or sport had never appealed to him until recently. However, he was proud to say he hadn't yet acted on it.
It went without saying that he was not in the mood to converse with his dimwitted brother. "Yes, it was a trifling matter. More of an introduction than anything else." However, just as he was going to leave, he remembered something that had been nagging him. "Did you know that y-" he quickly caught himself, "father was very close friends with Zeus?"
"Yes, he mentioned it several times," Thor replied. "He said they had fought many battles together. He respected him greatly."
Loki's face was impassive; he wasn't sure how he felt about not having known this.
"Why do you ask?"
"No reason," he said immediately. "It's just that Zeus offered his condolences as if he knew him very well."
"I expect he did."
He nodded without a word, before continuing on his way; he felt Thor's eyes on him as he went.
Author's Note: I'm putting a lot of effort into this, so it would be lovely to hear some thoughts! Don't be shy!
