Author's note: Blah, I've been feeling under the weather since this morning. Writing and posting has been a good way to keep my mind off of it but I think I might just pass out, one of these moments. So, as I rub my tired eyes and wonder why I put on eyeliner today, I just wanted to say that I've had a lot of fun writing this but not nearly enough fun beta'ing this.
My sister helps correct the spelling/grammar-mistakes but she loathes this story with all her might because, apparently, all I can write is crap. So I shan't ask her to beta for me any longer!
... D: In short, this story is going to start looking really, really bad towards the end. My apologies in advance; I promise that I'll fix everything after I'm finished with this. :)
Anyways—thanks to all that are following this! We're getting to the end, you guys, and I think I'm about to slump into writer's block after it does!
"Dispute not with her: she is lunatic." ― William Shakespeare.
Recap: Once [the handmaidens] were gone, Loki glared at Thor. "This isn't the time or the place for your usual tactics, Thor…!" The raven-haired male seethed.
Thor raised a brow as he smirked at Loki. Crossing his arms, he said: "And what are my so-called 'usual tactics', dearest brother?"—
"Charming maidens and keeping up trouble, of course." Freya quipped as she graced the room with her radiant-beauty. As she walked towards them with an air of elegance that was only matched by few; her pristine silvery-white frock trailed behind her. It, the train of the gown, was so long that a few maidens had to carry the excess fabric rolled up in their arms.
Her long, iridescent tresses shifted and swayed with each step she took and the brilliant circlet that rested upon said curls caught the light that was pouring through the high-windows and made Freya look as though she was glowing.
The diadem that adorned her head matched her beloved Brísingamen in color but the amulet still surpassed it in greatness. Her thick spiraling locks were as soft and as shiny as a slip of the finest silk and as deeply colored as an inferno, bound up in a fancy chignon.
Usually, Freya had left her hair down; letting her mane flow as it may down her back. It was so long that it cascaded well beyond the prominent curve of her lower-back and down even further, until it was nearly brushing the floor.
She looked stunning as she caressed Brísingamen with one exquisite hand and greeted the bickering pair with the other. A slight smile graced her beautiful lips as she came to stand beside the youthful gods.
Thor looked flustered but genuinely happy to see Freya. He completely forgot about his and Loki's little exchange of the moment previous. Bowing courteously, he spoke: "My lady… I apologize on my and Loki's behalf for appearing on such short notice—" Freya waved him off. Thor cleared his throat. "—but, seeing as the circumstances are dire; we had no other choice but to seek your aid."
She raised an eyebrow.
Loki quickly went to take charge of the discussion. "Do keep this matter discreet, Freya. It would be in our best interest that no one would become aware of this situation until Thor and I are certain that something is truly awry."
Freya started: "Has Heimdall—"
Loki interrupted her with a shake of his head. Instantly, the goddess looked worried. But even then she was still a stunning creature. "What is it? Surely, it must be a matter of great importance if it has made you come seek me out with such concern." Freya's hand tightened on her amulet.
Thor laid a comforting hand on her shoulder as he frowned deeply. "Mjöllnir has vanished."
For a moment, Freya wore the same expression Loki had when he heard of the news. But she was wise enough not to ask if Thor hadn't just misplaced it. She had been around the block enough times to know how the fair-haired god would react if you accused him of being forgetful. Even though, Thor could be scatterbrained at times.
"What would you have me do then if I can speak of this matter with no one?" She asked with an eyebrow raised.
Thor seemed to have been stumped by her words.
Loki shook his head, marveling at just how empty the space between his step-brother's ears was. The god of mischief folded his arms; trying to look more casual than he did exasperated. "Let us borrow your feather cape and I shall go about enquiring of Mjöllnir." Loki explained.
Freya smiled a smile of mischief all her own. "If I am not to speak of the matter to anyone then why do you intend to? Would that not defeat the purpose of keeping this state of affairs surreptitious?"
Thor laughed, his appearance of solemnity drifting away with the changing wind.
Loki glared openly at the goddess, "Do you take me for a fool, Freya!?" When she smirked even wider at him, the raven-haired man boiled. "Well I am not a jester so you would do best not waste your laughter on me!"
Thor clapped Loki on the back. "But, you are the god of mischief, are you not? Japes, bedlam, and tomfoolery are what you live for, dear brother."
The raven-haired man spun on his heel as he made to smack Thor silly. "Do not assist her in her mockery!" He shouted.
Thor caught his step-brother's wrist easily and spun him back around. Pinning Loki to his chest and then trapping the god in the cage of his great arms, Thor's countenance was somber, once more. "Jests aside, Freya; would you be so kind as to lend Loki your cloak? I insist that he will return it."
Freya sighed before she took on an air of seriousness. Waving a handmaiden over, the goddess tasked the damsel to retrieve her Falcon cape. When the young maiden had fled into Freya's chambers, the goddess looked to Thor with a twinkle in her eyes. "Dearest, Thor… I would bestow my cloak onto you; if gold it were and I would trust it to you, even if were silver." When the handmaiden returned with the cloak draped over her arms, Freya took it from her and gestured for her to go. Looking over to Loki, Freya frowned a little. "Conversely, I would not trust Loki with the air I breathe…"
The god of mischief hissed at her. "Just give me the damned cloak!" Thor looked affronted for the goddess but he did not speak as it wasn't his place to punish Loki for his ill-manners…
Who was he trying to fool with his untruthful gallantry? Thor squeezed Loki's captured wrist until it felt as though the bones were about to snap!
Freya motioned for Thor to release Loki before she handed her prized cloak to the raven-haired god.
Loki huffed, throwing the cloak onto his shoulders and taking off out the window. As he flew, the many feathers let out a long serious of whistles. It was a pretty little sound; made sweeter by the bell-like whispers of the damsels.
Thor felt relaxed as he listened to the sounds echo throughout the chamber.
All the handmaidens gathered under the window, their eyes blown wide with awe as they watched Loki set out. "Where does he depart to, my lady?" One of them asked curiously.
Freya sighed, "To Jötunheim… Loki, I am afraid, was always of the predictable sort." She turned to Thor and placed a delicate hand on his shoulder. "Let us hope, for your sake, that he isn't as predictable to the Jötnar."
The whistling of Freya's cloak annoyed Loki to no end. The shrill sound rushed into his ears with the swiftest of winds and echoed through his skull until his head was pounding with the beginnings of an atrocious migraine. As soon as his feet touched to the grounds of Jötunheim, the god of mischief eagerly yanked the mantle off his shoulders. "I ought to curse this before I give it back..." As Loki scanned his mind for the best kind of hex, he did not notice that he was being watched.
High upon the rolling tumuli that went on almost out of sight, sat the Jötunn Þrymr. He was plaiting golden collars for his finest bitches and grooming his horses when he spotted Loki quarrelling with the bundle of feathers in his arms.
From the distance, it looked as though he was arguing with a great chicken. Þrymr; thinking that was the funniest thing he had ever seen, laughed aloud before calling out to the seething god of mischief. "Why is it that you are alone in Jötunheim, Loki? Is there something amiss among the Æsir and the Elves?" His tone-of-voice went from humored to slightly fretful.
Loki glanced up at the Jötunn and quickly stuffed Freya's cloak into his trousers. He would never do anything as undignified as that—but, at the moment, he was very desperate. "Oh, I hadn't noticed you there, Þrymr." Straightening his back, the god of mischief slicked his hair back with a free hand. "Nothing is amiss with the elves and the Æsir… but, I fear there will be an abundant amount of suffering to go around, soon enough."
Þrymr raised a questioning brow. Loki quickly went on to supply the Jötunn with more information. "Mjöllnir, my brother's most prized possession, has vanished seemingly into thin air."
The tension bled from Þrymr's posture as the Jötunn listened to Loki. "Ah, you needn't worry, too much. I can assure you that Mjöllnir has not fallen into the hands of an enemy." It was Loki's turn to look questioning. Þrymr smiled haughtily. "I have Thor's hammer—and before you think you can charm it away from me, I will let you know that you cannot have it. It has been secreted away, eight leagues beneath the earth." His grin grew wider when Loki's jaw tensed. "Do not fret, Loki. I shall have my people retrieve it at Thor's behest—on the condition that Freya is given onto me as a consort."
Loki gave Þrymr an expression that read as, "Bitch, you must be crazy!"
But, the god of mischief would never speak in ways as unrefined as that because he wasn't a boorish serving-girl with a penchant for blathering on and on like an old woman that did not know when to inject her two-cents into the story –
"Loki! If you will not tell the tale truthfully then I shall do it." Thor boomed, reaching over Tony's head and tugging Loki's overgrown obsidian-colored locks warningly.
The god of mischief hissed before trying to swipe his step-brother's hand away. "And, how would you go about doing so; if you were not there, in Jötunheim, Thor?" Loki turned his head and tried to bite Thor's hand. The blonde's grasp on his hair tightened and then Thor yanked! Not hard enough to pull it out, but hard enough to get his point across. Loki shrieked in pain—
Loki schooled his expression before shaking his head. "Þrymr, I do believe you are as devious as you are daring." With that, he turned his back to the Jötunn and pulled Freya's cloak from his trousers. It looked wrinkled; the feathers were all bent out of shape. Loki smirked, thinking that; "yes, this would be the condition in which he returned it to that smug …"
Flinging the mantle onto his shoulders, Loki took off. As he flew back to the court of the gods, the feathers tune was more agonizing than before. The wind whistling through the quills was broken and wretched. The god of mischief's head pounded and his ears very well bled at the noise.
When Loki returned, he found Thor waiting for him. The god of thunder was fidgeting whilst he sat on a sturdy marble bench. He looked the definition of gloomy. Loki felt inclined to comfort his step-brother but decided against it. The meekest shows of affection would lead Thor to think that Loki actually liked him. And he couldn't have that; Thor would never leave him in peace if the fair-haired god assumed that Loki actually wanted to be around him.
Clearing his throat to bring Thor's contemplations to a halt, Loki spoke with a graceful flare of his hand. "I have returned, dearest brother."
Thor's head snapped up and as soon as he spotted Loki, the god sprang up from his chair. His cerulean eyes were wide; reflecting his emotions as though they were a looking glass. "What has happened, Loki? Have you located Mjöllnir?" Thor sounded frantic as he made his inquiries.
Loki, putting his own thoughts in order, made to land—but, was interrupted by Thor. "Tell me now, Brother; while the news is still fresh in your memory. Tales often escape a man who sits; and a man reclining often voices naught but dishonesties."
Loki rolled his eyes, prepared to challenge Thor's alleged wisdom when he caught the look of pleading in the god of thunder's eyes. He sighed. "Though, it was quite an effort—I was going half-mad listening to this blasted cloak." He shrugged his shoulders and the feathers whistled brokenly. Thor flinched at the sound, covering his ears as he did so. Loki continued, "I am pleased to inform you that it my travel was a success, for I have uncovered Mjöllnir's whereabouts."
"Where? Where is it, Loki!?" Thor asked, approaching the slighter god with long strides. Outreaching his hand, the god of thunder caught Loki by his frail wrist and yanked him down until he was standing upon the ground once more. "Who has dared to take my greatest possession? No matter how great the foe; I shall kill them!"
Loki grimaced as he swatted Thor's hand away and straightened his clothes out. Once he looked presentable, he revealed to Thor the taker of Mjöllnir. "Þrymr holds it. And he says that the only circumstance for which it will be retrieved is if Freya is taken to him as his wife."
Thor looked grave. "Then, we should inform her of this development with haste."
Freya was all divine fury when they returned to her. "What is this you say!?" She shouted; irate and offended as she held her damaged cloak in her arms. "You put my feather cloak in your trousers? I should have you hanged and stricken by all the gods in the court, Loki!"
The god of mischief did not even flinch at her words. Thor, however, looked as though he was ready to tremble. "My lady…" He started meekly. "Though it is a great tragedy that an ill fate has befallen your cloak… we have more pressing matters to attend to."
Freya calmed for the moment as she observed Thor guardedly. "And what would such matters be? Have you found Mjöllnir?" Her eyes were piercing; like a spear. This time the god of mischief found it within himself to be worried.
Stepping behind Thor, in case Freya was to react in the way he assumed, Loki waited for what was to come.
"Yes, Loki has located Mjöllnir… in Jötunheim… with Þrymr… to ensure the safe return of it; Þrymr requests you as his bride." Thor informed stiffly. "Please, do outfit yourself in the proper bridal headdress and we will deliver you to him, in Jötunheim."
For a moment, all was silent in the chamber and Loki dared to step out from the cover of Thor's great form. He halted his movement as he caught the enraged look upon Freya's face. She looked almost unrecognizable as her features twisted and roiled with unrestrained wrath.
Before Loki could manage another blink, Freya soared into a great rage. It was so great that even the halls of Æsir quavered. Thor stumbled backwards and almost knocked Loki over as the two of them reacted to the ground quaking under their feet.
The chain that held Brísingamen around her neck snapped as though it were made of the bone of a chicken. The brilliant necklace fell to the floor; where it clattered deafeningly loud.
Getting something of a hold on herself at hearing Brísingamen land on the ground, Freya seethed a little bit more quietly. The hall settled as she smoothed her hands out over the softness of her frock. Taking in a few deep breaths, she regarded both Thor and Loki with burning eyes. "You and Loki come and go at the beck-and-call of your lovers, do you not?" They both nodded carefully. "Nevertheless, can you not understand how shameless I shall appear, if I journeyed with you lot to Jötunheim at the command of a lustful giant?"
Thor nodded plainly. Though, he wanted to challenge Freya's objection; the god of thunder knew it better not to engage in a bout of any sort with the goddess. "I understand your reasoning but what shall I do to retrieve Mjöllnir, if you shan't go?"
Loki massaged his throbbing forehead. "I may have an idea…"
As serious as the issue had become; no longer could they keep the matter of Mjöllnir's absence concealed. Loki, Thor, and Freya, along with all the other gods converged into the grandest hall of them all and held a thing to deliberate and examine the matter at hand.
They bickered and argued amongst themselves for what a mortal would deem as a lifetime. Frigga was on the verge of a headache and was prepared to take her leave when Heimdall finally had enough and stood abruptly from his chair.
It screeched as the heavy stone slid across unyielding granite. Everyone flinched. Everyone except Heimdall.
"I have a proposal!" He announced; his deep voice resounding throughout the hall momentarily before it escaped through the skylight built expertly into the high, domed-ceiling. All the gods grew quiet as they waited to hear his scheme. Heimdall's great horned helmet shone in the light of the setting-sun as the man leaned over the table and pointed accusingly at Thor. "You—you shall go in the place of Freya, Thor!"
Everyone gasped taken completely aback!
"Since, it is your hammer that is within the clutches of the Jötnar; you should present your own self to Þrymr as a bride!"
Thor threw his arms up angrily. How dare Heimdall make such demands of him!? "To Hel with you Heimdall and your accursed plots!" The fair-haired god flared with rage as the other balked and scolded him for his intense reaction. "Do not tell me how to conduct myself—I shall act in response to your demands with indignation and outrage, if I wish to!"
Loki sat back and watched the two exchange heated words with a wide smirk. This certainly made up for the day of trickster-antics that he missed out on. When the argument slowly escalated to the point of physical violence, Loki was nudged by Sif—Thor's stunning consort, the goddess of War—who was sitting beside him and told to break up the fight.
Rolling his eyes, the god of mischief stood and laid a hand on Thor's shoulder. "Brother, calm your storm. You are not a savage; but a god—are you not?" The god of thunder nodded, the hate in his eyes roiling like a violent tempest. Loki squeezed his arm soothingly. "Then do behave as such." Thor sighed before returning to his seat.
Freya shot him pointed stares and Thor knew her earlier wrath to be just.
Being asked to slaughter a village was easy. Being ordered to give yourself up to a Jötunn was anything but.
Thor gave her an apologetic frown and Freya settled in her seat.
Loki sat back down and grabbed Thor's hands in his own, smaller ones. Loki knew Thor would try to hit him and so he held on as tightly to Thor's hands as he could. The god of thunder stared at their entwined fingers and then back up at Loki. "Brother, please refrain from your peculiar shows of affection in front of Sif…" He hissed.
Loki waved him off, "Silence, Thor!" before returning to the original subject. "Brother as unorthodox as Heimdall's plot is, I do believe that he is onto something."
Thor went white with anger; his hands shoot out of Loki's grasp and the god of mischief only had a fraction of a second to duck the punch Thor directed at his face. "Calm yourself, Thor!" Loki hollered when the fair-haired divinity caught him by his overlong hair.
"Thor! ENOUGH!" Odin called from the head of the massive table. His reprimanding tones ricocheted up the length of the tabletop and rung Thor's ears a moment before he started to choke Loki. "If you are to murder your brother; you shall do it sometime else." Father did not say this…? Oh, yes, he did… I do not recall… Of course you don't. You were in too much of a rage to hear him, dearest brother.
After Loki straightened himself out, the god of mischief tried once again to convince Thor. "Brother, do not fret so. You shall not be sent to Jötunheim on your own. I shall escort you." His words seemed to have the opposite effect. Thor seethed. Loki scoffed: "If it strokes your mighty ego, Thor; I mean to be garbed as a pretty handmaiden. You will get to command me around throughout the duration of our visit."
The fair-haired god settled only then. "You will? … I can?" When Loki nodded, a bright smile graced Thor's features, making him look younger than usual. It was a welcoming sight; like the sun peeking out between dark, roaring storm clouds. "What shall you wear, exactly?" Thor asked curiously.
Loki bristled, "Do not worry your pretty little head about me, Thor. You are the blushing bride, remember?"
Thor wore a foreboding look of dismay as well as he wore the effects of a bride. Frighteningly well. He was outfitted in a fine, graceful gown that covered his masculine form the best it could; decorated in a many jewels and his flaxen hair was combed out and then adorned with a bridal headdress.
Due to his raging, Thor's beard had been left untouched and so they draped a veil over his face to keep it from being seen. As Thor stood before the mirror, the god of thunder wondered how thoughtless his fellow gods must have believed the Jötnar to be. He looked as much a woman as Loki did a goat. "I will never get Mjöllnir back…" Thor said morosely.
One of the damsels spraying him with sweet fragrances swatted at his hand as Thor went to fuss with his headdress. "My prince, you aren't to bother that." She scolded gently.
Thor sighed wholly irritated. After the maidens were finished, Thor sent them off and grimaced as his wrists jingled and jangled with jewelry. As soon as they took their leave, Thor turned away from the mirror and sauntered over to a bench, where he sat and took off his shoes. They were a size too small and completely wrong for his feet. They were shoes for a maiden, of course they were uncomfortable.
Rubbing his aching toes, Thor heard someone enter the room. "What is it now?" He groaned as he looked up and found himself staring at a rather lovely maid he hadn't seen before.
Her skin was as white as snow and looked iridescent against her long flowing hair, which as black as the night sky and wreathed with a jeweled veil. Her lips were red as blood and quirked up in the corners. "Do my eyes deceive me or does our lovely bride have cold feet?" She alleged mockingly as she advanced on Thor like a predator would have closed in on an unsuspecting quarry. Her deep emerald frock clung to her long, lanky-form and shifted with every step she took.
Thor watched her warily. This maiden stirred such strong feelings in his chest but not those of longing or admiration… for some reason; Thor wanted to punch her in the face. Once she was standing within arm's reach, Thor could see derisive mirth sparklingly in her bright green eyes. Ah, and now he knew why he wanted to cuff her…
Thor exhaled as he angrily scrubbed his face. "Loki, I am in no mood for your jests." He complained as his step-brother laughed and took a spot on the bench beside him.
Loki wrapped his arms around Thor like a long, pretty vine and the god of thunder let his shoulders sag.
The raven-haired god smiled into the folds of Thor's sleeve as he basked in the greater male's misery. Loki usually had to do something to Thor to prompt such a sullen mood from him but it seemed as though Heimdall and the other gods were keen to torture Thor on their own.
Suddenly, his smirk slipped away when he realized that after this was all said and done, Thor would rage at the others instead of him. In short; Loki would receive none of the glory for this wondrous kick in the teeth to Thor's masculinity!
The god of mischief sagged, suddenly losing all his steam. What was the point of being a part of this scheme, if he didn't get to rub Thor's face in it later? It made for a fantastic tale in the future; so, it was not all for naught! Andfor Valhalla's sake, Loki was wearing a dress, too! Loki leaned more heavily on Thor. "We are to depart as soon as you are ready…"
The god of thunder sighed before standing and bringing Loki to his feet along with him. "If we are to go through with this, Brother, we will do this with style!—"
It was Thor's turn to look disrespected at being interrupted. Looking to Bruce, who was smiling innocently around the neck of his Coca-Cola bottle, the god of thunder huffed: "Would you like to tell the story, Bruce of Banner?"
The scientist shook his head in polite refusal. "Nah, Thor, you're good. I have a few questions, though, if you and Loki don't mind…"
The two gods look miffed but remained silent as they waited for Banner to speak. "Thor, if you're married to Sif; why are you dating Jane?"
For being one of Jane's closest friends, Max didn't seem all too hurt to discover this news. Instead, she seemed rather amused. "Whoa, you're married to the goddess of War and yet, you're bangin' my best friend—? That's crazy. Jane must be good in the sack, after all…"
