One thing was dreadfully unclear to Frigga: Loki would rather die than spend the remainder of his woefully long life in this tiny cell. Twenty paces one way, ten paces another. March to one side of the cell. Back to the other. Overturn the tables and chairs. Throw the books (all but one), dishevel the bed…Loki did everything he could to ensure his…maid would not be coming back.
He was sure that she would do her best to remain dutiful to her queen, but, since Loki could reasonably deduce that the servant was not being blackmailed into the position, how long would that sense of duty last? Loki wondered inwardly if Frigga would hold a servant to a position they were dreadfully unhappy with. Loki wondered if the servant girl would ever voice her unhappiness to the Queen in the first place.
Surely, the girl would have to report back to Frigga regularly. Regardless of whether or not the servant voiced her own feelings on the matter, Frigga would eventually pick up on the fact that Loki wanted nothing to do with her "help." This deduction could, of course, be decidedly inaccurate depending on how much information the servant decided to share with Frigga. However, he had no reason to believe that she would do anything to "protect" a convicted war criminal. Frigga would eventually be forced to confront him.
But, oh gods, what if Frigga decided to come down here herself to clean up after his messes? Loki shook his head and continued pacing. He was done making his mess for now.
Would Frigga be able to escape the watchful eyes of Odin? She was cunning, certainly, but the lengths that she would need to go to to do so…Loki doubted that that was an outcome he should dwell on for too long. So, with a sigh contented by his destructive work, Loki sat on the edge of his bed and hoped for death.
Hours later, Loki jerked awake, disappointed that he had slept through his maid's cleaning session. He was pleased, however, that he had experienced no nightmares; she couldn't hold them over his head as she had the night previous. Loki scowled, his chest filling with anger as memories flooded through his vision. Memories of his dreams mixed with the tormenting sound of that woman's voice.
I heard the kind of things you dream of.
Loki shook his head again, trying to physically dislodge the memory.
But, without her voice in his head, all that came back to him was the nightmares.
For days, Loki continued to trash his cells, and for days, the servant continued to dutifully come and clean. And, for days, he still had not received any scolding from Frigga.
Each time, he slept through the maid's arrival.
He had, at first, been disappointed that he could not stay awake long enough to confront her, to make her job more miserable than it already was. But, when he thought back to their first encounter, he began to fidget at the thought that someone knew the kind of things he dreamt, the names that he screamed out in the middle of the night. It disturbed him deeply that someone else had been given a mere glimpse of the pain that had led up to his actions on earth.
He was ashamed, mortified, humiliated, etc. Oh, he would never voice this thought out loud, and as soon as it entered his head, he dispelled the thought instantaneously.
Why should he feel that way?
Because he was a god.
No…perhaps not.
Maybe that was what he was so ashamed of. His personal façade of power had begun to crumble. His nightmares were evidence of his…his weakness. He had the consolation that it had only been a meaningless servant girl that had heard him. Although, that was not much consolation at all.
He wished that she would leave him and his cell in peace, that Frigga would give up on him, and that he would be allowed to die.
That was all he wanted.
Tonight, he would keep watch for the servant.
She came at what he assumed was the usual time, although he had no means of telling time. That was sure to drive one mad, and he made it a point to ask Frigga what time it was whenever she entered his cell.
"Hello again, darling," he whispered from the corner of his cell, in which he was leaning against the wall. The servant did not act surprised, she merely turned to face him.
"Greetings…" she seemed to struggle with a suitable name for him, so she settled with "Prince."
Loki did not speak to her again for some time. She surveyed the room, pieces of furniture scattered and broken, everything in complete chaos. She sighed and began her work.
The first night Loki had ruined the tidy interior of his cell, he had not broken much. The last few times, he had broken quite a bit. Legs off of chairs and tables, things like that. As he never stayed awake to watch the woman do her work, he had only assumed that she had somehow managed to surreptitiously replace his furnishings before the morning. It wouldn't have been impossible, seeing as how everything he had been given was terribly generic, and he didn't much care for any of it to look too closely.
Except, of course, for his book.
What foolish thoughts.
Loki looked on to the servant girl, with his mouth agape, as she deftly repaired the furniture with her…magic? Exactly who was this girl?
She turned to look at him as she bent over a broken chair, her fingers tingling with a bright glow. She smiled in a friendly way, almost teasing him.
Loki couldn't think of a better time to ask, so he did.
"Why do you keep coming back?"
The girl tilted her head in confusion. "Pardon? I am bound by loyalty to the Queen. It is her wish that I serve you."
Loki moved from the corner, crossing over debris to kneel in front of the girl. She looked away but did not move.
"No…" Now Loki tilted his head, emulating her, "I think, and I've given it quite a bit of thought, that you're lying to my mother about what happens here every night."
Her face colored, but she gave no response.
"Oh," Loki said with feigned excitement, "So I'm right?" He stood up, rubbing his eyes and forehead with irritation. "Why would you do that?"
He received no answer, she only kept up her work.
"Why?" He asked again with increased volume. He noted with a self-satisfied grin that he had finally made her jump.
Still, he received no answer.
"I could hurt you quite badly, you know." Loki stomped over to her again, looming over her crouched figure.
She managed to look up at him. "I don't think you will."
Loki chuckled, "And why is that?"
She stood up, drawing herself to full height, which was, admittedly, still much shorter than Loki. "Because," she swallowed, "I know you."
