A/N: I just want to say thank you again to all of you that have reviewed, faved, and followed this story so far! It means so much to me and I hope you continue to enjoy it as much as I've enjoyed writing it :)
Chapter Four
Klara slept badly that night and when she woke, her eyes gritty and her mind fuddled, she felt no closer to interpreting her thoughts than she had before. She finally sat at her desk to write her report to Lady Frigga, but for a long time she simply sat, staring at the holographic projection of a screen in front of her and the squares of light embedded on the desk's flat wooden top.
The desk was not particularly large, but it took up one whole wall in her small room, which made it seem more intimidating than it actually was. It had been specially constructed for her, a layer of thick glass overlaying the keys so they wouldn't flicker out when she tried to touch them. Klara was used to such considerations, deprived of most of the usual comforts and amenities that many in the palace took for granted because of the way her body reacted to certain things. It wasn't just magic. Most devices did not react well to her touch, key panels and the walls of the prisons being just a few examples. She tried not to think about it too much. But sometimes she couldn't help but wonder...
She shook her head and placed her fingers on the glass, inputting a standard header for a status report, her thoughts flitting through her mind as the phrases left her fingers.
"For the attention of the Lady Frigga, Queen of Asgard and the Nine Realms."
Did it never occur to you, so far beyond your realm of thought or possibility?
"In regards to her inquiry concerning Loki, prisoner of the Asgardian palace."
He was once a prince... He was once a son...
"Written and presented by her agent, Klara, handmaiden to the Queen and servant of the Royal Household."
I suppose I shouldn't expect a serving girl to understand such things...
"The status of which is as follows..."
Here, Klara stalled. Her hands hovered over the glass, the characters beneath her fingers glowing with a cold, bright light that seemed to mock her inability to put into words what she had experienced in the weeks preceding. Her thoughts moved and whirled like a wind on the sea, tossing her focus about like a small ship. She struggled for a moment, managing only to delete her few words and stare at the header again, as if it were deliberately withholding information. She furrowed her brow. Then, finally, she wrote:
"All has been received as expected, and the prisoner has requested no further action be taken. Will continue to monitor and report until otherwise instructed."
Hurriedly, she scrawled a finger over the glass to imprint her signature and with a flick of her fingers, sent the report out into the palace network, coded to be viewed by the Lady Frigga only, at her leisure. She sighed and sat back in her chair, feeling exhausted. There was nothing more to do, but wait.
She checked the time. She was not due to report to Lady Frigga's chambers for another hour. Absently, she began to straighten her tiny space, but there was little enough to be done in a room barely large enough to turn about in. She shut off her console and wiped the glass to remove finger marks and dust. She neatly tucked the sheets around her small bed, fluffing the single pillow that lay neatly at its head. She straightened the two books on the night table, a book of Vanaheim poetry and an old history text, so old it was written in actual ink rather than holographic text, making it easier for her to read.
She picked up this last book and turned it over in her hands, flipping absently through the pages, tamping down a remnant of hopeful warmth that threatened to swell up inside her. She had read it through three times already, she supposed it really was time for her to return it to the Halls, but still she hesitated. She had hoped, as she always did, that there would be something, some sign, some hint of another... another like her, someone with the same weakness, the same hindrance, the same fault. Someone who could not perceive the magic of the world, who could not use the power that flowed through the veins of the World Tree, who could not see the realms as she had so often dreamed of doing, but knew was impossible. The Bifrost worked on the same principles as Asgardian magic. For her to attempt to cross the realms in this way would be... unwise. At best, it simply wouldn't work. At worst... Well. She did not wish to die that way.
But as had been the case with the hundreds of books before, she had found no trace of anything to suggest that there had ever been one such as her. She had nearly given up all hope, resigned herself to the fact that she was incurable, that there truly were no others, that she was the only one of her kind in the universe. And then...
An Abjurate…
It was not the word itself that had intrigued her. She knew very well that Loki could make up any word he chose. It was the way in which he had said it, a hint of curiosity and even wonder. And he had said it with meaning, like a word he had seen before. Which meant somewhere, moldering away in the dusty, neglected corners of the Halls of Knowledge, there might be some mention, some vague reference, some hint of something... something that said she was not alone after all.
There was a rap on the door and Klara jumped.
"Klara? Are you in there, girl?"
She smiled at the gruff, matronly voice and replaced her book on the side table before she rose to greet her visitor. An old woman dressed in a plain gray servants' tunic bustled in without waiting to be admitted, her long silver braid swinging behind her purposefully.
"Good morning, Elli," Klara said politely as she shut the door behind her, "What can I do for you?"
The old woman's sharp, beady eyes scanned the small room, her rough, worn hands planted firmly on her wide hips. Elli was the Head of the Royal Household, and had been old for as long as Klara could remember, but she had no recollection of her being in anything but perfect health and strength at any time. Some claimed that Elli had once challenged Lord Thor to a wrestling match... and won. Standing here in Klara's small room, looking as if the space could barely contain her, Klara could believe such stories.
"I have come to warn you of some disturbing rumors I have heard about the palace," Elli said, giving up her scrutiny of the room and turning her all-seeing eyes back on Klara, "There are those who wish to undermine your reputation by whispering that you now serve the usurper! I don't know how such a falsehood could ever have been started, but I..."
Elli paused. Klara had winced at the sharp word, 'usurper', and Elli had caught the movement. The old woman narrowed her eyes and the line of her mouth tightened.
"Of course it isn't true," Elli insisted pointedly, "Murderous traitors do not receive servants, especially not one that I..."
But Elli paused again. Klara had worked very hard not to flinch at the word 'traitors', but some small movement must have still shown on her face. Elli's eyes widened. Her mouth opened, but then closed again. Klara did not wait for the old woman to find her words.
"The Lady Frigga insisted," she said, forcing the words out of her mouth as quickly as possible, "Knowing of my disadvantage, she seeks to keep him in check. She explained, I really am the only one for the job, so you see I haven't really been given any choice in the matter, I..."
Elli threw up a hand and Klara clamped her mouth shut, swallowing back the rest of the words that had begun to taste more and more of lies. Elli lowered her head, closed her eyes, hand still poised in the air, collecting herself. Finally the woman's nostrils flared and she exhaled sharply.
"You are, of course, required to obey the Queen's command," Elli said, but it sounded as if the words came through gritted teeth, "But you are not required to flaunt your new... responsibilities..."
Klara flinched again.
"...to the entire palace. You have been seen entering the dungeons on several occasions, under highly unusual circumstances, if Andvari were to find out..."
"He knows," Klara said, bringing Elli to another halt, "He was on duty my first day of the assignment. It couldn't be helped."
Elli stared at her for a moment.
"And he has allowed this to continue?" she hissed, her eyes burning, "He has made no formal complaint, no inquiry...?"
"You know he hasn't that authority," Klara answered softly, meekly, "But he has voiced concerns. I am doing what I can..."
"It is not your...!"
Elli bristled for a moment, and then sagged, pressing her fingers to the bridge of her nose.
"My dear girl," she said, with a sort of gruff fondness that Klara was all too familiar with, "My dear child, you know how I worry about you, about your future."
"I know, Elli," Klara said, hanging her head.
"Your favored position with the Queen has eased my mind for some time now. But this?" Elli fixed Klara with a shrewd gaze, "I don't know what will become of it, child. I just don't know. And right as I thought Andvari might..."
Elli sighed again, rubbing her worn hands over her craggy face, and then huffing as if to expel any remaining hint of exasperation or distress.
"Well. It can't be helped," she said with a determined set to her jaw, "We'll simply have to make do. I will do what I can to quell the rumors, but you must do your best to maintain discretion. There must be no hint of anything but your duty, do you understand?"
Klara stared at Elli, shocked.
"But… I've made no hint..."
"Do you understand, child?" Elli insisted, her eyes flashing.
Klara straightened instinctively, her eyes darting somewhere over Elli's right shoulder and fixing on a spot on the wall.
"Yes, Madam Elli."
The old matron nodded, her own back straight again, hands clasped behind her.
"Good. I will keep you informed of any further developments."
She swept forward as if to leave, but at Klara's side she paused. Then, almost hesitantly, Elli reached out and put a warm, wrinkled hand on Klara's shoulder, gripping it firmly. She said nothing and Klara did not react to the touch, unsure how she should react. It was the most affection the old woman had shown her in all the years she had lived under her care.
Then in a blink she was gone, swept out of the room as insistently as she had entered. It took a moment for Klara rouse herself and fasten the door behind her. Then she sat on the very edge of her bed, hands folded neatly in her lap, eyes still focused on some point on the blank wall before her. It always took a few moments for Klara to relax again once the old woman had gone, and the unusual show of affection still tingled where Elli had touched her. She had raised Klara from infancy, but from the moment the girl could walk on her own, Elli had not once offered her any kind of physical comfort. Elli's affection had been in the words she used, the rare laugh she sometimes bestowed, the little acts of kindness done in secret that they never spoke of. The physical touch had rattled Klara far more than any words Elli could have said. The situation must be dire indeed.
Her desk console chimed. Klara glanced up. The holographic screen had blinked to life and soft, blue words scrawled through the air.
Report Received. Personal Note: "Thank you, Klara. Come and see me when you have a moment."
Klara's heart was suddenly pounding in her ears. The queen wished to discuss her report. A thousand things flew through her mind. She had not been detailed enough. She had not been insistent enough with the prisoner. She had not been as punctual as expected.
A line kept replaying in her mind, words added almost as an afterthought.
Will continue to monitor and report until otherwise instructed.
...until otherwise instructed...
Perhaps the queen had determined that her services were no longer required. Klara's hands tightened on the edge of her mattress, but she was not certain whether the gesture was in hope...
...or dread.
She stood abruptly, as if the sudden movement might shake free the feeling in her chest, glanced down at her night table, at the history text that still lay staring up at her. She brushed her fingers over the leather cover, contemplating, and then let it lie. One more glance through wouldn't do any harm.
She slipped into the shining halls of the Imperial Palace the way one slips into the eddies of a well-known stream. The morning bustle of lords, ladies, and servants was soothing to Klara's nerves, something familiar, something she could navigate with little trouble, keeping her eyes down respectfully as she passed her betters, nodding and occasionally smiling at other servants and Einherjar. The mark of a good servant, Elli had told her more times than she could count, was that no one knew she was there at all. She should be as quiet and unobtrusive as a whisper of breeze through the curtains. Klara was particularly good at this. She had never longed for the attention of anyone, much preferring to keep herself to herself. It was easier for her, in more ways than one. When one's life was a mystery, it was difficult to explain oneself to others. Andvari was different, of course. He did not care where she came from, only who she was right then, and who she might be one day. It comforted her that he asked no questions about her past, as she had no answers to give him.
The royal family's private wing was separated from the rest of the palace by two large golden doors, intricately carved with a representation of Yggdrasil, the great World Tree. For the first time in the many years she had worked in the service of the queen, Klara paused and really looked at the tree, following the lines of the main branches carved with names and depictions of the Nine Realms, names recited to all Asgardians from the time they were small children. But she saw these realms in a strange, new way, not just names and carven pictures, but places with people and dreams. She read 'Vanaheim' and saw a dark green planet whirling through space, surrounded by ships closing in. She read 'Nidavellir' and imagined groups of dwarves hidden away underground, terrified of the Rock Trolls gathering at their doorstep. She read 'Midgard', home of the mortals, betrayed by the man now held in their dungeons... the traitor... the usurper... the prince...
The door opened and Klara jumped. Lin, a small girl with olive skin and black, plaited hair, peered out at her with wide dark eyes, like the eyes of doe.
"Mistress Klara?" she asked in a small, timid voice, "Is everything alright? You are quite early."
Klara straightened, her hands settling behind her back where they felt most comfortable, but she offered the girl a kind smile.
"Yes, Lin," she said, "I was summoned by Lady Frigga. Do you think she has a moment to spare?"
Lin tilted her head to the side for a moment, but then nodded and pushed the door open a little wider.
"I'm sure you shall find her in her chambers," she said, "Come."
Klara slipped inside and almost immediately relaxed. The familiarity of the royal wing gave her a confidence that she knew very little of outside this place. She walked these halls with less anxiety and more comfort, as if walking the halls of her own home. She passed well-known doorways, some open, some shut. Lord Thor was clearly away, perhaps overseeing the reconstruction of the Bifrost, and there were at least five servants turning over his room, fluffing cushions, stripping the bed curtains, sweeping the floors. The door of deep, dark wood opposite was closed and Klara's eyes skipped over it almost instinctively. This room had been shut for so long that she wondered if anyone dared to look inside it any more. She was surprised it had not been repurposed in some way, but... perhaps they were frightened, too afraid of what they might find in the chambers of the traitor-prince of Asgard.
Through another set of golden doors, these with a round burning star at the center, were the chambers of the king and queen. The main sitting area, where honored guests and royal dignitaries were received, was a large tiled room, furnished with pastel couches and golden tables, and opened onto a sprawling balcony of white marble with pale curtains that fluttered in a soft morning breeze, just beginning to feel the touch of midday sun. Grand arches led off to either side and Klara chose left, instantly enveloped in the warmth that seemed to permeate every inch of Lady Frigga's personal chambers. It wasn't magic (Klara would not have felt it if it were), but some internal feeling of comfort that the All-Mother seemed to exude toward all that came into her presence.
Another of Lady Frigga's handmaidens, Fulla, a voluptuous brunette with sharp, green eyes, swept past Klara bearing a golden bowl of fruits out of the inner study. Klara allowed her to pass without so much as a nod of acknowledgment. Fulla had never much cared for Klara, convinced that she had done something untoward to gain her position, and so had been trying to undermine her for many years. She maintained a very high opinion of herself, and as such had never been very good as a servant, constantly inserting herself into things that were none of her concern in an attempt to curry favor with those far above her station. Klara had heard rumor that she once tried to seduce Lord Thor in his own chambers and had been summarily rejected, though no one could confirm it and the prince was too much of a gentlemen to give voice to such things. Klara briefly wondered if the rumors of her own involvement with Loki Odinson had gained life on Fulla's pursed red lips, but did not allow the resentment to tinge her heart. She could never prove that Fulla was involved at any rate, and it would not do to meet rumor with rumor. It would only give the other woman the attention she so desperately sought.
The Queen's study lay behind another beautifully carved wooden door and Klara hesitated a moment before rapping three times on the bright yellow wood. There was a pause.
"Come."
Lady Frigga sat at her desk, her back to the door, facing another balcony, the sun glinting on the white marble and drifting softly through the gauzy white curtains, touching the glowing bits of parchment scattered over the queen's keypad. Unlike Klara's desk, this keypad was embedded directly into the wooden top, right at the All-Mother's fingertips. Her holographic screen projected a list of scrolling numbers and messages that Klara did not try to decipher.
"You wished to see me, All-Mother?" she asked politely, her hands clasped behind her once more, her eyes fixed on a point just above Lady Frigga's beautiful golden curls.
The queen turned, a delighted but surprised smile breaking across her aging face.
"Oh, Klara!" she said, gesturing that she should approach, "My dear, I didn't mean for you to come so quickly. This evening would have been quite sufficient."
Klara took only a few steps toward the gesture, remaining a respectful distance from the queen.
"I had no duties keeping me," she said, "I was happy to come."
"Well, I'm glad then," Lady Frigga said, shuffling through some more parchments on her desk, "I'm ordering a requisition for a few more articles of furniture and I wanted to ask for your thoughts."
Klara did not visibly stiffen, but she did clench her jaw a bit.
Tell the Lady Frigga that her kindness is no longer required...
But how was she to convey this message, such a heartbreaking truth for a mother to hear, that her son no longer wished for her attention or concern? How could she possibly be the bearer of such ill news?
"Ah!" Lady Frigga proclaimed, separating a stack of parchments from the rest of the things on her desk and leafing through them, "Now, I had thought that a chair and small table might be good additions, but now I think that perhaps a desk might be more useful to him, he will want to send messages, I'm sure. Of course those shall have to be monitored, I'm sure he knows that..."
The queen flipped one of the parchment pieces over as if she thought there might be something of interest on the back, which of course there wasn't. The gesture seemed more of a nervous tic than anything. She flipped the parchment back over quickly, then dropped the whole stack into her lap and rubbed the bridge of her nose.
"I just don't know," the queen said, sounding tired, "Too much? Too little? Perhaps I've overstepped already..."
Klara stood straight as ever and kept her eyes firmly on a point above and to the left of the queen's head. She didn't know what else to do. She had never seen the queen this way. Lady Frigga was always poised, gracious, effortless in all that she did. Klara had never seen her like this, so... mortal.
Finally, the queen sat upright, as if attempting to collect herself. She smiled at Klara, an expression that looked as if it were trying to be cheerful, but only seemed weary.
"So, Klara," she said, "What do you think?"
The question was so direct that it startled Klara into momentarily staring at the queen. Lady Frigga's deep blue eyes sparkled and her grin widened, taking a bit of the tiredness from her face. Klara's gaze flicked back to that point on the wall.
"I'm sorry, my lady, but I don't know what you mean."
"I received your report of course," the All-Mother said, shuffling through a few more papers on her desk until she produced the correct one, glancing up with a sly smirk, "Very succinct."
Klara stood a little straighter and clenched her fingers a little tighter behind her.
"It's exactly what I would expect of an official report," Lady Frigga continued, setting aside her stack of parchments and clearing a space on her desk before turning back to Klara, her hands folded in her lap, "However, I am interested to hear a more... shall we say, personal account of my son's imprisonment."
Lady Frigga glanced around her chamber as if searching for something, then flicked her wrist and a chair swept across the floor and clattered to a halt just within reach of Klara, making her shift a bit, anxiously. Lady Frigga graciously gestured to the chair.
"Please, sit."
Klara hesitated. In all her years serving the Lady Frigga, she had never once sat in her presence. It wasn't done. She was a servant. She stood or she knelt. Those were the two options. But the queen was watching her with kind expectation and it had been an order. She was sworn to obey the Lady Frigga, no matter what she asked. Gingerly, Klara sat on the very edge of the cushioned chair, her back still straight, her hands first fidgeting and smoothing nervously at her tunic, and then clasped tightly in her lap in front of her. She was now eye level with the queen, making it very difficult to keep her eyes respectfully averted. She found herself studying her own knees with great interest.
"Now," Lady Frigga said, as if the whole matter was completely settled, "Tell me, what do you think of my son?"
Klara went rigid, her hands clenched together so tightly that her knuckles went white. She bit the side of her tongue, no words able to form in her throat.
"I know, of course, that you think him quite ungrateful," Lady Frigga went on, as if hoping to spur her into speech, "That was expected. He feels deeply wronged. I had hoped that some kindness might soften him a bit, but he will need time, naturally, it will not happen in just a few short weeks. Still... I had hoped..."
The queen's voice trailed off and Klara risked a glance up. She was gazing through the curtains again, into the brilliant blue of a clear sky, lost in some far away thought. Klara dropped her eyes.
"He is intelligent," she said, hesitantly.
She felt, more than saw, the queen's gaze slide back to her. She shifted uncomfortably in her chair.
"He still holds himself as a prince, but he is... bitter," she said, "He frightens the guards for fun. He..."
She hesitated, her hands twisting in the hem of her tunic before she noticed and stopped.
"Go on, Klara," the queen said gently, "I wish to know."
"He acts much like a spoiled child," Klara said, forcing the words out, "Who has been sent to his room with no supper. But he reads like a scholar, and he speaks..."
Klara's voice trailed off. She could still hear his voice in her head, reciting the Poetic Edda in a rich, dark tone that had nothing at all to do with magic.
Her right hand cast over heaven's rim; No knowledge she had where her home should be...
"...he speaks with the silver tongue I was warned of," she said decisively, as if the tone of her own words could wipe away the warmth of the words in her memory, "When he chooses to speak at all. The guards say that he will not speak to them."
"But he speaks to you."
Klara stiffened, sucking in a sharp breath.
"Yes."
There was a pause.
"Klara," The queen's voice was gentle, soothing, "I understand that the situation you have been placed in is delicate. And that, for several reasons, you cannot place any of these thoughts into official reports. But I want you to know that anything you say to me regarding this matter is spoken in the strictest of confidence. It will never leave this room. You have my solemn word."
Klara swallowed. The queen's confidence was a gift of which she was unworthy. How was she to be her trusted agent if she kept things from her, even to spare her feelings?
"He does not want your kindness."
The words left her in a rush, not bitter, not emotional, just words leaving her lips.
"He told me to tell you. I didn't wish to do it, but I feel I must, Lady Frigga. He does not wish for your kindness."
"And do you think he should get what he wants?"
The question startled Klara and she looked up again, meeting the queen's eyes. She was not heartbroken, or even hurt. In fact, she looked as if she had expected this. She waited with a patient expression for Klara to answer. Klara swallowed and forced herself to say the words.
"He is not worthy."
The queen's smile widened a touch.
"Are any of us worthy of the love we are shown?" she asked.
Klara opened her mouth, but then closed it again. She thought of Elli. Elli, who had taken her in as a baby, who had taught her everything she knew, who had loved her, in her own way, for as long as Klara could remember, for no other reason than that she had chosen her. She thought of that warm, wrinkled hand on her shoulder.
"Love is not a thing to be earned, Klara," the queen said gently, "It is a gift. We may choose how to receive it, but we have no say at all in who gives it to us, or why."
Klara's shoulders relaxed just a touch. She had delivered her message. She had done what she had been ordered. What Lady Frigga chose to do with the information was out of her hands. It felt as if a weight had been lifted from her chest.
"Now," the queen said, turning abruptly back to her desk and sweeping through the stack of parchments again, "Desk or chairs? Which do you think?"
"You are becoming an annoyance."
Klara ignored Loki's jab as she came to a crisp stop before his cell, the movers maneuvering behind her. He stood in the very center of the white floor, just as primly and crisply as she, eyes narrowed, his lips a thin line in his gaunt face. She felt a brief prick of concern (he's not eating enough...), but quickly quelled it.
"I am come..." she began, but Loki interrupted her.
"Let me guess," he spit out bitterly, "On behalf of the Lady Frigga?"
Klara narrowed her eyes, but bit back any response to this jab.
"She has requested that this be presented to you," she continued instead, gesturing to the writing desk floating behind her, "If you will please step back..."
"And if I refuse?" Loki snapped, his eyes flashing. He had not yet moved one centimeter from where he stood, his back rigid, his shoulders tense, his expression growing angrier by the minute. But instead of fear, this did nothing but instill a sense of calm in Klara. Her expression remained passive, her voice steady.
"Then I shall call in the guards and they shall restrain you by force."
Loki's expression turned livid.
"You would dare...?" he snarled, but it was Klara's turn to interrupt.
"You are a prisoner, Lord Loki," she said, "How belligerent you choose to be in your imprisonment is entirely up to you. But I am sworn to Frigga All-Mother, Queen of the Nine Realms, and I will see her orders obeyed, by any means necessary."
She glared pointedly.
"Do not test me again."
The two exchanged heated glares, but after only a moment, Loki's demeanor altered drastically. He visibly sagged, his expression so profoundly exhausted that Klara herself nearly sagged beneath it. His head drooped and he waved his hand with a weighted weariness that tried to masquerade as carelessness.
"Do as you like," he said in a voice that smacked of defeat, "I suppose in the end, it matters very little."
He made his way to the far wall and, instead of leaning against it as he had in the past, he pressed his back to it and then slid to the floor, as if standing might take too much effort, knees pulled up to his chest, head leaned back, eyes closed. The biolocks clicked into place and the movers began their work, but Klara paid them little heed, keeping a wary eye on the prince. He never moved, never opened his eyes, not when the movers opened the glowing barrier to his cell, not when the gravity lift was maneuvered inside, not even when the barrier closed again and the tone sounded signaling that he was freed from his bonds. He simply sat on the floor, eyes closed, face completely devoid of expression, almost lifeless.
He really was quite thin. Certainly thinner than when he had entered the prisons, Klara was sure.
The movers shifted nervously, drawing her attention. She turned her head toward them and nodded once, dismissively. They hurried away with relieved expressions, the jeers of the other inmates echoing after them. But Klara hesitated. She turned back to the fallen prince of Asgard, still sitting in his cell, the methodical rising and falling of his chest the only indication that there was still life left in him.
She could hear Elli's sharp words ringing in her ears.
...usurper... murderous traitor...
He was once a prince... He is still a son...
"Is there anything I can do for you, my lord?"
Her voice was soft and gentle, even in her own ears. The prince shuddered ever so slightly and opened his eyes. He stared at her for a long moment, no expression, just searching her face for Klara knew not what. She allowed it, though she did not know that he would find anything of interest there. She was very little after all. Several moments later, he sighed and laid his head against the wall once more, his eyes falling shut as if the effort of having them open was too much to bear.
"No," he said, his voice a dull monotone, so different from the man who had not long ago recited the Poetic Edda with such fervor and passion, "There is nothing you can do."
She hesitated, waiting to see if there was more, some quip or jab he was reserving for the last moment, the perfect time. But nothing came. And she could not look at his gaunt face, his thin frame, his lifeless expression for even one more moment. She straightened her tunic and strode away, moving through the dungeon as fast as her legs would carry her, as if moving more quickly would somehow leave the vision of his defeat behind her.
But it didn't. The vision lingered long after she had left the dungeon, long after her scheduled duties to the Lady Frigga had concluded, and well into the night. At the tavern with Andvari and his friends, celebrating the restoration of the Bifrost, someone mentioned King Eitri and the dwarves of Nidavellir. A small red planet whirled through Klara's mind, highlighted against bright white dungeon lights.
Loud roar the dwarves by the doors of stone...
Someone else cheered the strength of the Vanir in holding off the marauders on Vanaheim. Klara could only see the green orb of light spinning in her mind and her eyes sought the quiet warrior in the far corner of the room, his eyes firmly on his cup, his expression intense.
I imagine Hogun is chomping at the bit... I wonder if anyone has noticed...
There were roars and cheers, and everyone laughed and drank, but Klara only stared at her mug, her fingers moving restlessly over the rim, her mind hearing words that echoed only in her memory.
Not talking about it, doesn't make it any less true... so far beyond your realm of thought or possibility... The sun turns black, earth sinks in the sea...
Ragnorak...
What do you know of right and wrong?
"What is the matter with you?"
Klara jerked at the clipped, familiar voice, her eyes darting up. Andvari was glaring at her, his face a bright red but his blue eyes still mostly sharp. She resisted the urge to shy away from his gaze and smiled instead.
"I don't know what you mean, my heart," she said brightly. Perhaps a bit too brightly. Andvari's eyes narrowed.
"You were thinking of something," he said suspiciously, his words only slightly slurred, "Tell me."
Klara's heart thudded hard in her chest.
"I think of many things, dear one," she said, still managing to keep the smile on her face, "But my thoughts are never far from you."
He seemed to consider this for a moment, eyes still narrowed, but slowly the compliment worked its own special kind of magic and a smirk slowly replaced his scowl.
"That is good," he said, brandishing his mug of ale, "I feared your thoughts might linger elsewhere."
"There is nowhere else I would rather be," Klara replied affectionately, but one of Andvari's friends banged on the table and proposed yet another toast to the health of Lord Thor, the resulting roar from the crowd drowning out her words.
Klara raised her mug with the rest of them and drank, but Andvari did not notice. No one did. She was alone once more.
Alone with her thoughts.
He floated in the void, cold emptiness blanketed in stars that played at being beautiful, but were too close, too sharp, too present. He shuddered, though the chill did not touch him. A voice, barbed and distinct, echoed in the void and in his mind.
"If you fail..."
And then... pain. A searing, sizzling pain, not just in his body, but in his mind, his soul.
"...there is no realm..."
The pain rippled through him, contorting his twisted body.
"...no barren moon, no crevice… where he cannot find you..."
Laughter, high and cackling, low and rumbling, as the pain ripped through him again, and again, and again until his mind was screaming beyond the capacity of his voice. This was his life now. This was what his arrogance had bought him. This was the price of power...
"You think you know pain, Asgardian? He will make you long for something as sweet as pain..."
Loki sucked in a gasping breath and shot upright, the book on his chest flying across the room and hitting the far wall with a sharp crack and a flutter of suddenly loose paper. He shuddered as the cool air of his dungeon cell brushed the thin sheen of sweat that covered his skin. His sudden movement brought the lights up to full brightness, the white walls burning his eyes, and he flinched away. He did not know how long he'd slept. He never did anymore. He always felt so tired. But when he closed his eyes, when he drifted off...
That crackling voice... low, rumbling laughter...
...there is no realm... where he cannot find you...
Hurriedly, Loki placed an illusion around his cell, a vision of strength, of purposeful pacing, of hard-eyed glares that would invite no second looks. Then he curled up on the velvet settee, pulling all his limbs in tightly, and tried to stop the shaking.