So sorry for the late update. This week was crazy with preparing for finals, and I had to help my mom with my dad's retirement ceremony. But at last: here is chapter three! I think I'll be moving updates to Friday (at least for now) simply because this summer is shaping up to be pretty hectic. If I happen to knock out a few chapters in the next few weeks I may move updates back to Wednesday, but who knows?
Please leave a review! Seriously, this isn't me just wanting a lot of reviews. More of me asking for constructive criticism. I can write all day long but if I don't know what I'm doing wrong or what you guys really like, I'm not doing anything but writing for myself. So please, give me your thoughts!
Chapter title is reference to how in true Norse mythology, Loki has some serious problems with his children's species (such as giving birth to Odin's eight-legged horse Sleipnir. Yep, a horse. Come on Loki!)
It was pretty easy to be a high school senior. In Wren Caldwell's experience being a senior simply meant having more freedom and becoming one step closer to getting out of the hellhole people liked to refer to as public education. It wasn't that the teaching was bad or just generally infuriating administrators. No, it was mostly due to the fact that in Wren's twelve years of school education she had come to a single conclusion: students were annoying. While there were the few shining gems of maturity and wisdom, too many of her classmates looked down on her for being borderline obsessed with mythology and preferring to spend her Saturdays curled up on the couch watching a classic rather than partying. Not that she was ever invited to parties. Wren Caldwell simply liked her solitude. And she was completely satisfied with her aloof nature being the strangest thing about her.
Then she had to wake up screaming in the middle of the night, her veins feeling like they were being burned with ice. Her mother and father barged into the room looking panicked. While her dad had dove for the phone her mother just gave a sorrowful smile and sat on her bed, placing a cool hand on her brow.
"Dear, put the phone back," her mother said in a calm voice. Alyssa Caldwell was an exceptional woman who had never raised her voice in her life. Not that she'd ever needed to.
"Wren is in pain and you don't want me to call 911?" her father looked on the edge of hysteria, his glasses skewed on his head.
"The doctors at a hospital can't help her." Alyssa turned back to face Wren who was gaping at her mother in shock. While Wren's mother was never a huge fan of hospitals, she had also never let the health of her children come after anything.
"Alyssa, what is wrong with you?" her father's voice started to rise, anger sparking in his eyes.
"Wren's magic is emerging!" It was probably the discomfort at having her husband yell at her. It was the only conclusion Wren could come to that explained why her mother, tight-lipped and eternally peaceful, would have snapped something to her father like that.
"Magic?" her father stuttered out.
Alyssa turned to him and hummed. "Magic."
Wren's head was still hurting too much for her to understand what was happening, but she did recognize her father's strangled gasp and the fact that out of nowhere a cold rag was draped over her forehead.
The rest of the conversation that night was lost to her, but the one the following morning was seared into her brain.
It isn't every day your mother sits you down and tells you that your descended from a long line of witches. And not any witches mind you, but ones who get their magic from a spell. Performed by Loki. On your very great Norwegian grandmother. Who had a one-night stand with the god of mischief. It was a thank-you gift.
Wren right-out called her mother nuts, at least until Alyssa pulled out a blanket and shifted its pattern before Wren's eyes. After that Wren paced around the living room and did her best to not only point out every flaw in her mother's logic but why any of this could possibly be happening. The one she was suspecting was drugs. Why did it always have to be drugs?
"Why don't we look like them?" Alyssa's voice cut through Wren's thoughts and made her pause.
Why did she look different? It had always been a point of embarrassment that despite having two darker-skinned brothers, she was porcelain white. Receiving compliments on her flawless skin might have been appealing, if people didn't immediately after ask about her half-brothers. But they weren't. They all had the same mother, same father. It was just her pale skin instantly made people think she didn't belong to her family. Except for her relationship to her mother. Both of them had clear white skin, wavy hair of the darkest black color, and vivid green eyes. No one would ever doubt their relation.
"Why doesn't your Abuela look like her brothers? Or her mother to her brother? Why is that every picture you see of women from my side of the family, we all look alike?" Wren tried to come up with an argument, but her mother's logic was sound. They did all have the same pale skin, dark hair, and piercing eyes.
Wren hesitated. "Why do we then?"
"It's because we have magic," Alyssa pushed.
Wren didn't want to hear it, but she agreed to nevertheless. That was how she ended up spending her Saturday learning about how her ancestor opened her door to Loki, a Norse god, and the next morning having him reveal himself. (It was turning too much into some story from mythology for Wren's comfort, but she listened anyway). Apparently gratified by her kindness, Loki placed a spell on her. That every female descendant she had with his blood in their veins would hold some of the power he possessed. Wren had to bite her tongue to point out all the possible inaccuracies with that, though she settled down when Alyssa explained that the story was the same one her mother told her. If something was left out or untrue, it'd been so long that no one alive would know. Yet one fact remained the same: After that, one daughter had been born to each female heir of the Norwegian woman. One daughter, with black hair and green eyes who could use magic.
Wren didn't want to believe it but less than twenty hours later she was greeting her great-grandmother. A wizened old Norwegian woman whose eyes had yet to lose their sharpness. Two weeks after that Wren performed magic for the first time.
Right as the source for her magic blasted a hole through New York.
Wren was shocked but after a quick consultation all of the witches alive agreed: Wren's magic had been awoken because of Loki's presence, otherwise it would have waited till her eighteenth birthday to surface.
That fact just made Wren feel cheated. She should have had three more months before her life completely twisted off it's axis. She was cheated from three freaking months. Of course, there was also the plus side.
Alyssa Caldwell's magic had been fading, useful for little more than minor spells and something her Mormor, what her great-grandmother politely (briskly) asked Wren to call her, said was hearth magic.
"Simple spells," Mormor said, each word coming out with the distinct pronunciation non-native speakers gave when trying to speak a foreign language correctly. "Used to help around the home. It makes a house a warm place."
It took two lessons for Wren's specialty to be revealed, and it's power.
"It must be caused by Loki's presence," Mormor explained to Alyssa and Wren over a cup of coffee. Specifically, Norwegian coffee. "Him catalyzing the emergence of your magic undoubtedly caused it to grow in power. The fact that your affinity is battle magic may be potentially linked as well."
Wren was surprised when Alyssa asked if she wanted to go with Mormor and learn magic in the best environment she could. She could learn from her Abuela if she wanted, but the best source of information on their family's magic and the ideal location to learn it was Norway. A few phone calls and a month later, Wren was landing in an unfamiliar country, ready to learn magic.
Considering the amount of hatred toward Loki, Wren should have been more prepared for an Avenger to bust into her house and take her hostage.
Six months after her initial journey to Norway and during a brief respite in her training, Wren was caught off guard by her door being torn open by Captain America and a team of four soldiers, who she later learned were SHIELD operatives.
"Merry Christmas?" she muttered from her seat on the couch as the confused Captain tried to comprehend why the energy scanner he had been using to locate any last remains of Loki's magic somehow brought him to the home of a relatively normal suburban family.
Then someone accidentally sparked a plug and Wren's hands flared purple as her magic surged.
Following was a very long explanation about the fact that Wren possessed some magic, gifted to her family by Loki, but she had no intention of using it in any manner except to protect her family.
Her explanation must have been suitable enough because Captain America nodded then politely asked to speak to Wren's parents in private.
A few hours later Wren was being offered a chance to work with, not necessarily become an Avenger, on the condition that she finished her training and would only be allowed to work with the public if she proved she wasn't a danger to society.
How could she say no?
Less than six months later and she turned on the news to find out SHIELD had been destroyed by some psycho WWII-era organization.
Seven months after that, Sokovia fell.
Nine months passed: she finished her training.
One month following, she was asked to join the Avengers.
"On one condition," Wren said, grinning from ear to ear as she looked Steve Rogers in the eye.
"What's that?" he asked. The corner of his mouth was curled in what she hoped was amusement.
"I want to be called Rune."
Steve's eyebrow quirked and he glanced around, his gaze sweeping from Vision to Wanda Maximoff, flitting on James Rhodes before finally resting on Sam Wilson. When no dissension was expressed he nodded.
"Alright then. Welcome to the team...Rune."
Wren decided high school could kiss her ass.
"Don't you do that.
Don't you look at what I had for you and call it weak.
Not when you were the one afraid of it.
I stood there with my hands open,
my mouth bruised tender with supplication.
Don't you dare treat me like a victim of my own emotions,
like being moved to my knees by love
was a mistake that I regret.
I will go to my grave with the memory of the bravery in my bones."
~ Caitlyn Siehl
Coming up next: Dakota and Bucky's relationship has shifted since the fall of Hydra.