The luncheon was held outside, on a beautiful, breezy day, in one of Asgard's many beautiful courtyards. This particular one was just on the water, with all the buildings towering high around them, while the coolness of the water sent a beautiful breeze over the canopies and tablecloths.
Loki was seated at a rather large, circular table with Thor and the Warriors Three, as well as Lady Sif. They sat to his left, while on the right were a number of Asgard's noblemen. Aila stood some ways away from the table, averting her eyes from a number of the other servants that had been working the event. Aila, of course, was only obligated to Loki's service—though her help was hardly needed. Evidently there'd been a slight change in leadership, and a new servant was now in charge, aptly filing the servants into order.
While Loki was a gifted conversationalist, he spared the occasional glance toward his slave woman—thinking back to the night before. Her roaming gaze, her thoughtful words…and when she approached their table to serve them more wine, he hardly believed that anyone seated around him took no notice of her. Bits of soft hair strewn about her shoulders loosely, the angular run of her jaw and regal features—she was a loose handed, elegant drawing come to life. What did she think of all these people? Of this event? Of the palace? Surely she had more than a few insightful thoughts buzzing around in that head of hers.
"What do you think, brother?" Thor's voice suddenly resonated, and Loki blinked down at him as Aila traipsed around the table.
"What do I think about what?"
He gave Loki a confused look, as though he'd clearly expected him to pay attention to such a conversation. "Emissaries from Niflheim, visiting in six months' time."
"Ah yes, the 'land of darkness and mist…'" Loki mused, forking a vegetable as Aila's slender arm appeared within sight—pouring wine for someone across the table. "Well, it'll certainly make for an interesting occasion."
Silence passed around the table. "Is that all you have to say of it?" Thor asked dubiously.
"I will have more to say when we meet them for the first time."
A guest chuckled beside him—Althar, a distant acquaintance from one of Asgard's richest families. "Ever the curious one, Loki—since you were a child. Very strange,"
Loki clenched his jaw, loathing when Althar spoke of him in such a fashion. The nobleman was close to Loki's age, yet he spoke as though he were much older—frequently allowed to do so, given his family's high rank in Asgard. And when Loki glanced to his side, he looked twice at the man's leer at Aila across the table.
"And you've an interesting taste in staff, it appears," the nobleman raked his gaze over her form. Aila's hair hung down over her shoulders as she poured the Lady Sif's wine, and she stiffened at realizing that she had been mentioned.
"True enough," Thor agreed, though his voice was void of the same unpleasant tone—curiosity, if nothing else. "Girl, what is your name?"
Loki looked between Thor and Aila, watching as she straightened up—holding the decanter close to her abdomen—keeping her thoughtful eyes fixed in the center of the table. "Aila, my Prince."
"Aila," Thor repeated. "And where are you from, Aila?"
She pressed her lips together reluctantly. "I was born here, my Lord," she answered softly—neutrally.
"Oh." He nodded, understanding the implications of her birth into servitude. "And what of your parents?"
Loki's eyes flickered down to her hans, gripping the decanter nervously—not matching the controlled expression on her face. How could no one else notice the remarkable composure she held?
"My mother was from Vanaheim," she said.
All eyes turned to her suddenly, and it was Fandral who spoke next—having charged at the head of the siege that first brought the slaves to Asgard. "Vanaheim was not at war with Asgard, how did she end up a slave?"
"S—She allied herself with someone from another realm."
"Which realm?" Thor asked.
"Look at us, child," Sif chimed in softly, looking upon Aila with a kindly expression.
Beads of sweat began forming at the top of Aila's forehead—this was clearly a difficult subject, and Loki prepared to intervene. The tactlessness of his peers sometimes astounded him. The girl was clearly uncomfortable…for reasons he would extract at a later time.
Aila looked up at her immediately, drawing a raised brow from the lady warrior. "I don't know. My mother never spoke much of my father," Aila answered kindly, turning her attention to Thor. "Aside from telling me that she ran from an abusive man, who brought her within inches of her life. She fled before she had me, to save me from the same fate. That's all I ever learned of my family."
The table grew eerily quiet, and tension flickered in Loki's brow as he looked upon her—learning so much in just a few short sentences. More than he had in the weeks he'd already been employing her. Aila sighed slightly as she glanced over at him, and he was actually pleased that she had looked at him without instruction to do so.
"I'm sorry," Thor answered her. "That's a…very unfortunate story."
"Maybe." She nodded, looking back at him with a kindly tone. "But I turned out alright, I think…"
Thor's eyes softened a bit as he looked at her curiously, and Loki watched as they briefly flickered over her form, before falling back to his plate.
Tension rippled through Loki's jaw, and he suddenly regretted thinking it was a shame that no one else at the table had noticed her. "Aila," he called to her, reaching for his cup. "My glass is empty."
Without another word, she dropped her eyes to the ground and trailed over to him. The rest of the table resumed its idle conversation, while Althar leered at her backside as she stepped between him and Loki. The Prince's gaze narrowed as he watched through the corner of his eyes, noting how the man's gaze ran along her curvatures.
"Turned out alright, did you?" He murmured quietly as he looked up at her, and raised a hand to her waist. "In more ways than one, I imagine—"
Loki's hand shot out from behind her and gripped Althar's wrist. Aila flinched at the movement, inching toward her master a bit when she realized what happened—he was the only protective figure nearby. "Now, now," Loki mused. "Don't touch what isn't yours, my friend."
The nobleman grinned incredulously, and chuckled. "Is that to say that this piss poor creature is yours, Loki?"
Across the way, Thor noticed the scene, and frowned.
"I have employed her, so yes," Loki answered tersely.
"Fine, fine…" Althar pulled away, and raised both hands in surrender, while his other friend—another noble whose name Loki could not remember—smirked beside him at the display. With a telling glance in his direction, Althar chuckled lowly as Aila stepped back. "I won't touch her."
What came next, Loki should have seen coming. He should have seen it in the wryness dripping in the man's tone, the amusement in his eyes—the need to establish his importance over that of a piss poor creature. With flick of Althar's wrist, next came the flight of the oiliest soup on the table. It smacked straight into Aila at the drop of a hat, soaking through her hair and clothes. A number of gasps broke out, and even some faint chuckles after a moment, from other tables.
Loki rose sharply from his seat, glaring as Althar looked to his entourage amusedly.
"Loki," Thor warned.
"It's time you left, Althar," he mused with a sly, yet intent expression.
The nobleman creased a brow, feigning disbelief at Loki's unamused expression. "Now why would I do that, friend?"
"A Prince of Asgard has ordered you to leave." He paused, giving Thor a sidelong glance—seeing the tacit agreement in his eyes. "And if you don't, I will personally see to it that Odin learns how gravely you've offended his sons."
In the corner of his eye, Loki saw Thor cross his arms in agreement.
"Offended you?" Althar smirked, casting a look toward Aila that aptly combined leering with disgust. "Over a pretty little slave bitch? Come now, you must cultivate your sense of humor."
Not wishing Aila to hear more of his insults, Loki schooled his irate features with a stark neutrality, and turned sharply toward her. In two long strides, he was at her side. "Go to the showers, wash yourself. Return when you've finished."
The look of surprise coated her expression, tugging at the wetness that formed in her eyes. "I…can't," she ground out. "I've already had mine for the day, it costs money and I can't afford another one—"
"I will pay for it," he murmured softly, and Aila's eyes fluttered surprisedly— rising to meet his, before she caught herself. "Use my name to get whatever you need. Go."
Her lips thinned into a straight line, and she nodded briskly before walking away—looking a bit dazed as she covered her mouth with her wrist. Loki slid his gaze back to Althar, who'd risen from the table with hands up on either side of him.
"Very well," he said with a grin. "I'll leave, if it'll spare your wrath."
Loki frowned, confused at his sudden admission. A moment ago, he refused to leave. Though as he watched Althar's eyes flicker in Aila's direction and back, an uncomfortable instinct roiled in his gut at the leer persisting in his expression, even as he turned and strode away from the table—away from the event.
I was humiliated. The creamy soup had stained my clothes permanently, and I doubted it would wash out. With the option to choose the scented materials—for once—I still opted for one that was only mildly sweet…however strange it was to even consider the option, at first. It was a kindness I would never forget.
It took a moment to allow myself to revel in the sweet smelling materials washing over me. A luxury in and of itself, and I noted that I would have to find a way to thank the Prince for this later. Perhaps I could owe him the money he'd spend on my behalf.
Footsteps appeared in the shower house.
I furrowed a brow—another servant, maybe? It was the middle of the day, so there were no other servants in there at the time. I turned slowly in their direction, hearing nothing again. They started again and stopped, as though they were leisurely sauntering back and forth, hiding when my awareness of them became apparent. A sliver of fear crept in, and I exchanged the hot water for a towel, making to leave the place immediately.
A hand grabbed me from behind, pulling me back sharply. My eyes snapped up, widening in horror as I stood inches away from the nobleman that had been sitting at Loki's table. The reason I had a need to come here at all. He was here, in the shower house.
"W—What are you doing here!? Men aren't allowed in these showers!" I snapped quickly, not knowing what else to say—even though I knew that that meant little to him. Panic surged in my chest as I looked down at his hand, still gripping my arm.
"Shut up," he sneered with an eery grin, and I cried out as he pulled me closer to him, and began pushing me backward toward one of the walls.
I fought him fervently, but my strength was no match for his. I thrashed as he shoved me back, panic and anger overtaking me completely until I burst. The impulse to strike him flashed quicker than I had thought about it, and seidr concentrated in my hand just barely enough to knock him back. I didn't know whether it was strong enough for him to realize what it was, but it was just hard enough to send him to the ground.
The towel had been coming loose, and I wrapped it tightly around myself as I darted for the exit. Panic was gripping me fully now, and I felt my body plunging into the hot state of stress that I'd been fighting to resist. Mother's death, my new employment, everything—I'd reserved crying for private moments throughout the day, and continued going about my work, for the sake of my survival. Mother would have wanted me to do so.
But now, I just couldn't…tears were rising to my eyes quite rapidly, matching the percussive pounding of my heart against my ribcage. Creating a symphony of panicked thudding in my ears, loud enough to prevent my hearing the brisk footfall approaching from the outside.
It didn't sit well with Loki. He tried, he really did, to forget what he'd seen—the scheming look in Althar's eyes. He knew it well, having donned it many times himself. The intentness, the desire for something. For power, for amusement—it didn't matter. It was a dangerous look, and it didn't sit well with him.
Ignoring Thor as he called his name in protest, Loki stood and left the luncheon—his legs carrying him in the direction of the shower house. There had to have been a reason this all bothered him so much, but it was hardly worth ruminating on—his gut told him to be sure. He couldn't stomach the idea of that dullard enacting the most repugnant of schemes.
He marched down the long, outdoor hallway, pausing only when he heard a slight thump, and the patter of feet. When he neared the door, Aila's form burst out from the archway leading inside—colliding straight into him, enough to make him flinch. Her glossy eyes shot up to him in fear and shock as she stumbled slightly from the collision. His hands shot up to steady her, and one of hers clutched his arm instinctively, the other holding her towel.
Even he stumbled back a bit, and caught the choked gasp in the back of his throat—which instead escaped in a sharp exhale as he gaped.
"Loki—" she gasped without thinking, her voice wrought with shock and fear.
His name on her lips focused him suddenly, even as Aila turned sharply and looked back toward the doorway. Her wet hair whipped around her with the movement, sending several cold droplets onto Loki's face, but he didn't move. He didn't look away.
Yes, he saw the terror that gripped her features, had registered the glimmer of fear in her voice… And yet, even more than that, he registered nothing past the slickness of her shoulders. The heat pluming off her from the shower. And when something tugged at his line of sight, he followed it absently—scraping down the length of her body, down to her bare legs.
His eyes darted back up as she turned to him, fisting the edges of the towel together tightly.
His gaze flickered toward the movement and back, and he swallowed thickly. The towel was not tucked into itself—she was holding it with one hand.
Loki released her wet shoulders immediately, and turned to face the other direction with a look of pointed restraint.
"What happened?" he choked out, struggling to subdue the tightness in his throat. Though it loosened on its own at the sound of the quiet sob that followed.
"That man at your table is…" she whimpered. "H-He came into the shower, a-and—"
He didn't wait to hear the rest. Loki turned and stalked around her, stepping into to the humid air of the shower house. Althar was indeed inside, slowly rising from what appeared to be a strike severe enough to knock him to the ground.
He hissed, "That little bitch of yours practices magic—"
Loki's hand flew to the man's neck, coated in a thick layer of seidr. "You will forget the words you just said to me," he muttered lowly, allowing his magic to seep into the man's skull. "Swine. And you will avoid looking upon my woman's face ever again," his fingers squeezed. "Lest you forget how close you are to death in this moment."
A nobleman's murder would wreck havoc upon the palace right now, in the midst of all their festivities. Others were to be visiting Asgard constantly these coming weeks, and the murder of one of their own by a crown prince would surely be chaotic news that would ripple into all their affairs.
"Take the back door," Loki growled as he released him slowly, listening to the man scramble away.
He intended to follow after him, and turn to head back outside. Loki willed his legs to move, but a sinking thought anchored him for a time, keeping him rooted in place, staring into one of the stalls—perhaps the very same that Aila had used.
Confusion slowly—very slowly—streaked across his features.
My woman—my 'serving' woman. The thought crept across his mind.
He let out a heavy breath, and his eyes trailed over to the door, as his legs carried him toward it slowly. Aila was gone by the time he reached the threshold.
I was in a very 'looool' mood about this chapter. And I'm all about that subconscious attraction stuff. I thought about what Loki would do if I had Aila stick around for whatever he was going to do to Althar, but decided against it. I don't think I'd stick around for it either-she thinks she'll deal with the seidr thing later. Maybe.
Anywho. I finished a huge chunk of my real-life work today, so hurray for me! Thank you guys so much for continuing to review and share your thoughts with me. One of you literally just posted twenty minutes ago, and I mentally waved at you because I knew you were getting another chapter in twenty minutes. Also, I love Loki and Frigga's closeness too! And I totally tell my mom everything as well-she's the first person I'll tell. I also know that one of you has an infant, and if your super kind and supportive reviews have indicated anything to me, it's that you're probably a great mother and will have a great relationship with your kid. Human to human, I totally wish that for you.
So yeah, there will definitely be another one of those chapters soon too, and it'll be entitled "Mother Mischief," based on a cute response I got from one of you readers. Hope you guys liked this chapter, and are fangirling as hard as I did when I wrote it! :) please, please continue to leave reviews, it's so lovely and encouraging to read them! See you next time!