.

FOURTEEN

that which lies before us

Loki's name day came to pass with little fanfare, though I suspected he preferred it that way. In contrast to the physical exhibitions that took place during Thor's name day, musical concerts were held in Loki's honour. Under the afternoon sun, in one of the courtyards, there was a full orchestral concert. A harpist serenaded us during the banquet, and a quartet played for us late in the evening.

The thought that Loki had such a vast appreciation for music brought me great amusement. Just as I had found it unusual to see him in the garden below my balcony, it seemed a peculiarity that he had such a deep appreciation for artistic expression. He didn't often appear to relish much of anything, so indifferent he often seemed. But it was clear he had a love for art and aesthetics. And reading, definitely reading.

The evening quartet finished their fourth piece to the sound of vigorous applause. In the grand hall, the audience had been arranged around the central platform upon which the quartet had been placed. Rising from my seat, I joined in with the acclaim as they bowed and took their leave for the intermission.

Sif was seated beside me, appearing rather lovely and regal in her cranberry-coloured gown. She carried herself with a grace befitting that of a warrior and a lady when she too got to her feet. "Shall we retrieve refreshments?" she asked. "Or will you stay?"

"I am going out to the terrace for some much needed air," I told her. "Will you be here when I return?"

"I imagine Thor and Volstagg will be dragging me away to drink immeasurable amounts of ale with them," Sif replied regretfully. "They have never been fond of musical performance. Thus, I may or may not make a reappearance."

I laughed lightly. "Then I shall see you in due course, whether it be tonight or on the morrow."

She repaid my smile with her one of own before I lifted the hem of my sheer golden skirts and made my way across the room. Most of the spectators had stood and gathered around in small groups to speak nothing but praise for the quartet. Humming airily, I wove my way through the crowd and stepped out onto the terrace.

The night breeze was pleasantly cool against my skin. I took a deep breath of refreshing air and revelled in the sound of the Asgardian waters churning in the distance. My elation was cut short when the sound of a sickly sweet voice drifted to my ears.

"Do you not have any intention to marry, Prince Loki?"

With a frown, I glanced towards the opposite end of the terrace, leaning round several other courtiers to find the source of the voice. I spotted Loki standing at the balustrade where he was being pestered by one of the Simpletons Three—the blond one. Brynlar, I believed her name was.

"You never relent, do you?" he asked in return. Even from where I stood, I could see him employing that well-practiced apathetic stare.

Brynlar smiled and sipped from her crystal flute of ice wine. "I would be remiss if I did," she said, her eyes drifting down his form. "I know Afildys does not have the most... amiable tongue. I merely hoped you would not find that fault in me."

I fought to maintain a genial expression while I meandered towards them. Loki noticed my approach first, but he said nothing, even as I neared. "My apologies for interrupting." As soon as I spoke, the blond maiden whirled on me, eyes narrowed; she otherwise kept her distaste for me subtle. "I have been meaning to seek a private word with Prince Loki," I said. "I am certain you understand how difficult it is to acquire a moment with the prince on his name day." Though I kept my regard focussed on Brynlar, I was quite conscious of Loki's visible amusement.

"Yes, I do know, which is why I have seized this opportunity," she replied. "If you don't mind, I would like to finish our conversation."

She is not heeding my intimations, I sighed inwardly. "Be that as it may, I am afraid Prince Loki has no interest in finishing your conversation," I stated with a polite smile. "And a well-bred lady always knows when she has overstayed her welcome."

Her nostrils flared, though she maintained her false smile. For an instant, I thought she was going to fire back an unkind rejoinder, but she would not dare say a word in Loki's presence. Instead, she merely curtsied to him and turned her back to me before striding off. Her best insult thus far was not delivering a mannerly parting.

With a uncomfortable heat travelling along my neck, I dared to meet Loki's gaze. He simply lifted a brow. "I'm surprised at you," he said, crossing his arms across his chest. "Am I not the one who rescues you from her and her ilk?"

"I believe it was my turn to ward them away." Smiling vaguely, I leaned on the balustrade, the bronze surface chilling the bare skin of my forearms. "Her opinion of me cannot worsen, that I am sure of. She is a schemer who believes I am scheming." Some part of me was oddly troubled by the thought that she and her friends might've hated me, but I brushed it aside.

His brow furrowed with a sort of curiosity. "What was that you said to her about well-bred ladies?"

I held back a sigh, instead putting on a dry smile. "I have had many a tutor in my lifetime. Lady Svana was my instructor in propriety, modesty, and grace—how to be a well-bred lady."

He turned and rested his elbows on the railing beside me. "And knowing when you've overstayed your welcome was among her lessons?"

"It was," I replied, nodding mildly. "My father thought it was very important, courtesy and decorum. They were meant to be the most important lessons I would ever learn. But I fear Lady Svana's teachings did not have a lasting effect."

"Obviously not."

Biting back a laugh, I gave him a sideways glance. "And what of Brynlar?" My nose scrunched at the very thought of her. "Was she offering you... inappropriate things?"

Loki looked to be on the verge of mocking my complete inability to phrase the question, but he abstained from doing so, thankfully. "If you are asking whether she was proposing to join me in my bed, the answer is yes," he replied plainly. I could feel my ears burning. "This isn't the first time, nor will it be the last."

Chagrinned, I studied the darkness of the water beyond and cleared my throat. "I suppose Thor has been subjected to this as well."

"More so." Loki nodded. "In fact, I fear he has already lain with the least courteous of those three maidens—Afildys, isn't it?"

The choking cough that I issued forth could not be subdued. "By the Norns," I muttered. "That is far more than I would ever care to know about Thor's affairs."

"They seek an advantage, so it seems," Loki remarked.

"What do you mean?" I tilted my head. "You think one of them wants to be a princess of Asgard?"

"Don't most maidens dream of becoming a princess?"

The suggestion, especially coming from him, made me snort with laughter. "Well, that is a frightful thought. Could you imagine one of those simpletons becoming Asgardian royalty?"

There was a most amusing wryness in his expression. "A frightful thought indeed."

I tilted my head in consideration. "Then I did you a favour, fending her off. Does this mean, perhaps, that my debt for your tutelage is repaid?"

At that, he laughed outright. "Your debt to me is worth far more than that. I was repelling her perfectly well on my own."

"Well, it was worth an ask."

"Though I must admit that it was worth something," he said, angling his body towards me. "To see that your tongue is sharpening was a gift in itself."

Stomach fluttering, I licked my lips. "Then consider it my gift to you." Our gazes met; his eyes appeared dark in the Asgardian night. "Happy name day, Loki."

"Let's do a headcount here: your brother, the demigod; a super soldier, a living legend who kinda lives up to the legend; a man with breathtaking anger management issues; a couple of master assassins; oh, and there's your ex, the princess—I can kinda see why she left you."

"You know not what you speak of."

"Don't I? Clearly you've completely fallen off the deep end. And let me tell you, she is not happy about it. At all. In fact, you, big fella, you've managed to piss off every single member of our merry little band."

"That was the plan."

"Not a great plan. When they come, and they will, they'll come for you."

I jolted awake with a gasp.

My heart thundered, aching with a strange sense of despair. Those voices... one was unfamiliar. The other, I knew in my heart: the dark figure that I'd dreamt of before. Pressing my hands to my forehead, I strived to focus on the dream, to remember the sounds of their voices, anything I could recall. But they slowly faded, swirling and disappearing like a puff of smoke in the air. Along with their voices went their words. Seconds elapsed, and soon I could no longer remember any of what had been said.

Quivering uncontrollably, I dragged my hands through my hair and swung my legs over the side of my bed. Any detail I might've grasped merely slipped through the cracks of my mind. All that remained was the dark sense of foreboding—the feeling that something terrible was going to happen and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

With a heavy sigh, I rose and readied myself for the day. As I had once promised the All-Father, I resolved to tell Frigga all that I could about my vision. I could do little more than hope that she might be able to shed light on the darkness that endured in my mind.

My pace remained sluggish throughout the morning, but I met with the queen in the healing room on time. My lessons in the library were ended, and I had moved on from lectures to begin my practicum. We agreed to focus on my healing magic, although I continued to fear my capacity for it would never match that of the other healers.

"You look as though you've seen the spirits of your long deceased ancestors," Frigga said upon my arrival. She stood by the bedside of an Einherjar guard—training accident, nothing serious. She touched my cheek, her hand warm against my chilled skin. "Did you have another vision?"

Though her intuition surprised me a little, I managed a nod. "It slips away every time I wake, like sand through my fingers. But I feel it still. It weighs on my mind. Whomever I dream of... a great darkness surrounds him."

"I am sorry," she said. "I understand the torment you suffer. Not knowing, not being able to stop it."

"What can we do?" I questioned. "Do we just... push it from our minds?"

"Unfortunately, it's all we can do."

Even after I told her what I could remember about the vision, my distress did not lessen. We talked of it every so often throughout our lessons, but I was never any closer to deciphering its meaning. As time passed, per Frigga's suggestion, I endeavoured to propel the vision from my mind, to occupy my thoughts with anything and everything else. But the dread remained implanted firmly in my heart as I carried on with my day. I spent the afternoon reading one of the many books in my sitting chamber. Or I tried to, at least.

My spirits were low and stayed that way. Not even attending a fine supper with my friends could lighten my mood. Sitting at the table in our private dining room, I watched as everyone laughed heartily at one of Volstagg's stories. With the gloom so deeply seated within me, I found that I could not laugh. I couldn't even smile.

Here were my friends, lively, happy and laughing. Nothing horrible had beset us. I tried to convince myself that to worry about what the future held was to worry about the death of a star. There was nothing anyone could do to change it or stop it. It was the nature of things, no matter how destructive it could be. I kept telling myself these things over and over again. Yet my mind refused to cooperate.

"Eirlys, you have been so glum all day," Thor suddenly observed.

I could feel all eyes on me at once, even as I continued to toy with the partially eaten food on my platter. Swallowing dryly, I glanced up at him. "Just... trouble sleeping."

Thor nodded, bestowing me with a sympathetic smile. In turn, Sif and the Warriors Three launched into a conversation bemoaning the curse of troubled sleep—a common occurrence when embarking on all sorts of daunting adventures. The only one who said nothing was Loki. He simply looked at me, seeming rather unconvinced. Of course, the God of Mischief and Lies could see through my falsehoods. But he never remarked upon it.

I had never told any of them about my visions. I recalled with such clarity the abject concern they showed in the wake of Queen Frigga's vision. I didn't want to cause undue distress with visions I could not even begin to understand.

"Perhaps you would accompany me to the market on the morrow?" Sif offered. "I always find a nice outing gives me peace of mind."

After a moment, I managed a small laugh. "A nice outing? One devoid of situations involving near death, I hope."

She grinned somewhat abashedly. "I cannot make any promises."

"Might I come along?" Fandral asked, leaning into Sif—purposely irritating her, I was sure. "I have been in need of a keen pair of eyes to help me select a fine jewel for a fair maiden I have been hoping to pursue."

Sif feigned outrage. "Another fair maiden? Odin have mercy on the poor girl."

Fandral shot her a withering look. Before he could retort, I saw fit to provide her with my answer, "I will gladly accompany you, Sif. So long as there are no jorgandrs, I am sure we will have a very pleasant venture."

Smiling, Sif looked as though she wanted to say more, but Fandral interjected to pester her about escorting us to the market. As they delved into a quarrel, I shared an exasperated look with the two princes who'd taken heed of the entire disagreement.

When Loki's eyes found mine, a strange chill swept over me. I could feel it... the dark weight that settled in my mind seemed to grow, like a shadow beneath the sun. That sense of foreboding swelled, the fear, as if Loki was the—No, I thought, he couldn't be. My heart thudded painfully, and I had to grip my hands in my lap to keep them from shaking.

Our lingering exchange ended when Hogun turned to enquire something of Loki. He looked away, and the shade in my mind faded. My hands stopped quavering and my pulse slowed. I told myself that it meant nothing and the dread of my visions had a way of arising on its own. My visions are meaningless, I insisted. They have nothing to do with Loki whatsoever.

Then, desperately, I chose to never think about it again.

Early the following morning, I awoke with just a bit more cheer in my heart in spite of the fragmented shadows haunting my every thought. Diligently, I kept my mind occupied with menial tasks: reorganizing books, polishing my mother's old jewellery, sorting my wardrobe. I was on the verge of rearranging the furniture when Sif came to collect me. Without Fandral, it appeared.

Though I had not been often, I maintained a great fondness for the Asgardian market. To travel from the palace to the emporium, one must be able to navigate the wide, meandering avenues of Asgard. I had never been able to find my way there by my lonesome. Sif, on the other hand, had a keen mind for directions. We ventured past the towering statues of ancient Aesir warriors and beneath the vaunted golden arches of the City of the Gods.

While we walked, Sif spoke, rather animatedly, about the new articles of armour she was hoping to acquire. "I think perhaps we should get a full set for you as well."

I squinted at her in the sun's light. "Oh, I'm not sure that would be a good idea."

"And a sword!" Sif said, clearly not heeding my protests. When she saw my skeptical look, she smiled. "Is it the lack of propriety you fear, Eirlys? Or the ill opinions?"

"Apparently, I care very little for propriety," I quipped, much to her bewilderment. "But I do admit to having an aversion to... to the disdain." I saw the slight frown pulling at her features. "The courtiers have been unkind to you, have they not? For all these years. How do you weather their words?"

She looked straight ahead, her expression contemplative as we turned a corner onto another road. "It was not easy. Everyone and everything urged me not to become a warrior." There was a certain solemnity in her eye, yet it did not keep her from smiling proudly. "But the thought of not being a warrior was intolerable to me. Sometimes we're meant for certain things, and for me, I knew I was meant to be a warrior. To be anything else would be the death of me. You choose who you want to be, Eirlys, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

Her words made me reflect on what sort of person I wanted to be. What am I meant to become? There was a time when I dreamed of becoming a healer, serving alongside Frigga in Asgard's house of healing. But now, I was beginning to believe my talent did not lie with healing magic.

Sif's face lit up when we approached the market. "At last, we have finally arrived."

The market stretched all the way down the long cobblestone avenue, as far as the eye could see. There were a few buildings, squat and gold-hued, sitting along the path. But it was the vendors that made up the vast majority of the market. They lined either side of the road, some tucked between buildings, their vibrantly coloured tents fluttering in the wind like birds' wings. The busy congregation of people hustled from vendor to vendor. Aesir—men, women, and children alike—viewed the merchandise with great enthusiasm, some of them stopping to bargain with the merchants.

"Oh, how I love the liveliness of the market," I gushed, hurrying over to the nearest vendor. The salesman was a Vanir—his bright copper hair gave him away. His wares consisted of dishes, platters, and silverware. "One could spend all day here just looking at everything."

"Or several days," Sif remarked as we moved on.

There were vendors for anything and everything one could ever think of: weapons, armour, clothes, food, books, tools, astronomy instruments, animals—the possibilities were endless. Their sellers shouted and cheered at passersby, holding up all sorts of objects for us to see. They'd come from all across the Nine Realms to find a home for their merchandise.

The armour vendors in the market were especially numerous. They sold gauntlets, greaves, belts, and breastplates of all different designs and all different sizes. Some were simple, some were ostentatious; there was one bejewelled helm that took my breath away. We wandered between the shops, Sif eyeing each of them carefully. One merchant sold several elegantly carved bows—from Alfheim, I did not doubt.

After what had to have been an hour, Sif finally settled on one vendor. The merchant was a dwarf, and, judging by the fine dwarven quality, he was likely also the craftsman. A wide grin overtook his features as we approached, the shine of his teeth peeking through his thick beard. His grin only grew larger when Sif enquired after a pair of bracers, a belt buckle, pauldrons, and a brand new shield. Succeeding a good fifteen minutes of consideration, she purchased them all. He looked just about ready to swoon.

With one last request to have them all sent to her quarters, we parted from the very happy and far wealthier merchant. "I have not seen so much armour in my entire life," I commented as we continued our way down the market road.

Sif beamed. "I feel as though I have gone to Valhalla."

I gave our surroundings a puzzled scan when we continued past the weapons merchants and crossed into the clothing quarter. "I presume you have a mind to make further purchases."

"I am in need of a new gown." The words sounded strange under the circumstances: she'd just purchased an assortment of new armour pieces and was also wearing one of her breastplates—the grass stains indicated some early morning sparring had taken place. "There is one seamstress I particularly favour. We shall pay her shop a visit."

Never being one to forego the opportunity to procure new clothing, I was more than happy to accompany her. "For any specific occasion?"

"For Thor's name day."

My eyes widened. "Norns, how could have I forgotten?" I said with a short laugh. "I have been here over a year now... Sometimes I find it difficult to believe."

Sif hummed thoughtfully. "They say as you grow older, time appears to pass more quickly."

"At our age, I'm surprised several decades haven't flown past in the blink of an eye."

We wove through the ever-moving crowd and made our way towards the shop. It seemed the renowned seamstress occupied one of the few buildings placed along the market avenue. Her establishment was small, at least by Asgardian standards.

When we entered, I looked upon the front room in awe. The ceiling was all glass, allowing the sunshine to pour through. The walls were lined with various fabrics of different shades and sheerness. Some glittered in the midday light, others looked as dark as night itself. "I am always overwhelmed by this chamber," Sif remarked. The two of us walked along the walls, observing the fabrics up close and revelling in their delightfully silky textures.

"Oh, how marvellous it is to see you again, Lady Sif."

A pair of seamstresses appeared from the adjacent room. They scampered across the fabric-strewn chamber to meet us. One was a plump, red-haired matronly woman; the other was a thin, fair-haired maiden. "And you brought a friend! Lady Eirlys, I presume?" The red-haired matron appraised me, scanning my figure from my toes to the tops of my hairs.

I bowed my head. "Yes, I am."

"Of course, for the both of you, there shall be no charge," the plump seamstress declared. I glanced at Sif, but she said nothing. The matron then turned to the young maiden at her side. "Sighild, fetch me my measuring instruments!"

"Yes, Vreyja." The maiden immediately scurried off into the room they'd only just entered from.

"Come, come." Vreyja gestured us over to the wall of fabrics in the corner.

She observed each of us carefully, her eyes darting back and forth and back again. The depth of her concentration rivalled that of those who were about to cast a very complicated spell. Sif made a move to speak, but Vreyja held up her hand to silence her before she could.

"I know exactly what to use," she announced. She turned and pulled on the roll of a thick, silky midnight blue fabric and held it up against Sif's chest. "Perfect." The material sparkled in the light as she shifted it. Like stars in the night sky. "Would you agree, Lady Sif?"

"I put the fate of my attire entirely in your hands," Sif replied.

This made Vreyja grin. "Wonderful, wonderful." She tugged on my hand and drew me across the room to a different set of fabrics. In this section of the room, the various coloured materials were gossamer thin; they were meant to be layered upon one another to create a delicate effect. "Here, this one?"

She held up the sheer cloth. An emerald green that reminded me of the forests in Vanaheim. I smiled and nodded. "You have Lady Sif's trust, thus you have mine."

"Just what I wanted to hear," she said. "The colour will go beautifully with your hair. Now, you wait right here."

Vreyja beamed as she bustled away, heading into the other room. Turning, I admired the multitude of sheer fabrics. They felt so soft; I could've just run my hands through them forever.

"I noticed you have been spending much time with Loki of late," Sif said.

I blinked at her, bemused by the unexpected turn in conversation. Verily, I had been in the company of Thor, Sif and the Warriors Three more frequently than not, practicing my skill with a sword. But, every so often, I would seek a quiet afternoon, and I found myself sitting with Loki in the library or the astronomy spire, reading. I had to admit that I was enjoying his company more and more as time went on. "I suppose I have," I replied. "What has prompted this remark?"

She shook her head and went back to appreciating the fabrics. "Nothing at all."

I did not believe her. Sif was not one to blurt such statements without cause. Though I had every intention of questioning her further, the opening of the chamber door drew my regard. To my horror, the Simpletons Three strolled in, heads held high with a haughty air. Sif and I exchanged a knowing look before facing the wall in an attempt to avoid garnering their attention.

Clearing her throat, Sif gave me a sideways glance. "I saw you rescue Loki from Brynlar on his name day."

I knew she wasn't simply going to let the subject drop. "Sif, you are insinuating something, and I am having a difficult time understanding."

"All of this, I say at the behest of Fandral," she told me. "He will not stop pestering me unless I ask." My brow dipped at the thought that Fandral asked her to investigate on his behalf. I supposed it shouldn't have surprised me that he was a gossipmonger. After all, he must've known all there was to know about a number of eligible maidens of the court, and I was no exception. "There has been some speculation about your feelings concerning Loki."

I could feel the skin from my neck to my cheeks warming. "There is nothing—I admire him, that much I have admitted. That is all." Even as I said the words, I knew I was trying to convince myself as much as I was trying to convince her.

Sif smirked, but did not press any further.

"And what of you, Sif?" I crossed my arms. "Do you hold affections for another?"

I saw her glimpse at her three least favourite maidens in all of Asgard. The brunette, Afildys, was the first to notice our presence. The withering look she gave Sif was enough to make me wilt, so vile it was. But Sif simply returned with a searing glare of her own. Afildys' last response was a smug smile before she rejoined her friends' conversation. It was then that I understood it all very clearly—she was the one who'd lain with Thor, or so Loki claimed.

"Oh." I frowned. "I see."

With the shake of her head, Sif forced a chuff of laughter. "There is nothing to see."

"You... and Thor..." I hushed my tone to ensure the Simpletons Three could not hear a single word. "You knew about her the day we went to Nidavellir... that's why you were so vexed."

She eyed me for a moment before sighing. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised you had taken notice."

"I'm sorry."

"You needn't be," she said. "I do not feel so strongly for him anymore. Not in many years."

"But it bothers you that he and Afildys..." I trailed off, unwilling to speak so flagrantly in such a public place.

With a snort of humourless laughter, she turned so that her back faced the three maidens. "I think it is Afildys that bothers me, and nothing more."

I managed a smile just as Vreyja came rushing back into the room with Sighild in tow. Without a word, they began measuring our frames at an alarming speed. Once they'd taken our measurements, Vreyja babbled instructions to Sighild about what needed to be done.

As we both stood with our arms outstretched, Sif looked at me. "I am not particularly fond of Loki"—I quirked an eyebrow at the remark—"but if you bear such an affection for him... do not let your chance slip by."

"Sif, there is nothing between us." Clearing my throat, I averted my eyes. "And tell Fandral that he is simply imagining things."

She only shrugged and stared straight ahead while the seamstresses bustled all around us.

Though we didn't speak of the matter any further, I knew I wasn't fooling anyone.

Author's Note: As per usual, my thanks go to everyone who has favourited, followed, and reviewed. To my guest reviewers: just so you know, I greatly appreciate your comments even if I'm unable to respond to you specifically. And, of course, my never-ending gratitude goes to my fabulous beta, Hr'awkryn.

Also, I thought I'd give a bit of notice about the next chapter just to avoid any shock or confusion. It'll be a 'bonus' chapter of sorts written in third person from Loki's POV. I figured I might change things up a little and maybe shed a bit of light on what Loki's been thinking throughout all this. Anyway, it'll be fun. Hopefully.

Don't forget to leave a review! I love hearing from you guys.

Until next time