Trigger Warnings for violence against women and brief thoughts of suicide. Also, very briefly NSFW.
Chapter Twenty-Five: I'm Right Here
Yevanna sat numbly in the chair as Beowulf's healer rubbed the bone binding salve on her aching arms. Outside the tent she could hear battle raging as the Citadel was taken. If her heart hadn't already been shattered, it would have broken. She knew Melisende's troops would be merciless on the innocent population. They were whipped up into such a frenzy after her death that Yeva wasn't sure Beowulf would even be able to control them.
The healer finished her arms and started working on her minor injuries from the night before.
"Please stand, my lady. I need to appraise your health," she murmured almost apologetically.
As if she were an automaton or puppet, living only to follow commands, Yeva stood. The healer poked and prodded her all over, pausing in places to fix a bruise or cut. When she reached Yeva's stomach, frowned. Yeva could feel the other woman's firm, bony fingers pressing against the scar on her abdomen.
"Leave it," she commanded.
The healer's dark eyes widened, surprised that her charge had spoken. After a moment's consideration, she nodded and continued on her work.
"You're as well as I can make you, my lady. King Beowulf asked me to inform you that you will be sent for once the Citadel is secured. Until then, you must stay here."
Yeva nodded indicating her understanding and consent to Beowulf's orders. Even calling him king could not now stir her to anger. There was nothing she could do. The healer gave her a stern looked before leaving, no doubt to report directly to Beowulf.
After a moment, she got up and pulled a blanket off of the bed. Curling up on the floor, she tried to sleep. If she was lucky, she would fall into a black dreamlessness. If she was unlucky, she would dream of those she had lost. Either way it was better than this waking nightmare.
Frigga stood in a high gallery above the great hall, cloaked in shadows. Thor had forbidden her from speaking at Loki's trial, but he could not keep her from the room. She was still Queen of Asgard, after all.
Loki stood before the throne, shackled at his ankles and wrists with four guards surrounding him. He had been stripped of his armor and instead was clad in a disheveled green linen tunic and black trousers. His hair was in disarray. Frigga tried not to cry at the sight of her son.
"Loki, you have been brought before the court to answer for your crimes. A case of evidence against you has already been presented. You refused to defend yourself. I will give you one last chance to do so, before the sentence is passed," Thor said with a shaky voice, as she shifted in his seat on the throne.
Frigga could only see the back of Loki's head, but she could imagine the angry look on his face.
"Just execute me, for mercy's sake," Loki's hissed words reverberated around the throne room.
Frigga closed her eyes, feeling like she had been hit in the chest by mjolnir. Her youngest child was begging for death from his older brother. When they were children, she had tried to teach them to protect one another, to look after each other. Where has she gone wrong? What sins had she committed to bring this strife onto her family?
"So be it. Loki, once called Odinson," at the name Loki visibly flinched. "You are hereby found guilty of the crimes of high treason against Asgard. You have conspired with enemies of the state, brought invasion, war, and death into the land. You are found guilty of the murder of Lord Baldur, prince of the blood and member of the royal family. You are hereby sentenced to death. Because Queen Frigga has interceded on your behalf and because I once called you brother, you will be spared a traitor's demise of being drawn and quartered. Instead, your head shall be struck from your body and your name stricken from the records of history. Have you any last words?"
Loki remained motionless, though Frigga begged him in her mind to say something, anything that indicated remorse. If he would only show guilt, sadness, regret, Thor could reduce his sentence to life imprisonment. Or banishment.
"I must congratulate you, brother, on your excellent deduction skills. You have indeed caught the man to blame for this fine mess," Loki bowed low, arms out stretched as far as his chains would let him.
Thor shifted again in his seat and glared. He waved his hands at the guards. "Take him back to his cell. The execution will be set for a fortnight from now."
"Is this what you meant by making love under the stars?" he murmured against her hair.
Yeva looked up at Loki. He made her feel content, but somewhere in the back of her mind a voice was screaming that this wasn't right. She stroked his cheek and he turned his face to kiss her hand.
She looked up to the starless void above them, "no. something's wrong."
Loki rolled on his back, his naked form glowing in the darkness, as if lit by an inner light. Yeva straddled his hips and gasped as he sheathed himself inside of her. Slowly, she started rocking back and forth, building up friction. Leaning down, she pressed her lips to his and shuddered at how cold he felt.
She struggled to remember why this was impossible. "You broke my heart."
"Shush, love. No, that was all a dream. I'm right here," he said, stroking her cheek and hair.
"I miss you. Everything's gone wrong," Yeva sobbed, their bodies still rocking together.
"I'm right here," he said again, pressing his hand to her heart. Loki ghosted his long fingers down her body, letting them dance over her chest and stomach. "I'm right here, darling."
Yeva's eyes snapped open as she sat up, heart racing. All was dark and still. Shakily clambering out of the blanket she had managed to entangle herself in, Yeva crept to the tent opening and peered out into the breaking dawn. Abruptly she scrambled back into the tent, fighting back a wave of nausea. Corpses of men, women, and children, hung from every crenelation of the Citadel's walls. She could hear the rustle of raven's feathers as the birds circled their meal. Yeva was used to warfare, but had never encountered civilian casualties such as these. The brutality was unimaginable.
The wind picked up and she could smell the rot of flesh. A thin sheen of sweat broke out on her brow at the scent and her stomach lurched again. Leaning against the tent's central pole, she vomited violently.
"Very ladylike, Yeva. What, haven't you seen corpses before?"
She turned to see Beowulf sneering at her form the tent opening. She spit out the remaining bile from her mouth in his general direction and made her way over to the washstand to rinse out her mouth.
"You're a monster. There are children hanging from those battlements," she hissed.
"For that you can blame yourself. If your little friend Theo hadn't killed Melisende, the Eastern Shore elves might have been moved to mercy."
"A true king would be able to command his troops."
Quick as lightening, Beowulf crossed the space and gripped her shoulders, shaking her violently. His face was red and twisted with rage, "what did you say to me!?"
She shoved him away.
"I said, a TRUE KING would be able to control his troops," she screamed, feeling a fleeting surge of anger.
Beowulf backhanded her, causing Yeva to fall to the ground. "I AM A KING!"
"Any man who must say 'I am a king' is no true king," she snapped from where she was crouched on her hands and knees.
"Are you trying to make me kill you, is that it? Don't temp me, Yeva. I want you pretty face besides me to make our coronation more majestic—uniting two branches of the family—but I will crown myself High King without you."
Beowulf grasped her by the shoulder and pulled her up, "now, hurry. You're coming to the palace."
Snapping his fingers, two guards entered and chained her wrists together. A third ring attached to the manacles was snapped around her neck. As soon as the metal locked around her throat, Yeva felt all the fire go out of her.
They left the tent. Yeva was lifted into a chariot with the two guards and Beowulf mounted a horse. So, I am to be brought into the city in chains, as a defeated general. She raised her head high and stared impassively in front of her as they rode over the plains. Yeva knew her hair was a snarled mess and that her clothes were torn and covered in mud, but she didn't care. She wouldn't give Beowulf the satisfaction of seeing her flinch away from this humiliation.
As they entered the city crowds of soldiers stood on either side of the main road, holding back the crowd of solemn, onlookers. Yeva couldn't tell if the rage burning behind their weary eyes was direct at her or her captor. She hoped it was for Beowulf, but his words echoed in her mind: for this you can blame yourself.
As they passed through the inner walls of the Citadel proper, Yeva's eyes travelled to the top of the gates, try though she might to look away. On the spikes above the massive portcullis were a dozen heads surrounded by a flurry of ravens. In the middle was King Fulk—his left eye already pecked out. She fought back the bile that rose in her throat. Thankfully, blessedly, Theo's head was not up there.
He must have escaped or hidden. Surely if he were killed I would see his corpse or head. They are furious that he killed Melisende. By all the gods and ancestors in the Nine Realms, let it be so.
Frigga studied the two sleek black birds in front of her. Hugin tilted his head to the side while Munin squawked at her. Thor still could not understand them, but Odin had taught her long ago to communicate his winged messengers.
She sighed, weary of ill tidings. Things were going badly indeed for her daughter-in-law.
She fed the birds scraps of meat that she had brought with her and stroked their heads. After a moment of contemplation, Frigga left the rookery and headed for the council room where she was sure to find her eldest son.
She arrived at the great golden doors. The guards standing sentry crossed their poleaxes across the entrance. "Apologies, my queen, but council is in session."
"I am well aware of that, which is why I am here," she snapped.
The guards glanced at each other. Not giving them time to deny her again, Frigga drew herself up to her full height and glared.
"I am Queen of Asgard, the Allmother, Queen of Heaven. Do you dare deny me access in my own palace?"
With that, they practically tripped over themselves to let her into the chamber. She knew this wasn't Thor's doing. No. He was beset by her husband's courtiers and advisors that hadn't had such free reign over policy since Odin took the throne millennia ago. Whatever damage they did while the Allfather was in the Odinsleep was nothing compared to what he would do to them when he awoke. Their punishment would come in due course; until then, she would work outside the realm of politics.
As she walked in, Thor glanced up from the papers he was leaning over.
"Mother! What are you doing here?" He asked, not unkindly.
Frigga sighed, "why is it all of a sudden everyone forgets I am a council member? You father has welcomed me in these meetings for years. Anyway," she waved her hand at him to dispel his apology. "I have news from Alfheimr."
"News? What news. I thought their conduit to the Bifrost was destroyed," Thor exclaimed.
"It has been, but Hugin and Munin can still travel between the worlds. It seems the civil war which erupted at King Theoderic death has taken a turn for the worst. The Citadel lies half in ruin and conquered by Beowulf. Princess Yevanna was brought to the city in chains. We must send help."
Silence greeted her words, as the men in the room glanced back and forth between each other.
"We cannon spare help, my queen," one of her husband's council men ventured, giving her a deep bow. "We need to rebuild our own realm."
She pressed her lips into a thin line. "Send me then; perhaps I can bargain for the girl's life."
"It is out of the question mother. Look, I am fond of Princess Yevanna, and grateful to her too, but I cannot risk your life. Not with father in the odinsleep," Thor said as gently as he could.
Frigga nodded, she could see the hesitancy and fear of loneliness behind Thor's sparkling eyes. His father was all but dead, his brother too, she could see he did not want to risk losing his mother as well. With a sigh, she left the council room. If the men of the realm would do nothing, she would have to take matters into her own hands.
Yevanna looked around her old chambers in the Citadel. They appeared to be more or less untouched, though there was a gaping hole in the roof and her sword was nowhere to be found. Shaking off some rubble from her blankets, she sat down on the bed and sighed. After Beowulf's awful victory march through the city, she had been dragged up here with guards stationed at the door. Apparently, the next day would be the coronation and wedding—her stomach roiled at the thought.
Learning back on the pillows, she watched the sky gradually darken and the stars appear. Realistically, she didn't have many options. She didn't think escape was possibly until tomorrow—even if she managed to get out of her chambers, there was little hope of making her way through an entirely hostile fortress and city. Besides, where would she go afterwards? She could go through with Beowulf's marriage and coronation with as much dignity as she could muster in order to fight him at a later date. She could scream and fight the entire way, but surely that would only result in her death. She could fling herself from the roof, but again, she didn't want to die. Not really.
Yeva sighed and rolled onto her side. Everything seemed so hopeless, so bleak. How had she managed to get herself in such a mess? What ancestor or god had she infuriated to heap such ire upon herself? Some rubble from the roof fell on her face and she brushed it off in irritation. Sounds of looting in some distant quarter of the city were audible over the wind; it made her heart ache more. Where had she gone wrong? Was it when she agreed to leave Alfheimr for Asgard? What it when she accepted Loki's marriage proposal? More rubble fell on her face. Looking up in anger, Yeva had to stifle a cry of surprise to see a young woman slowly making her way down from the hole in the roof.
"Who are you?" Yeva whispered, conscious of the guards on the other side of the door.
The woman dropped down onto the bed, "who I am isn't important. Your friend Theo sent me—"
"What? Theo! Is he alright? Where is he?" Yeva asked in a panic.
The woman pressed her hand over Yeva's mouth to silence her. "Forgive me, my lady, please, I only have a few minutes until the guards patrolling the roof return. Theo led a group of elite troops out of the city along with a number of men, women, and children. He's going to stage an assault tomorrow at dusk. Be ready."
With those words, the woman gracefully climbed up the stone wall and out the roof. Yeva stared after her, trying to process the information. Theo was coming? Maybe if she could just hold on to her sanity long enough, she could act once he had arrived. Alone she was out numbered, but if he had elite troops with him, the odds had suddenly swung more in their favor.
And just how did he manage to sneak an entire band of elite soldiers and civilians out of the city? Was there another passage? How were they not sighted? She frowned. It certainly was a day for riddles. She looked down at her hands. Speaking of which… How in the name of Valhalla had she managed to shoot fire out of her hands at Beowulf? There was little magic left in Alfheimr; it should have been impossible. Still, perhaps it had something to do with Theo's escape. If she managed to get herself out of this predicament, Yeva would have to look into the theories on magic and its disappearance in her realm.
Lying back down on the bed, Yeva tried to relax herself. She wanted to have her full strength for tomorrow. She had been so exhausted recently, despite not really exerting herself all that much. Perhaps it was simply the weight of reality bearing down on her.
She was awoken in the morning by a group of handmaidens—probably Melisende's if she had to guess from their hostile expressions. Beowulf had ordered them to make her ready for the two ceremonies that would be held that day. She grimaced; even if Theo was successful, she did not enjoy having to go through a marriage ceremony with Beowulf. Still, it wouldn't be real in any sense until later that night.
Keeping her thoughts to herself, she let the handmaidens do their work. She felt like a doll, being dressed up and prettied for make-believe. At least she hoped it was only make believe. If Beowulf did manage to force himself upon her and consummate their marriage, she really would fling herself from the roof of the Citadel.
The morning consisted of a warm bath where the women scrubbed her skin until she felt that surely she must be raw and bleeding. They massaged perfumed oils into her weary flesh and hair. After she had dried off, her red tresses were attended too; coiling them up on her head in a crown braid, the women placed white flowers in her hair. Yeva almost laughed at that—the white flowers were meant to symbolize purity and virginity, something she was lacking since she met Loki.
She flinched at the thought of him, her mind and heart in a tangle of conflicting emotions. She was furious at him for betraying her—he knew how important physical love and loyalty were for her elven culture. Infidelity was tantamount to divorce. But at the same time, that anger could never erase the months of affection and love that had grown between them. Her dream the other night was correct; she did miss him, surely as the stars miss the moon during its darkest phase. Besides, if he really was a frost giant and he had only just realized it, she could see why he might act so strangely.
"My lady!" the head handmaiden snapped her fingers in front of Yeva's face. "You must stand so we may dress you."
Yeva nodded, and obliged, still slightly dazed. The gown itself was lovely: creamy white silk and lace embroidered with delicate golden flowers. Though she hated it on sight because of what it stood for. The handmaidens pulled it over her head and laced up the back. Stepping back to survey their work, they nodded and without a word to her left.
Not long afterwards, the guards opened the door, "It is time, my lady."
She sighed and followed them down the curved stairway to the great hall. Either way, her fate would be decided that night.
Frigga smiled warmly at Heimdall as she approached the Bifrost observatory. Pushing back the drape of her cloak, she revealed a basket full of fruit, bread, and cheese.
"I thought perhaps you might be hungry, good gate-keeper," she called.
Heimdall returned her smile, "My queen, I am always appreciative of your visits."
He stepped down from the activations platform and took the basket from her arms. Selecting a warm bun, he took a bite. "To what do I owe this honor?"
"I understand that you are sworn to obey my son now that he is king-regent, but I was hoping that you could give me information," she said, placing a hand on his forearm.
Heimdall gave her a penetrating gaze, "I would say this to none but you, my queen. Please ask, and I will tell you all that I know."
"You guard the Bifrost between the realms and have power over who does and does not enter. I well know that Thor has forbidden anyone from travelling while the kingdom is in a state of uncertainty. But tell me, please, is there no other way to gain access to a different realm? Alfheimr, for example."
"I thought you might ask something such as this," he replied, his voice grave. "I have been watching the dark dealings in Alfheimr for some while now. While I wish there was something I could tell you, I know of no other ways between the realms and with the dwarves gone back to their homeland, I fear there is only one on Asgard who could help you with your quest."
Frigga's heart beat wildly in her chest. So it was possible to leave the realm in another manner. "Please, tell me who."
"My lady, it is a man locked in the dungeons and destined for death who has the answers you seek."
"Loki," she whispered, breathing her younger son's name like a prayer.
Heimdall simply nodded.
Most of the rubble had been cleared from the Great Hall of the Citadel. Beowulf had even managed to find some gauzy strips of fabric for decoration. The large chamber was fairly empty, filled with only Beowulf's most trusted captains and Melisende's high ranking generals. Candle smoke and incense helped filled vast space of the room. Beowulf was standing in the center of the chamber, next to a table hold the few objects needed for an elvish marriage. Next to him stood Fulk's high priest, looking utterly frightened.
The guard at her side gripped her arm to propel her into the room, but Yeva wrenched her arm out of his grasp and, head held high, walked down the parting sea of men to the middle of the chamber.
"You look ravishing tonight, Yeva," Beowulf commented.
She ignored him.
With shaking fingers, the High Priest took a dagger and motioned for their hands. They obliged and he cut a long red gash across both of their palms. He set the dagger down and picked up a strip of white cloth decorated with green embroidery. Binding their cut hands together, the High Priest intoned the marriage blessing.
"Lord Beowulf, soon to be High King of Alfheimr, Lady Yevanna, Princess of the Western Woods and soon to be High Queen of Alfheimr, do you both come willingly before your ancestors and the spirits of the realm?"
"Yes," Beowulf proclaimed.
Yeva hesitated—even if she said yes, she would be lying and to lie before the ancestors was a grave sin. "All I do tonight I do so before my ancestors and the spirits of the realm," she finally said.
Beowulf glared at her and the priest looked confused.
"My lady, am I to take that as willing consent? I cannot marry you otherwise."
"You may take it that way," she replied, not willing to give Beowulf the satisfaction of hearing her say yes.
The priest glanced nervously at Beowulf, who gave him a menacing look. Nodding, the older man continued, "you have presented yourselves as willing before the gods and ancestors. You are now one blood, one flesh, one soul. The kiss of peace and libations to the ancestors will seal the binding."
Beowulf grinned at the High Priest's announcement and leaned forward, towards her. At the last moment, Yeva turned her head, so he only caught the corner of her lips. It was enough to make her gag, though. Swallowing down the vomit that had risen in her mouth, Yeva avoided Beowulf's angry look and instead turned to face the crowd.
He certainly shortened the ceremony considerable. Beowulf must be in a hurry; perhaps he knows Theo is up to something.
"Yevanna, dearest, you're forgetting something," Beowulf hissed, grabbing onto her arm.
She turned to face him, part of her wanting to punch him for touching her. When she saw what he was holding in his other hand, her heart stopped. The libation to the ancestors was part of the marriage ritual wherein the bride and groom drink from a chalice before pouring the rest of the wine to the earth. Usually, an ornate golden cup was used, especially for royalty. And certainly this chalice's stem was wrought gold, but instead of a glittering, jeweled bowl, the wine was held in a bone white thing. Her mind screeched to a halt, refusing to process what she was seeing.
"I thought it fitting your father witness our union," Beowulf sneered, as she forced the goblet to her lips. "drink," he commanded.
It took all her force of will to wrap her lips around the rim of her father's skull and to let the sour wine wash down her throat, but she managed it. All the while she kept her eyes locked on Beowulf's hoping he saw all the hatred, anger, and malice she felt for him. Pulling the grotesque cup away from her, Beowulf took a swig of wine and poured the rest on the ground. Taking one last look at her, he threw the chalice as hard as he could to the marble floor. Yeva stared in horror as her father's skull smashed into a thousand pieces before her.
"Mother, I did not expect you to brave my new quarters," Loki called, letting his good natured tone mask the pain he felt at his mother seeing him in such a dejected state. "Come to ask me to show repentance?"
Frigga gave him a searching look. "Unfortunately it is too late for that. If you had shown any remorse at your trials, Thor might have been able to spare you life. But I did not come here to speak of such things. Yevanna needs your help."
Hearing her name made Loki feel as if he had been punched in the stomach, and though he tried not to, he was sure it showed on his face. Slowly, he stood and walked towards the glass front of the cell. Learning his arm against the wall, he looked directly into Frigga's eyes as he spoke. "What in the name of the nine could Yeva need from me?"
"I need to know how to travel to Alfheimr," Frigga responded simply.
He learned away from the wall and clutched his hands behind his back. It was an odd request and he was sure he wasn't getting the entire story.
"You came all the way to the dungeons for that? Easy, you go to Heimdall and tell him where you wish to go. Really mother, you do not need to make excuses to see me."
Loki couldn't explain what drove him to be so cruel to her. Perhaps he liked it. Perhaps he was just angry at the situation and she was the closest target for his ire. Either way, the moment his words left his mouth, he felt guilty.
Frigga, for her part, didn't bat an eyelash at his rudeness. Instead of speaking to him, she held her hands in front of her torso like she was clutching a ball. In the void between her hands, an orb of white light appeared and a moment later forms within the orb materialized. Loki stared in horror as a thin, exhausted Yeva was backhanded by Beowulf so hard she went flying to the ground. The images swirled and a moment later he saw his wife led through a city in chains while Beowulf looked on in triumph. Her face was dirty and her hair a nest of flames. Despite the haughty look on her face, he could tell she was broken inside.
"He's going to force her to marry him and claim Alfheimr as his own," Frigga stated calmly. "Tell me how you travelled to Jotunheim without the Bifrost and if I can use the same method to go to Alfheimr."
With a wave of her hands, the portal disappeared.
Loki saw red and clenched his hands into fists. How dare he touch Yeva like that, how dare he humiliate her. Yeva needed him and he was powerless to go to her. He had to swallow his rage at Beowulf—there was nothing he could do. He had to trust that she could take care of herself.
When he spoke it was in clipped tones; he didn't trust his voice not to break if he said too much without a pause.
"Go down as deep as the palace goes. Find the fissure in the rock wall that glows. Speak the dwarven word for revelation. You'll be connected into a tunnel that least to Yggdrasil. The corresponding tunnel to Alfheimr is green."
Frigga nodded, "is there anything you wish me to tell her?"
Loki paused—there was so much he should tell Yevanna. That he was sorry, that he missed her, that he loved her. But he didn't deserve to say those things. Not after what he did and certainly not after he found out what he was. He shook his head.
"She will not, I think, want to hear anything from me. Be careful, mother. Nidhogg lives depths of the worlds."
Sometimes I really hate Beowulf for his epic levels of douche baggery and then I realize I have no one to blame but myself. Anyway, hope you liked it. :) Perhaps 2-3 more chapters and maybe an epilogue left? I think the last few chapters will be shorter because there are specific things I want to happen in their own chapters so their not overshadowed. hmmm...anyway, I'll figure it out.
I would like to thank MaeveMonster, YaoiRPAlly, Cecld16, BlooAngels, Shikyo, ArthursCamelot, ZabuzasGirl, Lokisarmyforever, and IkatieCullen101 for all your lovely reviews! I really, really appreciate them. It was so nice to see that people haven't forgotten about my story just because I'm taking forever to update. I'd also like to thank all the wonderful people who added this story or myself to your alerts / favorites lists.
Questions, Comments, Criticisms? Please PM or Review.
*anxiously sits back and waits for readers to pick up on clumsy foreshadowing*