Author's Note: Be prepared to hate Odin. I do. :/

Chapter Twenty: Idunn Apples P2

Odin watched his golden son sketch instead of picking up the sword. Did he not care about the upcoming tournament? It's been centuries since he banished him to Midgard. What has changed? Was this softness from the mortals or Freyja? He couldn't imagine her inspiring a gentleness in anyone, but his two sons were changed due to her influence. He couldn't deny that. A king should be both strong and forgiving when needed. He was too much of the latter over the centuries they've been apart. He must remedy that.

"Father," he said, gaining his attention. "Why are you staring? Do you wish to talk?"

It seemed he wasn't engrossed in his art. Good, he hasn't completely lost touch in that regard.

"Why aren't you training?"

"I don't wish to."

"Why aren't you training?" he repeated with a hard look.

"It wouldn't be fair to the other guardsmen."

"Fair?" he scoffed. "You're to let yourself become a rusted sword because you're worried about what's fair. You concern yourself too much with how others feel about you."

If he cared about what's fair amongst his men at the determinant of his own skill, then something was wrong. And Odin couldn't let his son fall to the wayside. He couldn't let Baldur become an embarrassment.

"What about how I feel?" Baldur said. "Were my feelings put into consideration when you banished me as a child?"

"You know of Voll's prophecy. Even with the complicated internal rhymes, that Vanir was never wrong," Odin said. "It was the best decision."

"I spent several centuries wondering how to exactly articulate what you did to me, so you would understand. But, I realized I don't need to. I don't need apologies or your remorse," he said. "I am home, and Freyja and Mother have prevented that prophecy."

He was left without words for several moments. His son didn't bother to look at him as he said this. He didn't sound angry, just factual. He kept sketching Freyja even though she was no longer present to be a reference. His depiction was dark, macabre with a murky aura that captured her quite well.

"You shall wed her and put a baby in her to secure the dynasty that could last for thousands of years," he said.

"Why should I care about a dynasty when I shouldn't care about what others think of my family?"

"No, the future of the Æsir royalty is all you should care about!" he snapped before regaining his even tone. "You can't leave this world without leaving behind a legacy. One day, all of us shall be rotting away in the ground, but what lives on is the family name and the accolades."

All he received was silence and zero change in expression.

He continued, "You are blessed with wealth, power, influence, and youth. What have you done with it in these last few centuries? Art?"

Still nothing.

"You shall participate in the tournament."

"Who says I wish to participate in the tournament? It's an unfair advantage since I was given invulnerability."

"You will participate as a show of good will to the other realms, and you will win to show the strength of Asgard and why we are the protectors of the nine realms."

"Protectors? Funny, they call us conquerors," Baldur said casually.

Odin had received similar criticism before from various leaders, but he brushed it off. They weren't Æsir. They didn't know what it was to be blessed with the weight of the nine worlds underneath them. They prevented disaster, gave them direction, governed, and most importantly protected them from outside threats. Yes, they took control, but it was for the best. Control allowed for protection and order. Now, he must instill peace amongst everyone out of the chaos created two years ago by his adoptive son and the Vanir who just won't marry one of his sons for some unfathomable reason.

"We must change their hearts and minds. Therefore, you shall participate with the others. They shall not believe you think you're above them. That is final."

"Fine."

It was simple and lacked any real defiance. He didn't seem to care, just kept sketching.

As Odin walked away, he couldn't help the disappointment in Baldur. His first born son, heir to the throne, didn't seem to care. For the months he's had him back on Asgard, he didn't seem at all interested in politics, ruling, strategy, fighting, nor anything that would put pride in the Odinson name. He just seemed interested in art and his friends, specifically Freyja. He kept quiet and to himself. It wouldn't do.

His next son he came across was leaning across the rail and overlooking the courtyard below. He already knew what Thor was looking at. It didn't take a genius.

"I see you pining there, son."

Thor snapped from his reverence and looked away from Freyja in the courtyard as the play's crowd from a distance cheered. His cheeks flushed in embarrassment at being caught admiring her so shamelessly. He was so very obvious.

"I-I wasn't," he cleared his throat into his fist before straightening in front of him. He gave him a look. "I was looking at Freyja, yes."

Odin stared at his son in mild incredulity. He was acting like such a love struck boy instead of the confident man he raised him to be. It wasn't how he won Frigg as his. And it was odd to see the sudden change because he's been confident with maidens before, but Freyja was his folly it seemed. Thor's inability to woo her has broken down that ego too much. Princes and his sons especially were to be confident. As his father, he should remedy that.

"She has been promised to you since her birth," Odin said. "Swoop in and take what's yours if you so desire her."

"She won't—"

"How do you think I won your mother?" he said, not hearing any of it. "We were arranged to marry, and she wasn't elated, but eventually she came around… on our wedding night."

The unmasked horror on his son's face was sharp and stark. He supposed Freyja was the only girl who's ever rejected or resisted him. The poor boy didn't know what to do when things didn't come easily to him. Thor didn't know how to conquer like he did. He didn't know what it was like to struggle. He'd already won the nine realms for his family name and pride. He finished the work his father started and now one of his sons was having doubts over a maiden whom he could've married if he so chose. It was pathetic and egregious. It won't do.

"Father, I know that won't work with Freyja. She's far more hard headed than mother."

"Nonsense," he said. "Go now. Speak to her and tell her exactly what you want. Enough pinning and get her out of your system."

X

She picked up her rune stones and threw them like dice across her bed. Eyes still firmly shut, she picked out three. She scoffed in incredulity. One of them was blank. The other meant she was fucked. And the final meant that the answer was staring her right in the face. She flopped back on her bed in frustration. Her tarot card reading was ambiguous as well, telling her things she already knows. Everything felt fucked and like a dead end. Her spirit was clogged, and it felt like there was no way out.

Trying to gain focus and openness, she laid spread-eagle along the bed. Relaxing and meditating, she attempted to invoke a trance. It took several moments to try and center her, and eventually all the incense and herbs she took earlier allowed her to gain that state she needed.

And the second she opened her eyes, she felt it. Connecting to the spiritual world once more, removing the cataracts from her third eye in these moments was overwhelmingly comforting. Once you have a spiritual awakening you can't go back. When it's gone, it's like missing a limb. You may survive, but you'll never feel whole again.

Despite being artificial and not borne of her, she could feel essences again. It felt as if the room was breathing with her, giving off energy that was once second nature to her before her chakras became fucked. Now is the time to find the root of her problems, bring her back to her center like rings on a tree.

With shaky legs, she stood. The sound of Havi's call was distorted and slowed. His aura was a warm yellow murky with some ugly browns. To comfort him, she placed a gentle kiss on the top of his head. It cleared up some of the murky aura around him.

She turned and saw a black and blue essence in the air much like a trail. Instantly, she was attracted to it and followed. She opened the large oak door of her borrowed bed chambers. The guards faced her, but their words and presence were being drowned out. She didn't pay them any mind as she walked around the halls. The echoes, the awful energy, and the bad aura surrounding the room. It was nauseating.

It was a sensory overload. Everything felt as if it was breathing and pulsating with her. The foggy haze, leaving behind only a blue and black trail was the centering force. If she looked away for too long she felt nauseous. She let her feet guide her.

The faces were a blur of shapes and heights. All were grey blurs, dull and murky. They didn't register for her as she passed through the corridors, following that blue-black misty trail. Where shall it take her? Where was her subconscious trying to lead her to?

Suddenly, large and warm hands intercepted her path. She frowned and looked up slowly. And she was frozen, completely enraptured and encapsulating. She got hints of it when she was normal, but in this state everything was incredibly heightened and sensitive. She could see his aura in its entirety, and she understood why he was the bright and gleaming god. He was warm, inviting, calming – everything she wasn't. He was her opposite in personality, complimenting her dark, macabre, and angry aura.

"I wanted to talk with you," he said.

There was a tinge of worry and something else she couldn't quite place, fogging it, and it just…

He asked her something.

"What?" she managed to get out.

She nearly jumped out of her skin when strong, calloused, warm hands grasped her cheeks gently. It was so real and solid in this hazy world. It centered her, and her focus was now sharply on that celestial face.

"Are you alright? You seem off," he said. "Your pupils are blown, and you're swaying."

"I'm in a trance," she said.

His thumbs were soothing against her cheekbones. They stroked back and forth gently, making her putty in those hands. It had been a long time since she's felt this way. Under the trance, it left everything raw and open spiritually and psychologically. There weren't any more barriers like self-doubt or fear of getting hurt. No, how she felt was on display, and it was scary.

"I won't ask further," he said. "I was wondering if we were cool."

"Cool?"

"Earlier you seemed upset that I was okay with us getting married," he said. "I guess you don't want us to get married, which is fine. I won't force you, but I thought that maybe…"

The sincerity and the brightness in which he spoke and conducted himself had her forgetting to breathe. He was pure and filled with such light sans one spec. She couldn't put a name to it, so it must've been the subject of their conversation that blemished that beautiful aura. She had to remind herself what that was.

Arranged marriage?

Right.

"Marriage? Y-you only want me for your a-art," she said, recalling exactly what was bothering her.

He recoiled as if struck by her words before he collected himself. "I draw and take pictures of you because I like you. Even in Times Square, I recognized you as Freyja and wanted to capture your beauty. If it bothers you, I'll stop," he said, and there was a pause as his cheeks pinkened. "And, I was wondering, after training, if you would want to eat with me in the Great Hall."

Did her face feel hot? It felt hot. She knew she was being childish with the butterflies fluttering in her stomach, but it was how she felt. In the trance, there was no hiding for her or who she was encountering. And from day one, this Æsir of all people had caught her fancy and eventually heart despite the barrier she put up. She longed for the closeness. The trance took away the fear of getting hurt, fear of being abandoned, and it only left her love. It was buried, tried to be repressed, but it was there for some time. It had been a long time since she felt like this, and it was overwhelming, something she assumed the long winded poets tried to convey but never managed to. It couldn't be ignored any longer.

"Yes."

She leaned in, expecting a kiss on the lips, but she felt his lips on her forehead instead. He was too sweet and warm like honey. And, it felt wrong when he pulled away from giving her one last smile before walking down the hall. She wanted to follow.

However, the trail was leading her elsewhere…

X

"You? You received one of Lady Freyja's hairpins?"

"Of course," he said, flushing as he openly admired it with satisfaction.

Thor overheard the conversation in passing and frowned. He walked over and saw the laughing men straighten up immediately. The hairpin was hidden hastily behind the balding, round faced guardsmen. He wouldn't meet Thor's eyes, and he could feel his temper beginning to flare. His blood already ran hot from Olaf and his father's disappointment….

"Show me the hairpin," he said authoritatively.

"I, uh, yes, sire."

When he showed it in his palm, Thor looked at it. The hairpin was silver and engraved with runes. It was for sure Freyja's.

"Why would Freyja give you her hairpin, or did you steal it?"

"I didn't steal it, sire, and I can't tell you why."

The off duty guard's face flushed, and he looked away as if embarrassed. It didn't fail to anger Thor. What were he and Freyja doing for her to give him a hairpin? Why him? Why would Freyja bother with such an unremarkable, dare he say ugly—

Oh.

"Tell me."

"She said—"

"Give it here!" he demanded.

The guard flinched and gave it away quickly, cowering beneath him. He stored the hairpin in his pocket. He wasn't done here.

"Where is your post when you're on duty?"

"The dungeons, sire."

The dungeons? Why would she go down to the– oh. She managed to sneak around before guards were stationed in front of her doors, go down to the dungeon, bribed this fool, and visited Loki. But that didn't explain the bruises and the clear sexual assault and possible rape. Loki surely wouldn't. His brother may be far gone and capable of things he didn't think were possible of him, but he loved Freyja. He wouldn't.

But wouldn't he?

Thor could feel the anger growing in him at the possibility that his little brother did that to her. Freyja chose to be close and loyal to Loki, even slept with him years ago, and he betrayed her by sexually assaulting her. It explained why she was even angrier than usual. Loki clearly didn't deserve her friendship, and yet Thor was left out to dry. Surely, he was a better choice than a potential rapist as a friend.

"Sire," someone said timidly, jarring him. "Your father requested you to spar alongside Baldur in preparation for the tournament."

"To hell with sparring!"

How could he care about training when he was already the best fighter here? He didn't need it. What was his father thinking?

Everyone moved as he stormed out of the hall. He needed to find Freyja. He needed to keep her safe. She was without magic and vulnerable to more attacks. He said he'd keep her safe, and he was failing. He'd prove himself worthy of her.

There was murmuring down the halls, and he heard Freyja's name in whispers. Where could she have gone? He'd already saved her from Olaf. Who else here was trying their hand at sexual assault? He still couldn't get over the fact that his own brother assaulted her. He saw those bruises, and they brought about the rage within.

The nobles gathered outside of one of the doors, whispering about her. He recognized it as the infirmary. He brushed past the crowd that parted and bowed for him. He went to open it, but the door was locked. He then knocked, demanding it to be open. He was only met with silence.

Dammit.

She could be hurt again. Another Olaf or Loki could've come around and assaulted her. He was trying to keep his promise if she'd just let him.

X

She ignored the rattling of the door as the knocks still sounded on the other side. She barely heard the voice, but it sounded familiar.

Her focus was mostly on Eir. Her aura and essences were a swirl of pastels which seemed familiar somehow. It was pretty, and even though she favored the dark and macabre she could appreciate it.

"F-Freyja? Why are you looking at me like that?" Eir said, blushing and brushing back her loose hair. "Should I let Thor in?"

"No," she said. "I want to talk with you."

"About? Your pupils are so wide. A-Are you in a trance?"

"Yes. Why do you seem familiar?"

As Freyja stepped closer, she could see Eir's hesitation better. It was almost cute how shy she was being. It was unlike their last encounter, but last time Freyja didn't put herself under a trance to understand how to fix her magic.

"You don't look well," she said, recovering. "Would you like to sit down?"

After a moment, Freyja complied. She sat across from Eir, swaying still. Her aura was still a beautiful swirl of pastels as the room pulsed with life as if it was breathing with her. It was oddly comforting. This whole room was oddly comforting.

Eir tossed her an apple. Freyja caught it and recognized it as one of the Idunn Apples. She took a bite and instantly felt a little better.

"You're being reckless, Freyja," Eir said. "You're putting yourself at great risk."

"I don't care," Freyja said, feeling herself starting to sober from her trance. "I want my magic back, and I want to feel normal again."

"I understand, but—"

Was she going to say 'I'm worried about you'? If she did, it would be too much. So Freyja interrupted, so she wouldn't know. "You didn't answer my question before," she said.

"I… I'm surprised you remembered. I, like you, was supposed to be a Valkyrie one day before it was disbanded. I remember you and I in training on Asgard as children," Eir said, blushing.

Freyja pulled back her gaze. Most didn't realize that staring was pressure on someone and depending on the degree it may be too much for the receiving end. Now, deemed a beautiful and intense person, she may be a little overwhelming. Baldur is overwhelming for her. Perhaps, Freyja is overwhelming for Eir.

Now, Valkyries? Now that Freyja was sober, she could process it. She could remember the hopes for her to be the future leader of them. She didn't remember how or why it disbanded since she was a child. It was strange how much time could pass, and you could still see someone's face remain the same. Except for Freyja, she changed her face and regretted it.

"I remember you," she said, giving the doctor a smile.

"I think Thor finally left," Eir said, clearly wishing to change the subject. "He's really concerned about you."

"I guess I should be flattered," Freyja said flatly.

Eir began to laugh softly behind her fist. After a moment, Freyja began to laugh drily herself. She supposed it was a little funny.

…

"Freyja?" Frigg said gently.

Focus came back after a moment's pause, and she looked up into the concerned queen's face. Despite being cut off from the spiritual plane, she could tell Queen Frigg wasn't faking it. The oddity of a feminine presence showing care wasn't lost on her. She didn't have a mother in her life. It was unbelievably refreshing to be around women, especially sorceresses. Her crying in front of Eir wasn't a coincidence. She was beginning to believe that all of her misery was due to men looming over her, waiting for her to fuck them. They weren't her friends, not in any meaningful way, just counting the days until she slept with or gave them a relationship.

Baldur lingered in her mind. He didn't seem too interested in being with her – could go either way. He just wanted to sketch or take photos of her, and when she spoke with him, he said he'd stop if she asked. He was just smitten and emotionally intelligent. It was too easy, too perfect, too simple, too good to be true. How could he be real? And, she couldn't trust her feelings.

So, she would hang out with women. Maybe, she'd have a real friendship: one that didn't end in sexual assault. Hopefully. Norns, she didn't know anymore. Everything felt fake or something was wrong with her that would lead everyone to eventually abandon her.

"Freyja?"

"Yes, your grace?" she said, jarring out of her thoughts once more.

"You've refused your handmaidens, further treatment by Lady Eir, and you've been wandering around the castle as if possessed. Are you alright, dear?"

Might as well be honest.

"No."

"Thor told me about the assault," she said.

She bristled. Of course, he snitched on her, and it explained all of the damn guards harassing her and keeping an eye on her. She figured he meant well, but Norns that wasn't his secret to tell. She didn't like her business out there. Asgard was already distorting who she was, attacking her, and wishing she'd be this compliant, delicate, little princess ready to maintain the status quo. It made Freyja's skin crawl.

"Did he?" she said flatly, sighing through her nose.

"I won't ask about it, but we want to make sure you're safe, and that's why we stationed so many guards."

"I might as well just not leave my chambers," she said.

"Surely, you would like to attend the tournament," Frigg said. "Everyone picks competitors from the nine realms including Vanir to win glory."

It sort of peaked her interest. She could feel some anger rising under the surface though. It felt like somebody was dangling a carrot in front of her just to appease her briefly. She didn't like being under somebody's thumb, and any feelings of being trapped brought about the rage that just sat in her chest so frequently.

"Will my father or brother be there?" she asked, trying to remain calm. If she guessed, she'd say this wasn't Queen Frigg's decision. No need to take it out on her.

"I'm not sure."

Freyja didn't say anything. She rested her face in her palm.

"Come, let me show you the future responsibilities as queen," she said, standing.

Responsibilities? What kind of responsibilities would a queen in a literal patriarchal political system have beyond giving heirs? She wanted to know, but she had a feeling it might be frivolous and not something she cared for. If it was flower arranging, she was going to bang her head onto the table.

She followed behind Queen Frigg and saw that she garnered such respect in passing. The people lowered their heads and gave her smiles. She was what Asgard wanted: quiet, stiff upper lipped, and regal. Freyja was not that. She knew she was aggressive, bitter, and prickly. It was not what queens and broodmares were made of. Why were they trying so hard to fit her in this mold? It reminded her of those toys on Midgard meant for toddlers: a square peg doesn't fit in a round hole.

Freyja imagined Queen Frigg was in part glad she was resisting the marriage to one of her sons. Her position as queen consort once the heir ascends to the throne would be challenged if someone married the heir. Queen mother was still respected, but it didn't command as much power. Freyja didn't think Frigg was particularly power hungry, but desires can sneak up on people. Power is alluring and comes with many privileges one wouldn't want to part with. It was one of the things she missed in her magic….

She was rather disappointed by most of the duties. It was mostly party planning, crafting a presentable image for the people, and child rearing. There was only one duty that actually appealed: charity. Finding and selecting a good cause to help improve the lives of the people most in need. It was the only one she saw directly benefiting the people whomst the queen rules over. Ruling was such a farce. She hoped she could escape again with her magic. Freyja wanted out so badly she was nearly shaking with it. She couldn't do this. She wasn't built for this.

She went back to her chambers feeling defeated.

She felt imprisoned. She was never getting out of here. She'd never be free from the Æsir. She would be a broodmare for people who hate her and every move of hers will be judged viciously by the nobles who reside here. She'd have to be an example of the Vanir, and she'd inevitably screw it up and represent them badly. Then, if she had children they'd be deemed half-breeds and potentially be ruined by the influence of spoiled royal life. It felt suffocating. These stone walls were suffocating. This whole realm was suffocating.

"Lady Freyja," one of the guards knocked.

She didn't answer. She didn't want to. Since Thor ratted her out, she was under constant surveillance. She was angry and wanted nothing to do with anyone. She just wanted to be left alone. She didn't trust any of them, and to hell with everyone.

"The Allfather requires you to be at the tournament tomorrow."

She could feel the tension in her face as she rubbed to try and alleviate it. She did not want to go to a tournament where a bunch of testerone-addled warriors she didn't care about were going to compete for things she didn't care about. Why did Odin insist on punishing her like this? She already hated him. Was his goal to push her into doing something insane? Because she was about at that point.

"If you don't come willingly, you'll be dragged by force."

In a fit of anger, she threw the nearest thing on her bed at the door. It shattered. She heard the guard's disgruntled sound, and then he dared not say another word. She flopped to the side of the bed as she pet her ever growing friend Havi who was purring ever so gently. He was a balm.

It had been a long day, and she fell asleep quickly….

Unbeknownst to her, Loki's illusion appeared, sitting on the empty spot in Freyja's bed. He was looking upon her at her most peaceful and vulnerable state. His hand reached forward, knowing his illusion wouldn't be able to touch her. He longed to. He missed physical comforts. The warm touch of his friend's skin sounded heavenly especially being in that cell for days, weeks (he lost track) after their, hm, spat. She hadn't visited him, allowed him to at least try to gain forgiveness, and he missed her severely.

Much to his relief, it seemed his magic has improved since then because when he went to stroke her cheek his hand didn't faze through. He was able to touch her. His heart leapt and ached bitter sweetly because it was possible through the illusion.

Through sheer force of will, he continued to stroke her cheek gently as he admired her openly. That is until he saw her shift….

Freyja blinked her bleary eyes. Eventually, her vision cleared. She looked around as she gathered her bearings despite her groggy brain. Her suspicions were false. She was alone, and no one was in her bedchambers with her.

She sat up and put her book away on her bedside table. Then, she blew out the candle. After that, she fell back to sleep.

Author's Note: So, did you all like the first episode of the Loki show on Disney Plus?