Chapter Two: Goddess of Mourning.
The hustle of the palace was usually bustling on Sundays, ironic for a day that was traditionally used for rest. Tonight was the summer solstice, and an obligatory party was being thrown in honor of the new season. Loki would argue the heat of the summer arrived many days ago, but Asgard loved any excuse for a gathering.
"Tell me, brother, what has plagued your mind so?" Thor asked as the pair cantered around the southern fields, avoiding their mother's demands for their help in preparation.
"I do not know how to explain it," Loki quietly revealed. Thor smiled then, a righteous smirk.
"So, it is a woman then?" He chuckled. Loki threw a sideways glance at his brother, balancing somewhere between irritated and amazed that he had the insight to figure that out."I may not be as intelligent as you, but I have the most experience when it comes to ladies."
They sat in comfortable silence as they trotted along the border of the castle's gardens, lazily making their way towards home. Loki wanted to ask advice, but how did he explain a completely unwarranted obsession with a Lady in Waiting. Not just that, but a lady in waiting that was a fallen Princess. Besides, he did not need help wooing the girl. He wanted to uncover the lady's mystery; he didn't know if wooing someone that … traumatized was possible.
Furthermore, what ends would that come to? She certainly didn't seem to be the type to enjoy passionate nights nor the kind to be quickly befriended. He could take no pleasure in her body or her mind – he honestly did not know himself what he was courting. Courting as if he could court a disowned royal. He rolled his eyes at himself.
He couldn't help thinking someone that innocent didn't deserve to be disgraced. She had fallen for the words of a man who no doubt soothed her with words of love but never had the intention of honoring her. An act of insincerity. He had the urge to pummel whoever assigned her that crime. It was clearly meant for the other party. She had to have been tortured for betraying her betrothed. As spiteful and nasty as Thor and Loki could get, he did not think even Odin would have his sons tortured. Borr knew Frigga wouldn't dream of it.
Frigga hadn't been raised as a royal herself, raised by witches as it was. Perhaps his family wouldn't mind. He wasn't the future king; he was the second prince. The extra, the backup; In some ways, many considered him the most blessed. To have all the offerings of a crown prince but never have to take the thrown? He got to indulge in the delicacies, the drink, the show, the women. And He wouldn't need to breed the heirs. He could have whatever women he chose, couldn't he?
"Statue is such a fickle thing." Loki thought aloud.
"Statue? She is below our station then?" Thor asked.
"Mm, I wouldn't say below," Loki alluded as vaguely as possible.
"Brother, your responses bring me more questions than answers."
"For me too." Loki agreed.
"Well, I know not what you mean by these shrouded answers. I know only that as long as I have known you, since birth may I remind you, you have not been this distracted by a lady."
The dark-haired prince chuckled. He thought of the moonchild's wide sea-colored eyes, offset by her black lashes. She was captivating if nothing else, but it wasn't that which had him so fixated. It was her mystery. He was the God of Mischief, not she. He would unwind her secrets should it kill him! He groaned, thinking of her glorious secrets.
"It is not so much her as it is her cryptic ways."
"Ha!" Thor's thunderous snort rumbled through the open field. "That is true of most women brother, the best way to unveil them is always the same. Talk to her, get to know her."
"And what if she won't allow me to?"
"Allow you?" Thor chortled, "Are you not the silver-tongued prince the Asgardian people speak of?"
Oh, what he would do to Angrboda with his tongue if she would just let him.
Done with the conversation and anxious to enact a plan for the evening, Loki spurred his horse and galloped off. Calling back to his brother. "I know I am the God of Speed compared to your lard-ness."
The wind soared through his hair, filling his ears and whipping noir strands around his head as he raced up the hills towards the stables. He swore on the south balcony, where the ladies in waiting stood mooning over the young princes; he could see a wisp of orange fire hair watching too.
After his horse was pastured and he felt he had rubbed in his victory satisfactorily, he parted ways with Thor. Loki paced down the hall within soundless contemplation. He had read many of the Alfhiem books. History, Legacies, Customs, Language. He had read these all before. They revealed nothing to him of Angrboda.
King Freyer and Queen Freya were her parents. Freyer was a God, born of a deceased brother of Odin. Centuries ago, he had been wed to Freya to unite the Asgard and Alfhiem people, which meant bringing them an alliance. Of course, with universal peace, this had little effect on the day-to-day of Asgardian princes. Loki had visited their planet as a boy; they were white-haired, pale people of iridescent skin and pointed ears. Not a single one of them he could remember was red-haired. Especially not someone meant to be essentially his second cousin.
Fjolnir, the oldest boy, was set to take overrule. Fjolnir, he did remember, he was a pig-headed prince. Much the same as thor, just more elf and much less robust. Angrboda was the youngest child and the first girl. She was supposed to marry the son of King Eitri and Queen Egvanda of Nedavellir, Prince Egvtri. A dwarfish stump of a royal with greasy hair and an oily smile. Loki would not blame her for cheating if she had done so; he would have if he were in her position as well.
That was all he had gained from the books. He was a little disturbed by the fact that Angrboda was supposedly his cousin twice removed, but something about her spoke to his wicked heart. Called to his, like a siren's song. He had lurked around in an invisibility spell in the servants' corridors for much of yesterday, and his eavesdropping had gotten him no closer. He could try spying on Angrboda herself, but he doubted that he would hear much unless she talked to the walls. No one had much to say about the whispy elf.
He had seen spells of mindreading in some of his mother's books, but you had to be touching the participant to access their thoughts. That wasn't going to be of much help if he couldn't get the damned lass to look up from the ground.
As he stepped into his chambers, the familiar lighting soothed his irritation. He slipped out of his muddied riding boots and headed into the stream of steaming water that awaited him in his bathing room. The scalding water eased the tense muscles in his shoulders, and he sighed contently.
He would be lying if he said he didn't think of her. He imagined what she would look like wet, her hair stuck to her skin, trailing all the way down to her hips. Her pearly skin would look diamonous, with tiny drops of water beading in the dips of her body. Would her freckles cover her entirely, or were there shapes to them? She would stand below him, her round lips slack open, little moans of pleasure escaping. Loki would make her shake, but it would be with pleasure, perhaps if she allowed it, a little pain.
Tonight, he would try to get to know Angrboda. The ache of wonder was becoming sweltering, and he had a better chance to enchant her if he knew something about her. What was her favorite drink? What did she dream about? Did she like the music? Perhaps he would even dance with her; ladies in wait were of noble blood, it wasn't unheard of. He could tell her about stars, light, and even the rotation that had led them to this very summer. He would ask her about her travels, what her favorite book was?
Did she feel the way he did when he thought of her?
Did she moan his name at night when she was alone?
Did she dream about him coming to her?
Loki found himself redressing with renewed stamina. Absolutely everyone had a weakness, something they wanted. Whatever she wanted, he would get her. She had to have a button to push, a string to pull – away inside of her walled-up body. He wanted to show her, she could bloom under the right light. She could blossom here.
"Goodeve, my son, aren't you looking replenished?" Frigga smiled at her dashing youngest boy, who strode into the foyer with a devilish suave about him.
"Thank you, Mother. You're looking rejuvenated yourself." Loki grinned, offering her his arm to take. She did so with a swell of pride, gazing at her small but mighty family. Somehow the time had slipped through her fingers, and her children were now grown. Well, young men at any rate. Her heart swelled as she thought of Asgard in their capable hands. So long as they worked together, they were unmatched in talents.
One day they would lead the Asgardian people through the peace their father had ruled for centuries. She sighed contently, with a full spirit as she walked side by side with her husband and sons into the ballroom. Odin presented the night's celebratory cause with a speech that roused the people, igniting their pride and tugging at their hearts. Thor and Loki listened intently, knowing one day it would be them who had to give these speeches.
Well, Thor would present them, but unquestionably Loki would help write them.
As they descended the stairs which led to the great room, the family was gazed upon by the crowd. Loki kept his head up, navigating the steps with his Odin-given grace, and searched for the only face he cared about seeing. The siren that called to him was perched in the farthest corner, an ocean of people separating them. Her gaze was on her feet as usual, but that would help him. She had no idea he was about to fight his way to her. Sure, perhaps it wasn't war but having to make it through a slew of his parents and Thor's closest friends? That was close to torture.
When Loki reached the landing, he decided the best strategy would be to make a beeline for her. He had debated sticking to the west wall and following it back to her, but if someone wanted to stop him for a chat, he would be cornered. He was lucky tonight that no one liked him; it was simple for his lean figure to weave through them with relative ease. He was tall enough to see over many of the people, her unworldly hair tagging her location.
He reached her before he had really figured out what to say. "Princess Angrboda."
The girl's face shot up, her red waves seemingly fanning around her. Her eyes were wide and raw, acquisitory. "I am no longer called that."
Her voice washed over him in a satin wave. He inhaled the ambrosial scent of her breath as a brute man bumped into the back of him and knocked the two closer together. She pressed her back into the wall defensively, her fists closing at her sides. He ignored the mumbled apology and focused on her. Her pupils dilated; her skin prickled into goose flesh. She was scared.
He did not want her to fear him. He took a big step back, holding his hands up in surrender, pushing the crowd away and giving her more room. "What should I call you then?"
She looked past him, unseeing. A panic-stricken expression clouding her expression, her fists now pressed against the wall behind her. She looked like she wanted to claw through the barrier and escape out the back. Loki stared at the bewildered, frightened girl and felt nothing but a sickening pity. Something had obviously evil had happened to her, whether causation of her insincerity or not, she did not deserve to be tortured.
"Angrboda, would you like to go outside? I will accompany you if you like-"
She looked between him and the hoard of guests, then back again. Terror consumed more of her face, and now tears formed in her hazy eyes. Her breaths became quickened and more shallow.
"Angrboda?"
She did not answer to her name, but a hand reached up to clutch her throat. Her own nails clawing into her flesh, and distress made her muscles quiver. A crimson stain seeped out the small slices.
"Angrboda?" She did not answer him once more, and her hyperventilating was beginning to draw attention. Several passersby whispered about the odd display, and Loki stood taller, stretching his cloak out as much as he could to shield her from onlookers. He debated his options for several moments. He could forcibly move her, which risked making her even more untrusting of men but save her the humiliation. He could try to find a healer, but that would take several moments and leave her by herself and vulnerable. Or he could send out a mental call of magic to his mother because, well – she always knew what to do.
Just as he decided his mother was the best choice, Angrboda made her mind up for him. She fled, bolting around one side of his body and tossing his cape out of the way. She dashed into the closest door leading into a western hallway, gasping for breath. Loki stood bewildered for a heartbeat, but his mother answered his becking, pulling him back to reality.
"My beloved, what is it?" Frigga asked.
"Um, well, I should warn you I just put the fear of Borr into one of your ladies."
"Angrboda?" The queen's mental question lit up a strange shade of concern like the letters were italicized in his mind.
"Yes?" He answered patiently, trying to pick at whatever string he had pulled. Loki began to pace towards the center of the room. "She ran from the room when I asked her name. Well, her name preference."
"Her name preference?" This time Frigga spoke aloud, wrapping her arm around her son's arm. She taught Loki his effortless agility, sliding into his pace with unmatched ease, coming from the crowd as if by coincidence. He half-heartedly smirked, remembering when he was younger how wonderous that she had always managed to know when he was up to no good and appeared seemingly out of thin air. Almost, as if, by magic.
"Yes, I called her given name, and she seemed upset." He pondered, stepping in pace with his mother.
"Oh, son, for all your intelligence, you could not see what that would do to her?"
Loki wrinkled his eyebrows, shaking his head. "I do not understand; I think she deserves to be called that. I can not imagine what display of 'insincerity' deserves, not only the stripping of her title but banishment. I thought she would appreciate me seeing her as an equal."
Frigga tilted her head back in a light laugh. "My sweet boy, for you, it may seem that easy, but for her, I am sure that it brings up only sadness. For all your effort, though, I shall help you."
"My effort? I wasn't aware I was asking for help." Loki bluffed.
"Ha, Loki may I remind you I am the Goddess of Love? You can play your games with whoever else you please, but I will not be fooled." Frigga patted her child's arm, a sympathetic smile playing at her lips. "I told her that she is now of Asgard, and she can consider herself as such. In the lands of the Gods, I told her to rename herself as the goddess of her domain."
"And what domain is hers?" Loki smiled.
"You'll have to ask, Aenilnienor." The queen was enjoying his angst far too much; he rolled his eyes.
He would not have to ask.
"She renamed herself is Elvish mother," Loki stated, strolling his mother back towards his father. They floated across the room in their unmatched elegance. Lokie may have been Odinson, but he took after his mother.
"Oh? So you know what it means? Do tell me?" Frigga tittered.
"She renamed herself 'the Goddess of Mourning.'"
Loki hadn't felt much like partying after that; a sadness settled in between his ribs that he couldn't shake. Goddess of Mourning. Aenil -o Nienor. She had shortened it to one word, which was brilliant. None of these names fit the blue-eyed angel; she deserved a title that served her painful beauty. That's what he had come to describe it as; she was so alluring it hurt him. An unfamiliar yearn in his chest, a stirring at the base of his abdomen, tightness in his throat. He paced along the garden walls, balancing atop them with an apple in his hands, tossing it between his palms rather than eating it.
When he was a child, his mother detested how he played with his food, but that was Loki. He played with everything, books, plants, water, you name it. He created games out of nothing; Frigga had lost track of how many times he had warped his lunch into a statue or woven a vine into a swing. It was a part of him to be mischievous. She had always encouraged his magic, and now he was a powerful sorcerer. She only had herself to blame for his constant quest for improvement.
He sighed and crushed the apple in its pause between his fingers, letting the pulp spill down the wall below him. He was failing miserably at whatever pursuit of Angrboda he had begun. Aenilnienor. Whoever. The girl who occupied his mind was near constantly now. One thing was sure, he wasn't getting very far on his own.
He heard laughter roaring from the great hall; he could see the balcony full of people from his detached spot on the exterior fence. With everyone having such a grand time, surely no one would mind if he took the night to study.
Descending onto the outer side of the fence, Loki burst into a jog towards the north side of the castle. He didn't even have to dodge the guard thanks to his cloaking spell as he wandered the halls in search of the chambers his parents occupied. Their rooms consisted of a small kitchenette, a sitting room, two studies, two bathing rooms, and a bedroom. He needed only the book about transversing people's thoughts, and he would retire to his room for some midnight learning.
His parents' door was covered in ancient writings, protecting the space through enchantments. Loki nodded approvingly at his mother's choices. A spell of protection, a spell disabling harm doers, a spell to ward off angry spirits – spirits, mother, honestly. The door seemed to only ward off those whose will was ill-intended.
He transversed through the arch with quiet ease.
His parents' room wasn't an extraordinary place, but he hadn't been much past the sitting room in a climbing number of years. He was several centuries old at this point. He remembered his mother's study to be on the left, so he slipped into the first door and quickly tracked down the book on thought reading. It only took him three tries to get it correct.
Just as he slipped back into the invisibility incantation, the chamber doors burst open, and the laughter of Odin and Frigga fill the room.
"Ah, another successful evening, my dearest," Odin wraps Frigga up in his arms. "Will you ever cease being such a wonderful hostess?"
"Oh, I can not give up that claim until at least both my sons are married off, and I have thrown them weddings!" Frigga smiles, shutting the chamber doors tightly behind her.
Loki holds his breath and locks himself in place. He could apparate, but it was difficult, and Allfather knew how the enchantments on the door would affect his magic.
Odin leans in to kiss his wife and pauses. "Frigga, do you feel a presence?"
Frigga glances around an impervious look on her small face. "No, I do not feel anything. I think you've had one too many ales."
Odin shrugs off her hand from his shoulder. "No, no. I may be getting on in millennia, but I am not a fool. Something is off."
Loki begins to need breath as he scrambles his brain for a solution. There was no way he would get in and out of the door without Odin hearing, so his hand was forced. He made himself focus, and Odin began to wander the room, searching for Loki's unknown presence that he was closing into. He pinched his eyes shut and thought of his mother teaching him to teleport.
Visualize where you want to appear, then do it.
Don't overthink it, just think of where you want to be and –
Loki flopped into his sitting room and collapsed onto the carpet. "Oh, thank god."
He laughed at himself as he realized the leather-bound book was tight in his hand. He laid his head back as his heart slowed down to a reasonable pace and sucked in the fresh air. When the room stopped spinning, he began reading.
AN: Thanks for reading chapter two; I've got many plot points cooking on the old brain-stove this week. Expect another update soon. Please leave any questions in the comments, and, of course, reviews/critic is welcome.