Author's note: This chapter has strong TW, RAPE, VIOLENCE, GRAPHIC IMAGERY.
Chapter 3: Insomnia.
The next morning's sun rose with malice, searing Loki's tired corneas. He sat against a column on the floor of his personal balcony, mumbling the incantations he studied under his breath. Thought pulling magic was more complicated than he thought it would be. People of all species had certain defenses of their minds. Many may not even realize so, but like a skull, it wraps your brain in a protective cocoon. You had two options, to befriend the resistance, cast enchantments and slip by unnoticed, or to violently override them. You could always jinx the person out of remembering you violated their mind, but this level of sorcery was increasingly challenging.
He didn't have much time left before he needed to meet Thor and Odin. Casting the book back into a miniature size, he slid it into a decorative trinket box and back under his bed. Perhaps not the best hiding spot, but what was he hiding anyway? A crush? He rolled his eyes at himself and dawned his riding boots. At least today, they were sparing outdoors on horses.
As Loki mounted his horse Sleipnir, a fast beast the shade of night, so swift people said he had eight legs. The gloomy creature was a match for Loki's disposition, and he had raised him from a foal like a father. He was proud of the horse, who stood at least 22 hands tall. The animal mimicked Loki's taste for chaos and was unruly to everyone but himself. In his element, Loki left his worries in the stables, and his harsh gallop rocketed him ahead of Thor and Odin, whose heavy, broad bodies did not allow them to whip forward in the way his trim physique did. His laughs electrified the air as he leaped over the obstacles on his stead, zipping ahead of the gilded Gods. He took enjoyment in outshining them so thoroughly, two men he was always trying to impress or defeat. It was exhilarating.
Loki rounded the pasture, doubling back to mock Thor and Odin, who were many yards behind him now.
"Is that the best you can do?" He called, and with a twist of the rein, dashed ahead of the duo, hurdling the closest obstacle and cheering himself. Odin guffawed with amusement as a competitive roar thundered the sky. Loki glanced back at his sour-faced brother and threw his head up in a snicker. Leaning forward, he charged faster to complete the second half of the course again, Thor hot on his heels.
With a maniacal giggle, Loki bounded ahead, spotting a flash of color on the balcony. On the south wing, a flock of women gazed at the display. Several people of the court, his mother, and her entourage. Most importantly, the ladies in waiting.
As a child, Loki had asked what they were waiting for? A husband, Frigga, had laughed.
He searched for the scarlet girl he had begun to think of as often as daylight occurred. Satisfied to see Angrboda amongst the crowd, he tugged on the rein in a display once more, throwing Sleipner up in a boastful neigh of victory. The throaty whiney echoed back across the courtyard, and the congregation clapped; the deep satisfaction of triumph poisoned Loki's circulatory system.
A sudden snarl of challenge clamored behind him, and he turned just in time to stop the anger of Thor's joust. Loki threw his head back in gleeful defiance. "Sore loser!"
He met the lance with his own, growling back ferociously. Thor was a good match for him here; the field was even. Sleipner whined defiantly against Thor's attack and moved to circle the flaxen God. "You are a boastful ill-mannered victor!"
"What? Angry that there are witnesses to your incompetence? Yet you so aggressively show off mine!" Strike, a blow almost knocks Loki backward off his mount, cracking his lance into a thousand pieces. Thor moves for a second hit, but green-tipped magic bursts forward, startling Thor's steed rearward. This reinvigorates his aggression, and thunder clouds erupt in the sky.
"Enough!" Odin scolds, trotting forward between the two. "Enough of your foolish displays. Will you never see each other's gifts as strength? To the stables!"
Loki pants atop Sleipnir, magic prickling his provoked nerves. Thor offers him a guilty smile, which he returns, and they share a mutual huff. As his brother trots behind their father, Loki glances back up to the balcony. Frigga is shaking her head and chatting with another Lady, but Angrboda, she stares. Her wide eyes are curious and nervous; having been caught, she studies Sleipner instead of his master.
Instead of allowing her to cower away, Loki pulls his mount into a low bow. He bends forward into a dramatic arc, and as he comes back up – conjures a bouquet of red carnations, violets, and irises. In a display of his abilities, he uses his levitation capability to ride up to the terrace. He lays the flowers on the ledge in front of Angrboda, knowing better than to touch her.
"Madam," Loki theatrically drops his head in another show of honor. "I dedicate my victory on the track to you."
Angrboda's eyes dance in an unfamiliar way, titillated, maybe even intrigued, and she covers the corner of her mouth with a delicate hand. A very slight upturn of her lips captivates Loki, and she dips into a subtle curtsy, her manners overriding the shock. She shakes, but she doesn't run or panic. Loki beams, and the testosterone surges in his limbs. Frigga takes the leaf of a woman's hand and pats the back of it gently.
"Very sweet of you, Loki," Frigga nods, and Angrboda seems to take comfort in his mother's touch. It was hard not to; Loki loved his mother more than most. Satisfied with his second victory of the day, however miniature it was, he descends to the ground and follows to the stable. Thor waits for him with an immodest smirk, and Odin is pinching the bridge of his nose again.
Loki passes the day with an unmet desire in the pit of his stomach; it fills him too much to eat or drink. He's discontent reading, he's discontent sitting, he can't sleep. So, he lets his legs carry him up and through the palace. Being still is too unbearable, and he must figure out how to get closer to Angrboda…
"Child?" The Queen of Asgard has a sweet and coy smile; it's gentle and wafts heartfelt, earnest intent. Angrboda tucks a strand of rouge hair behind her sharp ear, focusing on braiding Frigga's honey locks. Many jewels and piercings decorate Angrboda's pointed ear-tips, almost a display like a tiara.
"Yes, Queen Frigga? Am I hurting you?" She is grateful for the complicated weaving to focus on; it gave her an excuse not to meet the kind women's eyes.
"Oh no, I had two boys; you'll have to pull a lot harder than that to hurt me." Frigga's voice is tinged in the soft delight of a memory Angrboda wished she could see. "I just wish to inquire… If there is more, I can offer you here?"
The younger women focused on twisting a thin sparkling elastic ribbon around the end of the section she had just finished working, tying it closed to keep the plat from falling. She pondered what the Queen could mean. A disgraced princess reduced to nothing more than a waiting-maid... She wasn't fulfilled. That was true, but she didn't think she was capable of enacting the hopes and dreams she had once had for herself. "I think I am in the best of circumstance, considering my… situation. Your kindness exceeds your duty."
Frigga turned, then taking Angrboda's hands, clasping them in her warm, motherly hold. "I know much of duty, and this is not my obligation but desire. Perhaps if you told me of what took place on Alfheim, I could help! You know I was a war bride myself, and look how well that turned out. Nothing is unconquerable."
Angrboda clamped her eyes shut against the unstoppable shaking that started in the depths of her core and moved outward. The sickening twisting turned her intestines, she stopped a dry heave. She couldn't eat, she had dropped weight, and now her once petite but shapely frame was frail. Her skin felt dull; her eyes only shone because they were always wet with tears. "I think, Madam, in my case… the only thing that matters is there was a loss of innocence, and in my land, a woman is valued for that above all else. My currency is lost, and therefore, I have no use."
Frigga gasped, clutching her hands tighter. "My child! No! I am the Goddess of Love, so you listen to me when I say that anything born of love is not a loss of innocence! No, your value is not tied to your sexual desire! Sexuality is good; I am the mother of marriage, I should know."
Angrboda's spasming became more vicious now, and she had trouble standing. Her voice was ravaged and thick with emotion. "Well, it was not born of love! So, I don't think the same rules apply."
Angrboda didn't stay to see her majesty's reaction; she ripped her grip away, hiked up her skirts, and made for the door. Frigga had the power to stop her, but she wouldn't. Angrboda fled through the back hall blind with tears. Memories began to flood her, breaths caught in her collapsing throat. A strange moaning and wailing noise escaped from her, but she couldn't stop it. She rushed away, trying to be anywhere but in the Queen's pitiful gaze. The air ran out of her lungs, and she couldn't bring it back in.
"You owe me this much,"
The buttons running up the back of her dress tore to the ground, pelting the floor with the delicate pearls. She gripped at the top of the gown, whispering her pleads.
"If you scream, I will cut you from tip to tip."
The knife was icy against her throat, but the harsh metal felt better than his hands. She thought about screaming to end it, but her voice was stuck in her mouth, his sticky palm covering her lips as he ripped her apart.
"Angrboda," He moaned as he stole from her body, a sickening sound from his lips. His breath was hot and thick. Bile rose into her mouth, and she choked on it."Angrboda."
Blood. There was so much red, staining everything it touched.
Heaving, she was heaving. She stumbled to the right, splaying her hands against the wall. Searching, searching for the doors, outdoors, air. She needed air! Her vision was becoming spotty; she begged herself with all coherent thought that was left not to lose consciousness.
"Ang- uh, A-Are you well?" Loki spotted the girl, clad in a dark purple gown swaying, one hand haphazardly holding her up against the wall. His voice was a smoggy velvet to her ringing ears. "Let me help you."
She gasped and sputtered, spinning, steering herself towards the ground. She was going to faint. If she sat, perhaps, she wouldn't fall as hard. She buckled her knees at the exact moment she lurched forward. Resigned to busting her face open, she laughed in deliriously sick satisfaction.
Loki sprung forward to catch her arm, twisting around her so that they fell to the floor together. Her body was wrapped in his embrace, and her head came to rest on his lap. She trembled so harshly Loki's limbs vibrated with her, despite their strength. He soothed her hair away from her face, searching for her eyes.
They were no longer panic-stricken but sedated with a lack of oxygen. "You should have let me hit my face; at least no one would want me anymore if I were not pretty."
"Deep breaths," Loki ignored her morbid wishes and gently squeezed her arm. "Just take some deep breaths."
She didn't listen to him, and her universe collapsed in on itself. She floated away into the darkness.
The Second Prince of Asgard strode forward, a feeble figure wrapped in his emerald cape supported in his arms. He didn't struggle to carry her; he marched with confidence toward the healing room. He would take her to her chambers, but when he scooped her into his hold, he felt every rib, sharp and protruding. Her slender frame jabbed at his flesh with alarming fragility. She was fading, and he would not allow it.
Loki strode towards the healing room with renewed vigor as a weak sigh leaked out her parted lips. She was an odd shade of blue, her pinkish freckles standing out in a threatening manner. He burst through the doors in record time. Eir looks mildly surprised to see him, perhaps because it is usually he who needs healing.
"Eir," Loki nods, setting Angrboda's body onto the Soul Forge. Her brokenness becomes more apparent as the silken fabric clings to her body. Her collarbones are sharp, and her hip bones are prominent.
"Good night, is this a prisoner?" Eir huffs, formulating some concoction, tossing a few colorful bits into her mortar.
"No, a guest." Loki quips. He didn't particularly care for Eir; she was stern and severe. She never laughed at his jokes. He backed himself against the wall and crossed his arms. Watching Eir flutter around Angrboda made him feel better about her, but the seriousness of what had happened to her was starting to become apparent.
"You going to explain what happened?" The healer's gruff demeanor almost seemed accusatory. Loki narrowed his eyes.
"It was self-inflicted." He said simply.
Eir shook her head, pointing to the particles hovering over Angrboda's form, reflecting the deep scars on her belly. There were thin slashes on her breasts, healed fractures on her thigh bones. Loki's mouth burned with acid and venom. He had known that whatever had happened was terrible, but torture? Whipped, perhaps? Certainly beaten. For an indiscretion of 'insincerity'? He hissed. "Just take care of her; she clearly hasn't been nourishing herself."
Loki spun on his heel, exiting the room with more gumption than he had entered. He made it to the hall before the gagging started, and he lost all the bile in his stomach. Alfheim people were light people, peaceful people. A repulsed hatred formed in the pit of his abdomen. He returned to his chambers and again couldn't sleep, but this time it was not curiosity that filled his heart.
Angrboda awoke in her rooms, wrapped up in a green cloak. Her hands flew to her belly and, met with the soft satin fabric of her dress, sighed in whooshing relief. She sat upright, dazed by the deep rest she must have gotten. She had not felt this well in a long time, her eyes weren't heavy, and her head didn't pound. Even her wrists felt more stable, supporting her frame. She gazed into the mirror across the way and was surprised at the girl looking back at her.
Cheeks once again round and full, allowing the dramatic dip of her cheekbone to curve slowly into her jaw. The soft freckles on her face retained their dewy appeal for the first time in weeks, months. She had forgotten how long it had been. Her hair no longer looked dry like straw but was glossy and smooth. The dark circles that haunted her face had faded into a light lilac color. Her bust was fuller again, and she gripped the emerald cape around her to cover their temptation.
Green.
In a vase on her nightstand were the flowers gifted to her by Loki. They hadn't wilted - even a little, and she wondered if they were enchanted to stay fresh as the day they were conjured. She placed her head in her elegant hands, raking her fingers across her cheeks. He had been the one to catch her in the hall, and she assumed taken her to a healer. That was the only explanation for the vitality she now felt, after days of wasting because of nothing but her own indifference to live. Maybe, she pondered, he had the power to heal her himself. His magic was impressive.
Most importantly, she was still clothed in her outfit from the day prior. She hadn't been violated in any real way, perhaps other than having a few elixirs poured down her throat. If anything, that was clearly a blessing. A part of her was discontented; it was so unfair to appear so normal. She hadn't intended to make herself look unattractive by wallowing in her misery, but avoiding the male gaze was a bonus. She paced her room most nights, hardly sleeping, trying to keep her mind busy with books or sewing. Anything that kept her distracted from her own thoughts. She had thought about killing herself, but she was scared of what the fates held for her…
If only he knew what had truly happened to her, he would lose interest. Before she thought about what she was doing, she leaned in to sniff the cloak he bestowed upon her. A rich minty smell washed over her.
She pulled back in shock.
No, absolutely not. Angrboda was not letting anyone in; she had resigned herself to her new life here. She would have a place here at the palace and serve the current Queen and the next. She could find peace, if not happiness, in that. Loki liked her because she had an air of secrecy. That was all; he was God of Mischief. By its very definition, he was deceitful and simply intrigued by her shrouded falsehood. That was not what she needed. She would find courage, thank him for the flowers, and be done with his advances. Anything more, she vowed to rebuttal.