Thank you so much for following, favouriting and reviewing! Special thanks to Zeppelin Skies, who motivated me to finish this chapter after having a hard time with it. I just read you have a Loki/OC fic up, too, and it's a prequel, I'm so psyched! I'll even break my own vow not to read fanfic for the pairing I'm writing.

I have a 120-pages word doc for this fic but the fine tuning sometimes takes a little time, so please bear with me! This story will be finished but I have a day job that tends to be annoyingly time-consuming and I work in serveral fandoms, so I need to get back into the mindset to write in-character.

I know that Asgard is not supposed to have a sun but sunsets and stars will feature in this story anyway, simply because I have no idea what an alternative source of light would be (and there is a certain romantic potential in sunsets and starry skies).

Chapter 4: Trying Times

Freyja was likewise preoccupied with their lessons at first but come morning, she had to focus on her other task. She had won Thor's attention. Now, she had to hold it. She had to make sure that this flighty interest intensified. Freyja knew that she couldn't charm him by being herself, bitter as that was. He wanted someone who shared his wilderness. Well, she thought, as she tousled her hair on purpose, she could be that person, at least for tonight. She only needed to look at Sif.

Fashionably late and garbed in the blood red of Thor's cape, Lady Freyja made an entrance. By now, she had inspired some of the lesser noblemen at court to compose their share of truly gruesome sonnets but was not yet twisting his brother round her finger. Unfortunately, she was getting closer. Loki admitted that she looked passably attractive. The dress was too red for his taste, but the golden chain around her neck suited her and her hair was artfully tousled, as if she had been riding in the stiff breeze from the sea, but he knew it was on purpose. This woman left nothing to chance.

"Lady Freyja," Thor called. "Sit with us."

She did and stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the warriors in her fine dress with rubies gleaming at her ears and throat. Had he looked like this when he had still been with them, trying to fit in?

No. They had never looked at him like this, they had never laughed at his jokes. He had been tolerated, never welcomed. Why was everything he wanted always offered to those who could not or would not value it? The throne to Thor, their father's love to Thor, the admiration of Asgard to Thor. He had even gotten that bloody hammer while he himself had to content himself with ordinary daggers. And now, now that his heart had freed itself from childish greed, only wishing for Thor's friendship, tolerance, love, someone else was ready to take that from him, too.

And all for a pact between two old men, hungry for absolute power, not only over land and goods and people, even over their own offspring.

As he looked on at Thor and his friends, he knew that all his hopes were futile. Their competition for the throne was sealed already. Loki could force Freyja to abandon Thor, to mock him, to shame them both, but he would never rule. Odin would simply find another woman, or worse, he would finally agree that Thor needed no one. The mead tasted bitter now and he threw his cup on the floor, the clattering sound drowned out by the fiddlers and the chatter and the scraping of a hundred knives against golden plate. He watched the rest of the golden liquid trickle out onto the marble floor. An apt metaphor.

Why was it that Thor always gained everything without even trying?

In his silent anger, unnoticed even by Queen Frigga, who had her eyes on, of course, her eldest, Loki looked around for some solace and found it in another pained soul. Lady Sif, still sitting with the Warriors Three, looked into her goblet without expression, feigning to listen to her friends. She was probably beside herself with grief. That thought cheered him up. He didn't like this, either, because this woman might very well be the last step towards the throne, but at least no one trampled on his heart as if it were an old rug. He was not heart-broken. He felt cheated. And good things could come out of being betrayed. Loki would turn this pain to his advantage, but there was no chance of that for Sif.

He forced a smile onto his face. Her misfortune ought to be cause for rejoicing, she had never liked him, after all. But as he walked up to the dais, passing Freyja and Thor, talking as if the hall around them were a lovers' garden, he wondered whether perhaps he had been more fortunate. His brother, insensitive and selfish as he was, would never willingly hurt him like this.

~o~

The best thing Freyja could say about the evening was that at least it ended relatively timely. Their courtship did not move forward anymore, stuck in the awkward limbo that neither of them could back out of. Not that Thor would notice, of course. He simply did as he pleased, with little regard for what people though of either of them. With every further moment she spent with the crown prince, she noticed that they were ill-matched. Even a comfortable marriage of convenience was getting less and less likely. At some point over the next two thousand years, she was quite certain, she would poison his mead. Or hers. It was not that she disliked him. He was a good man, there was no denying his many qualities. It was simply that, perhaps, there was an awful lot of him. Too much for her. Too loud, especially.

Freyja therefore appreciated the peaceful silence of her bedchamber. Night had come but she couldn't find sleep yet, so she dived into the book that had been waiting on her nightstand, impatient for her to poke her nose between its pages again. It was a romance from her mother's section of Sessrumnir's library, and quite enticing, although she found herself more appreciative of the conniving villain than the good-hearted but rather simple-minded hero.

She was just considering whether she should read another chapter or whether she should snuff out the candle with regard to her early duties when she became aware of a figure standing next to the wall hanging that depicted Ragar Ironfist's triumph over the Dark Elves.

"What are you doing here?" she hissed, clutching the covers to her chest. Her nightgown was very sheer and light.

You're mistaken," he sneered, "if you think your night attire might somehow inflame my passion."

She was quite aware that nothing could stir what wasn't there but she wasn't about to reveal everything to him – her wish to learn magic had been a glimpse into her soul. She wouldn't allow him a too-good glimpse at the body, too, no matter how little he cared.

Loki liked the way her hair tumbled down over her shoulders, unbraided, unbrushed, shining in the dim candlelight. She looked younger this way, softer, although her eyes were still twin needles.

She pulled the sheets even higher. "Why are you here? If you are here at all?"

In response, he pulled the wall hanging aside, revealing an oak-and-iron door, small, old, and definitely leading to some forbidden, forgotten secret passage. She would definitely have to find a way to bar it somehow.

"I was under the impression that you wanted me to teach you my arts. If I am unwelcome, however –" he reached for the door handle.

"No," she said hastily. "Turn around, I want to dress."

With a frown, he did as she asked. She pulled on a heavy velvet robe hastily, knotting the belt twice. This made her feel a little safer. What exactly it was that seemed so dangerous about the younger prince, she couldn't place. He was perfectly civilised, much more so than his brother, and she had seen him being charming and clever and witty. Perhaps it was the hunger that she sensed more than she saw it, the raw ambition, born not from a wish for a better life but from jealousy and anger, perhaps it was the cynical bitterness that gave his words an almost unnoticeable edge.

She pulled up the collar of her robe. "I'm done."

He almost laughed. She looked as if someone had wrapped her in a tablecloth.

"Well, there is no need to try invisibility first. You manage that quite well without a spell."

She folded her collar back down, revealing her shame red cheeks. If he noticed – Oh, for Bor's sake, he didn't say anything, although he noticed. He always did. That somehow made it worse.

"Have you come to teach me or to mock me?"

"Why not connect the two for our mutual pleasure?"

"You will have your pleasure when I do your bidding. After you've taught me all I require to know."

Oh, what she required. Was she truly so arrogant to think he'd indulge her?

"I have humoured you before, Lady Freyja, but I feel my patience vaning. I am still your prince and I require a minimum of respect."

There was, as so often, a hint of indignation in her pale grey eyes, her body reacted to his words like a cobra would to a challenge, drawing herself up, flaring her hood, but then the moment passed and her mouth smiled although her eyes did not.

"Of course. My pardons, my prince. I am simply unaccustomed to gentlemen visiting my chambers at night."

He scoffed at that but didn't comment. Whatever she did in that bed of hers was none of his concern. Not for now, at least. There would perhaps come a moment when the information could be useful but he'd cross that bridge when he came to it.

He lit a candle on her dresser with a snap of his fingers. "Now, your first lesson could have gone a lot worse," he drew out the word, "but it could have gone a lot better, too. You will find that simply stomping your foot and demanding your powers to, well, magically manifest will not have the desired effect. Not even Sigurd's daughter can command the arcane forces at will. You need to invest time in studying, more so than ever before, I should think. We can try and practise tonight but I am certain it will yield little to no result. These books," he conjured a stack of tomes and set it down on her vanity, savouring the look of reluctant admiration she gave him, "will serve as some light introductory literature."

She should have known he'd embrace his role as her teacher a little too enthusiastically. If Prince Loki liked one thing, it was showing off. And talking. He was not bad with words, she granted him that, but it was closer to sunrise than to sunset and she was tired.

"Shall we try then? Before morning comes."

She could see quite clearly that he did not like being rushed.

"My prince," she added, as sweetly as she could through gritted teeth. Why did he rile her up so much? She had been calmer with worse men. Was it his arrogance? Or perhaps the response his behaviour elicited in her. Freyja was far from being self-conscious but Loki, tall and undeniably attractive and so incredibly suave, gifted in speech and magic, somehow made her feel a little inadequate. Thor was the crown prince perhaps and Asgard's favourite but it was his brother who was the true force of the royal family. He had not only might, he had wits, and she always respected cleverness more than strength.

Her address did not soften his expression but he assumed a slightly less stiff position in front of her wardrobe. It was ridiculous, of course, that they trained here, in her bedchamber. A lady's virtue was a paper shield that every rumour could tear and this was decidedly more tangible and more destructive than a whisper in a hallway. If Loki wanted to destroy her, he could do so with a casual mention of their meeting here. He wouldn't though, she thought. She hoped.

"Now, fetching objects did not work all that well last time, so I suggest we focus on illusion casting. It seems to be much closer to your natural talent."

She ignored the jibe. He couldn't know for certain that she was only lying to Thor. He couldn't know for certain that everything was an act. He probably knew about Sigurd and Odin's pact, they had been anything but subtle, but she fully intended to make it look as if a chore had turned into a delight. She thought the king was already falling for it.

"How?"

"As you vanished yourself for the guard. Now, your own shape is always the easiest to manipulate as it is the only thing in the entire universe you have complete control of. Well, naturally, complete control is a utopia, but I am positive you get my meaning. It is the thing you exercise the most control over in this universe, although romantics like to say that our control over a lover's heart is even stronger." He allowed himself another fine smile, a dagger to support the verbal barb but she showed no reaction.

"Now, in order to alter reality around you, you have to become acutely aware of your surroundings. You know, I hope, that our world consists not only of matter?"

"It is perception, most of all," she said, trying not to sound pleased.

"Quite right. Now that is what you need to alter. Some believe that creating illusions out of thin air is easiest. Fools, of course. Changing nothing into something is highly difficult. Instead, creating the illusion that one object is another is what I'd call a true beginner's task. Try it for yourself. Take...take this mirror, loathe as you might be to change what you see."

This time, she reacted, but with a smile. "I take that as a compliment, my prince." Her voice was smooth as silk. Was this what Thor was served every day? "Still, much as I love my counterfeit, I shall do my utmost. What should I change it into?"

"Try to, for one," he said, sardonically. "It is easier if you see yourself in it but it is still no simple task. Try something of a similar shape or a similar perception. Something that belongs to the same category, for lack of words."

Freyja did not think he lacked words but kept quiet. "Like a candlestick?"

"Certainly."

It was indeed not easy to get back into the mindset she had been in when she had tricked that guard. It was strange, like trying to find something buried in the back of her mind, though not like a memory, more like a, a feeling or a sensation, almost physical. It took quite some time to find that sensation but it had to be said to Loki's credit that he remained silent, that he neither stared too openly nor seemed too disinterested, and at last, she'd grabbed the strange feeling by the hem and pulled it over like a shift.

It was not easy, he was right. Reality was bendy, perhaps, but it did not like to change and every time she had changed one part, moving lower or higher, it simply bounced back, like an unruly curl of hair.

"Don't do it in parts," Loki said. "It's a whole entity. Force it to act."

She wanted to say that that was nonsense, that this was not physical, that she couldn't use force – but she was proven wrong as soon as she tried.

In front of her, there stood a candlestick. It was quite shiny and ungainly, true enough, but undeniably, it was a candlestick.

"Can you see it, too?" she asked, eyes darting over to him as he stood at the foot of her bed, gaze fixed on her dresser. Suddenly, she felt something snap back into place.

"I could, yes." There was only a hint of mockery in his voice.

The mirror was only that once more and it showed her the dark circles under eyes and the tousled hair quite mercilessly.

"Well, this was admittedly quite impressive, albeit short-lived. You need to keep your focus on the task. If you lie to the world, there are no accomplices. You alone control the illusion. Letting another one in on it is incredibly difficult and quite frankly usually unnecessary. Bending everything but one entity within the universe to your will seems like a waste of energy to me."

"I don't understand," she admitted.

"Well, either that person is aware of your skills and should tread with caution around you anyway, a caution that would ruin every illusion as they require intense belief. Or the person is unaware, then including him or her would be losing a serious strategic advantage."

"Your brother is not cautious around you."

"Correct. Which is the reason why the only thing he'll ever bend is metal with his hammer. Thor could never be a part of an illusion. He doesn't have what is needed."

She thought these words brought him pleasure.

"But I do."

Loki pursed his lips, looked down at his shoes, then back up at her, his face expressionless for once.

"Quite apparently. I am as surprised as you are. Now, regardless of how much I enjoy this chat with you, I do not intend to rob myself of some direly needed sleep simply for the pleasure of your presence. I am not my brother, after all."

He gave her another acidic smile.

"But you apparently wish to be," she said, riding the wave of triumph.

He gave her a long look, his bright green eyes unfathomable.

"I will come back when I find the time," he said, though not as haugtily as usual, "I expect you will have noticably improved by then. My lady."

And with that, he gave her a mocking bow, swung aside the wall hanging and disappeared into the dark corridor behind it. Freyja heard the scraping of metal against metal. He bolted the door. Did it perchance lead to his chamber? Was he protecting himself from her? It seemed like him to have such double standards.

One thing had become abundantly clear: Loki liked his position of power over her and he would use it. Yet, there was nothing she could do. She needed these skills to stand on her own to feet. And the rocky path to independence quite obviously lead through service and constant humiliation. They never shed light on that in her books.