Author's note: Hello everyone, here is a new chapter!

- Enjoy -

She was turning around for the umpteenth time, covering and uncovering herself with the blanket as if the warmth or the coldness of her bed was the prime reason for her not finding sleep. She huddled up, her knees against her chest in an attempt to self sooth, picturing herself elsewhere in Asgard.

Since Solweig had been claimed by the God of mischief, she had made a habit of falling asleep remembering their first night together. She used to reminisce with acute precision how she had snuggled against him after he'd made love to her, how his hands had caressed her back, held her until dawn. She used to almost feel him right here, in her small single-person bed in the lower storeys of the palace, overwhelmed by his imagined yet delightful presence. She used to slide a hand between her thighs, reaching for her folds as she fantasised how he had taken her and would take her again. Yet, it sometimes occurred to her that there might never be a second time, since he hadn't summoned her for weeks and at times, she wondered if she hadn't imagined it all.

Ironically, the frenzied agitation in Asgard for prince Loki's upcoming birthday reminded her of her previous life, of what their relationship used to be before he claimed her.

She pulled back the blanket over herself as she recalled one of his late anniversaries. Days before the festivities, he had been granted the privilege to learn how to play the fiddle by Fossegrim, after he'd won a bet against his brother. Because he refused to see his own fingers suffer from the instruction, he had tricked the creature and sent Solweig instead. Fossegrim, taking that she was Loki, had gifted her with his musical knowledge but the training had been a painful experience. She still remembered the strings eating into the flesh, the creature moving the girl's hands on the instrument forcefully until the skin split open and blood was shed, for it was the price to pay for such endowment. She had given the prince the silent treatment for days, as she was too upset to even look at him. Odin and Frigga had forced her to attend the festivities in the banquet hall, but the moment dinner was over, she had stood up and left, unwilling to join the others for the afterparty. He had come to fetch her himself as she was reading alone in her bedroom, insisting for her to join them. She was about to give in because he was being so persistent, until he had joked that they "could really enjoy some music right now". Solweig had been so angry that she had magically threw him against the wall, retreating in Frigga's garden to find some peace.

Solweig sighed, still annoyed by his misconduct. She wondered if their relationship was in any way normal, but she did not think it was particularly healthy already back then. She often contemplated how she could have fallen in love with someone who kept hurting her, before apologising but doing it all over again nonetheless.

She s tood up, heading to the living room of the slaves' quarters for she gave up the idea of falling asleep.

She sat in front of the fireplace, her thoughts attracted by the dancing flames. She stretched her legs before her and rested her feet on the stone near the hearth, holding them there until the heat was too great and she felt like her skin was burning. She often had this sort of wicked desire to hurt herself, as if to see what it'd feel like. She always ascribed such behaviour to her being immortal, therefore willing to test her own limits but deep down, she knew she must be kind of mental.

Almost all the others were gone, attending one of those late meetings with the queen that she had been uninvited to a few weeks back. She had joined the first time, the day after she had had that argument with Loki. During the entire talk, Frigga had overlooked her, skipping her each time she glanced at the other slaves until she finally stood up to leave the room when the session ended. The queen had held her back for a few seconds, pretending to ask the girl to help her gather her belongings. Once the door was shut, Frigga had wrapped her arms around Solweig's waist, bringing her close, hugging her tightly. She had framed her face with her long hands, gazing in her eyes. "Loki told me everything" she had whispered hastily. "You cannot join the event, Odin thinks you are still at the academy… It is too early for you to show yourself before him. We must conceal you a little longer. I am so relieved to know you are here." She then had kissed her forehead and left, exiting the room swiftly.

Since then, Solweig had been kept away from anything that was related to the organisation of Loki's birthday. It would be the first time she would miss the entirety of the prince's party and she felt conflicted. At once, she wanted to be angry with him regarding his behaviour the last time they met, but as the time passed, her irritation faded. She now just felt empty, hollow, and wished deep within herself that he would put an end to what felt like her banishment.

She was so engrossed in her own thoughts that she did not hear the footsteps behind her.

"Why the long face fagr?"

Erik handed her a mug of fuming herbal tea before sitting heavily next to her. She shook her head from left to right ever so slightly, unwilling to engage in a conversation.

He gave her a gentle smile. "You have been silent for days. Are you sure you are well?"

She shrugged, resting the cup of tea on her cheek, a bright heat diffusing on her skin. Erik's gaze moved from the girl's face to the fireplace.

"I heard about your argument with the prince" he said.

"I can see the rumours spread fast" she whispered awkwardly, her mouth untrained in the exercise of speaking.

"He was the one who told me" he clarified.

They were quiet for a while and Solweig wondered whether he would leave her alone if she remained quiet. She was rather displeased to hear that Loki was apparently running around and sharing the details of their altercation, which she considered being a rather private matter. She knew Loki and Erik were close, no matter their difference of status, but she hadn't expected the God of mischief to let strangers into the secret of what she thought was their intimacy.

"Are you unhappy here?" asked the blond man genuinely. She sighed for his question bothered her.

"I simply cannot fathom why would anyone choose such a life" she said coldly, staring at the fire.

He glimpsed at her, frowning as if she was entirely missing the point.

"Do you know why princes own slaves, Sólveig?"

She shook her head, ignoring that he was glancing at her.

"It's an exercise. Slaves are the first people kings and queens ever get to rule. They are to make decisions about what they think is good for them…"

She turned to him, raising an eyebrow "When you were prince, did you also have slaves?"

"I did" he nodded. "And I was a bad master. I showed no respect nor tenderness for anyone below me"

"And yet here you are, devoting your life to a god that is incapable of love. That's quite ironic, don't you think?"

"It's not because you cannot understand prince Loki's love that he's incapable of it"

He had said that without an ounce of hostility, as simply as if he was making conversation with a friend. Yet, she felt insulted.

He pursued.

"Do you think we are miserable, Sólveig?" he gave her a questioning look, pausing. "You mistake slavery with servitude. Being owned can be very fulfilling if you embrace it. It takes a lot to let go off and to get accustomed to, of course, but you get to live a life full of certainties. You're never alone anymore. You have someone who cares for you, cherishes you and covers each of your very basic needs. You are taught how to dress, when to wake up, what to eat. I wish serving our master could bring you as much joy as it brings us…"

He was quiet again, as if to let the words sink in.

She considered his reasoning for a moment, absentmindedly drinking a sip of her now lukewarm tea. She had heard it once, that the affection between a master and his slaves was of the purest sort. She had not understood it back then, and she wasn't sure she understood it now, but Asgardians used to say that love could never stem from a relationship between equals. In fact, real moments of intimacy and complicity between deities or royal figures were extremely rare, as the bond that linked them was unsubstantial, only guided by a complex forethought of potential gains and losses. Gods and goddesses, princesses and princes could only love each other as much as their interests aligned, apparently explaining why so many of them fell in love with slaves or Midgardians. Such a bond was so intrinsically different, free of any pre-conceived form of power that both actors could only create and reinvent how they would relate to one another. While Asgardians understood marriage as a complicated game of influence and control, true love could rise only when the strength determinant was de facto excluded from the equation.

She breathed in and wondered for a moment whether she had been powerful at all, ever, albeit she was not of Asgard.

"It does not matter anymore… I've been informed that I would be freed and that I'd leave for Vanaheim soon enough"

He frowned, surprised to hear of her future departure.

"I am truly sorry to hear that. Are you sad to leave?"

"Why does it matter? It is not like I was meant to be here on the first place anyway" her voice broke and he could tell she was afflicted. They stayed next to each other for a while, none of them talking as she was trying to regain composure. She did not want to share more than what he could already discern, especially considering that he often seemed way too perceptive of her own emotions for her to feel comfortable. After a moment that seemed like hours, she saw him looking at her.

"You could… beg him to stay" he suggested, cautiously. "I am sure prince Loki would consider keeping you"

She gave him a quizzical stare.

"He likes you, you know. He always had this specific look on his face whenever you were around. You probably never realised it because gods and goddesses tend to be so self-engrossed… No offence" he added as he caught sight of her vexed glance. She mentally dismissed the words he just spoke, staring back at the fire, her chin up as she was wary of preventing herself to be tricked into believing that the God of mischief had any interest in her, of any kind.

"Can I give you a piece of advice Sólveig?" he asked as he stood up, about to retreat to his own bedroom.

"Pride is at the bottom of all great mistakes"