The first morning after she ended her affair with Loki, Aemilia awoke from a fitful, terrible sleep and went about her morning robotically. Her ring felt like a heavy, burdensome weight on her hand, and her sadness an even greater one on her heart, but she managed to not burst into tears until after her bath. When she went to her sink to mix together her daily contraceptive herbal potion, she realized she no longer needed the drink, and the floodgates opened, leaving her to cry ferociously until she was drained.
She still had all of her mementos of their time together, sketches she knew she'd never finish, his book of magic that sat ominously in her drawer, almost like a cruel joke. In her lowest moments, she almost didn't think she wanted to learn magic anymore. It would only remind her of him, of his creative ways of teaching and testing her, and how he would be doing neither of those things ever again. But her magic had been something of a gift from him, something that she never thought she would have, and it was too precious a thing to let go to waste.
Going about her days without letting the sadness show was nearly impossible, but she wore her mask well, better than her mother did. Ayre looked as sad as Aemilia felt, and she still caught traces of tears on her mother's face from time to time. She was just too caught up in her own problems to investigate the still-unknown source of her tears.
She went to the palace twice in the next week to rehearse for what would be Prince Thor's pre-coronation party. It would be a huge, grand event at the palace, and would begin the first round of celebrations that would eventually extend well beyond the coronation itself. To sing at the opening of such a celebration was a mind-boggling honor, but the excitement of rehearsals was tempered by her fear of running into the source of her pain while she was there.
She didn't, but just knowing that he was near, somewhere in that huge palace, made it feel as if his presence was looming, reaching out from the shadows to taunt her.
It would have been easy to fall apart and succumb to the horrible, constant ache in her chest, but she refused to stop living simply because the consequences of her actions had caught up with her. She put a fake smile on her face and persevered.
When her days turned to nights, she would escape to her room, curl under her blanket and study the magic book. She would stare at the handwritten notes and her mind would drift, imagining him sitting at his desk with this very book, quill in hand, scrawling the notes with a look of utmost seriousness on his pale face. She'd think of how his hand would have looked, curled around the quill, then let her mind wander to how his hands felt, how they moved, how they touched... how they felt when he'd grabbed her hair in anger and literally threw her back to this very room when she had ended things.
Eventually, she would sleep, and sometimes it would be deep, dreamless sleep wrought from mental exhaustion. Other times it would be restless and miserable, full of dreams that she didn't want, and when morning arrived, it would be a bittersweet relief.
The day that Asgard's Princes were set to publicly fight in the palace arena was to be an eventful day for Aemilia - she had a rehearsal in the morning, and Ayre was throwing her and Dagr an engagement party that evening. She did not know whether she wanted to watch the fight or not, and tried not to pay it much thought as she arrived at the royal music rooms with her vocal instructor early that morning.
Singing was a reprieve from it all. It had always been a refuge, ever since she was young and discovered that she had the gift of song, and even here, in the home of the lover who plagued her every thought and every breath, she felt at peace as she sung.
The music room was grand, opulent, filled with instruments of every sort and large enough to fit an entire orchestra in. She had been here before, back when she was preparing for that fateful first time she had sang at the palace, and it was no less impressive and daunting now than it was then. The Queen would forever have her eternal gratitude for affording her such extraordinary opportunities.
And as if the thought had triggered her presence, after Aemilia had taken a break and was sipping from a goblet of water, the door to the grand room opened and there stood Frigga, in all of her elegance, smiling warmly as she entered.
"I thought I heard a particularly lovely voice echoing through these walls," she said, her easy tone immediately relieving any anxiety Aemilia may have initially had. "How are you this morning?"
She bowed lightly and smiled as she replied, "I am well, my Queen. Thank you once again for this incredible privilege."
The Queen nodded gracefully to and then did the same as she also greeted Aemilia's instructor. After, she turned and took both of Aemilia's hands in her own and said, "Might I steal you for a few moments?"
"Of course," she replied, a bit of her anxiety creeping back to the surface as Frigga led her in a turn about the room. The first thing the Queen did was lift one of her hands and make an almost lazy gesture with it, and the air around them shimmered and rippled for a moment before returning to normal.
"The palace has many ears," Frigga explained, answering the younger girl's quizzical look. "One can never take too many precautions to ensure that what is private remains private. If anyone should hear us speak, they will hear us discussing your upcoming performance and my thoughts on what sort of dress you should wear for it."
Aemilia smiled but wasn't sure what to say, so she waited for the queen to speak again.
"You are engaged now," she stated as they walked slowly past a row of brass instruments. "I did not hear of this until yesterday, but I've suspected as much for the last week. Loki refuses to speak of it, but his suffering is quite plain to me."
She wasn't sure if she should feel satisfied or saddened that she wasn't the only one who was miserable. But, as much as she wanted to, she couldn't quite gleam any pleasure from Loki's suffering. "I am sorry, my Queen."
"What possibly for?" Frigga laughed softly.
"For causing your son to suffer," she shrugged.
"I believe his suffering is of his own doing," Frigga said. "Unless I am wrong in assuming why you ended the... relationship."
Though she felt uncomfortable with this level of honesty - she would never get used to speaking to the Queen about this topic, that she was quite sure of - Aemilia drew a breath and said, "I ended it because I have no interest in adultery and I refuse to sink that low for anyone."
Frigga smiled. "And that only confirms to me that you are indeed a wondrous match for my son."
Aemilia looked at the Queen a bit dumbly for a moment before replying, "It's a moot point now, I'm afraid."
"For the moment," Frigga replied vaguely, a slight smile on her lips.
The Queen spoke as if she had knowledge of future events, and Aemilia knew she was of Vanaheim and therefore possibly had the gift of foresight. But before she could ask about it, Frigga spoke again.
"I am sure that you've heard of this fight my boys are putting on," she said, a slight roll of her eyes indicating how juvenile she thought it was. "Do you plan to watch?"
"Oh, I... I hadn't decided yet. I wasn't sure if it would be wise to go," Aemilia answered honestly.
"He misses you," Frigga said softly. "I think he would like it if you were there. Even if he'd never utter the words to admit it."
To be honest, Aemilia wasn't sure that she wanted to see him again, even from a distance, and certainly not while he was being beaten repeatedly with a hammer. But the way that the Queen was looking at her, like it would truly mean something to her if she came, stopped her from being able to do anything but acquiesce. "I will come."
"Good," Frigga smiled, patting her shoulder. "I will come and fetch you when it is time. For now, I'll leave you to your rehearsal."
Aemilia nodded, giving another curtsy as the Queen bade farewell. She had the distinct feeling that the Queen rarely, if ever, did not get what she wanted, and that was a trait that had unquestionably been passed to her son.
Taking a breath, Aemilia pushed aside thoughts of Loki that could wait until later, and got back to work.
"You look terrible, my son."
Loki nearly jumped out of his skin, whipping around in front of his mirror to give his mother a half-hearted glare as she strolled towards him. "Next time, for the sake of my sanity, do remember to knock."
Frigga shrugged lightly, looking over her son in his full golden armor. "My apologies, dear. You look as if you haven't slept in days."
Loki sighed, glancing back at the mirror and finding himself unable to deny the obvious truth of his mother's words. Aside from the obvious source of his distress, Thor had been grating on his nerves purposefully in advance of their scheduled fight, and he was also behaving with more and more idiocy every passing day. The thought of the kingdom being passed into his moronic hands became increasingly unbearable, yet everyone else seemed to think his ascension was the best thing the realm had seen in centuries. Between the misery of his days and the unequaled torture of his nights alone, yes, he looked terrible, and no, he wasn't sleeping.
"The fight can always be rescheduled. Or cancelled."
"There will be nothing of the sort," Loki snapped, turning back to the mirror and running his hands through his hair. It was trying to curl at the ends, under his ear, rebelling against him as much as the rest of him was. He frowned at the odd curls and added, "Not that it matters. Were you aware that Father made it clear that I must ensure Thor's victory?"
Frigga sighed. "No. But I cannot say that I am surprised. Will you defy his wishes?"
Loki stilled his movements, looking at his mother's reflection in his mirror, raising an eyebrow. "Surely you know me well enough to already know the answer to that."
She smiled and placed a hand on his shoulder, guiding him to face her. "Indeed I do. And for what it is worth... though I find this fight to be juvenile at best... I say, do not hold back. Show the realm what I know to be true of its younger prince."
"Which is?"
"That you are more than great enough to cast your own shadow."
Loki gave her a small smile in return, though he didn't believe her for a moment. It was all good and well for her to tell him this, and indeed, she had been telling him similar things his whole life, but it meant little when she was the only one to say such things. If similar words ever slipped from Odin's lips, just once, it would have been enough, more than enough, to satisfy Loki's craving for his approval. But it had yet to happen. And as dearly as he loved his mother, at the end of the day, she was just that... his mother, who was obligated in a way to her son that a father was not. At least, that was what he believed to be true.
"Now," Frigga said, interrupting his thoughts, "let's get you looking battle-ready."
She placed her hands on either side of his head, and a glamour spell fell from her fingertips. He'd never had to use one on himself before, but as the warmth washed over him, his hair settled down against the nape of his neck, color returned to his face, and the darkness under his eyes disappeared. When he turned to survey the change, he was taken aback - he really had looked terrible before.
"There," she said, satisfied with her work. "Now, you must promise to take better care of yourself from this day forward. I will not have my son simply wither away as a result of his first heartbreak."
Her words made him twitch. He would have scoffed, but he didn't have the care to. Instead, words relating to something else entirely came tumbling from his lips. "Do you truly think he's ready to take the throne, Mother?"
"Oh, darling," she cooed, taking his hands in hers, "do not fret yourself with such thoughts. The All-Father believes Thor to be ready. He did not reach this decision lightly."
Loki wanted to scream in frustration - Frigga, for all of her considerable, admirable independence, still trusted Odin without question, as did all of Asgard. If Odin said Thor was ready, then they all believed wholeheartedly that it was so. Why could not any of them see the truth? Was Loki the only one capable of seeing the obvious?
"But Mother, he is -"
"Do not fret, Loki," she repeated, interrupting him. "Trust your Father's wisdom."
But that was just it - how could he trust Odin's wisdom when he was about to curse Asgard to the bumbling rule of an arrogant idiot?
Unaware of his inner struggles, Frigga smiled and released her light hold on him. "I've just come from visiting Lady Aemilia in the music room. If you wished to see her -"
"No," Loki muttered, turning away. "She made her choice quite clear. There's no reason to further discuss her."
"There is, if she is the cause of those dark circles under your eyes."
He gritted his teeth, staring at his feet. "It makes not a sliver of difference either way."
"I've never known you to be so quick to give up something so important to you so easily."
"Enough, Mother."
"Perhaps if you simply spoke to her -"
"Enough!" Loki snapped, the volume of his own voice shocking himself far more than it did Frigga. He looked away from her in sudden shame, but she didn't blink.
"I only want your happiness, Loki," she said softly, unbothered by his outburst. "Even when the greatest obstacle you face in finding it is yourself."
He said nothing in reply, frowning as she picked up his horned helmet from a nearby table. She held it out to him and he took it, meeting her eyes as she smiled, "Make me proud."
He nodded, letting his eyes drift down to the heavy gold he held in his hands only after she had left his rooms.
He didn't recognize the feeling of being stretched too thin, of being wound so tightly that he would surely snap under the slightest bit of pressure. If he had, however, he still wouldn't have done anything other than precisely what he did, which was place the helmet on his head and give himself another once-over before turning and heading towards the training arena.
It was hardly the first time that Aemilia had been to the arena; a favorite pastime of young maidens in the realm was flocking here to spend their afternoons to watch young, virile men spar and fight amongst each other, and she had been dragged here many times by friends in the past. It had been fun and frivolous then, as opposed to now.
The Queen fetched her as she'd promised, and as they'd made their way to the arena, Aemilia had suddenly wondered if she was going to be watching with both the King and the Queen. The thought brought a fresh wave of anxiety - watching with Frigga was one thing, but Odin was another entirely.
Her worries turned out to be in vain - Odin stood with a handful of men, whom Aemilia thought to be advisors, on one end of the arena, while she and Frigga took to the opposite end, on one of the higher levels of the structure to have a better vantage point. The arena was already quite packed, with both nobles and commoners, citizens all anxious for the bit of entertainment that they were about to be treated to.
Down on the arena floor, the Warriors Three and Lady Sif were doing some light sparring, as if they were something of a warm-up act before the main event. The sound of Gungnir hitting the ground from across the arena was their signal to leave and make way for the princes, so they did, taking places near the floor to watch as the crowd fell silent.
"Will he be able to use magic in the fight?" Aemilia asked the Queen in a hushed tone, eyes on the empty grounds.
"Yes. They bickered a bit about it at first, but I pointed out that Loki would need more than a mere weapon to stand a chance against Mjolnir. Thor eventually agreed."
"But if Loki wins, will people consider him to have cheated, using magic?"
"Most likely," Frigga replied. "But they would be wrong."
A sudden blow of a horn caught Aemilia's attention then, and the loud voice of a guard announcing the presence of Asgard's Princes. They entered the arena at the same time, from two opposite entrances at the north and south end; Thor looking as huge and majestic as ever in his silver armor and flowing red cape, his feathery helmet resting atop blonde hair that shone even from that considerable distance, and Loki, swathed in green and gold and walking tall under curved, sharp horns. Thor grinned and raised Mjolnir to the suddenly cheering crowd, laughing, and Loki kept a neutral face as a guard came scampering up to him, holding a long, thin object in his hands. Loki took the object, and Aemilia recognized it as a rather jagged looking spear, a long golden staff with a deadly curved blade at the end. He didn't wave it around or play to the crowd the way his brother did, but clutched it in one hand and let his eyes scan the arena.
She watched, unknowingly holding her breath, waiting for his gaze to meet hers. When it did, she felt her heart thud against her chest, but neither her face nor his betrayed anything. The only indication that he'd even recognized her was the fact that his eyes lingered on hers just moment too long.
But then there was another dull bang from Gungnir, and the crowd fell silent as the two young Princes came to a stop, a few feet away from each other, both grinning as they looked at one another. From her place, Aemilia could see both men's profiles, close enough to make out their expressions, which somehow managed to be both vicious and friendly at the same time - Thor more overtly threatening, Loki belying a more subtle confidence.
They gave one another an extremely slight bow - it was more like an incline of their heads - and then, a third and final signal from Odin began the fight.
She was close enough to hear Thor laugh as they moved, neither lunging for the other or making any other brash moves, just circling one another as the elder brother spoke. "Nervous, brother?"
"Are you?" was Loki's retort, his grip on the spear casual, almost unthinking.
Thor's answering laugh reverberated around the arena. "Because you're my brother, I'll show mercy and make this quick."
Thor then pulled his arm back and flung it forward, throwing Mjolnir and aiming for the center of Loki's chest, but instead of knocking the younger brother down, it merely flew straight through him. The image of Loki flickered and then disintegrated, and as Thor cast his confused eyes around wildly, Loki strolled up behind him. Like it was nothing, he tossed the spear up in the air and caught it by its handle, and just as Thor whirred around to face him, Loki whacked him across the face with the razor-sharp end, knocking Thor backwards and leaving a bright red slice across his cheek.
Aemilia jumped when it happened, and immediately looked at Frigga, but the Queen looked perfectly at ease. In fact, she was even smiling a little bit.
A loud metallic sound and an equally loud groan stole her attention, and Aemilia looked back to the arena floor to see Loki flying back, having been smacked in his gut with Mjolnir.
It only took a second for Loki to get back to his feet, all restraint thrown to the wind as the brothers fought, and the viciousness of it all shouldn't have shocked Aemilia, but it did. They were out for blood.
Thor was all blunt, merciless force, and Loki was like a gust of wind dancing gracefully but lethally about him. He ducked Thor's blows and landed little whacks and slices of his own, aiming strategically for the chinks in the elder brother's armor, but he took as many hits as he gave. They seemed surprisingly evenly matched, and she barely noticed how fast her heart was racing until Loki would get thrown on his back or kicked in the face, which would make her stomach fall into itself.
At one point, Thor struck Loki in the face with the wide tip of Mjolnir, which left an almost instantaneous deep purple bruise and also knocked Loki's helmet off in the process. Loki responded by conjuring a double behind Thor and then switching places with the copy - a handy trick - and brought the non-lethal end of the spear down against the back of Thor's head, briefly knocking him down to his knees. He repeated the trick numerous times, managing to confuse Thor every time, but he eventually decided to somewhat pull back on the magic, knowing that he'd be branded a cheater if he won based on magic alone.
The tide began to decidedly turn, however, when Thor, now bleeding from several more gashes on his face as well as a wound in his side and one of his legs, threw his hammer towards Loki's head. Loki deflected it with a green, shimmering blast from his hand, and - shockingly - the hammer bounced right off of the energy and went hurtling rapidly into the sky. Even Loki seemed slightly bewildered by this, but he wasted no time in taking advantage of the hammer's temporary absence, lunging at Thor and putting him fully on the defensive.
Aemilia glanced up to the Queen, only to find her smiling cheekily to the King, across the arena. One-eyed as he was, Odin saw his wife's self-satisfied grin through the distance and merely raised an eyebrow to her.
Aemilia understood perfectly in that moment the family dynamic. Thor, in all of his strength and power, was the apple of Odin's eye, his pride and joy. Loki, however, was Frigga's treasure, and while she surely loved both of her sons with an equal ferocity, Loki was nestled particularly close to her heart.
A loud thumping sound brought her attention back to the fight, and Aemilia held back a gasp when she saw Thor on his back, Loki looming over him with the edge of the spear to his neck.
Victory was close, so close that he could taste it. He'd exposed Thor's weaknesses and taken advantage of them, taken his punches and assaults and hit back just as hard, calling on every bit of skill that he'd acquired in all of his centuries, laying it all on the line for this moment. Disposing of Mjolnir had been a happy accident - the magic that had made it bounce into space was exhausting to expel but it had been more than worth it.
And now, against Odin's wishes, he had the future King of Asgard on his back, at his mercy, gasping under the unexpected force of the beating that he'd just taken. There was a distinct, richly satisfying look of sheer panic in Thor's bright blue eyes, and Loki couldn't help the smile that curled across his lips.
Perhaps now, in light of his victory, he could command a bit of respect as Thor's equal. Perhaps even Odin, once he got over his anger at Loki defying his orders, would see that Loki was also worthy, also powerful, also great.
"Do you surrender, brother?"
The words tasted good on his lips, and victory tasted even sweeter. It tasted so good, in fact, that when Thor looked away fractionally to glance up at the sky, he didn't think to jump out of the way until it was too late.
"Never."
Thor's hand enclosed around the newly returned Mjolnir, and he struck the ground with it. The entire arena shook with the force of it, and Loki was flung backwards, the spear flying from his grasp. He landed on his front with a loud, disturbing crunching sound, and he could not breathe or see. He was delirious with pain as Thor rolled him to his back, then dropped the hammer on his chest to ensure that he could not get up. Mjolnir's power kept him even from being able to conjure a double to switch with - it was, essentially, cheating.
It was with an arrogant, maddening grin that Thor threw Loki's words back in his face. "Do you surrender, brother?"
Blinking away dirt and dust from his eyes, Loki managed to clear his vision enough to glare up at his brother and feel something rising from within. There was anger, frustration, and disappointment, but those things he expected. There was something else, something worse, something that grew the longer he stared at Thor's smile.
With a laugh that made Loki's skin crawl, Thor picked up Mjolnir and extended a hand to Loki. He didn't want to accept the help, but the alternative - to appear petty and bitter in the face of defeat - was worse. With a half-snarl, he grasped Thor's bloodied hand and ignored the scream of pain throughout his body as Thor pulled him to his feet.
Thor apparently just couldn't help himself. "And this, Loki, is why you are the trickster, and I the warrior, who will be King."
With those words, Loki suddenly understood what it was that he was feeling. It felt like lava in his veins, burning through his very skin as he stared at Thor with an unhidden venom, a thousand years of slights and jealousy breaking through the surface of indifference that he could no longer maintain.
Hatred. It was pure, seething hatred. In that moment, he truly hated his brother, with a passion as deep as his love for him.
Loki yanked his hand away, a violent storm swirling inside of him as he watched Thor raise his arms in victory. The crowd, which had previously been watching in a stunned, deafening silence, slowly began to cheer for their future King, while Loki turned his eyes back to where they had last been before the fight had begun.
Aemilia wasn't clapping. She was watching him, looking concerned, worried, and a bit frightened as he met her gaze. Beside her, Frigga was clapping softly, her expression sympathetic and equally worried.
As Thor took a self-indulgent bow, Loki met Aemilia's gaze unapologetically harshly. His eyes were narrow and dark as a smirk crossed his lips, and he gave a bow of his own, though he directed it only to her and to nobody else in the crowd. When he raised his eyes back to hers, his hands clenched into fists and he could almost see her shudder from where he stood.
When he finally tore his murderous eyes away from her, he let them quickly scan the faces of the others, the commoners and the nobles, the strangers and "friends" that had watched the fight, and his hatred pulsed anew. How happy they were to see him submit to Thor, to be powerless under that stupid hammer, to validate Thor's status as unrivaled in strength and power.
Idiots, fools, all of them. They were blind, but he was not. The hatred was bizarrely liberating, and terrible thoughts were beginning to form in his mind.
It was as he stomped out of the arena that he decided to Hel with it all. Asgard may be filled to the brim with fools, but they would be ruled by the biggest dolt of all in an incredibly short amount of time. Loki was blessed - no, burdened - with eyes clear enough to see how terrible this was, and what else would a good Prince do but protect his kingdom?
His smirk grew. Oh yes, he would protect the kingdom. He would also have his revenge. He didn't know how yet, but he was going to ensure that Thor's "big day", when it came, crashed spectacularly around him. He would take his day of triumph and lay waste to it, and he would enjoy every last moment of Thor's resulting rage and distress. He would make sure that Thor's coronation was delayed, and in doing so, he would buy Asgard more time. Perhaps even convince Odin that Thor needed many centuries' worth of growth before he could be trusted to be King.
The convenient side effect of having the chance to ruin the biggest day of Thor's life was just a happy coincidence.
The only question was... how?
Aemilia could not shake the memory of Loki's last expression, no matter what she did.
She'd never seen him look like that before. It was even more jarring to see him like that after having watched him nearly overtake his brother, moving with such a lethal beauty that it was as terrifying as it was arousing. But that look... that smirk...
She could imagine being held to the ground by him, seeing that exact smirk on his face as he ripped her throat out from her body, so murderous and dangerous that look was. And the way that he'd directed it at her - she shivered every time she thought back on it.
She'd always known that Loki was dangerous. She just never knew exactly how dangerous until that day.
Aemilia bade the Queen farewell soon after the fight concluded and returned home, thinking of nothing but Loki the entire way back. Even when she found her home to be already buzzing with activity and filled with friends, family and acquaintances all there to celebrate her engagement, she still could not shake what she had seen.
She was on autopilot, smiling and greeting her older and newer friends, kissing the cheeks of her fellow nobles, trying her best to keep the charade as convincing as possible when both Dagr and Ayre showed up to flank her. She showed off her engagement ring, watched her friends giggle and swoon over both the ring and the man at her side, and Ayre appeared to be so happy with it all that she was nearly in tears.
The entire time, Dagr kept an arm around her waist, and the longer he kept it there, the more it began to anger her. But, she told herself to get over it and get used to it, especially since soon, he would be doing far more to her than just having his hand on her side.
A little bit of wine always made everything easier, so she downed a cup while she continued to be mobbed. Just as she was about to ask a servant for more, the irritating hand on her waist tightened and she glanced up at her fiancé to find him gesturing towards a doorway. Reluctantly, she set her cup down, then allowed him to lead her away from the party.
He took her outside to the gardens, the same place he had proposed to her a week earlier. Despite her less than desirable company, Aemilia took a deep breath of the fresh, late afternoon air and immediately was relieved to be away from the party.
"You looked as if you could use a break," Dagr said, offering his arm to lead her on a walk.
She accepted, replying quietly, "Yes, I've had a rather busy day."
"You were at the palace today, yes?" When Aemilia nodded, he added, "You know, with both of our connections, I would wager that we could quite possibly gain approval from the royal family to wed in the palace. Not in the main hall, but certainly one of the smaller ones."
She could not think of a single place that she would least like to wed Dagr in. If she didn't know any better, she'd suspect that he'd known about her secret all along and was now taunting her. "Oh, I don't know..."
"It's not a decision that we must make today," he smiled. She glanced up at him and nodded silently in return. "I do hope that as time progresses, our engagement becomes less foul to your perception."
"It's not -" she quickly sighed, then took a deep breath and said, "I do not believe I've given you any reason since your proposal to suspect that I consider anything to be foul."
"Yes, but I would like to see you genuinely happy, not just playing the part for mine or your mother's sake."
She was about to sigh and argue with him some more when he suddenly stopped them, standing in nearly the same spot in the gardens that he had proposed in. He turned to face her, his hand sliding down her arm to take hers, and he was so close that she was forced to look up into his eyes.
"You won't be happy if you never give me the chance to make you happy," he said softly, the hand that wasn't holding her own rising to rest on her cheek.
A familiar sense of panic began to take hold, and Aemilia knew what was coming next. She mentally braced herself, knowing she could react to the impending kiss one of two ways. She could either resist and flee, or she could accept that it was merely the first of many to come and try to make the most of it.
Ever the brave one, she opted for the second choice. She stood still and didn't move an inch, and her eyes were closed well before his lips touched hers. Once they did, however, she wished that she would have fled.
It was not a peck like their first kiss had been. He kissed her slowly, and increasingly deeply, and she tried her very best to endure it. But at the first tentative touch of his tongue against hers, memories flashed like fireworks in her head, all of Loki, all hitting her like a punch to the gut. She could think of nothing else, and grief washed over her anew, terrible, chest-aching grief that she could not suppress.
And for all of that pain, she knew that this was but the beginning. A long, long lifetime of pain worse than this lay in front of her, hundreds upon hundreds years of suffering this inferior touch, this laughably poor substitute to her true desires, and as she finally wrenched her lips away with half-choked sob that she couldn't contain, she suddenly understood that living this lie with this man would be every bit as soul-killing as becoming an adulterer would have been.
"I can't," she gasped, pushing him away by his shoulders.
"I'm sorry, I only thought -"
"No," she shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment before opening them and looking at him in utter seriousness. "No, you don't understand. I cannot marry you. I've tried to do this, I've tried to accept this, but I cannot. And I will not. I will not marry you."
He shook his head. "You are speaking nonsense. Let us go back inside and -"
"No!" she half-shouted when he reached for her. "I am not hysterical and I am not speaking nonsense! I am completely serious!"
"But-"
"You're a good man, I truly do believe that," she said, utterly sincere. "And any other woman would be incredibly lucky to marry you. But I feel nothing for you and I never will. Marrying you would kill me."
She didn't mince her words because she wanted him to grasp the finality of them, and it appeared to work for a moment. He seemed crestfallen and shocked, but then he looked away, shook his head and said, "You don't know what you're saying."
With an exasperated sigh, she gave up and turned on her heel, moving back towards the house. The true obstacle in making her epiphany become a reality was her mother, but there was no turning back now - she knew she'd face banishment or worse for this, but she was now prepared to accept such punishment rather than live a lie for the next four thousand years.
Dagr followed her back into the house, continuing to plead with her to no avail. Once she was inside, she pushed her way through the guests and eventually found her mother in the main sitting room, clutching a glass of wine and laughing heartily amid a gaggle of other mothers. Aemilia squared her shoulders and marched up to Ayre, tapping her on the shoulder as Dagr tried to grab her hand and pull her away.
"Stop it!" she snapped, yanking her hand away and glaring at Dagr before turning back to her mother.
Ayre looked between the two of them, confusion replacing her previous jolly expression. "Darling? What's happened?"
"I need to talk to you, alone, right now," Aemilia said, a small thrill of fear rushing through her as she spoke the words. Telling Dagr was one thing - telling her mother was entirely another.
"Can it not wait until later? The party -"
"The party needs to end," Aemilia said firmly as Dagr fidgeted behind her. "The guests need to leave."
"But darling -"
"Mother, please."
Ayre stared at her daughter, then glanced at Dagr, who merely looked at her helplessly. She seemed to grasp the importance of the situation and nodded, which led Aemilia to turn and head for the seclusion of her room.
She only had to wait for a few tense moments in her room before the door reopened and her mother slipped inside. "What is the meaning of all this?"
Aemilia stood before Ayre, her arms crossed, anxiety creeping upon her but not stopping her from saying what needed to be said. "I cannot marry him, Mother. I will not marry him. And if you wish to banish me or disown me because of my refusal, then so be it. I would rather suffer your wrath than spend my life married to a man that I will never love."
It all came out in a deceptively calm tone, but she didn't raise her eyes to meet Ayre's gaze until she had finished. When she did, she found her mother staring blankly, as if she were waiting for a punchline.
"Aemilia, I do not find this humorous."
"Does it appear that I do?" Aemilia snapped, letting her arms fall to her sides. "You have known from the beginning my feelings about him, or the lack thereof, so how does this come as a surprise?"
"You are not thinking clearly," Ayre shook her head. "Clearly you've been working too hard as of late. Take a few days to rest and -"
Aemilia gritted her teeth. She hated it when Loki didn't take her seriously, hated it when Dagr didn't take her seriously, and she wanted to absolutely scream now that her own mother wasn't taking her seriously. "No. I need no rest. My mind is made up."
"So you will risk banishment? Disownment? You, who have never lifted a finger outside of your will your entire life? You know not what you speak of. I will have none of this. In fact, I am walking away and pretending this conversation never happened. He is a good man. He will give you a good life. You will marry him."
And that was that.
Aemilia watched her mother turn and reach for the door, knowing that she only had one last possible way to get through to her. She felt sick at saying the words, but it was what needed to be done.
"He will not take me if I tell him that I am no maiden."
Ayre's hand froze on the doorknob. Slowly she turned, her gaze icy. "You would lie to make him shun you?"
She smiled, and it was a sad, humorless smile. "It is no lie, Mother."
For the first time since the conversation began, a distinct emotion made its way on to Ayre's face. First shock, then a flicker of denial, and finally, anger. "Tell me this is a cruel jest."
For a split second, Aemilia suddenly felt very young again, a burst of shame nearly breaking her courage. But it was short lived - there could be no cowardice now. "I think you can see that I'm quite serious."
"You cannot possibly be serious," Ayre hissed, her gaze hardening even more. "If this is some trick so that you can get out of marrying him -"
"Nine Realms, Mother, what will it take for you to believe me?!" Aemilia asked in exasperation. "I am telling you the truth!"
"Is this why you've been acting so strange lately?" Ayre asked. "If its true, tell me who it is."
This was the only part of the truth that Aemilia wasn't planning on divulging, if she could do anything to prevent it, so she kept silent.
"Tell me!"
"Does it matter?" Aemilia retorted. "Whom it is changes nothing."
"I will not believe you until you give me a name."
"Why would I lie about this?" she asked incredulously. "I am not merely saying this. It's true. It has been true for months now, since before I even met Dagr."
"Since before..." Ayre's gaze drifted upwards as she thought back on recent months. "Since before you even met Dagr."
"Yes."
"And you have been carrying on with... whomever this man is, this entire time."
Aemilia swallowed dryly and muttered, "Yes."
Ayre laughed, without a trace of humor. Her hands rested on her hips, and her pretty face slowly began to contort into something much uglier. "Clearly this man cares not for you. Otherwise he would have asked for your hand as well."
"I know."
"Is he why you would refuse Dagr? Is it love? Do you love this man who you allowed to defile you?"
Tears prickled the backs of Aemilia's eyes, but she kept them at bay. "You can be as cruel as you want, Mother, I truly do not care any longer."
"I believe you!" Ayre said, her voice rising. "Obviously you care for nothing and no one but yourself! You have no idea the sacrifices I've made, the pain I've withstood, to give you what you're so impulsively throwing away."
"Then why don't you enlighten me?" Aemilia challenged. "You've been saying things like this for so long and yet I have no idea why."
"Honesty is quite the bold request when you are still not affording me the same courtesy."
"Fine!" Aemilia said, giving up. If they were to have it out, then so be it - and as much as she didn't want to confess this part, if it convinced Ayre to come clean herself, then it would be worth it. "I'll tell you exactly what happened, and with whom. Do you remember the first time I sang at the palace?"
"Of course."
She suddenly felt lightheaded as she sat on the cusp of delivering the full truth, but it didn't stop her. "I caught Prince Loki's eye that night. It's him. Or it was. I ended it when Dagr proposed."
For a second time that night, Ayre's expression became one of immense shock. "Prince Loki."
"Yes. I'm sure it makes it all seem far worse, knowing that I chose the lesser Prince," Aemilia spat, unable to control the bitterness in her voice. "I'm sure you would have some twisted sense of pride if I had 'defiled myself' with the future King instead."
Instead of expressing outrage or disgust at her words, Ayre merely stared off towards the floor, her eyes suddenly shimmering. Aemilia watched and waited, waited for a sign of a reaction, but none came for several long moments.
Finally, Ayre spoke, but she didn't take her eyes off the floor. "I did not sacrifice everything just to watch you grow up and become me."
"What?" Aemilia asked, furrowing her brows. Ayre half-stumbled to the nearest armchair and fell into it, ungracefully.
"You claim to want honesty, but you truly do not," Ayre said, looking up at her still-standing daughter with unfiltered grief in her eyes. "There is nothing to be had in the truth but pain and disappointment. And your anger."
"Then I will deal with those things accordingly," Aemilia said, advancing towards the chair and staring at Ayre with wide eyes. "Tell me!"
Ayre looked away, and several thousand years' worth of pain flashed in her eyes as she gathered the strength to speak. Aemilia wasn't sure that she could bring herself to feel sympathy for her mother at the moment, not when she didn't know what was coming.
"The man that I told you of some time ago, when we were preparing for the banquet," Ayre began quietly. "The one with whom I said I was infatuated with in my youth. His name was Eileifr. And I was not merely infatuated."
Listening intently, Aemilia sat down on the edge of her bed, across from where her mother sat. Her brows stayed at a slight furrow as she listened.
Ayre alternated between looking down at her hands and up at her daughter as she continued. "I loved him. I loved him with a passion I did not know was possible. He cared some for me in return, but he never loved me the way that I loved him. I hoped for that to change. But it never did. Haidr came along eventually, and my father agreed to his proposal of marriage. Eileifr showed no interest in stopping it."
The story sounded sickeningly similar. Aemilia kept silent.
"But I did not stop seeing him. In fact, I continued seeing Eileifr for many, many years after I was married."
Now it was Aemilia's turn to be shocked. Her jaw dropped slightly, and Ayre looked away once more, unable to handle the look on her daughter's face.
"I am far from proud of my actions."
"When did you stop seeing him?" Aemilia asked, still gaping slightly.
"When I became pregnant with you."
Aemilia blinked. Maybe this explained Ayre's drunken confession of how Aemilia's birth and very existence had been so burdensome.
But if she only stopped seeing him after she had become pregnant...
She looked at Ayre in alarm. "Mother."
"I never saw him again," Ayre said, looking at her hands again. "And I found out one week ago that he's recently died."
Another question answered. That explained the letter that Aemilia had seen Ayre crying over, as well as the intermittent readable grief on her face for the last week. But a far more dire question was pushing to the forefront of Aemilia's mind.
"Mother."
Ayre continued to ignore her. "He was of Vanaheim. Gifted with sorcery. Unlike any man I had, and have, ever known."
Aemilia was getting nervous. Quite nervous. "Mother."
Ayre looked up at last, and her gaze rested just a few inches above that of Aemilia's, to her hair. "He was so handsome. And his hair... it was dark brown. When he was in the sunlight, you could see bits of red throughout it."
Aemilia froze. "Am I mistaking what you are implying?"
Ayre shook her head, a tear escaping her eye. "I did not know for sure until you were born. But as soon as I held you and saw you, I knew you were his. You have his hair. His eyes. His passion."
To say that she was stunned would have been a gross understatement. Aemilia stared openly in shock, the cool iciness of the truth coating her veins as they ran utterly cold. "How... how could you have waited this long to tell me?"
"The truth does you no good. You gain nothing."
"I gain truth!" Aemilia pointed out, incredulous. "Does Father know?"
"I think he suspects," Ayre said quietly. "But he's never spoken of it."
Aemilia was reeling. So much made sense now, yet much also did not. Her heart was pounding and her mind was racing, trying to place the pieces of this bewildering puzzle together. "Did he not want me? Eileifr? Is that why you never saw him again after you became pregnant?"
Ayre shook her head. "I never told him about you."
Her jaw dropped further. Did her mother's deceptions know no end? "Why?"
"Because I knew that it would make no difference. He didn't love me. I could not leave my marriage. I spared you both the pain of the truth."
"Perhaps it wasn't your place to do so," Aemilia said through gritted teeth. This man, her biological father, was apparently dead and gone, and gone with him was the chance to ever know him.
"I made a decision when I found out I was carrying you, Aemilia. I gave him up for you. I gave him up and committed myself to raising you, to making sure nobody knew you were born illegitimately" - she spoke the word casually but it cut like jagged glass - "so that you could have the chance at a good, happy life."
"And in the process become bitter and resentful of me for taking your lover away from you?" Aemilia asked desperately, now on the verge of tears herself.
"If I am ever bitter, dear, it is because I am watching my sacrifice go to waste. Like I am now."
Aemilia stood - she could not handle sitting any longer. "Your sacrifice? If everything that you say is true, it should serve as all the more reason to not force me into marriage, as you were! You should want better for me!"
"Better is all I've ever wanted for you," Ayre replied, standing as well. "That's why I gave him up. That's why I've made it my purpose to see you have a good life, a good husband, a good name, a high place in society - and yet you're willing to give it all away for this Prince that cares nothing for you."
"I am giving nothing up for him," Aemilia answered soberly. "I am doing this for me, because I cannot live as you have. I refuse to become bitter as you have. Evidently, my entire life has been a lie, but I will live that way no more."
Ayre looked at her with sudden anger, her face contorting again as she seethed, "I've given you everything. I've given you a good, stable father, a good home, a life of noble privilege, all at my own expense - how can you not see that? What would you have had me do?"
"Tell me the truth!" Aemilia shouted back. "I would have had you tell me the truth and given me the chance to at least meet my father once."
"He would have caused you nothing but pain, I promise you this."
Aemilia blinked and answered more quietly, "I would have liked the chance to find out for myself."
Silence fell for a moment then, and Ayre's expression hardened before Aemilia's eyes. "Yes, you have always preferred to find things out for yourself. So be it."
"So be what?"
"If you want to be free, of both me and your fiancé, then so be it. I will have your father call off the engagement, and I will give you what you ask for. You will be banished to live with your cousins on the outer provinces. You will work to earn your keep. You will have no servants. You will lose every comfort and every luxury that you were born into. Perhaps then you will learn to be grateful and appreciative of what I've given you."
Once before, hearing such words would have left Aemilia in a puddle of panicked tears on the floor. But now, they simply rolled off her back, their impact nothing compared to that of the impact of learning of her true parentage. She simply stared at Ayre, refusing to give her the satisfaction of expressing a single emotion.
"I will have your essentials packed tonight. Be ready to depart at dawn."
With that, Ayre turned to leave. Once she reached the door, Aemilia said, "I will not forgive you for lying to me."
Ayre paused at the door, but only for a moment. "I know."
She then opened the door and left. Aemilia sank down to the edge of her bed, letting her shoulders sag as she felt a bewildering swell of conflicting emotions take root inside. As relieved as she was to no longer be engaged, the relief was dwarfed by the confusion, betrayal and grief that had crashed over her as she learned the strange, yet somehow completely believable, truth.
Perhaps this was why she had always felt a little bit different, just a little bit oddly shaped and unable to fit the mold expected of her. It had never been a large, looming, glaring thing, but a subtle one that had grown with time. It was more than just her hair - the unusualness of which could be attributed to her real father, apparently - or her long-suppressed interest in magic, or her independent streak and inner rebellion that was so rare among her peers. It was something she had always felt inside, an innate sense of just being a bit... different.
Maybe it was just a symptom of being lied to her entire life.
She would never trust her mother again. She wasn't sure how to approach her father now, knowing what she knew. Not that it mattered - come morning, she would not see either of them for a potentially very long time. Banishment was, in general, rarely a quick affair.
She thought most laughable part of it all, perhaps, was that as she sat there in her room, trying her best to grasp all that had just happened, her instinct was to wish that Loki would come and find her. He was the only comfort that she craved, the only comfort that could have possibly been effective, and yet he was the furthest thing from her reach.
One thing she knew for sure, as she lowered her head and allowed herself to cry in solitude, was that regardless of the consequences, she had done the right thing. She would sooner die than allow herself to become her mother, and her actions today, as difficult as they had been, had been the first step in making sure that never happened.
It was only a small consolation, however, and as she let the tears continue to flow freely, she recognized the end of one stage of life and the dawn of another. It wouldn't have been so terrifying if she only knew what to expect.
Across the city, Loki sat on the floor, in the very center of his chambers, surrounded by a plethora of open books. His hair was wet and sticking to the nape of his neck after his recent bath, and he wore only thin black trousers, exposing nearly all of his wounds and bruises from the fight to the open air.
He could have healed them all quite easily, but he refrained. Each wound was a reminder of a misstep, a mistake that had allowed Thor to hit him, and feeling the residual pain of each one was extra motivation to learn and do better. By morning, he would be fully healed, either way.
Reactions to the fight had been quite interesting; all, except Frigga, were shocked at how very close Loki had come to defeating his mighty brother. Odin had flashed him a deeply disapproving glare soon after the fight's end, and it had served only to stoke Loki's still-raging inner hatred and anger.
The blistering emotions did not fade as the hours passed; rather, they stayed largely the same, sometimes even increasing, depending on the nature of his changing thoughts. It didn't help that even after how very nearly he had achieved victory, though they were all shocked, nobody seemed to have gained any new respect for him or his strength. The end result of the fight had met their expectations, and evidently, the end was all that really mattered.
Let them think that, he decided. He would have his revenge soon enough.
Thus, the books. The only proper way to begin scheming for the downfall of one's royal brother was with utterly thorough research.
He reached no conclusions that night, however, on how to ruin the coronation. He had a few ideas, but they required much more fleshing out than he could manage in one night. As he sat in the sea of worn parchment and aged leather bindings, he let his overworking mind wander for just a moment or two. And inevitably, it wandered to one particular woman.
He almost stood and vanished into her room. The idea of showing up and reasserting his claim over her, and soothing his battered ego at the same time, was almost tempting enough to make him do it. Pride and stubbornness stopped him.
He could have used her comfort that night. The thought of her fingers running softly through his hair, her lips dancing on his bruised skin, and her sweet voice whispering soothing words into his ear was enough to make him close his eyes and imagine it, just for a moment. But a fantasy could never amount to the real thing, he knew that all too well.
He missed her. He missed everything about her, deeply and horribly. He suspected that in a short amount of time, his will would run dry, and he would indeed reassert his claim over her, whether she liked it or not. She would give in in the end, he knew that much. That was all that mattered.
For now, however, he opened his eyes and did his best to clear her from his thoughts, and turned his attention back to his books. She would have to wait until later, until another day. The fate of Asgard, and the grand ruining of Thor's day of triumph, was regretfully more important than her.
They'd all thank him someday for this, perhaps even Thor himself included. Or maybe they wouldn't. Maybe he shouldn't care either way, but he did. Far too much.
Wincing, he shifted and his injuries groaned in protest, but he did not resist the ache as he conjured another book out of thin air. It was enormous and full of tiny print, and it was an exhaustive history of inter-realm incidents between kingdoms and the resulting consequences.
It was going to be a long night.
A/N: I updated this a full day or two early because I know that despite the extremely important character development here, this chapter still isn't the most... crowd pleasing one ever lol, so I figured I'd just keep us moving briskly through this rough patch in the story. This chapter was also the hardest one for me to write so far - why I don't know, but gah, it took me forever - so I'm eager to throw it here and just be done with it lol. My usual heartfelt thanks to everyone who's read/reviewed/alerted, as well as to midnightwings96 for her HUGE help with this chapter. You guys all need to bow down to her, because she keeps you all from reading the mediocre crap I'd be posting if not for her help :D Also, on another note, I want to express how so incredibly happy I am that pretty much all you guys seem to like my little OC. I've never written a major story with an OC as a main character ever, so it's a huge relief that you guys all like her, and I want to especially thank all of you who've had such wonderful things to say about her. Oh, and I think there was several reviews expressing anxiety of how the story will end and if Loki and Aemilia will end up together. All I'll say in response there is that there is A LOT more story to go here - like a ridiculous amount - and I plan to cover the timeline all the way through The Dark World and beyond, so yeah... the end is far from nigh :D And oh, the things I have planned... *grins villainously*