Winter's Treasures
By Rey

Chapter summary: Is there anything like "semi-willful misunderstanding"? And however in the realm of possibility can it lead to the creation of an exquisite snow-doll plus an unplanned snowball fight?

11. Eðlenstr, Part 2

The juncture between walls that Loki was leaning against sported a large window that extended nearly to the floor and seemed to lead to outside the dwelling on the left-hand side, and an expansive pale-grass-green canvas newly painted on with various whimsical shapes on the other one. The "daylight" that he observed outside the window was puzzlingly darker than what he had begun to get accustomed to, and not the twilight or overcast sorts of "dark" as well, at which thought he found himself astonished to be knowledgeable about the distinctions so soon – in just one Asgardian week plus one day – in his estimation, at least. However, as his minder had not seemed to worry about the state of the sky, nor barged in to take him somewhere safer to avoid incoming violent weather, he chose not to bother about it for now.

He spied a silhouette of something that looked suspiciously like a skiff outside, but sadly had to admit to himself that he was not yet even half recovered from near death to attempt an escape. Besides, before taking off, he must retrieve Avlar first, not to mention Ovrekka's beacon, precious for them – him? Her? – and Loki himself, useful to boot. He wished he had thought to grab the latter from the bedside table before it had vanished somewhere else.

Proof that he was, regretably and quite unfortunately, not yet at his peak condition, or he would have foreseen such a move in anticipation of such a need.

So, hoping to remove the tortuous temptation that he could very well do without, he retracted his attention back into the room proper.

He had to blink in incomprehension several times over, mouth embarrassingly agape, when his eyes landed on a rather large pile of fresh, pristine, soft-looking snow parked close to his right beside the empty plate, inside the dry, well-enclosed chamber, where it had not been a moment ago. Tearing his flabbergasted gaze away from the anomaly treated him with the sight of his erstwhile caretaker standing at the door, garbed in a plain, slim-fit leather loincloth with surprisingly and curiously sedate tones of dark green; there was also the even-more-interesting addition of a plain cloth sleeveless shirt of similar tones that covered only the chest… which still did not hide the nippled breasts beneath, and made him look further up hastily to avoid more staring.

Likewise uncharacteristically as far as he had known her, Eðlenstr was silent and solemn and watchful. And, when their eyes met, she looked pointedly back at him as if raising her – nonexistent – eyebrows in the apparently universal implied question of "What are you waiting for, silly?" instead of saying anything.

He returned the look, conveying another universal implied question of "What on the Nine Realms am I supposed to do with this thing?"

A huff was her answer, at first, the first sound that she made in this second conscious encounter of theirs, which was eerie – to him – for such a huge, purportedly barbaric… being, especially one who had been known to him to be cheerfully verbose.

Then, without coming closer, she remarked mildly, while glancing at the empty plate and the large pile of soft snow, "Must you always be pushed hard first in order to have some milk or play, Bump? I am sure Elder Fié never teaches you Bumps like that, regardless of how hard life has become for us all. They were always strict with us – me and Đinyé – but I would have become a wild child and dragged Đinyé with me if they were not. – Or is it just I that you feel uncomfortable with, for some reason?"

`Elder Fié? Đinyé? Bumps? What's with the plural? Isn't "Bump" just her silly appellation for me – for some odd, most likely inane reason?`

He tried not to frown at the whole statement, to give the wrong response, regardless of his ever-mounting confusion, and he was reasonably sure he managed to keep a straight face. Nevertheless, something misconstrued must have shown on his countenance, or been indicated in his very silence, for Eðlenstr gave him a curious and loaded stare – spiced up with some hurt to boot – before at last entering the chamber proper.

Folding her long, bare legs gracefully, she joined him on the floor near the indoor snowdrift, at an angle to his spot, and scooped up some snow into her hands. For a while, he just watched with mild interest as she made a small replica of… herself?… with packed-up snow and seiðr-aided colours and lines.

"I apologise," she said at last, quietly, as she handed the doll – which was as big as his forearms combined – to him, some time after. "Playing with this kind of medium may still be too much for you, on hindsight. I did not think deeply of what you could safely do. You should not use your ice and seiðr yet, the paediatrician said. Elder Koðrati is always berating me about not foreseeing all details for all perceivable outcomes…. Now I am bungling it, when it is crucial." A sigh, then, more determinately, "Do you wish me to make you some more, for a make-believe? A replica of Elder Anga, maybe? If you tell me or draw me the jitya of the other Bump, I'll make you one. Or are you at odds with them right now? Is it why you ran away to the fields? – Well, or do you wish for some ice for a construction game instead? I could make little replicas of those shapes well enough with ice, you know. Or I could buy some stone ones from the market. You could always trade them with the other Bump when you are back home, although I am reasonably sure the both of you have better ones in your possession there. You could always claim the ones from here as souvenir or something like that if you want." Another sigh, then, "I'm sure I can't top up the performance of your abý, whoever they are, when it comes to taking care of you, let alone your amma, but… can we be friends, at least? I'd love to, you know. I do care. I apologise if I have made you uncomfortable instead; it has never been my intention. – Well, Elder Koðrati already contacted the Capital for your retrieval. You'll be home soon, no worries. And… you know, if you want… I could take the blame for you, with your amma. Just don't leave your amma willy-nilly next time, Bump; there are many dangers about."

She never looked at him again, not even when she had handed the doll to him, which he was now gingerly cradling and scrutinising… and finding out that the lines did not match hers, or even his.

Not all of his, at any rate, which made more theories and suspicions and questions pile up in his mind, in addition to the deluge of foreign information she had just heaped on him, and the increasing certainty that he thought he knew just why she was so silent this time.

"The doll is beautiful," he offered, awkwardly, feeling wrong-footed yet again, but – surprisingly – sincere nonetheless. And the replica deserved the praise, indeed, for it still felt very much like packed snow, unmelting even when in contact with his bare skin, but the shape held true even when he pressed a little harder on a spot on its belly, and both it and the colours were detailed enough that it looked as if he were holding a miniature adult jötun in his arms.

She gave him a wan smile and a handwave of a shrug to the little compliment.

Still without looking at him, or trying to scoot closer.

His heart, customarily hardened against all things frost giant, twinged. He would rather not possess anything similar to any jötun, including some lax in the self esteem department… well, especially that one, rather, since it felt so bizarre and would make the jötnar seem like people, even more honest than most of the Asgardians he knew, even, admitting to insecurities like that… but this was Eðlenstr, however annoying, confusing and babying this one had been acting towards him. So he insisted, injecting his words with as much feeling of sincerity as he could bear showing while trying to catch her eye and lifting her replica a little, "No, it is beautiful, really; so detailed, almost lifelike. I like it, and… hope, that I can keep it if it is possible, without the shape melting back into snow. I would like to apologise as well for the misunderstanding we seem to be having. It was not my intention whatsoever to offend you. I only wished to spare you unnecessary burden in taking care of me. You need not bother yourself terribly with toys for me, or minding me so closely. I highly appreciate what you have done for me; taking care of a… well, taking care of me must have been hard. But I am sure you have other things to do, things that have been postponed for the sake of nursing me back to health. Please do not deprive yourself any more on my account. I still need a place to stay for some time yet, unfortunately, but I am reasonably sure that I can take care of myself by now, including amusing myself without putting more burden on your hospitality."

He gave her a small, uncertain smile, and hoped that both his honesty and sincerity shone through in his babbling.

But, judging from the odd, tight countenance Eðlenstr was now sporting, coupled with her suddenly distant, oddly professional politeness as she dutifully murmured that taking care of him had all been a pleasure and an honour for her, he had just exacerbated the situation and hurt her further.

`Damn it all to the Void. Why are we always misunderstanding each other? What does she want with me? What does she think of me?`

A part of him knew the answer, he could feel it, but he skittered away from it all the same.

He skittered away from the developing situation, as well, by veering the topic and tone sharply: Laying the doll aside and absently packing up some snow into a ball, he asked as casually and humorously as he could, "Were you the one who put this little snowdrift here? Did you snownap it from somewhere?"

The corny teasing earned him more success with bridging their communication than the serious effort had before, to his grumpiness and further bemusement: Eðlenstr let out a brief breath of a chuckle and quipped half-heartedly, "You pined after my skiff so much that this little snowdrift got jealous. I was here three times already and this little one was there for two of it, but you chose to get starry-eyed over that pompous metal box instead."

He launched the prepared snowball at her in retaliation for the remark, huffing and unable to suppress some of his amused grin.

For now, he chose not to think on how she had been successful in sneaking up on him without his knowledge thrice quite recently.

He was too busy dodging retaliatory snowballs, anyway.