Winter's Treasures
By Rey
Chapter summary: What can one do, if the emotional and physical attacks are both out of the option? How can one break an inadvertent attachment, too?
12. Eðlenstr, Part 3
Eðlenstr claimed to be Tora's Chief of Defence Forces, when Loki outright asked for her occupation when not taking care of stray runts, once they were sufficiently distracted – and he was exhausted again.
The claim was hard to believe, to him. For one, given the fact that Eðlenstr had breastfed him, he considered it an undeniable fact that this person was female; and from what he knew, even in a rather non-militant realm like Vanirheim, let alone one that was clearly military-oriented like Jötunheim, females were generally discouraged from joining the military; therefore, it would be almost impossible for a career-military woman to gain any worthy position, including the chief of defence forces for a town. For two, Eðlenstr's usual temprament did not seem to fit her purported post, something as serious and weighty as a commander of troops, however small and/or depleted Tora might have been from the Asgard-Jötunheim war more than a millennium ago; a painter, yes, a whimsical one at that, whose works he would have gladly admired in other times provided that he had not known to which race the painter belonged, but not a soldier, let alone a commander of soldiers.
The focus of his latest rumination had just brought out a platter of the kampi fruit she had mentioned in the memo – juicy, dark purple-grey, fibrous thin strips that smelled sour-sweet fresh and tasted likewise with a hint of bitter – and they were sharing it now, on the flor amidst the remnants of their snowball melee, eating daintily with their hands. He watched her eat from the corner of his eye, and found her action to be… graceful, even dignified, despite the fact that she was seated cross-legged on the floor, that the platter was set on the floor as well, that she was sharing just this one platter with somebody else instead of getting one for herself, and that there was no eating utensil used. This latest observation only baffled him more, in addition to her earlier claim, his even earlier observations, and this new silence of hers, which might be because he was soon going to leave her for the Capital, a prospect that he was actually trying to avoid.
Well, Loki Odinson – now nomanson – had always been a curious person, to the benefit and detriment of himself and others. What puzzled him, he puzzled it out… or outright asked about it to an authority on the subject. This time was no different. It could serve as something to break the new awkwardness they found themselves in, too.
"If I might ask… did you spend the time away just to spy on what I might and might not do?" he wondered aloud, making sure his voice had a good dose of humour in it.
He was sure, if Eðlenstr had a pair of eyebrows and some hair on her scalp, she would raise both to her hairline. As it was, the expressive look that was pointed strongly at him managed to quirk the edges of his lips into a genuine, genuinely sheepish grin.
He had been caught.
He had to watch himself more, after this. All the babying that he had received since he had fallen into this realm had made him softer, less closed up, more prone to displaying his emotions, even dependent. This development was very, very dangerous, especially when he managed to escape off-world, whenever it was. But if he could use seeming childishness to butter Eðlenstr up, to gain her sympathy, and then the much needed information about the world outside her bedroom….
The look the jötun pressed on him turned darker, shockingly, as if she knew what he was currently thinking, although he said nothing and was reasonably assured his expression remained blank. The remark she threw at him next, instead of the joking answer to his joking question that he had expected, just unsettled him more, and vanished his small smile in a trice:
"It is not nice, Bump, to use your own family members like tools. You might want to behave more like your amma than your roúnaí, when it comes to family. I may not be your family member, officially and by lineage; but you are still my nursling. Please respect me in this, as you did the milk I gave you."
`Nursling…. It comes back again to this odd culture around breastfeeding of all things, does it not?` he mused, with an inward shake of his head. `And how on Yggdrasil did she manage to peg what I was thinking, even on general terms like this?`
He had indeed gained a piece of information, all the same, if unexpected, and even if it was not related to his immediate concern.
He had indeed inherited his shrewd, ruthless mind and tendency from somewhere.
Although, it was still not at all comforting, if that somewhere had let him be abandoned in the cold….
He looked away, and pushed the platter closer to the jötun, with one strip of kampi still left on it. What could he do or say, otherwise? If he said "I did not mean to" or "How on Yggdrasil did you come up with that conclusion?," it would put him as the fool and insult the intelligence of both himself and Eðlenstr. If he ignored the matter, Eðlenstr would maybe come up with an even darker interpretation to his innocent attempt to both clear the air of awkwardness between them and find more information on the outside. If he tried to defend himself, the jötun might either better her perception on him or have it worse….
Dealing with this new, silent, serious Eðlenstr was really, really far harder than doing it with the chipper, bumbling version.
Well, he had tried to be nice, to begin to repay her efforts to take care of him and entertain him. But if she wanted honesty, then honesty she would get, as a weapon.
"You are so silent now. It unnerves me. Did I do anything wrong? You do not need to contact the Capital, by the way; I can take care of myself, now, given your diligent assistance. Just tell me what to do and I'll most likely do it to repay your kindness."
Judging from how taken aback she looked at present, he had managed to sweep her figurative feet from under her.
But then she replied, and it was his time to get wrong-footed.
"I can be silent as well, you know, Bump. Else why in Ymir's name would Elder Koðrati ever consider me as a warrior, let alone the commander of warriors? To defend a town of civilians, no less? And you know full well that children as young as you are are not obliged to work, let alone one of your station. Do you hate me so much that you would get your amma to have me executed, or to execute me themself? I assure you, however soft and indulgent they can be to people in most times, Elder Fié would not be pleased should they find me concealing your whereabout, and you working to 'repay my kindness'. Is it not enough that you just tell me I should distance myself from you? Elder Anga already made it clear barely a fortnight after you were born, you know. I just thought… I just thought I would have a second chance, you know?"
She jumped to her feet. But before that, he had spied water glimmering over her crimson eyes, and a show of fearsome sharp teeth that could mean pain or grief or fury or a combination of all three.
A jumble of emotions sought to pull him in all directions all at once. The rending sensation the maelstrom created felt like an open gash contaminated with saltwater.
He made a sound, he thought; he made a move, he thought; but what he really, really knew was that he never wanted to hurt this being – this person – even if he could do nothing else, somehow; and he did not want her tearing herself away from his life, either.
It did not surprise him as much as her last response or his subsequent agony had, thus, that he found himself clinging to her leg with a limpet's strength and tenacity and dedication before she could take more than a couple of strides towards the door.
He did not tell her about his utter ignorance regarding the jötun society. He could not, even if he wanted to, for a reason he could not define even to himself. And still, she picked him up and cradled him in her arms. And, in time, despite his remaining reservation, also despite the earlier bounty she had given him indirectly, he even got to taste more of the heavenly meal he had begun to be addicted to.
It shocked him, again.
Unconditional forgiveness felt horrible, it turned out.
If Loki had thought to construe how swiftly and easily Eðlenstr had buried their latest, worst yet instance of miscommunication as weak-heartedness and ignorance to life's perils, he had to revise the perception soon enough. With how he had turned down going to the market to buy toys and refused to play more with the snow or his yet-intact new jötun snow-doll, Eðlenstr, with her upper torso once more covered by the green half-shirt, had brought him to the training hall of her troops; and there he sat, watching her as she sparred with jötnar larger and visibly musclier than she was.
And she won, all the time.
She fought like a man, he thought. It also seemed that she poured all the frustration and hurt she most likely felt towards him into each of her sharp, aggressive moves.
She fought like a blend between Thor and Sif: fiery and powerful, but graceful.
To think that he, in his weakened state, had been under her mercy for however long it had been…. And he had been antagonising her, too, whether he had meant to do it or not.
But when she picked him up from the bench he had been occupying, with no protest whatsoever from him since he was still gaping at the show he had just been treated to, the cuddly embrace he was trapped in felt like one of Mother's – no, Frigga's – hugs, minus the copious sweat.
What a baffling paradox. – Sif, the only female career warrior that he knew, had never been good with children, nor had she ever shown any desire to better herself in that area, not wanting to remind her warrior comrades that she was after all a woman. Volstagg, ironically, was far better than she was at it, well-practised with his brood. – Could it be, then, that Eðlenstr was some sort of an ergi man, a father at that: all male but with the ability to breastfeed?
She – he? – padded to the far corner of the training hall, addressing a quartet of quiet jötnar about some medical appointment for him for tomorrow morning, but Loki found he could not concentrate on their conversation, let alone participate in it, even though it was about him. Only one thought – or rather, one sequence of thoughts – ran in his mind: He could not afford to anger Eðlenstr again, nor could he force himself to hurt… him?… as their earlier altercation had proven, but he could not afford being shipped off to the Capital, either, so he must fetch Avlar and/or Ovrekka's beacon soon and skedaddle off-world, probably with that former travelling companion of his in tow.
Why, though, did the prospect of leaving this place forever feel painful?